Ch.253Record of Task #035 – A Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing (8)

I decided to postpone my virtual reality date with Eve until after work was finished. Polaris had been showering Arthur-2 with gifts precisely because she wouldn’t be able to see him for a while.

Now it was time for concert preparations to begin. Time to watch Polaris, who doesn’t believe in hope, perfectly act out hope and return to being the North Star that illuminates the path for those seeking direction.

The fact that she had stayed at my home briefly was due to the internal traitor, so logically it made much more sense for her to move back to Talent & Tradition’s safe house. Logically speaking, that is.

Contrary to what reason dictated, it was quite disappointing to see someone who had been responsible for a part of my daily routine—and today, a substantial piece of it—disappear. Still, I didn’t feel like stopping her.

That longing easily becomes a security vulnerability. As a freelancer tasked with eliminating Polaris’s security vulnerabilities, I couldn’t allow that. I return home with Polaris. She had quite a few things to pack up.

Staff members appeared from somewhere and took away everything she had brought into my house, except for what she had given to Arthur-2. There was a brief flurry of activity, like the movements behind a theater curtain.

It was over in an instant. Those people vanished as if they’d never been there, and Polaris waved at me with a rather bright smile. I returned a half-sigh, half-laugh and waved back.

It was at that moment that I had to acknowledge our similarities once more. I had never given her a lecture about pleasure, yet she was naturally using my language. Smooth and natural.

“You probably know how enjoyable it is to quietly watch assassins trying to kill me get assassinated themselves, and hunters becoming the hunted? It was extremely enjoyable.”

“Seeing words I learned and made my own flow so naturally from your lips… I think it might give me a chance to reflect on myself, Polaris.”

She giggled playfully. She reached out and tapped my shoulder, then half-whispered in her characteristically cheerful voice.

“When you look back on your life, don’t forget to revisit the moment we first met. I told you before, didn’t I? You are truly a remarkable person.”

Polaris had always been willful, but her willful choices were never wrong. So I gladly decided to return her words with a touch of humor.

“That’s something you could say when you leave LA, Polaris. After all, I’ll have to see you annoyingly often starting tomorrow because of close protection duty. So, hold onto that ‘remarkable person’ comment for now.”

It seemed to me that she was more deserving of being called remarkable than I was. She covered her mouth halfway and smiled with her eyes, slightly narrowing her large pupils. As always, a perfect composition.

“Saying such things when we’re alone at work tomorrow… would probably violate the peace treaty with Ms. Eve, friend. Even if I break that peace treaty several times, you’ll still remain single-hearted.”

There was a hint of regret in her words, but it seemed my Eve had decided not to mind that much either. Whatever we said, we could only be friends. Because we were too similar to each other.

Her relationship with Arthur-2 was… honestly ambiguous to describe. Polaris smiled brightly as she pointed at one of the shopping bags Arthur-2 was holding in both hands. She lowered her head and whispered.

“You have to wear it properly for the performance. Understood?”

Polaris only used that soft, low voice when whispering to Arthur-2. Perhaps that’s the voice she used when targeting the vulnerabilities of someone as vulnerable as Arthur-2.

Either way, it was clearly embarrassing for Arthur-2, who blushed again, but it was evident that Arthur-2 was also becoming somewhat accustomed to Polaris’s whims, or rather, her kindness disguised as whims.

This time, instead of simply not denying or refusing, or reluctantly going along, he properly nodded. Since being swept up by Polaris, Arthur-2 seemed to be more… aware of his surroundings.

“I already said I’d wear the most modest one… Don’t act like I need confirmation again. Really.”

A good sign? There’s no need to consider it a bad omen. We weren’t different people, but we weren’t the same either. Since we weren’t the same, what constituted a good direction would inevitably differ.

Only then did Polaris once again flash an innocent smile, interlace her fingers with Arthur-2’s, and pull him into her embrace. Arthur-2 tried to act composed, but his opponent was Polaris.

Her perfectly sculpted face and body, her smile and kindness, her voice and everything else—in Polaris’s embrace, perfect for melting away a person’s wariness, even Arthur-2 relaxed a little.

It seemed like a moment when Arthur-2, who had only a lifeless life and a pastless past, was gaining a piece of his own life, different from mine. I gently patted Arthur-2, who emerged from her embrace with a red face.

He still didn’t welcome my touch, but at least this time he didn’t grumble until Polaris left. Though after she departed, he did throw a tantrum as if trying to make up for his earlier behavior.

While their interaction was enjoyable, I had my own box of chocolates. I slowly opened the equipment box from Talent & Tradition’s copyright division that I had just shoved into my room.

No booby traps were activated. No locks were engaged. Inside the box, which was closer to a chest in size… several mind maps were inserted at the very top.

They were mind maps labeled as “collected strong ones.” Created from the memories of various people—a certified freelancer from Pathfinder Logistics, a security manager from N Entertainment, and others.

The weak rightfully deserve to be eliminated and become nourishment for the strong. With that mindset, he seemed to have collected mind maps of those he considered strong and had subdued. A terrible hobby.

Still… I wasn’t going to refuse. These were just backup copies of memories from people who were already dead. Just visual material without even a personality. I began playing the mind maps one by one.

To be precise, they weren’t purely mind maps. They were more like mission records—mind maps with the copyright agent’s memories added. Much more helpful than actual mind maps.

Had he planned from the beginning to be consumed by the so-called “strong one” who killed him when he died? If so, then this copyright agent was an even greater fanatic of survival of the fittest than the chairman.

The Pathfinder Logistics freelancer was a man skilled with heavy weapons, but he was killed by the agent more easily than expected. The method was horrific, but the copyright agent succeeded in the assassination.

Just as Pathfinder Logistics’ executives seemed to be quite humane people, their freelancer was also quite respected. He had connections with three mercenary staffing companies, after all.

One company was truly a partner, but the other two were closer to mercenaries the freelancer was nurturing rather than partners. Like my relationship with Kanun Company. The copyright agent targeted those two companies.

He unexpectedly visited a mercenary staffing company that was learning from the freelancer and disposed of them. He willingly poured excessive firepower to eliminate a novice mercenary company.

He sprayed gas and, with fingertips equipped with high-frequency blades, sliced people up just as I had seen at the safe house. He turned the president into a half-melted figure using a poison injector.

The first thought that comes to mind is that he was laying bait. If a mercenary company being taught by the freelancer was attacked, the attacker’s main target would obviously be the freelancer, not the company.

The goal was clearly to draw out the freelancer, and if the freelancer didn’t appear after attacking one company, he would obviously go after the second novice mercenary company.

Logically, the copyright agent should have done that, and the Pathfinder freelancer would have naturally deduced as much. But the copyright agent targeted the partner company instead.

Once again, he massacred the partner company in a manner befitting this blood-soaked industry, and the freelancer completely lost his mind at that moment. He cut off all communications and isolated himself to deal with the copyright agent.

The shock of losing precious people in an instant is that great. The copyright agent didn’t miss the opportunity to attack the freelancer who was now moving alone. The fight was quite intense.

The freelancer was quite large and, contrary to his heavy weapons specialty, engaged in skilled close combat, but… the body he wore wasn’t as resistant to toxins as a Posthuman Type IV.

He had to be strong against those who didn’t wear full-body prosthetics, and he actually was strong. It’s just that this enhanced body, conceived by Walter who was obsessed with perfection and thoroughness, had terribly superior performance.

I went through all the remaining mind maps. The copyright agent acted like an adrenaline junkie obsessed with blood, but he was absolutely not an adrenaline junkie obsessed with blood. He always maintained thoroughness.

Is there anything to learn? Perhaps. He had been an unpredictable variable for me normally, but this time I was the unpredictable variable for him, so I hadn’t properly seen his abilities until now.

At the very least, I decided to be grateful that he didn’t have personal feelings against me this time. If he had tried to attack Nightwatch, I would have gladly taken up my harpoon.

Still, I thought that Nightwatch might have held up relatively well since they had Volla who uses a full-body prosthetic… but for an assassin who relied on poison, he was quite skilled in close combat. It would have been dangerous.

After analyzing all the mind maps, I checked the Talent & Tradition training chips, organized as if they were trophies from when he was killed. There was a reason I called it my box of chocolates.

These would require mastery. When it came to how people kill people, the deeper one’s expertise, the better—just as much as having no interest in it was better. I inserted them among the training chips.

After clearing the first layer full of chips and mind maps, I opened the second layer to find a bolt-action rifle with a Fitts & Morrison design that was excessively simplified for a firearm.

Unlike Belwether firearms with their ergonomic design, this had rails and components crudely exposed, along with an obsession for lightweight tactical stocks. The design alone was enough to identify its origin.

I lifted the heavy railgun rifle with one hand and slowly turned it to examine it. It was single-shot. The structure was incredibly simple. It seemed like a lightweight version of their reinforced suit railgun sniper rifle.

Why didn’t he use this when he had it? I picked up the projectile made of 100% tungsten that was included. It was definitely several times heavier than a bullet. I heard Chance’s voice in my head.

“Is that… a railgun rifle for non-reinforced infantry? It’s strange that it doesn’t have a bipod attached. Considering normal human strength, it would be impossible to shoot while standing.”

He seemed to be saying it would be impossible to hit a target. I shouldered the rifle, which had a much longer, more orthodox bolt-action structure than my carbine.

It was heavy, but not enough for a Type IV to complain about. Even with considerable recoil, it shouldn’t be difficult to hit a target. Probably.

“Why, Chance? Because of the recoil?”

“Affirmative. Railguns have terribly strong recoil. Even if it’s been converted to be fired like a normal rifle… the accuracy, honestly, cannot be expected.”

Even with the copyright agent’s body, it wasn’t comparable to a Posthuman Type IV. His prosthetic arm with the poison injector was strong, but the arm with the grenade launcher wasn’t that strong.

If the accuracy was that poor, it would have been more natural for him to use a weapon that could be fired up close, according to his specialty. That would explain why it was abandoned here. Or perhaps it was meant for full-body prosthetic opponents.

Even so, seeing that it didn’t even have optical equipment attached… yes, it’s that hipster quality unique to Fitts & Morrison. Their development philosophy was that optical equipment wasn’t necessary if it was designed to sync with artificial eyes.

Ironically, this culmination of their development philosophy was a weapon that could only be used by someone wearing a Posthuman Type IV made by their competitor, Belwether. These two companies could benefit from collaboration.

I turned the twelve-kilogram bolt-action railgun again to examine it. There was a word engraved by Fitts & Morrison on the stock.

It was a very familiar word, but I wouldn’t read it the way I knew. I usually read this word as “Panacea,” but most people read it as “Panacea.” It meant universal remedy.

It wasn’t a gun about a cure for everything made by Panacea Meditech. It was Fitts & Morrison’s boastful claim that it could guarantee effectiveness against any armor or protection.

If Belwether had named it, they would have given it some bland acronym like Infantry Railgun System. In some ways, it seemed like an appropriate name for a custom-made item, but it still sounded boastful.

If I were to pull out a railgun at a shooting range after saying I wanted to try my personal firearm, the range owner’s expression would start to contort. Still, I really wanted to fire it once and use it in actual combat.

Starting tomorrow, I’ll have to wear a bulletproof suit and stick by Polaris’s side, so today is my only time. I put the Panacea in a gun case and lifted the entire case. Once a plan is made, it must be executed immediately.

Below where I had taken out the Panacea rifle, there was one more compartment filled with equipment similar to the storage warehouse of the assassin disguised as a convenience store manager, but of even higher quality.

I won’t use it yet. I’ll use it when I can move like Talent & Tradition’s assassins. When I can move like them… I’ll use it on Hollowed Creek and its cult leader.

I briefly lifted his spare prosthetic arm. I could give it to Volla, or have it modified to be worn like an exoskeleton. If it proved more useful than I thought, I might even cut off my arm and attach it.

When love for Eve is flipped over, it becomes hatred for John Rutherford. I will neither be ashamed of nor refrain from that hatred. It’s not even common for a person to replace an arm for a purpose.

That’s why I smiled at Eve when strengthening my hatred. After all, my constantly renewed hatred for John Rutherford, when flipped over, became my love for Eve.

“I just got back, but would you like to go out for a bit? I need to check out what kind of piece this newly acquired gun is. I’m not sure if asking for a date at a shooting range is appropriate…”

“I don’t mind. I’ll just brag to people around us that my young lover is a monster of a freelancer who can even shoot a railgun while standing, and feel overwhelmingly superior.”

I let out a small laugh in response to Eve’s voice as she leaned against me and joked. The time I spend with my Eve before guarding Polaris will never be enough, but no matter how insufficient, it will be satisfying.