Ch.207031 Work Record – 001 Duty Log, Madeline’s Lot Sheriff’s Office (2)

Inside the police station, there was a locker with my name on it. Every time I saw how well-prepared everything was, I felt slightly uncomfortable.

They must have expected a real person to arrive, but what came to them was neither real nor even human by their standards. Well, perhaps there might be disagreements about the latter.

Nationalists would call someone who replaced their entire body with artificial parts and even swapped out tendons for metal coils a monster, but these people clearly gave off the scent of corporate territory origins.

In corporate territories, human life is heavy precisely because it’s light. People die so easily that many employees of Farmers Corp tend to care for others as if nurturing delicate houseplants.

Conversely, in nationalist territories, human life is light precisely because it’s so heavy. For people here, death seems distant. They believe they’ll be honored even in death.

The only difference is whether one acknowledges the possibility of dying like a dog in the streets. This man Harry clearly gave off the same vibe as the mercenaries in Los Angeles.

I put my clothes in that locker and changed into the deputy uniform I was given. There was no smell of bulletproof fabric. It was an ordinary uniform with a tan-brown shirt and dark green pants. I’d already learned how to wear it properly.

I picked up the holster I was issued, pressed the button, turned it slightly to open it, and inserted the pistol, attaching it to my waist. It would be quite cold outside for pure humans. I put on the issued jacket before heading out.

Harry, who had been waiting for me, looked me up and down, then glanced at his own body. He patted his bulging stomach with his palm and sighed.

“It’s not that the uniform design is bad… Sigh, I’ve somehow become a fat 40-year-old who could break a toilet. The uniform suits you well, rookie.”

Harry seemed like a decent marksman, but I would have preferred someone like Francis. There wasn’t much to learn from him, but at least he was comfortable to be around and had nothing to hide.

He even told me he was going to let intruders in through a net dating app, so he truly had nothing to hide. The word “rookie” unnecessarily made me reminisce about my time at Belvedere.

“Anyway, the town isn’t that big, and since we’re living under a dome, there isn’t much for a deputy to do. Just patrol occasionally, and report if you see any wasteland gang members.”

He gestured for me to follow and got into a police car parked in the station lot. I naturally got into the passenger seat. The interior was reasonably spacious.

The touch-sensitive gear shifter that should have been between the seats had been moved forward, and in its place was a rifle rack with a rifle mounted in it.

This too was a well-used item. In a town like this where outsiders never visit, there’s no chance of wasteland gangs getting inside. I wasn’t curious about who they might have shot at.

“Oh, and… since The Old Way runs this county, if anything happens on the old road, we need to go check it out immediately.”

He continued speaking as if it were familiar, as if he knew what I was going to say. Thanks to The Old Way, this town exists. It’s okay to cover for them as long as you don’t harm others.

“Yeah, yeah. I know. You didn’t become a cop to cover for The Old Way. But what else would a hundred and fifty households here live on? So, helping The Old Way is helping Madeline’s Lot. Got it?”

“As long as the Madeline’s Lot Sheriff’s Office isn’t treated like The Old Way’s errand boys, I have no problem. Even a fresh graduate knows how to compromise with reality.”

I’d need to investigate more, but when the sleeper agent awakens, Harry might be the first target. I should know where he lives. I slowly formulated a clearance plan in my mind.

I too hoped this story would end trivially. It would be nice if everything turned out to be just a silly misunderstanding that we could all laugh about, but that’s a hope unbound by reality.

We drove around the dome-enclosed town. Everywhere I looked, I could see The Old Way’s hydroponic towers, and logistics trucks departing through exits different from the one I came in. I noted the locations of the exits.

The dome was made of thick crystalline material, enough to refract sunlight as it entered. Even if the exits were destroyed, there would be emergency exits. If those were blocked too, I could focus solely on the clearance operation.

I had completely different thoughts from Harry—or perhaps not so different—as we toured the county. It was a place where yellowed green struggled to dispel the bleakness.

They were trying, at least. That’s all. The vehicle stopped at the shopping district. The atmosphere was completely different from Los Angeles’s storefronts with their visible bulletproof shutter marks.

Our destination was… an ice cream shop. When I made a slightly confused expression, Harry lightly patted my back. With a face trying to hold back laughter, he said:

“We’re not here to eat ice cream during work hours, rookie. There’s someone who comes here for ice cream every lunch time… Ah, there he is. Popping candy again today, sir?”

When I turned to look at who Harry was greeting, the sense of incongruity intensified. It was a face that seemed out of place in this pastoral ideal that nationalists promote.

Standing there was a man accompanied by a bodyguard. He had a sturdy build, even better than Harry’s. And… he was an augmented human. One whose modifications were somewhat visible.

His computational assist device wasn’t fully embedded like mine but had some parts visible on the side of his face, and both eyes were prosthetics. Even the hands inside his thick leather gauntlets were prosthetic. Is this person a nationalist?

Despite his appearance, his smile was very natural. His low voice resonated quite well, and it was loud enough to create a booming effect.

“Harry, I keep telling you to eat yogurt cones. Otherwise, in a few more years, you’ll need custom-made uniforms. And the young fellow beside you is… ah.”

“Yes, the new recruit who arrived today. So… this is Deputy Matthew Collins. Matt, this is the chairman of The Old Way…”

He removed his thick leather glove and extended his hand to me. As his metal prosthetic hand was revealed, I naturally showed distaste in my expression.

This would be more natural for a nationalist. Seeing my expression, The Old Way’s chairman burst into hearty laughter. He put his glove back on and extended his hand again.

“You don’t know how to hide your expressions, I see. That’s fine. I like honest people. I’m Marcus Cavendish. You can call me Mr. Marcus. ‘Chairman’ sounds a bit much when you’re not even my employee.”

What would be most effective to say in this situation? He doesn’t actually like honest people. He simply finds them easier to read. He’s probably concluded that I’m not a spy, at least.

“I apologize. I’m Deputy Matthew Collins, newly assigned to the Madeline’s Lot Sheriff’s Office. Deputy Harry told me that The Old Way is responsible for the livelihood of the people of Madeline’s Lot.”

“The Old Way company? Just call it ‘Old Way’ for convenience. And people are responsible for their own lives. We just provide the money, that’s all.”

He cleared his throat slowly and looked at me. The lenses inside his prosthetic eyes activated, making his irises expand and contract as he examined me.

While I was prioritizing not revealing that I was augmented, I heard a very familiar sound. Something I hadn’t heard for a while but was terribly familiar with.

Instead of his answering voice, I heard the sound of a beast howling. The howl of a scarred, powerful beast replaced his voice.

“You probably know that you came here for some political reason. But I don’t care about that. I’m only concerned that you might follow the norms of guilt and self-reproach.”

Guilt and self-reproach. It’s fortunate that Prometheus… no, Ms. Mila didn’t meet him, judging by his words. The beast’s howling started gently.

“That war is over. The world belongs to young people like you who were born in an era that had nothing to do with that war. But what does the federal government say? Do you know?”

He didn’t care about my answer. Like a beast letting out a roar, he spoke as if his eloquence alone could rally those who believed in him and intimidate those who didn’t.

“They’re still steeped in that damned regret and self-reproach. If there’s a yoke, it’s ours to bear, and if shackles of guilt must be worn, we should wear them. Yet, thanks to them, I was able to dream.”

He wasn’t denying responsibility. He acknowledged that they had responsibility and should bear the yoke. What would follow was somewhat intriguing. What kind of madness would it be?

“A better world! A world like the one we had before that war! Not the gloomy nature of Madeline’s Lot, but lush greenery—a dream of passing on the same foundation we received!”

But… it didn’t sound as insane as I expected. Or perhaps he had the ability to make insane ideas sound reasonable. Not ability—it was sky-high self-confidence.

He walked to the window and gestured toward Madeline’s Lot outside. Though yellowed, it showed a town with lawns and street trees. Madeline’s Lot was his dream.

“For that, I’m using whatever means necessary without hesitation, but the federal government sees it as an act of betrayal. If you’re a spy, you can relay all of this. If not…”

His attitude suggested he didn’t care whether I was a spy or not. He had complete confidence that his plans couldn’t be interfered with. This isn’t something you feel from nationalists.

This is the temperament you see in megacorporation chairmen. I revised my hypothesis. Perhaps The Old Way isn’t trying to secede from the federal government by joining hands with megacorporations.

Perhaps The Old Way itself believes it could become another megacorporation, not just part of one. They obviously lack the manpower and funds.

This is where the problem with such people arises. If a complete pauper said such things, they’d be a madman, but when someone who can at least feed an entire county speaks like this, it’s hard to tell whether it’s bluster or not.

“You’ll also get a new opportunity. Not the ‘new way’ created by a federal government still suffering from trauma, but the old, beautiful way that everyone in this country has walked.”

Since nationalists only understood such work without ever empathizing with it, I couldn’t tell what weight or resonance those words carried. Still, they were meant to impress.

It would be better to pretend to be impressed. I had two objectives. One was to install a listening device, and the other was curiosity.

“The old, beautiful way… To be honest, I’d like to talk more about this. I’m from Detroit, you see.”

“Didn’t Detroit abandon even remaining nationalist just to survive by any means necessary? Our Old Way doesn’t tolerate such narrow-minded views.”

“No, not that part… I meant how, out of all alternatives, they chose selling snuff videos as a way to make a living. How can that be called… entertainment?”

I willingly uttered words I didn’t agree with at all. Detroit, as Marcus said, achieved hope, heroes, safety, and a future by any means necessary.

So these words were just plausible bait I crafted from my enemy’s words—bait that Marcus would want to bite.

What he wanted wasn’t to prepare something for the future. To put it simply… he wanted a mulligan.

He didn’t like the hand he was dealt. He was just a gambler who thought he could win this round they’d messed up if he could redraw the cards and deal them to new people.

So, he wasn’t a megacorporation person in mindset. He was just a hardcore nationalist who could use any means available. He would naturally dislike the entertainment of this era too.

As expected, Marcus burst into laughter. He slowly nodded.

“Snuff videos… I can’t deny that. Was there really no better alternative? Was H Entertainment really the best option? When I think about it, there are many regrettable aspects. Yes, they could have followed the old way too.”

My assessment was accurate. Trying more would be dangerous. So far, I could only grasp the surface. I needed to dig deeper. Not because I needed to choose who to help.

Because I needed to know more. So I could answer the question of how Marcus Cavendish differed from the beginning of Belvedere.

Marcus laughed heartily again. As if willing to forget the clash of opinions, he shook his head and accepted a blue ice cream handed to him by a drone.

“Today we met by chance, but next time I’ll treat you to dinner. See what kind of gem the nationalists have sent us, Harry. I’m truly… pleased.”

I might have gained Marcus Cavendish’s trust with this, but somehow Harry’s gaze felt piercing. If he didn’t look at me with that idealistic attitude, I had earned his trust within three minutes of meeting him.

Harry, after looking me over once, relaxed his expression and asked. He seemed to think his suspicion was unnecessary, but for me, the real test was just beginning.

“Lucky you, rookie. So, I’ll have chocolate chip… what about you, rookie?”

I approached the ice cream menu and scanned it once. I recalled what Agent Ines McKinsey had told me. This is why I learned from her as a teaching material.

At nationalist ice cream franchises, those with nuts taste good. After scanning once more, I chose an ice cream with coffee flavor topped with large almond pieces.

“Stony Hills, please. Ah, for the payment…”

“I can’t let you spend money on your first day in Madeline’s Lot. Put your wallet away, man.”

Honestly… pretending to have a favorite flavor at a nationalist ice cream chain felt like a much more complex task than debating with Marcus Cavendish about the Old Way.