This story is dedicated to crimsonvortex (and is set after the movie).
August 2116
There's blood on my face. It gets into my eyes — something that wouldn't have happened a few years ago when I wore glasses to hide the truth of my parentage — my mouth, even up my nose. I can smell it, taste it, see it everywhere, and I can't escape the fact that I was the one who pulled the trigger.
"Oh! Oh, no," Tsunemori says, seeing the remains of the dead man splattered all over me, her best Enforcer, her most trusted ally. Disappointment creases her otherwise youthful countenance; I lower the Dominator, looking away, ashamed that I am the one to have caused her to make that face. "It's such a pity when there is no other way. Don't you think, Ginoza-san? Next time… next time, we'll work even harder to save them. It is our job, after all, to protect the people, not just the law."
I clear my throat, swallowing the stray blood, knowing that if the situation arises again, I'll pull the trigger, every damn time — I'm just a dog after all — because Ko bequeathed all this to me and I'll do what I have to in order to protect my Shepherd's Psycho-Pass.
Inspector Tsunemori leads us, her reluctant charges, down the hallway to the offices of Division Three where Inspector Domoto is breaking in his new partner, and two new enforcers.
"I've already met Inspector Urahara," Inspector Shimotsuki whines as she brings up the rear of the group.
Tsunemori looks back at her, peering around my shoulder. "But I made a fruit basket," she says, smiling as if that is the last word to be said on the matter.
As Tsunemori stops before the door, she squares her shoulders, makes sure the fruit is adjusted just right and then looks at the rest of us. I lift the corners of my mouth and wink at her. Yayoi stands straight and poised as usual, Sugo's manner is open and warm, while Hinakawa clings to the other man's jacket tail, hiding awkwardly behind him. Only Shimotsuki looks peevish and annoyed, her mouth twists up into a childish pout, her foot tapping impatiently, in a gesture I recognize from my petty days.
"Good enough," Tsunemori says, laughing and opens the door.
"This is my partner, Mika Shimotsuki," Tsunemori begins.
"I've told you already, I've met Urahara-san —"
"And these are our enforcers, Nobuchika Ginoza…" She always introduces me first, despite the fact that Yayoi has been in Division One longer. "...Yayoi Kunizuka, Sho Hinakawa, and Teppei Sugo. I hope we can all work well together," she says, ignoring Shimotsuki's rudeness, and bows.
"I hope you'll take care of me," Urahara says, matching her bow, then taking the gift from Tsunemori's hands. "Yes, I am Kaede Urahara and you already know Enforcers Takayuki Haga and Koichi Hatano." She gestures to the two old faces. "But you may not have met Hinata Iba or…" she stops, glancing around the crowd. "... where is Matsumoto?"
"The ducks gone," Haga answers as if that should answer all her questions. I give Tsunemori a quick tap on the heel of her shoe, our pre-arranged signal that my detective's intuition is sensing something she should be aware of in this situation. She glances up at me and is about to move things along, when the door open.
"Where have you been?" Urahara snaps irritably as a slight figure pushes Hinakawa aside.
"I took the bathroom pass," hisses the oddly modulated voice as he enters the room, head hunched and hands shoved into his pockets. He catalogues each of us as he slowly glides up to the front of the room to drop a bright yellow rubber duck on to Urahara's desk, then pirouettes and saunters up the center aisle, giving us all a good look at him. He stops right in front of me, hitches his hip on the desk, arms folded over his chest.
The voice is easier to explain, looking at him close up. He is ugly, but not in a traditional way; it's more like his features have been rearranged through violence. A straight line bisects his face, just to the left of his nose, and travels from scalp to chin, missing his eye by millimeters; one side is pure human flesh, and the other is some sort of cheap prosthetic. Instead of hiding it all under his lengthy curly dark brown hair, he has slicked it back, ringlets falling to his shoulders and framing his face.
As I inspect him, the left side of his mouth forms a smirk and a tenth of a second later, the right side joins, making an uneven smile. "Nice to meet you, Inspector. I'm Lurcher Four: Katashi — written with the characters 'hard' and 'firm' — Matsumoto, and I hope you'll take good care of me."
The snort that comes out of my nose surprises me, as well as Tsunemori, but not Matsumoto. "I knew when our eyes met that I'd like you," he says, "And now I know I was right."
"I'm not an Inspector," I correct. "I'm Hound One: Nobuchika Ginzoa."
Matsumoto's antics continue once both Divisions decide to have dinner together upstairs in the cafeteria. Even though he is almost as short as Tsunemori, he manages to push his way in right before the doors close and slink in between Yayoi and me, leaning his shoulder into my arm. When I adjust to give him more room, he closes the gap between us again, until I am trapped between him and the wall.
Even though it is uncomfortable, I bare with it, and the trip ends quickly enough, but by then, I've already gotten his number. His roaming hand on my hip, his soulless mechanical eye, and the dull stare that comes from the organic one, tells me that there is no heat in his come-ons, that he has pegged me as a target in some sadistic hazing ritual. I'm not overly fond of games.
As I step out of the elevator, he takes a deep breath. "Your smell…it's wrong."
"And how should I smell?"
"Blood and sweat," he says, as the confusion on the right side of his face catches up to the left side and then both clear. "You smell —"
"Clean? It's called shampoo and soap. I shower regularly. Perhaps you should try it." I smirk, simply because I can't help it.
He responds in kind, "Will you show me how, Senpai?" he asks, clipping the word oddly, popping the 'pai' sound.
"Be careful what you ask for?" I say, wishing I had my glasses still, so I could push them up my nose, perhaps showing him that he isn't the only one hiding secrets, maybe then he'd back down. But I don't, so I can't. Instead, I walk away, leaving him silent as the doors start to close. He scampers after me.
Once I have my food tray and take my seat at the long table, Matsumoto gets his and sits across from me. Tsunemori sits on my left and tries to make conversation that will include everyone.
"So, what did you do before coming here?" she asks the two new enforcers.
"I was in the rehabilitation center, naturally," says the odd young man, before leaving the table to refill his cup with more coffee. His hips sway oddly, almost womanly, as he stalks away, as if he's putting on a fashion show strut for our enjoyment.
His turn at the end is almost as dramatic and he returns to the table as Iba answers the question. "I was a minor, but I played soccer at an elite level. I got so obsessed with winning that it clouded my hue..."
Matsumoto lets his cup clunk loudly as he puts it on the table, making sure all eyes are on him before he swings his leg over the back of the chair and settles in with a smirk. I'm already used to the delay between the halves of his face, but he is altogether unnerving.
"Anyway, as I was saying — "
"You were a dancer," I say, cutting off the rest of Iba's story.
"Only if that's a euphemism for someone who gyrates around a pole and takes their clothes off for perverts." He grins, showing all his teeth, challenging me.
"You were a stripper?" Yayoi asks.
"I didn't think that was legal," Tsunemori blurts out.
"It is, probably always will be," Matsumoto's smile fades. "I was an authorized performer. My profession was considered therapeutic in keeping certain people's hues clear. Wasn't I the lucky one?"
After Matsumoto's uncomfortable confession at dinner, the talk mostly ends, but he looks smug and self-satisfied at having killed the conversation. We all quickly finish our food and go our separate ways.
Every time I take a break and look up from my screen, Matsumoto is loitering in the lobby area the three divisions share, the bright yellow rubber duck next to him, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lip as he watches us. It's as if he's studying us for weakness and when he catches me looking at him, he gives me a half-smile and winks.
All day this goes on, and even though I have to use the bathroom, I wait until he disappears after the afternoon smoke breaks are completed to go across the hall.
When I come out of the stall, he's there, lounging against the sink, toying with a cigarette.
"Breaks are over, Matsumoto."
"Call me Katashi — written with the Kanji —"
"Hard and firm," I complete. "Yes, I remember." I step to the next sink and wash my hands.
"Can I call you Chika?"
"I'd rather you didn't," I say, not making a big deal out of it, but hoping he'll let it drop.
As I turn to leave, he blocks my path and lunges, knocking me back against the stall door. I make no move against him, even though my superior height gives me a great advantage. I want to see how this will play out.
He puts a knee between my legs and grinds against me, leaning in and resting his chin on my chest so that he looks directly up at me.
I sigh. "You've clearly have some sort of business with me, or a grudge. Why not just say your peace instead of keeping up this ridiculous farce?
His face relaxes and he pushes away from me, retreating to the other side of the bathroom. "You really don't recognize me."
"No, I don't."
"You were an Inspector then. You blew apart the woman who did this to my face." He gestures to the digitized prosthetic. "So, maybe I shouldn't be surprised you don't remember me. But after you did her, you turned your Dominator on me and all I could think was: why isn't he helping me? I was the victim, right? But no, I've got her blood and brains splattered all over my destroyed face, and instead of asking me if I was alright, if I needed medical assistance, you pointed that damn thing at me."
He shakes, the tremors going through his whole body until he has to stand up straight and pace the small space. I step back to give him more room.
"I'd never really considered myself a person — who could when the only thing Sybil said I was worthy of doing was taking off my clothing — but the others told me my hue check would be clear as long as I did my job and helped other people keep theirs low… but that didn't work for me. Every time I looked, my hue had clouded a little more no matter how good I danced," he spat the word. "No one gave a damn about my mental health… and then you turned the Dominator on me for judgement and I knew that I had been right the whole time. I wasn't a person; your blue light hit me and I thought I was dead. It was almost a relief, but then I woke up a few days later, my face a mess and my Crime Coefficient over three hundred." As he stops talking, he stops moving, and slumps against the wall across from me, arms crossed over his chest.
"I wish I could say I remembered the case," I told him, "but there were so many that happened just like that. It wasn't until Tsunemori became my partner that I even thought about another way, but it was far too late for me. I had to become a Latent Criminal to understand how inhumane I'd become."
"So you're one of us now and that makes everything alright?" he asks, standing tall.
"No, it doesn't, but maybe knowing that Karma didn't spare me will give you comfort." I shake my head. "Everyday, I check my Psycho-Pass and I'm relieved I don't have to be that person anymore — the one who decides to pull the trigger. It's much easier to be who I am — down deep — a Latent Criminal, a hunting dog, an Enforcer, then have all that pressure to be clear. It's… freeing in a way. You've only been an Enforcer for a few days, maybe you'll come to see it the same way, eventually."
He turns away from me, but the mirror shows his bifurcated face clearly. "I'm so glad you're free, but we're still stuck in here, labeled and —"
"Everyone is labeled. It's no different whether you are out there or in here. Sybil tells you who you are and what you're worth. From the moment we are born… to the moment we…" I make an explosion sound and illustrate it by throwing my hands wide.
"You've changed — what happened?"
"I've learned, thanks to some important people, what it means to be flexible."
"I'm plenty flexible," he says. "I could show you…" He returns to the flirty persona and now I've got that figured out too. When I get too close and he can't handle the honesty, he retreats behind the only thing he knows.
"Are you even interested in men?"
"I'm flexible in more ways than one. You're prettier than I remember, that ponytail… mmm, yeah, I could totally work my fingers through your hair… although you were handsome even then," he says, leering. "What do you say we get to know each other better, Senpai?"
I look at him and can't help bursting out in laughter. I shake my head, wipe tears away from my eyes, and walk out of the bathroom, still laughing.