Battle Angel Alita

Story and Art by

Yukito Kishiro

Fan novelization by

Jo and Diana Jaquinta

Chapter 1: Rusty Angel

Heavy machinery made a sound like grinding molars as it chewed on discarded refuse. Diesel fumes rose from them, darkly staining a sky the color of rust. High above, the city of Tiphares floated, serene in its utopian splendor, uncaring of the waste it discharged below.

The automated machine sifted and sorted the garbage, only a touch less rusty than the scrap it shifted. Toothed metal buckets pulled up scoops from the towering pile in constant danger of toppling over. It worked over the centuries of debris like tilling a field. New scrap rained down and buried the old. But with the endless furrowing and sorting, old scrap was dug up and new scrap buried.

Compacted causeways ran from the huge central pile, where only the automatons dared to go, in weaving terraces, descending to the soot covered halls of the factory district. Their high smokestacks ringed the scrap pile and added their own fumes to the dust filled air.

Through the rusty landscape walked a scavenger. A long leather coat and tough boots shielded him from sharp surfaces as he made his way, slowly, over the skittering slope. Rubbish cascaded around him as his weight upset the precarious balance the garbage had settled into. Occasionally the slide would be enough that he would have to pause, arms out, to keep his balance, until a new level of equilibrium was reached.

He paused in his journey, squatted down, and carefully examined some of the compacted waste. He gently put pressure on a round object, to see how much give it had. With a slow rocking, he eased it loose from the rest and stood up to examine his find.

He held it up, glinting red in the light of the setting sun, and looked at it. It looked back. The curve was the dome of a head, one eye glaring from a sunken socket in the ruined face. He raised his eyebrows and returned the stare with his blue eyes through round spectacles. He nodded to the skull, almost in respect, and turned it over. The inside was badly damaged, the internal compartments split open, spilling wires and electronics. The brow ridge seemed to have offered some protection to the one remaining eye, which seemed intact.

Reaching into a satchel on his belt, the man drew out a small, long nosed tool. He fished inside the skull, moving broken pieces out of the way until he located the socket where optic nerve cable attached. With a practiced hand he triggered the catch to separate it with the tool and caught the eye as it fell out the front. He held it up high against the sun examining it critically. Satisfied, he stashed both the eye and the tool back in the satchel, and discarded the remains of the head. Whistling, he continued across the slope.

The sun was getting lower towards the horizon but there was a newly dug trench ahead. The automated steam shovels had been busy here today, digging deeply to form a moat to catch the ever sliding scree slope of rubbish. New trenches often mean new material that hadn’t been picked over. But the walls in this section were of ancient vehicle, stacked and compressed layers like rock strata. The man walked past them, seeking something less antiquated in the fading sun.

A glint attracted his attention halfway up the slope of litter already starting to sift into the trench. He shaded his eyes from the low sun to get a better look. An odd shaped tattoo between his eyebrows gave him a worried look. In the fading light he carefully climbed the slope, debris shifting underfoot until he reached the level he sought.

“Wait a second”, he said, to no one in particular. He brushed some of the surface layers away, exposing more and finding it was larger than he expected. “I don’t believe this!” With a tug he pulled an object free of the mound and held it up high.

What had initially looked like another smashed robotic skull was a fully intact cyborg head. Not only that, but the neck and part of the shoulders were still there. Among all the smashed limbs and rusted robotic parts, this was a find indeed. His laughter rung out over the scrap heap as the sun set.

“Daisuke Ido”, grumbled a gruff voice. “Collecting scraps again, are you?”

“What are you calling scraps, Gonzu?” said Ido, indignantly. “Can’t you see? She’s a human being!”

The two were in a cramped room that looked like a cross between a surgery and a mechanic’s bay. Pegboards lined the walls, hanging with all manner of tools, hoses, clamps and cybernetic body parts. Tool carts on wheels were parked around the room for convenience of access, not walking. Bright lights haloed by reflectors hung from the ceiling, buzzing faintly, illuminating a large work table.

Gonzu was a small man, but very broad. He wore warm clothes and a habitually dower expression. The top of his head was bare and was composed of a large plate bolted in place like a tonsure. Small scraps of wiry grey hair jutted from what scalp was left.

Ido had traded his thick leather coat for a white lab coat. His long fingered hands moved meticulously, attaching wires, inserting probes, and configuring diagnostic instruments. In the center of the work table was the remains of the cyborg he had found. He had cleaned all of the surface dirt off, disentangled any parts that were not original, and cut off anything left that was too damaged to be repaired.

What was left was a head, mostly intact except for some scoring and cracks where the outermost layers had chipped off. The surface rapidly degraded below the chin, with the musculature of the neck and upper spine exposed. There was, however, enough of the torso remaining to see the start of a swelling breast, leaving no question that this model was intended to present as female. In the tangled mass of actuators and leads a few dim lights glowed, pulling in power from the devices Ido had attached.

“Judging from the body parts, I’d say it was a two or three hundred year old model”, said Ido. He picked up a few of the degraded pieces with a forceps and turned them over, looking for a date or serial number. One of the connected computers beeped, and graphs started flowing across its screen. Ido smiled. “It’s a miracle her brain’s still intact”, he said, peering at the numbers flowing from the device. “Sort of in hibernation.”

“Sounds nice”, said Gonzu, sympathetically patting his head plate. He crossed his hands behind his back and leaned over. He stuck his lip out and brought his face close to the head on the table, examining it minutely. It twitched slightly, and he started back. “Hey look!” he said. “She’s wakin up!”

The cheeks twitched a bit, and then the eyelids. Slowly, with much blinking, the eyes opened. Two red eyes looked out, first one way, and then the other, scanning her surroundings uncertainly.

“Hi!” said Ido, bending down. “My name’s Ido.” Her head pivoted slightly on her neck, with squeaking servos. “What’s your name?”

They waited in anticipation as she blinked a few more times. Then her lips twitched. Her jaw moved slightly, and then more. “N-name?” she stammered. She looked at them in confusion.

Gonzu straightened up. “Too bad Ido. Looks like she’s lost her memory.” He stepped back a pace and shifted his gaze to the tool cabinets.

Ido bent even closer, examining the monitors and making a few adjustments to the cables. “She’ll remember. It’s only a matter of time.” He fussed over her, straightening up the torso and propping so that she could get the most motion out of the gears that were working.

Gonzu watched him and shook his head. “What if it doesn’t, eh?” he asked. “She’s like a child. You’re gonna have to teach her everything. You wanna raise her?”

Ido straightened up and rubbed his chin. “Maybe”, he said, distractedly. His eyes scanned the walls, taking in his inventory of parts. “I’ll have to restore her body. I’m going to need more than this. She deserves better than this.” Inspection complete, he turned back to her. “But first…” He watched her intently.

She was also looking around the room. As much as her eyes and minimal neck movement allowed her. Her facial muscles had limbered up, and he could see emotions crossing her face as she looked about. Her eye movements weren’t rapid, like she was frightened. Nor were they calculating, as if she was faking the amnesia and hiding something. She looked around… curious.

“Got it!” said Ido, snapping his fingers. “Alita! Starting today, your name is Alita.” Her focus returned to him. Her jaw moved, sounding out the name without speaking.

“Wait a minute”, said Gonzu. “Wasn’t that your cat? The one that died last month?” Ido smiled and nodded. He was now spraying some lubricant into her exposed jaw, helping her move her mouth. “Wasn’t it a boy?”

“I don’t care!” said Ido, a bit shortly. Then, quieter, “It’s just until she remembers her own name.”

Gonzu crossed his arms, slowly shaking his head and looking at the two of them skeptically.

Ido brushed away some dirt he had missed from her ear. Alita closed her eyes and smiled.

Ido walked along the top edge of the great berm of garbage pushed out from where it was dumped from the floating city. A brisk wind blew, tousling his shock of blonde hair and flapping his heavy coat. His breath steamed in the early morning chill as he carefully made his way along the crest.

He paused as another load of rubbish fell and watched it crash into the pinnacle in the middle of the dump, known as Mount Tiphares. Dislodged waste cascaded down the side, and the roar of its passage came delayed and distant.

“Our house is over that way, in The Scrap Yard”, said Ido. He pointed beyond the berm out over a vast shantytown. Large factories loomed out over the districts of makeshift buildings thrown together with no pattern or plan.

“Up there”, he continued, “Is Tiphares, the mid air city. They look down on us.” High above, was a great disc. The underside was a jumble of bulges and protrusions, housing unknown machinery. In the center was a great, gaping cone, ripped off at the tip. Out of this, the garbage cascaded out and fell down into the dump. From the height of the berm, you could just about see the spires and pinnacles of the city itself, and a great cylinder in the center, rising up.

Strapped to Ido’s back was a temporary frame to which Alita was strapped. The remains of her broken body were wrapped in warm cloth, and her bald head was shrouded in a knit cap. He turned to give her a view of what he was describing. Her eyes, bright and curious, watched all.

Eleven great cables connected the city to the ground. As they stood, a great whooshing sound came from the nearest one. Shhhaaaaaaaa. The cable dipped as the sound dopplered past, whatever payload inside passing from the factory on the ground to the city in the sky.

When it was quiet again, Ido asked “I want to know more about you, Alita.” He paused, waiting, but she didn’t say anything. “You must have a real name, a family, a hometown?”

After another long pause, Alita answered “My… real name…” He waited patiently, looking out over the scrapyard. Alita stared at Mount Tiphares. “I don’t know.”

“Well, there’s no rush”, said Ido, cheerfully. He hefted the pack a bit higher and started down the slope. “You can live with Alita for now, right?”

“Yes!” said Alita, enthusiastically.

He continued down the slope for a while, and then began to transverse it. Walking along the edge between the weather worn garbage near the peak and the compressed detritus towards the bottom. He had a long crowbar which he alternately used as a walking stick to keep his balance, and to pry up some of the more interesting pieces of rubble.

But each piece he picked up was either too damaged, or fell apart in his hands. “Hmm”, he said, after throwing away a promising piece, that proved too degraded under the shiny shell. “I was hoping to find some things to use for your body.” He sighed and looked about. “But it doesn’t look that way.”

Nothing. In each direction he looked, there was nothing. Just garbage. Useless garbage. Nothing he could use. Nothing deserving of Alita. “Damn” he growled, and slammed the crowbar into the useless trash. “Damn, damn, damn!” He pounded the scrap around him into even more dented junk. Then he paused, took a deep breath, and calmed himself.

“Look Alita”, he said, addressing the burden on his back. “It’ll be some time before you are up and running.” He started down the berm again, with a determined expression on his face. “But I’ll make it worth the wait. I promise. You’ll cherish these days. These memories.”

He continued faster, as the path leveled off. Alita’s red eyes took in the path he was travelling from nestled between the cap and wrap.

Night cloaked The Scrapyard. It was dark, but in many ways appeared more alive. The dirt, detritus, derelicts and other things people didn’t want to see were hidden by shadows. Where the glow of neon signs, shop fronts, and roving vendors drew attention to things people wanted to see. Along the main highways and byways of the sprawling town, residents walked, strolled or wheeled themselves. Some in search of thigs to buy, others to sell. Some sought entertainment or distraction from the draining work for the factories. Others were the ones providing the escape.

From the main thoroughfares extended the lesser streets. These had lights, but were dimmer. Traffic was thinner, and moved faster. They were wary, and watched one another suspiciously. Except for those who had escaped their worries too far, and wove, uncertainly and without a care. And also those who watched the careless, and often followed them.

The smallest branching, yet having the greatest presence, were the alleys. There were no lights here. They were dark places where dark deeds were done. At least at this time of night. Anyone who moved here was not here to be seen. Even when visible, they were often clothed and cloaked to anonymity.

Amongst the darkness was a sudden light. There was the hissing flare of a match, a sharp and passing smell of sulphur, and a lingering glow. It illuminated a pretty face, heavily made up with pigment and glitter. The color and shine continued to hair gelled into a dramatic hairdo, framed by large glittering earrings. She sucked on a long thin stem in her mouth, causing the sputtering flame to glow until it went out, transferring its light to the stem’s end. Lilac smoke drifted up from it, and when she was satisfied it was caught, she blew another plume of smoke from her mouth.

The stem was held in a long, elegant, steel arm. It was largely anthropomorphic, but the surface was etched in intricate decorative patterns. Most were highly abstract, but amongst the filigree were roses and leaves.

The woman inhaled again from the stem and held it, considering the night. At odds with the usual travelers in the alleys, she was not dressed for concealment, but for attraction. Her stylish clothes exposed a great deal of flesh, both original and cybernetic. She clearly wanted to be found, but whether she was selling something of seeking something was hard to determine.

In the darkness something moved. The woman was instantly aware, and peered intently. It was not the sound of someone approaching. It was the sound of someone already there. Someone who hadn’t wanted to be heard, but now was.

“Who’s there?” she asked, warily.

There was a sudden motion.

There was the sound of flesh being rendered.

The stem fell and sizzled out in an expanding pool of blood.

Bright light shone through the skylights into Ido’s work shop. This was a lot more open than his surgery, with more space to work on larger projects. He bent diligently over his tools, working with care and precision.

He had added a halo of black hack hair to frame Alita’s face. This set off her curious eyes as she waited patiently, as he continued his work. Eventually he ran tests, and put his tools down.

“That’s it!” he proclaimed. “Now give them a try.”

Alita concentrated and raised the new arms he had given her. She stared at the hands, turned them over and back, and wiggled the fingers. Then she stretched them out to their full length, and admired their shiny steel surface, etched with pretty designs of roses and leaves.

“They’re beautiful!” exclaimed Alita, in awe. She raised them and gently touched her face with them, sensing herself for the first time. She looked up at him, suddenly. “But, but weren’t they expensive?”

Ido beamed at her pleasure. “Oh”, he said, brushing it off. “I just found them at a used parts shop.”

Alita rolled backward and held her new arms up to watch the light shine from them. Ido sighed and looked down, where her torso ended, and the crude platform and wheels was bolted on. “Next, we’ll get your legs”, he said, lost in thought.

Later, in the darkness, Ido put on his heavy leather coat. He turned up the collar, and put on a wide brimmed hat. He looked over at where Alita appeared to be sleeping in an improvised cradle.

“I’ll make you even prettier yet”, he said, quietly. Then he closed the door, locking it behind him.

Outside he put down a heavy box. It had wheels on the bottom, and a handle on the top. He grasped the handle and set out into the dark alleys of the night.

Alita skipped and ran through a market street in The Scrapyard. She stopped occasionally to stare and the different things going on. But moved on quickly, to take in more sights.

“Mr. Gonzu!” she said excitedly, bounding up to a food stall. It was a simple counter selling a variety of food. Signs proclaimed all sorts of things from boiled noodles, to small fried things on sticks, to motor oil. Around it lounged several people, eating, slurping, or otherwise ingesting his wares. Some looked up with slight interest as Alita approached.

“Well!” said Gonzu, waving. “If it isn’t Alita. Up and running around.” He ran a professional eye up and down her figure, taking in the different parts that had gone into rebuilding her. “I almost didn’t recognize you.”

“I know”, chirped Alita. “Isn’t it great!” She bounced up and down on one toe, spreading her arms for balance.

Gonzu looked her up and down again, examining her from a less technical perspective. He also looked at some of his patrons who were watching her. He beckoned her closer. “You watch yourself at night, you hear?” Alita looked at him, puzzled. “There’s another one of those crazies out there, slitting the throats of cute young things… just like you!” He waved his finger at her.

Alita bowed respectfully. Her walk back to Ido’s shop was a little more subdued, and she watched the other’s on the street with a different interest.

The chimes on the door tinkled as Alita came in from the street into Ido’s workshop. Ido looked up from where he was working on a cyborg that looked like a suit of armor. He shut off his drill and said “Those legs working out all right, Alita?”

Alita smiled, balanced on one leg, and lifted the other one to take off her shoe. “They’re wonderful!” Ido grinned, and ran his hands through his hair. “Oh!” she said, her delight turning to concern, “Daisuke! What happened to your arm?”

Ido started nervously, and looked down at his bandaged forearm. He had rolled up his sleeves in the hot workshop, and blood could be seen darkening the gauze. “Oh. You mean this?” he said, guiltily, and immediately started rolling down his sleeve. “I got a little careless. I guess.” He shrugged and turned back to his work. “No big deal.”

He must have hurt himself when he went out last night, thought Alita to herself. She looked at him quizzically and asked “Are you sure you’re all right?” But Ido had turned back to his work. She watched him for a while. He continued to work on the metallic cyborg, explaining the dangers of metal fatigue and how to take care of his supporting structure.

What is he hiding? What?

That night, after full darkness, Ido let himself out of his shop again. He locked the door, turned up his collar to the cold, and with his box, strode off into the night.

This time, though, Alita had been listening for him. As soon as the door’s lock clicked, she got up, and stealthily moved to the window. In the gloom below, she watched Ido move off towards an alley.

You must have a real name, a family, a hometown.

Those words from Ido ran through her mind as she watched him disappear around a corner.

“Right now, Daisuke is all I have”, thought Alita to herself. She pulled on her shoes and tightened them. “And that’s enough. I don’t need a real name.” She stood up from the bed, springs complaining. “I’ll just be Alita.”

She moved to the window, opened it fully, and swung through it, landing gracefully on her feet.

I’ll be some time before you’re up and running. But I’ll make it worth the wait, I promise.

Why had Ido said that? Why was he being secret? Was it something to do with where he was getting the parts for her? And how did he get injured?

She sped along the alley, getting to the corner just in time to see Ido disappear around another one. She padded quickly after him, keeping to the shadows.

There’s another one of those crazies out there, slitting the throats of cute young things…

Was Gonzu’s warning about Ido? She should be afraid of Ido? Or for Ido? What’s going on? I have to know!

She watched him enter an intersection that lead several ways. It was well lit with nowhere to hide. So she took a side way that lead up and above. She could see which way he went from a balcony there.

But he didn’t move. He had stopped, and was waiting in the shadows. She looked about, and held still. She heard echoing footsteps, coming down the stairs from one direction. In the gloom she could see a female figure, with long, thick shaggy hair covering her head and hiding her face.

“It can’t be!” thought Alita. “Daisuke… lying in wait for that woman?”

Ido had knelt down and opened is case. Alita couldn’t see inside, but he drew out three long pieces, and she heard them click into place. The case empty, he moved stealthily to the corner, and positioned himself just where the woman would be walking past. The sticks had something heavy and sharp on one end.

As the footsteps came around the corner, Ido leaped, swinging the sharp end of his weapon around at the emerging figure. Alita pounced, launching herself from her perch, and slammed into Ido, clutching his weapon and spoiling his shot. “Don’t!” she shouted.

In shock, Ido looked at her. “Alita! You don’t know what…”

“I know all about it Daisuke”, she interrupted. “These arms and legs. You killed people for them, didn’t you?”

“What did you say”, said Ido, anger rising. He tried to pull his spiked hammer from her, but she clung to it.

“Don’t! You can’t make me a part of this”, cried Alita, hanging on to the shaft.

With a grunt, Ido wrenched it from her grip and leaped into the intersection, looked up and down each alley. “She’s gone!” He turned back towards Alita and narrowed his eyes. He lifted the hammer with it’s cruel spike. “Alita!”

Alita crouched on the ground before him, and quietly pleaded “Daisuke!” He swung, and she ducked, eyes closed. She heard the hammer thud into something and scrape metal against metal. But it wasn’t her! She opened her eyes and saw the hammer striving with claw like hands, struggling back and forth. Those claws had been reaching for her, and the hammer had stopped them.

The hammer won out, and the figure leaped off with a scream.

“Are you all right, Alita!” yelled Ido. Alita watched, stunned, as the woman crawled up the side of the nearest building with cybernetic claws. “This woman’s the killer!”

The woman skittered around, facing them again, perched upside down on the side of the building. She squinted at them through vertically silted pupils, her hair a nimbus around her. Ido stepped in front of Alita, and held his hammer defensively, as she opened her fangled mouth, gave a guttural cry and leaped off the building and straight at him.

Razor sharp talons ripped through the air, slicing Ido’s hat asunder and smashing his glasses, but missed connecting with him by a hair’s breadth. The hammer’s haft bore the brunt of the shock, but in deflecting the monster it was wrenched from his hands. The creature rolled with the blow and recovered into a low crouch. The fanged mouth grinned as Ido realized myopically that there was now nothing between him and her claws. “Uh oh”, he said.

And then, suddenly, Alita leaped past him, throwing herself bodily at his assailant. Caught by surprise, the woman was knocked back. “Alita!” cried Ido, as he tried to recover his hammer and reached to hold her back at the same time.

“You think I’ll let you kill Daisuke?” screamed Alita into the face of the creature.

Recovered, the cybernetic killer pulled Alita forward, while side stepping her and flung her at the ground with little thought. Her slitted eyes were fixed on Ido, the more substantial threat.

But as Alita’s face hurtled towards a heavy impact with the rough concrete, something clicked within her. Without thinking, she flung her hands up so that they connected with the ground first. They gripped the ground and turned the momentum of her plummet into a roll, and as her body spun through the summersault, she used its energy to spin out of it and back at the fanged woman, feet first.

Alita’s feet connected with the back of the fiend’s head, knocking her half over with surprise. The creature reached to claw Alita, perched on her back, but was way too slow. Alita pivoted, her back against the creature’s back, flipping them both over. Alita braced herself against the ground with her hands, and landed another double footed kick punting the woman into the air above her. As she reached the pinnacle of this arc, Alita spun her body in a quick circle to gain momentum, pushed off the ground flinging herself into the air after her. Her feet connected a final time with the woman’s torso, right in the center of gravity, and with an expert transfer of momentum between the woman’s fall and Alita’s spinning body, flung her forcefully against the wall. Body structure failed and the clawed monster splashed against the wall like a swatted fly.

Energy spent, Alita dropped gently into a crouch on the ground.

Ido stood, transfixed. What he had seen was impossible. And yet, it had happened. Alita’s body… it just couldn’t do that sort of thing. He had built it. He knew its parameters and limits. It shouldn’t have been possible.

But, even as he thought this, other memories came back. He had heard stories, seen videos and news reels. He remembered, once before, seeing fighting that went beyond the bounds of flesh and steel. The Armored Arts. That was the name he had seen. Or Panzer Kunst, which is what the practitioners had called it. It was in a lot of old movies where it was proclaimed the most powerful of the various fighting techniques developed for humanoid cyborgs. Most often by the bad guys. He would have dismissed it, but there were also clips that were taken from other sources, that showed it in real action, not by actors. The arcs she used. The spins. They looked like the reality that the actors were imitating.

“A-Alita?” stuttered Ido. Had she been fooling him all along?

“Ah?” said Alita. She stood up from her crouch, almost as if awakening from a trance. She looked up at the splattered mess on the wall as if seeing it for the first time. “Wha? What in the…?”

There was one place in the scrapyard that was well lit both night and day. That was the company factories. Factory 33 gleamed in the night, a shining beacon of concrete and steel tubes. A broad staircase lead up to the grand entrance, with public statuary anomalously free of the grime and graffiti that covered every other surface in the scrapyard.

Inside was a foyer, not nearly as grand. With counters and corridors for those who had business with the factory. Manning them and scurrying between them were the deckmen. Whether highly cyborged humans, or very humanized robots was hard to tell. They were all cylinders of specific sizes, little faces, and slots for appendages. Arms, legs, carts, and other peripherals could be attached according to need. Some were just plugged straight into their desks.

“So, the murderer was a mutant woman who suddenly went berserk, huh?” said the tinny voice of Deckman 12 plugged into the console. Little hands emerged from slots and typed, rapid fire, on a variety of keyboards surrounding it. The cylinder pivoted in place, surveying the remains of the monster on a wheeled cart. “Considering the looks of her, I can sort of understand why she would only go after women.”

Ido smiled politely. He pondered once again if the deckman’s brain was biological or mechanical. At one time it seemed one, at another time the other. But, either way, the best thing he had learned was to say as little as possible. There was no arguing with them. And there was no way to understand their sense of humor.

“You really went the distance for this one, eh, Ido?” congratulated the deckman. Another hand jutted from a wall holding a bag, and a chute had opened in the low ceiling. There was a rush of plastic discs and the bag filled up, and up. “She’s worth a full hundred thousand chips, though.”

Ido tipped what was left of his hat, and picked up the bag.

“You still need female body parts?” asked the deckman as he stowed the coins. “Got a nice new shipment…”

The sun streamed in, once more, into Ido’s workshop. An array of packages lay on the desk. Some were open, and their contents set out in nice, neat rows. A few instruments were set up running diagnostics on them.

“In the old days, before the factories took over, there was something called a police force that dealt with criminals”, said Ido, as he examined a minute servo. “That just wouldn’t work in The Scrapyard, so Factory 33 pays off big in chips for any of us stupid enough to take to the chase.”

Alita bit her lip, watching him work with his parts. “Sorry I jumped to conclusions Daisuke”, she started.

“Sorry?!?” said Ido, turning around and beaming at her. “I was trying to help you and you ended up saving my life!” He executed a small bow to her. “Thank you, Alita. You’re an angel!”

“You think?” said Alita shyly, still not sure. You gave me my life, Daisuke. If I’m an angel, what does that make you? She cast he eyes down, a little embarrassed. Below her neck was a mass of wires and connectors, where her essential systems had been disconnected. Her body lay on another of Ido’s work tables. Elements were bent and twisted, with burnt out servos and leaking hydraulics making a mess of the surface. Several connected diagnostic machines lit up with large, angry red exclamation points.

“No more stunts though”, chided Ido, flexing one of the arms to feel where it caught. “Your body still needs a lot of work.”

“Yes sir!”