Don't own Ghost In The Shell, never will.

Major

Battles...
Gunfire...

Cases that boggled the mind...

Working for an under ground group, one not official on paper gives you a new perspective in life. The Laughing Man situation was difficult enough, not that the suicide group known as the Individual Eleven was any easier. A rag tag bunch of ex-army, ex-cops shoved under one roof wasn't anything unusual. However, they never got cases that didn't offer some level of depraved thinking. Dirty minded villains aside, sicko's left masked in the shadows, they were normal every day people...with normal every day lives. It was how life should be.

Recherche was long, blind paper trails longer, and if it wasn't for the sights and sounds of most normal citizens, those in section nine, public security at it's finest, wouldn't even have a job. Work no matter how ugly found a place among them. It was rather simple, when you considered that fact. Sometimes weeks sped by without a single clue, and others, news reports gave grim satisfaction into the minds of the real scum. The press all over any juicy tidbit, as if it were the very morsel they needed to live. Never mind the smoke you had to inhale before you got there...

It never mattered anyway. Most people weren't human anymore. Bodies with mechanical parts couldn't comprehend the smells of rotting flesh, although the sights never left one's mind after seeing such a thing. Perhaps it was even a gift from god, why be closer to reality? Why smell what you can already see? As much as people attempted to study the facts behind it, the truth remained simple. Humans were a dying breed, and technology was on a continuous upward spiral. Every now and then, a few radicals even swayed the judgment on such things. Medically, it was an ongoing debate.

The poor people often found themselves at the ass-end of such a thing. Refugees were never given decent implants, or an easy time of it. Partly because of the filthy rich bastards who believe human experimentation comes before normal life. They say they're in it for the common man. They care for those who can't help themselves. It's all a bunch of lies spewed from the government. Utter trash, and nothing more. No one believes it, or takes any real value in what's being said. Not now, in the past, or even the future. Hell, most people take more value from a poor man with a radical goal, than they do the government.

Reporters often asked me, why do such a thankless, and often emotionally demanding job? Answer is, I've got no damn clue. My guess is, because I've seen enough good come out of what I do, what all of Section Nine does, really. Another answer, one that's probably more logical, is that I've no other place to go. Who would hire me? I'm ex-military, I've killed more people than I can count, dealt with more crime scenes than I care to admit, and top it all off with the fact that I'm one dangerous woman, and most polices forces wouldn't touch me with a ten foot pole. Besides, where I go, my team goes. It's just simple facts.

Why...?

If I could reach back into the depths of my mind, and find that answer, I'm sure I wouldn't be as cold as I am. Perhaps then I would be able to give into a more womanly desire. I once had a boy ask me if I was able to have sex in my current form, a full cyborg. I teased him with my answer, telling him if he wanted, I'd let him find out. In all reality, the truth is, yes, yes I can. It's one of my secret reasons for not taking on a male's body. My mind is that of a woman, and it's my own wish to be seen as one, by someone that although I haven't found yet...

Is it rude of me? A mortal sin perhaps? Should I be cast aside for my wishes? Even if my mind says yes, my body tells me that I shouldn't. Perhaps, in another life, if I hadn't had to become a cyborg, my body would tick away, just like my watch. Then...if I was lucky, then I could be the woman that I've always wanted to be, mixed with my title that the boys I consider brothers give me.

They call me Major.
I don't give a damn why...