Faelan was a little dazed.
No—okay, he was extremely dazed.
He wanted to stand up and scream.
SAV wouldn't be able to pull off a proper transmigration even if you paid them for it!
What kind of convoluted development was this?!
"We definitely need Galina to verify whether it really was… whether it really was my mother who helped you," he said, trying to steady himself. "Uploaded consciousnesses aren't that rare, from what I remember—just like AIs taking over bodies from people with too much chrome and too much faith in mediocre ICE… But the idea of coming back… does it actually seem feasible?"
If it really was his mother, then the idea was entirely viable—and worth the effort.
He couldn't bring someone back from the dead. Not at all.
But the loophole Kiwi mentioned made the proposed method completely feasible.
And it was a method only he could carry out—though it would be extremely uncomfortable to work on, and he would undoubtedly need a great deal of assistance from Galina.
He just had to create another "Hollow"—a body made from bio-implants assembled together, modeled after Motoko—and then download his mother's consciousness into it.
It wouldn't even count as resurrection.
He'd simply be restoring her body.
Wasn't this even closer to the most famous version of Motoko Kusanagi?
The irony wasn't lost on him.
As for the annihilation of the Voodoo Boys, Faelan had no doubts—if it really was her, destroying the gang would take minutes.
He might even be underestimating her.
…
In fact, Faelan was underestimating his mother.
Simultaneously to her conversation with Kiwi, Motoko was already dealing with the Voodoo Boys in Pacifica.
While the gang was known for its netrunning capabilities, that was only in contrast to other gangs' specialties. In reality, their criminal activities were far more varied: drug trafficking, assassinations, torture, arson, black braindances…
Not to mention the "dark kitchens" practiced by some of the older members.
The NCPD had always treated the gang as a high priority, but since the number of actual members was relatively small—and they were highly dispersed—success had always been limited.
By the time they captured one member, two more had already taken their place.
Faelan knew the gang had around 250 core members—which, compared to other gangs, was actually quite low—but Motoko extended her reach far beyond that.
In her view, if someone dared to touch her son, her future daughter-in-law, or their circle, the best solution was a thorough purge—to rip out every root at once.
Old habits from Tasogare.
Good habits.
So it wasn't just the Voodoo Boys involved in the attack on Naturtal&Co who were marked—but also people connected to them across Pacifica:
The Chapel of Serenity. The Batty Hotel. J. Edgar Hoover School. Oceanview Institute. Skin Frank's "Tits and Beer" bar. The Old Maglev Tunnel. Rolland's Butchery. Luxor's High-End Wellness Spa…
Every location tied to the gang became a target, isolated from the Net.
By the time people like Placide or Brigitte realized something was wrong—
It was already too late.
1,812 individuals from the Haitian community—connected to the gang in various ways, forming its logistical backbone—spontaneously combusted as their implants were forcibly overloaded, enduring only seconds of agony before dying.
Those without enough chrome to suffer the same fate instead lost control of their bodies—only to commit acts of "suicide" that left witnesses stunned.
If the gang were a human body, Motoko had chosen to destroy everything from the neck down first—saving the head for last.
Deliberately.
As the gang scrambled in desperation, trying to locate the source of the attack, Motoko let them chase ghosts while she quietly laundered their accounts and drained the money they had accumulated over years.
Funds used to maintain equipment, smuggle specialized chrome, manufacture drugs…
The gang was bled dry in under seven minutes.
But she didn't stop there.
Using the digital signatures of the deceased—and of several weaker members—she took out massive loans in their names from dozens of shady corporations, leaving behind debts that would make even major biotech firms sweat.
Microloans. Black lines of credit. Fraudulent AI-assisted financing.
And of course… all that money vanished.
Into the family's accounts.
This wasn't just about making a good impression on her future daughter-in-law.
It was also her way of compensating—however slightly—for the years she had been forced to watch her son's life from afar, unable to intervene.
Only when alarms began to trigger and those identities stopped being accepted did Motoko reluctantly stop and check the numbers.
"I suppose that's a barely acceptable dowry," she sighed.
Direct extraction from the Voodoo Boys: 300 million eddies.
Fraud through their identities: another 500 million.
Total dowry: 800 million eddies.
By the time scammers, lenders, and NetWatch tried to react—
There was nothing left.
Survivors? None.
Digital traces? Gone.
Money trail? Impossible.
Motoko left no signature.
The goal had been punishment—and profit on the side.
Nothing more.
…
"What the hell happened here?" the NCPD finally entered the restricted zones of Pacifica once controlled by the Voodoo Boys, only to find charred bodies every few steps. "Did they try to dive into the Blackwall?!"
This kind of outcome…
What kind of insane AI could have done this?
"Sir, we have the numbers," a recent recruit rushed over, holding a cup of what people dared to call coffee while stepping over what looked like a barbecue of human remains.
"Numbers?" the officer said, taking the cup and sipping. "Much better."
Just what he needed—something foul enough to drown out the stench of roasted flesh and melted bioplastic clinging to his nostrils.
"2,036 confirmed dead, sir," the rookie said, synthetic sweat dripping down his forehead.
The man stared at him.
For a moment, he thought he'd misheard.
Or maybe it was the coffee.
"You said over two thousand?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then the Voodoo Boys weren't even the main target…?" he muttered, frowning.
Even with years of conflict, they had a rough estimate of the gang's size.
And they weren't even a quarter of the victims?
Something was very wrong.
"Caught in some kind of Net crossfire…?" he muttered, trying to make sense of it.
Pacifica's Haitian community numbered around thirty thousand.
More than 6%—roughly one in fifteen—had just died.
Not small numbers.
At this scale…
"A megacorp field test?" he considered—then dismissed it after checking his inbox.
No.
If it were a corporate operation, orders would've already come down to "clean things up."
This time, nothing.
And with the financial anomalies tied to the victims, it was clear the story was far more complicated.
"Did we recover anything from their servers?" he asked. "Any trace?"
Setting aside the bodies, the sheer amount of hardware they'd seized guaranteed massive bonuses. Some veterans might even retire off this haul.
Whoever did this—
Bless them for wiping out those arrogant, god-complex idiots.
"Clean," the rookie said, gesturing at the trucks being loaded. "Like they just came out of the factory. Completely blank."
Even the usual spyware was gone.
Whoever wiped the systems hadn't just covered their tracks.
They'd scorched everything.
Millions in data—gone—just to ensure not a single trace remained.
"Good," the officer nodded, satisfied.
No leads meant no work.
He'd stall the case for a few weeks—then close it "reluctantly" due to lack of evidence.
Blessed thoroughness!