Mardock Scramble

All lies. She realized just how abnormal this Shell-Septinos must be to manipulate another person’s existence according to his whim in such precise, meticulous detail.

And moreover, this wasn’t just any old graffiti: it was beautifully done.

It was a cruel veneer, as if to emphasize the ugliness of the original, of what had gone before.

Oeufcoque highlighted certain entries on the monitor from various pages, and each time he did so Balot snarced Oeufcoque and made a separate copy—with her true details added—into individual reference files.

Like unearthing fossils from underneath a beautiful display of ostentation.

Balot tried to remember the first time—and indeed the last time—that she had accessed the data. The very act that triggered the events that caused Shell to burn her to death. Was she grateful to the man who had made such a vainglorious display of her? How pathetic if she was. It was like taking a file to her heart surrounded by the perfect shell.

According to this data, Balot was currently nineteen years old. She was from a middle-class family, and if you had to use one word to describe her it would have been wholesome. There was no trace of an incident in which her brother was sent to prison for beating her father so badly he was left with permanent damage. There was no sign of an incident in which ADSOM—the Alcohol and Drug abuse Society of Mardock City—put a cap on her mother’s pregnancy rights, meaning that IVF was the only route open to her, which in turn led to a cycle of abuse driven by the inferiority complex this had given the woman.

Here, her father was a salaryman, an average office Joe. He wasn’t driven to extreme neurosis thanks to backbreaking manual labor, and the despair that he was plunged into after losing his job didn’t cause him to cling to Balot and take her virginity as if she were just another woman. Balot had been able to go to school properly, and she wasn’t subjected to sexual abuse by Social Services. And it certainly wasn’t the case that, after she had escaped from the institute along with a few others, she was forced into the even harsher position of having to sell her body and soul piece by piece.

A dream family—a dream life. Not a life in the depths of despair and hatred, where the tears had run dry.

“I’m starting to see it now—I’m beginning to understand what Shell was plotting with all his evil business with you,” Oeufcoque said. Even as they confirmed Balot’s personal details Balot and Oeufcoque both sped through the huge network, collecting any other relevant data.

“As I suspected, that man has his fingers in a number of different pies—illegal banking. According to his personal data he’s bought over 170,000 different items in the past six months. The data is fictional, of course, and no transactions will have taken place. The question is where the money has gone.”

Balot felt her bile rising when she heard Oeufcoque’s words.

“So, he gives you your forged status and arranges it to look like you’ve embezzled money. It’s written here that you’re an employee at this bank. The bank in question is closely connected with Shell’s masters, OctoberCorp, and certain government officials are involved too. First, he entered details of fake deposit accounts into the computer, complete with forged certificates of deposit. Under your name, the fake one, of course. And as long as your records are never accessed, they never come under any official scrutiny. That’s the key point. And the moment you accessed your file, many of the official procedures started automatically.”

The official procedures started automatically. One of the procedures being Balot’s death.

Why was she killed—why me? Another part of the answer to this question floated before her eyes, and Balot felt her whole body enveloped in a wave of hatred she’d never experienced before.

“So, they get your fake documents, add some fake wage slips, and drain this from the non-bank they set up specially for the purpose. We’re talking millions of dollars. It takes time, though, for the funds to be cleared. If our case is recognized as legitimate within the next week then we—and the public prosecutor—will be given leave to investigate further… I get it now, this is where Shell’s brain becomes so important. It’s likely that a ream of his memories have already disappeared. Psychelaundering rather than money laundering. So, while the legal investigation into his memory takes place, it’s too late for the investigation into the funds to go any further.”

Balot inhaled slowly. As her heartbeat started to settle, the hatred flowing around her became one with her flesh and blood, and she felt it silently beating away.

“Once the payments have gone through, as long as the memory of this case is completely wiped from Shell’s brain, there’s nothing more we can do. Although, on the other hand—if Shell’s memories are preserved somewhere…”