Ch.247035 Work Record – Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing (2)

I deliberately cut the artificial skin newly attached to the back of my right hand with a tactical dagger, creating a wound. With the matte black internal components exposed, I head toward the location of my second target.

At my waist, I’m carrying a submachine gun loaded with flechette rounds, commonly used by assassins in the industry. By showing the wound on the back of my hand, I can pretend that one of my arms is a prosthetic.

A silenced pistol alone wouldn’t be suitable for killing someone on the street, but with a silenced pistol and a sound-canceling space, I could handle things quietly enough.

With my small evil deed hidden behind my back, I park my bike in the parking lot. The restaurant’s parking is free for up to two hours with a purchase, but only fifteen minutes if you don’t buy anything.

I didn’t want to stay long enough to pay for parking and leave evidence of my presence. I keep the free parking time notification displayed in the corner of my vision as I get off the bike.

Standing in front of the store entrance, I scan the employees inside. These days, even all-you-can-eat barbecue restaurants need at least two security guards on duty. They’re only carrying batons for now to avoid looking intimidating, but they could draw guns if needed.

Fortunately, my target is already in my line of sight. I tap on the window near the target. Their gaze meets mine. They quickly scan my equipment.

Their eyes land on the back of my hand. Sensing something’s wrong, they immediately remove the apron they’ve been wearing. I gesture with my chin for them to come out the back door, then head toward the rear of the building.

I deliberately hide near where the back door opens. I hear the door being roughly pushed open, and the woman who until moments ago appeared to be just a young barbecue restaurant part-timer walks out holding a silenced pistol.

Good thing I hid behind the door. I channel power through the neural-wire system to the sound-canceling space generator positioned toward the inside of my wrist. A muffled humming fills the surroundings, and she finally turns around.

Her face matches my confirmation. I pull the trigger. Even with the sound-canceling space, the gunshot is clearly audible up close. And she… falls backward as if collapsing.

The sound of the shell casing hitting the ground echoes outside the sound-canceling space, but not much sound leaked out from inside. I step on her chin, pressing down lightly as I completely break her neck.

I call Bellwether’s cleanup team. There were many assassins to visit today. I move to the next location. Next, I need to deal with assassins disguised as a married couple who entered LA.

First, I stop by their apartment to scan it, and notice something strange. Through the fully shielded windows of the low-rise apartment, I can see busy movement inside. There are at least three people.

What’s going on? Are assassins gathering like I was pretending to do? This time, I put on a display helmet, wear a jacket lined with bulletproof material over it, and head into the apartment building with my small evil deed in hand.

It’s an ordinary place. Permeated with smog, but still smelling of human habitation. Such places are often better for disguises. I send the elevator to the floor where the couple posing as assassins are staying.

I take the stairs. There’s always the possibility of a hail of bullets when the elevator doors open—something I’d prefer to avoid. I run up the stairs faster than the elevator and wait.

As the elevator arrives, a man holding a silenced pistol similar to mine emerges from the couple’s apartment. He’s not one of the couple. He’s not even on the list of assassins.

I remove the voice module from my neck and attach it inside the emergency door I’ve left slightly ajar. I open the emergency stairway window and climb out along the wall. After dispersing personnel, I speak through the voice module:

“Are there more assassins trying to take out Polaris? Or are assassins meeting with their own assassins? Which is it?”

With my small evil deed in hand, I climb along the wall toward the apartment where the targets were. Grabbing the frame below the balcony, I slowly pull myself up to peek inside. The two people were already dead.

The man appears to have put a gun in his mouth and blown his head off… No, that’s not right. He didn’t do it himself. This is just a well-staged performance. Normally, when someone shoots themselves with a gun in their mouth, the wound points upward.

But here, the bullet wound precisely pierces through the computational assist device and exits toward the back of the head. Someone attempting suicide wouldn’t go to such lengths to destroy evidence of their own death.

The wife is also dead, but her weapon is more conventional. She lies with the back of her head against the dining table… her computational assist device shattered and a kitchen knife embedded in her chest.

The apartment is filled with traces of a marital dispute, or rather, traces arranged to look that way. The entire house screams, “This was an impulsive murder following a marital argument.”

Yet it all looks remarkably natural. I’m already looking for evidence that confirms my suspicions, but to investigators’ eyes, this staged scene would appear to be the truth.

A response comes from the voice module. The voice carries no hostility, and if what he says is true, he has no reason to be hostile toward me. Fortunately, I’m not in his line of fire. Neither is he in mine.

“I’m the leader of Assassination Team 1, Legal Assassination Department, Talent and Tradition Company Headquarters. Currently under direct orders from the Chairman, hunting assassins whose identities have been exposed. If you’re doing the same work, would you be Mr. Arthur Murphy?”

I answer only through the voice module again. If this seemingly non-hostile conversation is suddenly interrupted by gunfire from his side, that would be my signal to break the window and enter the apartment. But only silence follows.

“Yes, I’m Arthur Murphy, Bellwether-certified freelancer. Please verify my freelancer license and confirm my identity.”

When I send him my freelancer license, he sends back a company ID through a virtual screen. It’s a legitimate item with Talent and Tradition’s electronic signature.

These might be the real assassins. Not just people trying to seize any opportunity to kill someone, but people who make you question whether a death is an assassination or not.

All headquarters-direct or chairman-direct operations involve only people the headquarters or chairman have reason to deal with personally. If they’re allies, there’s no reason to disturb the crime scene they’ve carefully created.

I lightly grab the bottom of the balcony, throw myself off, and catch the window frame of the emergency stairs. I open the window from outside, retrieve the voice module, and open the door. There stands a man who doesn’t look like an assassin at all.

He somewhat resembles Mr. Enzo. He looks like a capable office worker, someone unrelated to fighting who would crouch down and cover his head with his briefcase if gunfire erupted.

But his hands are high-end combat prosthetics. Those hands with artificial muscles clearly visible over the frame… if I had to compare, they’re similar to what Arthur-2 uses, but much more expensive.

Moreover, he’s holding a Bellwether-made pistol. It’s smaller caliber than the bullet that shot the husband’s head. Having seen countless gunshot deaths, I can tell.

He shot him with that, then fired another shot in the same direction using the victim’s gun to make it look like suicide. Soon after, two more men who look like ordinary office workers emerge from behind him.

The Assassination Team Leader, who would be equivalent to Bellwether’s Assassination Division Chief, pushes a virtual screen toward me. It seems I don’t really need to go around LA eliminating targets one by one.

On the virtual screen, assassinations are being carried out in very simple ways. Bellwether-authorized T&T assassins—specifically the Chairman’s assassins—are at work.

An assassin with a peanut allergy is served a KSC hamburger containing peanut powder, and someone approaching to provide emergency care deliberately twists the tip of the allergy injection.

An assassin walking along the roadside reading reports about increasing numbers of out-of-contact assassins is coincidentally hit by a vehicle whose automatic driving function malfunctioned—or was manipulated by someone.

In this era, reality can be censored and truth can be manufactured. Since Bellwether, the city’s owner, has authorized it, no one will hold them accountable. The truth will soon become blurred.

What I said in that situation might have seemed funny. Even I think if I heard such words suddenly, I would respond with a confused “What?”

“Give me the Copyright Department traitor.”

As I expected, the Assassination Team Leader responded as if he didn’t understand.

“Excuse me? There are two Copyright Department members here to guard Polaris, and you’ve already done more than enough by annihilating the certified gang and retrieving the list. Your compensation…”

“This isn’t about compensation. Rather, he will be my compensation. The opportunity to fight such an opponent without worrying about future consequences—any mercenary would desire such a learning opportunity.”

I said this with a rather friendly smile. The Assassination Team Leader looked even more bewildered at my expression. He seemed to consider the possibility that I might not properly understand the Copyright Department’s strength, but concluded that a freelancer certified by three companies wouldn’t make such a shortsighted judgment.

“You might fail. Honestly, based on what we’ve seen of the Copyright Department, it seems unlikely you’ll succeed. In that case…”

“Then you’ll have to catch the Copyright Department with the two members waiting here. You wouldn’t let the Copyright Department escape freely if I fail, would you?”

In this high-speed era, human life is light. There’s no reason mine should be heavier than others’, and I shouldn’t believe it is. If I fail, only one thing awaits me. It doesn’t matter.

Because I don’t intend to fail. I have no intention of dying while trying to resolve this comprehensive lack of ability. Because I will harpoon my Moby Dick and watch it bleed to death.

After my casual response ended, the Assassination Team Leader briefly placed his hand on the side of his head to connect a call. For security reasons, he was using a voice module for the call, so I couldn’t hear his voice, but his tension was visible.

Who is he contacting? Even as a director-level person, a T&T headquarters employee would be fairly high-ranking, so there aren’t many people who could make such a person tense.

Soon a communication request came to me. The channel name was… Talent and Tradition Entertainment Channel 001. I had used a communication channel with this name a few months ago.

I gladly connect the communication. Instead of answering through the voice module, I speak boldly, and the Assassination Team Leader activates the silent zone for me. Sometimes you need to enjoy being a VIP.

“What do you think I said to Team Leader Harold, freelancer? If you think you know what I said, would you like to guess why I said it?”

The voice sounds too young to be the chairman of a mega-corporation. It’s rather gentle, with less intimidation than Mr. Günter. He’s just hiding it.

I don’t need to say what he wants. He wanted my words, and I was willing to give them to him. I hope my voice sounds like a beast’s howl.

“You probably said you wanted to meet me, Chairman. As for why, well, it’s simple. Because I said something interesting. A freelancer willing to face the Copyright Department when he could avoid it.”

“Do you think a leader in the entertainment industry would do such a thing merely for amusement?”

He spoke as if lecturing me, but I didn’t pay much attention. To me, the word “amusement” and the verb “to enjoy” didn’t carry such light meanings.

“I don’t understand what else someone in the entertainment industry should desire besides amusement and stimulation. Talent and Tradition isn’t in an industry where you can pretend to be noble.”

I deliberately dug deeper. The Assassination Team Leader listening to my words in person looked somewhat appalled, but the tyrants of this high-speed era, especially those in the entertainment industry, are people who have grown up this way.

“You speak boldly. But this… I should say ‘touché.’ This is an industry where no one is noble. Not the whales we’ve killed, not us, no one.”

He answered rather casually. And then he said something I honestly hadn’t expected at all. Apparently, I had believed that at least Polaris’s guardian wasn’t a survival-of-the-fittest devotee.

“In this uncivilized land where no one is noble, the only way to survive is to become strong. No matter how good the ideas and vision an entertainment company has, they’re useless if it’s weak.”

If I were the person who met Mr. Günter back then, I would have asked if Polaris wasn’t moving for the sake of the weak, but now I could speak a little less stupidly.

“In that sense, I understand why you act as Polaris’s guardian. Because Polaris has risen to a position where they can stubbornly do as they please by their own strength, regardless of the means.”

Whether Polaris helps the weak or dislikes people dying doesn’t matter to him at all. Polaris, having the ability to reach the top, can use their abilities however they want in this survival-of-the-fittest industry.

“Ah, yes. I knew you’d understand. If they believe Polaris is soft, they can kill Polaris and install someone new who can earn as much as Polaris.”

Instead of his voice, I began to hear the sound of a beast howling. More like a monster than a beast. Beasts don’t throw themselves into pits where they’ll die.

“If I’m in the way, they can kill me and install someone new who has as much support from the board and shareholders as I do. This is literally an industry where everything is permitted.”

The virtual screen shown by the Assassination Team Leader was still moving. It continued to show the Chairman’s assassins dealing with the assassins trying to kill Polaris.

The Chairman of Talent and Tradition Entertainment spoke as if chewing and swallowing. Come to think of it, he doesn’t use voice modulation at all. He possesses confidence.

He’s the type of person who shows his face and says, “Come kill me if you dare.” A fanatic of survival of the fittest who makes no exceptions for anyone.

“Such weaklings who can’t even do that much.”

After the voice that sounded like a beast growling, it becomes a well-tailored human voice again. He speaks as if apologizing.

“Ah, please don’t misunderstand. The headquarters forces were deployed not because I doubted your strength, but because the very existence of these weaklings roaming around is an insult to the company.”

Stable mega-corporations like Bellwether would call this aspect of T&T a corporate governance dispute, but this primitive, primal war of all against all was the daily reality of the entertainment industry.

Everything is permitted. For better or worse. Everyone can forge their own destiny. And in the process, one must deal with assassins sent by others on their own.

He’s truly a madman trying to preach survival of the fittest equally to everyone. The assassins trying to kill Polaris had their reasons—because Polaris muddied the industry waters, because they were soft—there were many reasons.

But to him, reasons, justifications, and legitimacy meant nothing at all. If you want to kill, kill; if you want to take, take. What matters is not plausible reasons but that the strong flourish.

I had no intention of agreeing with his words, but nevertheless, conversing with him seemed quite enjoyable. I might be able to take at least one brick from between his words.