Ch.101Work Record #015 – Prank Calls of Poor Taste (3)

Finding the culprit as quickly as possible was the only way for the perpetrator to survive, and for this case to remain nothing more than a prank call incident. When whales rampage, no one counts the number of krill that die.

Who else could be the culprit? In my conversation with Simon, we concluded it was likely a young person. That made sense. A person’s pride is generally more sensitive than their erogenous zones.

It wouldn’t make sense for an older nationalist like Simon to sacrifice his pride just to make a prank call. He was someone who despised megacorporations. He had lived that way his entire life.

Considering that variable… one person naturally came to mind. Noah Verami, though I wasn’t sure about the surname. I still didn’t know exactly what kind of person he was. The information was fragmentary.

He had asked me if it was acceptable to kill those who don’t resist after seeing me kill Smog Crawlers. If that wasn’t asking whether it’s okay to kill anyone, then I could say it was perfectly fine.

And there was something else… ambition. I saw the mindset of an ordinary rookie mercenary trying to stand out and build recognition. I recalled Simon’s words. Even megacorporations treat freelancers with respect.

It wasn’t that megacorporations were respectful. Freelancers were treated warmly when removing thorns from the center of their feet, but we were still outsiders. The employees were simply being polite to us.

A guest from outside looks the head of the household in the eye as an equal, and they treat each other with mutual respect. But that certainly doesn’t mean the guest can steal the head’s position.

Was Noah Verami’s ambition actually about becoming a well-treated freelancer so he could make demands of Fitz & Morrison? That could be the case.

For Simon, she was still his sister. Simon had experienced that incident after he was sufficiently mature. For Noah, she was his mother. It must have happened during his childhood. All that remains then is rage.

I was foolish to focus on one side and neglect gathering information about the other. I should have known more, even if this wasn’t an information-gathering request.

I admit I had the wrong focus from the start. I was too suspicious of Simon, who was already prepared to accept reality. Someone who has truly experienced struggle, fought, and physically confronted powerlessness and injustice wouldn’t act that way.

Whether it’s good or bad, people eventually compromise. If not, they end up doing what I did when looking into the transport location of the monstrosity to find Walter.

If luck isn’t on your side there, you’ll just become another bloodstain in the city. Perhaps Simon had compromised. Instead of sacrificing his life for something beyond his authority, he wrote a compromise and took care of his surviving nephew.

I accelerate toward Kanun Company’s office. Whether it was a stupid choice or not, this is the landscape he chose. Only he knows how heavy that choice was. I won’t comment further.

It didn’t take long to reach Kanun’s office. To avoid creating suspicion, I maintained my usual appearance, only exchanging the magazine in Small Evil before pushing through the office door.

I set Small Evil’s control lever to single shot so I could fire at any time while maintaining precise control. I heard voices from the office. It was Riley’s voice. Suspicion became certainty.

“Are you going to hang out with that freelancer every day? You know better than anyone what could happen if they come through a checkpoint like that when we’re working alone!”

Fitz & Morrison had checked my freelancer license but didn’t even look at the faces of the people in the vehicle, instead just giving me information and sending me on my way. It seems I unintentionally shielded the culprit.

So far, it was just a mishap. So far. If Riley or anyone else picked up a gun after I climbed the stairs, it would no longer be a mishap. Simon would be making calls by now.

After sighing, I deliberately made loud footsteps as I walked up to the office. The voices changed to whispers, but I could still hear them clearly.

“Wait. I hear footsteps… Who is it? The freelancer? Put the gun down, Noah. What are you trying to do?! Calm down first.”

I deliberately climbed slowly. I knocked on the office door and observed five people sitting around, excluding Simon. Riley came to open the door for me and looked embarrassed.

“The job is done, did you leave something behind? If so, I can go to the changing room…”

“You know why I’m here. I got a job from Fitz & Morrison. But I’m not here to fight…”

Before I could finish, Riley tried to close the door. Her expression showed fear—the typical look when someone from a megacorporation comes after you’ve done something wrong. I lightly blocked the door.

As she tried to close it with both hands, she let go and thrust her prosthetic fist at me. I lightly turned my body and blocked it with my elbow. Since my skeleton was sturdier than her prosthetic, I felt no pain.

Taking advantage of her arm recoiling from the sensory feedback, I grabbed her neck and headed into the office. Preparing for the worst, I got ready to activate my signal jammer. Everyone except Noah was wearing artificial eyes.

The air was filled with tension. Everyone’s concern was the same: whether I would break Riley Harper’s neck and throw her in front of them, or if that wasn’t my purpose.

Fortunately, it was the latter. I released Riley, who was struggling to remove my hand with both of hers to avoid suffocation, and gently pushed her toward Noah.

Riley was pushed away very lightly, but Wilder caught her. So far, no one had drawn a gun. That was enough. That was sufficient.

“Riley, that was poor judgment for someone who was just telling Noah to calm down. Let me say it again, I’m not here to fight. Don’t do anything stupid. Is this really worth dying over…?”

“Helping a mutant out of personal compassion isn’t worth dying over either. But that’s how the world works. All corporate states are the same…”

The biggest issue was distrust. He didn’t trust Belwether or Fitz & Morrison. His desire to become a freelancer was simply to reach a position where he could receive an apology.

Strange. These were conflicting ideas. No matter how high a position might allow him to receive an apology, he wanted to attract attention and gain recognition from Belwether and Fitz & Morrison, corporations he deeply distrusted.

Why try to gain recognition from megacorporations he so thoroughly distrusted? Because the goal was a promise. To receive proper compensation for his mother’s death. Then… the answer became simple.

In Noah Verami’s mind, this was the only viable method in reality. What I had called unrealistic was, to him, the approach with the best chance of success.

This was still a matter that required attention. Once words failed and guns were drawn, all of this would become meaningless. It would no longer matter.

I crafted words that would work on Noah Verami right now. Language is just a tool. If used properly, it would be enough.

“I can’t comment on that matter, but I’ve received a definitive answer about this incident. They said if it’s just a prank call, you’ll only have to pay a fine and that’s it. Would a company lie to the freelancer they hired?”

Noah Verami would want to doubt these words. He might even feel obligated to doubt them. But he couldn’t.

This was his only method, one he endured despite his distrust of megacorporations. It was too great a hope in his life to deny just to reject my single persuasive statement.

A long silence followed. Similar thoughts must have been echoing in Noah’s mind. He finally accepted an internal compromise. He shook his head.

“That’s, well, probably not the case. Then just…”

“I’ll contact Fitz & Morrison and wait here. Everything will be fine.”

Since I wasn’t certain about Fitz & Morrison’s response, I decided to make the call outside. Even if they suddenly took a hard line, I couldn’t show anxiety in front of Kanun’s employees.

Standing just a few steps from the door so I could still see inside the office, I briefly considered who to contact first. I decided on Simon.

After sending a connection request to Simon, the call connected in less than a few seconds. He answered quickly despite being busy gathering information from various sources.

“What is it, freelancer? Did you catch someone in the act of making a new threatening call on the emergency phone?”

“No. I’m in front of Kanun Company’s office. I’m not calling before going in, but after coming out.”

I heard what sounded like a swallowed curse over the communication. Damn. Do I have to feel the frustration of a middle manager just one month into night watch? I cleared my head of these useless thoughts.

Fortunately, it wasn’t directed at me. I knew what it meant. The culprit was Noah Verami. Simon must have removed him from the list of suspects. Definitely.

“Was there any shooting?”

“Just a few punches. When I said I knew everything, they couldn’t make excuses and admitted everything, so there was no need for force.”

Strictly speaking, I only took one hit. But I didn’t want to appear like someone who tattled about every little detail. Simon let out a deep sigh of relief. I heard the sound of an irritated gesture.

“So all that time I spent opening windows and listing names and alibis was a waste. So what now?”

“Contact Fitz & Morrison to issue a fine notice… and that’s it.”

It wasn’t the end. Though I would continue working with Kanun Company, Noah Verami needed to be placed on a list of dangerous individuals. The only thing restraining him was his belief that becoming a recognized freelancer would allow him to receive an apology.

If only there were a way to infiltrate Fitz & Morrison with miraculous skill to find out how Noah Verami’s mother died and return. But all I had was a body built for combat.

Simon still asked in a distrustful tone. I had given him a reason to help, but he was still one of those who hated megacorporations. Firm beliefs are stronger than centimeter-thick bulletproof plates.

“I’m worried those bastards might take out their anger…”

“Fitz & Morrison just doesn’t want Belwether to take out their anger on them. This city belongs to Belwether, and there’s a difference in available forces. Noah is also a mercenary who takes jobs from Belwether.”

To prevent such incidents, more work would be needed. Ah, yes. The true frustration of a middle manager. Things boiling up from below, anxiety from above. A perfect day indeed.

To make it a truly perfect day, not sarcastically, there was only one thing to do. I recalled what the special operations agent, now likely in neural prison, had said.

Move quickly. Act smart. Handle it decisively. I was certainly quick enough. It hadn’t even been a few hours since receiving the request.

I somehow smartly avoided a shootout, so all that remained was to handle it decisively. Simon, deep in thought across from me, finally made a sound of lighting a cigarette.

After taking a deep drag and exhaling, he finally answered. With a voice that sounded like he had a headache and sticky regret coating his words.

“Yeah. Yeah… I shouldn’t worry about them taking out their anger. It was Noah who took out his anger. Sigh… What did I do wrong to cause this mess? You’re a smart guy, freelancer. Answer me.”

“Sometimes when a few bottles of alcohol meet a young mercenary with a gun, situations get fucked up. Don’t worry, we can still fix this.”

I used his language in my response. Casually mixing in profanity, dismissing it as trivial. A short acknowledgment with a hollow laugh came back, and the connection ended. Now for the main part.

I connected to Talos. While there had been a few seconds of delay when connecting to Simon, the connection to Talos was established instantly without any delay.

“This is Arthur Murphy, general staff of night watch who received the request. I found the culprit. He’s a young mercenary about my age with no connection to the Belwether coup. His purpose was just to vent his anger.”

“Just venting anger… Is there a plausible reason? We can make one up if needed, but man-made explanations tend to have rough edges.”

Reality can be censored and truth can be manufactured. But even with truth, wild-caught is better than factory-produced or farmed. In this case, there was a plausible reason.

“A mercenary whose family member was killed by Fitz & Morrison’s security team without explanation got drunk, and this happened. Is information about civilians killed during mutant suppression operations classified?”

“It shouldn’t be in most cases. What’s the mercenary’s name? Ah, damn it. Record this. This is James McKernihy, head of security at Fitz & Morrison’s Los Angeles branch. Fitz & Morrison will not take any retaliatory action regarding this matter.”

I recorded everything that followed, including his recitation of certain clauses from company regulations stating that in emergency situations, the security team leader’s opinion could partially represent the company’s position, and uploaded it to the night watch server.

Noah Verami must be the most relieved person in this situation right now. Only after hearing that did I reveal his name. After about ten seconds, the answer came back.

“There’s no one in his family killed by Fitz & Morrison. You know what that means?”

“It’s red information. I don’t know what Fitz & Morrison calls it, but that’s what it is.”

The silence was affirmation. They couldn’t reveal information to outsiders, not even the fact that information existed, so they covered it with different information. I wonder what happened on their end.

The immediate problem took priority. Talos returned to business first.

“Someone from security will come, not Beom-am. They’ll compare Noah’s voice with the voice on the phone, and if it matches… they’ll just issue a fine notice and that’s it. Is that the result you wanted?”

“I’ve never asked Belwether for a shootout with casualties as a birthday present. Still don’t.”

“Good. You’ve performed one miracle. When are you going to part the sea?”

“How far has that nickname spread? And if I parted the rotten Pacific, all I’d see is the putrid bottom. To me, the sea is black. I don’t particularly want to part it.”

At least Talos was joking, which suggested the situation had been resolved well. Realizing that not a single bullet had been fired, I leaned against the wall, fighting the urge to slide down.

About twenty minutes later, a Fitz & Morrison security team member arrived without wearing enhanced armor, compared Noah’s voice (using a voice modulator) with the prank call voice… and smiled.

With an expression that suggested he wanted to thank Noah, he stated that a fine notice would be issued and left the office.

One nasty prank call ended as just that—a nasty prank call. This was the best possible outcome for this incident.