Mardock Scramble

Her hair was full of life, as if it had only just sprung up. Cut cleanly, just above shoulder-length, it was now much shorter than it had been before.

She stretched her left arm out and slowly caressed the limb from her elbow to her wrist with her right hand.

It felt like the white of a boiled egg, and—very faintly—there was a sort of spark.

Electricity?

There was no other way of describing it. Millions of little currents of electricity flowed down the surface of her skin.

Not only that, they were in the shape of a complicated circuit. As if woven into an exquisite fiber.

She felt the threads of the fiber stretching out toward the air, one by one, like a spider’s web, and that instant Balot understood why she felt so calm.

She felt no insecurity about the room she was in whatsoever. In other words she recognized every little corner of the room, intimately.

Normally, because there were blind spots where she couldn’t see, she would have a sense of apprehension. But now, because Balot knew the air that touched the skin, she could also feel all the objects that the air was touching.

Even without looking, I know precisely the shapes of the things that are there.

This was because of the millions of threads, invisible to the eye, extending from her body. And all those threads were connected to the machines in the room. Or rather coiled around them. And the bed, the light fixtures, the thermostat, the blood pressure meter—the threads had burrowed their way in everywhere.

Balot lifted her still-extended left hand above her head and toward the lights.

She felt the threads again, thin, unbreakable.

Quite spontaneously she pinched the threads between her fingers. An image of plucking floated into her mind.

The world was plunged into darkness in an instant. All the lights had gone out. The electricity hadn’t been cut. Rather, the switches had all gone off simultaneously.

Balot opened her eyes wide in the darkness, remaining absolutely still.

In the darkness she could sense the threads that extended from her body even more vividly than before.

She plucked at the strings again. A blinding light flooded her eyes. All the lights were back on.

She let go of the threads, and this time took the mass of extending strings and stroked them gently.

It was like a kaleidoscope. A flick of her wrist and anything in sight could be changed in a million ways.

She changed the temperature on the air conditioning. The dial moved, and the tubes fixed to her hands and feet came loose on their own. After a while she didn’t need to check the threads anymore. Without even having to move her hands, using willpower alone, she realized that she could operate any electronic device without touching it.

I’ve gone mad. So she thought. I’m in a strange dream. And I’m causing the madness myself. The very definition of a nightmare that I can’t wake up from.

The fact that she existed was proof that she had gone mad. When she opened her eyes she had become a different creature. Or, strictly speaking, her outer layer of skin had become a different creature. And that creature was powerful. With an as-yet-unknown, but very definite, power. Like one who, bitten by a vampire, awakes thirsty, aware for the first time of the new self that they have been bequeathed.

And, then…

Balot discovered an old portable radio in the corner of the room. As if it were the only thing in the room that was not under the control of Balot’s consciousness.

As she lifted her hand toward the radio she noticed a slight resistance from it. Balot gave a little scowl, and just then the radio started giving off a noise.

An ear-splitting sound rent the room. A grating sound, as if a large crowd of people had all decided to claw at chalkboards.

Balot searched for music in the air. She realized that her senses could extend beyond the confines of the room.

Outside a multitude of radio waves were overflowing in a complex tangle of dissonance.

She plucked one of the radio waves, ran it through her body—her skin—and connected the music up with the radio.

The light on the radio started flickering, surprised, and in an instant began broadcasting Midnight Broadway. Balot ensnared the volume control, bringing it to just the right level.

She rested her head back in the easy chair, concentrated on the jolly music, and all of a sudden she felt like crying. But no tears came. There was a gaping hole inside her chest, and everything inside it was all dried out.