Ch.218Work Record #031 – Duty Record #003, Staying One Step Ahead (7)

Taking advantage of the quiet dawn in Madeleine’s Lot, I drive my car toward the outer boundary. The barrier gate opens naturally, and I inhale the familiar dusty air of the wasteland deep into my lungs.

This air is familiar. The wasteland’s atmosphere creeps along, trying to seep into Madeleine’s Lot. At the edges of Madeleine’s Lot, the air has a stale taste—a reminder not to forget the surrounding wasteland.

But Marcus had forgotten this fact. I quietly exit my car parked near the dome. I’m not wearing gloves—they don’t know my fingerprints anyway. With a light running start, I cling to the nearly vertical dome surface.

Having already climbed truly vertical buildings before, scaling Madeleine’s Lot’s curved dome feels like climbing stairs. It’s just a simple repetitive task.

After climbing a certain distance, I find footholds and finally run without speed restrictions. I dash across the dome without worrying about normal human running speeds.

I race up the dome, which refracts the pre-dawn darkness and twinkling starlight. The top of the hydroponic tower comes into view, and I feel the cold air, cleansed of smog due to the extreme height.

Another running start. Another grip on the wall to pull myself up. I climb with the feeling of letting go of all restraints, forgetting the concept of maximum speed.

No one remained at the company until this early hour, and the hydroponic tower had mostly windowless walls. With each lunge, I could climb two or three floors at once. Something catches my eye.

Though there was no permanent security team, about a dozen floors from the top, I faintly see the movement of a flashlight—a guard on patrol. Finally reaching the edge of the roof, I pull my head up slightly to look.

The helipad shows signs of recent maintenance. They must have wanted to present a cleaner appearance before the Market Keeper’s arrival. After waiting about twenty minutes, the door connecting the helipad to the building opens.

A guard emerges with only a flashlight in hand. The sound of footsteps pauses for barely half a second. No authentication or password is needed when exiting from inside to outside.

Are you sure? The guard fixes the door connecting the helipad and building in an open position and walks out. I’m certain. He didn’t use a keycard or anything—he’s simply leaving it open to avoid the hassle of finding it later.

This is another security vulnerability. If they had designed it to require authentication even when exiting, this wouldn’t happen. As he approaches the edge of the helipad, I slowly pull myself up from the darkness.

I move toward the open door with silent footsteps. The guard… lit a cigarette while looking down at the wasteland from the rooftop where only emergency lights blinked. The real security vulnerability wasn’t the habit of leaving doors open.

Right below this spot would be Marcus’s penthouse, but the penthouse wasn’t connected to the helipad. His penthouse can only be accessed via the elevator on his office floor.

I force open the top floor elevator doors, enter the shaft, and close the doors behind me. I jump down a couple of floors at a time toward Marcus Cavendish’s office, which I’d visited once before.

Last time, I waited inside the elevator for the doors to open; this time, I force them open and enter. It feels strange seeing the office without people. I take out my gloves and put them on.

Inside his office were devices similar to those I’d seen in Walter’s panic room. The same device that had helped me save Walter’s life, though I couldn’t rescue him completely.

Paper documents were considered the highest security grade, which was true for non-physical intrusion attempts.

But with physical force… breaking into a cabinet secured with just a lock wasn’t even a challenge. I throw open the document cabinets in Marcus’s office.

I scan through the names of employees who reported trades of non-food items. Since routine food trades would have been reported electronically, everything here relates to the Old Road’s hidden operations.

It was confirmed. Even Harry’s reports were here. I scan through all the reporter names. I turn on my computational assistant and search those names along with the keyword “Madeleine’s Lot.”

There had been no company-level information leaks. Photos these people had shared themselves, group photos with colleagues… and accounts of other people tagged in those photos poured out in droves.

I match names to faces. Checking the documents again just in case, Amaya’s name wasn’t there. She really was just an ordinary employee with poor social skills working in the food production department.

I felt relieved. I might see Celine again someday, but the people I’ve killed will either never be seen again or will always haunt my vision—one of the two.

And Ben’s report from this evening was also here. There was also a proposal from about a month ago about what should be done to prevent incidents like Fabian Diaz.

‘Considering that the existence of local collaborators poses a significant problem for intruders, and that intruders in most cases require local collaborators who have lived in the area for a long time…’

‘Disguising Deputy Sheriff Ben Whittaker as an anonymous whistleblower to stall intruders from causing problems while creating time to assess the extent of information leakage…’

‘Is expected to be a key means of building response capabilities for another intrusion incident.’

Ironically, the person who made that proposal was Harry himself. Yet he pretended to be so afraid of Harry. It’s almost laughable.

And in today’s evening report, it stated that considering my interest in the whistleblower, I should be eliminated, but there was no Harry to kill immediately, and Marcus liked me.

I might even receive a formal invitation tomorrow. He’ll try to bring in the Market Keeper to show off his perfectly completed plan and assert dominance. Let him do it. The plan remains unchanged.

So… the real whistleblower is Sheriff Ned. If all deputy sheriffs were on Old Road’s side, he was the only one who could collect evidence bit by bit and report it. Information gathering complete.

I hear the guard starting his rounds again. The claim of “highest security grade” filing cabinets only works in Belvedere, where external infiltration of document storage is nearly impossible.

Leaving the self-proclaimed “highest security grade” filing cabinet as it was, I waited for the guard to pass Marcus’s office and go downstairs before opening the door and heading to the roof. No keycard was needed for the roof door.

I climb back down the wall from the helipad. After reaching a height where I can jump to the dome, I leap down, then return to my car. I plan to be late tomorrow. I’ll re-enter Madeleine’s Lot around 7:30.

After sending a request to Mr. Enzo to arrange escape means as soon as possible, I get some sleep. At 7:23, I wake up and drive into Madeleine’s Lot, pretending to be in a hurry.

I head to the sheriff’s office, shower in the locker room bathroom, change into my uniform, and come out. I was late.

If I couldn’t hide the fact that I’d gone out at dawn, creating an appropriate excuse was the priority. The sheriff saw me coming out of the locker room late and remarked:

“You’re late, Deputy Sheriff Matthew Collins.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just… you know what I shot. My mind was troubled, so I went out to the wasteland for some fresh air and fell asleep by the roadside.”

The sheriff sighed briefly. He patted my shoulder lightly and gave surprisingly sincere advice.

“Your judgment ended at that motel. He was wearing a mask, holding a gun, identified himself as a wasteland gang member, and was threatening a citizen. There’s no need to add anything to a judgment that’s already been made.”

It’s always nice to see good people standing tall and doing their duty even in bad environments. If I were genuinely someone who needed comfort, it would have been even better.

“Oh, and… Marcus Cavendish asked you to come to Old Road’s hydroponic tower by 13:30. He’s calling for you quite frequently.”

“It’s nothing. Probably just something trivial.”

But I didn’t refuse. After lunch, instead of returning to the sheriff’s office, I head to Old Road’s hydroponic tower in uniform. This time, I didn’t create unnecessary tension at the reception.

“I was told Mr. Marcus called for me.”

With that brief statement, the elevator doors open. The place I’m taken to isn’t Marcus’s office where we usually stop, but the rooftop helipad. A familiar place. I was here just nine hours ago.

I knew what he was going to talk about, but I decided not to be bored. I just listened as Marcus rambled on about his vision for Old Road—a glossy ideal with no real willingness to sacrifice anything.

His voice carried the sound of a beast’s howl, but not everyone who can ignore morality, reason, and nature to move forward deserves respect for their actions.

Soon a helicopter comes into view. The Market Keeper was arriving. This I could take some interest in. I activate my computational assistant, prepare to connect to the communication channel, and wait for the helicopter to land.

The helicopter quietly lands on the helipad, and from inside, a figure in closed-system reinforced armor jumps out lightly. The black armor with gold trim, though bulky in appearance… is quite spine-chilling.

No sound of internal motors can be heard, and he carries a grenade rifle similar to mine as if it were an ordinary rifle. The grenade rifle reverse-engineered from Chance’s weapon isn’t mine alone.

The Market Keeper who disembarked from the helicopter extended his hand to Marcus. Marcus, having removed his thick leather gauntlet, grasped the closed-system armor’s hand with his prosthetic hand and shook it firmly before speaking:

“I am Chairman Marcus Cavendish of Old Road. To return what is rightful to our descendants. To return the Old Road.”

“Money must flow. Markets must be free. I am Jeremy Barnes of Market Keepers. I’ve come in response to the request that Old Road needs Market Keeper certification for growth. My investigation is complete.”

“Old Road isn’t perfect, but if we could just break free from the shackles! Yes, if we could just escape from the former masters who impose the shackles of guilt, we could achieve so much more! Say hello, Deputy Sheriff Matt Collins.”

The Market Keeper mechanically turned toward me and extended his hand. As I grasped it for a handshake, I sent a communication request. The request is accepted. I speak with two voices:

“I’m Deputy Sheriff Matthew Collins from Madeleine’s Lot Sheriff’s Office. Market Keeper… aren’t you the special operations unit from the megacorporations?”

‘I am Arthur Murphy, Belvedere-certified freelancer. I’d like to inform you about variables regarding Old Road that may not have been conveyed to the Market Keepers.’

The Market Keeper also replied with two voices. The fact that a Belvedere-certified freelancer was operating here as an undercover agent, and the mention of additional information, could divert attention.

“I’ll skip the introduction. That’s correct. For the reason why Market Keepers dispatched someone here, please ask Mr. Marcus Cavendish.”

‘Pleased to meet you, Agent Arthur Murphy. I request information about these additional variables.’

Marcus’s secretary guides us toward the elevator. The conversation with the Market Keeper continues.

‘First, I already know that Old Road wants to achieve megacorporation status. While that’s not possible with certification alone, the Market Keepers must have assessed Old Road’s potential.’

‘I agree. Although they currently hold barely a hundredth of Farmers Corp’s market share, incorporating them into corporate society has more potential benefits than drawbacks.’

‘You know they’re drug dealers, right?’

‘They’ve promised to change their structure and presented implementation plans, so it’s not our concern. If they cause market failure, Market Keepers will correct it.’

As expected, they don’t care at all. These terrible libertarian crusaders were always like this. But despite their insensitivity, they were excellent at weighing options.

‘I expected that. However, the federal government is concerned about this point. It was the federal government that indirectly hired me through New World Communications Corp.’

‘What were you hired for?’

‘Ostensibly to eliminate this drug supply chain, but further investigation revealed the purpose was to prevent a megacorporation from forming on federally owned land.’

The Market Keeper naturally deduces the implication. Though he had suppressed human emotions, his reasoning abilities weren’t dead.

‘I will consider this variable. So Marcus Cavendish’s claim that he’s working hard to escape the shackles of nationalism without friction with the federal government is incorrect.’

More failed than incorrect… but to the Market Keeper, the difference between those two words wasn’t important. When there was no need to consider motives, only right and wrong, black and white were valid.

‘That’s the additional variable to consider. Would you really choose to directly clash with the federal government for a company with barely a hundredth of Farmers Corp’s market share?’

‘Old Road is not valuable enough to warrant a direct confrontation with the federal government. However, Old Road seems unaware of Agent Arthur Murphy’s infiltration. Am I wrong?’

We arrive at Marcus’s office, and the Market Keeper enters and closes the door, leaving me in the corridor with his attendant, yet our communication continues.

His attendant told me many things. Not much substance. It seemed like he was saying the Market Keeper would help Old Road, so I should choose the winning side, but I didn’t pay much attention as I responded.

‘You’re correct. Does that affect anything?’

This seemed to be a time when motives were important. The Market Keeper responded bluntly:

‘Then Marcus Cavendish is not intentionally manipulating Market Keepers for his own gain. Market Keepers have no reason to support an agent.’

‘That’s fine. I simply didn’t want to delay completing my mission by confronting Market Keepers. I’ll transmit evidence. I trust confidentiality will be maintained.’

I transmitted the information I had about Operation Skinwalker to the Market Keeper. The Market Keeper reviews it. Then, the answer came:

‘Judged to be factual. Market Keepers will not engage in unnecessary friction.’

I wanted to jump up and cheer right there, but I restrained myself. It’s still too early to celebrate.

‘Also, the agent’s abilities are remarkable. Few cases exist of corporate-origin agents successfully infiltrating federal territory to this extent. None with such a short training period.’

‘No. To be honest, I’m still experiencing an overall lack of ability. I appreciate Market Keepers’ wise judgment.’

The Market Keeper left shortly after, and Marcus… couldn’t hide his disappointment and anger in his expression.

If I can call it this, I only returned home after completing my shift following this field assignment. While driving, Jeff sent me a connection request first.

I accepted the request, but Jeff just said what he needed to say and cut the communication. It was a message that didn’t require a response, so I didn’t mind.

“What howls in the forest is neither elk nor coyote. Good luck, Skinwalker.”

The operation execution code has been issued. The task will be handled. Madeleine’s Lot’s cancer will be excised.