Ch.224Work Record 032 – Ripples (3)

I’ll someday seek Eve’s advice about the chair-stealing operation. Not about how to execute it… but whether it’s even right to do it.

When I was with her, I felt grounded. She was the one who kept me tethered to earth, preventing me from drifting too far away like the cult leader of Hollowed Creek or Marcus Cavendish.

It doesn’t feel like a constraint. What I want is to be bound to this earth. I’d already finished preparing for work, and though it was still a bit early for my shift, I headed out for my night security job.

Chance’s motorcycle speeds toward downtown LA. Gunshots never cease in the outskirts of this city, but their frequency diminishes somewhat in the skyscraper-filled downtown area.

The area around our modest office—ranked 23rd in Belwether’s priority bidding for public security work—was quiet thanks to its downtown-adjacent location. I didn’t want to lose this comfortable sense of stability.

We arrived at the office as the setting sun was being absorbed by the smog-mixed air, the days still short. I handed the contract from Panacea Meditech to President Yoon.

After turning my attention away, I received the receipt sent by Mr. Enzo and transferred credits worth more than a typical motorcycle. I made no additional comments since he had prepared it on Nationalist-owned land.

It was thanks to that motorcycle that I was able to deceive Jeff. He thought he had completely lost track of my movements, which made him see me as more dangerous than I really was, falling for my bluff.

After finishing the transaction with just a nod and no words, President Yoon pushed a virtual screen displaying a resume toward me. She began speaking with a sigh. The contract couldn’t possibly be fraudulent.

“There’s no problem with the work. But, Arthur, let me ask you one thing. Is it okay for the head of an organization—that is, for me as the president of Yakkyung, a mercenary staffing company—to be selfish for the sake of the company?”

I answered without much thought. We are all selfish. What matters is making those selfish desires mesh together like gears.

A gear doesn’t turn for the sake of other connected gears. It simply turns along its own axis. But the machine works. That’s all.

“Of course. That’s healthy selfishness. Turning your back on yourself and your responsibilities while claiming to care for others isn’t altruism—it’s terrible selfishness.”

“When you put it that way, being selfish becomes… sigh, difficult. I think you should register as an individual business owner. You know what the biggest competitive advantage of a mercenary with a free contract right is.”

It seemed she had been contemplating whether to say this when she asked if it was okay to be selfish for the company. Not saying it would keep a reliable freelancer with the company—seemingly a selfish act.

I was momentarily taken aback but didn’t show it. If this had been something she could casually mention, she wouldn’t have asked that question earlier. I decided to answer her question first. Always one step at a time.

“Quick handling of situations without being constrained by circumstances. Still, you’re just checking whether freelance work would be dangerous for me or not, right? Either way, my experience is only about three months.”

She slowly shook her head. This wasn’t asking me to leave Yakkyung. It was suggesting that Yakkyung might be too confining for a freelancer. It was both a concerned statement and an objective one.

“The very fact that you’re a company-affiliated freelancer will make clients reconsider hiring you. Honestly, I feel like I might be holding you back.”

“You don’t need to worry about that. I still feel more comfortable introducing myself as Arthur Murphy, a regular employee of Yakkyung. It’s simpler that way.”

Apart from wanting to stay grounded, it’s as if some buoyancy is trying to lift me up. I didn’t want to surrender to that flow. Not yet.

“And you enjoy the night security work too. Cleaning up the city’s trash directly. Oh, I might be misunderstood, but this isn’t a declaration of severance. You’re still you, and…”

President Yoon gestured around Yakkyung’s office with her milky-white prosthetic hand that had a distinctive porcelain sheen. It was a neatly organized place, still retaining Belwether’s unique aesthetic.

“This will still be your office, and your colleagues will still be your colleagues. It’s simply to make freelance work easier for you… yes, that’s it. You’re welcome to come to the office anytime.”

If I accept, I’ll take on more freelance work rather than the regular duties at Yakkyung. As President Yoon said, if being company-affiliated was holding me back, requests would pour in.

“You can think about it slowly. You can also talk with other freelancers… yes, you’ll need time to consider. I should have mentioned this after you finished your work.”

“If I were the type whose efficiency wavered over something like this, I wouldn’t have received a freelancer license in the first place. Don’t worry—it won’t interfere with the work I’ve returned to after so long.”

That day, Yakkyung’s work was just Yakkyung’s work. A simple robbery handling job. It ended easily with President Yoon and me sniping the target that Arthur-2 had confirmed, using the sniping skills I’d learned in the wasteland.

Too simple? Maybe. I wish there were others who had simultaneously been a freelancer certified by three mega-corporations while still being a rookie who hadn’t even completed a year of experience.

Still, I decided to put everything off until tomorrow. I returned to the ruins with Eve. Uncharacteristically, even that place was quiet. Belwether must have wanted to make an example by annihilating several gangs.

I could smell bleach in the air outside the house, along with gunpowder that was too strong to be masked even by that pungent odor. This is what LA is like. I decided to pretend it was just the scent of freshly cut grass.

Nothing major had happened, but things were changing bit by bit, like ripples on water. I decided to sleep for a while. Even my enhanced body needs minimal rest.

After finishing that brief rest, I look at the morning. I think I understand a little why smoking rates are rising again. Perhaps I wanted Los Angeles to remain frozen in time.

Ironically, it’s the opposite. While I repeatedly told myself not to draw the last mark on the speedometer when doing something, I wanted my city to remain exactly as it was when I left.

It’s human. Perhaps too human. Or maybe what I’m trying to do and become is something too inhuman. I might cross the line too.

But worrying about crossing a line without even reaching it is clearly foolish. I had to go and see. Where the end would be would be determined at the end.

At least choosing to spend the night at Eve’s hideout rather than my home was the right decision. It’s a place where I can greet a comfortable morning, turning away from questions that make me lose focus.

In that comfortable morning, I bury those questions and refocus on life. It was time to meet Noah. I leave Eve’s hideout with a small evil deed strapped to my waist. Scavengers are walking the streets.

They’re searching through houses after Belwether’s massive cleanup operation, hoping something remains. Nothing would be left after the cleaning department passed through, but their cheap hope remained.

A scavenger who had been lurking around Eve’s hideout shows me his palms to indicate he means no harm. He lowers the small mechanical part attached to his back and points to the skull with an X carved into it at the front door.

“G-good, that, no, this means don’t touch because there’s nothing to steal… that’s what it meant. N-new guys, they were making a fuss about why we don’t touch this place, so I came to carve it again…”

Is my face already known? I have performed quite a few jobs in the ruins. I gave a nod to the trembling scavenger to tell him to stand comfortably, then asked:

“Do you know my face? These days, people tremble just from making eye contact, and I don’t know what’s what anymore.”

“No, that, your w-waist… isn’t that the full-body prosthetic pistol that Belwether uses? The one N-Nightstalkers use…”

Special Operations had quite a few names that sounded like they belonged in ghost stories. So what they were being careful of wasn’t me, but “a mercenary with a Special Ops pistol at his waist.” That’s somewhat fortunate.

“So that’s how it is… Well, go ahead. Next time, try to avoid running into me. You know what I mean, right?”

I waved to him as I pulled out my bike wrapped in a waterproof cover from outside the collapsed garage. He bowed deeply to me before running away.

The power that moves gangs in back alleys is fear. Setting an example would make things safer, but I didn’t want to shoot someone who could greet people with raised hands instead of a gun.

Checking through Chance… he wasn’t lying. That mark meant a place with nothing to gain but high risk. It meant absolutely no approach. I wouldn’t need to work there anyway.

I head to a somewhat familiar place on the outskirts of the metropolitan area. I arrive at Kanun’s office where smog seeps in like thin silk pieces through imperfectly sealed windows. Riley was waiting.

“Ah, you’re here? Our reliable backup. Someone else who made time to come is already waiting upstairs, so hurry up!”

I didn’t quite understand what she meant by someone else who made time to come, but it couldn’t be dangerous. Riley’s skin looked quite clean, as if she hadn’t used adrenal stimulants for quite some time.

I follow her up to Kanun’s office, where the barrier doors now properly block the smog from entering. The office door opens, and I see someone I never expected to meet here.

Thalos… that is, Mr. James McKernich was here. With his compound insect-like artificial eyes and the massive full-body prosthetic that merely mimicked a human, he was unmistakably Thalos.

The security chief of Fitts & Morrison, whom Noah hated so much, was here. The lenses on his body saw me and began outputting a welcoming voice.

“What were you expecting for lunch, freelancer?”

A laugh of disbelief escaped me.

“I was thinking KSC, or maybe mapo tofu at best. What’s on the menu?”

“Why ask someone who can’t eat and will just pay? Let you and Noah Verami decide.”

He showed a spare preservation fluid capsule as if it was his portion. Much less than that, a minute amount of preservation fluid that could be inserted into the drug injector at the back of the neck, could keep the brain alive for 3 minutes and 30 seconds.

Hearing that, Noah shuffled forward in front of me. He still appeared to be a pure human. But his expression was much more stable. Different from when he looked like a grenade with the pin pulled.

“After Uncle Simon came out, he told me what he had seen. Fitts & Morrison wasn’t the enemy. In a sense, they were victims too. You can see it too, Arthur.”

It would certainly be classified information for me, but with the security chief turning a blind eye, there was no need to worry. I touch the virtual screen being pushed toward me. It was a document.

The cause of death for Noah Verami’s mother was… brain damage from gunshot wounds and adrenaline overdose. And the cause of death for a Fitts & Morrison liquidation department employee, whose name was redacted, was also adrenaline overdose.

“Mom would have died anyway… even if the Fitts & Morrison liquidation department hadn’t shot her. That mutant she was caring for used its ability on her too, not even thinking that she was the person who had been protecting it.”

That mutant’s dysplasia was… stimulating the adrenal glands? A mutant in panic, screaming and using its ability indiscriminately, couldn’t possibly control it.

“So my mom, with adrenaline levels higher than the adrenal stimulants Riley uses, lost her mind and attacked the liquidation department employee, and since the employee was also within range of the ability…”

The employee killed Noah’s mother without proper judgment and then died from adrenaline overdose symptoms. Fitts & Morrison did wrong. But it was also true that Noah’s mother attacked first.

This got incredibly messy. The only mutants I’d met so far were Ms. Nadia and the two I encountered during Walter’s terror attack… now I couldn’t say it was fifty-fifty anymore.

To consider the possibility of deception from Fitts & Morrison’s side, Noah Verami even had body cam footage from the Fitts & Morrison liquidation department showing his mother’s final moments.

Noah hasn’t abandoned his hatred. He’s just redirected it. Noah spoke in a rather fierce voice that sounded quite natural:

“That mutant escaped to the wasteland and was never caught. So, now that I know Fitts & Morrison isn’t bad, I should help those people who need to finish liquidating that mutant…”

“You’re thinking of completing your revenge. At least it’s much better than ramming Kanun’s armored van into the Fitts & Morrison building. You have no idea how hard I’ve been working to prevent that…”

The problem is that while I was coming up with ideas to change Belwether’s mutant hunting stance, one of my close associates has become a fervent mutant-hater with good reason.

Did I make a wish on a monkey’s paw like Serena? Something like that. Maybe I forgot the process of wishing “Please don’t let Noah do anything crazy” and “Okay, fine.”

Of course, I had no objection to the fact that the mutant who caused the deaths of Noah’s mother and that liquidation department employee should die. An uncontrollable ability was dangerous even if it was just the ability to shoot a gun.

Moreover, this mutant had already killed two people. It had to be killed. It’s an existence better not existing than existing. The problem is… just psychological. I decided to think of it that way.

To everyone else, things were going well, and honestly, things were going well for me too. Mr. James output a friendly laugh and said:

“And all actions are rewarded. Next time, come by Fitts & Morrison with that bike. I’ll attach something incredibly useful in a gunfight. Oh, do you use voice modules?”

“I do make good use of the recording and recombination functions. But even for additional functions of a voice module… I can’t think of anything specific.”

“Think about it over lunch. Go on. There are plenty of good restaurants near the headquarters, so choose one yourself.”

Things were going terribly well. The worst part was that I didn’t feel like things were going well at all.