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

He got into the driver’s seat, briefcase still in hand, and reached out to the Section Nine team over his mind-comm. He had little doubt that the link was no longer secure, but he had to risk making contact. Batou, Togusa and the others had to be warned. “ All agents switch to mind-comms, now! ” Tense, he shifted his briefcase to his right side as he awaited a response.

Before a reply had time to reach Aramaki, the passenger window blew inward, shards of glass flying. A team of three assassins, each wearing a black military jacket and dark trousers, faces hidden behind full tactical masks, opened fire on the chief’s car with machine guns. Aramaki slid to the floor, holding his briefcase above his head. The assassins completely riddled the vehicle with bullets.

When the machine guns at last stopped chattering and the car had more punctures than intact metal, the leader of the assassins took out his pistol and approached the vehicle. No one could have survived the barrage of gunfire, but it was necessary to check. The assassin reached for the door handle—

The door flew open, slamming the assassin in the head. Aramaki could hear the man scream from beneath his mask. He emerged from his ruined car, completely unharmed, and fired his old .357 Magnum at the assassin. The revolver was virtually an antique in this modern era, but it still possessed incredible stopping power—and at close range it shredded the assassin’s body armor, blasting him back off his feet and into a heap.

Aramaki had been put in command of Section Nine because of his clear strategic thinking, uncompromising work ethic and his seniority. Contrary to what people like Cutter might have thought, the chief had not been taken out of the field due to any fading of his abilities; age had not diminished him in the least.

Now he used his considerable marksmanship and experience to employ his briefcase as a shield while the two remaining assassins fired at him. Aramaki aimed at the second shooter, who was still reacting to the thunderous reports of the old Magnum. The second assassin fell.

Catching sight of his target, the third assassin opened fire, bullets clanking into the flank of the parked car. This time, Aramaki landed an aimed shot in the shooter’s chest, dropping him to his knees.

The first man he’d shot was still alive and trying to get away across the asphalt, coughing up blood and retching as he crawled. Aramaki kicked him over onto his back, as one might flip over a cockroach, and gazed at the wounded man with something almost, but not quite, like pity. “Don’t send a rabbit to kill a fox,” he advised. Then Aramaki shot the assassin in the head.

He snapped open the revolver’s cylinder and let the spent brass shell casings fall from his gun onto the dead assassin’s chest, then started walking at a casual pace toward the sidewalk. “ We are burned ,” he warned his team over the mind-comm. It wouldn’t count for much in a frontal assault, but at least they’d know not to walk into a Hanka trap and they’d know not to reveal anything over the comms that they didn’t want Cutter to hear. “ I repeat. We are burned. ”

Batou sat on the rooftop of the apartment building where he lived, enjoying the feel of the cool night air on his skin and the high view of the city around him. He’d brought the basset hound mix Gabriel home with him, and now the dog was thumping his tail at Batou’s side—until the dog smelled trouble and whined.

“Shh,” he told the dog. He could sense the approaching hitmen as well, but didn’t want them to know it before he was ready. Batou’s pistol was concealed in his lap.

Togusa was eating dinner in a noodle shop. He glanced up at an overhead mirror, reaching for a concealed weapon at his waist as he saw the reflection of an armed man coming up behind him. Suddenly he twisted in his seat and shot the gunman, then pivoted and shot another. Finally he leapt to his feet and shot a third approaching from directly ahead of him, a feat that gave him pride but scared the hell out of passing pedestrians, who scattered in shrieking panic. Togusa leant against a wall and emitted a sigh of relief.

Having taken care of the cadre on the rooftop, Batou pushed his car to its limits, stripping gears and sending other drivers spinning out of his way as he raced through the night.

In a place of safety, Kuze lay still while a geisha bot tended to his repairs, each of her actions controlled by his commands. He could simply have remained here forever, but even though he and the bot were similar in their physical composition, they were not the same. She did not have a ghost as he did, and that loneliness had become more than he could bear.

The Major was on a different road, back on the motorcycle she’d stolen from the Hanka parking lot. A billboard floated past her with the legend NIVOZEN.” She headed for the ramp labeled CENTRAL.

“Mr. Cutter.” The operative’s voice reached Cutter over the comm. He was in a Zen garden on the rooftop of Hanka. It was a place of peace, with large green plants and a rectangular lily pond. He summoned a large hologram that showed him the entire city, but he saw no need to be tense while observing the endgame from this safe distance. “We’ve located the Major on the grid,” the operative reported. “She’s in the lawless zone. Air support five minutes out.”

“Is the spider tank within range?” Cutter inquired into the comm. He manipulated the hologram so that it zeroed in on one section, now displaying in detail a large plaza in the lawless zone. In the plaza’s center was the pagoda from the Major’s visions, as well as a large banyan tree. Cutter sat on a garden bench facing the hologram, settling in for his inevitable victory.

“Yes, sir,” the operative replied over the comm. “Awaiting your orders, sir.”

The Major dismounted the motorcycle in the plaza. The place appeared to be completely abandoned, and had been that way for some time. She remembered what it had looked like, though. She wandered over the broken pavement until she came to the charred remnants of the pagoda, nestled in the roots of the banyan tree that had kept growing despite the fire damage. A flock of pigeons took wing at her approach, startled by the active life continuing amidst the destruction.

Another glitch unfolded as the Major looked up, though this one was both longer and much smoother than the ones that had come before. In it, a blinding searchlight shone down on the pagoda from a hycop. An officer in charge issued stern warnings through his megaphone. Flames were engulfing the little building. The soldiers who had set the fire were everywhere, rounding up the adolescents who had made their home in the pagoda. The teens were all yelling in anger and terror as they were being hauled out of the burning dwelling, then beaten to the ground. And Cutter had been there, standing to one side, keeping his expensive shirtcuffs and shoes clean as he watched the raid unfold.

The officer issued another warning. The girl Motoko sobbed and screamed as she was torn from Hideo’s arms, despite all his efforts to hold onto her.

“Motoko!” Hideo cried. Their voices echoed in the Major’s memory. Hideo’s despairing screams became harder to hear as he was dragged away in the other direction, but a soldier pulled Motoko along, straight toward the Major.

The elements of the glitch vanished one by one—the soldiers, the pagoda, the other teenagers, Hideo—until only Motoko remained. When the vision of Motoko reached her, it was as if the two figures—machine and girl—were merging. Then Motoko vanished as well, leaving the Major alone in the plaza.