Ch.107017 Work Record – New Recruitment Period (6)

After finishing the company dinner, I head back home. It’s still a monthly rental, and I still use a metal key. I decided to say that line one more time. I should’ve gone to headquarters. It was almost an obligatory statement.

I told Mr. Günter I’d end up saying it about a million times, so I should mutter it more diligently whenever something doesn’t sit right with me, even slightly. With these pointless thoughts, I return home. At least this place was my own.

I boot up Chance on the computer connected to the computational assist device, and open a delivery package to take out a household drone. Chance’s voice was monotone but somehow managed to sound somewhat dissatisfied.

“This model is… as lightweight as the artificial brain I used before. Assessment: Performance is adequate for current tasks.”

“I had to buy the budget model since I put all my money into the housing deposit… but don’t worry, Chance. I’ll get you a better one once I earn more.”

The thick disc-shaped drone flies up and down a few times, and I can’t help but smile as it takes its crude artificial hand to the camera placed on the computer to check itself.

Just as I thought the night would pass uneventfully, the doorbell rang. I tilt my head and connect the door camera to the computational assist device. A neat-uniformed postal carrier was standing there.

He even had a bag full of paper mail slung over his shoulder. Paper mail. Even at Bellwether, they only keep paper documents for materials classified orange or higher. Paper mail was even rarer.

Now I’m finally feeling like a freelancer. I grab Small Evil, tuck it into my waistband, and walk out to open the door. The delivery person was a warm-looking Black man.

The man, wearing one or two rings with corporate logos on each finger, deliberately raised both hands to show off his rings and grinned.

“You can leave the gun behind. Our North American Postal Corporation collaborates with 19 companies and governments, from Bellwether to the federal government… and right now, I’m just here to deliver mail to a freelance mercenary.”

Noticing that he had spotted the gun tucked in my back, I took out Small Evil and placed it on the shoe rack beside the entrance. He rummaged through his mail bag for a moment and pulled out a matte black paper envelope.

With a light flick of his finger, a silence zone spread around us. It was a Bellwether-style silence zone, so I could still hear surrounding sounds to some extent.

“All communications can be tapped, but letters are relatively safe from security risks. As a freelancer, you’ll probably receive these whenever major corporations find themselves in a bind.”

There were plenty of corporations that wouldn’t stop at mere complaints if someone tried to censor their mail. Just as mercenaries sell trust, the postal service was also in the business of selling trust. The sender would have paid the price for that trust.

This time, identity verification was simple since I had authorized access to my freelancer license. He handed me the envelope, then removed his mail-handling gloves and extended a prosthetic hand that resembled a human hand made of metal.

“I’m Timothy Harriot, delivery person for the Greater Los Angeles area. I thought we should introduce ourselves so I can visit without you having a gun next time.”

I shake his prosthetic hand lightly. I was getting tired of handshakes by now. So this is what social life was about—meeting so many people whose names you had to remember.

“If I couldn’t understand something after hearing it once, I wouldn’t be able to work as a freelancer anyway. And I don’t threaten people I know with guns. See you next time.”

“‘But I fear thy nature; it is too full of the milk of human kindness.’ Even Macbeth, who heard such words, still butchered the king. No mercenary gets a free contract license.”

In one sentence, he conveyed both the fear of not knowing what I might have done to earn a contract license from a major corporation, and the observation that my facade doesn’t always work. I should think of other approaches.

He was quoting Shakespeare, I think. Bellwether once provided several boxes of classic literature as part of their student support program. It’s a book about revenge.

Yet it was also a book about losers and inefficient people. Now I understood. It became a tragedy because he followed prophecies rather than desire, because he forced himself to pursue something he couldn’t enjoy, believing only in a guaranteed future.

I understand what Mr. Günter was trying to teach the children. Perhaps all this time, from then until now, he was trying to teach that machines produce, slaves obey, and humans enjoy.

I didn’t have enough knowledge to respond with an equally sophisticated literary quote. I showed my palms in a gesture of true harmlessness as I watched him leave, then closed the door again.

The envelope was made of soft paper, not even recycled material. Running my hand over it, I could feel a corporate name embossed on it. The latter part was “Entertainment.”

Heroism and Hope Entertainment. This company uses the H initial. People who name companies must have the hardest job in the entertainment industry.

They have to choose initials that don’t overlap with other companies while still creating names that suit their business. Heroism and hope. Both were rare in the entertainment sector.

But they both sold well. The paper was so high-quality that it felt wrong to just tear it open, so I took out my tactical knife and powered it up. I lightly cut one side of the envelope to open it.

Inside was a single cream-colored paper, neatly folded top and bottom. I unfold it. The content seemed rather inappropriate for a freelancer request.

Despite the flowery language, it essentially stated they were urgently looking for someone to replace or add to the cast because the lead actor had been injured.

They sent this through paper mail instead of the freelancer network? It made no sense. I turn on the computational assist device and connect to the net. I search for H Entertainment.

And only then do I understand what they meant by looking for additional cast. It was the same video the convenience store owner was watching when I went to find the prank caller.

A woman in a pink-colored reinforcement suit holds a bulletproof shield and uses a shotgun connected to her suit’s wrist to breach a door. She rushes in and shoots criminals who look like gang members.

The entertainment industry’s attempts always deserved the label “insanity” repeated three times. Were they filming superhero content using cities that had failed to maintain public order? There were dozens of such videos.

At least Fitts & Morrison or New Magers Department Store only broadcast nearby, rather than advertising worldwide under the name of “content.” It was enough to give me a headache.

In an age where reality could be censored and truth manufactured, I wondered if this might be fabricated footage, but it didn’t seem likely. There were already signs of editing.

When the pink reinforcement suit woman saw civilians sprawled inside the building, shot dead, she said, “I’ll shoot them as caught in the act.” But the lip movements barely visible behind her opaque visor were cursing.

It was dubbed over. If it were truly fabricated footage, why bother deliberately making it wrong and then leaving traces of dubbing? Especially with lip movements behind a visor that could barely be seen. The possibility seemed low.

It’s sensationalistic. She wore reinforcement suits covered in sponsor logos, and her weapons were mainly short-range shotguns attached to body bunkers, preventing long-distance engagements that would be difficult to capture on video.

They couldn’t possibly be entrusting all law enforcement to just that woman. A proper city would be too difficult to manage with just one person. She might just be a figurehead.

The more I rewatched the footage, the more realistic assumptions became possible, but I still didn’t understand. I tried to check the letter’s content, but the recent episodes required credits to watch.

They must be making a fortune. Since I needed to understand what was going on, I paid with credits and played the video. I wondered how serious the injury was that they needed a replacement, and it turned out to be horrific.

After spotting a sniper, the pink reinforcement suit wraps around a team member moving nearby—equivalent to Bellwether’s security mobile team. Despite carrying a body bunker on her back, the sniper’s shot was powerful.

It penetrates through the body bunker and reinforcement suit on her back, and finally through the team member she was trying to protect. Strange. The perpetrator could have shifted targets instead of deliberately shooting through the body bunker.

Yet they deliberately shot her despite the body bunker. It seems somewhat intentional. Did an actor hired by H Entertainment make a mistake? Perhaps she herself was the terrorist’s target.

Anyway, a message appears on screen indicating her life support system is injecting preservatives into her blood. The team member also seems to have life support activated, but rescue is delayed.

Why am I on the edge of my seat over this? Or is it because it’s a slice of someone’s daily life that I can’t help but be tense? Eventually, rescue arrives after more than 4 minutes. The reason for the delay was the sniper threat.

Of course… this might just be melodrama. If audiences have become numb to character deaths, then kill actual people. That’s how the entertainment industry worked. They rode desire too far.

There were even companies that filmed corporate wars and sold them for profit. Of course, that W Entertainment company was attacked by G Entertainment and underwent a hostile takeover. It’s a jungle out there.

I heard Chance’s voice in my head as we watched the video together. There was something close to shock or disgust, but it still remained monotone.

“Is this what entertainment is like these days?”

“This is… the bottom of today’s entertainment. Not many are this explicit.”

Or maybe not. From this apartment complex to Half & Half’s clone brothel was only a 20-minute drive. I sighed and answered again.

“Actually, to be honest, this might be the average… but regular movies and dramas sell just as well. You know what I mean, Chance?”

“Affirmative. You mean such content sells as well as regular movies and dramas.”

In reality, it might sell even better. As I’ve said many times, real reality has more vitality than manufactured reality. Reality always surpasses imagination.

Still, I had no desire to get involved in this hero business. I crumpled up the letter I had been handling carefully and threw it in the trash. The problem was that throwing away the letter wouldn’t solve anything.

The entertainment people had at least put me on their candidate list, which is why they sent a paper letter. One day they’ll suddenly appear and ask, “Have you considered our offer?”

They might already be on their way, or it might be tomorrow. In the worst case, they might drag it out with Christmas and New Year’s specials and not come until early ’98, but still.

I was skilled at mimicry. As Kay would say, I was also used to sweeping the table with bluffing. The Type 4 I wore wasn’t just any Type 4, but a modified version. H Entertainment had chosen well.

But I had more people to be responsible for in my reality. I needed to face Hollow Creek’s Pontiff and her past with Eve, and destroy the Transparent Eye with Kay. Let’s start with what’s within reach.

Thanks to the Bellwether coup, everyone had time to catch their breath. Eve could use the Bellwether coup as an excuse for not meeting the Pontiff, and for Kay, it wasn’t an excuse.

That breathing time was coming to an end. After wiping all search records related to H Entertainment’s request, I connect a call to Eve. This was my reality.

By now, I could tell how Eve’s voice softened noticeably once she confirmed it was me calling. Eve’s… voice. I should say Ms. Eve.

“Did you get home okay, Arthur? I can’t imagine you being too drunk to find your way home.”

“I got home fine. And immediately got some black information. Is the ruins district still filled with stench?”

I ask naturally while sitting on the bed. Hearing Eve’s light laughter made me feel good.

“Yes. Almost enough to make me want to leave this area unless I’m helping people from Hollow Creek. But I’m pretty used to it now. It doesn’t come in if I close the windows. Oh, Arthur, the smog has cleared up a bit, hasn’t it?”

“Are you going back?”

“Yes. Thanks to you, I’ve been reconsidering. When I saw the Pontiff malfunction during our argument, maybe it’s just…”

“Just an illusion created by the Hollow Creek people. A piece of hardware they couldn’t properly resurrect even with holograms, mostly just programmed code stuffed inside.”

I remembered the words he had spewed at Eve. I hated him. Now I wasn’t ashamed of that hatred. The only reason I hadn’t destroyed the hologram projector was because Eve wanted to take responsibility.

“Yes, yes. I’m trying to think that way too. I don’t know how I’ll feel when I see his face again… but come well-armed. Understand? We ran away last time when we saw the Hollow Creek people moving.”

At that time, we definitely ran away after seeing the Pontiff malfunction and all the Eve copies and inquisitors gathering. Thinking about it now, it was strange.

If they were really wary of us, why didn’t they use snipers? The wasteland was mostly flat terrain. Even after we had fled quite far, they could have attempted a shot.

There are two possibilities. Either Eve, who acted as the field commander, wasn’t skilled enough to properly deploy troops, or we weren’t the target to begin with.

Was the malfunctioning Pontiff the actual target? What we saw might not have been the 42% but the 58%. That’s why he talked about responsibility. Typical insensitivity from the Creek people.

Take responsibility. It’s your fault. Hearing only such words, Eve will eventually… give up on apologizing to the Pontiff and taking responsibility. It will remain an unfillable wound and everything will end.

How could they be so stupid? Those words only pushed Eve away from Hollow Creek. Just like… how the living Pontiff tried to make Eve escape from Hollow Creek.

Was what we met the 42%? I needed to figure out which one it was first. The method of taking responsibility for someone’s life wouldn’t come to me overnight. I recall the three things the Special Operations Department taught me.

Move quickly. Act smart. Finish decisively. That night, I went to sleep with armor-piercing rounds for reinforced suits loaded in Small Evil instead of regular bullets.