Ch.24Work Record #005 – Do Not Let the Witch Live (1)

After returning to the office, I piece together the shredded documents. Thanks to Vola and Kay, who have their heads filled with computational assistance devices, it doesn’t take long.

The first two pages are a list of militia members. They were probably shredding them because if it was revealed that we came on behalf of Belwether, it could harm their former colleagues or families.

Belwether already knew who they all were anyway. And Belwether wasn’t the type of company to go after families. That was something those bastards at Fitts & Morrison would do.

To an ordinary employee, the two companies might seem the same, so they shredded it. Or maybe they just pushed whatever was at hand into the shredder. Setting those two pages aside, I check the remaining two.

The remaining pages are printed transaction receipts from an auction site. They were difficult to piece together because they had large margins on all sides, as if they weren’t meant to be printed.

There was no real need to print something that would be saved online anyway… but looking at the items, I could understand why they might have forcibly printed them.

What they purchased through the auction site was Belwether’s standard equipment and rifles. It made sense now why most of them were armed with Belwether-style weapons despite only four being former security team members.

But those weren’t that important. Compared to the contents of the last document I picked up, which had been shredded into ribbons, that black market list was nothing.

‘Belwether’s Los Angeles branch acknowledges that the security team’s handling of “Natural Humans are Beautiful” members may appear somewhat insufficient in the eyes of some employees.’

Despite the roundabout wording, the meaning doesn’t change. The content was simple. The branch had openly sent a memo to employees expressing a vote of no confidence in their security team.

And if they had just acknowledged it, at minimum the Market Keepers would have come… but the memo went on to state that for this reason, they would authorize the Battering Rams vigilante group.

This was essentially the branch openly rebelling against the headquarters’ system. It was so obvious that everyone remained silent for a long while after the document was pieced together.

Not getting involved was the best option. Reporting directly to headquarters would be dangerous, and the most prudent decision would be to hand the documents to the distrusted security team and step away completely.

Night Watch could easily handle a twenty-person militia, but it couldn’t engage in all-out war with a mid-sized company’s security team of 150 people. If the opponent was Belwether, it was better not to even try.

The problem was how to deliver the documents to the security team. Could the security chief be trusted? The Shepherd was at least trustworthy, but I had no way to contact him. I was someone who had never worked at Belwether.

I didn’t even know if Belwether was still watching me. At least Assault Team 1 wasn’t waiting in our office, so surveillance regarding the gag order had probably ended.

While no one could come up with a good answer, President Yoon stopped rubbing his forehead with his milk-colored prosthetic hand and spoke. The responsibility always falls on the boss.

“I’ll… contact my former colleagues in the Mobile Unit and deliver these documents directly to the security team that’s essentially been given a vote of no confidence. It’s the way to minimize our entanglement with Belwether, and since I’m the only one with connections there, and I was the one who chose this job, I should handle it cleanly.”

Was it wrong of me to bring the shredder bin? I wondered briefly. At least now we knew what was happening and could avoid it. Without this, we wouldn’t have been able to avoid it at all.

“Don’t feel guilty, Arthur. A shrimp that doesn’t know the ocean is darkening might get crushed between whales, but a shrimp that knows about the whales’ conflict can at least swim toward a place with better chances of survival. If time won’t heal it, knowledge is the medicine.”

Those were my own words. So what happened to the shrimp that attached itself to the whale with better odds? It just ended up having to avoid another whale. I tried not to think negatively.

Though he finished his words neatly, his expression was still not very bright. It’s a difficult situation. I hear him saying it’s not my fault, which means it’s definitely something that would make me think it was.

Despite it being the day before a holiday, everyone went home without drinking. We had completed a big job but faced an even bigger issue, so everyone thought it best to rest, and I agreed.

Through the office window, I watched Kay hurrying away toward his apartment as usual, then closed the office door and returned to the night duty room.

Tina seemed to be already asleep, so I lay down on the cot, but sleep wouldn’t come. It wasn’t because the bed was uncomfortable. If anything, a slightly uncomfortable bed usually helped me sleep better.

It was already 1:30 AM when we finished work, but I couldn’t fall asleep properly until 4:30 AM. I wasn’t doing anything, and while I hadn’t lost my motivation, I couldn’t quite grasp it either—I was just lying there with my eyes open.

By that time, my body was finally starting to succumb to sleep. Had I heard knocking on the wall while I was lying down? I couldn’t remember clearly. I hadn’t had the luxury to think about my surroundings.

As I tried to force my restless body to sleep, I heard knocking on the wall again. The sound, which usually occurred once or twice and then stopped, today began to continue at one-minute intervals.

I started to wonder if this was a real sound or just my anxiety squeaking. I just closed my eyes. I needed to get some sleep first.

The feeling of wasting time inefficiently was twice as painful as the fact that I couldn’t sleep.

I barely managed to close my eyes. I thought I would drift off to sleep, but the sound from beyond the wall evolved from light scratching to knocking. My eyes opened. Something was there.

I grab my pistol. Perhaps because I made no footsteps, the knocking on the wall grows a little louder. Suddenly, President Yoon’s voice echoed in my head. It felt the same as when he told me to eavesdrop on Eve.

“Arthur, wake up. It’s me. An unidentified van is approaching the company. You need to get up and prepare. There’s really not much time left before they arrive.”

A mutant. The moment I thought of that word, the voice from inside the wall became very unpleasant. I pulled a carbine from the gun case. Aiming it at the wall, I said:

“Seems like you’re trying to disguise this as communication, but unfortunately, I don’t have a computational device implanted in my head. And President Yoon doesn’t call me by the suffix ‘gun’ when addressing me. If you don’t answer who you are, I’ll handle this the Belwether way.”

Don’t let witches live. That was Belwether’s creed. Mutants are variables. Inefficiencies. Things that look like people but don’t act like them. At my sharp voice, the voice in my head faded.

I approached the wall and knocked on it, keeping my hand as far from my body as possible. It made a hollow sound, as if the wall was empty inside. I concentrated and maximized my hearing.

I could hear breathing from inside the wall. The breathing seemed to be trying to get as far away as possible from where I was knocking, pressed tightly against the exact opposite side of where I was hiding.

But that wasn’t the only sound. I heard the distinctive tire sound of an armored van stopping, its weight causing the chassis to pitch forward. Just as the voice had said.

It was near the office building. Not Night Watch’s van. There were no other mercenary companies in this building. Could it really be true? I had never heard of mutants helping people.

When I said I would handle it the Belwether way, the mutant tried to hide rather than attack me or draw a weapon. The sound from inside the wall wasn’t dangerous right now. The dangerous thing was the sound of the van.

Had the van really arrived? Or was the mutant in the wall imitating the sound of a van, just like it had imitated President Yoon or Enzo’s voice… No, mutants couldn’t imitate mechanical sounds. That sound was real.

The gag order hadn’t completely lifted yet—had what I did today violated it? No. I hadn’t done anything that went against the gag order.

I had to decide. Whether to pull the trigger into the wall, or to respond to potential intruders approaching the night duty room.

If I were alone, I would have needed to focus on what was inside the wall, but I wasn’t. In this building, and in the adjacent night duty room, was Tina. And Night Watch had just become entangled in a big issue today.

I make my decision. I choose to follow the belief that trusting is better than distrusting. I knock lightly on the wall and bring my voice close to it.

“Alright. I heard it too. I won’t worry about who you are… no, I’ll trust you, so just tell me the number and position of the intruders. Can you hear that with sound?”

“Ah, n-no. No. Directly into the brain… There are three people in the van. One is the driver and only two are in the back.”

If I had a computational device implanted, I would have really thought it was communication and been fooled. From the moment I sensed danger, Post-Human Type IV began operating at maximum speed again. My whole body tensed.

What I needed to do remained the same. Ambush them. I couldn’t be sure if they were coming for me or someone else, and I didn’t know what this mutant in the wall could do. I needed to focus on what I could do.

This office is Night Watch’s space. Shooting and killing illegal intruders is not a crime, no matter who they are. Even if it were Belwether’s chairman himself, it would be the same. I inserted a fresh magazine into the carbine and loaded it.

The president manages the explosives. I couldn’t borrow the power of flash grenades either. If they had infrared detection goggles, that would be an even bigger problem. Darkness would no longer be my ally. I took a deep breath. The voice spoke again.

“They’re not approaching the door. They’re in front of the wall. That, um, the wall by the large window in the reception room.”

Shortly after hearing that voice, I heard something grabbing the stone railing on the building’s exterior wall outside the curtained window. They seemed to be planning to infiltrate through the window. I couldn’t stay in the night duty room.

Infrared detection goggles can’t see through glass windows. I carefully opened the night duty room door. I hope I’m not throwing myself into a slaughterhouse. Before leaving the night duty room, I spoke to the wall:

“What can you do, mutant?”

“I, um, convert voice signals to electrical signals and send them, and detect them… that’s about it.”

So it was currently tapping directly on my auditory cells to speak. It was a mutant that affected the nervous system like the one involved in the Jaina Terror, but its danger was relatively less.

Aberrant mutants deal with stimuli and signals. The mutant I encountered in Belwether’s security staff corridor handled visual stimuli, while this one handled auditory stimuli. The difference wasn’t that great.

However, that one was strong enough to manipulate others’ nervous systems at will, while this one wasn’t. The weakness of the signal doesn’t make it useless.

At the very least, it could substitute for flash grenades in a situation where I had none. That was enough. Even mediocre talent is talent that anyone can use. I steeled my mind with Belwether’s creed.

“When those guys are completely inside, shove the loudest noise you can make into their heads. Can you do that?”

“I-I can… do it. I’ll try. Just, um, give me the signal.”

If it could only send and detect signals, our conversation ended here. I went to the office with the carbine in hand. I pressed myself against the wall next to the office door, waiting for the intruders to enter.

If it had been the Assault Unit outside, I would have heard propeller sounds, and if it had been the Mobile Unit, they would have surrounded the building and rappelled down from the roof.

Moving with just two people, and using windows to minimize noise—no sounds of clicking or joint movement suggested they weren’t wearing enhancement suits either.

The most likely option was the Legal Assassination Team. They were the ones who came when you didn’t fulfill your contract with the company. Fortunately, it wasn’t a department head in a closed enhancement suit. They were probably regular employees.

Were they really here because of the gag order? I couldn’t be sure, but I had to prepare. Meaning becomes trivial compared to immediate survival. I heard something connecting to the rappelling line fixed to the upper floor railing.

The sound of two people coming up as the line automatically reeled in was smooth, giving me a moment to prepare. I could wake Tina, but there wasn’t enough time to explain. This was something I had to do alone.

Perhaps the endless knocking on the wall today was an attempt to warn me that someone was coming? I couldn’t know. Not knowing anything just made me more irritated.

Biting my lip, I checked the magazine again. I faintly heard the window lock being broken. The sound was so small it was hard to make out.

The window opened slowly, and though the building’s wind should have made the curtain flutter, one of them grabbed it to prevent noise. Both of them put their feet inside the window… and the window closed.

Both of them, both feet, were now inside Night Watch’s building. From now on, it was a perfect case of illegal entry. I turned the selector switch to full auto. Though my voice cracked with tension, I shouted:

“Now!”

I won’t just take it. I won’t be like that disciplinary committee, waiting to be dragged to the slaughterhouse. This must be my mental illness. I’m certain of it now.

The two Legal Assassination Team employees had no time to react. Gunfire rang out, but it was directed at the building’s ceiling, not at the wall behind which my voice had come from. One of them began to scream.

“Ugh, aaargh! Cut the voice connection! Fuck, I thought we were prepared for electronic warfare!”

This is why mutants are variables. They couldn’t prepare for this with electronic warfare countermeasures. That’s why they tried to exterminate them, and that’s why they’re useful.

I half-exposed myself from behind the door and shouldered my weapon. Both of them were unable to properly control their bodies. Even after cutting voice connections and deactivating their hearing, they were clutching their heads with one hand against the unpleasant sound that wouldn’t stop in their minds, while barely trying to return fire with the other hand, but aiming was impossible from the start.

After visually confirming that both were holding weapons, I aimed at upper chest height and squeezed the trigger. I suppressed the recoil with the strength of Post-Human Type IV. I applied just enough force to not break the trigger.

A handful of cotton flew from the sofa in the reception room as bullets hit it, and a couple of my shots flew toward the window, shattering it and making the curtain flutter. The peaceful dawn shattered with a few gunshots.

Through the curtains fluttering in the wind pouring through the broken window, fluorescent light streams in. Through that light, I make eye contact with the Legal Assassination Team employee who was trying to return fire despite somehow enduring the noise and headache.

He probably realized we made eye contact too. And that moment of eye contact felt like an eternity.

It seems endless—the time it takes for him to properly aim his wildly shaking sights, and for me to turn my muzzle. No. It was only about half a second.

A gunshot rings out, muffled and directionless due to the suppressor. We were both people with suppressors on our muzzles. I was just better prepared.

It would take longer for his eyes to turn bloodshot, but it doesn’t take long for the vitality to disappear. His eyes grow dim. His posture collapses forward and he falls face down.

I felt a burning sensation in my side, as if it were on fire. Just heat, not pain. Due to the adrenaline surge, pain had long since grown tired of waiting its turn.

I run toward the broken window. Pulling aside the curtain, I aim for the van parked in front of the office building and plunge down. The vehicle body shakes violently, and I see the driver’s face through the window.

Is it too soft to say I’m glad to see an unfamiliar face? He hurriedly pressed the button to lower the bulletproof panel, but I grabbed it with one hand to prevent it from coming down and raised my fist.

He didn’t even lower the bulletproof panel as soon as the other personnel disembarked. That means he saw this as an easy job. The irritation I had been suppressing finally burst out at that sight.

“You picked the wrong person, you Legal Assassination Team bastards! Sending the Legal Assassination Team to a partner company? Is this how Belwether works?”

I strike the edge once. With a cracking sound, the glass covering the bulletproof plastic panel cracks first. After a couple more strikes, the edge of the front glass cracks and splits.

I push my hand through the gap. I pull with all my strength. The edge of the glass, which has been bent and warped, weakening the connection points, opens slightly. Now I could even hear the driver hyperventilating.

I wanted to calmly say something instead of just cursing vulgarly… but I couldn’t become calm at all and spat out words while barely containing my pounding heart.

“Hey. Call Stephanet and get the security team. Tell them to show everything from the rappelling equipment to how many bullets those Legal Assassination Team bastards put into a partner company’s office!”

I can’t stop thinking. I have to keep thinking. Calling Belwether was the safest way to end this situation, but if I was going to call Belwether, I needed to hide the mutant.

Belwether said to kill witches, but I had no intention of betraying someone who had done their part in helping to ensure my head and neck didn’t part ways again. Absolutely not.