Ch.159Work Record #022 – No Cradle Lasts Forever (3)

I layer a bulletproof vest over my T-shirt and conceal it with a jacket. I position the silencer facing inward. The noise cancellation zone forms from the device outward. Wearing it inward places my body completely in the center of the zone.

After preparing my carbine and getting ready for work, I help check the Kanun Company’s equipment. Wilderf tends to bring too little spare ammunition, while Mr. Riley tends to bring too much.

I pat Evelyn’s shoulders twice, as she still appears to lack confidence, then speak. Everyone available needs to operate at maximum efficiency.

“Evelyn, is something bothering you? Someone with such important responsibilities shouldn’t be so anxious.”

Though she still stutters, understanding her isn’t difficult. At least it’s not as severe as Mr. Enzo’s stutter.

“N-no. It’s just, when you s-say important responsibilities, I c-can’t even treat injuries in the f-field… I feel like I’m just b-being told to stay in the b-back because I’m u-useless…”

“That’s not true. A medic has a crucial role. You need to be able to order a retreat when emergency treatment with the injections and medications we have won’t be enough. Isn’t that important?”

Evelyn shakes her head briefly. Still, I can’t be completely confident in her, so I decide to address it once more. One conversation won’t change everything—they’re all rookie mercenaries after all.

“That doesn’t mean you should constantly think ‘when should we pull out?’ You’ve been watching from behind, so you know when Wilderf is exaggerating and when he’s genuinely hurt, right? Until then…”

I lightly tap the submachine gun at her waist, implying that until a genuine pain response appears, she should focus on combat. Evelyn nods briefly and smiles slightly.

“U-until then, this is m-my job. O-okay. I’ll do my b-best…”

With Noah, I’m more casual. I nudge him with my elbow and speak with a grin. He looks more tense this time too. His expression suggests he’s just now remembering I’m a freelancer.

“You know this will be your job next time, right? You’ll need to study enough to give clear direction like this, and if you ask to borrow some training programs, I’ll gladly agree.”

“Oh. Then… could I borrow some basic training programs? I want to build a solid foundation from the ground up. That’s definitely the right approach. And that’s how I’ll become more like you, Arthur.”

Noah, who had been on that ambiguous line between jealousy and admiration, seemed to have shifted more toward… the better side. I’ll start by giving him the security team training manual. We’re off to a good start.

After parking Ms. Eve’s bike at a safe distance to avoid gunfire, I run to the rendezvous point and designate the surrounding area as our operational zone. I create a noise cancellation space and offer some final encouragement.

“Alright then… let’s make sure that after this job, we can say, ‘Hey, we didn’t look like a bunch of amateurs this time, right?’ Operation commencing!”

Everyone responds loudly, though their voices don’t carry far. Voices from inside the building begin to reach us.

“Hey, a message just came in! The merchant representative is here to pay protection money. Should we open the door for them?”

“Open it? Why should we accommodate those guys? We need to show them what happens when they try to rise up so clumsily. Get ready to shoot them as soon as they enter.”

There shouldn’t be any particular problems. This is actually what we wanted. I relay the conversation to Kanun Company employees through our comms. I also check the video feed from the small drone operated by Kanun’s unusually quiet IT specialist.

There’s a reasonable number of people on the first floor for collection, but quite a few more on the second floor. It doesn’t matter. If they were megacorporation security, it would be a problem, but a ragtag gang is different.

Taking a few light steps for momentum, I jump up with the noise cancellation field around me. Gravity becomes momentarily irrelevant, and the gang members on the second floor witness a scene they never expected to see. They don’t understand it at all.

Have they ever imagined a mercenary company coming after them? Probably. They’ve likely had leisurely conversations about how they’d shoot and kill worthless amateurs.

But this scene wasn’t in their imagination. The ordinary window—not reinforced or security glass—shatters easily, spraying fragments into the room. I didn’t even use a flash grenade.

I aim at them in the order they reach for their carelessly scattered weapons. My brain, assisted by a perfectly functioning calculation aid, determines the sequence, and my body follows it. Basic operation.

The sofa headrest behind a gang member who knocked over his pistol while trying to clear it from a small table gets pierced. Pink mixes into his drink. Two flash bangs detonate.

Another who tried to draw his pistol without releasing the holster lock and finally managed to unlock it with trembling hands gets four holes in his chest. I can vaguely see the air escaping.

The bulky one who had been pretending to be a cruel gang boss points the revolver he’d been theatrically spinning at my head, but his shot goes wide without my helmet even needing to work.

Judging by his clothes, he’s wearing body armor on his chest. I plant bullets up his neck to his head like stitches. Meanwhile, a bullet hits my shoulder skin.

It was a decent shot for someone firing in a mixture of fear and confusion, but their pistol rounds can’t even penetrate skin in the first place.

I take them down one by one in the office-sized room where about fifteen people had been drinking or playing cards. As my carbine runs low on ammunition, someone shouts:

“Hey, hey! Shoot now! He has to reload! He’s fired about thirty rounds…”

Instead of reloading, I draw the Small Misdeed from my waist. Between the drawing motion, I flip the selector switch and put a single round through his head. The anti-armor round causes over-penetration, shattering the window on the opposite side.

I turn the Small Misdeed’s selector to full auto and sweep suppressive fire, then take cover behind a building column to reload both the carbine and Small Misdeed.

I was actually reloading this time, but those who had been fooled once seemed to think it was another trap. I take cover in the opposite direction from where I entered and assess the situation.

They seem intelligent enough to realize that resistance means death, and running means death too. It’s amusing how they won’t expose themselves even for a few seconds of extended life.

However, people don’t remain in amusing states for long. Two of them charge at me from both sides, one with a crudely made high-frequency blade axe and the other with a large drone assembly wrench.

I shoot the one with the high-frequency blade through the head with the Small Misdeed. The bullet pierces through the building column that was at an angle. I let go of the carbine on its shoulder strap and draw my tactical knife.

I could take a hit from the wrench, but I had no intention of sacrificing efficiency for showing off. Before he can bring down the raised wrench, I plant the tactical knife under his chin. I activate the vibration.

The smoothly humming blade splits his face from chin to forehead. After this failed ambush attempt, their breathing grows louder. Loud enough for me to hear. I can even hear heartbeats.

They seem to be beating almost three times per second. I aim the Small Misdeed at the source of the sound and pull the trigger. Sharp holes appear in the gang member’s heart and the floor.

By now they should realize hiding is pointless. With fearful battle cries, two with shotguns, one with a submachine gun, and three with pistols rise up.

The shotguns wouldn’t be a problem even if I took them bare-skinned, but I take cover anyway. When one tries to rush behind my column, I aim the Small Misdeed at the column and pull the trigger.

Belwether’s high-performance anti-armor round cleanly penetrates the concrete column and pierces the submachine gunner’s shoulder. A scream rings out.

The courage they had somehow summoned with primitive shouts and cries is easily consumed by the sound of screaming. That’s when they finally make the worst choice. For street criminals, they had tried to fight for too long.

“Leave him and run! Meet at the hideout…”

As soon as the first one turns to run, I step out from cover and pull the Small Misdeed’s trigger. With the gunshot echoing through the building, the gang member collapses powerlessly.

If they were going to run, they should have at least assigned some to provide covering fire while others escaped one by one, with those who escaped providing cover in turn. Not just dropping their guns and running.

Ah, Belwether’s public education must be in crisis too. I release tension with this absurd thought. It was ignorant to even say such a thing—these gangs would never have received proper security team training.

Two of the pistol-wielders fled in terror straight for the door. It didn’t take long for the doorway to become a bloody mess. The last one tried to shoot but was shaking too much.

He keeps missing even as I approach step by step. When I’m two steps away, he finally pulls the trigger at my chest… but I’m wearing body armor. His expression is soaked in horror.

Even with a gun pointed at his forehead, he can’t even think to fight back physically. I pull the trigger. He falls flat on his back. A relatively peaceful end. Only one shotgun wielder remains.

He’s sweating profusely. Unintelligible mumbling flows from his mouth. He’s out of shells, having fired them somewhere that didn’t hit me. No pellets are visible on my body.

Was he showing off with an unloaded weapon? After realizing once again that the word “gang” includes such worthless individuals, I aim the carbine cleanly at his head and pull the trigger.

The anti-armor rounds that cause over-penetration aren’t actually that lethal against bare human flesh unless you hit precisely. Shooting the head with regular rounds would kill much faster.

I tilt my head to connect to the communication channel and report. The job was completed cleanly. In just about a minute.

“Second floor secured. IT specialist, search the interior for survivors or additional gang members and report. First floor team, is the cleanup complete?”

Over the comm, both Noah and Riley excitedly try to report at the same time, until Riley finally yields to his boss. Noah’s voice sounds elated.

“Cleanup complete! We took down all five without anyone getting hurt! Clean finish! On your side…”

“Looks like twelve or thirteen. Let’s head back!”

Noah briefly loses his words at the mention of twelve or thirteen, but instead of falling into jealousy, he says:

“Even if we had fewer, this time… Arthur, what did you say before we started? When you announced the operation?”

“Ah, I said ‘Let’s make sure we can say we didn’t look like amateurs this time, right?’ Do you think that statement holds true?”

“Yes, absolutely! Wilderf didn’t charge ahead recklessly and let the team enter properly, though we didn’t even need him to block for us since the flash grenades neutralized everyone. So…”

Simon was relatively laissez-faire. He probably had more personal know-how than manual procedures. What Kanun’s rookies needed right now was clearly the manual approach.

So, while Simon is detained, I should make sure Kanun thoroughly learns the manual. If Simon’s know-how is added on top of that solid foundation… they might be able to work with Night Watch.

Noah’s excited voice cuts off briefly, as he belatedly realizes that all this was thanks to the five-minute briefing and training I gave in the van, and he tones down his excitement.

“So, so… I think we got the basics right. It’s nothing special, but it’s a proper first step. Right?”

“You don’t need to be so modest from the start. When you first accomplish something, it’s okay to feel like your achievement is greater than anyone else’s in the world. Of course… we’ll review the recordings later. You know that, right?”

Noah’s voice sinks again. Given that “review” for Kanun usually meant getting scolded by Simon, my mention of reviewing probably sounded like a threat to scold them.

“I understand… But everyone really did well this time! Evelyn, who used to just stick close behind the team, Riley, who used to rush too far ahead—everyone moved with solid formation…”

At the very least, he’s not bragging about how many people he shot and killed, which shows he has sufficient ability. He has the makings of an excellent leader. I feel a pleasant sense of accomplishment.

“We’ll talk more about that during the review. Let’s go get some lunch. I’ve already called a cleanup team in my name, so they’ll be here soon.”

Real food was something a company like Kanun could only afford once a week on a set day. Lunch had to be pseudo-food.

Cream shrimp without real cream or real shrimp, meat dumplings with wrappers that smelled of beans, and noodles with beef broth that obviously used cultured meat from small bioreactors.

Still, judging by the amount that came out, it seemed quite a feast by Kanun’s standards. Pseudo-food is cheap, but a meal for five is expensive for young professionals. That’s only natural.

Being among them made me feel a bit like a young professional myself. Pinching pennies, having to choose pseudo-food menu items… the kind of life where you have to check three restaurants and put your heads together.

I didn’t particularly mind. I was too busy to live a child’s life, and my life was essentially my tenure at Belwether when it came to being a young professional… but all of that was a happy time for me.

It’s the same now. Being able to experience things I never could thanks to others isn’t something to regret or be angry about—it’s something to be happy about. I decided to accept this moment as happiness too.

After lunch, we returned to Kanun’s office, where insulation tape had been applied to every window to keep the smog out. I turned on my hologram projector and began the review.

Their movements were much more disciplined than before, but this time Mr. Riley failed to properly spray bullets with his submachine gun, and Wilderf only led with his shield.

For those who have shed their reckless self-confidence, I need to add self-trust, and for those who have reduced their chemical anger from adrenal stimulants, I need to teach the boldness to throw themselves into suppression.

With pleasant plans for the future, I concluded my day’s work with Kanun Company. I enjoyed the time teaching them as much as I could learn from it. It was a truly human feeling.