Ch.209Work Record #031 – Duty Log #002, Collateral Damage (1)

Those who seek understanding should be most wary of those who understand. Could Marcus Cavendish be sufficiently cautious? I still didn’t know.

Amaya left after eating a simple dinner, telling me plenty about Serena Vanderbilt, and sharing various trivial bits of information about Madeleine’s Lot and the Old Way.

She seemed to have taken on this task as a neighbor. Though she lived in a cheap house on the outskirts of Madeleine’s Lot, it didn’t feel anything like the Los Angeles slums. The suburbs seemed peaceful.

The word “peace” felt strangely foreign to me. I felt like a fool who didn’t know how to appreciate what could be enjoyed by living outside the city. That was one more thing to learn from Madeleine’s Lot.

While dreaming of retirement with Ms. Eve, I shouldn’t become someone who doesn’t know how to enjoy a peaceful life after retirement. I should explore the town on my days off. It would be good educational material.

Perhaps I’m showing affection for a straw doll I’ll eventually burn. Still, if I’m going to burn it anyway, it’s better to find some use for it. I turn off the lights and get into bed.

I regulate my breathing slowly and rhythmically. Unlike falling asleep, this is deliberate. Lying in bed with my eyes closed, I turn on my computational assist device and connect to the communication channel with Jeff.

“Wouldn’t it be better to focus on adapting for a few days, Skinwalker? Or do you have something urgent to report?”

‘No, just a routine report. I met Marcus Cavendish, chairman of The Old Way. The federal government would be horrified.’

The nationalists wouldn’t stand by while a new megacorporation emerged, especially one forming within their own domain. Jeff finally lets out a chuckle.

“If I said I don’t know what you’re talking about, would you stop trusting me?”

‘I’m not that blindly faithful anymore, but of course.’

“Right. Your job is… to crush the egg of a nascent megacorporation that’s raising funds through drug sales. We couldn’t intervene directly because killing a megacorp collaborator might complicate things.”

‘Was this worth hiding to the point of earning my distrust?’

“The higher-ups believe that even corporate intelligence freelancers have some patriotism toward corporate intelligence, Skinwalker. And you would have figured it out within a day or two after arriving anyway. It wasn’t worth hiding, but that’s bureaucracy for you.”

I follow not Belwether, but what Belwether believes in. The belief that if everyone moves a little smarter, a little more organically, a little more efficiently, the world will become a better place.

Company loyalty is something you have for your company, not for every existing megacorporation. The nationalists don’t understand this either. We are people from different worlds.

“Anyway, even if you have nothing to say, I do. The withdrawing external surveillance team detected abnormal movement. I’ll send you the footage to watch.”

The surveillance footage is transmitted through my computational assist device. I can now see how external surveillance works. Low-altitude reconnaissance drone footage begins to play.

There was nothing special, but a group of wasteland people appeared. A nationalist truck had stopped. Strange. Trucks don’t usually stop. Do the nationalist truck drivers follow different rules?

The driver came out of the truck and started exchanging a few words with the wasteland people… judging by the lip movements, they were discussing time and amounts. He mentioned many numbers, but I couldn’t make them out precisely. Anyway, they began talking.

While the driver was distracted by the conversation, one of the wasteland people approached from behind and pierced the truck driver’s nape with a blade. His helmet was inside the truck. Carelessness. Terrible carelessness.

Then those wasteland people swarmed into the stopped truck. A man similar in build to the driver took the driver’s seat, and nearly a dozen others with weapons hid inside the cargo truck.

“This cargo truck seems scheduled to enter Madeleine’s Lot today and leave tomorrow, but we… you know? Since what we’re doing isn’t exactly legal, there’s no way to inform them.”

Normally, they would say they found out through intelligence agency cooperation, but this time the surveillance target was the same as the protection target. Surveillance and vigilance are meant for incorporation into the system, not out of hatred.

‘So I guess the rookie officer will coincidentally discover traces of wasteland people in the cargo warehouse and spend another day on that. I’m not sure if this can be resolved in a day, but who are these wasteland people?’

“They’re not like a gang operating in the wasteland. They won’t open doors and call for reinforcements, so you just need to deal with those who’ve already entered. Anything else you want to know?”

‘No. As long as they’re not part of a larger organization, I don’t need to know more. Once they’ve killed someone and snuck into town with guns, it doesn’t matter who they are.’

Being kind to strangers wasn’t difficult. Those people had the right to receive kindness and goodwill even if they did nothing.

But sometimes there are humans who throw away that right themselves. There are those who would be better off not existing than existing. They all needed to be dealt with.

Not revealing my identity was a higher priority than eliminating them all, but not by much.

I can accomplish both before innocent emp— no, not employee-citizens. Before innocent citizens get hurt.

I hope all the people I save tomorrow are truly innocent. I don’t want to have to shoot the people I’ve saved with my own hands when I finish the job.

What I want least of all… is that I would willingly pull the trigger. Madeleine’s Lot will be swept away. What matters is whether each person in this town is worth saving.

I feel like I’m thinking like Mr. Günter now. I can’t tell if I’m becoming more like him, or if I’m just expressing the same nature in the same way. The day ended like that.

Time to live as Matt Collins again. I open the delivery food box with Amaya’s note telling me to always eat breakfast, and eat a tofu dish with a more bland taste than yesterday’s meal.

Eating three meals a day is practically wasteful, but I still have to eat all three. Thinking of this as part of my mimicry, I forced it into my mouth.

Then, I head to the sheriff’s office again and change into my deputy uniform. Harry, with a donut in his mouth, waves at me lightly. He speaks kindly as usual.

“Early to work, rookie. I gave you a rough patrol route yesterday, but you’ll still need to go around with me for a while. Ready for patrol today?”

“Of course, Harry. Where do we start today?”

There was a subtle smell of gunpowder residue on his hands. I need to check if someone died yesterday.

I decided to ignore it for now. It was just my Type IV enhanced sense of smell picking up what a normal person wouldn’t have detected.

“Where else? We need to sweep through the cargo warehouse first. That’s where most outsiders come in, so we need to check it out. I’m sure you’ve had plenty of shooting practice… but can you shoot people, rookie?”

Does Harry also know about the wasteland people’s intrusion? I was a bit suspicious but didn’t show it in my expression. I pretended to be tense, swallowed, and nodded.

Shooting people isn’t difficult. Belwether was a company that made its security team think this way, at least. Being able to shoot when necessary was a given.

But nationalists are different. Their non-lethal restraint weapons are so… soft, if that’s the word, that they make trainees experience them firsthand, ensuring thorough preparation.

I get into the patrol car and head to the cargo warehouse. There were exactly sixteen intruders. The one fortunate thing was that beside me was probably Madeleine’s Lot’s dirty work handler.

We head to the logistics center extending from that hydroponic tower. Large quantities of pseudo-food and small amounts of real food were being loaded onto trucks. The gray dust smell of the wasteland wafted through the air.

It wasn’t because of the intruders. It was due to the wasteland wind that blows in even when the doors are opened briefly. I watch Harry cheerfully greeting an Old Way employee. I had twice as much to pay attention to.

That employee was clearly afraid of Harry. Who would fear a pot-bellied deputy in his forties? I feel like my suspicions are turning into certainty.

The employee who had been quietly watching from behind whispers something to Harry. At least these people must have found out overnight.

Though it was a whispered voice, my enhanced hearing identified the sound precisely. It was less than what Jeff knew. Harry whispers back to him.

“Mr. Piper, um… this morning we noticed one truck didn’t arrive, and one truck driver was missing. I’m not sure what happened, but he’s definitely not in Madeleine’s Lot.”

“You probably haven’t checked every home, does he have a lover or something in Madeleine’s Lot? Then it’s just an absence.”

“No, sir. He was a driver who only came and went twice. I think last time he was here, he mentioned something about hitting a wasteland person… and he’s not in the wasteland either. It’s like he just vanished.”

So they couldn’t recognize the face? Well, with the helmet truck drivers wear, it would have been difficult to verify faces on the way in. I decided to understand a bit.

“Damn, I’ll look for him with the rookie, so don’t tell the others, and tell the backup driver to take over. Is all the cargo loaded?”

“We’ve already loaded everything and prepared for departure. The quantity isn’t a problem, but our drivers are saying that once they take over the pharmaceutical company too, there will be twice as much to worry about…”

The drivers are in on it too. It makes sense they would bribe the people who come and go from the outside the most. I add my supervisor’s name and the words “truck drivers” to the mental hit list.

Harry just glares threateningly once, then returns to me with his friendly expression. Right now, he looks like nothing more than a pot-bellied deputy sheriff in his forties. The reality is a bit different.

“Looks like one of the truck drivers got drunk and fell asleep somewhere in town. We should dock his pay hard once to make sure this doesn’t happen again. Let’s take a look around the cargo warehouse.”

I had prepared the gun before leaving home. I should try not to appear too skilled. I should hit the target only every few shots, right? Appearing obsessed with the manual wouldn’t be bad either.

I enter the cargo warehouse with Harry. It was a place filled with the smell of fresh air and the pungent odor of pseudo-food that made your nose tingle. Definitely not somewhere I’d want to stay long.

Inside, I could sense people. About ten of them. I consider when to say “Harry, be careful!” The wasteland people were startled by the sound of uniformed people entering.

Harry seemed to have caught on to something too. Breathing and whispering sounds echoed surprisingly loudly in this vast warehouse. Harry straightened his back and called out into the interior of the cargo warehouse.

“Hey, Jayden! I know you’re drunk and sleeping it off, so get up and come out! If you come out now, I won’t tell Mr. Marcus! You’ll just get chewed out by your supervisor, and that’s it!”

While shouting, he naturally unbuttoned his holster with one hand and drew his gun. He showed me his gun briefly, as if telling me to draw mine too.

I press the button on the holster, turn it slightly, and pull out the gun. It was a thing that fired ordinary 9mm bullets. It had probably been this way for about a hundred years.

At least the ones used in corporate intelligence could connect to artificial eyes to display a targeting reticle in your vision, but this was just… a gun that was just a gun.

While the wasteland people hiding inside were choosing their response, I leisurely lowered my voice and whispered. Could I pretend not to know what was going on? Not knowing isn’t a reason not to try.

“Who’s Jayden, and why are you drawing your gun?”

“It’s not Jayden, rookie. Looks like wasteland gangs have gotten in. As long as they think I still believe they’re Jayden, they’ll try to talk, so pull the trigger toward where you hear voices. Got it?”

I nod briefly. As if only now realizing the situation, I fidgeted slightly with my gun hand. Finally, an awkward voice came from the opposite side of the cargo warehouse.

They tried to pretend to be drunk, but it wasn’t working well. I take up a diagonal position toward where the sound is coming from, making sure my line of fire doesn’t overlap with Harry’s, positioning myself in a gap between stacked pseudo-food containers.

“Will I really just get chewed out by my supervisor? If so…”

Gunfire rings in my ears in the vast warehouse. I confirm the target while reducing my hearing sensitivity. Harry had accurately hit a wasteland person in this wide, dense warehouse with poor visibility.

I can’t think of him as just a pot-bellied deputy from a rural sheriff’s office anymore. Screams follow the gunshot, and someone runs toward the fallen person. Harry pulls the trigger a second time.

A second gunshot, and a second wasteland person falls. Now they start returning fire. I hear bullets showering around the pseudo-food containers where Harry is hiding.

I should at least earn my keep as a police officer. I move to the side slowly, muffling my footsteps. I should have practiced making footsteps audible, but for now, I can silence them as usual.

A wasteland person with a crude, old rifle was firing indiscriminately toward where Harry was. After the burst of fire ended, during reloading… Harry precisely put three bullets into his head.

His skill is excellent. He could have made a good living as a mercenary in Los Angeles. I slowly turn to their flank, grip the gun with both hands, and align my sights. I deliberately took my time.

Despite this, I pulled the trigger toward the wasteland people who hadn’t noticed me. According to the manual, I should put two or three bullets each in the head and chest, but I deliberately missed a shot or two, delaying the confirmation kill.

“On the side! There’s another one on the side! Return fire immediately! That one in front too…”

Harry, who seemed to already know I had moved to the flank, naturally moved out from behind cover and started shooting. In a moment of disorganization and panic, a gun ceases to be a weapon.

One tried to pull out a submachine gun from his waist, but the gun’s shoulder strap and belt got tangled, and before he could properly draw it, my bullet pierced his forehead and he collapsed.

One who was running to find an escape route was caught by Harry, who happened to be moving that way to take cover, thrown to the ground, and dispatched with a bullet to the head. Now only three remained in the cargo warehouse.

I put a bullet in the head of someone who was crawling to grab a rifle while lying among corpses, turning his pretense of being dead into reality. While I was removing the magazine and reloading, one rushed at me.

How much should I control my strength? Harry can’t see this area from where he is. I drop the gun with its empty magazine and kick the wasteland person’s shin to knock him down. I didn’t break his shinbone.

There was a mistake when I pulled his arm behind his back. It made a sound like tendons almost tearing. Then I gathered his other arm and handcuffed him. I kicked away the crude blade he had been holding.

Out of ten, this was the only survivor. Harry, who rushed toward me in a hurry, showed a genuinely relieved expression. Seeing the handcuffs already on, he slapped my back with considerable force.

“Flanking maneuver! Man, I can really tell the difference with a well-trained young guy! And capturing him with handcuffs was very well done, rookie. Let’s take this guy in and find out if more came. How many did you kill?”

I deliberately pretended to feel queasy once, then shook my head.

“I’m not sure. I just… shot at whatever I saw holding a gun.”

I tried to put emotion into it, but it didn’t come through. This was the most common reaction to first kills that I had seen among nationalists.