Ch.206031 Work Record – 001 Duty Log, Madeline’s Lot Sheriff’s Office (1)

“Do you know what a skinwalker is, Donny?”

Jeff’s voice echoes. It was an operation name. Simultaneously, it was a superstition. A superstition about sorcerers who could transform into the creature whose skin they wore.

Perhaps it’s ambiguous to dismiss it as mere superstition. It might be a cultural fear, an oral tradition with countless names, but to me, it’s a superstition. Because I don’t believe in it. I nodded briefly.

“Right now, you’re that skinwalker. A corporate spy wearing the shell of an American. Can you avoid getting attached to the shell’s life?”

“You’ve already seen my attitude during training. Was I attached to my relationship with Agent Ines McKenzie?”

Jeff shakes his head briefly. I learned a lot from her. That’s all.

“No, you weren’t. But you must know you have strengths in human interaction. Gaining people’s trust and affection. Until both villains and good people confide in you. Understand?”

“I know that if you share dreams with people, they’ll return love, and if you merely show them dreams, they’ll become enthusiastic. No matter how difficult, a certified freelancer’s job is to get it done.”

I can’t stop thinking. I can’t settle for momentary comfort. I won’t be living in Madeline’s Lot County. I’ll work for two weeks at most, then leave and return to Los Angeles.

That’s not a life. It’s just work, just a job. I don’t want anything more. I accept Matt Collins’ belongings from Jeff. I check the contents.

He was a purist. He used a phone, kept his ID in his phone while also carrying a physical plastic card.

“Good. Who are you, Donny?”

“I’m Deputy Matt Collins. Originally from Detroit, I entered police academy but couldn’t be assigned to DPD since Detroit had already become corporate territory, so I wandered until I received this posting.”

This is a suspicious part. I’ve heard deputies are usually hired locally. Fortunately, the concept of “local” has been blurred for a long time. Because of the wasteland.

Many areas suffered such severe damage that only one or two towns remained in a county, and in an era when the dying forest near Charleston could be considered quite excellent.

“More details?”

“Agent Ines McKenzie recommended me. The FBI investigated my background but found nothing thanks to Jeff, and Madeline’s Lot accepted me to avoid criticism of being too insular.”

Madeline’s Lot, like any rural area dependent on a single corporation, had its closed-off aspects. And the mayor of Madeline’s Lot County blamed internal whistleblowing on this insularity.

He insisted they weren’t rejecting outsiders, but geographical circumstances made it seem that way, which aroused suspicion.

That’s when Agent Ines McKenzie recommended Matt Collins with his clean background. They accepted.

They thought accepting one rookie cop wouldn’t be a problem. They had a history of bribing even FBI agents. They probably believe cooking me would be simple.

I mustn’t get swept up in that simplicity. I need to appear ambitious to The Old Way Company, and like someone seeking justice at the sheriff’s office where there’s a whistleblower.

Even without making excuses, they’ll understand me as they wish. I can control how they understand me. I must be able to.

“What defines a person like Matt Collins?”

“He’s a displaced person. The city he wanted to protect by becoming a police officer, his role models, everything was swallowed by the corporate government, and he lost his place to return to. That fact defines Matt Collins.”

“How will you use that?”

“To the president of The Old Way Company or the mayor, I’ll appear as a young man striving to secure his place. To colleagues, I’ll talk about how Detroit sold even justice to the corporate government.”

I liked Heroism & Hope Inc., but I won’t say that now. I’ll just criticize their broadcasting of human hunting and say I did well to leave Detroit where justice was lost.

Because if I appear to be someone who divides good and evil, black and white, the whistleblower would worry. They know Madeline’s Lot County is corrupt. They will make contact.

If they didn’t have that courage, they wouldn’t have blown the whistle in the first place. I just need to cast the bait and wait. Jeff nodded cleanly.

“Emergency contact through your computational assistant. Right now, personnel are concentrated in the wasteland near Madeline’s Lot to conceal equipment for your use, but soon there will be no surveillance. It’s a strategic decision.”

It seemed they were trying to make them believe that by accepting Deputy Matt Collins, surveillance was lifted, that their claim about insularity being the issue had worked. If so, I should adjust my strategy too.

I shouldn’t appear pleased about this. I needed to seem like someone whose only lifeline was Jeff and his superiors. So while showing some relief, I said:

“I suppose external surveillance of a closed community wouldn’t yield much anyway. Would it be possible for me to install something inside?”

During my training with Jeff, I learned how to use listening devices the size of one-tenth of a fingernail. There should be extras in Matt Collins’ luggage he gave me. That’s what he had said.

“If you gain the president’s trust and get invited, you could install those listening devices we talked about… but better would be team-installed equipment. You know that.”

The significance of this statement wasn’t about internal surveillance. I suggested I could be their information source, and Jeff agreed. We needed to divert eyes from wasteland surveillance.

Limiting the information source to just me had its uses. Low-intensity reconnaissance, like scouting the wasteland and connecting roads that could pose a danger to me, was relatively ineffective.

The world consists of connected points. Only connections between towns and cities standing in the wasteland exist. If you know the destination, deducing which road was taken is simple.

But surveillance information from inside could provide much more. To hide a hand fidgeting under the table, it’s best to put candy in the other person’s mouth.

“Then I’ll obviously need to earn their trust. If the coffee table isn’t glass, I could install there, and it would be difficult on sound-absorbing sofas. What else?”

“Seems I didn’t teach you those methods for nothing, Donny. Once you’re inside, you won’t have time to ask questions, so if you want to ask anything, do it now during this break. Anything else?”

“I thought external surveillance through the wasteland was inefficient but didn’t mention it because there weren’t alternatives. Now that I’ve learned of an alternative during training, I mentioned it. Nothing else.”

Jeff nodded cleanly. He extended his hand for a handshake, and I grasped it, shaking it lightly. I take out the car key from the luggage bundle.

It was a thin display key shaped like a card. The vehicle status naturally appears on the display then fades. An inconvenient, old-fashioned method. Usually, it would be linked to a computational assistant.

Still, for nationalists, this method works well enough. I push the key into a thin wallet and pocket it. It’s been a long time since I properly used a wallet.

In corporate territory, cash exists but is rarely used in daily life. Credit was quantified trust. That’s why it was quite rare for Osgard Inc. to accept tribute in cash.

In contrast, nationalists still used it to some extent. To some extent. It’s rarely used, but not carrying cash might cause inconvenience once in a while.

I also had to consider the different currency units. Dollars, not credits. The exchange rate is almost exactly 1:1, but still, I can’t use “credit” where “dollar” should be used.

After a final check, I load the plastic boxes containing my belongings into the car. The first private car I’ve ever had was a nationalist vehicle provided for work.

Ordinary on the outside but clean inside. A neat display dashboard visible beyond the driver’s seat, a large display above the touch-type gear shifter. Not a bad car for a rookie.

Agent Ines McKenzie was finally able to enter the room. After a brief farewell with her, I get in the car. I watch the HUD rise on the inside of the car window, then depart.

It would take nearly two and a half hours to reach Madeline’s Lot. Thanks to the sealed windows, the smog-mixed air from outside didn’t enter, making the air inside quite pleasant. I cross the wasteland.

I wanted to take a look at the forest near Charleston, but there was no opportunity for that. Unnecessary movements require explanations and create friction. I didn’t want that.

There are few cars on the wasteland connecting highway. I could barely see large transport trailers heading toward Charleston.

Personal vehicles were rarely seen except those entering cities. Soon, the navigation system announces that we’re approaching an accident-prone area.

In other words, it’s a high-crime area with gangs operating in the wasteland. Thick soundproof walls are erected on both sides of the road, and unmanned turrets facing outward begin to operate.

After driving about fifteen minutes more, I faintly heard three unmanned turrets on the left side of the vehicle firing simultaneously. There was also the sound of an explosion, and the navigation system delivered a message that the driving hazard had been handled.

After driving for over two hours, Madeline’s Lot began to appear on the horizon. The tall hydroponic facilities made it easy to locate. The town’s appearance was quite interesting.

It had a dome structure around those hydroponic facilities. The sight of massive unmanned hydroponic facilities standing like a giant spire in the middle of the wasteland was almost incomprehensible.

Inside the dome around it was a town like an indoor garden created by Farmers Inc. Though the area was small, it seemed fresh air was definitely being supplied inside.

I’m not sure, but it looks like… it’s modeled after Farmers Inc.’s headquarters. I’ve heard that Farmers Inc.’s headquarters is a domed city with clean air, unpolluted soil, and natural parks.

Is there a connection with Farmers Inc.? I couldn’t be certain, but it would be safe to confirm that one of their role models is Farmers Inc. I approach the entrance of the dome. I head toward the inner bulkhead.

Soon the door that was open to the wasteland closes, and the door that was closed toward Madeline’s Lot opens. Inside… a rather pastoral scene I hadn’t expected at all unfolded.

Due to much inferior technology compared to Farmers Inc., only poorly maintained grass was laid out, but still, there were lawns along the streets. Soil purification technology is still rudimentary.

Despite being able to bring up a map of Madeline’s Lot in my mind, I deliberately display it on the navigation system and set the sheriff’s office as my destination. A sign at the town entrance was visible.

‘With The Old Way Inc., let’s create a new future with the old ways. Let Madeline’s Lot be the source that flows throughout America.’

An old way to make a new future. Fine-sounding words. I pass by that sign and arrive at the sheriff’s office to park. Before getting out, I check my appearance and expression again.

I could already feel gazes from inside the sheriff’s office building. I could almost sense human curiosity and some wariness about the newcomer arriving today. Becoming a new employee is a familiar experience.

After getting out of the car, I approach the sheriff’s office. I see people who were working inside returning to their places. Someone walks out from an office inside as I enter.

An adult male wearing glasses with lenses looks as out of place as an adult male holding a rattle. In corporate-owned territories, glasses are for children who haven’t been modified.

Coming from a place where advertisements for replacing eyes with prosthetic ones are posted at bus stops, this is intensely alien. But I showed no reaction. In federal territory, this is a normal sight.

A man with brown hair swept upward and a mustache covering only his upper lip… with a somewhat office-worker impression, yet with a solid muscular body, extended his hand to me. I grasp it.

“You must be trainee Matthew Collins. I’m County Sheriff Ned Pershing. You’re from Detroit, I hear?”

“I’m looking for a new home. I wanted to become a police officer in Detroit not because they do human hunting shows, but because those people tried to protect the city.”

He clicked his tongue briefly a few times. I thought he would agree, but no. He said something that could be interpreted quite meaningfully.

“Don’t condemn people who had to borrow a monkey’s hand. Leland Winters was a good cop. He knew how to accept an unstoppable tide.”

“I apologize. Seems I misspoke. Still, it’s true that I left because I don’t plan to live in corporate territory, so I’m looking for a new place to belong. Without prejudice.”

“Then there’s no better place for you than Madeline’s Lot. I hope this becomes your new home, Deputy Matthew Collins. I look forward to working with you. Harry will tell you about the job.”

I return his crisp nationalist-style salute. He hands me the Madeline’s Lot County Deputy badge. This badge, at least, won’t be digitized.

Deputy Harry was a man I’d already seen in documents, but I pretended not to recognize his face. Soon, a man in his mid-forties, as fleshy as he was large, approaches me.

“The office needed someone with muscle, so this works out. I’m Deputy Harry Piper… but call me Harry. If you call me Mr. Piper, it reminds me of my wife nagging me to quit smoking.”

“Ah, yes. Harry. Please call me Matt too. About the job…”

“On your first day, just get familiar with the faces and make sure you receive your equipment properly. Oh, right. If there’s one thing to remember here… the only bribe I accept is donuts. Got it?”

He joked as if he were someone I didn’t need to be wary of, and I smiled a little, but contrary to his words, the button part of the holster attached to his waist was worn smooth.

This indicates he’s someone accustomed to drawing his gun. In such a small town, there shouldn’t be many occasions requiring that, so it could be considered suspicious. But I said something different from what I was thinking.

“Being right next to The Old Way Inc., I hope the donuts in this town don’t smell like synthetic food. Um, I can eat flour-made donuts here, right?”

“Sure. With the old way here, no need for soy flour donuts or such. We should go after our shift ends. Good. It wouldn’t hurt to get acquainted with those folks too.”

The start of my work seemed not bad. Meeting someone related to The Old Way naturally would be as excellent a beginning as any.