Ch.230Record of Task #033 – Fear Not the Darkness (4)

Before leaving, I take out the gift I received from Nadia for Christmas. It was an item containing a fluid substance that made it impossible to properly recognize faces. A Boogeyman mask.

Let’s not forget the purpose of this job. I try on the mask. Below the neck, it was still my body, but my face had become something grotesquely distorted and blurred. A completely inhuman sight.

But to her, it was a familiar monster from under the bed. After putting the mask in my pocket, I leave the house again with my small evil deed. I’ve stored the helmet for major mutants, received from the Grand Department, under the bike seat.

I check the names I’ve been given. I needed to meet everyone at least once. I verify the connection code and send an anonymous communication request. Soon, a voice mixed with mechanical tones connects.

This broker was on both Eve’s list and the list compiled by the Belwether Grand Department while investigating targets. Someone who could have helped Eve.

“This is Jones’ Repair Shop. Who is this? For regular prosthetic repairs, you should call the shop number instead of my personal one…”

I check the description Eve attached to the contact. To indicate it’s about mutant escape brokering, which takes a long time to explain, I need to say my prosthetic leg is broken and that I want to use experimental parts.

“I know I’m not Belwether, but I need to say my prosthetic leg is broken after walking for a long time, and that I want to use experimental parts. Can you do me one favor, Mechanic Jones?”

Immediately, I start hearing Aegis’s voice in my head. Quick to respond. It seems he hasn’t been rolling around in back alleys working with mutants for nothing.

“Abnormal access detected. Tracing attacker through access point. Device identified. Firewall not found in database. Learning now. Please wait a moment.”

The information warfare proceeds automatically. If network security was Aegis’s responsibility, social engineering was mine. I spoke to Jones leisurely, a bit more friendly than before.

“You’re quick to think, but your sizing judgment isn’t quite accurate, Jones. It’s okay. I don’t want to hear people screaming anymore. And it’s not a big favor.”

The name of the mutant fugitive I’m chasing is Pablo. A common Mexican name in Los Angeles. The nationalists before that war had at least three official languages.

After waiting a moment, Aegis captures Mechanic Jones’s computational assistant. After confirming that he’s waiting as if asking me how to respond, I speak.

“I just have a message to deliver. Tell those with broken prosthetic legs who want to use experimental parts: ‘I’m sorry, Pablo. I’d like to meet you one last time before you leave.'”

“Who’s Pablo?”

“A bomb. If he gets caught at your repair shop, he’ll explode with a bang and turn your life and business into a wasteland. But if I lure him out and detonate him, you won’t get hurt, Jones.”

It’s only reasonable to say some of his transport service users might have been mutants until a mutant terrorist trying to escape Los Angeles gets caught at his business.

Still, from Jones’s perspective, having his back-alley business suddenly manipulated by an anonymous caller seems to wound his pride. He asks with a slightly trembling voice:

“What if… I don’t keep my promise?”

“Imagining is your job, and fulfilling one of your worst imaginings is mine.”

Soon, Jones’s voice comes through the communication channel again. His tone seems to be feigning ease, but I can feel it trembling like it’s cracking.

“Do you think some fucking invisible bastard from who-knows-where can take down a shop with four sons and thirteen mechanics working in it?”

“If what you prepared really seemed useful, you’d have kept those words locked behind your lips, Jones. While waiting for me to come. I’m not your enemy. I’m actually offering to take the bomb away from you and handle it.”

Bluffing must be done desperately. Someone who can overturn the situation with bluffs and posturing shouldn’t just laugh at it.

Other things would hurt his pride too, but the fact that I’m speaking in quite a gentle voice right now is probably what hurts his pride the most. And it would also make him curious.

“Then why would an invisible bastard like you want to help an old back-alley mechanic?”

“Because you’re the kind of person who accepts customers indiscriminately, so I happen to have a chance to return the favor.”

“The invisible hand of history at work, huh. Fine, invisible man. So I just need to tell that to everyone who wants to use… the service?”

Pablo will naturally think it’s a trap from the Grand Department. But making him anxious is possible. I end the communication and make Aegis release his computational assistant.

Most operators who were on both Eve’s list and the Grand Department’s list could be persuaded like that. They might puff themselves up like frightened animals, but they become docile if they think there’s no harm to them.

The operators who were only on Eve’s list, working on side branches not yet under the Grand Department’s surveillance, were even simpler. They were no different from ordinary individuals who could be asked favors through conversation.

Now it was time to find an operator who was only on the Grand Department’s list. An operator the Grand Department had marked as high-risk. Once a freelancer, now a mercenary who voluntarily rejected certification from megacorporations.

I have no intention of guessing what they’ve been through. If they had really done something terrible, a hunting request would have already been posted on the freelancer network, but at least until now, nothing like that had appeared.

That means they’re not the kind of person whose absence would benefit the world more than their presence. With my mask ready, I head toward their hideout identified by the Grand Department. Another ruin town.

It’s near Malibu Beach. I recall the smell of the terribly rotten sea. I think of the sight of black waves rippling. I remember a wall with a small window, telling me to watch the sea heal.

I get on my bike and head to my destination. I ride in reverse through the streets where Adrian once chased after me, rampaging after waking up from a war-era bunker. I should visit the life I returned to him sometime.

I arrive at Malibu Beach, where luxury villas and houses were abandoned long ago, now only emitting the terrible salty stench of the sea. Bullet marks and road craters still remain intact.

Going a bit deeper, I find traces of the Lone Star Rangers’ civil war during the Belwether coup. The bodies have been removed, but the Cleaning Department didn’t pour bleach all over the streets. Just that much.

Since there’s nothing to reminisce about, I turn my bike around. Should I wear the mask? The helmet should be enough. Heading to the address investigated by the Grand Department, I find… a fairly restored villa.

I could even hear people laughing from the back garden of the villa. This isn’t the atmosphere of a ruin town. After getting off my bike, I approach the villa with silent footsteps.

It was a pre-war building. A bit old, but minimalism still gives off a modern vibe. I scan the clean exterior of the building, freshly painted white.

The ceiling height was quite high, but only about one and a half stories. I lightly jump up to land in front of a second-floor window with newly installed glass. The interior was empty. I jump up once more to the roof of the coastal villa.

On the roof… stood a person wearing a closed reinforced suit. After spreading their arms toward the back garden as if to show themselves to me, they curled up and jumped down. I hear the sound of water splashing.

Someone seems to be properly enjoying this villa. I approach the back garden from the edge of the roof path, hearing the reinforced suit swimming back out.

Almost simultaneously with my approach, the reinforced suit jumped up. The closed reinforced suit that landed on the edge of the villa roof… seemed… surprised to see me. A high-risk operator, that is.

“W-whoa!”

The operator was startled and fell backward off the villa. Since it was a closed reinforced suit, they probably weren’t hurt. Without drawing my small evil deed, I lightly jump down to the villa’s backyard.

Unable to connect to the water supply, they had a swimming pool filled with water connected to a tank bearing the Farmers company logo. The hologram projector was fixed and recreating the pre-war backyard appearance.

And the spacious backyard of the villa was prepared with a table full of food that was clearly not synthetic substitutes. They remained relaxed even after my sudden appearance.

About the size of a small mercenary company, smaller than a night view. A man floating in the swimming pool on a bright yellow duck-shaped tube rises and lightly gets out of the pool.

It wasn’t an atmosphere that required drawing my small evil deed. He pulled out a genuine, non-synthetic beer bottle from a box, opened the cap, and held it out to me. He grins.

“Crashing a party is welcome, but our concept today isn’t a masquerade, friend. Oh, don’t worry about stepping on our friend Remy’s chest!”

He points to the mercenary in the closed reinforced suit I’m standing on and chuckles as if amused. His laughter and goodwill seem natural. Even though he lives in this ruin town, he’s not from here.

If he’s someone I can communicate with, there’s no need for a mask and helmet. As I take off my display helmet, the man makes a V sign with his fingers to his companions waiting behind.

“Someone said all the neighbors in this area are bastards, but look at our friend! That’s not true. There are people we can talk to. Alright, friend. Did you follow the rare smell of beer in the ruin town?”

Incredibly, he’s completely carefree. The mercenary’s optical fiber hair currently looked like brown dreadlocks, but he could change the color anytime. It’s not that expensive.

I sigh deeply and step off the closed reinforced suit, extending my hand to him. After pulling up the heavy reinforced suit with one hand and putting my helmet on the table, the beer-holding mercenary exclaims:

“Ah, damn. Doesn’t seem like our neighbor. I should have realized that when he fell silently from the roof? Still, he helped Remy up, so he must be a good guy! Don’t search his computational assistant, Sera.”

“I’m not your neighbor, that’s true. I don’t have a habit of introducing myself with long titles… I’m Arthur Murphy. Call me Arthur.”

He shrugged his shoulders. He was a man with a body full of visibly expensive implants, even with just a casual glance over his swimsuit. An augmented human. Probably an ex-freelancer mercenary.

“Do I look like someone who’d call you ‘Mr. Murphy’? You’re the first person to say something like that! Ah, I’m Dean Ramos. I’d like you to call me Dean… So, why did you come to our party?”

“What business would a Belwether-certified freelancer living in Los Angeles have with a high-risk smuggler? Part surveillance, part status check, but now…”

I smile, holding up the beer bottle he handed me. From the moment I raised the beer bottle, I could see a smile rising on Dean’s face.

“A cold beer. Just renovating a villa in a ruin town isn’t something I need to interfere with, right? That’s only disappointing for the construction megacorporations.”

“Ah, there’s still human warmth left in Los Angeles. Psst, Arthur. If I suddenly changed my introduction to ‘former T-Enter certified freelancer,’ would it seem like I’m trying to match your rank?”

He spoke as if whispering. His actions were quite exaggerated, and he was trying to appear comical. He’s not someone whose presence would make me uncomfortable. I lightly shake my head.

“We’re on the same level, I guess. Oh, a terrorist might try to escape Los Angeles through a smuggler, but you wouldn’t use this place, right?”

As I take off my jacket and throw it on a sunbed, Dean jumps back into the pool and lies down on the duck-shaped tube. He nods lightly.

“We can’t filter out those guys either, Arthur. And we only help innocent mutants discriminated against by Belwether, who certified you, not terrorists… Oh, wait. Is it that?”

He seemed to be the type of person who could boldly say such things in front of a Belwether-certified freelancer, which is probably why he decided to reject even T-Enter certification and live as an outsider.

“Yes, that. A mutant terrorist.”

“Personally, I prefer to call them terrorist mutants. The important part should come first. I hope that’s reassuring enough.”

“I like you, Dean. What’s your company name?”

Dean gestured to a pale-skinned woman with white hair sitting on a sunbed behind him. She slowly looked in my direction and made eye contact with me.

She’s not a mutant. What responded was not my nervous system but Aegis.

“Abnormal access attempt detected. Tracing attacker through access point. Reverse connection successful. This is a new type of firewall. Learning… The attacker has disconnected.”

The pale woman placed her hand on the side of her head to turn off her computational assistant completely and glared at me. Rather than a fierce expression, she looked like a sulking child. She was even puffing her cheeks.

Dean, lying on the duck tube and watching her, gets out of the pool again and approaches her. He tries to grab the back of her head to make her bow, but she resists.

Dean didn’t force her down either. Instead, he bowed to me first.

“Ah, sorry. Our hacker lacks social skills. I’ve told her a million times not to be such a stereotype, but she doesn’t listen. Anyway, our company name is Silver Lining Mercenary Company. Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

“In today’s world, there’s probably only a gray streak of sunlight dimmed by smog rather than the clear silver streak made by sunlight breaking through clouds, so it does have a certain feel. No need to bow…”

I take one light step forward, then accelerate on the second step to jump over the swimming pool. Looking down at the pale woman who’s still staring up with sharp eyes, I hold back a smile and say:

“You were just going to display your company logo in my head, right?”

The pale woman nodded. Dean, hiding behind her, makes a gesture as if patting her. When I lightly pat her as he did, her expression softens a bit.

“I’m sorry. My information warfare specialist also lacks social skills, second to none in the world. Shall we call it a tie?”

She nodded obediently. It seemed like the first impression I left on these people, who seemed at least not bad, wasn’t bad either.