Mardock Scramble

–Okay, Fleshie. Let’s work out if it’s our target or the PI. Give me their exact location and physical characteristics.

An image flashed up in Medium’s eyes—an orange silhouette of the figure beyond the door.

–Wow, a giant. At least two meters tall. Must be the PI, right?

–That’s right. And if you shoot, you’ll hit him for sure.

Medium aimed his gun carefully at his enemy beyond the door.

–Let’s see who’s the faster shot, tough guy.

He fired.

All fourteen shots in three seconds flat. He swapped magazines immediately, then kicked down the door that was now riddled with bullet holes.

Something came hurtling toward him, enveloping him.

–What the…

Cold water.

Medium scrambled to ready his gun, no idea what was going on.

Something slammed into his shoulders and body, forcing him over in a backward somersault.

He thought for a moment that he had been hit by some explosives that the enemy had planted.

But, as it transpired, he was wrong.

His eyesight returned to him and cut through the haze, and he saw it was something entirely different that floated to the surface. A large white mass.

Medium’s gun shot up, a reflex action.

It was a bundle of wet toilet paper.

Soaked through now, Medium took his sunglasses off and opened his eyes wide.

He was in a toilet stall.

This was the place that he had kicked the door down to and rushed in.

The toilet was in smithereens, obliterated by the electric charges fired at it, and it was vigorously spewing out water.

“What…what the hell is all this?” He spoke out loud again, unthinking.

He left the cubicle. On the wall to the right of him he saw four urinals. On the opposite wall, mirrors and sinks.

The giant expanse of space he’d been in had disappeared without a trace.

Medium turned back to look at the stall again.

It was the only stall in the bathroom, and his eyes went to something on the wall above the destroyed toilet.

Written on the tiles, in a bright poppy-red color:

I’M GONNA TO SNARC YOU UP!

–Fleshie, what the hell am I looking at…

–I’m coming…

–What?

–Let’s see who’s the faster shot, tough guy.

The bathroom door opened.

All Medium could do was stand and stare.

A girl stood before him, dressed in brilliant white.

Pure as snow, from tip to toe.

Her clothes had a bondage-gear feel to them, as if she were wrapped up in white restraints. Or it could have been an evening dress, or a wedding dress.

One thing he was sure about—the striking figure in front of him was unmistakably the Teen Harlot he had seen in the video.

Rune-Balot.

An unusual name…

He wondered whether it was the PI in charge of her case that was responsible for her extraordinary appearance.

“Drop your weapons.” A man’s voice, out of nowhere. Surprised, Medium raised his gun. Had the voice emerged from this defenseless girl standing right in front of him?

Balot’s left hand rose, and the snow-white silken glove turned with a squish into something else.

A gun.

Light glinted off its silver barrel.

Medium gulped. His finger pulled the trigger on his gun almost reflexively.

A tremendous spark flared between Balot and Medium, lighting up the room.

Medium’s eyes were now wide enough to split his eyelids apart. He realized with horror what was happening:

The girl in front of him had actually shot at, and hit, his bullet.

Howling like a dog, he fired again.

Sparks. Explosion.

Steel shrapnel splattered against the walls, spilled to the floor.

But this time that wasn’t all. Medium felt a searing pain in his shooting hand. All four fingers, his thumb, and the grip of the gun had all been pierced by shrapnel.

The very definition of perfect marksmanship.

“Uh…” Medium’s face went white.

His left hand disintegrated and fell to the floor along with his destroyed gun. The water continued to gush out of the ground behind him, covering the tiles.

Medium tried to jump out of the way, but Balot shot at the gun on the floor. At the grip, the magazine that he had crammed full of electronically charged bullets.

All the bullets exploded at once, and a blue-white flame enveloped Medium from the feet upward.

He had no voice left in him, and instead of screaming he danced a bizarre dance in the flashing light. His whole body stiffened and burst at the seams.

The air was pregnant with the stink of burnt flesh and hair.

The blue-white light traveled across the water-covered tiles and struck Balot’s body too, but was repelled by the white raiment that bound her body tight, fizzling away harmlessly.