Doll was just about right. That was her status in life. She might be treated better - well, she was considerably more expensive - than the likes of those you found in the sleazy Internet classifieds. "Seduction by Precocious Nymphette". "Milk-Colored Lollipop Girl". But human desires are what they are, wherever you were on the social scale. Needs are needs. And anyway, she was already in a colorful uniform of her own: gaudy striped tights that showed off her not-quite-yet-developed thighs and calves, her skinny little ass wrapped tight in white hot pants. She might as well have been advertised as "Sexual Innocence Available Here" in one of those creepy ads.

Over her outfit she wore a trench coat that came down to her ankles. The type so beloved of the Senorita class of girls. It was spread open, and both her hands were stuffed deep in her coat pockets. She was the very picture of a cute, alluring young thing who'd been transported into an adult wonderland.

It was just then, as she was thinking about herself, reacting to the bright lights of the city, that the words were born: "I'd be better off dead ..."

She spoke the words. The spell was cast. Her thick red lipstick, heavy on her mouth, felt just that little bit lighter.

"What is it, Balot? Did you say something?" asked the man sitting next to her in the back seat. He was a weaselly figure, with his smooth, swarthy skin and black hair slicked back in a ponytail. He was enrobed in a white coat and was facing the girl. His photochromatic Chameleon Sunglasses, with their shifting colors, settled on a sharp crimson tint.

"Nothing, Shell. I was just thinking about you at the Show earlier tonight."

When the young girl replied, the man curled his handsome lips into a smile and stretched out his hand toward her.

"It went well today. The deal at the Show. And it's going to go well from now on." As he spoke he caressed her cheeks, rejoicing in her soft lines.

There were a number of diamond rings on the gambler's hands. All platinum with Blue Diamonds. They were taken off during the Shows, and one of the girl's jobs was to look after them while he was gambling. One of the diamonds was conspicuous, brighter than the rest, and the man called this one Fat Mama, because, as he said, "I called in a favor from an acquaintance who works in processing to have my dead mother's ashes turned into a diamond." Motherly love was eternal, so he reckoned, and brought him good luck to this day.

The man had a great many other rings, and the girl didn't know whether the diamonds on them were made from the ashes of people other than his mother.

is this an LN,and what is the title?

"Open the fridge and make me my usual drink, will you?" In response to his request, the girl gave a little murmur of assent, opend the door to the car refrigerator, and made a gin cocktail. She squeezed the lime, dribbling its juices into the drink. The surface of the beverage was absolutely still thanks to the smooth ride that the AirCar provided, and all the while, right up until the moment that she proferred the drink to him, the man's hand continued stroking her chin.

"There's a good girl." The man took the drink, lifted up the girl's chin, kissed it, and put the drink to his lips.

The man, an upstart from the slums, was now one of hte city's leading Show Gamblers and also the proprietor of many of the city's legal casinos. The girl was an underage prostitute – a Teen Harlot-whom he'd bought, and (for the time being) she was exclusive to him, not required to service any other customers. On the contrary, the little runaway was treated as a valuable commodity – she'd even been given a new identity, namely a fake citizen's ID card.

“Everything that you've lost, I'm going to give back to you.” That was what he'd said to her when the brothel that she'd worked in was rumbled and she had nowhere to go. The girl had often heard stories of the authorities granting guarantees of safety - a new identity, name, and address – to informers who had given important information that resulted in the indictment of certain people from the city's crime gangs. But the girl was hardly looking for that.

>>51563860

yes. mardock scramble.

~~~~

“Does this mean that … you love me?” The girl asked this question, and the man narrowed his eyes and smiled. His eyes were shining as he gazed upon her, his irises said to have been turned Emperor Green, a color he selected when he put himself through the operation. And this was what the man said:

“You've asked the perfect question. That's exactly right. The definition of love is to give. And there are rules. Rules that the receiver of that love has to obey. As long as you abide by those rules, you'll continue being loved.”

The girl, in her simple way, thought that the man was kind. Sticking to the rules was nothing. She'd lived under all sorts of rule and misrule so far. Well, apart from when she ran away from the Welfare Institute, unable to endure any more sexual abuse. But in order to survive since then she had completely stuck to the rules of the adult wonderland she found herself in. She'd done anything, dressed in any way demanded of her. Nevertheless, one lingering doubt remained: Why me?

She'd asked this question a few times – asked it of the man, asked it when no one else was around. The question of all questions. Why is it me? Why do all the customers ask for me? Why does this man want to give me all these things? Why, out of all the other girls just like me, am I living this sort of life?

The girl really just wanted a simple answer. Like the sort a parent gave a child. Because I love you. She could be loved by the man, or God, or fate. As far as she was concerned, all that mattered was to be loved, and that would be enough to answer all questions such as Why me? That was the answer she wanted from the man. But -

“Never doubt. It's the road to ruin.”

This rule meant that the girl had to endure a different sort of ordeal from the ones she'd suffered in the past.

“The recipient of love shouldn't have any doubts. No need to trouble yourself with questions such as Why me? You're not permitted to have any doubts as to why you are who you are.”

In particular she was absolutely forbidden from touching on the details of the new citizen's ID card she'd been given. The result of all this was that she had no idea even of the name under which she'd been registered when he bought her. Not until six months passed – in other words, not until yesterday.

>>51563860

Mardock Scramble. A prostitute turned cyborg who is trying to find out the intention of her killer.

>>51563937
Would you translate the whole thing?

>>51564086

i bought the translated book, i'm just bored and typing it into notepad

~~~~~

Behind the high-class AirCar that carried the man and girl through the pleasure quarter of Mardock City was a red convertible. One glance at the convertible revealed that it came from the coastal quarter of the city – the fact that it had tires gave it away. It might have been cheaper to buy a lifetime supply of gasoline than to buy an AirCar (with its Gravity Device Engine that ran virtually from eternity without the need for charging), but at least the owners of the car were able to buy gasoline. That showed that they must've been at least something in the city.

“Almost at Central Park. We're going to need to switch cars, eh?”

An easygoing voice emerged from the driver's seat. A tall, lanky slip of a man. His hair was tie-dyed, and his charming, reddish-brown eyes were covered by a pair of Tech Glasses of the sort that was so popular with lab researchers.

“Let's stop and take stock of the situation before we head into Central Park. If it turns out to be nothing to worry about, we should withdraw.”

A rich, booming voice answered, but there was no one else in the car besides the driver.

“No way it's going to turn out to be nothing. I'm the one who led the profiling on him, right, Oeufcoque?” It turned out the man was speaking to the Nav, the in-car navigation system next to the steering wheel. “That man's been 'looking after' six different runaway girls. Of those, four commit suicide. Two, nobody knows their whereabouts. Look at the stats from the Center for Guardianship of minors. It just doesn't add up.” The man spoke with conviction, and the Nav's lights flashed in answer.

>>51564174

Whooo thnks! It seems very enjoyable!

>>51564284

the first movie should be released on dvd/bluray soon

~~~~

“On top of that there's the little fact that all the girls died or disappeared shortly after checking their own citizen's ID for the first time, right, Doc? Well, I calculate there's a less than two percent chance that this girl has managed to access a Citizen Records Bureau. The way I figure it, all's well and good as long as nothing happens to the girl.”

The location, speed , and orientation of the black AirCar in front was shown in precise detail on the Nav's screen.

“Stop being so damn wishy-washy. We've staked our lives on this work here. You don't want to be treated as trash, right, Oeufcoque? If we don't get the guys who are behind that man then where's your usefulness? Nowhere. You'll be useless – and the fate of useless things is to be disposed of.”

“Yeah, but that doesn't mean I actually have to hope that something bad's going to happen to the girl.”

“Sure. Mind you, the real question in this situation is whether the girl is going to accept you. A Scramble 09 like you.”

So I heard MS is coming to the States?

Presently a blip ran across the screen of the Nav and a dark voice echoed all around. “With humans … some live as objects, and it's not always the case that they even want free will.”

“Hey, I'm sure she'll understand just what a good thing you are. Her life's in danger. That's where we save her. She'll witness our usefulness firsthand, right?”

“Even if she does have her life saved, it's not at all unlikely that she'll reject us ...”

The screen grew ever more blurred.

“Stop being such a mope. Que sera sera, right? Oi! Hey, stop hiding away.” The man banged at the Nav with increasing urgency, and eventually the screen recovered.

“The target's left the road. He's faster than I thought.”

The screen showed that the black AirCar had left the freeway and was moving directly toward Central Park.

“It's here! He's changed the autopilot's course. He's broken the pattern set over the last forty-seven days.”

The man was gleefully getting ready to give the steering wheel a big yank when the voice of the Nav stopped him in his tracks. “Don't follow straight after him, Doc. We'll take a detour and intercept him at his likely destination. Keep your distance.”

No sooner said than a number of possible routes came upon the screen, and before long they settled on one of those.

“Why've we chosen this road, Oeufcoque?” asked the man as he turned the steering wheel again.

“'Cause if nothing happens we'll be able to head home on this road without having to pass them.”

The man sighed – he should have known it – and responded, “If nothing happens, eh? Oeufcoque, my naïve little soft-boiled friend, do you really think we live in such a gentle world? When you think about it, what is there really that divides our little patch of earth from the fires of hell down below?”

This book is a fucking doorstopper, are you seriously going to do the whole thing?

>>51564413

Would you post the on book ilustrations?

Didn't this get a movie adaptation?

>>51564424

i can try

also, i'm out of images

>>51564488

there are none in the official english version, as it's just one giant novel, as opposed to the half-dozen or so light novels in japan that probably come with illustrations

i'm fairly certain you can find the version with illustrations on the internet

>>51564514

yeah

“Ah, yes, and we're stopping right there beside the lake. “ The man slid both his hands over the girl's body as he spoke.

“Don't forget to set the timer for our rest. The password's the same as before.” The man's hands were creeping incessantly about the girl's body as she did as he ordered and set the course for the AirCar with the remote. The hands that never broke into a cold sweat even when a hundred thousand dollars was at stake, that had coolly won many a deal, the gamester's hands that had caused so much excitement in the Shows – these long, slender fingers had now slid into the girl's underwear, forced her legs apart, burrowed deeper and deeper (or so she thought), and at the same time the other hand played with the swell of her breasts, squeezing and gently pinching them.

Even as the man explored the girl's body she was somewhere else – unresisting while silently assisting him with his needs. Her coat had already been taken off, and the fingers moving about deep inside her hot pants were getting wet. Sensing a change in her breaking, he slid his other hand under her shirt and inside her bra. Still the girl silently continued to program the course into the AirCar, and the man took great pleasure in the way she let out the occasional involuntary moan.

“We'll do it as you're programming the remote.” The voice from the man, now behind her, commanded, and the girl closed her eyes, obeyed the rules.

As the girl closed her eyes and slipped out of consciousness, the sensation of the man's hand inside her gradually diminished – all sensations isolated – and it was as if everything in the world were happening on the other side of a thin film. This was the girl's talent, and indeed it was a skill that she constantly had the opportunity to polish. Right now she was able to observe even her own reactions and physical responses from a safe place within her heart.

Don't stay hidden in your shell, someone would say.

Come on out, they would say.

That was the sort of response she'd always had from the myriad of people in her life – social workers, the people from the institute, passing friends, colleagues, employers, owners, clients.

But this city had a different set of needs for the girl's special talent. It turned out there were quite a few clients who liked their girls to be dolls. Clients who got off on the idea of girls who closed off their hearts, girls who acted as though they were asleep or dead.

“Balot ...” the man called into the girl's ear. Just as many clients had called her before. Balot. The name of that delicacy in which a chick in its egg was boiled alive and eaten straight from the shell. At first it was nickname given to her by the mistress of the brothel, half in jest. But the name soon stuck and became her trademark. Just as word quickly spreads of a particularly special dish at a restaurant, the clients came searching her out, and she became popular. Noe one told her not to stay hidden away in her shell any longer. Instead, that became her job. To continue hiding herself away in a thin husk. A girl – boiled to death in her own shell by the heat of a man's ardor – a sweet, balmy delicacy was born.

“Good girl. You're an elegant little doll, like a figure in a painting. Now, open your eyes.” The man spoke in feverish tones. The girl obeyed, meekly. The vision that confronted her when she lifted her eyelids was like a world viewed from the bottom of a lake, shimmering away in the distance.

“Do you remember the rules, Balot? The rules you need to obey if you want to be loved?”

Caught off guard – just as when he had asked her the question in the past – the girl just nodded her head vaguely.

“Do you know what happens to the girls who forget the rules?'

The sound of the man's voice sent a sudden chill through the girl's heart. She was taken aback. She realized that the glitter of the city had disappeared and that they were now surrounded by the gloomy gray of the park.

Behind the girl the man slowly took his sunglasses off.

“Shell ...” The girl spoke as if she were swallowing her own breath. That instant the man's large body came down on top of hers. The glint at the back of his emerald eyes was different from any sort she'd ever seen before.

“You be obedient, Balot.” The girl stiffened slightly when she heard the sharp tone in his voice, but of course, in the end she did just as the man commanded. The girl meekly serviced the man's needs, and at the same time the AirCar eventually came to a halt by the large lake in the park, resting still in the air.

02

Central Park was known as the Spot of Spots. It bisected the city, and it was the only place on the circuit where different classes of cars – which were easily identifiable according to where they were coming from and where they were going to – might ever cross paths.

Take the middle-class Cheap Branchers, for example. They migrated into the city in droves, and might drive from their homes in the purpose-built skyscrapers of the coastal district down to the pleasure quarter, but they would never go near the high-class Senorita district in the east, let alone the industrial estates to the south. The slums sprawled out throughout the southern districts, kept in strict isolation from the immaculate streets.

In other words the red convertible wouldn't be able to park right by the lake just because the black AirCar had done so. That would immediately arouse suspicion. So the convertible picked a riverside spot a few hundred meters away from the path toward the Senorita district the AirCar would later be taking.

The night was thick and moonless. After the convertible killed its engine you could hear even the wind beating against the leaves on the trees.

“There! There! It's that man's car!” oblivious to the cold night wind of early spring hitting his half-jacket, the driver of the convertible nudged his Tech Glasses up with his finger and said, “Oeufcoque, time to turn.”

He grabbed the Nav with his other hand.

“Got it,” said the Nav. And then a strange thing happened. The Nav lost its shape. A squashy distortion, and in a twinkle it was a pair of binoculars.

“Too dark to see anything, Oeufcoque.”

>>51565054
How many chapters?

>>51565179

hard to say since it's not obvious with the way the book is set up

there are 3 "acts" or "books", and each movie is one "book" in case you were wondering

The First Compression
The Second Combustion
The Third Exhaust

The man was looking over his glasses into the binoculars, a frown expressing his dissatisfaction. As he did so the binoculars lost their shape in his hands. In less than a moment they had squidged, like quicksilver, into a pair of night vision goggles.

“How's that, Doc?” said the night vision goggles. The voice was identical to the Nav's.

“God damn, looks like that AirCar has a real expensive Gravity Device Engine,” said the man that the goggles were speaking to – the Doctor – as the solemn sight of the black car entered his field of vision. “I'd bet the shock absorbers on that thing are so good that a gunfight raging inside woudn't even register on the outside. Let's have a look for the passenger in question … no, Magic Mirrors. Can't see inside, just as I thought.”

“Save up all your requests for one go, will you, Doc?” Wait a sec, I'll change into a pair with heat detectors.” The goggles distorted again. This time only the lenses. As this took place a kaleidoscope of the reds and blues of human body heat unfolded before the Doctor's eyes.

“Nice one, Oeufcoque – however tricky the request, you deal with it in a flash, the All-Purpose Tool that you are.” The Doctor peered through the goggles, satisfied.

“They're violently entangled. Could be engaged in hand-to-hand combat, Doc.” The goggles spoke in a serious tone, but the Doctor just shrugged his shoulders.

“Hmm … you could say they're engaged in hand-to-hand combat, yeah. Right in the middle of it. Man and … woman. No one else in the car. Let's start filming.”

“Already recording. But these images aren't enough to determine whether we have the right man?”

“It's Shell-Septinos, make no mistake. A modern-day Bluebeard. The color of sin, the death of the six young girls – it's flowing through his veins. I can see it.”

“Yeah, but your testimony alone isn't going to count for much down at the Broilerhouse, Doc. With all the fake footage about these days, recorded evidence has stopped counting for much.”

“I know. But you've got records of his physical characteristics, right? If we can just identify something specific – any ailments, treatment scars – then a heat scan of his somatic cells will come in handy as evidence.”

“According to an ailment scan we have a 72 percent chance of determining that it's definitely him, y my calculations.”

“What about his brain? He's had operations there. If you can identify those.”

“The brain is difficult … 48 percent chance.”

“The Broilerhouse won't even take a second look unless we're talking over 90 percent. What about the girl?”

“Rune-Balot. This time the goggles answered immediately. “We can conclude it's her with a 96 percent certainty. She's the underage prostitute scouted by Shell-Septinos back when she was a kiddie porn star.”

“Damn it. This'd be useful evidence if she was the one we were trying to stop from killing him.”

“Wait … something's odd.” A quieter voice from the goggles. The Doctor's face tensed immediately.

found one more

~~~~~

“Odd? What's odd, Oeufcoque?”

“The odor. I'm getting smells from the car – not just pleasure, but something else mixed in there too.”

“Explain that in a way that I can relate to. You know your nose is special!”

“There's the marked smell of … fear. They're both afraid of something.”

“What? In the middle of doing it? Not just the girl, but the man too? Why?”

“No, it's nerves … stress. Both people are subtly different but … similar.”

“Hone in on Shell, the man, analyze him. We might be able to work out his motives for his crimes to date, Oeufcoque.”

“It's almost like a death wish.”

The Doctor was visibly stunned by these words.

“What? Shell's planning a suicide pact with the girl?”

“In a sense … that could indeed be the case.”

“What a perfectly crazy bastard. Right – mission aborted – we need some serious psychoanalysis here. Okay, now that we've come this far our next step is to pay someone off, get them to turn this footage in to the Broilerhouse. Any charge we can make stick – breaking the protection of minor laws, attempted coercion to commit suicide – whatever! Then we take over her case, offer the girl shelter -”

“Won't work. He'll rid himself of all ties to her while the investigation's under way, and you've got yourself an unresolved case, never to be closed. That's one of the things her fake ID will be there for – so that he can cleanse himself of any ties to her in an instant of he needs to.”

“Well, what do we do then? Carry on playing Peeping Tom?”

“Hang on … something strange is happening.” The voice from the goggles was pointed, abrupt. “The man's odor has changed. As if it's oozing out. No suicidal tendencies anymore. It's definite pleasure.”

Right at that moment another AirCar was silently drawing closer from the other side of the park.

-----------

“You've questioned the status that you were given.” The man murmured while holding the girl. He laughed a sharp, hollow laugh. He stared at the girl, a decision hidden deep in his eyes.

Held by him, the girl just lay there silently. She wondered, through the thin skin that separated her from the outside world, whether it really was such a bad thing to try and work out her own position in life. It must be a very bad thing, surely? Part of the girl became sadder and sadder as she thought about this, but another part- the heart from deep within – looked on, utterly indifferent.

“Good girls don't break the rules. Nice dolls exist to be obedient little decorations.” The man embraced the girl with both arms as he spoke. He wrapped himself around her tightly. This was different from a gentle embrace. It was like he was clinging, almost as if he were about to be dragged off somewhere but had found something to hold on to in order to stop himself from being pulled away.

“But it's okay, Balot. It's okay. It's tough for me, but it's tough for you too. It's tough. I understand. So tough I almost want to die. In fact, I am, practically, going to die. Part of my memory is going to die. But even if it dies away, the shape of it can still remain. Just like a Blue Diamond made from ashes.”

When is the movie coming out?

>>51565757

wish i knew, all i know is that preorders are already up

~~~~

The man thrashed around furiously now, ranting and raving. As if he were delirious with fever. As always at these times the girl remained docile. That was her job, after all, her talent.

Eventually the man stopped moving, slowly peeled himself off the girl, and came out of her. He started dressing himself, and she was about to get up too when the man said in an unexpectedly tender voice, “Stay just the way you are, Balot.”

So the girl lay sprawled in her disheveled state, and all she could do was gaze absentmindedly back at the man as he laughed his thin laugh.

“What a wonderful sight. A beautiful sight. And after this you're going to turn into something even more beautiful, “ the man murmured as he moved farther away from the girl, pressing his back against a car door.

“A Blue Diamond.”

A watery smile, then the man raised his right hand to show off the glittering rings.

“That's the answer to the question 'What becomes of children who break the rules,' Balot.” Speaking these words, the man suddenly opened the door and jumped out of the car.

“Shell … ?”

Just as she was hurriedly getting up the door slammed shut with a loud bang right in front of her.

Instinctively she tried to open the door – no go. However hard she tugged at the electric inner handle the door just wouldn't open. The man turned to look at her. Or so she thought, but then she realized that he was just using the magic Mirror windows to straighten his clothes and hair and adjust his sunglasses. He wasn't looking at her at all. The hands pulling at the door handles lost all their strength. She couldn't even speak. The world was distant, and she was overwhelmed by a terrible premonition.

When the headlights of the other AirCar came into view, the girl immediately understood that everything had come to pass just as the man had planned right from the start.

“Murder! I smell it! The girl's going to die!”

The goggles' outburst was shrill.

“Wait, there's another car! Give me a head count!”

The Doctor pointed the goggles at the other AirCar. Instantly the lenses transformed with a squash, and the body heat sensors turned back into standard night vision lenses.

“I don't believe it … It's Boiled,” the Doctor said in a troubled tone. “Look. The man in the driver's seat – it's Boiled. To think that he's now working for Shell! This isn't good, Oeufcoque. If they're planning on killing the girl then any rescue attempt by us could backfire. Boiled is the sort that will shoot her first.”

Soon the other AirCar pulled up beside the one containing the girl. The new AirCar had normal glass in the windows, and the Doctor could see the stocky man in the driver's seat. Short gray hair and a white face devoid of any emotion. Boiled opened the window and spoke to Shell. His gray eyes flickered, and -

“Shit! He's looking this way!” The Doctor hastily threw himself to the car floor for cover.

“Calm down, Doc. I can't smell any hostility coming from Boiled. Shell, on the other hand, is dripping with murderous intent. It's a very definite smell.”

“how's he going to do it? Shoot her? Hang her? Poison her? Is the girl already dead?”

“No idea how, but it doesn't feel like it's happened yet. Point me at them. I'll start recording.”

The Doctor got back up and pointed the goggles at the two AirCars by the lake. The man who'd gotten out of the first AirCar – Shell – was gesturing at the car containing the girl.

“He's waving his hand as if to say goodbye.”

“Not really enough to paint a convincing picture of a man planning on committing murder, is it?”

“Of course it's not enough! He could give any old excuse for his actions. What the hell is he playing at?”

“He's keeping her trapped in the car. Shit! His murderous intent is starting to change to relief. There's not a moment to lose. My nose is definitely right about this – consider this an emergency!”

“And do what?”

“Move! Save the girl!” the goggles yelled. The Doctor started the convertible as fast as he could.

Up ahead the second AirCar, now with Shell on board, was starting to move away.

The car with the girl in it wasn't moving.

The tires of the convertible spun violently, letting off a piercing shrike as the car took off.

At that moment the hood of the AirCar containing the girl exploded into a million tiny pieces.

Stunned at such an incredible turn of events, the Doctor rubbed his eyes. Then more terrible, thundering explosions. The darkness was ripped apart in an instant, the whole scene repainted with the bright red flames of an inferno. A roaring pillar of fire erupted along with the explosions, and the shrapnel from the car poured down in lumps of solid flame, bathing the lakeshore with its incandescence. The weird smell of roasting steel filled the air.

“To think he'd blow up the whole car! Shit, Boiled made me take my eye off the ball! Instant death?” the Doctor said, despairing. Pieces of shrapnel rained down chunk by chunk on the hood and windshield. The Doctor pressed down on the gas pedal, and in his hands the goggles changed shape with a squelch and said:

“And explosion of the front engine. The rear of the car was ripped halfway off by the first blast.”

As soon as the goggles spoke they changed – somewhat surprisingly – into the shape of a fire extinguisher, and said, “The car was built to disperse the effects of an explosion. There's a good chance that anyone in the back seat won't have been killed by the blast.”

“What, so if she's lucky she's just covered in third-degree burns instead? See? What really divides our little patch of earth from the fires of hell down below? What not taste the flames for yourself, Mr. Soft-Boiled Oeufcoque!”

“I'll quench the fires of this world before they get a chance to burn me.” The fire extinguisher’s voice was deadly ernest. “That's my usefulness.”

03

A number of thoughts ran through the girl's mind just before the explosion.

You've questioned the status that you were given.

She'd just wanted to make sure. She'd just wanted to show her gratitude for the wonderful gift that she'd been given. That was why – just the once, she'd decided – she'd secretly accessed the city's personnel directory and learned who she was. She didn't think that this was such a bad thing.

Why me? She'd just wanted to solve the mystery, learn the answer.

When the other car had arrived, she'd considered again whether it was such a bad thing.

And, of course, as it turned out it was. Without realizing it, she was trespassing onto the dangerous territory of a dangerous man. And this was the worst thing in the world.

The man suddenly turned to look at the girl staring vacantly out of the window. Not at the window: he was looking directly at the girl beyond it now, and clearly waving goodbye.

A Blue Diamond … something he can truly love. That's what becomes of girls who break the rules.

She could see the glittering rings on the hand that was waving at her. A shudder tingled down her spine amid her confusion. Synthetic diamonds made from human ashes. The rings that had been entrusted to her to look after during every Show. There were seven of them – the man's mother and those poor, anonymous girls. She'd heard the rumors that he'd bought a number of girls and let them die. Those rumors were true. And now me too – a wave of nausea welled up inside her. She felt as if something awful had seared itself deep in her chest.

Why? Why me?

The question emerged from her mouth amid the daze. Now the question was no longer about love – it had changed into something more sinister and disturbing. At the same time her nose sensed danger, something burning … a disgusting smell. Sulfurous fumes filled the car, and the alarm in the driver's seat was beeping, as if to warn of engine trouble.

The man continued smiling and waving for a moment, then quickly turned around and jumped into the other Aircar. Just that moment she remembered some of her fellow whores talking about how gangs liked to burn their victims to death. It made it easier to process the corpses …

She heard a voice: Come on out.

Don't shut yourself away in the shell of your heart. The words of the volunteer social worker from the Welfare Institute.

The shell. That was what was supposed to have protected her. But right now, she was its prisoner – trapped by a man, the man named Shell-Septinos, the man who had promised to give her back everything that she had lost.

She suddenly became aware that her hand was frantically fumbling at the door handle. For a moment, she didn't even realize what she was doing. But of course she was trying to save herself.

Deep inside her own hear, another girl, just awakened, looked calmly on at her floundering hands.

Indeed …

The girl murmured. So this was what it was like. To be shut away in a shell. The door wouldn’t open. Her hands kept on struggling with the door handle. She wondered again whether what she had done was really all that bad.

Balot, somebody called. Ironically. The chick was boiled to death in the shell before it was even born. The clients said it was the name of a rare delicacy. The clients who favored doll-like girls. Balot had become the piece de resistance – no one would tell her not to stay holed away inside her shell again …

Before long the other AirCar started pulling away. As it did, the man in the front passenger seat urned back to her again and waved lightly, carefree. See you soon, he almost seemed to say.

The nausea welled up inside her again. See you soon – once you're a dead body. Would her scorched remains – her body turned to ashes – really be decorating this gambler's finger as a synthetic jewel?

Her chest clenched in dread thinking about this. The body that had survived so far by meeting the needs of others: Was this to be its fate? Was she to be used as a thing right until the end?

“Die, you bastard. Die.”

She was shouting now, as if by reflex. She clung to the window, tried to watch the AirCar as it sped away, but soon lost sight of it and was left only with her own translucent reflection.

“You're a shit. You're nothing but shit. I hope you die, you shit!”

And now she was directing an angry tirade at the man somewhere beyond the window: foolish, trash. As if she were singing. Then she inhaled, choked on the acrid air. Tears welled up. Her head went hazy. Her hands were yanking at the door as if her life depended on it. A lingering memory of the man was still burning deep inside her body.

Foolish, trash, ash, cash.

The little ditty spun around in her head. That's all I am. Was there a version of myself who thought that? She wondered for an instant and looked out, but only a sad reflection stared back at her. Even now her hands continued to grapple with the door handle.

Josh, fish, gash, hash.

A wave of despair assaulted her, and the part of her that had up to that point remained hidden behind the thin layer of skin suddenly emerged.

“No! Help me, please!”

At that moment the pressure inside the car suddenly dropped, and a high-pitched buzz sounded. Something, somewhere, caught fire.

Flash.

The pain lasted only an instant. A terrible roar and an explosion assaulted her, and her vision was flooded with a blinding white light.

“I don't want to die.”

That was the last sound the girl was ever to voice.

In the next instant the driver's seat was blown backwards by the force of the blast, slamming her body against the rear seat before the raging flames flared up and everything became a single mass of fire.

Woh, the novel is VERY cool

i'll have to continue tomorrow/later today

hopefully get more hours in

managed to snag a few pictures off pixiv for the next thread too

in case people get upset that the previous pic was too low quality :(

>$10 on the Kindle Store

Guess I now know what I'm blowing my money on.

>Made by SHAFT
Good, Good.

My oh my.

>>51567179
What? It's animated by some outfit called Go Hands, who also did SYD. I don't know where you got SHAFT from.