I'm a machine. That's how I see myself; a piece of metal that is government property; when I look in the mirror, I don't see human – but a weapon. I thought it was time I talked to someone about my feelings, so I went to see a psychiatrist. But he wasn't much help, he just piling questions on top of me, as if I was at a police station being suspected of murder.
Psychiatrist: Hello, Mr Batou.
Batou: Hi.
He wasn't a young psychiatrist; He was actually quite ancient looking. He had a pale white complexion with a lot of creases and wrinkles. He hardly had any hair, and his clothes looked posh – to posh for my liking. There was something about him I didn't trust, so I was a bit cautious
Psychiatrist: Now then, let's begin with your emotional state. What do you feel like in your daily life?
I wasn't too sure about answering him; I mean he was a complete stranger to me.
Batou: like I'm a machine or similar to one anyway.
Psychiatrist: Okay, and why do you feel like this
Batou: Because I can't do the things that a non-prosthetic human can. I call flesh and blood humans that, instead of 'uncyberised person' because I don't like to think of myself that why – as a robot, someone who's 'cyberised'.
Psychiatrist: Why do you think yourself as a robot?
Batou: Well it's obvious why. I can't cry, I can't dream, I don't get drunk, that kind of shit.
Was this guy for real? At first I thought he had gone a bit in the head due to his age, but then I realised he was testing me, to see how well I knew myself. 'The old goat thinks I'm retarded' That's what I was thinking to myself, but then again – all elderly people nowadays see our younger generation as thick. But there was still something about him.
Psychiatrist: Alright. Now it says here that your current work place is Public Security Section 9. How do you cope with being there?
Batou: As best I can. But that doesn't stop me from being judged and talked about behind my back.
Psychiatrist: Okay, but how do you know that your colleagues are talking about you.
Batou: Because I can hear them, that's why! The walls have ears, you know!
By this time, I was really starting to lose my patience, I could really feel my blood boil I think I almost blew a fuse.
Psychiatrist: Mr Batou, please calm down, I'm here to help.
Batou: Sorry, this is the first time I've ever chatted to anyone about my problems.
I didn't realise that I had freaked out like that, it's not like me to fly of the handle like that, but that old geezer was REALLY starting to piss me of big time! And I was sure he was trying to upset me.
Psychiatrist: That's okay. Now, some of your workmates, are also cyborgs, how do they feel about themselves?
That was quite a tough question. I didn't know my teammates well enough to know their personality.
Batou: I dunno. They all seem to be happy; they're not reclusive like I am. It often amazes me that everyone else at Section 9 always seem to be happy and content with what they are, I sometimes envy them. I've never been able to be happy with myself whatever you classify that as, If anything I feel even more robotic then any of them, because of my glass eyes.
Psychiatrist: And why is that?
What the hell? What was this – judgement day? Things were getting more and more intense by the minute. The old man seemed to be suspiciously calm. I was sweating so much, it felt like the walls were closing in on me, l barley managed to keep my cool.
Batou: well, because they don't have tear ducts, so I can't cry. Not that I would choose to anyway. People often ask me how I can see out of them, or if I pupils behind the glass.
Psychiatrist: So why not must replace them?
Batou: Well the simple answer is because I don't want people to see me as a freak, or a bigger one then I am now, people are used to seeing me like this, and I'm used to being like this to.
Psychiatrist: Right then, let's move on. Now, you say that you don't really converse with any of your colleagues, due to you feeling reclusive. Was there a former teammate or friend who you miss?
This guy was really starting to scare me; it was as if he could read my mind. There was only one person who I could think of and her leaving me is why I feel so reclusive. Dare I mention her? I would probably start freaking out. Even the thought of her makes me yearn for her even more.
Batou: Well, there was Motoko, She's, or was the head of Section 9. She was also my whole world, she meant everything to me, and she never talked behind my back or saw me as a freak. But three years ago she left section 9. I recently met up with her while on a mission. And I haven't seen her since.
I didn't think things could get any worse. This so called psychiatrist was supposed to be helping me, but he was making me feel even more alone than ever. It wasn't long before I decided that enough was enough, I had to get out of that room.
Batou: Look doc, thanks for all your help, but I really have to g-
Just then - I felt a sudden spark shoot through my whole body, my breathing became wheezy, and my eyesight was fading, I couldn't move my arms or legs, I tried to get up but my body was completely paralyzed. The psychiatrist just sat there staring. A disturbing smirk of satisfaction crept upon his old and tired mouth. It wasn't long before I realised that he was hacking my e-brain.
Batou: You...y- you're doing this...b-but why...?
He didn't answer, he just started laughing.
Psychiatrist: so, you did your homework, I see. You're a strong cyborg Batou, I'll give you that, but I'm going to make you and your Section 9 team pay for what you've done to me.
I was really confused? What did he mean 'what you did to me' It didn't make any sense.
Batou: W...who are...you?
Psychiatrist: You don't know? You're just as stupid as the rest of your pathetic team of machines!
He stood up, smirked at me and without warning – reached for his face and started pulling. Blood was squirting out the side of his face as he ripped and torn at his face like a child with a Christmas present, until finally...a familiar and evil face pushed its way through the blood and titanium.
Batou: Ki-KIM!
It was Kim. His fake and emotionless blood-covered face stared down at me, with the hatred and regret that everyone saw him as.
Batou: W...why? Why are you...doing this?
Kim: Why? Because I want to show you the cold, merciless and selfishness you showed me.
Batou: Merciless? You were the one who was being merciless, by hacking my brain and making me shoot three bullets into my arm, you twisted prick!
Kim: Shut up!
I could feel my heart pounding right up to my throat. If I had been just a little bit quicker, Kim wouldn't have spotted me reaching for my shotgun – But he did. He snatched the gun from my rear pocket and looked at it admiringly. He grinned as he pointed my weapon at imaginary foes. Then he turned it toward me and readied the gun for fire.
Kim: IT'S TIME TO SAY GOODBYE!!
Batou: NO! PLEASE, STOP!!
Kim was about to pull the trigger – when he suddenly lost control of his arms. He fired the gun at a tacky looking painting that hung from the wall.
Kim: What is this!?
Kim started losing control of his entire body. He swung and thrust his arms, and his breathing became wheezier – as if he was having the worst panic attack of all. Suddenly I found myself being able to move again, and without even a second of thought – stole back my shotgun and fired several rounds into his arms, legs, head and chest.
Batou: EAT LEAD!!
I fired no-stop until I was sure he was dead. The room was a wreck. (I missed him quite a few times) I contacted Togusa and requested for him and the Chief to come to the scene. When they arrived, outside the building with the other cops, I shouted to them from the balcony. When they saw Kim lying there in his own blood, they stared at me suspiciously and asked me if I did that and the chief was not happy.
Batou: But the fucking maniac was trying to kill me.
Arimaki: No buts, the damage done to the room has to be paid for and it will – out of your pay for the month!
Oh well, at least I got rid of the crazy son of a bitch, I was glad about that. But something, didn't make sense, how did Kim suddenly lose control? Was someone hacking him – someone I know? Someone who will always be there to listen to my problems? Someone...Special?
Who knows, but one thing is for certain – I'll never forget this strange and very scary psycho visit.