AN: I am so, so, so, so sorry that its been over half a year since I updated this. But I have an excuse. I started college, got really sick, had a mental breakdown of sorts, fixed it, and started a new job. Not to mention having to keep up now with all the school stuff. But I bet you can imagine that gorey murder stories aren't exactly the best things to be contemplating while depressed. The good thing is that, with all this time, I've got a good portion of the plot planned out, and a lot of small details too. I'll do my best to not ever let this go so long again, but I can't promise anything. Though a lot of good reviews might help me feel inspired to keep writing...

Anyway, you came for the story.

Chapter 3

Fleshie

He pulled his hands back from the coffee colored skin, the set up finally complete, then produced a clean white square of linen. Proceeding to wipe off the fragrant mixture of blood and mechanical fluid, he broke the silence.

"You may have been a titan in your field, but even a titan is not a god."

He shifted his unrepentant gaze from the man's still form to stare for a moment at the flickering flame that danced atop his candle before casting it down to allow its rage to grow…

The radio mumbled a somewhat interesting news-report through the car's speakers, a calm drone punctuated by occasional breathy s's and k's. For a little while now it had been the only sound in the vehicle, Batou somehow managing to silently glare through his unmovable eye-turrets while the Major seemed to be pondering the depths of her cyber-mind from behind the wheel.

'Better than diving while driving,' Togusa thought wryly to himself. The silence was starting to wear at him, and he was beginning to regret his little food prank. But only slightly, so instead of sitting in boredom and regret, he reached over and twisted the volume knob up to a more audible level. The Major cast him a glance before shrugging and continuing to pay half-attention to the road. A man was speaking in the condescending voice of an intellectual attempting to explain a complicated scientific concept to the uneducated general public.

"What we have found has had an extreme positive consequence on the reduction of the polarization of the cybernetic neuorological community in the deliberation about the existence of the human soul, commonly referred to in public conversation as the 'ghost.'"

There was a soft snort from Batou as the voice from the radio finally took a breath. "That takes longer to figure out that it even does to say." But the scientist was speaking again, his internal thesaurus apparently stuck in overdrive.

"­­­- discovery has been informally dubbed the Unconscious Umbilical. Testing and experimentation have shown a correlation between this previously enigmatic portion of the brain with the unique thought patterns that are currently and commonly used to identify individual personality during full-cyborg transferences. However, upon exploration into the corresponding area of those participants with a certain percentage or more cybernetic parts, this Unconscious Umbilical was absent. Instead, present in the personality thought patterns was a small formerly undetectable difference now informally called the Cyber Navel. Following further investigation into this apparent anomaly, it is now believed that the two are mutually exclusive, the Unconscious Umbilical present only in those with minimal cyberization, which is then replaced by the Cyber Navel upon extensive cyber modifications."

"Hey, that's great! There's finally something Togusa has that we don't!" Batou laughed, leaning over to grin teasingly at the other man.

"You mean besides great sex?" He allowed himself a moment to imagine his wife then smirked in smug satisfaction as Batou feigned being hurt.

"Ouch. You're not pulling any punches, are you?"

"Alright, you two. You've been at it all day," the Major put in. "Am I going to have to separate-?" She cut off, her eyes narrowing slightly in business-like concentration. A quick glance at Togusa, and he nodded, turning off the radio to allow her an easier mental conversation with Chief Aramaki. After a silent moment, her eyes began flickering across the concrete horizon, finally stopping on an ever-growing plume of smoke they hadn't noticed before which she then aimed the car toward with a fearless wrench of the wheel.

"A slight change in plans. There's a new high profile crime scene that's burning a hole in the police's pocket."

The sound of sirens had been steadily growing louder as they had approached their destination, the undulating irritation reaching a peak as the three Section 9 detectives pulled to a stop. Sweaty soot-covered firefighters were tiredly re-rolling thick canvas hoses and finally quieting the raucous din as they slid into the truck seats and pulled away from the crime scene. As they stepped out of the car, they were blasted with hot air infused with the mingling scents of charred protein, melted chemicals, ash and damp earth.

Police scrambled around them, setting up yellow tape barriers as the trio squelched through the fire hose run-off that swirled with charred debris. A haughty and officious looking officer stomped up to them before they could reach the actual scene, his uniform coated in a layer of black soot. Batou smirked; from the crisp seams, perfectly placed buttons and badges, and other fine details, it was obvious he had spent a great deal of time keeping the uniform immaculate before arriving at the scene just to instantly appear grimy anyway. Captain Davenport, as declared by his nametag, eyed with cold appraisal the expensive model of the major's body, Batou's eye-turrets, and Togusa's apparent lack of any cyberization at all.

"Took you Section 9 people long enough! Its your scene, but I have to wait for-farking-ever for you to arrive while I've got a suspect from my own case cooling his heels and fabricating more of an unbreakable cover story with every passing second!" Davenport's tone had gotten angrier and angrier as he forged on, but also became more and more under his breath until it sounded, by the end, as if he was talking to himself more than them. His dark eyes flicked around, as if suddenly remembering where he was again. "And I still have to show you around the crime scene before I can get back to him!" he huffed in conclusion.

The major simply responded, "Well, its important that we take our time with the scene. The smallest detail is always the most important, especially because we have reason to believe this is more than just a random terrorist attack." Batou and Togusa looked over at her, only their training keeping them from betraying their surprise.

"Either way, it sure is weird. Glad its your case now," Davenport said.

Now Batou was really confused. 'Now why am I feeling that this is more than just an arson case? Are you going to fill us in or what, Motoko?'

She continued as if the men hadn't interrupted her point. "That being the case, this is probably going to take awhile. To ease things so you don't feel tempted to rush, we'll send Togusa over to help with your suspect."

"What? Why not you or Batou? You're certainly more intimidating than me."

"See, there's this little thing called seniority…" Batou answered with a laugh.

But Davenport had recovered from his shock at the suggestion. "My unit is a crack squad of the finest officers on the force equipped with the best cybernetic equipment the police department can buy! What could a fleshie possible be able to do that we couldn't?!"

Motoko narrowed her eyes in a look that had meant doom for many criminals. "He's a valued member of Section 9, that should be enough for you. Plus, he used to be a detective for your same police force, which I believe makes him the most qualified person here for the job."

The slight didn't go unnoticed, but neither did her look. After a moment, the man nodded brusquely at Togusa, who shrugged and began heading back to the car, mentally coming, "Call me when you're done. I'll come pick you up." The remaining three trudged into the burnt building as the engine rumbled to life.

He drove toward the downtown police station, the soft rumble of the engine and the gentle vibrations lulling the brown-haired man into sentimental reminiscences of his days as an everyday detective, as a cop instead of a secret agent of sorts. Before he realized it, he found himself there. For a moment he simply took in the memories of his old work place, what had once been his home away from home not so very long ago. Shutting the door with a 'whump,' he proceeded into the station, flashing his Section 9 badge for access to the back rooms.

The cops there eyed him suspiciously for a moment before he introduced himself as the man to replace Davenport for their interrogation. Then they seemed resigned and more than a little derisive toward him, though he was lead behind the one-way mirror. It irked him that they thought so little of him simply due to his lack of cyber-technology, especially because, during his day here, his squad of 'fleshies' had had just as impressive a record as this supposed elite cyber group.

Togusa took a long look at the man that was going to occupy him for god-knew how-long. The suspect sat slumped in his simple stainless steel chair, his bottom barely in the seat, arms drooped across the armrests, hands dangling, one leg stretched under the empty table and one braced at the knee against the table's edge, tilting the chair slightly back onto two legs. Black, worn boots poked out from under baggy jeans of an undeterminable dark color, and an overly-large hoodie of a reddish-brown hue sickenly close to dried blood brushed against stringy, shoulder-length black hair that nearly obscured the green eyes that were the only bright thing about him.

The man also seemed to have no cyberization. He began to see why they were having so much trouble with him. The current interrogator came into the hidden room with him with a look of condescension.

"That fleshie is one tough bastard to crack. We've never been able to get this one to talk. But, hey, if you think you can help, go right on ahead and waste your time banging your head against his wall," the detective said with a smirk.

Togusa quirked an eyebrow, then smiled slightly at the other. He pushed past him, leaving the hidden room to place a hand against the cold door handle and enter into the interrogation cell.

The three cautiously trod into the remains of the edifice, sticking to a narrow path marked with thin string to minimize contamination of a scene already pretty much destroyed by hose water and firefighter boots. The lines of string wound sinuously through a trail that carefully negotiated their feet through the nearly collapsed building, leading the two agents and their guide past the damaged remains of many interesting shapes that lay over, under and around scorched, fallen ceiling and support beams. Eyes open for any small detail, it wasn't long before they realized what the items were: art supplies and materials, from monumental slabs of marble to large stretched canvases to spools of twisted, pliable wire, many displaying evidence of half-completed work- a sculpted arm jutting here, a splash of red paint poking through there.

"A group of artists used this place as a workshop and hang-out. Seems they had a rather diverse set of talents among them. This warehouse is owned by one of the member's wealthy, art-loving parents who donated the space to the cause. Of course, this makes all the members and attendees obvious suspects at first, after all, they're the ones with the access. Problem is, scuttlebutt around the surrounding buildings is that these people's lives are their work, which then essentially eliminates the possibility of them being the ones to torch the building while their pieces were inside," Davenport explained, waving a hand to indicate the ruined art about them as they headed deeper into the warehouse. "We've found pieces from each artist, so none can even be suspected of removing their things then setting it aflame."

They approached the rear wall of the building, a mountain of raw, uncut stone barely visible in the smoky indoor gloom. This was obviously where the main event of the crime, the part that made it 'weird' for Davenport, had happened, as small numbered evidence markers and flags began appearing, growing in number and frequency as they approached the pile. Finally, they rounded the backside of the mass of marble, and what greeted them made Motoko and Batou stop short in surprise.

"Here it is," Davenport said softly to the stunned Section 9 agents and looking at the burned body, "I call this piece 'Fellow Flambé.'"

AN: Well, it was mostly set up for the next chapter, but I hoped you liked it anyway. Please people, I need some help. First, the vic needs a name. His basic description is a young, handsome black guy that's an artist. What type, I won't tell, that's for next time, but the best suggestion will be his name, depending on if I like any of them. Also, I need some help on a project of mine. If anyone knows a lot about theology/mythology, I need some help coming up with some, for lack of a better term, 'stories' for the project. Please let me know if you think you can help.

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