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Supppp. It will be my last translation of the year to avoid being Dominator-ed. I’m so effin tired.

Psycho Pass: Utopia Hound (🔗) (Complete | English)

Summary: Enforcer Shinya Kogami of the Criminal Affairs Division 1 encounters a strange corpse at a crime scene where he is heading with rookie inspector Akane Tsunemori. The bright red jelly stuffed into multiple drawers, with bits of flesh, skin, and bone fragments floating in it, evoked a sense of absurdity buried deep in his memory during his turbulent life as a detective, and the name of a certain man.

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(divider by @cafekitsune)

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PSYCHO-PASS LEGEND — Nobuchika Ginoza: Separation (Part 2 of 6)

Traducción al español (estan las seis partes completas), acá

Part 1/6 available here

1

As he did every day, Ginoza finished arranging his desk precisely on time, put on his black overcoat, and picked up his briefcase before leaving the Office of Division One, part of the Criminal Investigation Department.

The rest of the team remained at their desks, focused on their tasks. The only person who looked up to acknowledge his departure was Shinya Kōgami, his colleague and fellow Inspector in Division One. He had short, rigid hair, a strong and athletic build, and a presence more reminiscent of a wild wolf than a human being. And yet, something in his face retained the noble bearing of a hunting dog raised in a distinguished household.

Kōgami straightened slightly, as if he were about to say something upon seeing Ginoza leave without a word. But Ginoza had already exited the office before he could open his mouth.

He knew exactly what he was going to say. “At least say goodbye to the Enforcers before you leave.” That kind of remark. Minor, harmless, scoldings, but persistent. Having known him since their formative years in higher education, Ginoza didn’t need to hear the words to understand perfectly what his former classmate was thinking.

And perhaps because of that… he hesitated even more.

He thought of him. Of someone who, with far superior marks than his own, had graduated at the top of the class during the final evaluation of the compulsory education system and had gone on to become an Inspector for the Ministry of Welfare—the very core of society under the Sibyl System. And yet, that same man now trusted an Enforcer—a latent criminal released from an isolation facility merely because he was deemed “useful”—and worse still, treated him as an equal. That attitude, to Ginoza, was a sign of reckless naivety. It was not the behavior of a sensible citizen.

As the elevator descended to the ground floor, he wondered when he had first started noticing these strange gestures in Kōgami. The numbers on the elevator panel faded one by one, each replaced by a brief flash of light. As he watched the 3 slowly become a 1, Ginoza understood.

It had started last year, when they reunited after the restructuring of the divisions within the Criminal Investigation Department.

Both had joined the Public Safety Bureau in the same year, part of the same intake, though they had initially been assigned to different sections. But the human toll within the police force was so high that in less than two years, both divisions were decimated. Eventually, Division One absorbed Division Three. Ginoza and Sasayama remained in their original posts, while Kōgami and another Enforcer were transferred from Division Three.

That meant Kōgami had adopted that way of thinking during his time in the old division. Some kind of warped ideology had clung to him there.

Crossing the main lobby and stepping into the wide courtyard in front of the building, he was greeted by an icy wind. He pulled his coat tighter and looked up at the tower rising behind him like an enormous cylindrical column reaching toward the sky. Inside that structure were the Enforcers’ quarters.

Enforcers were strictly forbidden from leaving the building unless escorted by Inspectors for investigative purposes. And yet, sometimes—during an assignment—some of them attempted to escape.

And in such cases, it was the Inspector himself who had to intervene.

Some Enforcers had even been eliminated. For that reason alone, the Inspector must establish a clear and unquestionable hierarchical relationship. Excessive familiarity not only interferes with duty—it also poses a risk to one's hue by deepening emotional ties with latent criminals. That Kōgami, as intelligent as he was, failed to understand this… was something Ginoza simply couldn’t accept. To him, Enforcers were like wild dogs still untamed.

In contrast, Ron—the Basset Hound they had captured the previous week and who had been under Ginoza’s custody as evidence ever since—was almost hard to believe had ever wandered the mountains alone as part of an animal reintroduction. He was clearly well trained. He had likely spent a great deal of time with his former owner—the animal therapist still missing—and that explained his calm demeanor. He had shown no aggression, made no attempt to attack; on the contrary, he had settled into Ginoza’s apartment as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Especially for a Basset Hound—a breed known for its loud, prolonged barking—it was a relief that he didn’t start barking uncontrollably in a tower-style apartment like the ones assigned to Inspectors.

However, not everything was going well.

As Ginoza made his way toward the public transportation station, he had the growing sense that the problem remained unresolved.

Upon returning home, he was greeted by a bark. It wasn’t loud, but it had a lively, almost cheerful tone. It sounded to him like “Welcome back.” Ginoza took off his shoes, and as he stepped onto the hallway’s cork flooring, the embedded sensors activated, and the bedroom door slid open slowly. Then, a sharp-eyed dog with heterochromatic eyes and a gleaming coat of deep brown fur began walking down the hall.

“I’m home, Dime.”

It was his lifelong companion, Dime, the Siberian Husky who had been with him since childhood. This breed had historically been used as sled dogs by the hunting and nomadic peoples of Siberia and Alaska. Its name derived from a distorted pronunciation of the term merchants once used—often derogatorily—for the Chukchi people, their original breeders, whom they referred to as “Eskimos.”

Around Dime’s neck hung a coin, fastened to his collar like an ornament. It was part of Ginoza’s personal collection and also the inspiration behind his name.

Ginoza set down his briefcase, knelt, and accepted his dog’s exuberant greeting. Though the average life expectancy of a Siberian Husky hovered around fifteen years, Dime had outlived it—and still retained his playful and stubborn spirit, throwing himself against Ginoza with the same energy as always. After receiving the enthusiastic hug for quite a while, Ginoza finally managed to peel him off, brushing away the strands of soft fur that clung to his coat. A cleaning drone rolled past and immediately vacuumed them off the floor.

It seemed Dime was shedding even more than usual lately. He had never fallen ill, but… the signs of aging were unmistakable.

“How’s he doing?” Ginoza asked while hanging his coat in the wardrobe.

Dime stared at the living room for a few seconds, then looked up at Ginoza and let out a long bark, as if to say, “You forgot again.” It was almost like a sigh in the shape of a reproach. Yes… just as he’d suspected.

Ginoza walked with Dime toward the living room. There too, a sliding door like the one in the bedroom opened softly as it detected his presence. In a corner just outside the direct flow of the air conditioning, there was the dog’s bed: a foam mattress covered in blankets. On it, lying down, was Ron—the Basset Hound. His eyes were closed, but as Ginoza entered, he cracked one open, gave a slight twitch of one long ear… and then collapsed again without making a sound. He behaved like a fussy old landlord who didn’t want to be disturbed.

“Were you sleeping, Ron?”

Ginoza sat on the sofa and spoke to the guest who had been staying with him for nearly a week. Ron didn’t respond. He remained completely still. Ginoza waited a few moments for a sign, then got to his feet and went over to the cactus by the window to check on it. When he touched the soil in the pot, he found it dry—likely because he’d left the heater on all day. He headed to the kitchen-dining area to fetch the spray bottle and water it.

Then he noticed the food dishes had been cleared.

Dime’s bowl was completely spotless, as if he had licked up every last grain. But Ron’s, just as he’d feared, remained untouched. The food sat there, exactly as it had been left.

Ron, like a prisoner staging a silent protest, was refusing to eat. Ginoza had tried different brands and combinations, but nothing had worked.

At first, he thought the refusal might be due to lingering effects of the anesthetic used during the capture, but medical tests revealed no abnormalities. He was barely drinking water, and even with that alone, the weight loss was already noticeable.

Ginoza returned to the living room and approached Ron, who still hadn’t moved. Touching him, he could feel the long, soft fur, carefully groomed after removing the fleas, ticks, and other parasites he had brought back from the mountains. But his body was visibly thin. Pressing gently, he discovered a surprisingly solid bone structure for such a small frame. That contrast—fragility disguised as resilience—wiped the expression from his face.

Ron didn’t flinch at contact, nor did he tense up, but he didn’t seem to enjoy it either. It wasn’t distrust, because if invited for a walk, he would obey with lazy reluctance but without resistance. Only with food did he remain utterly unyielding.

Ginoza sat on the sofa, flipping through documents projected holographically from his Inspector’s device, but his eyes barely skimmed the surface of the words. He was reading without understanding. He felt frustrated. Useless. He had earned certification as a canine therapist, was qualified to conduct assisted therapy sessions with dogs… and yet, when it came to actually caring for a dog, he felt like a complete amateur. It was absurd.

Something was slipping past him.

Animals don’t communicate their thoughts with words, but that doesn’t mean there’s no communication. Just as humans use gestures and facial expressions beyond verbal language, the movements and behaviors of animals also carry messages.

There were times when Ginoza felt quietly proud of his ability to quickly pick up on a dog’s nonverbal cues. But… was that sensitivity something that only worked with Dime, the dog who had been by his side his entire life? What if it had always been Dime—steadfast and perceptive—who had read his thoughts and acted accordingly?

Dime had been a gift from his grandmother. A therapy dog.

In the darkest period of his life, Dime had been almost the only bright memory. At that time, still a child, the world had seemed brutal, illogical, utterly merciless. His father, a police detective, had seen his hue severely clouded during a case investigation and had ended up classified as a latent criminal, confined in an isolation facility. That all happened just after the Criminal Coefficient system had been implemented. It was a time when society, newly aligned with the absolute values of the Sibyl System, was intent on imposing them aggressively on everyone. Those labeled as latent criminals—and anyone resembling them—were ruthlessly cast out.

Even though there wasn’t a single study proving that criminal latency was hereditary, the belief was embraced with near-fanatical conviction. Even today, some discrimination against the families of latent criminals still lingers, but back then, the persecution was extreme.

His father's fall into the latent category was a sentence that condemned both Ginoza and his mother to social hell. They lost their place in the world. Even when they moved to a new area, someone would always discover their background, and before long, they’d be despised again—scorned, insulted, shunned. Ginoza’s mother, unable to withstand the pressure, began to decline too, her hue growing darker and darker. And still, she clung to hope, desperately searching for some way, some method, to restore her husband’s hue. But a discarded object doesn’t rise back into the air by defying gravity. Everything kept falling… until it broke entirely.

Ginoza hated his father. He despised him deeply. That man had shown up as an Enforcer when his mother was already in critical condition… and hadn’t stayed with her at her deathbed. [1] He had left—just like that—because duty called him in the middle of an investigation. He had been consumed entirely by his role as a detective. There was no way to forgive him for it. And, of course, Ginoza’s hue could never remain pure after that.

Then as now, Ginoza constantly asked himself whether he was living as a proper person in the eyes of society. And he could say without hesitation that the child he once was… had been completely mistaken.

His grandmother, desperate to improve his hue, tried various psychological therapies for him. Dime was part of that effort. He arrived as a therapy dog when he was still a puppy, meant to help him heal. In modern Japanese society, where living animals were extraordinarily valuable commodities, a Siberian Husky like Dime was no small investment. That breed, in particular, had been celebrated since the 20th century for its critical role in delivering serum during a diphtheria outbreak in Nome, Alaska. They had crossed over 1,000 kilometers of frozen trails to save hundreds of lives. Since then, they had been seen as lucky dogs in times of epidemic, and their value had soared.

But his grandmother spared no expense for her grandson. She tried everything.

And it was through Dime—through that silent bond—that Ginoza discovered that even in a world full of enemies eager to hurt him… someone could still stand by his side. That realization had been his salvation. It pulled him up from collapse and set him on the path to becoming someone who could live "correctly."

That’s why he studied with such desperation. So that he would never give even the slightest opening to those who approached with malicious intent.

He couldn’t give them even the smallest chance. He had to prove that he was worth enough to exist in this society.

That’s why he chose the Public Safety Bureau.

Obtaining a suitability evaluation for that particular agency during the mandatory vocational assessment received at the end of basic education was extremely rare. Working in criminal investigation meant, from the outset, living in constant proximity to the risk of hue deterioration. But if one managed to hold that job until the end, it was possible to attain a high-ranking position within the Ministry of Welfare—the true core of Sibyl society. In other words, to become one of the people who moved the world.

That would allow Nobuchika Ginoza to prove to the system—and to the entire world—that his existence had meaning.

No. He couldn’t afford to fail. And especially not in a case like this, where there hadn’t even been any fatalities. No, he thought immediately. He couldn’t underestimate it.

This wasn’t a trivial case.

Pets are sometimes referred to as “companion animals.” But their significance goes beyond affection—they are true partners in life. When an animal therapist decides to release them into the wild at random, it’s as if someone had stripped a family of all means of communication and abandoned them in an unfamiliar country. No one could remain calm in the face of that.

And many of those affected were elderly people. Couples who had started raising an animal after their children had left home. Or seniors who had lost their spouses and lived alone. For them, those animals were vital components—indispensable for maintaining the stability of their Psycho-Pass.

���I’m a pathetic man,” Ginoza thought, feeling the pressure of frustration build inside him.

This wasn’t good. He was experiencing stress.

He moved to the kitchen-dining area, retrieved the vial of Psycho-Pass care stabilizers, and, following the prescribed dosage, swallowed several pills with a glass of water. Ever since he became an Inspector, those medications—along with his regular therapy sessions—had become indispensable for performing his duties.

At that moment, Dime followed him into the kitchen. He probably thought Ginoza was about to serve food.

And now that he thought of it… he hadn’t eaten dinner yet either.

Ginoza was never one to have much appetite, and skipping meals wasn’t unusual for him. But for a large dog like Dime, meals were essential. Forgetting something so basic… he was clearly out of sorts.

He prepared Dime’s food, and at the same time, ordered a high-performance nutritional bagel for himself from the food printer. It was a New York–style bagel, typical of the Ashkenazi [2] baking tradition: compact, chewy, with excellent bite texture. Each section had a slightly different flavor, preventing palate fatigue. He ate slowly, finishing it almost without realizing.

Then he watched Dime eat. The dog chewed slowly, as if savoring every bite, and then took small sips from the water bowl beside his dish. Despite his age, his appetite remained intact, although he certainly ate less than before and took more time to do it.

“If only Ron could eat like that…” Ginoza murmured, almost without thinking.

Dime immediately stopped eating and looked up, fixing his mismatched eyes on him for a long moment.

It was his tenth stare. It wasn’t an iris defect. In Siberian Huskies, heterochromatic eyes are perfectly normal. And yet, Ginoza had always felt a particular fascination with that enigmatic gaze. Dime, as if nothing had happened, calmly returned to his food and resumed chewing with the same tranquility as before. It was as if he were quietly granting his owner forgiveness for that brief moment of emotional infidelity.

I’m sorry, Dime. I’ve neglected you.

The next morning, the usual case meeting was held.

It wasn’t that there had been any significant progress. The overall division of labor remained the same: Ginoza and Sasayama would continue investigating the stolen animals in coordination with the Health Office. Meanwhile, Kōgami and Enforcer Masaoka were in charge of tracking down the animal therapist, Yōnobu Miyake.

“…I know I don’t have anything concrete to offer, but something about all this smells off.”

It was Masaoka who spoke, after finishing his report. His face, lined with wrinkles, carried the weight of years of experience that certified him as a veteran Enforcer. He wore a relaxed, classic suit that suited his unhurried pace. Every movement he made left behind a faint trace of alcohol and turpentine—as if his body still held the memory of a painter’s studio.

“This Miyake Yōnobu… it’s like he was using the animals he raised to turn a profit, taking in pets left by other owners for that purpose. If someone told me he was reselling them, I’d get it,” Masaoka continued, frowning. “But I just can’t figure out why—suddenly, as if something flipped inside him—he let all of them go. If we could understand that, I think we’d have a solid lead…”

“Is that your detective’s instinct talking, Tottsan?” Kōgami interjected, with a faint smile. Ever since their time in Division Three, his trust in Masaoka had been absolute.

“The motive doesn’t matter,” Ginoza cut in coldly. “What we need are results. You can play detective after the meeting.”

The interruption sparked a jolt of irritation.

Kōgami, from the very first day they’d met, had always had that tendency to drift outside reality. Maybe it was his insatiable love for reading, or his devotion to fiction, but he always seemed to carry a trace of idealism with him. He was a romantic. A dreamer. And Masaoka—with his mannerisms, his language, his very presence—seemed like he had stepped out of a vintage detective novel. But at the end of the day, he was a latent criminal. A social outcast. Not someone you could place blind trust in.

“Hey, Gino…”

Kōgami cast him a glance from the side, but Ginoza ignored it.

“Inspector Kōgami, continue the search for the animal therapist. If you require information that falls under another ministry’s jurisdiction, submit the request—I’ll handle the clearance. That’s all. Meeting adjourned.”

As Masaoka gave Kōgami a pat on the shoulder, as if calming him before he could say anything else, Ginoza once again felt that persistent discomfort stir within him.

The rest of the morning was consumed almost entirely by email exchanges with the Health Office. Things that could have been settled in two or three sentences over a holovisor call turned into endless email chains, filled with the kind of convoluted, overly formal writing so typical of bureaucrats. Time simply slipped away.

Calling it a “joint operation” sounded good on paper, but in practice, it was two separate institutions investigating the same case with almost no coordination—competing for results. It was far from a healthy situation.

Just before lunch, he decided to take a short break and, while he was at it, looked into whether the Basset Hound breed—Ron’s—had any dietary requirements that differed from other dogs. He assigned one of the sub-monitors to that task.

“About this morning’s meeting… I get that you’re frustrated by the lack of progress, but taking it out on the Enforcers isn’t really like you, Gino-sensei, don’t you think?”

Sasayama had appeared unannounced and was now sitting across from his desk, interrupting the documents displayed on screen. He often chatted with others even during work hours. He proudly called himself a hopeless womanizer, and when there were female Inspectors or Enforcers nearby, he’d trail after them like a dog in heat. Currently, Division One was composed only of men, so his antics had tapered off—but when he hovered like this, he was still just as annoying.

“Get back to work,” Ginoza said sharply. “You’re in the way.”

“Oof, scary,” Sasayama replied, unfazed, staying right where he was. He craned his neck to glance at one of the sub-monitors behind Ginoza.

“Come on, Gino-sensei, if you’re on a break, let me chat a bit,” he said, eyeing the screen.

“Evidence review is part of my job,” Ginoza shot back curtly.

Ron hadn’t eaten that morning either. If this continued—considering his already poor nutritional state—the most serious outcome could be death from progressive weakness. Wouldn’t it be more appropriate, from an animal welfare standpoint, to turn him over to the Health Office?

But that agency mainly handled the culling of animals that had gone feral. In this case, since the animals had been stolen and were to be returned to their original owners, their handling should, in theory, be more careful. Still, given that Ron had belonged to a criminal, there was no telling how they might treat him. He could very well be subjected to all sorts of experiments under the guise of “analysis.” And if that happened, his decline would only accelerate.

That… Ginoza could not allow.

“If you’re that kind to the dog…” said Sasayama with a crooked smile, as if reading his thoughts, “couldn’t you spare a bit of that kindness for us, your loyal hounds?”

Ginoza said nothing.

Sasayama noticed, and let out a short, resigned laugh. But that attitude only fueled Ginoza’s irritation further.

“Hounds, you? Latent criminals?”

You, who must be confined simply for worsening the hue of those around you. You, who exist on the fringes of society. Don’t you dare call yourselves hounds of the law, as if you were its rightful agents. Don’t indulge in that ridiculous pretense just because you carry the title of Enforcers.

“What are we, then? Carriers of some contagious virus?” Sasayama replied with a half-smile, his tone unchanged.

“That’s not it.”

Ginoza stood from his seat and cast a glance around the entire Division One office. Kōgami and Masaoka were also watching the exchange, their expressions showing that something wasn’t right.

This was the moment. He had to make it absolutely clear.

“You are the virus. Never forget it: your very existence is a threat to others.”

His voice was cold. Merciless.

The atmosphere in the office froze instantly.

“Hey, Gino…”

Kōgami threw a sharp glance at Masaoka and stood up. He took a few steps toward Ginoza. His brow was furrowed, fists clenched. He was upset. Angry, maybe?

But he didn’t understand. Ginoza knew that. Kōgami still didn’t understand.

The man he admired so deeply—the one he saw as the archetype of the seasoned, stoic detective—was not who he thought he was.

“Inspector Ginoza, shall we go to lunch?”

Sasayama’s voice cut through the moment, delivered as if oblivious to the tension… but his movements were fast.

He stepped in just in time, blocking the imminent confrontation. He prevented Kōgami from getting any closer and left no room for Ginoza to retort. His action felt forced, but it worked. Without giving him a chance to resist, he grabbed Ginoza by the shoulder, spun him around, and shoved him straight out of Division One’s office.

With his slim build, Ginoza couldn’t put up much resistance. They headed directly to the break room.

The lounge, spacious and lined with a large glass wall to let in the light, was empty—as if someone had deliberately cleared it in advance.

The only sound in the room was the faint hum of the drink dispenser. The unmistakable smell of cigarettes lingered in the air: Sasayama was smoking one of his usual Spinnel, his preferred brand of hand-rolled tobacco. If he remembered correctly, the name referred to a thorn.

“…What exactly do you think you’re doing?”

Ginoza sat on a bench. Beside him, a cup of steaming coffee sat untouched; Sasayama had brought it for him. Instead, he was sipping from a paper cup he’d filled himself with something sugary from the dispenser. The taste was deliberately cloying. On the side of the cup, the Public Safety Bureau’s cheerful mascot beamed with an innocent smile.

“That’s a question I should be asking you, Gino-sensei,” Sasayama replied, leaning his shoulder against the wall and exhaling a cloud of smoke.

“We know perfectly well that we’re society’s outcasts. And I’m not saying that dramatically. Look, I’ve done stuff that easily could’ve landed me in a cell with no right to complain. But what you said today… you crossed a line. What’s going on with you? Back in the old Division One, you had other Enforcers under your command—but you weren’t this hostile. At least, not this blunt.”

“I just said what’s plainly true.”

Ginoza replied curtly, coldly, as if trying to end the conversation. But Sasayama, like smoke, let the words pass through him, answering lightly—almost calmly.

“Is this about Kōgami?”

“Why would you think that?”

“Process of elimination,” said Sasayama, with a faint smile. “I’ve been working with you since before. Masaoka hasn’t shown any problematic behavior—at least compared to other Enforcers. But Kōgami… the way he interacts with Enforcers… He doesn’t act like an Inspector, does he, Gino-sensei? Does it bother you when an Inspector gets along with Enforcers?”

“…Of course it does.”

“Sure. Makes sense.”

“What?”

Ginoza frowned, surprised that Sasayama agreed with him so easily.

“We Enforcers are tools for the Inspectors. Nothing more.”

But then, as if he couldn’t hold it back, he added:

“…And a tool can either save—or kill—the one who wields it.”

“Are you suggesting a rebellion?”

Ginoza looked at him sharply.

“What kind of nonsense is that?” Sasayama scoffed, laughing it off without concern. “I’ve got no complaints about my handler. You’ve always done the job right as an Inspector. But lately… well, your attitude’s been a little off. Isn’t it true that our work has a purpose?”

Was he being flippant? No. Sasayama wasn’t one to joke in situations like this.

Ginoza took a moment before answering. He carefully selected a reply that he believed to be correct, logical, irrefutable.

“Our job is to deal with latent criminals who threaten the order of this society.”

“Then make sure you don’t mistake your enemy, Gino-sensei. You don’t have to treat Enforcers as your equals. But if you treat them properly—whether as tools or as people—it’ll show you the best way to use them. Learn how to handle a hound.”

“It never hurts to know how to handle a hound. Kōgami figured that out, didn’t he? Though… maybe he’s getting a bit too close for comfort. Still, between carrot and stick, I guess that’s not the worst balance.”

With that, Sasayama fell silent. He finished the rest of his cigarette and left the lounge, tossing out a passing comment about how attractive the lunch staffer was today.

Ginoza, for his part, drank what was left of the soda—but the cloying sweetness clung to his tongue. He picked up the coffee that had been sitting beside him and took a long sip. It was cold, but its bitterness cleansed his palate.

When his shift ended, he left the office without a word. No one to greet. No one to say goodbye to.

By the time he returned to the office later, Kōgami and the others had already left to continue the search for the animal therapist. They weren’t expected back until nightfall. Sasayama, after lunch, had come back briefly before announcing he was heading to the lab to retrieve the test results. He hadn’t returned since. He was probably off trying to seduce—or at the very least, annoy—some lab technician.

When he stepped outside, the air was still cold, but without wind, it didn’t bite as sharply as it had the day before. As he walked toward the station, Ginoza came across a holographic display decorating the plaza entrance with a show of vibrant lights: ribbons of scarlet floated in the air like silken strands, swaying gently, rippling without pause.

A couple walking ahead of him reached out toward one of the virtual ribbons, as if trying to tug on it. At that moment, a gigantic chocolate heart appeared in the sky, followed by a rain of colorful candies and decorations.

The show ended in a burst of lights. “Place your order now for a gift to your partner, friend, or loved one.” [3]

It was an advertisement for a large department store in Shinjuku preparing for its Valentine’s Day campaign. It was an event that held absolutely no appeal for Ginoza—but for some reason, in that moment, he made the decision to call a taxi and told the driver to take him to the mall.

During the ride, he reviewed all the documentation he had on Ron. He didn’t manage to go through every detail, but he was able to formulate a hypothesis. At last, he understood what had been slipping past him all this time.

The shopping center was crowded. As soon as he entered, a concierge avatar offered to let him try on spring outfits in the men’s fashion hologram section, but Ginoza cut it off and asked to be directed straight to the pet goods department. He didn’t have to wait long. They handed him exactly what he needed—no shortages, no excess. He paid and asked for the items to be wrapped. It wasn’t so much that he couldn’t carry it, but he didn’t feel like taking the train home, so he called a taxi for the return trip.

When he arrived, as always, Dime came out to greet him. This time, though, he seemed a little irritated. Was he mad that Ginoza had taken so long? Or was he just impatient to be fed? Probably both.

Still carrying the shopping bags, Ginoza went straight to the kitchen. He served Dime’s food from the dispenser and spoke to him as he did—though perhaps his words were directed not only at Dime, but also at the silent guest who hadn’t moved from his place in the living room for hours.

“What one of my subordinates said during lunch… stuck with me,” Ginoza began. “And it made me reconsider everything. I was so focused on keeping you alive as case evidence that I forgot what I really should have done first.”

While Dime continued eating, Ginoza opened the paper bag and took out several packs of dog food he had bought. He laid them out on the kitchen counter, set out several bowls, and served a portion of each kind. Then he brought them all into the living room.

“Animal behavior is a form of language. No matter how incomprehensible it may seem, if you’re patient, you can understand it. Maybe you’re thinking I’m an idiot for not realizing sooner. After all, just remembering what you did before we captured you should have made it obvious.”

Ron, still lying on his bed, glanced at the bowls that Ginoza was lining up in front of him. He didn’t move yet.

“I found it strange that, despite being so skilled at avoiding traps and hunting prey after prey, you were so thin when we caught you. Were you saving food for your owner? Or was it just a habit repeated for too long? I can’t say for sure. But right now, that’s not what matters. Not what happened with the prey, but your own behavior.”

“Basset Hounds, despite how adorable they look, weren’t originally bred as pets,” he continued. “They were bred to be hounds. Dogs built for the hunt.”

Ron moved one of his ears, just once, in a faint gesture. His nose twitched slightly, as if picking up a scent.

With effort, he lifted his head and looked at Ginoza.

“It’s said that some hounds, trained to deliver prey without consuming it, are raised on a vegetarian diet,” he went on. “Tell me, Dime… is it possible that you don’t want to eat meat either?”

In front of Ron’s bed were several bowls filled with different types of food. The first contained food made from real meat. Next to it, a high-end commercial option—meatless, but engineered from ultra-processed oats and chemically adjusted to replicate the precise aromatic compounds that dogs identify and prefer in meat-based products.

And finally, the last: a plain oat base. No additives, no animal fragrances, no attractants. Raw. Tasteless. Originally formulated for dogs needing customized diets—especially for palliative care. Rarely served like this, unmixed.

And then, Ron slowly rose. With his three legs, he moved forward toward the bowls… and began to eat. He chose that one. The simplest. The purest.

He ate even more slowly than Dime. He chewed each grain carefully, deliberately. When he tried to swallow, he choked a little, a faint sound escaping from his throat.

Ginoza reacted immediately. He knelt down, held Ron’s body between his legs to steady him, and brought the water bowl to his mouth. Ron drank with a subtle tilt of his head. Then, he resumed eating. It took him more than thirty minutes to finish.

Ron ate slowly, grain by grain, like a devoted pilgrim who, after a long journey, honors the offering of bread and water with gratitude—no matter how hungry he is. With a serene and composed demeanor, he kept eating without ever losing his poise.

It seemed like the right answer.

Ginoza sighed in relief and reached out to remove the untouched bowls. Suddenly, he felt a gentle bite on his fingers.

It was Dime.

He had finished eating long ago, but the smell of meat had drawn him into the living room. With bright eyes, he approached the remaining dishes as if to say, “Is today a special occasion?” and tried to stick his nose in one of them. But Ginoza was quicker—he caught him by the neck before he could reach the food.

“Hey. You’re old. You can’t overeat. Wait until tomorrow.”

Dime, frustrated, looked at him with a heartbroken expression and let out a low, pitiful whine. Then he began circling Ginoza’s legs insistently, pleading sweetly for a change of heart—making it impossible for him to take even a step.

Meanwhile, Ron watched them in silence. His gaze was calm, almost analytical, as if evaluating the scene in front of him. Then, he flicked his long ears twice, a soft, measured pat-pat.

Translation Notes:

[1] Here, the translation refers to a “deathbed,” but the state Ginoza’s mother is in at that moment is more akin to a coma (let’s remember that Sae suffers from Eustress Deficiency Disorder, as shown in Sinners of the System Case 2). This could be a dissonance either with canon or with Ginoza’s perception of Sae’s condition.

[2] Ashkenazi —also spelled Asquenazi, Askenazi, or Askenazí— is the term used to refer to Jews who settled in Central and Eastern Europe.

[3] This represents a divergence from the canon established in the Inspector Akane Tsunemori manga (and, as I understand, also in the novelization of Season 1), because in both formats there’s a recurring joke involving Sasayama and Ginoza. Sasayama convinces Ginoza that Valentine’s Day is a holiday meant to improve workplace relationships, and Ginoza ends up preparing chocolates for Masaoka and Kōgami. This scene appears in Chapter 20.5 of the manga.

[smokingasters]

Rbing since I went through the doc and corrected all the grammatical errors, I’m sorry to everyone who had to read my atrocious grammar. This is why I should not edit late nights.

Also sorry that I am a word eater. In my defense I was hungry.

Supppp. It will be my last translation of the year to avoid being Dominator-ed. I’m so effin tired.

Psycho Pass: Utopia Hound (🔗) (Complete | English)

Summary: Enforcer Shinya Kogami of the Criminal Affairs Division 1 encounters a strange corpse at a crime scene where he is heading with rookie inspector Akane Tsunemori. The bright red jelly stuffed into multiple drawers, with bits of flesh, skin, and bone fragments floating in it, evoked a sense of absurdity buried deep in his memory during his turbulent life as a detective, and the name of a certain man.

❌Please don’t copy and repost it elsewhere. The link will be live till the end of the internet until a solar flare probably takes us all out. ❌

Please REBLOG!

(divider by @cafekitsune)

[smokingasters]

SHINYA KOGAMI 🧡

サイコパス S3 Ep. 02: Teumessian sacrifices

[smokingasters]

Psycho-pass Movie Novel Chapter 8 Complete

Note before reading: sentences in italics represent the character’s thoughts; sentences between square brackets are phone/radio conversations or the voice of dominators or other electronic devices.

1

At the gate of Shambala Float, Tsunemori was asked to leave her weapons. She was a little irritated at being treated like an enemy, but she didn’t consider the government forces to be her allies either.  She reminded herself that she had gone so far with her actions on the battlefield that it couldn’t be helped.

Surrounded by soldiers of the National Military Police soldiers, Tsunemori was forced to walk at gunpoint. After a lift to the top floor, she was taken to the courtyard of the National Military Police dormitory. There, a grim-faced Nicholas was waiting for her.            

“…No matter how important you are as a guest, our patience has a limit…”

“Important guest? You tried to kill me.”

“It was because you were working with a guerrilla.”

“That was part of the investigation.”

“Why can’t you understand that this is ‘our country’? You are confined and will be forcibly repatriated to Japan on the next airfreight.”

Repatriated? Finally, Tsunemori’s expression changed. With a look of steel on her face, she moved closer to Nicholas, and in response, the other soldiers threatened her with their weapons. Nicholas despised Tsunemori and was wary of her. But Tsunemori hadn’t expected him to see her as such a threat. She was prepared for house arrest, but not for repatriation. It was highly unlikely that the soldiers would even allow Tsunemori to open her mouth.

At that moment, the soldiers in the courtyard suddenly stood at attention.

Footsteps approached and Nicholas looked suspiciously in their direction to see Chairman Hang.

“I’d rather you didn’t make important decisions alone.”

“Your Excellency Chairman…!”

“There is no need to repatriate her. Send her back to her room and put her under supervision.”

“But… !”

“Silence! I have my doubts about the way the National Military Police have acted recently. And I am the Commander-in-Chief of the Armed Forces.”

“Yes, sir…”!

This time Nicholas changed colour.

“That was too harsh. As you know, she is a guest... an inspector from the Japanese Ministry of Welfare. Please, take that into account.”

“…”

Chairman Hang’s leniency created a feeling of mistrust in Tsunemori.

2

The guesthouse was located in a corner of the Sky Gardens of Krita Yuga. Tsunemori returned to her assigned private room, a  cottage-style loft structure. She had been forced to return. Two security drones and two soldiers stood guard at the door of the room. She was effectively under house arrest, but she felt she had been saved from forced repatriation.

“Well, then…”

Tsunemori checked the radio wave signal in the room using the sophisticated portable terminal provided to the inspectors, and then carefully checked the power supply, lighting and communications systems. —  She discovered that the holographic TV system embedded in the wall had been bugged. She was not particularly surprised. The display on the portable terminal showed that the bathroom, which also contained a toilet, was indeed unmonitored.

Tsunemori entered the bathroom bringing along her self-moving suitcase. First, she took out her notebook, then she opened the cosmetics pouch that Karanomori Shion had hidden, which was filled with the Public Safety Bureau’s ‘Pill bug’ micro-drones.

Tsunemori entered the empty bathtub with the notebook in her hand. As she gave a command on her portable terminal, a multitude of pill bugs began to move simultaneously. The micro-robots rolled around under the power of their macromolecular motors, spreading out through the drains and ventilation fans.

They explored the area from the quarters of the National Military Police to the nearby Chairman’s residence and the surrounding Government Headquarters. It took time, but in the meantime Akane operated the notebook. She found a relay node[1] in Shambala Float and connected to it wirelessly. Careful not to leave any traces, she fed it the hacking programme she had received from Karanomori via her portable terminal.  As soon as this was accomplished, a hologram appeared on Tsunemori’s portable terminal with the words [Private Network Established] and [Satellite Communication Online].

“Sorry about this, Shion-san. Can you hear me?”

[Oh, Akane-chan.]

The time difference between SEAUn and Japan was two hours. Karanomori was usually at work at that time. She had tried to communicate with her, thinking that as long as there were no major incidents, she would pick up right away.

[Yes, of course. The programme I gave you seems to be working. So, what’s going on?]

“I’m scattering the pill bugs all over the place. These guys can fool the security equipment in this country. Please check every single psycho-pass diagnostic device installed in buildings and on the streets.”

[What do you hope to find? The Sibyl System is already running there, isn’t it? In that case...]

“The System may not be working fairly. Selectively check the relevant equipment within the Special Ward, especially that of the Military Police. Check that the cymatic scans are really measuring accurately.”

[A detective’s intuition... sort of thing?]    

Tsunemori laughed at Karanomori’s words.

“It’s not like that. It’s the result of a series of considerations.”

[Okay. I’ll go all out.]

The pill bugs started the search. The collected data was transferred to Tsunemori’s computer, from where it was sent to Karanomori in Japan via satellite through a private network .

“One more thing. The collars used to monitor latent criminals here in Shambala Special Ward are also made in Japan, right?”

[Shouldn’t they be?]

“Could you please find a code to unlock them under the authority of the Public Safety Bureau?”

[It’s a piece of cake, but... will you be all right? The Military Police won’t be  all too pleased, will they? ]

“I am long past the stage where I act by worrying about people’s moods .”

3

— The Old Town, where the guerrilla clean-up had come to an end. The camp of Desmond’s mercenaries had been set up in a large, abandoned theatre that occupied one corner of the city. Armoured vehicles, transporters and two powered suits had been brought into the atrium.

Kougami’s hands were tied with reinforced plastic bands, and he was suspended by chains from hooks in the ceiling. His upper body had been stripped naked, and he was covered in bruises from being beaten and kicked.

The man torturing Kougami was a large, muscular Frenchman — Weber. Rutaganda, Babangida and Bun looked on. The Russian, Yulia, had just returned from buying local alcohol and food. Yulia tossed a bottle of whisky to Rutaganda and a bottle of beer to Weber.

Having got his drink, Weber stopped hitting Kougami and took a break.

Rutaganda approached Kougami instead. After putting the whisky on the table, he reached into his survival kit and pulled out a small pair of first-aid scissors.

Medical scissors with a thin, knife-like tip.

Rutaganda opened the scissors and placed them on Kougami’s nipple. The cold blades touched the muscular chest, and the man involuntarily frowned at the repulsive sensation. Rutaganda pinched Kougami’s nipple with the tip of the sharp scissors. A little more force and it would have been cut off.

“First of all, I can’t shake off the suspicion that you were acting as a military advisor to the guerrillas under someone else’s orders.”

Rutaganda inquired.

“Actually, didn’t you have contact with the Japanese Tsunemori even after you left the country? To what extent does the Japanese government know the real situation of SEAUn? ... That’s what we want to know.”

“It would have been much easier if I had had the support of the Japanese government…”

Kougami defiantly held his ground.

“What makes you think that? You’re the one who’s supposed to have connections with the Japanese government, aren’t you? Shambala Float is a division of the Ministry of Welfare…”

“Don’t you care about nipples? How about here, then?”

Rutaganda placed the medical scissors on Kougami’s crouch. He clamped them around the base and, as expected, Kougami’s face contorted at the feel of the blades touching the sensitive area.

“…Do it!” Kougami said.

“It doesn’t sound like you were acting,” Rutaganda put the scissors back in her bag. “Even men have less fun when they lose their nipples. You should be grateful for my kindness.”

“…These aren’t regular army methods. You’re mercenaries, right?”

Kougami countered. Rutaganda laughed.

“I was surprised to find that the guerrilla military advisor I had heard so much about was Japanese. I thought that country was nothing but a phony, spineless rubbish, with all the Sibyl and other bullshit.”

“It’s true that I don’t have a place there anymore.”

“Did you leave the government service after receiving a professional training? But as a mercenary, you are third-rate. Above all, you have no eye for choosing your employers.”

“Don’t lump me in with your hyenas. I don’t just live by trailing the scent of blood.”

“Well, that’s the kind of nonsense that only a former detective would say. There are those who are eager to write slogans saying that in the ideal state of violence there is both law and justice.   In a world where states have collapsed, there is a ‘privatisation of violence’. This is because the monopoly of organised violence is the essence of the state.  When violence begins to spread, it becomes ‘infrapolitical’[2]. Organised violence as an economic activity, with social resentment as its source.”

Kougami laughed scornfully.

“ ‘The wretched of the earth’[3], eh?   A post-colonialist mercenary is hard to deal with.”

“Huh? You’re not only skilled, but also educated? More and more interesting.”

Rutaganda raised his eyebrows, somewhat impressed.

Then he released Kougami’s bonds.

“What?” the mercenaries shouted in surprise, but Kougami was the most surprised of all.

— What is he up to?

“ From what I have heard, your fellow guerrillas idolised you. Did you inspire them with some reassuring ideologies?”

As he said this, Rutaganda lightly adopted an orthodox boxing stance.

Then Kougami finally understood.

He wanted to test Kougami’s skills a bit more... that’s how it was.

“…no idea.”

“Hmmm. But I wonder. Sure is that when I talk to you, I feel strangely uplifted. It’s like listening to Wagner’s music.”

“These are words I’d rather hear coming from a glamorous, beautiful woman. Hearing them from a man just gives me goosebumps.”

Hearing this, Yulia from the gallery tilted her head and wondered ‘Is he referring to me?’ But Kougami was focused on Rutaganda, and the beautiful woman was out of sight.

“That talent of yours is precious, Mister Japanese. You’d make a good agitator. You have a special charisma that can stir up anger and focus resentment.”

Kougami tried Rutaganda’s skill test.

After the torture, his condition was close to the worst. Just lifting his arms made every joint in his body ache. And yet, when Rutaganda gave him that ‘come at me’ attitude, he couldn’t help but do so.

Kougami tried to hit him but failed. Due to the pain and his diminished strength, his punch was too long.  Rutaganda easily dodged it and counterpunched him.

Rutaganda’s left fist was human, but still effective. Two more jabs from Rutaganda. Kougami did not dodge and continued to receive sharp, fast punches.

This is good boxing — .  Even at my best, it will be hard to beat Rutaganda, Kougami thought. A left punch alone had almost knocked him out.

In a hazy state of consciousness, Kougami still managed to put together a plan.

— Rutaganda’s right arm must be  made of a special alloy.

The left, of course, is a decoy. A diversion. The real punch will come from the right.

Kougami dared to throw a jab.

He wobbled but dared to throw it anyway.

Then he waited for Rutaganda’s right hand.

The sound of the blow, the pain. The skin of his cheek torn. The taste of blood filling the cut mouth.

Finally — the long-awaited right came.

(—  I did it!)

Rutaganda threw a right straight and Kougami matched it with a left hook.

A cross counter.

A steel fist was driven into Kougami’s face, but he also landed a powerful blow.

“…!”

The mercenaries’ eyes widened at the sight. It had been a long time since they had seen Rutaganda take a beating — No, it was the first time since they had formed the mercenary group. Weber almost dropped the bottle of beer he was drinking and quickly grabbed it on the way down.

The damage was worse for Kougami.        

His knees trembled and he fell.

But Rutaganda’s feet wobbled as well.

Kougami hadn’t been able to defeat Rutaganda with a single blow, but he was doing what he could now.

“No way! That’s awesome.”

Laughing, Rutaganda pulled out a gun from his belt. It was the revolver pistol he had taken from Kougami. He pointed the muzzle of the revolver at Kougami, who had fallen to the ground.

“It’s rather modest, but we have our own community. Eventually we want to build up our forces and form our own military clique. When that happens, we’ll need not only the usual leadership skills, but also the ability to excite and captivate the masses.”

Rutaganda poured whisky onto the pistol he was holding up. The highly alcoholic drink poured down the barrel of the gun onto Kougami. It seeped into the wounds all over his body. Kougami groaned involuntarily at the burning pain in his nerves.

“How about it? Do you feel like joining us? We'll give you the opportunity to hone your skills and set the stage for you to be able to use them to their fullest.”

The mercenaries scowled at Rutaganda’s proposal.

“He… hey! Leader…”,  Babangida  said with a confused look on his face.

Rutaganda ignored the voices of his subordinates and continued.

“If I hand you over to my client like this, you’ll be dead anyway. I’m saying that I’m giving you a chance to live.”

“I don’t see how that’s  better than dying, don’t expect me to be grateful.”

Wet with whisky and enduring the pain, Kougami spat out resolutely. Rutaganda was about to say something when he received a call on his portable terminal.

[Is he still alive? The male target.]

It was from Nicholas Wong of Shambala Float.

“Yeah. Can I kill him yet?”

[He still has some use. Bring him to me.]

“…copy that.”

Rutaganda ended the call and shrugged at Kougami.

“I would have liked to give you some time to think it over. Too bad, that was poor timing.”

4

The doorbell rang in Tsunemori’s room. She was now under house arrest by the National Military Police. In this situation, only one person was using the intercom.  Tsunemori, who had her laptop open in the bathtub, invited her maid, Yeo, into the room.

“Excuse me. I see you’ve returned to your room…”

Yeo had brought the meal on a tray cart. Porridge with chicken, fried egg. A spicy salad. She was tempted to eat it all, but for the moment she held back and just gulped down a glass of mineral water.

Tsunemori moved her face closer to Yeo.

“What?”

“Stay calm.”

Tsunemori grabbed Yeo’s hand and pulled her into the bathroom. There she pressed her portable terminal against the girl’s collar and entered the code she had received from Karanomori. This unlocked the collar, which came off and fell to the floor.

“Th-this is…” a confused Yeo said.

“Calm down and listen to me. I need your cooperation.”

“… cooperation?”

“To expose the abuses committed by the National Military Police.”

“…!”  Yeo’s eyes widened in surprise.

“It’s okay. If I can’t prove that there’s corruption in the Military Police, you can just say I threatened you. Then you won’t be charged with a crime.”

“… Are the National Police really corrupt?”

“There’s no doubt about it. So much so that I could stake my entire career on it.”

“But”

Then it happened. Suddenly, Tsunemori’s vision began to sway. Her knees were shaking, and she could not stand properly.

I’ve been drugged. — When? The mineral water just now! Yeo betrayed me? In any case, the enemy beat me to it. The next moment, realising she was in a bad situation, she used her remaining strength to retrieve the notebook she had left in the bathroom, switched the pill bugs to autonomous control, and executed the command to erase all data. She left the rest to the Karanomori.

Yeo ran out of the bathroom.

“Yeo-san…”

Tsunemori ran after her on shaky legs.

The door opened and Nicholas and his soldiers burst in. The drug had made it impossible for Tsunemori to resist, and she was tied behind her back with a plastic band.

“…!”

“I did as you said!” Yeo clung to Nicholas.

“Now you are really going to take off my brother’s collar, aren’t you? His illness is progressing and a high level of medical — ”

“I’ll have a good think about it.”

Nicholas pushed Yeo away and drew his gun. He shot her carelessly in the head.

“Tsk!”

“Don't kill the woman yet. We’ll arrange for her to die together with the guerrilla’s military advisor. It’s the least suspicious way.”

“Why did you kill Yeo-san?!”

Tsunemori’s mouth barely moved as it should have.

“The gun I just used was the one I confiscated from you,” Nicholas said triumphantly.

“Inspector Tsunemori shoots and kills the maid in order to escape. She runs outside and tries to join the guerrilla leader. Then we rush to the scene and shoot the inspector and the guerrilla to death... We used to be able to deal with the troublemakers more easily, but now we have to be very careful with the Sibyl System, right? ...”

“I knew you guys weren’t getting read by the cymatic scans. The scanners in this city have been fooled.”

“Oh? Do you have proof?”

“You just killed someone!”

“If the Sibyl system doesn’t complain, no action is a crime. Isn’t that so?”

Laughing, Nicholas poked Yeo’s corpse with his toe.

“In other words, this woman was just trash who deserved to die. That’s fine with me.”

Tsunemori looked at Yeo’s corpse. She had been a beautiful girl, but now most of the back of her head was gone and pieces of her brain were spilling out of the large gaping hole in her skull.

— A person like her shouldn’t have been killed. Tsunemori bit her lip in frustration.

NOTES TO TRANSLATION:

[1] Relay node: radio stations that cannot communicate directly due to distance, terrain or other difficulties sometimes use an intermediate radio relay station to relay the signals. A radio relay receives weak signals and retransmits them, often in a different direction, as a stronger signal.

[2] Infrapolitical:  Adjective of infrapolitics. Infrapolitics refers to the study of political actions and consequences that occur below or outside the realm of official political structures and processes. It examines the physical, social, and political infrastructure that supports urban life, including how it can be used for both oppression and resistance. Infrapolitics explores how individuals, groups, and institutions engage in non-traditional forms of political expression and action. 

[3] The Wretched of the Earth is a  book by the philosopher Frantz Fanon. In this case, Rutaganda’s speech is not a direct quote from the book but rather a personal elaboration based on it.

Please, no repost outside of Tumblr.

translation by cleverwolfpoetry @ https://cleverwolfpoetry.tumblr.com/

[smokingasters]

Gothic Shinya

[smokingasters]

Psycho-Box 5th anniversary

[smokingasters]

PSYCHO-PASS LEGEND — Nobuchika Ginoza: Separation (Part 1 of 6)

Traducción al español (estan las seis partes completas), acá

A distant howl echoed through the night. A lament that had emerged somewhere on the mountain, where the trees stood tall like a sharp, solemn crest, reverberated again and again against the invisible dome that seemed to stretch from the zenith of the sky across the entire land—striking, over and over, some translucent lid. It vibrated with the persistence of a sound trapped within a suikinkutsu*, that garden of water-born echoes where tones continue to shimmer long after being released. A long, dense resonance lingered in the air.

And shortly after, as if arriving late, came another roar. Deep and prolonged. So profoundly melancholic in tone that it resembled the cry of a wolf forced to part from its pack forever.

Nobuchika Ginoza closed his eyes and strained to pinpoint the source, but it was in vain. Human hearing lacked such spatial precision. That exchange of voices, carried nightly from deep within the mountains, sounded like hidden sages laughing quietly at the chaotic folly of men. Tonight marked exactly one week. One week spent searching for a single dog, far from the human din.

The whisper of trees carried by the wind remained confined to this mountainous zone near the capital. In truth, these frigid nights—so cold they seemed to freeze even the dazzling shimmer of the night sky under the celestial dome—didn’t bother him, but perhaps the time had come to say farewell in silence.

As he climbed the slope, a small clearing opened before Ginoza’s eyes. The snow, lightly accumulated but hardened over time, reflected a moonlit blue hue that gradually deepened to a dark cobalt as it approached the forest’s edge. The forest was formed of towering tsuga trees. These evergreen conifers, known also as “the trees of the hanged” due to an old legend about executed criminals, grew closely together as if seeking warmth, casting a heavy darkness at their feet—like a protective curtain shielding the dead from further shame beyond death.

On the snowy ground, countless pawprints appeared, as if a whole pack of dogs had raced toward the shadowy woods. But on closer inspection, it became clear they all bore the exact same shape. It wasn’t a pack. It was one dog.

Ginoza instructed his companion to unearth one of the surveillance drones they’d hidden underground. The unit had been stripped of its mobile legs, and its casing—save for the lens—was fully covered in animal hide. As they pulled it out, soil clung to the Honshu deer fur and broke away in crumbling clods. His companion, grimacing at the smell, removed his gloves—also made from the same deer leather—while Ginoza programmed the drone to extract only the relevant segment from its vast cache of footage.

Data began transferring to the wrist-worn device he carried, watch-like in shape, and soon everything was ready for playback.

Ginoza looked again at the snow-covered plain marked by tracks, while overlaying the drone’s recording directly onto his retinas via directional hologram.

The dog was terribly thin, yet even with its prey clutched in its jaws, it didn’t stop to eat. It simply crossed the plain with majestic calm. In front of the tsuga forest, it began to perform a strange dance, as if offering a prayer to the goddess of the moon, sovereign of winter’s longest nights. Did it mean something? Or was it merely instinct? Whatever it was, the animal seemed to relish it.

And then, suddenly—it vanished. With a magnificent leap that activated every muscle in its body, it hurled itself into the darkness spun by the thick needle-like leaves of the trees and disappeared within it.

Ginoza slid the recording back to just before that moment. He froze the image right as the dog was about to enter the forest. He zoomed in on the captured frame. It was pixelated. Using AI, he extracted the dog’s silhouette and applied a quick correction to generate a sharp image, akin to a high-precision camera still.

The result was oddly absurd. The body traced a perfect arc, like a dancer on the verge of completing a final pose, but the animal’s mouth hung open—excessively so—as if caught in surprise. It didn’t seem to be barking. The expression didn’t match. Moreover, the prey it had carried was no longer visible in the image. That was the work of the AI’s censorship system. Most likely, the state of the prey was so horrifying that it had been flagged as potentially disturbing and automatically removed to preserve the viewer’s mental stability.

But someone else, besides him, needed to verify that footage. After all, they were members of the Criminal Investigation Department—guardians of Sibyl’s society. For Nobuchika Ginoza, in his capacity as an Inspector, the protection of the Psycho-Pass carried a deeper significance than it did for the average citizen.

“Sasayama. Tell me what the dog had in its mouth,” he ordered.

The moment he spoke, his glasses fogged up and his vision blurred, as though a layer of frost had settled over his eyes. It was the vapor of his breath, escaping from beneath the scarf wrapped up to his mouth.

“What a way to treat people…” Sasayama grumbled.

The Enforcer from Division One squinted at the uncensored holographic projection. Despite the freezing air well below zero, he wore only a stylish pinstriped suit, leather gloves, and a scarf. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel the cold—his nose was slightly red at the tip.

“Don’t talk nonsense. Report, immediately,” Ginoza snapped, wiping the condensation from his lenses with a cloth as he shot him a glare.

“Yeah, yeah…” muttered Sasayama, shrugging as he raised one thumb and mimed slitting his own throat with the other. “It was a chicken. I guess it bit right into its throat and killed it in one go. Everything from the neck up was soaked in blood… But that’s the weird part. The dog didn’t have a single drop of blood on its fur.”

“I see…”

“What’s going on, Gino-sensei? Don’t leave me out of the revelation…”

“Was it a domestic bird that had already been bled out before the dog attacked it?”

Ginoza manipulated the device on his wrist, accessing the regional flora and fauna distribution map. In the area, records showed the presence of chickens raised under a broiler system*.

There were no reports of broiler chickens living in the wild. If that was the case, the dog had attacked a domestic bird from an inhabited zone.

“Let’s go,” said Ginoza, setting off. “We’ll be the ones to protect that dog.”

He turned his back on the clearing, descended the slope, and looked down at the hollow stretching below. A few scattered houses shimmered like gemstones sunk into the dark bed of a lake, reflecting the moonlight in trembling ripples.

It had all started with a report on animal reintroduction in a suburban area west of Tokyo.

Since the mid-21st century, the presence of live animals had steadily decreased, becoming a rarity by the 22nd century. Breeding animals was considered a luxury, a pastime almost exclusively reserved for the wealthy elite. Animal reintroduction was seen as an effort to return survival skills to species that, due to overprotection, had lost their instinct to fend for themselves. Since many urban developments built during old housing projects had been abandoned due to drastic population decline, those places had reverted to wooded terrain with abundant vegetation. It was believed that natural conditions were sufficient for released animals to survive on their own.

But history had already proven that assumption wrong. Animals domesticated over generations—raised and bred as pets or livestock—could hardly survive in the wild. Most died soon after release. And those that did manage to survive eventually descended into inhabited areas as savage raiders, stealing food and being classified as pests. A special division was eventually created within the Health Office, under the Ministry of Welfare, tasked with eliminating them. Thus, animal reintroduction ironically became a policy that turned against itself and was ultimately declared illegal. To this day, that remains the case.

However, the reintroduction incident this time, in the Okutama region, involved an even more serious crime. Every animal that had been released had an owner. The person responsible for the reintroduction was an animal therapist named Yōnobu Miyake, who ran a clinic on the outskirts of the city. Apparently, he was quite skilled and had earned the full trust of the affluent elite.

However, earlier this year, for reasons unknown, he released all the companion animals entrusted to him into the wild… and then vanished without a trace. His actions were as inexplicable as they were costly: they caused considerable losses. It was, in every sense, theft. The Public Safety Bureau took charge of tracking down the therapist Miyake as a suspect, while the Health Office was tasked with capturing the stolen animals. The two agencies coordinated a joint operation.

As part of that investigation, Nobuchika Ginoza and Enforcer Sasayama headed into the mountain region. Their target was a single dog. That dog, once the property of the cunning therapist, had turned into a silent hunter after being set free. Unlike other reintroduced animals that had settled into the mountains, this one avoided the wild dog traps laid out by the Ministry’s capture unit and continued to hunt freely, with unnerving composure.

Even since a week ago, when Ginoza and his team began participating in the capture effort, the situation had remained unchanged. But now, at last, something had begun to shift. The dog… had started descending into inhabited areas in search of prey.

It was too late that night to return to the city, so they slept in the car. At dawn, before the sun had fully risen, Ginoza and Sasayama began their descent toward the village nestled in the valley. The first light of morning was beginning to trace itself softly along the mountain ridges, as if sketching the outline of a wolf resting in the mist. Its diffused glow, hidden within the morning haze, slowly warmed the earth as the Public Safety Bureau sedan followed the narrow road along the slope.

Sasayama, in the passenger seat, was cursing while fiddling with his Enforcer-issued restraint device, shaped like a pair of handcuffs. Ginoza ignored him. The Ministry of Welfare had rejected their request for cooperation. It wasn’t hard to understand why. After all, they were encroaching on someone else’s jurisdiction. The Public Safety Bureau had the authority to act across domains using its special powers, but from the perspective of other government bodies, they were little more than a nuisance—intervening at will under the pretense of law enforcement. Still, Ginoza thought, at least they weren’t being actively obstructed.

Before long, they turned onto a rural road leading to the settlement in the mountain basin.

The land sloped downward in gentle hills: the houses clustered along the higher points, while further below stretched rows of chicken coops, stables, and vegetable plots. At a glance, the place seemed like a relic from another time. But as they stopped the car on the incline and rolled down the window, a faint mechanical hum could be heard. It came from agricultural drones, busy tending livestock and managing crop growth.

Ginoza stepped out of the vehicle, intending to head toward a farm where the dog had stolen poultry. He ordered Sasayama to retrieve the capture net case from the trunk.

The mountain air was thicker and more humid than in the city, and the cold seemed to seep through his coat as though it were penetrating straight into his skin. The house targeted in the attack was easy to locate, but it was empty.

Through the settlement’s administrator, they had already secured entry permission the night before. Officially, the village was registered as an agricultural recreation facility—a place where people could spend weekends engaging with nature in a measured way, seeking solace for the spirit. The wooden houses with tiled roofs were rented out as country homes, and guests could opt for the experience of caring for animals or crops. If one accepted the risk of tone fluctuation, it was also possible to consume pre-butchered meat. The chicken that the dog had taken the night before had been attacked right in the middle of that preparation process.

Next to the coop stood a processing unit. Several conical hoppers were lined up, designed to hang chickens upside down and insert their heads into the receptacle. The entire process—from bleeding to meat handling—was fully automated. Sanitary management was so strict that not even the faintest trace of blood could be smelled. Underground, the facility housed water and sewage pipes, electrical supply, and data wiring. Though presented as a rural retreat, the infrastructure rivaled that of any urban area.

They searched all the houses and structures in the area and ultimately decided to set traps centered around the coop, within the stable zone. The dog wasn’t large enough to take on animals in the pig or cattle barns, so those areas were ruled out. They were up against a skilled hunter—one capable of selecting its prey with precision.

Once the morning had passed and the sun had risen high in the sky, they returned briefly to the eaves of one of the houses and opened the case containing the auxiliary equipment. They took out the tripwire and boiled it for fifteen minutes in water they had set to boil earlier. During that time, Sasayama, taking a short break, pulled a pack of paper cigarettes from his breast pocket. Ginoza sternly ordered him to smoke downwind. If the scent of tobacco lingered in the air, the dog might pick it up.

Once the preparation was complete, Ginoza had an agricultural drone—the same type used in meat processing—bring over the materials they had prepared in advance: a pair of gloves soaked in the blood of a freshly slaughtered chicken, sealed airtight. He ordered Sasayama to put them on.

“Hold on a second, Gino-sensei,” Sasayama grumbled, visibly displeased. “Even I’d end up with a clouded hue after this.”

“If you’re an Enforcer, you shouldn’t be concerned about your hue deteriorating,” Ginoza said flatly. “We don’t have time. Do it now.”

Before dusk, all the traps had been set. Ginoza and Sasayama left the settlement, drove back to the paved road along the slope, and spent the night there, taking turns napping inside the vehicle. They kept the lights off, monitoring without pause the real-time feed from the drone mounted on the roof of one of the houses, facing directly toward the stables.

Ginoza adjusted the loose scarf around his neck. The cold was biting, but necessary. They had shut off the engine to leave no trace of their presence.

Wrapped in blankets, Sasayama exhaled sharply.

“Damn it… I swear I’m never doing anything like this again. The suit reeks of chicken, and there’s no way to get rid of the smell.”

He had ended up taking off his coat and was now in just his shirt.

They had also laid out a mat woven with chicken feathers, which no doubt intensified the stench even further. And yes… it really stank.

But it didn’t matter. There would be no second chance. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. They had to catch him here and now. The dog was cornered, pushed to its limit, with no freedom to choose its prey.

According to footage retrieved from the Health Office’s archives—obtained on Ginoza’s order by an analyst operating from the shadows—the animal had managed to survive thus far by hunting wild rabbits, pheasants, and other forest creatures. But the previous night, for the first time, it had descended into an inhabited area. That single act confirmed everything.

Despite having been released, the target still behaved like the loyal dog of its former owner, the therapist. Even in freedom, it hadn’t attacked the other reintroduced animals, which would have been easy prey. Instead, it had deliberately risked its life by heading for the settlement’s stables.

As soon as he set foot on solid ground, Ginoza advanced with firm steps along the frozen path, the frost crunching beneath his boots. The cold of the winter morning was sharper than ever, but the bright light of a cloudless sky warmed the body. Removing his scarf, he noticed a thin layer of sweat on his neck. The frigid air, like the tongue of a beast made of ice, slid across his warm skin with a chilling softness that ran down his spine. It was a strange sensation—but not unpleasant.

The dog had been caught.

It was trapped beside the meat processing facility, next to the chicken coop. The bait—a hanging chicken—remained in place, still suspended upside down, its head protruding from one of the metal cones, already bled dry, motionless in the silence of death. A wire ran from its mouth to the drainage system on the ground, and nearby, placed at a discreet angle, was a single-use paralyzer shaped like a sphere, with its internal mechanism exposed.

Right next to it lay a dog—compact in build, covered in dense fur, with short legs, long drooping ears, and an expressive, gentle face. It was most likely a Basset Hound*. It lay on its side as if dead, completely still. But when Ginoza approached in silence, gently stroking its fur so as not to startle it and checking for signs of breathing, he felt a calm, steady pulse. It was alive.

“Are you sure this is the one?” asked Sasayama, unfolding a portable cage for transport. “I don’t want it to turn out to be one of those other reintroduced dogs.”

“There’s no mistake. It’s this one.”

Ginoza knelt down and reached out to examine the animal’s collar. That was when their eyes met. The dog was conscious. It tried to lift its neck with effort, baring its teeth in a weak attempt to defend itself from the perceived threat—but it had no strength left. For at least a few days, it wouldn’t be able to move properly.

“It’s all right,” Ginoza said, carefully feeling the collar. “We had to use a rather harsh method to catch you. But I promise—no one will hurt you again. My name is Nobuchika Ginoza. Ron… I’ve come to protect you.”

He spoke the name engraved on the collar’s tag and gently stroked the dog’s fur. He was especially cautious when touching the area at the base of the front leg—or what remained of it. Part of the limb was missing. It was so well hidden beneath the fur that it must have been lost long ago. The fact that it had managed to hunt so skillfully on just three legs… filled him with admiration. For a moment, he wondered what could have happened to cause such an injury—but he let the thought go, and lifted the dog in his arms.

With care, Ginoza placed the dog inside the cage Sasayama had prepared.

Thus began the forty days they would share… until Separation. Notes: * Suikinkutsu: A traditional Japanese garden ornament and musical device. It consists of an upside-down ceramic pot buried underground, which creates delicate, echoing sounds when water drips into it—a subtle, contemplative soundscape meant to accompany purification rituals.

* Broiler system: A method of intensive poultry farming focused on rapid weight gain. Chickens raised this way are bred for meat production and typically live in controlled environments without access to the outdoors. They are not suited for survival in the wild.

* Basset Hound: A breed of dog originally bred for hunting small game. Characterized by short legs, long ears, and a keen sense of smell, Basset Hounds are known for their gentle temperament and distinctive appearance.

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[UPDATED] Psycho Pass Translations Index covering all (known) translated content so far. Please feel free to @ me if I missed anything! Don't forget to say thanks to the translators!

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Supppp. It will be my last translation of the year to avoid being Dominator-ed. I’m so effin tired.

Psycho Pass: Utopia Hound (🔗) (Complete | English)

Summary: Enforcer Shinya Kogami of the Criminal Affairs Division 1 encounters a strange corpse at a crime scene where he is heading with rookie inspector Akane Tsunemori. The bright red jelly stuffed into multiple drawers, with bits of flesh, skin, and bone fragments floating in it, evoked a sense of absurdity buried deep in his memory during his turbulent life as a detective, and the name of a certain man.

❌Please don’t copy and repost it elsewhere. The link will be live till the end of the internet until a solar flare probably takes us all out. ❌

Please REBLOG!

(divider by @cafekitsune)

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Epilogue of the Psycho-Pass: The Movie novelization.

Traducción al español, acá ES: Holis! En el día de ayer me llego (despues de mucho) la novela de Psycho Pass The Movie y estuive revisándola un poco, mas que nada por curiosidad, y aunque se que @cleverwolfpoetry esta realizando la traduccion de la novela, me intereso especialmente este pasaje, y realmente necesitaba publicarlo (lo traduje con ayuda de Lens y ChatGPT, sencillamente porque no se japones) --- EN: Hey! Yesterday, I finally received (after a long wait) the Psycho-Pass: The Movie novel, and I started going through it a bit, mostly out of curiosity. Even though I know that @cleverwolfpoetry is currently working on translating the novel, this particular passage caught my attention, and I really felt the need to share it. (I translated it with the help of Lens and ChatGPT, since I don't know Japanese.)

For more reference, Tougadani appears in the all stars react (here, translated by @cleverwolfpoetry)

--- It was still a recent memory: the moment Shinya Kogami had joined Sem and the others in the resistance. Kogami had killed a man named Tougadani, who had been obstructing the resistance's movements. Tougadani, who had presented himself as a Japanese government official, had also tried to provoke him. Originally, he had been a man tasked with the "dirty work" at the Ministry of Welfare. “There was a little incident in Japan,” Tougadani had said. “A story about an invisible man. I won’t go into details, but it seriously shook the bureaucratic apparatus controlling the system. Some were ousted—and consequently eliminated.” That was the story Tougadani had told. Before the purge reached him, he had fled Japan. Perhaps he thought that someone like Kogami, who had fallen from grace in a similar way, might turn out to be an ally. Before killing him, Kogami had spoken to Tougadani through his portable terminal.

“Hey, Tougadani...” he said. “Our situations are kind of similar, aren’t they? Do you still feel nostalgic for your life in Japan? Still wish you could go back?”

“That’s...”

“Kindred spirits end up killing each other.” Predators competing for the same territory cannot coexist.

“Farewell.” And he pulled the trigger.

On the rooftop of a skyscraper overlooking the port area, Kogami worked the bolt of his anti-materiel rifle.

“Hit confirmed. He’s going up in flames,” reported Samlin, acting as his spotter, his voice charged with excitement.

“Armor-piercing incendiary round... I used a large high-powered projectile.”

“A headshot from fifteen hundred meters away...? What kind of aim is that...?”

“The shooting assist system on the terminal still works,” Kogami replied. “Benefits of high technology.”

“And if you didn’t have all that tech?”

“I’d find another way. If I had to.”

“You’re really something, Kogami.”

“What’s the matter, Samlin? No matter how much you flatter me, you’re not getting anything out of it.”

Kogami quickly disassembled the rifle and stored it in its carrying case.

“Pulling out.”

Samlin watched him with eyes that seemed almost to idolize him, as if he were looking at a hero.

Since then, time had passed... and Samlin had also died. Kogami bore no resentment toward the Public Safety Bureau for it. Samlin had been a valuable man, yes, but he had also been reckless to the point of carrying out a retaliatory terrorist attack against Japan on his own—a course of action that both Kogami and Sem had always opposed. There was no excuse for that. Of course, there was no doubt that someone had whispered tempting promises into Samlin’s ear to manipulate him... but even so. Then came Akane Tsunemori. Sem died too. The price was steep. But at least, in this country, democratic elections had finally been held. As for the outcome of those elections, Kogami had no right to comment. The will of the people was all that mattered.

Before leaving the place, there was something Kogami had to do. Was Samlin truly beyond salvation? Was it really so?

“This is it...” He had finally found Tougadani’s operations center—the one he had been searching for all this time. It was hidden in an old office building, disguised as a small transportation company. Since they had no prior intel about the location, it had taken quite a while to track it down.

A reinforced electronic lock guarded the main entrance. Just beyond it, an explosive trap rigged with grenades blocked the first hallway. Even just getting inside had meant overcoming several obstacles.

The interior was saturated with the typical smell of poorly ventilated places: dampness, rotting wood, and a faint acidic trace lingering in the stagnant air.

“Well then...” On a desk, he found a laptop enclosed in an armored case. However, he couldn’t afford to let his guard down. He had no way of knowing where the data self-destruction traps were placed. If it were up to him, he would have installed a system that wiped everything just by entering a wrong password. Tougadani had likely done the same.

“Your turn, Choe Gu Song...”

Kogami connected his portable terminal to Tougadani’s laptop via a wireless network. The terminal was a modified device he had found in Shogo Makishima’s hideout. It had been prepared by Choe Gu Song, a top-level hacker, and contained a variety of specialized programs: decryption tools, password-breaking systems, and other cracking resources. Now, those tools were beginning to probe through Tougadani’s laptop.

Since Tougadani’s assassination, there had been no signs that anyone else had accessed the device. Kogami took his time meticulously combing through the data. He found records of Tougadani’s activities abroad, as well as documents detailing illegal operations carried out to facilitate the international expansion of the Sibyl System. Maybe, he thought, that information would prove useful someday. He copied some of the records onto his terminal.

However, the piece of information he most wanted to find remained elusive. There was one file in particular, heavily encrypted. According to the covert performance monitor embedded in the system, an AI was still running in the background. An automatic update? Or perhaps a data-collection program?

Kogami instructed Choe Gu Song’s programs to begin decrypting the file. He knew that if he failed, it could trigger an evidence self-destruction protocol. But standing idle was not an option.

The file opened. Kogami’s eyes widened, surprised by what he found inside.

It was a top-secret file from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Apparently, Tougadani—formerly an official at the Ministry of Welfare—had hacked into the Special Operations Division of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Snakes walking along snakes’ paths... something like that.

Kogami dug deeper into the classified documents. And at last, he found the answer he had been searching for.

“So this was it...”

The Special Operations Division of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs had contacted Samlin and his group, providing them with a means to enter Japan illegally. They had also supplied them with high-tech equipment, such as advanced-functionality glasses and other cutting-edge devices. The people at the Ministry had surely lured them skillfully, telling them that, ultimately, their actions would serve a greater good.

Even within the Japanese government, there were factions at odds with each other: a group existed that opposed the international expansion of the Sibyl System. The Ministry’s agents had not only helped them infiltrate the country; they had also implanted a special "mindset" into Samlin and his men, using drugs, to make them resistant to potential interrogations through memory scoops by the Public Safety Bureau. In the end, it had all been nothing more than a dance performed in the palm of the system’s hand.

“I can’t leave it like this...” Kogami muttered, his voice hardening with resolve. This was not an enemy he could confront immediately. But sooner or later... He would make them pay their debt.

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Psycho-pass Movie Novel Chapter 7 Complete

Note before reading: sentences in italics represent the character’s thoughts; sentences between square brackets are phone/radio conversations or the voice of dominators or other electronic devices.

1

Among Desmond’s mercenaries was Bun, a dark-skinned Thai with chiselled features. He wore a jet pack with wings and an engine on his back, allowing him to move by jet propulsion.

As a sniper, Bun needed to always move into a dominant position. To do this, he used a high-performance, hydrogen-powered jet pack. It was a hybrid version that also supported compact batteries, which could be replaced by cartridges.

With sniper Bun’s offensive, the raid went from stealthy to dynamic. Bun, who was flying, landed on the top of a hill overlooking the group of ancient ruins. He was carrying a huge sniper rifle, using the jet pack on his back as a rifle rack. A sighting system with magnified holographic display — to receive information from Yulia — and semi-automatic firing of 20 mm armour-piercing incendiary rounds.

After the dull sound of bullets piercing through the armour plates, the guerrilla’s technicals[1] exploded with a burst of flames.

The sniping signalled the start of a simultaneous attack.

Rutaganda broke into the base with surprising dash power, guiding two attack helicopter-type drones via brainwave control. Even if the opponents were poor guerrillas, the level of difficulty of the operation was completely different with or without air cover.

It’s not as if he had a semi-mechanised body for show. Rutaganda could run 100 metres in about six seconds and jump up to five metres at a time with a running start. He made the most of these physical abilities, using them to climb over the walls of the ruins and penetrate the depths of the base.

The mercenary soon spotted the guerrilla electronic warfare vehicles, which were loaded with modified ECM pods — a cutting-edge model used by the Japanese Border Defence System Air Force. These devices may have been removed from a fighter aircraft crashed for an incident or stolen — either way, the guerrillas would not have been able to handle such high-tech equipment without the tactical advisor in question. Nicholas’ government forces had suffered greatly as a result.

Guerrilla engineers and their guards had gathered around the vehicle to activate the ECMs. Rutaganda, holding a compact assault rifle, a carbine model, fired a short series of rapid shots. Bursts of fully automatic fire, separated by finger control. Two to three bullets were fired each time he pulled the trigger. By the time the magazine of 30 rounds was empty, there would be exactly 10 dead bodies.

The reinforced exoskeletons piloted by Weber and Babangida destroyed the barricade the guerrillas had built.

Machine guns and rocket launchers roared, blowing away guerrillas who had recognised the gunfire and jumped out of the way. Dozens of them were reduced to pieces of blood and flesh all at once.

[Bun, you too, over here.]  

Rutaganda radioed.

“Roger.”

Bun, in the middle of his sniping task, took flight with his jetpack strapped to his back. Looking down on the entire village from above, he continued to fire his sniper rifle, supported by his robotic arm.

A small number of guerrilla fighters took out RPG-29 anti-tank missiles, which would have destroyed the reinforced exoskeletons in a direct hit. But the soldier holding the RPGs became the target of Bun’s sniper fire. The incendiary armour-piercing rounds he was using not only penetrated the enemy but also set them on fire. They could shatter bodies or make huge holes in them and set people on fire.

2

Kougami and Tsunemori run through the base of the disoriented resistance forces. Shacks and arms depots were blown up by machine gun fire from the attack helicopter-type drones. The men of the resistance forces first allowed women, children and the elderly to take refuge in caves.

“This way of doing things is different from those we have dealt with before!” Kougami said in a loud voice.

“How is it different?” Tsunemori asked.

“They aren’t relying on drones. They’re highly trained special forces. I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

The two of them emerged into the square of the ancient ruins complex. From there, a road led in several directions.

Sem raced towards them in a military jeep.

“Sem! The ECMs?”

“They’ve been blocked! The enemy got ahead of us!”

It was then that Kougami realised the situation. After careful reconnaissance, the enemy had launched a surprise attack. Those guys have more advanced equipment than the government forces. As close to the ‘Japanese army’ as possible — something the resistance forces had not expected.

“Sem, we’ll have her escape. Back me up.”

 “Kougami-san!?”

At Kougami’s words, Tsunemori’s eyes widened.

Sem gave a nod and got out of the jeep.

Kougami asked Tsunemori to get in instead.

“You need to leave without me.”

As he was saying this, Kougami was handed an assault rifle and a grenade launcher by another guerrilla.

The man, who had been on the verge of sleep earlier, was carrying only a revolver for self-defence.

“I’m not leaving alone!”

“Your criminal investigation may lead us to catch Han for his crimes. It’s an opportunity for us. Return to Shambala and continue your mission.”

“But…”

“Don’t worry. Do you think I would die so easily?”

As he said this, Kougami wore a smile on his manly face.

“If we both survive this, come and catch me again.”

“…sure!”            　

Sem handed Tsunemori an electromagnetic pulse grenade.

She took it, glanced back and got into the jeep.

Kougami started running with Sem.

After separating from Tsunemori, Sem took his motorbike. Kougami and Sem, riding fast together on the bike, headed for the vehicles with the ECM pods. First, the helicopter-type attack drones above them had to be eliminated, or they wouldn’t have been able to counterattack or retreat. Had they been able to activate ECM, they could have disrupted the enemy’s coordination through communication jamming[2], noise jamming[3] and deception jamming[4].

Instead, huge machine-gun rounds rained down on the two men as they moved. They were from Weber and Babangida’s powered suits. For the moment, they had no choice but to flee. Kougami, who was driving, tilted the motorbike and quickly changed direction with an accelerated turn. He tried to get as far away from the powered suits as possible. But as soon as he slowed down to change direction, Sem, who was riding behind him, jumped off.

“Go! Kougami.”

“Sem, come along!”

“I can’t abandon a friend!

“Tsk!” Kougami clicked his tongue — Stop, you’ll die.

Sem. You’re not the type to die here.

Kougami rode the motorbike, worried, and eventually braked in the middle. He got off the bike and prepared the grenade launcher.

He didn’t make it in time.

Along with other soldiers fighting back, Sem was hit by a machine gun shell. With one shot, most of his upper body disappeared. No need to check, it was instant death.

“Sem…!”

— Such a man eliminated so easily!

Kougami shook with anger and clenched his teeth.

This was no time for shock.

He aimed the grenade launcher at the powered suits — .

At that moment, a moving antenna like a ‘scorpion tail’ attacked. Despite its name, it was almost as strong as steel and had a sharp hook at the end. Unable to dodge it, he quickly blocked the hook with his weapon.

“Thwap!”[5]

The grenade launcher was destroyed by the scorpion tail.

Yulia, dressed in a stealth suit, appeared in front of Kougami with a knife at the ready.

— Why doesn’t this female mercenary shoot me, even though she has a gun?

Kougami wondered as he dodged the knife attack by striking her wrist with his palm heel. If she has a weapon, she wouldn’t normally try to fight in close combat.

Then he realised — Maybe the order was ‘Don’t kill the Japanese’.

Kougami jumped back and paused, trying to use his assault rifle, which hang from a sling, but Yulia broke in earlier. To push her away, he hit her with a front kick, stamping with the back of his foot.

The woman dodged his front kick and swung her knife in a half turn. Kougami dodged the attack by lowering his head and countered with a low turning kick. Yulia used her shin to parry the lower kick and promptly kicked backwards.

Kougami bent his upper body to avoid her powerful move, then held Yulia’s knife-holding arm with his left hand while delivering a single backfist with his right.

Yulia deflected it with her left forearm.

— She is no ordinary woman.

In terms of fistfights, it was rare for Kougami to find an opponent he couldn’t defeat with that number of moves.

(... Have the government forces spared no expense in hiring a group of top soldiers?!)

Kougami couldn’t hide his surprise that such a unit would be working on a freelance basis.

3

Bun repeatedly shot from above while flying with his jetpack.

He reported by radio.

“Target Delta sighted. Should I fire?”

Delta — the code name for Kougami Shinya.

[Wait] Rutaganda’s voice said from the receiver. [What about target Juliet?]

Juliet — Tsunemori Akane.

Tsunemori was sitting in the passenger seat of the military jeep driven by a middle-aged guerrilla. When the helicopter-type attack drones approached, she did not hesitate to use the electromagnetic pulse grenade. The explosion of the electromagnetic waves sent sparks flying from the drones. One crashed, but the another held on. Tsunemori moved to the rear of the jeep and unlocked the safety of the heavy machine gun mounted on the vehicle. The fusillade of 14.5 mm rounds blew off the second aircraft as well.

[She got me. She’s getting away.]

Rutaganda said.

“Juliet, do you want me to chase her... ?”

[No, it’s too late. Go after Delta instead. I’ll be right there.]

Bun detached his jetpack and landed directly in front of Kougami, joining Yulia in a two-on-one battle against the Japanese.

The Thai man fell from the sky, his face close to his shoulders, his jaw protected, a high stance. A Muay Thai[6] fighter, recognisable at a glance. The moment he touched down, he filled the gap and delivered a kick. A powerful kick — the Dtae Kan Core[7] (high kick), which is swung raising the pivot heel.

Kougami parried it with his forearm.

Matching the timing, the Russian woman delivered an oblique kick. Kougami blocked the kick with his shin and returned it with a jab.

Not only were they well equipped with high-tech gear; they were also well trained from head to toe. A Thai man and a Russian woman, a good combination.

He dodged the Russian’s knife and elbow-striked the Thai. The attack and defence continued without the slightest distraction.

It’s rather good, Kougami thought. I appreciate enemies who deliberately challenge me to a fight, no matter how tough they are. Now that I know the other side wants to catch me alive, I can take more risks. Once these two are defeated, I’ll have my way…

“Ugh” Kougami landed a front kick to the Russian woman’s stomach.

Hit in the gut, the woman was blown away.

The Thai then punched him to cover her. Reading the attack, Kougami grabbed the Thai's neck and elbow, locked him in a joint lock and threw him to the ground.

The Thai hit the Russian woman Kougami had just knocked out. The two were tangled together, exposing the back of their heads, completely vulnerable.

The next moment, Kougami lifted his leg — to trample them down and deliver the final blow.

“Tsk!”

A large man rushed in from the side with incredible speed.

Rutaganda also attacked Kougami.            

Yulia and Bun were two, and yet they were about to lose. He was secretly impressed and wondered if such an incredible man existed. That’s awesome!

— I LOVE GUYS LIKE YOU!

Bun, who had been thrown to the ground, was about to be kicked in the back of the head when Rutaganda intervened. Kougami had good instincts and jumped back quickly when he sensed the danger. Rutaganda kicked the ground and took another step forward.

Close combat.

After a quick punch with his human left hand — which he deliberately allowed Kougami to block — he unleashed his likely winning right hook. Rutaganda’s right arm was made of a special alloy. Kougami caught this right hook with his left arm.

Rutaganda blew him away with his entire guard.

“!”

With a deep groan, Kougami rolled to the ground.

Rutaganda went after him.

Kougami stood up and delivered a spinning kick in the style of capoeira.

At the critical moment, Rutaganda stopped the kick with his elbow.

(It was quite something to kick back from that position.)

Rutaganda grabbed Kougami’s wrist. It was difficult to take the joint. Kougami then shook off Rutaganda’s joint lock technique and turned it into an elbow joint. —  A mistake on Kougami’s part. He must have instinctively returned the joint lock to the opponent. Rutaganda’s right arm wasn’t that easy to break. Kougami’s movement stopped when he failed to overcome the special alloy prosthetic arm.

Rutaganda delivered a low kick with his left leg, which, like his right arm, was made of a special alloy.

The strong kick overturned Kougami.

Kougami hit the ground with his back. Finally, there was an opening.

Rutaganda grabbed Kougami’s neck with his right hand, then put his knee on Kougami’s stomach and started pressing.

“…You’re quite something.”

“If you let me live, you’ll regret it…!”

“Terrifying. Unfortunately, we have some important questions to ask you.”

Squeezing his carotid artery, Rutaganda easily knocked Kougami unconscious.

4

— The enemy’s pursuit seemed completely forgotten.

Having separated from the guerrilla soldier who had been her driver, Tsunemori was now driving the military jeep alone. She crossed the forest, running fast on the bad roads to the glittering Shambala Float.

“The gunfire has stopped…”

The fight was over.

Who won? In this situation, the result was obvious.

Tsunemori had a faint expectation that Kougami would go after her with an innocent air, but that seemed a little too optimistic.

— No matter what, Kougami Shinya is not the type to die in a place like that. Somehow, I can be sure of that. Of course, I can’t shake off the anxiety. There are no ‘absolutes’ in the field where lives are at stake. I just want to believe that he will be all right. To think that we were separated like that in Japan, reunited after so many years, and then immediately separated again in combat — .

“Kougami-san…”

She murmured involuntarily, as if praying.

NOTES TO TRANSLATION:

[1] Technical is a neologism for a non-standard tactical vehicle (NSTV) in United States military parlance, a light improvised fighting vehicle, typically an open-backed civilian pickup truck or four-wheel drive vehicle modified to mount small arms, light weapons  and heavy weaponry, such as a��machine gun, automatic grenade launcher, anti-aircraft autocannon, rotary cannon, anti-tank weapon, anti-tank gun, anti-tank guided missiles, mortar, multiple rocket launcher, recoilless rifle, or other support weapon (somewhat like a light military gun truck or potentially even a self-propelled gun). (from Wikipedia)

[2] Communication jamming: An attack that attempts to interfere with the reception of broadcast communications.

[3] Noise jamming: It’s the simplest form of jamming that works by overwhelming the target radar with a large amount of noise, making it very difficult to find any actual radar returns within the cone of effect.

[4] Deception jamming: Deception jamming is an electronic warfare technique that aims to fool radars into believing that the target is in a different location than it really is, or that there are more targets than there really are.

[5] Thwap: a loud, heavy, slapping impact or the sound made by such an impact.

[6] Muay Thai: martial art also known as Thai boxing, characterised by stand-up striking, sweeps, and various clinching techniques.

[7] Dtae Kan Core: this muay thai move is also called high kick or kick to the neck. (from Thai Boxing Terms)

translation by cleverwolfpoetry @ https://cleverwolfpoetry.tumblr.com/

PLEASE, NO REPOSTS OUTSIDE OF TUMBLR.

[smokingasters]

Kogami Shinya

[smokingasters]

I wish there was one with the female characters too. I know that male characters are marketable, but damn I want to see PP girls in a fashion show.

[smokingasters]

[smokingasters]

Kogami Shinya x 🖤

send a heart - 🖤 kissing while crying / goodbye kiss / desperation

Kogami looked at his bag on the bed as he took inventory on what he was bringing on the mission.

Maybe he needed to pack another sweater. Or more thermals. Where he was going was going to be a lot colder than it was here. Although, it was rather chilly in this room right now. “Don’t pout.”

“I’m not pouting.” [Y/N] argued with him. Perhaps not pouting but sulking on the bed. “Why do you have to go? You just got back.”

“I have a particular set of skills.” Kogami told them as he packed the extra sweater just in case.

[Y/N] knew that his life as a Special Investigator required a lot of travel. The foreign in the name wasn’t just for show. It was annoying to have to leave right after he got back, Kogami had to admit, but it had to be done. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

He zipped up his bag and [Y/N] looked at him with a glare. “Bring me back a snow globe I guess.”

Kogami smirked. Then leaned in to give them a goodbye kiss. Even though they were annoyed, [Y/N] let him and clung to him when he got close. He knew they would miss him, because he would miss them. Kogami would make it up to him when he got back.

���I gotta go. Don’t burn the house down.”

“Don’t burn the country down.” They snapped back as he left. Locking the door behind him as he headed for the waiting car.