Mardock Scramble

Ultimately, though, there was one word that emerged from the proceedings that interested Balot above anything else: ambition.

A regular man, motivated by his healthy ambition.

No: he was a pathetic man, who had found a way of climbing up society’s greasy pole—or stairway—and was prepared to discard everything else in order to achieve this, just so he could lord it over other men and women, as if he were some sort of a hero.

Balot could see this clearly now. I’ve been a fool, she thought, and at the very same moment she felt a burden—the cursed voice that told her that she was a bad girl—lift cleanly from her shoulders.

That was the one ray of sunshine that she’d gleaned from the whole experience—the silver lining to the gray clouds of humiliation.

If she quit now there was nothing left. This was now a matter of life or death.

She understood this clearly. That was why she could stay so calm.

Why me?—she imagined yet another answer to this question.

Beyond that answer lay Balot’s personal stairway, the one that she was destined to climb.

Balot left the courtroom with the Doctor.

The DA was in an excellent mood. He said that the next time they returned to the court it would definitely be in the form of an official trial—he was so enthusiastic that it wouldn’t have been surprising if he’d broken out into a cheerleading routine for Balot. The DA bid farewell to the pair for the time being, and Balot and the Doctor were just at the Broilerhouse entrance and about to leave when they noticed a man silently approaching them. A man so solidly built that even the shadow that he cast seemed enough to swallow them up.

“Boiled…” Taken aback, the Doctor spoke his name out loud without meaning to. The man who had sat at the table on the defendant’s side. The man who had threatened Balot. The Trustee supervising the case on Shell’s side—Dimsdale-Boiled.

For the first time Balot was within spitting distance of the man and faced him directly.

He seemed even more humorless, even more lacking in emotion, than ever. Violent, dusky eyes stared out from under his wide brow, gaze fixed on Balot. Or at the choker that Balot was wearing.

“The full details of the lawsuit will be made available to the defense from now on. It’ll mean that I get to start my operations in earnest.” Boiled, heartless as ever, clearly directed his words toward his former partner Oeufcoque. The former partner he had fallen out with spectacularly over some obscure incident.

Balot stared right back at him, head-on.

“I’ll find it. Withdraw your case.” Boiled was undoubtedly talking about their hideaway. His voice was light and indifferent, but it carried the impact of a thunderbolt.

Balot’s knees quivered. Acid rose in her stomach.

The man looked at Balot. As if he had noticed her existence for the first time.

“When you have the time, be sure to ask Oeufcoque about my MO for solving cases,” Boiled said, then turned his back. His footfalls made almost no sound at all as he glided away. In the distance they saw Shell-Septinos appear, and the two men climbed into a car.

Balot stood glaring at them from the entrance of the building. She watched where they were going. And the building, and all the people around her.

The fear inside her was being pushed aside by a feeling she had never experienced before: fury.

It was the first time this had ever happened. When she came to, she noticed that her knees were no longer shaking.

She breathed out quietly. It was like blue fire pouring from her lips.

It was live or die. And now her whole body was making its choice.

Still glaring at the world, she put her fingers on the crystal hanging down from her choker.

–Show me your way of doing battle.

03

“That was a weird scene we just witnessed. And I’m experiencing weird emotions too,” Shell muttered. His Chameleon Sunglasses gave off a dull glint the color of zinc. “I don’t have a single recollection of ever being nervous or frightened. All that vanishes whenever I have my Clapping, my memory preservation operation. But…it’s weird.”

At this point he looked at Boiled. “I’m frightened,” Shell said, shivering. He wore a forced smile.

Boiled gave no answer. He just nodded ever so slightly and drove on in silence.

“I can understand that I’m experiencing fear. I can even understand why this situation is making me afraid. What I don’t get is, why her?” Shell stretched his neck forward as if he were looking for an answer from the sky beyond the window. “We’re talking about a girl that I, in my current state, have never met—never even heard of her. A puny, powerless little girl. And yet I’m afraid of this. Just thinking about the fact that the girl is still alive makes me choke on my breath.”

He loosened his tie as if he were indeed having trouble breathing and took a flask from his pocket.