Ch.131

After finishing the meeting, I felt awkward, to be honest. I wondered if I was adapting too well to this industry.

Still, now it was my free time. I headed to my room in the penthouse to enjoy the evening. Finding my place in such a large building was something I hadn’t done since quitting Belwether.

When I opened the door with Gardner’s voice recognition, Ms. Serena was waiting for me, standing on two feet with the help of a support device. Normally, she should have been bedridden for at least a few more days.

Ms. Serena was never one for normalcy. She walked toward me with the whirring sound of the support device’s servo motors and extended her hand. This time, I understood and shook it.

“I’m worried I might lose my meal ticket. That was an excellent debut. However, I don’t like the content of the episode meeting. This is something I can shoulder.”

I expected this reaction. I decided not to lie. I didn’t want to create more embarrassment for Kay.

“I know that, of course. You’re strong. But I’ve been through something similar. It was horrible seeing people who were colleagues until yesterday killing each other, and I didn’t want that to happen again.”

Ms. Serena fell silent for a moment, struck by my sincere response. Everyone has their own story. There’s only one way to have your story respected: respect others first.

It didn’t last long. Her expression contorted as if revisiting unpleasant memories brought phantom pain. She took a deep breath and calmed down, then nodded slightly.

“The ratings will be high. If I arrest the traitors, people will just say I’m arresting criminals who should be killed anyway. This might be better…”

Her sense of responsibility was too great. Is there such a thing as too much responsibility? Was risking my life to face monsters admirable responsibility or excessive? I couldn’t answer.

As we both struggled to find words, there was a knock at the door followed by the handler’s voice.

“Ms. Serena, I heard you were in Arthur’s room… We have an emergency. One of the Lawbringers is refusing the schedule and has locked themselves in their room…”

Ms. Serena stomped her injured leg on the floor and spoke with an irritated voice. She seemed to be a busy person too.

“Damn it. We’ll continue this conversation later… Follow me for now. The Lawbringer is a DPD regular. We tried to make them an independent character, but their recognition was low, so now they’re used more as a sidekick.”

They seemed to be a regular on the police side who becomes a target for criminals. If so, their stress must have reached its peak. I could vaguely understand the feeling of having the whole world targeting you.

We arrived at the Lawbringer’s room, which was not only locked but also barricaded with furniture. Ms. Serena sighed when she saw the nameplate. She seemed to know who it was.

“I knew it would be her. My exosuit… No, wait. Arthur, could you open the door for us?”

“Of course.”

After dismissing the Heroism and Hope employees who had brought levers, I lightly kicked near the doorknob. With a heavy impact, both the electronic lock and the furniture barricade behind it shattered simultaneously. The door opened.

To be precise, it didn’t exactly open. The hinges were torn out and the door fell backward. Ms. Serena jumped beyond the range of her support device and entered the room.

Inside was… another woman holding a submachine gun. She had bright lemon-blonde hair. Probably not natural, unless she had customized her hair color in the cultivation tank.

“Get out of the way, Serena. I’m not going out. Why do we have to shoulder all the shitty parts of this city? What did we do? At least until now…”

While I could hear her speaking, the handler connected through the communication channel. He also spoke without opening his mouth.

“The officer who died alongside Ms. Serena when she was nearly cut in half was that Lawbringer’s lover. It seems we couldn’t find an appropriate way to motivate her.”

‘What did you suggest?’

“We told her not to worry because Heroism and Hope would handle the funeral arrangements, but…”

‘She… probably thought you’d use it as content, right?’

I thought it was just a lack of communication, but the Heroism and Hope handler said something shocking. I wondered what kind of environment lacking human communication one had to grow up in to end up like this.

“Of course that was the plan. Doesn’t someone’s existence get proven through the mourning of many people? Isn’t a death that no one knows about or remembers no different from extinction?”

‘She was someone who was in frame until her death. At the very least, the funeral should be held privately.’

“That’s something we hadn’t considered. If I tell her we’ll proceed that way, could the situation improve?”

‘Let’s see how Ms. Serena’s conversation goes first. Please go talk to her directly, not when everyone’s gathered.’

“I’ll try, but I expect the outcome won’t be… very good. This is all we’ve been taught.”

The phrase “all we’ve been taught” stuck with me deeply. That gloomy man might be one of the entertainment industry’s returned children. He might truly only know this much.

After watching him stand back and observe for a moment, I turned my attention to Ms. Serena. She approached the submachine gun even with her support device and spoke.

It was the first time I’d heard Ms. Serena speak informally. Her voice carried the sound of a beast howling as she spoke sincerely and calmly, without suppressing her indignation or showing contempt.

“We’re not shouldering everything, Chris. Everyone in this city is carrying their own share. We’re just carrying ours. Don’t resent them.”

I wasn’t sure if Heroism and Hope could create heroes, but at least Ms. Serena was one. I’d never met someone who could sincerely say such things while in their right mind. Truly.

Perhaps they were each other’s only confidants. What was the catalyst? Just being in the same DPD couldn’t create such trust. Chris lowered her submachine gun and embraced Serena.

She was crying. Ms. Serena was stoically accepting it. The reality behind the silver screen isn’t as glamorous as what’s shown on it. I almost regretted thinking of this as just business.

“I-I still remember those bastards’ modification surgery room. But, but, for those H-Enter guys to even take Harold’s funeral…”

Now was the time. I looked at the H-Enter handler who had been observing from behind, then at Chris who was embracing Serena. He began speaking nervously through the communication channel.

“I haven’t organized my thoughts yet, but…”

‘I’ll do it, so just repeat after me. Don’t try to comfort her by reaching out first; it would be better to stand in place as usual and speak.’

I never thought I’d be giving acting directions to my own producer. Suppressing my incredulous feelings, I watched him walk like a machine. He soon stumbled over the door debris and entered.

He approached the two with an awkward posture. It would only take a few seconds before Chris looked up at him with resentful and hateful eyes. What words would fit? I created them.

‘It seems our attempt to show respect in the entertainment industry way was wrong, but that’s all we’ve been taught. I apologize.’

The gloomy man repeated my words exactly. Chris looked up at the handler with surprise rather than resentment and hatred.

I thought that perhaps this handler was too young and too narrow-minded. Not narrow-minded in a bad way. Just… his world was too small. Like me when I worked at Belwether.

‘We’ll only provide financial support for the funeral. Please coordinate the proceedings with the welfare department. I’ll contact them.’

Again, he read what I told him in an emotionless voice. It didn’t seem like acting. He was just as dry when speaking normally as when reading a script.

It must have been a good proposal for Chris too. After wiping away some tears, she looked at Serena with a still surprised expression and said:

“Does this mean H-Enter is finally… understanding these small things we wanted?”

Ms. Serena’s gaze swept outside the room and briefly met mine. She gave me a “no way” look before looking back down at Chris.

“Maybe. I’m going to attend the schedule, so calm down a bit. Ask Gardner to pour you a drink or something.”

“Sniff. No thanks. I don’t want to be seen with another man so soon after my boyfriend died. Not by the cameras, but by Harold.”

With those words, the emotional explosion seemed to have subsided. Ms. Serena crossed back over the debris with her walking aid, and her exosuit was already waiting for her.

An exosuit with lines that seemed to reveal a woman’s curves. The purpose was somewhat impure and obvious. It was covered with sponsors’ logos… Fortunately, Belwether wasn’t among them. Panacea Meditech was, though.

Leaning against her exosuit, with her legs trembling as if about to collapse, she barely managed to get off the walking aid. She grabbed the neck of the exosuit and skillfully pulled herself up.

After sitting on the shoulder of her closed exosuit, she somehow positioned her unresponsive legs and slid her body into the exosuit.

But as soon as she mounted the exosuit and the connection was complete, her previously immobile legs seemed to disappear as she lightly jumped and landed in place.

“Ah, damn. Now I feel alive. This is a neural connection exosuit, so I can walk somehow even if my legs don’t move. That’s how I could disguise the injury as just a penetrating wound.”

Did she really walk back with half her body torn apart? I couldn’t even begin to imagine what kind of human willpower would enable such an insane act.

What is a hero? How does Heroism and Hope define it? If it was simply someone who could kill people impressively on screen, they wouldn’t have hired the DPD in the first place. There must be something more between them.

If there was a hint, it was the term “modification surgery room.” How did the DPD, which had only a few exosuits, afford modification surgery? Basic modifications could be done with personal funds, but combat modifications couldn’t.

I should look into this more. The reason for the traitors’ emergence might be related to that modification surgery room. Maintaining professional boundaries is always difficult. I needed to be careful.

Ms. Serena placed her exosuit’s hand on my shoulder and patted it lightly as if to thank me. She seemed to have figured out who had whispered into the Heroism and Hope handler’s mind.

Nevertheless, Chris ordered enough alcohol to drown her sorrow, as if trying to submerge sorrow’s head in alcohol. Only after seeing her close the door did I return to my room.

I shouldn’t experience the contagion of sorrow. I walked out in my usual jeans, t-shirt, and leather jacket. I put on my small vice for the first time in a while and left the company building through H-Enter’s secret exit.

Detroit in the evening was a particularly vibrant place. More than anything… children who looked no older than twelve were taking pictures of the Heroism and Hope headquarters by themselves.

Places with good security are safe enough for kids to walk around. That seemed to be true here. Even Jaina members were holding events near the headquarters, saying things like “Experience real sensations.”

If nothing else, the fact that even Jaina was out meant it was definitely safe. If someone pulled out a rifle and sprayed it on full auto, they would have no way to defend themselves.

I no longer hated them. They had shed the blood of countless non-radical members to prove that the radicals were only a small part of their group.

I decided to honestly admit it. They had paid too high a price too. Just because the terrorists I saw were Jaina doesn’t mean I should hate all Jaina members for life.

So this time, instead of grinding my teeth and growling at the approaching Jaina member, I pushed my freelancer license to her smartphone.

I thought that would be enough for her to leave, but the brown-haired woman, who used neither prosthetic hands nor eyes, boldly said:

“We know that for freelance mercenaries, those enhanced bodies are necessities. But still! I’d like to ask when was the last time you saw the world with your real eyes. Perhaps…”

“My modification method is a bit unique. I kept my eyes intact and connected to the optic nerve, so they’re not prosthetic.”

That’s natural. My Type 4 eyes performed better than most combat prosthetic eyes, so there was no need to replace them.

At my words, she seemed a bit flustered and hesitated. Since people typically modify their eyes and hands, I showed her both my hands. I extended them slightly. If she touched them, she would at least recognize they were real skin.

“I couldn’t forget the sensation of experiencing the world with real eyes and real hands, could I?”

“I-If that’s the case, we can’t say anything! We only address those with excessive modifications, not people like you who have modified appropriately! Have a good night!”

Were they always such nice people when met under normal circumstances? Most of them probably were. There were just a few idiots mixed in who recommended things like demechanization procedures.

Even in this dark gray city, you can sometimes feel human warmth. After watching her approach a tourist mercenary wearing a full-body prosthesis, I left. It was time to enjoy my time again today.

I entered Farmer’s indoor garden, which had a sign saying “This is outside the frame,” using my freelancer license, and connected a call to Ms. Eve. With a three-hour time difference, the sky in Los Angeles was brighter.

I complained a bit about how everywhere in this city was “in frame”… and we chatted about trivial things. Exchanging wordplay that wasn’t worth remembering was the best thing to do at the end of a day.

After talking for a while, she told me to look around at my surroundings, and looking at Farmer’s indoor garden, she said:

“Seeing it like this, it seems like a much better city than Los Angeles. What if you don’t miss Los Angeles within two weeks?”

“Even if I go to Belwether headquarters, I’ll still miss that stinky city. Nine-tenths of the good people I’ve met in my life were from Los Angeles.”

The remaining one-tenth was forming here. Giggling, I brought up Ms. Eve’s face on the virtual screen. Ms. Eve probably did the same. I briefly pressed my lips against that illusion that others couldn’t see.

Others might call it crazy, but for a freelancer, having a crazy side or two was much more normal than not having any, so I decided not to mind that assessment.