ACT IV INTERLUDE 2: THE MYSTERY OF CAITLIN'S COMET
(PART TWO)
Amberlee stepped back, brushing the last stray fibers from Shin Hajime’s newly constructed outfit. The bandages were tightly wrapped, forming a seamless crisscross pattern that accentuated Hajime’s lithe figure. Layers of medical scrubs, now tailored into a vest, and tubing bracelets made from IV lines gave her a sleek, improvised edge. It was survival-chic—a fashion statement for someone ready to dive headfirst into battle.
Amberlee surveyed her work with a slight grin. “Not bad, huh? A little grim, a little glam. You like it?”
Hajime caught her reflection in the polished surface of the Fab Lab’s machine. She stood still for a moment, tilting her head, her thousand-yard stare sharpening. Her fingers traced the criss crossed lines on her torso, testing the feel of the fabric. Finally, she turned, the faintest smirk tugging at her lips.
“Yami Kawaii,” she said simply, her voice steady but with a certain weight. Darkly cute. It fit her—a fusion of softness and severity, deadpan yet charged with a hidden current of danger.
Amberlee raised an eyebrow, unfamiliar with the term but getting the vibe. “Well, it’s you.” She motioned to the smartblade in her hand, activating its glowing, razor-thin pixel array. The green luminescence cut through the dim room like a beacon. “Now, let’s see how it holds up in a real fight.”
Hajime’s gaze locked onto the weapon, intrigued. She appreciated fashion, and she respected craftsmanship—especially when it came with a lethal edge.
Amberlee stepped back, watching as Shin Hajime picked up the smartblade with casual ease. The green glow of the pixel array reflected off Hajime's face as she manipulated the weapon, her movements smooth and precise. She didn’t need the robotic arm. With a slight flick of her wrist, a single pixel glided effortlessly through the air, slicing through metal scraps like they were paper.
Amberlee raised an eyebrow, impressed but cautious. "Careful with that thing. It’s not your average utility knife. Try using it without the control mechanism."
Hajime didn’t respond immediately, her focus locked on the tool’s subtle mechanics. Soon, the single pixel was joined by another, then two more, and before Amberlee could fully process what she was seeing, Hajime was controlling eight pixels. They wove through the air in a complex dance of lethal precision. Her fingers moved delicately, guiding each point of light as though it were an extension of her mind. The floating pixels darted through the lab like fireflies, forming intricate patterns.
Amberlee’s heart raced. She had seen skilled fighters before, but this? Hajime was something else entirely. It wasn’t just the precision—it was the ease with which she did something that no normal person could. Even the machine that typically guided the smartblade seemed unnecessary in her hands.
Without so much as a glance at Amberlee, Hajime increased the number—16 pixels now. The air hummed as they zipped around, tracing geometric lines in the dim lab light. Amberlee’s jaw dropped, unable to tear her eyes away from the display.
“This… should be impossible,” Amberlee muttered, eyes wide. She had seen the earlier demo, where the machine struggled to control more than a dozen of those razor-thin blades. But Hajime? She handled them with a mastery that bordered on the supernatural.
When the number reached 32, Hajime turned to face Amberlee, her eyes still sharp and focused. The pixels circled her like flying diamonds, each one moving in perfect sync, almost as though they were alive. There was no hesitation, no sign of mental strain.
Amberlee swallowed, forcing herself to speak. “You’re not human, are you?”
A small smile tugged at the corner of Hajime’s lips, though her eyes remained distant, focused on the task at hand. “No,” she replied softly. “I’m awesome.”
Amberlee couldn’t argue with that.
Shin Hajime’s movements grew sharper and more controlled as she worked with the smartblade. Amberlee watched, transfixed, as Hajime—focused and intent—began to hum softly, creating an almost hypnotic rhythm. The glowing pixels moved in perfect sync with the beat Hajime established, swirling around her in a precise, choreographed dance of light and cutting energy. Her feet shifted effortlessly, mirroring martial arts stances, and the pixels followed her every step, as if they were extensions of her body.
As Hajime’s hum grew louder, her movements intensified, each action perfectly timed to the rise and fall of her melody. It was like watching an intricate dance, each swing of the smartblade in flawless sync with the rhythm of her body. She started with eight pixels, the green holographic grid expanding around her. With a flick of her wrist, the number doubled to sixteen, then again to thirty-two. The swarm of pixels sliced through the air effortlessly. The entire process felt fluid, as if it were second nature to her.
Amberlee could barely process what she was witnessing—a girl who, moments ago, had seemed like just another clone, was now mastering a device few could handle without risking their lives. This wasn’t just skill; it was grace under pressure, precision elevated to an art form.
Hajime’s movements became more elaborate, the pixels swirling in harmony as she twirled, crouched, and kicked. Each motion wove seamlessly into the dazzling display of light and power. The pixels moved like extensions of her will, following her in a deadly dance of destruction. Amberlee stood transfixed, her mouth slightly agape, as Hajime finally brought the smartblade to an abrupt stop. The pixels dissolved into nothingness, leaving only the faint hum of the machine and Hajime’s soft, rhythmic humming.
As the glowing pixels blinked out, Shin Hajime paused, the energy of her movements fading with them. Amberlee, still trying to wrap her mind around what she’d just witnessed, broke the silence with a sigh.
“Batteries died,” she said, shaking her head. “I found three One-Shot batteries on Emily, but no charger. Looks like we’re working with limited juice.”
Hajime turned the smartblade over in her hands, inspecting the device with a calculating glance. She didn’t seem too concerned, though a flicker of disappointment crossed her sharp eyes. With a quick motion, she popped out the drained battery and slid another from the stash Amberlee had given her into place. The hum of the smartblade returned, the pixels flaring briefly to life before she deactivated it again.
Amberlee nodded. “We’ll need to time our moves perfectly. This thing could be our ace, but not if we waste it.”
Suddenly, Hajime’s head snapped to the side, her posture stiffening as she heard the rapid approach of footsteps. Without hesitation, she reactivated the smartblade, its pixel array flaring to life in a burst of light. The lethal, glowing pixels hovered, casting sharp, flickering shadows across the room.
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Amberlee tensed but quickly realized what was happening as the footsteps grew louder. Molly-Cat, mid-stride, dropped her cloaking field and nearly stumbled when she saw Hajime wielding the smartblade with unnerving precision.
"You won’t believe this—" Molly-Cat began, but her words trailed off, her eyes glued to the whirling grid of energy in Hajime’s hands. For a moment, the urgency in her voice faded, replaced by shock and awe.
Realizing the source of the noise, Shin Hajime deactivated the blade with a flick of her wrist. The pixels vanished as swiftly as they’d appeared. Her expression softened when she recognized Molly-Cat. "Oops," she said with a sheepish, kawaii smile before calmly turning back to Amberlee.
Molly-Cat blinked, snapping out of her surprise. "Yeah, okay, no time for that," she said hurriedly. "These men in black—the mercenaries who killed Emily? There’s eight of them. They’re fighting the mining robots. I saw at least thirty of them crossing the surface from another structure, and they just hit the spaceport and attacked the mercs as they were trying to leave, but it’s chaos up there."
Amberlee’s heart raced, but she kept her voice steady. "Mercs? They’re fighting the mining robots?"
"Yeah," Molly-Cat confirmed. "Now’s probably our best shot to move."
Shin Hajime exchanged a glance with Amberlee, the air between them thick with anticipation. Molly-Cat’s gaze flicked toward the smartblade. "So, in the meantime, did you find us an overpowered weapon?"
Amberlee allowed herself a smirk. "Oh, I think I did."
Amberlee’s fingers drummed against the console as they all mulled over the plan. Everything needed to work perfectly—there was no room for mistakes. Hajime stood nearby, silent and focused, her eyes already scanning for threats that hadn’t yet appeared.
Amberlee and Shin Hajime exchanged a final glance before stepping out of the FabLab. Amberlee, dressed in her newly crafted adventure gear, adjusted her wrist-mounted device as she pushed open the door, her expression calm but determined. Shin Hajime, with her composed posture and a barely visible smirk, followed silently, the air around her crackling with unspoken intensity. The plan was set; they knew what they had to do.
Molly-Cat, still inside, lingered near the doorway, watching them leave. “I’ll hold down the fort,” she called after them, her voice a mix of resolve and tension. Her fingers absently traced the edges of the cloaking device she had chosen to keep with her, the weight of its importance palpable.
“You better,” Amberlee replied with a quick smile over her shoulder, but her tone carried the gravity of the mission. She was already focused on the next steps—disabling the Jodorowsky Drive and throwing their enemies into disarray. Shin Hajime offered a brief nod to Molly-Cat, her eyes flashing with purpose before vanishing into the dimly lit corridor alongside Amberlee.
Molly-Cat kept her gaze fixed ahead, but her voice broke the silence. “Shin Hajime… are you really okay with this? I mean, killing eight people? Just like that?”
Shin Hajime didn’t slow her pace, her expression unreadable. “They’re soldiers,” she said, her tone calm and steady. “It’s what they do for a living. They kill, they get killed. That’s their job. They are the ones who justify the cold-blooded logic of murder. I am simply going to demonstrate the downsides of this philosophy to them.”
Molly-Cat shook her head slightly. “That’s a pretty cold way to look at it. They’re still human beings.”
“They made their choice,” Shin Hajime replied, a sharp edge creeping into her voice. “If I don’t take them out, they’ll come for us. They’ll kill us without hesitation. This is very simple, Molly-Cat. If you do not kill your killer first, you die.”
Molly-Cat glanced at her, the weight of the conversation sinking in. Shin Hajime’s face was calm, almost too calm, her eyes scanning the surroundings like she was already calculating the moves ahead. It was clear to Molly-Cat that this wasn’t just about survival—it was about purpose. Shin Hajime wasn’t just fighting; she was carrying out a mission, one she seemed at peace with.
“Don’t mistake it for cruelty,” Shin Hajime added after a moment, her gaze fixed ahead. “It’s just a natural doctrine of reality. Everyone dies, sometimes because of me. I may be the cause of their deaths, but they died the moment they took up the ‘sword’.”
She started to leave, but then Shin Hajime turned to Molly-Cat, her voice unwavering. "Probability is a human construct," she said firmly. "It doesn't matter. The odds, the analysis, all of it—meaningless. When something happens, it was always going to happen. There’s no such thing as chance, not really."
Molly-Cat blinked, processing the weight of the statement. "You’re saying it’s all... predetermined?"
Shin Hajime nodded slightly, her eyes still sharp, focused ahead. "Exactly. Probability is just a way for humans to make sense of the unknown. But once something occurs, the odds cease to matter. It was always going to happen that way—no chance otherwise."
Molly-Cat fell silent, thinking. She had always been more comfortable with analyzing risks and assessing possibilities. But in the presence of someone like Shin, who seemed to cut through everything with such clarity and purpose, it was hard to argue. The world had turned into chaos around them, and perhaps that certainty was what they needed now.
"Either way," Shin Hajime continued, her voice calm, "there’s no room for hesitation. We go in, we handle them, and we win. Simple as that."
Left alone again, Molly-Cat stayed behind to think—something she was all too familiar with. She paced around the lab, glancing at dust-covered terminals, but her mind was elsewhere. It was on Shin Hajime. "She’s cold," she muttered to herself. "Shin and Hajime. Two who became one. And me? I’m one who became four." The weight of that realization started to hit her in a way she hadn’t expected.
The question that had been haunting her crept in like a shadow. “How do I know I’m the real Molly-Cat?” she whispered, her voice low, as if afraid of the answer. What if she wasn’t? What if Amberlee knew something she didn’t? But how could she ever truly know?
The only way she could think of to confirm her identity was to know something Amberlee didn’t. That would be the key.
Suddenly, a childhood memory flashed through her mind—a small, seemingly insignificant detail she had never given much thought until now: the whole "Left Twin" thing. Amberlee had asked her about it a million times over the years, and Molly-Cat had never given a serious answer.
"I call myself the Left Twin," she muttered to herself, "because my first memory ever is being on Amberlee’s left." She remembered lying there, looking at Amberlee’s face—the first face she’d ever memorized. It was only later, looking in a mirror, that she realized they had the same face.
She hadn’t copied Amberlee; she had been Amberlee’s copy from the start. Always the imposter. "And now," she murmured, "I literally am a copy. But with changes that Amberlee doesn’t know I know." The thought sent a strange thrill through her—half excitement, half terror. So, basically nothing had changed? She felt the weight lift from her shoulders, a sense of lightness.
Amberlee’s smaller form moved silently across the grated floor of Climatrol, her footsteps barely audible over the hum of machinery. She stopped, glancing down into the narrow ventilation shafts below. The last time she’d been here, in her old body—taller, more muscular—she’d dismissed the idea of fitting into those ducts. Too cramped, she had thought. But now, in this smaller clone body, she felt like she could easily slip through them, no longer constrained by her former size.
Am I just a smaller version of who I was, or something else entirely? The question lingered in her mind. Technically, she was only hours old, but her memories, her sense of self, carried the weight of years. Apparent age didn’t quite apply anymore, but that didn’t matter. This felt like a second chance—a fresh start, with all her experience intact.
Focusing on the task at hand, she approached the Jodorowsky Drive interface, the system that controlled the comet’s artificial gravity. She didn’t want to hurl everyone and everything off into space, just stop the rotation and let the comet revert to its natural, weightless state. Her fingers moved deftly over the controls, and the change was immediate—a sudden lightness, a floating sensation that brought a smile to her face. Satisfied, she turned quickly and headed back to Nervous.