Authors note: Don't own Ghost in the Shell or Motoko
This is me exploring the Paper Crane idea as well as why Motoko is the way she is now. Please review!
The rainfall painted a gloomy scene on the streets of Nagasaki. The apartment blocks created a grim landscape for the scene playing out in the darkness of the sidewalk. Two figures, one taller, stand about 2 metres apart.
One, male. Slightly hunched, as if he's been hurt by a rockfall - the look upon his face is one of regret, pain and fear. He wears a long coat and has nothing in his hands. His face is handsome, yet marred by pain, with cold lines and striking hair. The other, female. Long, flowing, blond hair. Eyes like stars, twinkling in the night as rain bounces off her flawless, white skin. Her siren call is plain, even under the full length coat she wears. Lips pursed, grim and unyielding. Her slanting eyebrows are judgement, her hand the executioner. A sidearm, pistol is clenched in one hand, the other stabilizing it as the gun's sight is trained on the man. A slight tear forms in the pit of her eye.
A lurch from the man, trying to get closer to her, stumbling on stricken feet; the woman's lips press tightly together, and the gun remains steady. The man stops, stands tall, and looks down.
" I already told you. I don't feel anything for you. " She says, softly. There is no response from the man.
" So leave me alone. Take your kindness somewhere else, because I don't need it. " She retorts to his silence, a touch of anger rising in that voice. " You're an embarrassment to me. " She bites her lip. The man looks up, eyes wide, shutting them once and blinking several times. His hair, matted to his forehead, drips with moisture from the rain, dropping beautiful globes of water on his frown lines. The water runs along the lines of regret, softening them and his sadness. Skin softer, moist, wet to feel free, open to the air and not closed to a hope lost.
" Remember that time, Motoko, when we first worked together? " He murmurs. " We laughed, and shared something. "
" It was ages ago. I was humouring you, nothing more. " Motoko says, blinking back a tear. " I didn't want to hu- mess up our work. Section 9 doesn't need... "
" What? " the man says, seeing clearly. Thoughts race, smiles, laughter, tears, joy. Shared, or so he thought. But there was nothing. " Come on, Motoko. All I did was fold you a paper crane. We can talk about this! " He says.
" No. " Motoko retorts. " No more. I want this over. Stop hanging on to something that doesn't exist. "
" Doesn't exist? " the man says. " How can you... "
" It's the truth. I don't want anyone else. And I certainly don't need you distracting me on the job. " Motoko says, heavily.
Another tear.
" Motoko, what are you saying! Listen to yourself. " He says, taking a step towards her. " NO! " Motoko says, her gun firing. Time stands still as the bullet casing delivers its deadly package, the click and the bang as the bullet speeds the distance between the two, faster than anything. Love's bite is the most painful.
The man drops to his knees, a circle of red widening as the pain of his love's bullet sucks his life from him... He looks up, eyes meeting. Her eyes, shining with tears as she glances away, the sight too much for her. Covering her mouth, she drops the gun, echoing in his tranquil journey to death. The weapon joins the single gold bullet casing on the pavement of these wet city streets, joining the water in a puddle that mixes with the lifeblood of the fallen one.
She crosses the distance, tears streaming. Holding him to her arms as she feels the life ebb away. Regret, grief and, strangely, love course through her veins, as for one final time their eyes meet and the life they shared, the love and affection, the pain, the joy and the suffering cross the link in a vortex of emotion.
The life we have lost, love scorned, yet returning for a final embrace. Laboured breath, broken hearts and...
Black.