Ch.117Work Record 018 – Headhunting (6)

The sun rises over the hazy horizon. This time, to avoid struggling with penetration issues, I’ve loaded both Little Misdeed and my carbine with magazines full of reinforced rounds.

The undertakers whose positions have been exposed will be handled by Belvedere, and I only need to target the Headhunter. The Headhunter will try to escape again this time. He has only one purpose: to fulfill what he believes is his duty.

I take out the grenade rifle I haven’t used for a while. I check the heavy piece of metal in my hands—so weighty it makes Little Misdeed and my carbine seem too light in comparison—and verify the twenty-round grenade magazine. I pack it in my bag.

After contacting Ms. Mila to match Belvedere Company’s working hours, I left home. After waiting briefly near the drug addicts’ street, she came running, her helmet firmly secured on her head.

“Good morning, Arthur! That criminal-catching job from yesterday has been scheduled for today, right?”

“The undertakers protecting him are a nuisance to Belvedere too. Since he acted stupidly and exposed his position, it’s killing two birds with one stone for Belvedere. Do you have body armor?”

She removed her coat to show me lightweight body armor without plates worn over her clothes. I sighed and glanced at her helmet, which still bore bullet marks.

“I’ll ask President Yoon. Since we brought you on, we should be able to request that much. That helmet looks like it would shatter if it took another hit.”

Ms. Mila tapped her helmet and nodded. I hoped her claim about being a good shot was true. Otherwise, she’d be better off staying in the car with the office workers.

Vola and President Yoon were already at the company. President Yoon, removing his milky-white prosthetic hand and replacing it with a matte black one, greeted us with just a nod.

“Good morning. The person beside you must be the freelance mercenary who encountered the Headhunter with you yesterday?”

“Ah, yes. She needs proper body armor and a helmet… but otherwise seems average.”

President Yoon looked her up and down before handing her Kay’s spare body armor and helmet. The size fit reasonably well.

From the inner duty room emerged Tina, wearing a proper prosthetic limb instead of her usual lightweight skeletal one, along with a bulletproof helmet and vest. She lazily waved her hand. This was how she usually looked.

“Good mornin’, Boogieman. Huh. Too well-behaved to be Kay… Who’s this?”

“A mercenary temporarily joining us today. Similar build to Kay, right?”

Shortly after, the real Kay and Ms. Eve arrived. Ms. Eve approached me as if she couldn’t even see the freelance mercenary I’d brought, looking me up and down. Then she sighed.

“I was wondering if you got home safely last night, and now what’s this? You’re not hurt anywhere?”

“I only followed him because I had the mobile unit on standby. Don’t worry, I didn’t get shot.”

Just as Kay was visibly swallowing a mischievous question about whether we were together yesterday, President Yoon, now changed into body armor, clapped his hands lightly.

“We’ve received word from Belvedere. The operation starts at 9:30, and the undertakers’ position has been identified. They’re in the ruins. Their location was confirmed just moments ago.”

A hologram projector activated, displaying a screen. It showed footage from a surveillance drone. The skull-marked bulletproof helmet I’d seen yesterday was trying to exit a villa in the ruins.

When another person, seemingly an undertaker, grabbed his wrist to stop him, he unhesitatingly pulled out a cylindrical object—difficult to call a gun—from his pocket, placed it against his head, and pulled the trigger.

The video paused briefly. The weapon in his hand was magnified, and President Yoon continued:

“It’s a modified slaughter air gun from Farmers Co.’s livestock division. Originally, even the large livestock version has quite limited power, but it appears to have been modified for killing.”

At least he was aware he was killing people; otherwise, he wouldn’t have bothered with modifications. And the weapon had an extremely short range. It was designed to subdue livestock.

I’d missed the best timing yesterday because I was wary of that thing. Feeling irritated, I chewed my lip before stopping. Being anxious now would only be inefficient.

I need more training, especially in identification skills. I could distinguish weapons from military corporations quite well, but that was something I’d never seen before.

The drone footage continued playing. More vans were gathering at the villa’s garden. The undertakers were assembling.

“Additional ideological criminals are confirmed to be gathering at that location. They seem to be deliberating on how to handle the difficult-to-control Headhunter. Belvedere has decided to wait and then eliminate them all at once.”

Even those sharing the same ideology couldn’t tolerate someone who would kill fellow undertakers just for trying to stop him. At least no one would be sad or regretful when the Headhunter died.

“The villa building itself is quite large, and its interior structure makes it difficult for blast pressure to spread. Belvedere plans to surround the villa and use small self-destructing drones. Our task is…”

Handling survivors. Shooting all surviving undertakers, then entering to deal with those who somehow managed to hold out. If that’s the case, there’s no distinction between Night Watch’s job and Belvedere’s.

Originally, we were supposed to locate the undertakers roughly, let the security team begin the sweep, and then Night Watch would catch the Headhunter as he escaped the chaos. But now we’re catching them simultaneously.

“To assist Belvedere’s mobile unit in eliminating undertakers who survive the drone attack. Dealing with the Headhunter has become a joint objective.”

This meant Belvedere could have handled it alone without collaborating with Night Watch, but business ethics dictated not changing assignments if the change wasn’t our responsibility and our capabilities were sufficient.

President Yoon’s specific mention that it had become a “joint objective” suggested Belvedere was being somewhat accommodating. They weren’t relegating us to just cleaning up undertakers in the background.

Before questions about the assignment could be asked, President Yoon looked down at Ms. Mila. After examining her with his sniper-like artificial eye as if trying to assess her, he spoke:

“Not having body armor is understandable for a mercenary just starting out. I wouldn’t expect the posture of someone with 10 years of experience on day one, but…”

He glanced briefly at me as he said this. On my first day, I had flawlessly handled the task of eliminating Osgard Company’s office workers as an offliner. He was indicating he had similar expectations this time.

“We can see what kind of sense you have. Before discussing tactics, we have a moment to spare. Please follow me.”

President Yoon led Ms. Mila to a room with virtual reality connectors. When he connected the hologram projector to the VR connector via cable, the hologram screen displayed what Ms. Mila was seeing.

After entering her gun’s serial number, she was given a cheap Belvedere pistol. It was a low-end model—even the welcome gift package for Belvedere employees contained something more expensive.

Ms. Mila holstered the pistol, tucking it under her coat, and waited briefly. Suddenly, a target popped out from her peripheral vision. I was curious about her response.

However, her reaction was somewhat… inhuman. Drawing the pistol from her coat and aiming one-handed was impressive, but her gaze didn’t move at all.

As if she only needed the target to enter her field of vision, she moved just her hand and pulled the trigger. She hit the target accurately, but even Kay seemed to sense something was off.

“What’s this, an android?”

“No, seeing as she can get shot and pass out, she’s human at least. But it is… strange.”

I connected Chance to her visual feed. When targets appeared outside her field of vision, she turned to look, but if they were already in view and aiming wouldn’t be hindered, she barely moved her body or head before shooting.

The server computer at home was surely humming away. After watching her for a while, Chance spoke in my mind:

“Assessment: Her shooting style is definitely closer to that of a drone than a human. However, no registration number is readable. This AI has access to information on drones deployed in the Greater Los Angeles area.”

‘Hypotheses?’

“Considering her statement about being from the wasteland, along with her unique language habits and behavior patterns… Assessment: She may have lived with or been raised by drones from that war period.”

‘Is that possible?’

“The drones I controlled had identity verification systems installed, but ordinary drone soldiers did not. It’s entirely possible they could recognize a random civilian as their commander and serve them.”

Either way, she clearly had some connection to the remnants of that war. She might be able to help investigate the strange command messages Chance had received.

Several more tests were conducted, but she maintained her inhuman approach throughout… and consistently showed decent efficiency. Emerging from the connection room, she sheepishly scratched the back of her head.

“It’s a bit strange, right? I was taught to do it this way! In the wasteland, you know!”

So Chance’s hypothesis might be correct? Her emotional expression seemed too sophisticated for an AI. Even Stephanet, who understood many emotions, couldn’t grasp ambiguous feelings like embarrassment.

Though it felt a bit odd, the excellent test results remained unchanged. President Yoon nodded slightly.

“I was planning to ask you to wait in the van with the office workers… but I’ll entrust you with guarding the van’s exterior. If undertaker survivors try to escape, they’ll target the office workers tracking them first.”

Ms. Mila beamed with a genuinely radiant smile that seemed out of place in this high-speed era—a smile that felt like a field of flowers in my mind, though those flowers sometimes appeared holographic.

“I’m happy to take on a job protecting people! I’ll guard them thoroughly!”

All eight of us, including Ms. Mila, moved together in the van. We rendezvoused with the mobile unit on a coastal road hill. The mobile unit chief, wearing not-too-thick reinforced armor, saluted President Yoon first.

“You’ve arrived, Harrier One. The undertakers seem to know gathering is dangerous, as they’ve posted sentries throughout the ruins. We’ll deal with them before entering.”

“How long has it been since I retired, and you’re still calling me Harrier One, Harrier Nine? You’re Harrier One now. Mind that.”

“How could I casually address the person who taught me everything? Anyway, Mobile Unit 2 has completed preparations. You just need to focus on handling the undertakers.”

Respect for a retiree? Perhaps. Those who served Belvedere for decades before retiring deserved respect. As long as they didn’t receive special privileges, that was fine.

A mobile unit employee took out a long-range flight drone shaped like a small airplane from the trunk of a Belvedere-branded vehicle. Instead of launching it on a runway, he threw it using the strength stored in his reinforced suit.

The method was the same as when we destroyed the brothel in the wasteland. They would fire pulses to disable neural augmentation devices one by one, then deal with the targets. President Yoon and three mobile unit members handled the sniping.

At this moment, President Yoon looked less like Night Watch’s president and more like these mobile unit members’ chief. They moved as one body, and after the snipers returned to their vehicles, we drove through the ruins.

If the ideological criminal undertakers weren’t fools, they would check their sentries’ status every few minutes, and if no one responded, they would at least realize their security had been compromised.

Fortunately, it didn’t take long to reach the already exposed location. The armored vehicles drove over blood and tissue fragments scattered on the ground, stopping at each exit of the villa where the undertakers were located.

It was a decent hideout. The ground was elevated, and there was no cover around, making it dangerous to besiege. The armored vans themselves provided sufficient cover.

Movement inside the villa began to increase. Chance’s voice sounded in my head:

“Evaluating the legitimacy of grenade use through the ethics module… … … Assessment: Appropriate. I will disengage the safety. Be cautious of civilian casualties and friendly fire.”

As promised, Chance unlocked the grenade rifle, and I lightly held that twelve-kilogram piece of metal at chest height, aiming at the villa’s main entrance.

It was time to see fireflies dancing. The mobile unit chief—who had been Harrier Nine when President Yoon was Harrier One at Belvedere—pulled a large white box from inside the vehicle.

It was about the size of a carrier, with shelves that could open on both sides. I wouldn’t want to keep something filled with small drones attached to solid explosives at home.

Similar activities occurred at other entrances to the villa garden. Making gestures in the air as if manipulating a virtual screen with a HUD reflected in his eyes, he sent the drones flying.

Like a swarm of bees, they charged toward the villa. One drone broke away from the middle of the swarm, accelerated ahead, and self-destructed as it crashed through a window. After breaking the window, the swarm poured in.

The explosion sounds were very faint. There were no loud bangs like grenades exploding, just muffled thud sounds like fists hitting meat.

The force was sufficient for killing people. The shouts from inside were a mixture of different commands. “Get out!” “No, don’t get out!” The second voice was probably wiser.

Several gang members affiliated with the undertakers, covered in blood and gray matter, rushed toward the front entrance I was aiming at. President Yoon spoke in an even voice:

“You may open fire. Other personnel, identify and eliminate undertakers escaping from locations other than the doors!”

Hearing that, I pulled the trigger with the aid of the virtual sight that appeared in my vision and Chance’s assistance. The propellant ignited. The grenade rotated as it fired through the rifling.

Though not slow after leaving the muzzle, it continued to accelerate. It left a hole like one made by a cookie cutter in one gang member’s shoulder, over-penetrated, burrowed into the building’s entrance, and exploded.

Oil, bodily fluids, and burnt remains of what were once people tumbled across the garden. Through the collapsed debris of the entrance, a vivid redness that strained the eyes flowed down. It was just eye strain.