Mardock Scramble

–Oeufcoque, these people are enemies, right?

Balot wanted to make sure she was doing the right thing before she did anything she couldn’t take back.

“That’s right. They’re planning on holding you for ransom, and in exchange for your release they’ll try and force us to relinquish the chips as evidence,” Oeufcoque said out loud, unconcerned as to who could hear him.

A puzzled expression crossed Skyscraper’s face. “Who’s that speaking—”

–Am I allowed to shoot them?

“Sure, but no more than absolutely necessary. No need to stoop to their level.”

Balot’s left arm was under the table, and she felt it grow heavy with the weight of cold steel.

There was an explosion, and Skyscraper screamed and staggered backward. He’d had a lucky escape—Balot had actually aimed for his crotch, but Oeufcoque had stayed her hand and made the bullet fly through the top of his foot instead.

Balot lifted the table up quickly with Oeufcoque’s help—the bodysuit that was him melded with her body, allowing her to lift the table up as if it were made of cardboard.

She threw the Doctor’s sleeping body onto the sofa to keep him out of harm’s way, scattering their glasses across the floor as she turned the table on its side. Fragments of glass and ice shattered and flew every which way. Balot wondered where she had seen such a scene before, and then she remembered. The Western, of course.

“We keep the death toll to a minimum. Got it?”

–Fine.

Balot emerged from behind the plush red curtains and fired at three men in order as they attempted to fire bullets or electronic charges at her. She hit their shoulders with pinpoint accuracy, and they fell to the floor and rolled around in agony.

The other men were flustered now, and they fired a storm of bullets at her. The upturned table shook from the impact. Balot stuck her arm out from behind it and fired swiftly. Not a single bullet of hers was wasted. The first two men found their fingers blown off; Balot had targeted their guns, piercing the cartridges and causing them to explode. The men never knew what hit them. Balot then fired a couple more shots for good measure. The bullets thudded into their thighs, bringing them down.

Balot jumped out of the booth, table leg under her arm.

The men looked on in disbelief as Balot advanced with the table—a lump of wood that weighed at least as much as she did—as a shield. They gave her everything they had, firing blindly. In return Balot fired a salvo of bullets straight into their collarbones. Not a single one of her shots missed.

Just then the bartender emerged from behind the counter with a shotgun in his hands.

Balot didn’t even need to look at him to thrust an arm out sideways and put bullets straight through both his shoulders. Unbelievable, his face seemed to say, as he turned a backflip into the array of bottles that lined the bar.

The last man standing in the bar had his gun held out with a stupefied expression. Balot stuck her head out from behind the table, and the man hastily fired off a series of shots. He was at point-blank range and still failed to hit her, and indeed one of the flying bullets grazed his own arm as it ricocheted back, making him yelp. The bullet smashed into a large mirror at the end of the counter, and Balot expected it to shatter, but other than the new hole adorning it, the mirror seemed fine—as it turned out, it was a fairly sturdy specimen.

Balot brandished the table over her head and threw it at the man.

The man screamed, loud and shrill, and was thrown back into the booth along with the table.

The bar was evidently fitted with quality air conditioning, as the white smoke in the air was already being sucked away. No one was dead, but all Balot’s assailants were thoroughly incapacitated. Balot ejected her cartridge, reloaded it with a new one generated from within the gun, and went to sit back down in the same booth she had been sitting at.

There, the Doctor was snuggled up against Skyscraper, the former happily snoring away while the latter whimpered in pain and fear. Balot tapped Skyscraper on his shoulder, causing him to scream and push his chunky frame back against the wall. He squirmed so hard, it appeared as if he hoped he might be able to melt into the wall.

“I…I’m just a hired hand! Please…” For someone who had succeeded so far in one of the most sought-after professions in Mardock City, the lawyer cut a pretty pathetic figure.

–What do we do now? Just go home?

“Let’s establish just who this ‘hired hand’ was hired by.” With that, Oeufcoque turned with a squelch, and Balot’s glove became a cell phone.

Balot tossed the cell at Skyscraper’s knees.

“Call your employer. We want to speak to him directly.” Oeufcoque’s voice emerged from the cell phone. Skyscraper, a quivering wreck, needed no additional encouragement.