Mardock Scramble

“Isn’t my hair lovely?” Rare asked, tilting his thirty-odd-year-old face toward Boiled. His skin was abnormally smooth. It was white and appeared slippery, and when you looked closely it seemed to be composed of various different types. You couldn’t quite see the patchwork, but there was no doubt that Rare was a modern-day Frankenstein’s monster, born of the latest technology.

Boiled looked at Rare’s eccentric person with an expression devoid of emotion.

“We’re almost there. While we’re waiting, I think I’m just going to go ahead and keep on gazing at your cute little poker face,” Rare said in the clear voice of a little girl. The giant box they were in was slowly being lowered. There was almost no swaying now, but Boiled could tell that they were now atop a much bigger object.

“Oopsie, here we are. What a shame! I could have stared at your face all day long.”

The door opened and another man entered. Blond hair, blue eyes, and gave the appearance of a successful businessman.

“I am sorry about this. Having to go through this rather elaborate charade. Do please take a seat, make yourself comfortable,” the blond-haired man said.

“Ooh! And I’ll sit next to him! That’s okay, isn’t it, Medi?” asked Rare.

The blond-haired man shooed Rare out of the way with a wave of his hand, as you would a dog.

Rare gave a cackle and leaped around the sofa in a circle like a little child at play.

“Welcome, Mr. Boiled. Given our respective professions, shall we dispense with the formalities of a handshake?”

The man went to sit on the sofa opposite Boiled, fluttering his hands as if to show them off. His fingers were unusually pristine. Each finger was prepared meticulously, nails well-manicured so that they were squeaky clean and sparkling, and then covered with a blue nail polish. But when you looked at them as a whole they seemed oddly mismatched.

“Medium the Fingernail is how I’m commonly known in this line of work. It’s a nickname. Like the aliases university students use when they’re looking for playmates online.”

“I need confirmation of the results before I tender your remuneration,” Boiled said. His hands were resting casually on the attaché cases.

Medium dropped his banter and undid his tie before unbuttoning his dress shirt.

Rare, now standing diagonally behind Boiled, gave an affected yelp and then mock-shyly covered his face with his hands.

Despite his squirming he was looking through his fingers, getting a good peek at Medium’s rippling torso.

Boiled watched the scene play out, expressionless as ever. He looked at the pendants that adorned Medium’s chest. Medium took these off and placed them on the table. Carefully, one by one, so that they didn’t rest atop one another.

“Still alive,” Medium said. “The metal cylinders used as the basis were for exchanging bodily fluids, and the metabolism is still there—they still regenerate. You can use them as decorations straight away. Even the nails grow properly and the skin flakes off as it should.”

“From how many people?”

“Five right thumbs—Uncle Toms, I call them. If you take their prints you should find they fit exactly. Five brain surgeons—three male, two female. Just like you ordered, right?” Medium laughed amiably. Like a black marketeer boasting how scrupulously fair he was in his business dealings.

“Doctors’ fingers are pretty rare and valuable, as far as they go. So I’ve taken the liberty of keeping one for myself. See—the pinky from this left hand. From one of the two female doctors’ hands. Absolutely beautiful.”

“Just the fingers?” asked Boiled disinterestedly. Medium laughed and shook his head.

Just then the man who had been operating the crane entered the container.

“Hey, Medi, I’ve finished loading the crates. The other guys hit our container and damaged it again, so I’ve sent the idiots a demand for compensation while I was at it.”

He was suddenly at the side of the sofa. He was both bigger and taller than Boiled.

“Thanks for your hard work, Mincemeat. This is Mr. Boiled,” said Medium.

“Yeah, we just met. How was my driving, not bad, eh?”

“Mincemeat, Rare, you two show Mr. Boiled your shares of the loot too,” continued Medium.

“Ooh, even mine?” asked Rare.

“So, uh, you’re interested in our collections, are you?”

Boiled stared at them quietly and said, “Just for confirmation.”

“You mean from those doctors, don’t you? Wait a sec, I’ll fetch them for you right away.” Rare slipped by Mincemeat and hopped away.

Mincemeat stood still and unzipped his fatigues. “Kayleigh and Linda. Girls should be kept close to your heart, don’t you think? And on my right breast, Daniel. Last, these guys on my left arm are Rick and Steve. These two seemed to be good buddies, so I planted them together. See, they’re looking at each other.”

It was as he said. The two eyes embedded in his left arm started blinking, as if they were staring at each other.