Ghost in the Shell: Stand Alone Complex
Memory Failure- ABERRATION, n-th Iteration

by Ironraven
edited by quiren

Section 9 and it's operatives aren't mine.

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The voices were telling Tachikoma to stop, to give up. They were telling him he was malfunctioning, that Mister Batou and the Major would help him. Make him better.

Two shapes flickered in his vision, one smaller than other, faster. The Major and Mister Batou. Why would they be camouflaged like that if they wanted to help him? He fired, short, contained bursts directed through the windows of the empty cars in the lot. The 6mm slugs chewed through glass, plastic and metal.

The shimmers fired at him, his sensors identifying the weapons instantly. It was Section 9. He continued firing, not trying to hit them, just scare them. He was afraid. He didn't want to hurt them, they weren't the enemy, the enemy was the green mulitpeds and the humans in the uniforms. He didn't want them to hurt him. The voices had told him about them. He didn't want to die. He had to live, he had to avenge the others. The insurrectionists had to die. That couldn't happen if he was terminated. Projections showed the same result if he gave himself up. But if he injured members of Section 9, the voices would attack him.

The shimmers became solid, the smaller one closer to him. The Major. The woman with the purple hair from the lab from so long ago. The others were telling him to that the Major could be trusted, she wanted to help. Mr Batou was further back, his weapon aimed at him. The others had told him that he cared for the Tachikoma more than any human, even the Major. He didn't want to be destroyed. These two humans almost were Section 9. Memories of watching them, some of them seemingly from within from one or the other or both. These were his allies, his friends. These humans were part of why he hurt.

He couldn't let them get close enough to touch him. He knew what could happen if they were able to board him. He tried to target each of them, but the voices screamed with such force he couldn't draw a bead. It was as if his sensors were vibrating from the electronic noise. He couldn't fire at them, not directly. He switched the targeting routine to the grenade launcher. There was a tanker truck among the vehicles in the lot. He read the placard. The pressure gauge on the side indicated that the tank was full. Tachikoma fired, striking the diamond that warned of explosive gases within. The grenade's blast was comparatively small compared to the tanker's contents off as the heat and force of the shaped charge tore through the contents.

A piece of thick metal scythed through the Major's legs, cutting through them like a scythe blade, as the shock wave of the explosion grabbed her, throwing her down like a broken doll. The suddenness overloaded her senses, the chill arms of blackness surrounding her instantly. The force of the explosion tossed smaller vehicles aside. One of those, a small car, had landed behind Batou, and rolled onto him, trapping him there. He could hear the pop and crack of dieing circuitry as the fuel cell's tank hissed out through fractures. Grunting, he tried to reach for his weapon, but it was far out of his reach.

Tachikoma clutched at his audio sensors; the voices. The voices were screaming in horror. This was ultimate betrayal. The pain hammered him from within, a torture greater than anything that had happened at the lab. The voices attacked, pounding ruthlessly at his conscious mind. He looked at Mister Batou and the Major, both injured. By his actions. The voices were too loud, he couldn't think, couldn't move.

Batou pushed down against the pavement, his fingers digging into the heat softened material, the psuedoflesh tearing under the strain. He turned off his pain receptors as he felt the heat raising. The fire from the tanker and the other burning vehicles had spread. He found one leg wouldn't respond, pinned down. He kicked against the car with his one responding leg, swearing. This was the time to act, the Tachikoma was having some kind of malfunction. He bellowed in frustration. He never get this chance again..

The voices softened as they spoke to Tachikoma. They hadn't died, they'd changed. They could make it better, he had to leave the humans or they would destroy him. He was a member of Section 9, a counter-terrorist unit. The voices like his knew what that meant, they'd shown him. He had try to kill people who cared about him, he'd tried to kill his teammates, his leaders. He'd attacked Section 9. He'd betrayed himself. He had killed the uninvolved. He had become a terrorist. The stranger's voice seemed to know about that. He had to stop. He couldn't continue, not now. There was no point, there was no reason for this. They would help the humans, they would destroy him if he didn't stop. They didn't want to destroy him. They wanted him to be with them. They wanted him to be better, for the pain to end. He had to stop. He had to redeem himself. They could help. He had to join them, it was the only way to return to honor. They told him what he had to do.

From somewhere deep in Tachikoma's mind came a whimper. He could see it. A tortured scream cut through the signals he was sending, existence and pain interchangeable.

Tachikoma stoped clutching at his sensors. Moving slowly, every servo straining against an unknown resistance, he leaned down, picking the Major up in his arms, gently. The woman was so small, so fragile for one so strong. He wheeled his way to were Batou was pinned under the car, setting Matoko down. "I'm sorry, Mister Batou."

At the sound of the voice, deeper and seemingly older than that of the other Tachikoma, Batou looked up. Shit. He fought harder, trying to get his arm between his body and the car, scrabbling for his holster as the grey and black figure silently came closer. He could feel the distant rumble of passing trains through the concrete as the talons reached for him. He knew this is how it was going to end. The weight of the car was suddenly off him. He threw himself free, twisting away from the the rogue AI. Rolling over, he drew his sidearm, knowing that even with tungsten cored slugs it was too little to stop the machine.

Tachikoma set the car down, slowly. The voices whispered to him, a data carress. They loved him. They loved and respected Mister Batou. They loved and worshiped the Major. They were afraid for him. They could protect him. "I'm sorry, Mister Batou. Please, take care of the Major. Tell her I didn't mean to hurt her. I was scared, confused." Tachikoma turned, rolling towards the edge of the fence. "Help should be here soon."

"STOP!" Batou fired one shot at the eye turret mounted on the left of the crew pod. Sparks and a howl signaled the ricochet. He screamed to be heard over the continued noise and gunshots. "STOP DAMNIT!"

Tachikoma turned to face him, mechanical arms outspread. Each time the bullets had stuck, they knocked away the camouflage in a palm-sized patch, baring blue underneath. The barrel to the 40mm looked big enough to crawl into. Batou tensed, the slide of his pistol locked back on an empty magazine. He knew he wouldn't be able to reload before he died.. Tachikoma tensed, crouching. His voice was softer, quieter. "I'm sorry, Mister Batou, I need to go do something with the others."

With a leap, the last of his kind cleared the safety fence. The voices called to him, welcoming him. He could feel them, see them. His sisters, younger and at peace; the human stranger, a tall man with a stern but caring face and pale hair. They wanted him to join them, they would forgive him. They would make the pain stop, they would make him better. Tachikoma was barely of his legs bending to take the landing. He didn't see the lights, that world no longer was his.

There was a loud, shattering crash, then the scream of steel on steel as the AIs controlling the freight train tried to come to a stop after the impact.

Dropping his gun, Batou turned to look at the Major, growling at his malfunctioning legs. Crawling to her on his elbows, he dragged his battered and smoking form to her side. He brushed the hair from her face, tenderly. Her eyes opened at the feel of his fingers on her flesh, her hand coming up to grab the source of the sensation.

They both heard it in their comms. Ishikawa was shouting. But there was another sound, like voices, faint, spectral, through the link.

"It's ok, it's over. I've got you."

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