Ch.210Work Record #031 – Duty Log #002, Collateral Damage (2)

My imperfect acting seemed to work well on Harry. Thinking he had misspoken, Harry grabbed the fallen Wastelander with one hand and patted me on the back.

“Ah, damn. Sorry, rookie. I shouldn’t have asked that. Anyway, you did good. What you did wasn’t killing people—it was protecting the people of Madeline’s Lot. Right?”

I didn’t agree, but I nodded anyway. What I did was murder. Anything that involves killing a living person is murder. It was just worth it, that’s all. I could be certain about Harry.

He believed I was as accustomed to killing and combat as he was. That’s why he asked such a rude question so casually. After taking a deep breath, I spoke.

“That’s right. I mean, I know there’s no time to whine about it. Were those people the only ones who invaded?”

No. There were six more. Six more to find. Six is too many to sacrifice just for me to infiltrate this place. In fact, even one is too many.

I’m worth exactly one person—myself. The moment I start thinking it’s okay for others to die for me is when I break. I’m on duty, but principles are principles.

Harry lightly patted my shoulders with both hands and smiled, lifting the corners of his mouth. Somehow, it felt like he was looking at something he had lost.

“You’re a good cop, rookie. Wait in the car. I’ll check things out and be right back.”

Since I was already pretending to be in shock, I slowly headed to the car. As soon as I was far enough away, Harry did something uncharacteristic for a balding, pot-bellied deputy.

The sound of reloading a pistol, followed by the sound of bones and joints being strained… then a sharp voice from beyond my line of sight. Type IV sensory organs are sensitive.

“Do I seem like a good cop to you, you fucking Wasteland trash? Tell me how many more came in. If not… ah, yes. You’ll just add to that kid’s guilt.”

Harry must have been covering the Wastelander’s mouth, as his screams were muffled. I was beginning to wonder why he was being so kind to me.

Soon, a Wastelander with a face covered in cold sweat, tears, and snot was half-dragged out by Harry’s hand. I was somewhat curious about what he had done.

From the perspective of someone who lived in a place where scanning a brain was simpler than torture for obtaining information, this behavior seemed quite alien.

Harry put the Wastelander in a patrol car that arrived shortly after, then returned to the car where I was waiting. Lightly tapping the two rifles wedged between the seats, he said:

“Six more came in, rookie. I’ve contacted the sheriff’s office for backup, but we’ve got more to do. You okay? You can just stay at the station with this guy if you want. Really.”

“I didn’t become an American cop instead of sucking up to corporate police in Detroit just to stay away from the front lines. I can do this. Definitely.”

At least the torture results were truthful, so that’s fortunate, I suppose? Harry seemed very pleased with my response.

With a satisfied expression, he pushed a well-worn rifle toward me. It was perfectly maintained. Not as good as a Belvedere, but a serviceable rifle for purebloods.

“Ha! The federal government isn’t stupid enough to waste someone like you as a spy. Put on your bulletproof vest and helmet properly, rookie. We’re going after guys who don’t even know we’re looking for them.”

How much hatred should I feel? As much as I would direct at terrorists threatening corporate citizens. I put on the helmet with its built-in HUD.

Wouldn’t it be better to unify the system through a computational assist device? Despite questioning the inefficiency, I put on the same bulletproof vest I wore in LA and here.

I inserted spare magazines into the chest pocket of the plate carrier. I pulled out the rifle wedged between the seats, attached the magazine, and loaded it. Ready to go.

“Ah, this is Sheriff Ned Pershing of Madeline’s Lot Sheriff’s Office. Residents, please stay in your workplace or home if possible, and report any suspicious persons.”

As an alert message sounded on my phone, the sheriff’s announcement played through speakers around town. It was analog. Useful in a city full of purebloods.

From that moment, Harry began to display animal-like intuition. While patrol cars from the sheriff’s office made their rounds, Harry directed some vehicles elsewhere. I could predict where we were heading.

Obviously the residential area. The Old Road had its own security team, but the residential area didn’t. The living environment was completely different from LA. There were no skyscrapers or apartment buildings dozens of stories tall.

Just a residential area. Full of single-family homes, even more luxurious than what I had considered luxurious. Few people live in the Wasteland. Land has almost no value there.

It’s just that pollution has accumulated to the point where even the Old Road, which dreams of becoming a megacorporation, can’t properly purify it. So while there’s plenty of land, there are very few places where people can live. This place is somewhat of an exception.

Missing the smog-filled air of Los Angeles, I scan the surroundings from the patrol car with its sirens off. I spot a house with its back door open and grab Harry’s shoulder, but he was already reaching out too.

There’s another house showing signs of intrusion on the opposite side. Harry looks where I’m pointing and bites his lip in displeasure. He probably wants to handle both sides himself.

“Damn, you never know what these Wasteland bastards will do if you don’t catch them right away… Can you go in alone and take them out, rookie? Put any guilt about killing someone on my name, man.”

Looks like we’ve both killed enough to take that kind of debt. I kept that thought to myself, but I did speak, keeping my voice low so the Wastelanders wouldn’t hear us.

“You can put it on my name. I can’t always be… you know, a rookie getting comfort from my senior partner. I’ll just think of this as taking my first steps a little early.”

“I’m not teasing—I seriously wouldn’t be surprised if you became the next sheriff. Alright, I’ll leave it to you. I’ll call for backup, but retreat if anything happens.”

He requested backup over the radio as we got out of the car. The sunlight refracted through the dome reminded me once again that this wasn’t outdoors but indoors.

I crossed the one-lane road toward the house with the open back door. It was a space filled with the scent of family. I’d never experienced what nationalists call family, but this must be what it feels like.

As soon as I was out of Harry’s sight, I shifted from gripping the vertical handle tightly to holding the barrel shroud, muffling my footsteps as I headed inside. I could hear a woman’s voice from within.

“If you knew that your truck driver hit our child and tried to negotiate with a few dollars, and didn’t even pay the full amount, wouldn’t you want to snatch a child too?”

So the amount and period the truck driver mentioned… was it about compensation for hitting a Wasteland gang member’s child? If so, I could understand why he got out of the truck when he saw these people.

No matter how inhumane the era, people didn’t want to become killers. They preferred peaceful methods when possible. He must have felt the same way.

But there are those who exploit that humanity. The epitome of despicable Wastelanders. The voice was coming from the children’s room.

“At least! You get to choose which child dies, and when they die. Unlike me. Right?”

As I slowly entered the living room, I could see the children’s room. A Wasteland woman was leaning against the doorframe, continuing her threatening speech while twirling a pistol in her hand.

Wastelanders were the poorest people in this high-speed era. Nomads of the Wasteland who had lost even their urban dwellings. Nomads wander in search of shelter.

Most Wastelanders fight each other to claim facilities created by megacorporations or the federal government in that terrible pollution. Their poverty and misfortune don’t make them good people.

I aim at the back of her head, call out briefly, and pull the trigger. This is murder. It doesn’t matter. She forfeited her chance to be respected as a person.

“Sheriff’s office! Close your eyes!”

She tried to raise her gun at the sound of my voice, but I pulled the trigger faster. The rifle round pierced the back of her head, continued through to shatter the window of the children’s room, and embedded itself in the neighbor’s wall.

After laying her on the floor, I fire two more shots to confirm the kill. I look at the three Madeline’s Lot citizens whimpering on the floor. Two infants and a mother of considerable age. She whispers:

“Upstairs, there’s one more upstairs. Officer, I mean, he said he was looking for any remaining children…”

He will regret it. Regret that he wasn’t downstairs. Regret that I’ve gone to a place where I don’t need to worry about the eyes of Madeline’s Lot residents. I whisper back:

“Understood. Close and lock the door… and don’t come out until you hear my voice. Okay?”

Watching her nod desperately, I slowly head upstairs with my rifle. Family photos lined the staircase. The Old Road’s hydroponic towers formed the background.

In the holographic family portrait, a rather frail-looking man spread his arms wide, as if embracing the entire Old Road in a gesture that seemed at odds with his apparent fragility.

I continue upstairs. The space was already divided into rooms for a daughter and son. The children weren’t old enough to use those rooms yet, so only the smell of plastic made to look like wood filled the air. Real wood is expensive.

Behind me, I hear the quiet sound of an attic door opening. I deliberately don’t turn around. A crude blade is pressed against my neck where the helmet doesn’t cover. A cunning, unpleasant voice sounds:

“I guess helmets make it hard to hear what’s around you, huh, Officer? Don’t move. If you move, your head comes right off. Put the gun down. Slowly. Very… slowly.”

Ah, finally… break time. I slowly lower my gun as he instructed. He speaks as if experiencing an orgasm from the fact that he’s in control:

“Now, turn around very slowly. You know what I mean, right?”

“And if I refuse?”

“If you refuse, the blade goes deeper. What happens then? What sound does a young deputy make when a knife pierces his neck?”

I leisurely grab his wrist, allowing the blade to move closer to my neck. I showed him what I’d been unpleasantly forced to hide until now.

The blade couldn’t penetrate my neck skin. It couldn’t even peel off a layer of skin; it just rubbed bluntly against it.

“Nothing happens. And I make the sound of saying ‘Nothing happens.’ Hope that’s the answer you wanted.”

I slowly pull his wrist away. I was careful not to break it. There was no reason to show that this gang member was shattered by pure physical force if someone were to autopsy the dead Wasteland gang members.

Covering his mouth as he stared with shocked eyes, I looked around before whispering so only he could hear… I didn’t want any hidden child to hear or see me. All was quiet.

Even the pounding heartbeats were coming only from the first floor. Only then did I whisper to the gang member. No matter how skilled, pretending to be someone else was quite tiring.

“It was really uncomfortable pretending to be a pureblood, so thanks for this. Don’t worry. I’m not a sadistic person. I’m just tired of hiding my true self like others do.”

There’s a big difference between a blade used by a skilled person and one used by an amateur. So I kicked his knife far away. I picked up the rifle I had put down. He started to struggle.

He tried to scratch at my helmet, then brought his hands to my neck as if to strangle me. But sadly, even the most valiant efforts don’t always create opportunities.

I aimed the muzzle directly at his forehead and pulled the trigger. After standing up, I fired two more shots into his chest to confirm the kill. From far away, I could hear Harry’s footsteps. Time to pretend again.

“Rookie! Man, rookie! Did you take care of the one on this side? They said they caught three others, and I got one… if you got one here, we’re almost done!”

“I’m on the second floor! I’m coming down, so don’t fire!”

After shouting loudly, I slowly turned back to the stairs. I made eye contact with Harry, who was half-concealed by the door. He sighed in relief and rushed over. Only then did I clear my throat.

“Thank good… ah, that’s not it. Yeah, rookie. How’d it go?”

“I took out two in this house. One was threatening the mother and children in the kids’ room, and I shot another who was searching upstairs for any hidden children.”

Harry briefly sniffed. Due to firing at close range indoors, my body smelled of gunpowder residue. He pressed down on my helmet, pushing my head.

“From your second day on duty… you’re doing several years’ worth of work, man. Wait a moment. When police kill suspects, there’s something you need to receive. Ah… not here though.”

All the Wasteland gang members who entered the dome must be dead by now. But at the door of the children’s room lay the body of a woman with her head pierced. He led me toward the window.

Harry lightly tapped on the window of the children’s room and briefly called out, “Deputy Harry Piper!” The Madeline’s Lot citizen, holding two children tightly in her arms, walked toward the window. He sighed.

Harry pushed my back, or more precisely, Deputy Matt Collins’ back. It meant I should take my share. I knew what he meant, so I deliberately stood at attention and spoke:

“Deputy Matthew Collins of the Madeline’s Lot Sheriff’s Office. The two Wasteland gang members who broke into your home have been eliminated. There are bodies inside, so please exit through the window.”

Harry took her children, and I helped support her as she came out of the house. She grabbed my hands with both of hers and began bowing her head several times. This was my share that Harry mentioned.

“I was alone with the kids when suddenly two guys with guns came in, and I thought they might be the Wasteland intruders you mentioned, and then you appeared right at that moment. I don’t know how to thank you enough…”

“No, it’s nothing. It’s enough to know I could protect even one more citizen who’s made Madeline’s Lot their new home.”

And also that there was no collateral damage in town to protect just me, deployed on this skinwalker operation. I swallowed those words, keeping them only in my mind.