James Swallow - Ghost in the Shell - The Official Movie Novelization

Skinny Man’s put both his hands on the steering wheel, as if the appendages were two separately animated things moving of their own volition. He gunned the truck’s engine and it hurtled forward in a sudden rush, gaining speed as it lurched toward the mouth of the alleyway, motor roaring.

Ouelet was in the back seat of her limo, contemplating her next move as her chauffeur gracefully guided the sleek black car through the streets. Her assistant sat beside her, typing with hands that had been enhanced with ten fingers each. This gave the assistant a slightly insect-like appearance from the forearms outward, but the tech was ideal for a job that required letter-perfect real-time transcription. Over the limo’s sound system, opera diva Maria Callas was singing the “La mamma morta” aria from Umberto Giordano’s opera Andrea Chénier .

Ouelet sighed. Cutter had been making his unhappiness with the Major’s investigation known inside and outside of Hanka. She hoped he wouldn’t really remove the Major from her supervision. That would be counter-productive.

All Ouelet’s thoughts were swept away as the huge green truck suddenly smashed into the driver’s side of the limo in a violent, screeching impact of twisting steel and breaking glass. The T-bone collision sent the smaller vehicle slipping away and into a sideways somersault, rolling it onto its roof before it skidded to a halt across the roadway.

The sound system, unlike the engine, was intact. Callas sang on. “Porto sventura a chi bene mi vuole!” I bring misfortune to all who love me.

Ouelet cried out. Her first thought, even before she realized how much pain she was in, even before it sank in that her life was in immediate danger, was that her surgeon’s hands might have been damaged. For all that she touted enhancements for others, she prided herself on her organic skills. Outside the flipped limo, the garbage truck backed up and stopped. Neither of the men in the cab of the truck showed the slightest flicker of emotion as they reached for a threadbare bag in the footwell that contained two hooded trench coats, dully reflective covers like rain slickers, which each donned around his shoulders with rote motions. Beneath the coats were small-frame submachine guns, the kind of weapon gangbangers called a chop-n-drop. They took one each.

Silently, the two men climbed out of the truck’s cab. They walked toward the upside-down limousine as the wreckage creaked and clicked, its tormented metal frame still settling.

Hanka Robotics scientist Dr. Genevieve Ouelet, on her hands and knees, crawled out of a shattered window frame on the side of the limo opposite the truck, desperately pushing ahead in a terrified crouch. She searched wildly for any kind of cover that might protect her, but the nearest wall was too far away, with nothing but open asphalt between her and the meager safety it offered.

The Hanka spokeswoman continued her holographic pitch. “…and your loved ones. Protecting your ever-evolving future. Hanka Robotics.”

The limo’s chauffeur, hanging upside down from his seatbelt, struggled to escape from the vehicle, in too much in shock to comprehend that there was more danger on the street than inside the wreck. Dead-eyed, Skinny Man aimed his gun and fired a quick burst into the man’s belly, killing him.

Ouelet had cleared the car but was unable to stand. A shadow fell over her and she looked up, dazed, at the machine-gun muzzle pointing at her face. Holding the weapon was a skinny man wearing a trench coat, with data lights cascading through the implant on the right side of his head. He screamed, glaring down at her through dead eyes, “2571! Tell me everything!”

Then she heard the roaring snarl of an overcharged engine and both assassins pivoted toward the source of the sound. Ouelet saw a blocky, military-style jeepney hurtling toward them down the roadway, and a determined face behind the wheel.

The bigger, Bearded Man, who hadn’t said anything, brought up his gun one-handed and sent a braying lance of fire toward the oncoming vehicle. Massive holes punctured the cab and the hood of the jeepney, but the heavy vehicle kept on coming until its tires blew out. It coasted jerkily forward for a few yards on sheer momentum, then creaked to a stop.

Batou’s car screeched around the end of the block in a punishing turn and barreled across the intersection toward the site of the ambush. Skinny Man continued to scream at Ouelet, spittle flying from his lips. “Are you prepared to die for 257—”

The Major leapt from the car even as Batou brought it skidding to a halt. She came forward with both hands clasped around her weapon, intent on her target. She fired at Skinny Man, but the car’s motion and her landing threw her aim off, and she missed. Skinny Man turned and fired back. She took cover behind the open passenger door, steadying herself. As Batou got out of the car, Skinny Man changed his aim and shot at him.

The Major didn’t think—she just reacted. Leaning out from behind the open car door, and leading with her pistol, she drew a bead on Skinny Man. Her gun barked and she landed a single shot in his shoulder. It seemed to have zero effect. He returned fire again, spraying a pattern of bullets into the door.

Ladriya, Ishikawa and Togusa exited the jeepney from the back. “Go!” Togusa told Ladriya, tasking her with protecting Ouelet.

They were closing into a ring around the target, surrounding him. The Major knew that this was the critical moment.

Skinny Man abandoned Ouelet and the gunfight together. He bolted for the end of the street. His beefy partner took up the cause, exchanging fire with Ishikawa, but Skinny Man did not look back. Ouelet ducked behind the limo, putting more metal between herself and her assailant.

As he reached the end of the block, Skinny Man’s free hand snapped up and activated the thermoptic function on his trench coat. Too late, the Major realized what he was wearing as his outline flickered, turned glassy—and then vanished, leaving a heat mirage distortion that receded from view altogether.

The Major ran behind the limo, simultaneously trying to protect Ouelet and bring down the shimmering outline of Skinny Man as he ran further and further out of range. Ladriya ran over to relieve the Major. “Go,” Ladriya told her.

She sprang up and ran in the direction Skinny Man had taken. But the Major had no backup. Everyone else on the team was engaged in the gunfight with Bearded Man. The man did not appear to be bothered by the fact that he was outgunned and surrounded, that he’d been abandoned by his partner, or that their mission had apparently failed. He just kept firing, with no expression on his features, until two shots from Batou finally reached its target. The big man sank to his knees, then collapsed completely, dead.

Skinny Man, now blocks away, leapt down from his perch on a second-floor apartment building into a deserted alley. The surrounding buildings were grey with decay, decrepit and largely abandoned. Tattered laundry hung from a few balconies, but no faces peered out to investigate the frantic footfalls on the cement below. The man raced across the alley to a low wall at the end and scrambled up and over the barrier. Without pause, he ran down the next dismal, dirty street.

The enclosed canyons of the downtown district abruptly opened out into a flat, empty basin that reminded the Major of an ancient amphitheater. Rows of derelict tiered structures climbed away on two sides. The basin was visible but submerged beneath a foot of seawater, blown in by the last storm and just left there, as City Services never ventured into this neighborhood.

The arena-like space was much quieter than the mayhem back by the garbage truck and the wrecked limo, enough so that, even though her target was still invisible, the Major’s enhanced hearing could pick out the thudding of his boots. She tracked the sound, looking for any sign of the gunman, and found ripples radiating out across the basin’s shallow water, disturbed in his passing.