Heterochromia by Gakuto Mikumo

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Those eyes were burned into her mind.

Artificial eyeballs created with the latest cybernetic technology.

The catalog was on fine paper, which was rare these days. The detailed color printing introduced countless ocular prostheses: common medical fare consisting of biological parts; high-fidelity models for precision work; products with expanded visible spectra for functioning in the dark; makes that emphasized the contours of the iris for a pleasant appearance. For men, for women, and too many colors and shapes to choose from—the massive number and variations overwhelmed Misaki.

Special artificial eyes with limited market availability took up the latter half of the thick catalog.

There were in-depth descriptions of even the so-called “unsleeping eye” specced for ranger units and the satellite-synched “hawk eye” for snipers.

Then—

A particular product caught Misaki’s eyes as she flipped through the catalog out of curiosity and inertia on her boring hospital bed.

It was a beautiful eyeball for women.

Apart from the deep, clear hue and elegance that not many owners would be able to match, its appearance was more or less normal. But inside, it was almost absurdly high-powered.

It boasted more than twice the usual count of ocular cells, and the lens resolution, focus speed, adverse-climate performance, and resilience were jacked up to the limit. Its runaway specs were useless outside of intense close combat. It was only because the catalog was for police-use eyes that the product was even included.

Naturally, it was built to order, and the standard price column listed ridiculous figures.

They weren’t sums that an upstanding civil servant could afford with a disability benefit or cyberization subsidy, and Misaki would never have any use for its incredible functionality.

Still, she couldn’t ignore the ocular prosthesis. She couldn’t look away from the catalog.

“It’s the same,” she mumbled, placing a hand over the patch on her right eye. “The same. As her.”

The cold artificial eye gazed back impassively.

Without a doubt it was the same eye that Misaki had seen on her that day.

♦ AD 2030 · i ♦

Time flowed slowly like it was being stretched thin. Her crushed ocular cavity released an obscene amount of pain-producing substances, and her nerve tissue burned white with electric stimuli signaling torment.

Misaki’s body lay collapsed on the marble floor. Her soft, biological lungs were torn, and crimson sprays mixed into her ragged breathing. The electromagnetic truncheon that had dropped into a pool of blood along with her severed right hand emitted sparks in vain. The air was beginning to fill with the unpleasant odor of scorched flesh.

Inside her reddened visual field, the gorgeous chandelier’s scintillating light cascaded, and the attacker’s figure dripped with the blood of victims.

—The assassination threat…Four SPs wounded…Perp wields full-body prosthesis…Reinforcements…Utmost priority…Protect the ambassador to Japan…Help…

Fragmented bits of info flew over the police’s encrypted comm line. The cybernetic transmissions included a terrible amount of noise. Perhaps her cyberbrain was malfunctioning due to her injury. The massive levels of adrenaline coursing through her weren’t quite offsetting the pain. Unbearable waves of it mercilessly assaulted Misaki.

Was it out of habit as an SP, or some karma, that she still unconsciously searched for the escort target?

A certain South American nation’s ambassador to Japan just stood there in despair. The SPs who were supposed to be by his side were gone. All of them had been neutralized. By a lone assailant.

Tacked-on bundles of muscle fiber, a hooked knife protruding from the left arm—the attacker’s fully prosthetic and illegally tuned-up form looked more monstrous than human. A struggle over lithium mining rights between the ambassador’s nation’s government and a rare-metal syndicate had begotten a monster.

The assailant’s expression didn’t change as he callously swung the knife down at the neck of the cowering ambassador.

Yet, as the frozen ambassador watched, the arm suddenly halted.

The assailant’s lips twisted in surprise.

His prosthetic left arm trembled, and its joint started to bend backwards. An invisible, transparent shadow was trying to wreck his arm.

The assailant raised his prosthesis’ output to resist, but that only increased the burden on his joint. His muscle fibers sundered one after another, crossing the threshold, and his left arm snapped.

The artificial skin tore, spewing lubricant. The assailant let out a tortured howl.

The air danced as though from a shimmer of heat, and color gradually returned to the transparent shadow. Type 2902 Thermoptic Camouflage—melting out of nowhere, it seemed, a beautiful woman clad in a camo suit appeared.

The assailant roared.

His prosthetic right arm split open sideways to reveal a mounted barrel—a savage beast’s maw of a custom firearm. He aimed its heinous muzzle at the back of the ambassador who was crawling across the floor to escape. With an awkward steel creak, the hammer sprung. The report shook the air.

But the foul shot never struck the ambassador. The woman in the camo suit had kicked the assailant’s right arm upwards before he’d even fired. Widely missing its mark, the bullet shaved the chandelier and scattered colorless shards of glass.

The woman in the camo suit pulled out a handgun from her hip holster. As the assailant tried to aim anew, she landed three hits on his right shoulder with stunning accuracy. And followed up with a couple more on his thigh. When the assailant refused to let up, she readily pinned him down.

Bluish white sparks enveloped a plug buried in the assailant’s neck. He was trying to fry his own cyberbrain to delete his memories. Perhaps expecting this too, the woman jammed a cybernetic lock into the assailant’s neck before the self-imploding offensive barrier could activate.

With a few spasms, the ill-shaped prosthesis ceased to function.

It had all happened in a flash. The woman in the camo suit had downed, all alone, a fully prosthetic assailant against whom four SPs had proven powerless. A smooth suppression that almost seemed scripted—Misaki watched the whole beautiful if bizarre scene in shock. One might say, in awe.

Having sensed her gaze or not, the woman gently looked back at Misaki’s bloodied, collapsed form. The handsomeness of an industrial product that shunned waste—this woman, too, was a human with a full-body prosthesis. Her cyborg form was an established item and not all that uncommon, but there was something special about the figure she cut. Something divine, divorced from this ugly world.

Misaki was blanking out from the blood loss. Her limbs were already numb.

What burned into her fading vision were the woman’s eyes—

Cold artificial eyes that reflected Misaki’s own blood-soaked figure.

◇ AD 2034 · i ◇

The sports coupe Batou drove was hurtling down a highway along the Niihama coastline.

Togusa rode shotgun. The two didn’t get paired up much lately. Motoko Kusanagi’s disappearance had changed not just Public Security Section Nine but their positions relative to each other. Sec 9 saw an influx of new members, Togusa was charged with a new role as field commander, and Batou often acted independently as Kusanagi once had.

Thus, Sec 9 Chief Aramaki personally ordering the two to take on this case was a bit of an anomaly. Though they didn’t explicitly discuss it, Batou and Togusa understood that there must be a good reason.

“The murder victim was a former policy director at the Ministry of the Environment,” muttered Togusa, spreading in his cyberbrain the documents he’d received.

“Right,” Aramaki replied via the cybernetic line. “While he served there, he was accused of corruption over the construction of a nuclear-waste processing plant and came under criticism from neighborhood and environmental protection groups. There’d been many death threats, too.”

“Wow. That must have been quite a party,” Batou jested, wincing as he glanced at the murder scene. The victim, the director, had been slaughtered at a hotel where he was staying along with two police bodyguards. The cops’ corpses looked much worse than the director’s. They’d been killed bit by bit. “But Pops…Didn’t the first trial hearing for the Environmental Ministry’s corruption case adjourn quite a while ago?”

“He’s right,” Togusa seconded Batou’s doubts. “It’s not like there’s a particularly convoluted backstory. Why are we sticking our necks into a garden-variety corruption case?”

“If this murder is all there is to it, you’d be right.”

Togusa furrowed his brow at Aramaki’s cryptic reply. “What do you mean? What else is there?”

“It’s your job to find out,” the chief brushed him off.

Togusa and Batou traded looks and silently shrugged their shoulders almost at the same time. The cybernetic call had ended. Batou stepped on the gas as if to take out his irritation on it, and the accelerating car headed to the highway exit.

♦ AD 2030 · ii ♦

Misaki was satisfied with her new right eye.

For a few days after the transplant, the vividness of her vision confused her more than a little, but once her cyberbrain got used to it, the flood of information was actually exhilarating. The bluish iris of her artificial eye didn’t match the color of her biological left eye, but that only made her proud. It was the same blue as that woman’s eyes.

Every time she looked into the mirror or saw her reflection, Misaki was able to relive the moment when her eyes had met with that woman’s. It was a blissful illusion, as though she was now a part of her. Misaki couldn’t get enough of her own eyes’ mismatched colors.

It finally gave her peace. She felt freed from the humiliation of helplessly being cut up by a lone assailant.

Misaki was an SP with the Niihama Prefectural Police Security Department. Tall for a woman and accomplished at kendo, she’d escorted a fair number of cabinet ministers and foreign VIPs.

She was quite happy with her job. The simplicity of protecting someone from a visible and concrete threat was a role that suited her. The daily training was harsh, and her workplace fraught with danger, but it helped her feel that much more alive. She was also genuinely glad to be evaluated purely on her merits rather than some nebulous measure like womanliness.

So her recent injury wounded her pride all the more gravely. The fact that she couldn’t protect her target cast a shadow over her heart. That was precisely why Misaki idolized her. The unwavering strength of that woman who defeated the assailant exerted a powerful attraction on Misaki’s ghost.

And an eye with the same color as hers was staring at Misaki, its gaze cold and clear.

Yes. Even now—

“You’re doing better than I thought,” a male colleague called out to Misaki on her first day at work after she was discharged from the hospital.

If he noticed her new eye, then he wasn’t saying anything. He did make a little snort like he disapproved. Perhaps he saw her mismatched eyes as a fashion statement along the lines of a piercing or a tattoo.

The personnel at the Prefectural Police Security Department, who saw a lot of rough action, and especially the SPs in the Security Section, showed barely any prejudice about going prosthetic. They never knew when they’d have no choice but to equip an artificial organ thanks to some injury. Maybe that was why Misaki’s colleagues seemed far more interested in her new left hand. Whether or not she still cut it after returning on duty was a matter of life and death for those who might form a team with her.

“How’s that prosthetic treating you?” a colleague asked.

“Fine,” Misaki answered. “But not as well as I expected.”

“Hey, expect it from any prosthetic our salaries and insurance can buy,” the colleague laughed, half at himself. “It might feel strange since you’ve only just equipped it, but you’ll get used to it.”

“Strange,” muttered Misaki, bending the fingers on her left hand one by one. “There’s that, but it’s also not that different from a real body part. I thought it’d have more power.”

“It does,” the colleague made a face and pointed out. “But your arm is the original one from the elbow up. It’s easy to jack up a prosthetic’s output, but your body won’t be able to keep up. You’ll break a bone or dislocate your shoulder, and probably tear some muscle on your joint first.”

“I know.” Misaki nodded. “How inconvenient.”

“If you really want power, go titanium right up to your shoulder blade, or even full-prosthetic. Like that woman in Public Security.”

“Public Security?” Misaki tilted her head. Who?

“The prosthetic user who saved you. Public Security Section Nine. You know, I heard they were using the ambassador as bait to get to the mastermind of the rare-metal syndicate. Those guys just love to butt in and take all the credit…”

Pisses me off, the colleague openly voiced his frustration, but Misaki wasn’t listening to him anymore.

Public Security Section Nine. That’s where she was—the real her. Misaki felt the shivers. She wanted, no, had to learn more about the woman.

◇ AD 2034 · ii ◇

Batou and Togusa were visiting the crime scene where the former Environmental Ministry director had been murdered. The case was fresh, and the site was still an awful mess. Blood stained the hotel’s hallway, and the prefectural police forensics team was busy at work collecting scattered brain-shell fragments. A burnt smell hung in the air.

Many local cops had a beef with Public Security. Yet, being at fault for failing to protect their escort target, the ex-director, they begrudgingly let Batou and Togusa through. If even a portion of the blame could be assigned to Section Nine, it would be a godsend.

“Huh, 5.45 by 18 mm ammo,” Togusa muttered, looking over the evidence list compiled by the prefectural forensics team.

The cartridges left behind at the scene were the same ones used by Sec 9’s standard-issue Seburo M series handguns. The small-caliber, high-velocity, armor-piercing bullets were said to be effective against prostheses as well. Their high cost and limited circulation, however, tended to keep them out of civilian hands. The culprit had killed the ex-director and his escort detail using such ordnance.

“You can’t just go and shop for them at a black market. What do you think, Batou?”

“Dunno,” Batou grunted moodily. Various key government agencies including Sec 9 opted for the Seburo M series, so pinning down the owner would be difficult. “There’s a possibility that the perp is ex-military or police—which annoys me even more.”

“What about it?”

“Given the choice of weapon and the method of neutralizing the two guards, we’re clearly not dealing with an amateur. The perp also outwitted security pretty deftly. I don’t imagine this was some personal vendetta.”

“So it’s the doing of a professional assassin.”

“Yeah.” With a bitter grimace, Batou looked down at the blood caking the floor. “But in that case, why torture the guards? That’s hardly professional, is it?”

“I see.”

Togusa understood why Batou was so irked.

The murdered ex-director hadn’t been too heavily guarded. A skilled culprit like this one should have been able to seize on a momentary lapse in security to assassinate just the target without inflicting unnecessary casualties. Yet, the police escort had been slaughtered as well, seemingly for pleasure.

It gave off a haphazard impression and defied logic.

“Wait, wasn’t there,” Togusa asked as though remembering, “another hit job that also used 5.45 by 18 mm ammo?”

“Hm? Was there?”

“Yup. This one. The assassination of a former American Empire intelligence officer—”

Searching his external memory, Togusa pulled out the case file. The incident had occurred four months earlier at a pub in Niihama City. Though not an escort detail, two Public Security External Affairs personnel who had been monitoring the target had been gunned down along with him.

“You mean where the former spy who kept criticizing the American Empire after defecting got taken out,” Batou replied with his back to Togusa, not interested. “The culprit hasn’t been identified, so you’re trying to say it’s connected to this killing?”

“I’m not saying it is for sure,” Togusa shot back defensively. “But isn’t it worth checking out? What the chief said also bugs me.”

“Hmph,” Batou snorted. “Hey, Togusa, speaking of Pops, I found what he was trying to show us.”

Taking the cable his partner proffered, Togusa inserted it into the QRS plug in his own neck. It was surveillance footage from a rental parking space a little ways from the hotel.

“Is it from the camera at the exit gate?”

“There.”

The data sent over the wire showed a staid navy-blue sedan. The exit time was about ten minutes after the ex-director’s estimated time of death—

A young woman sat behind the wheel. Togusa gasped when he noticed her appearance.

“The Major?!”

The fully prosthetic woman with mirrored sunglasses had the same profile as someone he knew who’d been central to Sec 9—Motoko Kusanagi.

♦ AD 2030 · iii ♦

The prosthetics inspector at the forensics center was an old acquaintance of Misaki’s. He had a special proclivity—you might call him a prosthesis freak—that had gotten him into trouble, mostly with female cops, and Misaki had mediated for him.

His lab might have been the atelier of a sensitive and gifted artist. Full-body prostheses that had passed inspection lined the walls like plaster-sculpture sketching aids. The sample artificial organs floating in gel tanks resembled colorful paintings, while disassembled prosthetic parts, polished as if they were gold work, primly sat on display in glass cases.

The room had once disgusted her, but Misaki now looked around with interest. She was a little surprised that she found the objets on exhibit charming.

“Ah, it’s you. Are you all fine now?”

Noticing Misaki approaching, the technical officer lifted his face.

He was in his mid-thirties and had chiseled features.

Though he called himself a prosthetics collector, his own body was mostly natural. His reasoning was that an inspector shouldn’t become attached and partial to specific models.

“The prosthesis of the culprit who attacked your team isn’t here. Apparently, Public Security came and took it away.”

“I’m here because I have a question for you,” Misaki announced, ignoring his words.

Not particularly offended, the inspector stared at her face, his gaze homing in on her new right eye. “That’s a good piece. Megatech’s ‘Omnilux F0.9/Female’…Made to order, yes?”

The inspector’s praising tone pleased Misaki. That was all it took for him to earn her trust. “A Public Security Section Nine full-body had the same eye,” she said.

“Motoko Kusanagi.” Of course, the inspector muttered. “I see…Her eyes.”

“Do you know about her?”

The inspector nodded yes at Misaki’s question. “In my field, she’s a celebrity. An ex-military prosthesis user who’s also a super-wizard-class hacker.”

“Hacker…” A faint look of surprise spread over Misaki’s face. The woman wasn’t only adept at wielding prostheses but also excelled at cyber warfare. Misaki felt hot inside for some reason. “I want to learn more about her prostheses. Not just her eyes—I want info about all her parts.”

“Are you planning on going full-body too?”

“You know about my job. There’s a limit to how much I can do unenhanced.” Misaki raised her left hand to her eyes. “To say the least, I can’t protect anyone with this arm.”

“I understand how you feel. Once you witness the real deal, the cheap stuff just won’t do.” The inspector wore a gentle smile. “But Motoko Kusanagi, of all people? You’re aiming pretty high.”

“Is it that expensive? Her prosthesis?”

“The body itself is common fare off the market. It would set you back a little, but it’s not unaffordable.” The inspector turned a display showing an electronic catalog toward Misaki. “The issue is what’s inside. She’s loaded with regulation-breaking options and costs more than your average think tank. The upkeep alone would require institutional backing.”

“But isn’t she a cop, too?” inquired Misaki, perplexed. Public Security personnel were still civil servants. The expense allowance for maintaining prostheses couldn’t have exceeded Misaki’s by that much.

“Not exactly. She had no choice but to become a police officer. Motoko Kusanagi’s cyborg body is a government asset. She’s an accessory property of Public Security Section Nine,” the inspector answered all business-like. “Check this out: internal organs, skeletal structure, artificial muscles, all of it is ultra-high-performance military gear. She’s a walking mass of top secrets. By continuing to prove her usefulness to the state, she was granted the right to don them.”

“So there’s no way to acquire the same body as her?”

“There might be. Why do you want to know?”

The inspector glared at Misaki, and she stared back at him wordlessly. During the brief silence, he kept staring at her right eye.

With a sigh, the technical officer relented and sent a short encrypted message to her. It was the address of a local server.

“You’ll find a duo called the Spinner there.”

“Is the Spinner…a prosthetics coordinator?”

“Nope. But they might know how to get your hands on what you seek.”

“Thank you,” Misaki said.

“You’re welcome.”

The inspector watched her with a pitying look as she left his lab.

◇ AD 2034 · iii ◇

“Bi Eye?” They were in Sec 9’s operations meeting room. It was Batou who echoed the words, his mouth full of cyborg food that took the shape of a sandwich. “Never heard the name before.”

“An ex-Army mafia has been hiring her as a hit woman. She’s thought to have been involved in four jobs over the last couple of years.”

Bottles of energy drinks sat in front of Togusa as he laid out the documents. Net-diving without any sleep or rest, he’d finally turned up a suspect for the assassination of the former American Empire intelligence officer.

“The mafia bit could be some organization’s front, but you’re saying she’s the Major?”

Togusa immediately shook his head. “I don’t believe that, either. But Bi Eye opened shop right around the time the Major went missing and is unusually slick.”

“So that’s why Pops got fixated on an ex-director’s death that isn’t any of our business,” Batou remarked, impressed.

“Probably,” nodded Togusa. “The m.o. of this assault on the former director resembles Bi Eye’s. The equipment—Kyoray’s Type 3003 Thermoptic Camouflage and Seburo’s 5.45 by 18 mm. The timing of the attack—the same, too. She deliberately chose a moment when the target was under guard.”

“Plus, the culprit used a female-model prosthesis? No wonder the Major is under suspicion.” Batou curled his lips sarcastically and laughed. “Tell me, though, what an ex-Army mafia gets out of killing Environmental Ministry bureaucrats and American Empire spooks?”

“That…” faltered Togusa.

“They have nothing to gain from framing the Major. Maybe back when she was Sec 9, but now?”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

Yanking the cable out of his neck plug, Togusa looked up at the meeting room’s ceiling. Not a few organizations found Sec 9’s existence to be a nuisance and plotted against it. But Motoko Kusanagi had parted ways with their outfit. It was hard to believe that dressing her up as the culprit benefited anyone.

In the first place, the evidence needed to be more striking if the idea was to make her take the fall.

The scene of the former director’s assassination had left a similar impression. A lot about this perp’s behavior didn’t make sense.

“The purpose of the hit…” Togusa mumbled as though to himself. “Maybe there wasn’t any to begin with.”

“Huh?”

“Well…Maybe the assault itself was the objective?”

“What do you mean?” Batou cast a dubious look at Togusa.

“Ever heard of this one?” Togusa continued with a straight face. “A wife who lost her husband in an accident fell in love at first sight with his coworker who came to the funeral. That night, she killed her own son.”

“Why? Because he’d be in the way of her new romance?”

“No. She thought she might be able to meet her husband’s coworker again if there was another funeral.”

“Hah,” Batou spat like he was genuinely disappointed. “Lame.”

“True,” admitted Togusa. “But what if Bi Eye’s goal is to see the Major again? Wouldn’t it be like my story?”

“See her again?” Batou frowned. “So the killer is someone who’s come into contact with the Major in the past?”

“The contact probably took place at the scene of another assassination. Maybe she thought that if she perpetrated a string of them, the Major would come back and stop her?”

It was just a hunch, but once Togusa put it into words, he was convinced.

The missing Motoko Kusanagi’s whereabouts was unknown to Sec 9 as well. If there was any way to meet her again apart from waiting for her to report in, then creating an incident that drew her interest was it.

“Shit…” Batou called the Dive Room on his cyber comm. “Ishikawa, lend us a hand!”

Unraveling assassination cases that involved Motoko Kusanagi and tracing the status quo of all attendants—taking into account the possibility that the data had been tampered with, it was no simple task and certainly more than Batou and Togusa could handle. But if they didn’t identify the culprit, it could be a matter of time before another victim got rubbed out.

As Batou clamored for assistance, barely able to suppress his impatience, Ishikawa issued a brief reply.

“I’m already on it. Just wait a little.”

♦ AD 2030 · iv ♦

Through a public proxy that made a selling point of its anonymity, Misaki visited the local server she’d been told about. What came into view as she dove was a functional lab reminiscent of a hospital operation room.

Hanging from the ceiling was a skeletal doll with two faces positioned next to each other. The arm supporting it rotated so that both sets of eyes could stare at Misaki.

She asked the doll, “Are you the Spinner?”

A spinner of yarns—it had to be a pseudonym, but the doll before her seemed, oddly enough, to live up to it.

“I’d heard there was a pair of you.”

“That information is accurate,” the doll answered opening its two mouths in turn. “We twins share our prosthesis and, when we dive, use the same agent.”

“I see…” Misaki gave a vague nod. Identical twins dualing in one prosthetic body—she really had no idea what that might feel like. “I’m here to learn from you.”

“You want to know about Motoko Kusanagi’s body, don’t you?” the twins preempted her.

“What do you know about her?”

“Everything,” the twins said smoothly. “There was a time when we were in charge of tuning and maintaining her prosthesis. Her current body may differ, but it is not hard to guess the specs she selected.”

“Does that mean you can provide the same prosthesis?” Misaki’s voice was trembling with anticipation.

“It is possible,” the twins replied right away. “It is also meaningless.”

“Why?” Misaki’s tone was now vexed.

“Kusanagi is one of the world’s handful of top prosthesis users. No one other than her can draw out the full potential of her body,” the twins declared without hesitation. “Otherwise, the military and Public Security would gladly mass-produce ‘Motoko Kusanagi.’ ”

“So if I can master that prosthesis, I’ll be like her.” Misaki smiled, satisfied. “Me alone, in the whole world.”

“Delivering the body comes with a price tag,” the twins stated coolly.

“I haven’t touched the life insurance money that my parents left me. I don’t mind selling my house, either.”

“You understand nothing,” they went on patiently. “You could trade in your whole life, and Motoko Kusanagi’s body would still be out of your reach. It’s a different story, though, if you’re willing to make a deal with the devil.”

“In other words, there is an option for obtaining the prosthetics.” Misaki’s right eye was trained on the Spinner.

After a long silence, they said, “The compensation we seek is probably greater than you imagine. From the moment of the transaction, you will be considered an accomplice to serious organized crime. All that you have gained in your life so far—your career as a police officer, comrades, your dignity and freedom, you will betray.”

“I’m aware of that.” Misaki’s expression was as calm as a placid lake. “I’m aware of my heart’s desire.”

“It is by no means a wise decision, but your obsession is fascinating,” the twins remarked like some doctor faced with an unusual patient. “We cannot rule out the possibility that your single-mindedness will work in favor of adapting to the body.”

“Give me the details of the transaction,” Misaki said.

“An old acquaintance of ours is looking for an able prosthesis wielder. The goal is the immediate elimination of a member of hostile forces, to wit, an assassination.”

“An assassination…”

“If you fulfill the role that the organization demands, the body will be yours. If not, it will be retrieved and passed on to another individual.”

The twins’ explanation was clear-cut and fair. Misaki sensed that it was an honest transaction with no hidden clauses.

“You can still back out, but we would have to delete a portion of your memories. So, what will you do? Forget it?”

“Forget it? Why would I?” Misaki looked at the Spinner incredulously. A smile danced on her lips despite herself. “You’re providing me with not just the body but an opportunity to put it to full use, aren’t you?”

◇ AD 2034 · iv ◇

From the roof of a high-rise office building, she gazed down at the inorganic, crystal cluster of a nighttime cityscape—Niihama’s, submerged in darkness. The thermoptic-camo assault suit that she wore under her overcoat emphasized the contours of her prosthetic body, while her hair quietly fluttered in the moist, salty night breeze.

The building beneath her housed the Japanese branch of a foreign corporation. Her task tonight was to assassinate the branch manager, who remained in his office.

The fact that he was suspected of clandestine weapon sales and manipulating illicit accounts, even the rumors that he was on a rival organization’s hit list, mattered not one bit to her.

A kill target with a guard detail—that was all she needed.

She casually cast off her coat and activated the thermoptic camo. Surveying the world below from the roof’s edge, she leapt into empty space. Glass windows reflected her freefalling form like a dark sea. Melting into the gloom, and tugged by gravity, she descended.

When her destination, the thirty-sixth floor, grew near, she shot out a liquid wire. Simultaneously, she drew a Seburo handgun from her harness holster.

Bullets fired in quick succession put a crack in the fortified glass. Scattering countless shards, she broke into the building.

She had studied its layout beforehand. According to her intel, wary of being assaulted on his way home, the assassination target slept at his office. But when she charged into the branch manager’s room, he was nowhere to be seen.

She deactivated her thermoptic camo, which could interfere with target acquisition. Aiming her gun cautiously, she scanned her surroundings.

As she did so, she sensed someone laughing close by. She lifted her face abruptly when she noticed. Her eyes, their colors mismatched, reflected the light and gleamed.

“Ah ha…Bi Eye, with one blue.”

She detected a gun being readied as the voice resonated, tinged with mirth.

A split second later, a male cyborg with false eyes appeared in front of her. He’d been concealing himself with thermoptic camouflage as well.

“Damn, you really look like the Major,” the man with false eyes threw out flippantly, turning his gun’s muzzle on her.

She, too, pointed her Seburo at him but couldn’t pull the trigger. Another hostile had emerged behind her and was aiming at the back of her head.

“Public Security Section Nine. Don’t move, Bi Eye—no, Yuki Misaki!” This second man wore a regular suit.

As expressionless as a doll, she, Misaki, took in his words.

Yuki Misaki.

Arriving at that name had been a real chore. The reason was that Misaki was an active-duty cop with no motive whatsoever to conduct assassinations. Moreover, she hadn’t received any monetary payments for them.

Public Security Section Nine was alerted to her almost by coincidence through her prosthetics purchase record.

Megatech Body Corp’s “Omnilux”—made to order with the exact specs that Motoko Kusanagi used during her time at Sec 9.

Once they realized that the fees for the hits were the prostheses themselves, it went quickly. Identifying the sponsor from the source of the exchange parts, they predicted Misaki’s next target. Thanks to a threat made in advance, it wasn’t hard to pin down the X-day. Which actually made sense. Her goal wasn’t the assassination itself but seeing Motoko Kusanagi again at the crime scene. From the outset, Misaki had no intention of hiding her crimes.

“Drop your gun, and raise your hands above your head!” Togusa let out a sharp yell, his gun still pressed against the back of her head.

Misaki did just as he said. She calmly let drop to the floor the Seburo she’d been pointing at Batou before raising both of her arms languorously.

Her lips formed a faint smile, and a murmur escaped them. “Public Security Section Nine…”

Then immediately—she swayed back her upper body like a rhythmic gymnast. Fluid motions were a female-model specialty. For a moment, Togusa lost sight of her. A slender foot leapt up in an arc and kicked Batou’s gun out of his hand with precision.

“Shoot, Togusa!”

By the time Batou’s voice reached his ears, Togusa had already pulled the trigger. Yet the fired bullet didn’t strike Misaki. While going prosthetic had improved his marksmanship, it fell short of her agility.

“Oof!”

This time, Batou’s chest had caught Misaki’s tricky roundhouse kick. His hulking figure stood close to six-foot-two but was propelled backwards with amazing force.

“Big man!”

“Crap! No one moves like that after just four years of being a cyborg!”

Batou shoved away the remains of a demolished desk and tried to stand up. Misaki’s ankle came at him, and his right arm creaked when he blocked it just in time.

Righting his posture in an instant, he punched Misaki in the face the moment she landed. Taking the blow, however, she leveraged his own momentum to slam him against the wall.

“You’re using the same combat prosthesis-control programming as the Major! Where did you get ahold of it?!” Alarmed by Misaki’s familiar movements, Togusa prepared to fire again.

“You idiot! She’s out of your league!” Run, Batou shouted at Togusa.

But it was Misaki who reacted first. Jumping high enough to brush the ceiling, she came down on Togusa’s right hand as though to step on it.

Picking up the gun that had fallen to the floor, Misaki pointed it at his pain-racked face.

Batou, who’d finally gotten up, halted. Misaki held a hostage against him, so to speak.

Her expressionless eyes, one of them blue, looked into Togusa’s.

In a repressed growl Togusa asked, “Why? Why are you so obsessed with the Major—with Motoko Kusanagi?” He wasn’t expecting a reply.

Yet, unexpectedly, Misaki answered his question. “Because I’m already part of the concept that is Motoko Kusanagi.” Her voice, cool and nihilistic, sounded a lot like the Major’s. “The day she saved my life, my value as a human being was overwritten and subsumed by the one comprising the tough, beautiful entity called Motoko Kusanagi.”

“We looked into what happened four years ago,” Togusa said. “The Major saved you, yes?”

“She saved my life, and at the same time trampled on it. Simply by being, a superlative concept cannot but affect other beings. My persona was smashed beyond repair by her.”

Misaki shook her head gently as though to pity herself.

Motoko Kusanagi’s competence had engraved in Misaki’s mind her own powerlessness and imperfection as well. Awe and envy, idolatry and jealousy—opposing, chaotic emotions had corroded and twisted Misaki’s soul.

“That’s why you copied her appearance?”

“Yes. An imitation,” Misaki admitted. “And also a succession of the ideational factor called Motoko Kusanagi.”

“You aren’t the Major.”

“How can you say so for sure? What makes you say so, your memories of her?” Misaki’s tone seemed both to deride and commiserate with Togusa. “Memories are just the trace of a concept that Motoko Kusanagi left behind in you. It’s just another replica of her.”

“As long as the real Major still exists, you’ll never be her,” Togusa asserted, shaking free of his inner turmoil.

“Then what is the real Motoko Kusanagi? How do you determine the real one?” asked Misaki, sounding a little irritated. “Given that a concept ceaselessly continues to be affected by external inputs, the original her isn’t unchanging, either. What’s the difference between Motoko Kusanagi and me when I have the same body, the same strength, and the will to be her?”

“What happens to—your ghost as Yuki Misaki?” Togusa asked back in a low voice.

With a chilling smile, Misaki began to squeeze the trigger. “I’ve no need for it now.”

I don’t recognize its value, she added, and the moment she did, she thought she heard someone whisper. It was the whisper of someone who couldn’t be there.

—Oh, really?

It created a momentary blank in Misaki’s movements. What filled it was a gunshot.

Togusa’s left hand held a firearm. It wasn’t the Seburo that Misaki had taken from him. An attachment to his past that he couldn’t ditch—it was the Mateba automatic revolver that he’d kept in his back holster. Unleashed at point-blank range, the .357 Magnum ammo penetrated the outer shell of Misaki’s prosthesis and dispensed lethal damage to her artificial organs.

“Togusa! Are you okay?!”

Still clutching his crippled right arm, Batou came rushing to Togusa’s side.

“Y-Yeah,” Togusa nodded, staring at the gun in his hand. For the life of him, he couldn’t remember when he’d pulled the Mateba. He felt as though someone had guided him. “I’m the one who shot her…right?”

“Huh?” Seeing his partner in a daze, Batou sighed, Oh boy.

Punched through right at a vital spot, Misaki’s prosthesis lay supine, having ceased to function. Sparks spewed from its neck, and a scorched smell wafted into the air. She must have been set up so that her cyberbrain would get fried as soon as her body stopped working.

“There was a think bomb buried in her prosthesis. Destroying evidence, eh?”

With a sour face Batou clicked his tongue. Misaki would be keeping mum for all eternity about the identity of the organization that had prepared the body.

Misaki had been used by them and been tossed away like a broken doll.

Yet her expression was terribly peaceful.

“Are you smiling?” muttered Togusa, crouching by her.

Just before her prosthesis ceased to function, he’d seen Misaki’s lips tremble.

I’ve met you, at last—she’d said so without a doubt.

Gingerly, Togusa shuttered Misaki’s unmoving eyelids.

Her biological left eye, where Motoko Kusanagi’s figure was imprinted, quietly spilled glassy tears.