Ch.100Work Record #015 – Prank Calls of Poor Taste (2)

I replay the voice saved on my tablet in my head, listening with undiminished hearing. Through the sounds of wind swirling in the smog, I could make out a voice.

The call came at a not-too-late hour of the night. 9:07 PM. Perhaps an ambiguous time. For official partners, it would be time for review before receiving requests at work, while regular employees would have already gone home.

The culprit boldly, or perhaps carelessly, called Fitts & Morrison’s security team directly. About fifteen seconds after the call connected, the location was traced. The content itself was simple.

“If you’d just done what you promised, this wouldn’t have happened, you… unproductive, inefficient corporate bastards! It’s because of you that I’m in this fucking mess…”

The content was unclear. And while the voice was definitely modified, the pronunciation was imprecise. Had they been drinking when they made the call? Conveniently, there was a convenience store right in front of me.

Also, the quality of the voice modulator wasn’t as good as the voice module I had installed. I paused listening to the communication, activated my voice modulation, and uttered a few words.

The voice was certainly distorted, but the sound quality was clean, and the content was relatively easy to convey. However, the call content was closer to something that required concentration to interpret one syllable at a time.

I understood why Fitts & Morrison wanted to avoid getting involved. The culprit’s words suggested they had been promised something by Fitts & Morrison. The security team was flustered, and the voice continued.

“When things went down at Belwether, you know! If you had just kept your promise properly back then, this wouldn’t have…”

Was this really a coup participant? Walter’s goal was to overthrow the company using privatized legal assassination teams and special operations. All under the pretense of some nonsensical rationalist ideology.

If that were the case, the participants shouldn’t think of themselves as coup participants. They should believe themselves to be revolutionaries or some other flattering term. Speaking like this was extremely odd.

There’s a recurring word. Promise. The culprit was demanding that Fitts & Morrison keep their promise. What could an individual be promised by a corporation? The first thing that came to mind was how I received my freelancer position.

If someone had been promised something significant enough to warrant a personal promise… someone with that level of ability and skill… this incident would have been called a serial killing, not a terror threat.

As Talos said, there was about an 80% chance this was a prank call. I still couldn’t understand what benefit there was in making such a prank call to Fitts & Morrison.

“Well, we’re just doing our assigned duties. Alright. I don’t want to run into those lobster bastards anyway.”

The inescapable feeling only intensifies. While their assigned duties often included murder or assassination, there were no orders to attack Fitts & Morrison during the Belwether coup.

If there really had been some collusion with Fitts & Morrison, and they had tried to cooperate, wouldn’t Mr. Günter have known? Fitts & Morrison wasn’t stupid enough to support a coup and risk corporate warfare.

Walter wouldn’t have brought in outside forces in the first place. His goal was efficiency, and external intervention creates inefficient operations. A madman doesn’t break his own principles.

“It certainly… seems appropriate to think of it as a prank call. Chance, have you found anything?”

“Affirmative. The perpetrator was certainly under the influence of alcohol or some other addictive substance. Additionally, I’ve identified unusual word usage. The term ‘corporate’ is not commonly used here.”

Only after hearing that did I rewind the recording to revisit the part where the culprit mentioned “corporate.” They definitely weren’t from Belwether. That wasn’t a term used by people like me. That was…

“A term used by nationalists. I just mentioned that New World Communications was likely nationalist too. So is this just some nationalist living around here venting their frustrations?”

“Affirmative. However, this case is also entangled with diplomatic issues between two major corporations. It’s likely that submitting inferences alone won’t be sufficient.”

“That’s true. Fitts & Morrison probably made these deductions too, and my job isn’t to deduce but to stir things up.”

No mega-corporation could have survived without being able to make such basic deductions. Thinking that I’d at least like to be compensated financially for this, I headed toward the nearby convenience store.

A sign indicated that the street entrance to the convenience store couldn’t be used due to the smog conditions, so I had to use the building entrance. The weather was quite terrible.

The store owner is not an enemy. Nor is he my subordinate. So it was better to humor him a bit. Maintain minimum courtesy and don’t disrupt business. That was the golden rule for dealing with civilians.

To keep my promise not to skip meals, I picked up a sandwich with neither real flour, real vegetables, nor real meat, along with two cans of coffee, and took them to the counter.

The convenience store owner had a somewhat gruff impression. If there was a downside to meeting Mr. Günter, it was that my fantasies about ordinary self-employed people potentially being chairmen of mega-corporations had become more serious.

His belly protruded prominently, and his face and hands were covered in artificial snack powder. He whistled lightly. Two drones flew up from under the counter and scanned the barcodes.

I was grateful that at least he wasn’t handling the items directly with those hands. I connected to my computational assist device to pay with credits, and the drones placed the items in a bag for me.

It was after that when I showed my freelancer license. The store owner, who was turning his head back to the hologram screen behind the counter, saw the license and said in a flat voice:

“At least you didn’t flash your license as soon as we made eye contact and demand ‘Tell me what I need to know!’ That’s a relief… Are you canvassing for witnesses in this weather, mercenary?”

“If my working conditions were that bad, I would have put my freelancer license on my resume and jumped into the job market. Was there anyone who bought alcohol around 9 PM yesterday?”

With a yawn, he lowered the video—showing a woman in a reinforced pink suit breaching a door with a bulletproof shield, a genre I couldn’t even begin to guess—and brought up CCTV footage on the hologram screen.

After checking briefly, he shook his head. He tapped the counter with his snack-powdered fingers. I picked up the bag containing the sandwich and coffee first.

“No, not at all. Alcohol sells better at dawn. Mercenaries buy it by the box after finishing their jobs.”

“What about hangover remedies, then?”

It takes time to get drunk. Even if they bought alcohol here around 9 PM and drank it before making the call, they might have been less intoxicated than expected, but the voice’s owner sounded completely drunk.

“There was one guy. Some dude came in reeking of alcohol, bought four bottles of hangover remedy, and downed them over there.”

He pointed toward the corridor of the building I had entered through. I hadn’t noticed any CCTV on my way in. Not many people in these slums would diligently install such things.

“What about his face?”

“Yesterday’s weather was even shittier than today’s. He had a gas mask with goggles that were coated black. With every breath, the alcohol smell penetrated through the filter. I wonder what kind of guy he was…”

He turned the hologram screen toward me to show the CCTV footage. The build was average, and he seemed to have wrapped himself up thoroughly, presumably as protection against the smog.

His face was captured head-on during checkout, but as the owner said, the coating was so thick that it was doubtful he could see through it. Looking closely… I could see something black.

Bubbles. It wasn’t coated; he had simply attached coating sheets to the inside of a cheap gas mask. With something like that, he certainly couldn’t have seen properly. This was clearly planned.

And another thing I could find… he paid in cash. He might have thought using a computational assist device would reveal his identity, or he might be a purist.

Someone who could plan, was skilled, was a nationalist… and disliked Fitts & Morrison. I knew one such person very well. I had even spoken with him just an hour ago.

Come to think of it, the building we visited yesterday was called the Hive. They sold whiskey containing synthetic honey. And Simon was someone who could enter the Hive bar.

Can the principle of giving people trust be so easily betrayed? It wasn’t a major blow to my principles. Even if betrayed, I wouldn’t stop trusting people.

After thanking the convenience store owner, I left. I got on my bike and immediately tapped the side of my head to connect a call to Simon. It didn’t take long.

His voice was even. Could his nervousness at Fitts & Morrison’s checkpoint have been because he was the culprit? I needed to speak before thinking too much.

“What is it, freelancer? Did you leave something at the office?”

“Simon, I’ll ask you directly. Did you do something stupid yesterday after having a few drinks at the Hive? I’m investigating with data from Fitts & Morrison, and it seems to match up pretty well.”

Simon replied in a voice that sounded incredulous. It also sounded somewhat disappointed.

“Something stupid? What, that Belwether coup participant who made a terror threat? Do you think someone who did such a stupid thing would talk to you today with a clean mouth?”

It’s true that Simon showed a somewhat nervous reaction at Fitts & Morrison’s checkpoint, but before that, there were signs of anxiety… He had asked if I could handle Kanun.

“Then why did you ask if I could handle Kanun by myself? Were you preparing for something stupid to be exposed and cause trouble?”

“Not at all, kid. I was just scared. Why? I thought, ‘How great could a freelancer be?’ But then I saw that enhanced exoskeleton bastard dead, and my jaw dropped, so I asked.”

Is it really not Simon? Is he a friend, or an enemy disguised as a friend? Either way, pulling him closer wouldn’t hurt. I decided to give him some information in advance, like priming a pump.

“The culprit used the term ‘corporate,’ which only nationalists use, and was skilled with landline phones. They were meticulous enough to coat their gas mask goggles with sheets before buying hangover remedies at the convenience store.”

It was something an experienced mercenary could easily do. I choose a path. Trust is what I’ll choose. I’ll believe more until I face a greater betrayal.

“And they tried to impersonate a Belwether employee, even being careful with word choice. If it’s not you, are there any nationalists around here who hate Fitts & Morrison that much? Preferably a mercenary.”

“I appreciate you seeing me as meticulous… but I’m old, kid. People who’ve lived as nationalists for a long time with hardened heads can’t pull off such stunts. And are you asking me to help Fitts & Morrison?”

Everything was too simple for him too. He might tolerate Fitts & Morrison, but he would never smile at them face-to-face or help them. I need to dig into values again. Just as I always have.

“No, not at all. What I’m asking is for you to help prevent that foam-mouthed sheep Belwether from causing trouble. The culprit claimed to be a Belwether coup remnant, and that’s irritating Belwether.”

A moment of silence follows. He must be judging too. I continue speaking leisurely, but with considerable force in my voice.

“LA has already suffered through several lockdowns because of the Belwether coup. Why let the whales rampage again? You should seize the opportunity when it’s in your hands.”

The greatest remedy for regret is the experience of not repeating regrettable actions. It’s tempting and sweet. Like sugar scooped with a full finger from a sugar jar.

Still, Simon responded with a clearly softened attitude. His voice no longer revealed disappointment or hostility.

“Did you write a script before calling me or something? Or do those words just naturally come out every time you open your mouth?”

“Want me to clap my empty hands to show you?”

“Send me a video to make sure there’s no prompter in your view. Anyway, until a few years ago, I used to go to places where depressed guys would sit in a circle talking about what they lost to which corporation, then hug each other and cry like animals grooming each other… I’ll reach out to those people and let you know. But it won’t be them.”

Simon’s voice carried sadness rather than blind faith. It was that ambiguous emotional bundle between unfulfillment and resignation that I had felt when talking with him in the van.

“Because they already know that there’s a difference between feeling unfulfilled and shooting at Fitts & Morrison’s headquarters?”

“Sharp kid. Yeah. Those guys know that such antics won’t accomplish anything. In my view, it’s a young guy. A kid whose brain isn’t fully developed yet. Only such a kid would think those antics would work.”

Skilled yet unskilled. Seemingly preparing rationally, yet the words were merely emotional outbursts. It was quite reasonable. I decided to give one more piece of information.

“The culprit talked a lot about promises. Even though they claimed to be a Belwether coup remnant, their goal seemed to be… getting some unknown promise fulfilled. It might help.”

Simon heaved a deep sigh. A groan followed, as if his head hurt, then came his answer.

“Definitely a nationalist. A nationalist to the bone. That’s why they expect from mega-corporations the same vague promises that only work among their kind. Anything else to say?”

“No. I just need to look around for more places to check. Gunfire in the morning, detective work at lunch. I’m curious what the evening will bring on such a day.”

Simon burst into laughter. He answered in a casual tone. If it was a well-founded suspicion, and if that suspicion has been resolved, the original friendly attitude quickly returns.

“Since you already did the gunfire this morning, I hope it’s not that, kid. I’ll contact you within two hours. Ending communication.”

“Yes, thank you for your support.”

Whether Simon was really suspect #1, I’ve kept him close, and if not, I’ve gained a solid nationalist connection.

By now, my curiosity about the culprit’s identity had become personal, not just professional. If I met the culprit, I wanted to show them what had happened because of their silly prank call.

As long as they weren’t really coup remnants. If they were genuine coup remnants, it would be better in every way if they weren’t in this city at all.