Ch.273Work Record #038 – Neither Fleeting nor Glorious (10)

In this place, no death was either fleeting or glorious. Most of the terrorists died screaming silently, their ears deafened by the sonic waves emitted by Talos who had descended from the sky.

Those who fled found Belwether Assault Agents waiting for them. Trying to break through Talos’s position would have been madness even without the lobsters trudging stoically behind him, but the lobsters had descended as well.

Terrorists who escaped into the alleyways survived a little longer. Though even “a little” might seem too generous for such a fleeting moment.

Il-Belly, his body blazing with thermite flames, leapt out from the darkness. Everyone outside the alley could see the hail of bullets that followed Ruiner’s cross-fire warning message.

Some alleys were a bit quieter. Terrorists simply went in, none came out, and only headless bodies were left strewn across the pavement.

Days later, graffiti reading “Boogeyman’s Closet” would be painted on that alley. No one could say for certain if the Boogeyman had actually slaughtered the terrorists inside, but people would believe it anyway.

Nothing that could be called a battle occurred except for Kanun Corporation’s desperate struggle. Since one of the ringleaders had escaped, security teams were deployed throughout the street all day, but the situation was resolved within thirty minutes.

Mine lay motionless, holding her breath throughout the entire ordeal—through thirty minutes of slaughter and the subsequent peacekeeping operations.

Having barely managed to blind Jimon with a flash, Mine had fled into an organic waste disposal container. It was a brilliant decision, but also a dignity she willingly sacrificed for survival.

She curled up among discarded artificial skin, bags containing dead clone bodies, and the outer shells of discarded androids, waiting for the storm to pass.

Even Assault Agents wearing Posthuman Type III had excellent hearing, but Mine’s sexual modification surgery from Sirens Whisper included a function that masked her heartbeat.

Originally designed to synchronize heartbeats with partners during intercourse—a feature Mine had found quite useful many times—it was now saving her life with its meager adaptability.

It wasn’t until three in the morning that Mine finally crawled out of the organic waste container, covered in an artificial stench reminiscent of corpses but somehow even more nauseating.

Even the Belwether Mobile Units currently patrolling could easily dispose of Mine, but it was still better than earlier when freelancers and security teams had poured in like an all-star game.

Mine would survive another day. Anyone with the patience to lie among these fake corpses all day deserved at least that much.

However, as Mine barely managed to get up from the ground, she found herself making eye contact with someone. She nearly froze when her eyes met those of a person crouching in front of the waste container she had been hiding in.

He was a strange man. Strangely old-fashioned. He seemed proud of being old-fashioned, like one of those gasoline and manual transmission devotees. A man wearing sunglasses and a leather coat.

Despite his thug-like appearance, a high-frequency blade with flashing neon pink lights was tucked at his waist. He nodded a greeting to Mine as she emerged from the waste container.

Mine returned the greeting, not wanting to offend the man whose intentions she couldn’t discern. The Neon Snake, leaving deep social scars, hissed. No. Dean Ramos pushed up his sunglasses and snickered.

“Hey, Copycat. Being able to hide in that corpse basket, holding your breath to survive… should I call that remarkable willpower? I guess I should call it remarkable willpower.”

Though Dean was clearly smiling and seemingly complimenting Mine, she could see his tongue splitting and bitter poison flowing from it. Dean wasn’t bothering to hide his malice at the moment.

Even in this menacing atmosphere, Mine caught one word. He called her “Copycat.” He might not know who she was, but he knew what she had done.

Copycat of what? Mine slowly turned her thoughts. Miguel’s revolutionary methods had borrowed so much from so many failures that nothing immediately came to mind.

After a moment’s thought, she finally remembered. The story of a gang that had ambushed Half & Half Corporation employees, infiltrated the company, attacked the staff in an instant, and disappeared.

The phrases they had scrawled with neon spray paint. Miguel and Pedro had certainly thought it was an effective way to send a message, and had used it while destroying gangs.

Why did she feel so uncomfortable? Mine needed to think quickly, but her body, beaten by prosthetic limbs and fists, having rolled among corpses, couldn’t produce answers easily.

Still, Mine naturally teared up. Speaking in a whimpering voice to appear as a pitiful woman who had been through too much, she whispered:

“Are… are you perhaps… the ones who attacked Half & Half Corporation?”

Dean nodded slightly. He stood up from his crouching position and began to draw his high-frequency blade from his waist with slow, smooth, and concise movements.

The blade began to vibrate eerily. It hissed like a snake, quite different from the high-frequency blade Mine had used. The quality difference was enormous.

“Yes. Half & Half Corporation was the corruption of this era. They mass-produced half-wits who could have become people while saying, ‘This is clearly not human, so it’s fine,’ suggesting that half human rights meant half the pay.”

The corruption of this era. That sounded like something Miguel would say. Mine, who couldn’t understand why anyone would discuss who was clean and who was dirty in a sewer that was rotting anyway, could only question Dean’s statement.

“B-but, they were relatively moderate, weren’t they? Sin City’s Dollhouse…”

“Was smashed by Talos and the dolls they themselves handled. I hear they haven’t been making prostitutes with personality adjusters since then.”

Dean spoke with an almost resigned attitude. He too was a copycat. Or closer to a researcher. A scholar trying to recreate all cases to find solutions for festering tumors.

Mine could read one thing in his words. She could see a man who compromised with reality while simultaneously denying that compromise. He was old-fashioned. Very old-fashioned.

He knew no methods other than violence. Yet he wanted the world to improve, and thus sought solutions by simply cutting away the problems.

For Miguel, the revolution and everything else was a test of his ability to lead others. Therefore, it didn’t matter if his words were hollow and his goals destructive.

But for this man, those actions were meant to sound an alarm for the world. Unlike Miguel, he was sincere. A peculiar voice, mixed with pity and fear, rose up Mine’s throat.

“You don’t really think you can change the world with that kind of thing, do you? That’s, that’s strange… I was a blade-wielder with a high-frequency blade too, and it’s strange for blade-wielders to change the world…”

Dean thought of Polaris. If she had debuted a little earlier, or if she had been discovered a little sooner… if her security detail had been assigned to Neon Snake, that alone would have been justification.

Justification for Neon Snake to remain at T Entertainment. Polaris tried to change the world simply by climbing to the top of this cruel and myopic industry and singing.

That’s why she ultimately became Polaris. Someone who could show everyone the archetype of hope, despite not sympathizing with or believing in the existence of the word “hope” herself.

Dean shook his head with a hissing breath at Mine, who understood him as some kind of madman. Dean Ramos was not a madman.

Dean Ramos was not a madman. Even he himself constantly worried whether all these actions might be the result of his vengeance driving him mad, so he chose to believe that.

“No, no, Copycat. All you need to change the world is conviction. If it’s conviction strong enough to intoxicate yourself and make others around you enthusiastic… anything will do. Truly.”

The final “truly” sounded almost religious. And the moment she felt that dogmatism… Mine understood why Dean had been waiting for her there. Because they had copied.

Because they had corrupted Dean’s message, which he had hoped would be left by an unknown person. People would think Dean was the same person who indiscriminately killed gang members and left messages about traitors.

Mine began to back away while sitting on the ground. Dean approached her quietly, reciting something while holding the hissing social scar. Mine had nowhere left to run.

“That’s why I came to catch you myself. I tried to make a statement through the Half & Half case, but you turned it into a provocation by idiots who just wanted to kill people.”

With nowhere left to run, Mine reflexively raised her arm. She clearly raised it, but nothing was shielding her vision. All that remained in her eyes was a bright neon afterimage.

“Throwing bundles of incendiary bombs onto crowded streets, indiscriminately shooting corporate employees and citizens, making people believe it’s just one of the foolish acts of idiots who think the world will change that way.”

Mine couldn’t distinguish between Dean’s voice and the hissing of the social scar. She didn’t know whether she was keeping her mouth shut in pain or opening it to scream.

But his voice was distinctly human. Completely different from beasts who deny the entire world for the sake of their beliefs, or who proceed by transforming everything according to their beliefs.

Dean Ramos wanted to change the world, but not for himself. He knew all too well that it might be belated revenge. He had doubts and sometimes wished to stop.

But because these actions contained all that anguish, he didn’t want them to be mocked. Mine raised her other arm, and another burning neon trajectory remained in her vision. Resistance was meaningless.

Her death would be even more fleeting, even less glorious. Others might at least have the excuse that they tried to fight, but her end would be nothing but begging for her life.

The social scar in Dean’s hand hissed reproachfully. No, that couldn’t be. The high-frequency blade was simply emitting a customized vibration sound. No, to Mine it clearly sounded that way.

Mine opened her mouth to whisper that she was sorry, or something similar. At that moment her gaze tumbled down, and she began to see her own body. Another burning neon trajectory.

Others had eternity to reflect on their mistakes, or a quick death befitting broken humans who had simply lost their way, but Mine’s death was not quick. Nor did she have a chance to repent.

Dean spat on her rolling head, then lifted his foot and crushed it. All that remained there now was a torso statue of a human begging for forgiveness. Dean turned around.

Was it a stupid thought? He pondered once. He felt guilty toward a friend who considered him somewhat pure. A friend with whom he felt a kindred spirit, despite not having known each other long.

To dispel that guilt, Dean uttered the words that had been lingering in his mouth. Words he normally said, words that felt like cheating just by uttering them… it was complicated.

“We can’t decide who’s right, Arthur. All we can determine is who can keep pushing until tomorrow. Besides, they deserved to die, didn’t they?”

It didn’t mean that problems could be solved with force. It meant that no matter how hard we try, all our actions are uncertain, but at this moment, even to Dean it sounded like the former.

Dean Ramos was human. Perhaps too human. He could feel regret and pain. That was Dean’s most dangerous aspect. The fact that he wasn’t arbitrary and could reflect on his actions was his most dangerous quality.

He wasn’t someone who couldn’t control things going in a stupid direction and rushed headlong toward stupid results with all his might. He was someone who could pause and have a conversation with Silver Lining.

That’s why this time too, as he mounted his brilliantly neon-colored bike, he even nodded a greeting to the patrolling Belwether Mobile Unit. Though it meant being stopped for questioning, he didn’t regret it.

Dean raised both hands without hesitation. Hatred welled up when he saw the Belwether Mobile Unit coming to interrogate him, but knowing that hatred was irrational, he could smile.

More precisely, he could defuse with a smile. He knew exactly which direction to turn the blade. Therefore, he would not waste hatred. Wasting even a drop would feel like wasting blood.

“Why are you only doing this to me if you’re not questioning everyone passing by, Sir Mobile Unit? Silver Lining is a company that wants the world to be a kinder place. Really.”

“If that charitable heart were used in less irrational places, Belwether would welcome Silver Lining Corporation. Since that’s not the case, we have no choice but to detain you like this. May I check your movements?”

Belwether was gruff but polite. They knew how to maintain human dignity. Yet to Dean, Belwether seemed like a place that hadn’t retained any humanity. It was hypocritical, like everywhere else in the world.

“Do as you please. I was just cooped up in the Silver Lining headquarters and came out for a night walk. I wanted to see the Boogeyman’s Closet too, but it was blocked off.”

Dean recited the nickname he’d seen on the net. There was nothing suspicious about his movements. Dean Ramos wasn’t the only mercenary who risked danger to find traces of freelancer work. That’s what they believed.

“Still, a high-risk mercenary company visiting places like this is inefficient for both of us. Movement check complete. You may go. For the company, its employees, and shareholders.”

“Yeah, inefficient. And while I don’t particularly like you folks, I do like that slogan. For the company, its employees, and shareholders. The only problem is… I wish it were broader.”

The Belwether Mobile Unit tried not to show inefficiency in response to Dean’s frivolous joke, and Dean, finding that fact unamusing, chuckled and drove his bike back to the ruins. It was around the time Mine’s demise would be discovered.