Ch.219The Twilight of the Fourth Idol – Cannibalism (1)

I should be grateful to Marcus Cavendish. He showed me that even the temperaments of people I respect and admire—like Mr. Günter and Ms. Serena—can become corrupted.

Nothing in this world is divine. They’re all idols. If I keep breaking these idols, will something reveal itself? I might destroy everything visible and find nothing remains.

I wasn’t worried. Rather, I welcomed it. Receiving a blank white palette with no gods or kings, nothing to follow or obey, is far better than receiving one already thickly painted over with someone else’s words.

Under cover of night, I head out to the wasteland. I move toward the unmanned post I’ve never touched or even looked at before. Only now do I reconnect communication with Jeff. I send him my hit list.

“These are all the people with confirmed suspicions. I couldn’t confirm anyone else. Please remember that there are ordinary office workers in the Old Road too.”

“List received, Skinwalker. Clean work. Don’t worry—I never thought you were a psychopath who kills indiscriminately just because you can. Anything else to mention?”

“Does the federal government operate brain scanning equipment? If not… I’d like to take Marcus Cavendish’s brain to find out where the murdered victims are buried.”

“Of course we operate them. Just not one in every city like the corporate states. And for something like that, why not leave it to us? Is this about Celine Diaz?”

It was, but it also wasn’t. Perhaps I wanted to say that I wasn’t doing this for Celine Diaz. I answered quietly.

“Because I can take revenge, but I cannot mourn. If you flip hatred needed for revenge, it becomes the love needed for mourning. I only possess the former.”

Jeff clicked his tongue a couple of times. He spoke in a subdued voice.

“I hope we can work together again, but… Well. Let’s finish the job first. Remember when I said I was glad you weren’t a battle-crazed psychopath?”

His hope somehow sounded like we wouldn’t be able to work together again. Had Jeff let something slip? Thinking about it, I had his trust. He wasn’t the one who didn’t trust me.

“I remember. Didn’t you say blessed are the meek?”

“‘Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.’ Remember that—it’ll be a key phrase in your life. Still, you know the mission comes first. Let’s get to work.”

A key phrase in my life. It seemed like I might gain another way to prepare for betrayal. No harm in trying.

“Yes. One way or another, Madeline’s Lot comes first.”

I arrive at the unmanned post and use Matt Collins’ ID one last time. After authenticating the ID and entering, I shed my skin.

I throw Matt Collins’ clothes and ID that I’ve been wearing into the incinerator. I put on body armor over my black uniform. For the first time in a very long while, I don my display helmet.

Most of my equipment was here. The silenced carbine, the Little Misdeed—all laid out. I disassemble them lightly and check the interiors. There don’t seem to be any trackers installed.

I tuck the Little Misdeed into my waistband and sling the carbine over my shoulder. After securing a high-frequency tactical knife, I also grab a transport drone similar to the ones used at Heroism & Hope.

Tonight I need to kill one hundred and thirty-two people. I fill the transport drone with spare magazines and explosives, then transfer control to Chance. The drone rises.

It looked like a heavy, large duffel bag flying around, and since it had ballistic protection, it could also serve as mobile cover. It seems to have been nationalist equipment originally.

I set aside one target designator, a signal copying device for computational assistance that I received from K as a Christmas present, two smoke grenades, and an explosive delivery drone. I’ll take these to Charleston.

I walk out with everything else loaded in the transport drone. I get in my car and head back to Madeline’s Lot. When I reach the space between the two blast doors, I briefly get out. I place explosives at the corners of the blast doors.

I head straight to the truck entrance and attach explosives to the vertical shutters as well. Afterward, I call Sheriff Ned on the emergency line. The call connects quickly. He was still a gruff man.

“What is it, rookie? Don’t tell me you’re going to be late tomorrow too.”

I send the hit list to his mobile phone. Since it was a hit list with reports attached, he should be able to tell what kind of document it was.

“Do you believe in the word ‘miracle,’ Ned? You know, like the Old Road disappearing overnight… the sheriff’s office becoming just a sheriff’s office, and Madeline’s Lot becoming just Madeline’s Lot.”

“I don’t believe it. Have you been drinking? Even though Harry died, all the other deputy sheriffs are on the Old Road’s side. Why are you saying this?”

“I enjoy creating miracles. I’m also a corporate state-certified freelancer here to purge the Old Road and protect whistleblowers. I won’t attack the sheriff’s office, so please protect the people.”

Quite naturally, he blurted out a voice full of confusion.

“What?”

“Oh, I’ve sent you a list of targets, so exclude those people. Actions are always rewarded, Ned. Goodbye.”

Now the only escape route left was through the top of the hydroponic tower. I drive toward the Old Road’s hydroponic tower. After parking in the lot, I detonate the explosives with my computational assistant.

A small explosion echoed from far away, but it was enough to wake the dawn of the village. Now no one can leave Madeline’s Lot.

I see several Old Road security team members coming out to check the situation after the explosion. The security team were all targets. I pull the trigger as I watch them using their radios.

Nothing particularly spectacular happened. The bullet cleanly penetrated the visor and lodged in the back of the helmet, leaving a dark bloodstain on the visor as the person collapsed backward.

When another security team member turned to run away in panic, I drew the Little Misdeed from my waist and pulled the trigger, aiming for the back of his head with an anti-reinforcement round. He falls, cleanly penetrated.

I cross two names off the hit list. I pick up the radio one of them was wearing. From inside, a frightened voice was streaming out. I vaguely recognized who it might be.

“Explosions followed by gunshots… Report what’s happening, security team!”

It was the voice of Marcus Cavendish’s aide. I answered leisurely.

“This is Matthew. I’m in the lobby now. It seems explosives went off simultaneously at both entrances to Madeline’s Lot.”

“Deputy Sheriff Matthew Collins? No, I mean, why are you responding? What’s going on?”

I throw away the radio and head for the elevator. After going to the floor where Marcus Cavendish’s office is located, I open the ceiling hatch of the elevator, send up the drone connected to Chance, and then climb up myself.

The elevator starts moving and stops briefly at the 26th floor. I hear breathing sounds. Three people. Judging by the aide’s voice shouting over the radio, they’re the security team.

As soon as the elevator doors open, they rush in and look confused. I draw the Little Misdeed with its selector switch turned to full auto and fire at the spot directly below where I’m standing.

After emptying all twenty rounds, I reload with a magazine from my plate carrier. I open the elevator door again and go down. I pick up the radio again.

“This is Deputy Sheriff Matthew Collins, Director. I’m on the 26th floor now. It seems someone is infiltrating the Old Road’s hydroponic tower. Probably.”

I throw away the radio before he can answer. The elevator moves again. I arrive at the floor where Marcus Cavendish’s office is located.

After leisurely exiting the elevator, I enter his office. I turn on the preservative injector, connect an emergency brain transport box to the injector, and fill it with preservative.

I tried to ignore the sound of someone choking to suppress their trembling breath, but I heard a phone ringing. Marcus Cavendish’s aide was hiding under Marcus’s desk.

I pick up the carbine and pull the trigger at the bottom part of that pseudo-wood desk. The sound of bullets hitting the glass behind the desk where he was hiding rang out. Even the glass in high-rise buildings doesn’t break easily.

As the phone keeps ringing, I approach behind the desk. Seeing the name “Chairman” displayed on the blood-stained phone, I swipe to answer. Connected.

“What’s this urgent report about? I heard explosions, but it seems someone crashed a car into the entrance. As if the collaboration with Market Keeper falling through wasn’t enough…”

“Was it called off, or did someone make it fail? Did Deputy Sheriff Harry Piper die from friendly fire, or was he killed by someone who knew the plan from a listening device hidden in the carpet?”

“That voice… it’s the rookie. Matt…”

“I’m Arthur Murphy, Bellwether-certified freelancer. I’m in your office now, Chairman. I’ll be coming up soon.”

I hang up, pocket the phone, and get into the elevator heading to Marcus’s penthouse, carrying the emergency brain transport box. I head to the penthouse floor.

But the elevator stops midway. Marcus, who can control at least this building according to his thoughts, is struggling. I draw my high-frequency tactical knife.

I fire a shot from the Little Misdeed into the elevator ceiling that has no inspection hatch, creating a hole, then cut from that hole and pull with my hands. After tearing off the corner of the ceiling, I climb up.

With the drone controlled by Chance, I jump up lightly and grab two floors above. Jumping up again, I reach the entrance to the penthouse floor. I grab the elevator doors with both hands and pull them open to the sides.

It was heavier than other doors. Seems to have ballistic plates inside. And as soon as my vision cleared enough, a heavy revolver bullet flew directly at my forehead.

Of course, it hit my display helmet, glanced off, and I barely swayed. I put strength into my tendons, replaced with metal coils, and wrench the doors open. Another gunshot rings out.

This time it lodged precisely in the plate on my chest. I take a light running start. Before the gun barrel, raised by the recoil, could come down, I stood in front of Marcus and grabbed the gun.

He exerted force as if he were a child trying to retrieve candy hidden in an adult’s hand, but like a child trying to retrieve candy hidden in an adult’s hand, he failed.

After taking the gun away and throwing it aside, I manipulate my display helmet to reveal my face. I set down the transport drone and turn on the jammer. He won’t be able to call for help from outside.

Marcus, seeing the connection cut off, started growling. Slowly calming his expression, he began making animal-like sounds with fierce eyes. Even that sound is an idol.

“Yes, Matthew… no, freelancer. You’ve got checkmate. Kill me and you can get over a hundred thousand credits. In exchange for killing an ideal that could change the world. Which ideal is more important?”

“An ideal that could change the world.”

Marcus Cavendish shouted as if he believed he could persuade me with his charisma and ideals.

“Yes! Will you kill the ideal of returning the Old Road to those who must shape the world with only our leftovers and garbage? What do you believe can change the world?”

The worst part of his words is that they sound somewhat true. It was the same as what Prometheus… Ms. Mila was worried about, but the weight of the words was terribly different.

“Anything, Marcus. Hatred has changed the world before. I’ve seen people change the world with responsibility, and people trying to shape the world with hope. The means and catalysts don’t matter. What matters is firm conviction.”

“Do I look like I don’t have that conviction? Do I! Look like I don’t believe? In the ideal of the Old Road that I created myself?”

“You look like a human too weak to believe. Without faith that the ideal alone could lead everyone, you sold drugs and conducted a reign of terror in Madeline’s Lot with your henchmen. Not even a perfect reign of terror.”

I pitied him. He was a human with strong and weak parts mixed together, but the weak parts were so large that they swallowed and twisted the strong parts. I said those words proudly.

“So, I pity you. A person who could move forward without caring about morality, reason, nature, and everything else has ended up like this because of that fearful temperament.”

Marcus Cavendish screamed like a human whose vulnerabilities had been exposed. It sounded only like the whimpering of an old, shabby beast.

“Don’t talk nonsense! I, I…”

To him, unable to find words to refute, I kicked the revolver he had fired twice toward him. I said just two words.

“Pick it up. Prove it.”

Seeing him pick up the gun, I immediately ran across the penthouse’s marble floor and kneed him in the chest. Marcus dropped the revolver and was pushed back.

I kicked the gun toward him again as he breathed painfully. This time it was one word.

“Again.”

I thought he would try to fight at least twice more, but Marcus couldn’t break his bad habit.

This time too, he prematurely determined the outcome in his head and started laughing. As if he knew what was in my mind.

“Ha! What are you thinking now? That killing me after playing with me like this will change something…”

I sighed. The number of times Marcus tried to pick up the gun again and fight, to face me squarely, was fewer than the number of times I had died.

“I was reminding myself that there are four rounds left in that gun. The first time I simply kicked it away, but the second time I was thinking I should lead with my bulletproof helmet in case you managed to fire a shot.”

I kicked away the gun he hadn’t picked up and drew the high-frequency tactical knife from my waist. I grabbed Marcus’s hair as he flailed and gently placed the vibrating blade against the nape of his neck.

I cut it off with practiced ease. Then I stuffed the head into the preservation box. I placed the box in the perfect slot for it in the transport drone controlled by Chance. I connected the communication channel to Jeff.

“This is Skinwalker. Transmitting Panama. Panama. I have secured Marcus Cavendish’s brain. I will also deal with those associated with the Old Road who have criminal records.”

He still had some use left. At least until we find out where the victims were secretly buried. After that… he might only be useful as dog food.