Ch.285Work Record #040 – Faith Alone (5)

“I don’t think the defection plan itself is bad, but even so… would someone so deeply steeped in Hollowwood Creek’s influence suddenly want to help us?”

Pastor William Weaver still wore a skeptical expression. Perhaps my explanation had been insufficient. He didn’t need to intentionally help us.

“He doesn’t need to help us intentionally. Just having him experience salvation through repentance once, enough to be able to have meaningless conversations with Hollowwood Creek’s middle management, would be a great help.”

For one thing, an Inquisitor can act on their own judgment at minimum. The Inquisitor who met me at the Christmas party for returned children had targeted me without specific instructions and got burned for it.

That means they have some degree of freedom, and in a dictatorship like Hollowwood Creek, freedom is like oxygen to anaerobic bacteria. Even the tiniest amount is extremely harmful.

“That’s… something I’ll leave to you, Arthur. I don’t know much about such things. I just hope that even one person who has fallen into the clutches of the cult leader who usurped my position finds their way.”

“If that person finds their way, we’ll find ours too. And… if he decides to report back to Hollowwood Creek, we just need to leave evidence that we rescued him, and there won’t be a problem.”

In terms of quantitative efficiency, this could lead to a better approach. The information advantage was on my side this time as well.

The better approach would be… to make my Eve’s Hollowwood Creek escape broker business appear much larger than it actually is, and show as evidence that even an Inquisitor had joined in.

The ripple effect wouldn’t be huge. In Hollowwood Creek, even Inquisitors are just parts. Only the cult leader himself can enjoy anything. But to that cult leader, it would appear to be a major problem.

The Inquisitors were people tamed by the only thing Hollowwood Creek could offer: peripheral pleasures and the sense of superiority that comes from being closer to the oppressor than the oppressed.

If even these tamed people couldn’t be trusted, the only people the cult leader could trust would be his lovers, the cult leader’s Eves. But they are neither numerous nor particularly strong.

There’s a possibility of making the cult leader himself undermine the Inquisitors who effectively control and manage the city. However, there was one problem.

Was I so incompetent that I needed to offer a living sacrifice to kill Hollowwood Creek? I wasn’t so lacking in self-respect or ability that I would stupidly nod to that assessment.

If he wanted to help us, he would contribute to bringing down Hollowwood Creek, and if he continued to wander, he would unwittingly provide the catalyst for Hollowwood Creek’s downfall.

“Even preparing for betrayal… isn’t that too cruel to a person? It’s either he helps us or he gets used, one of the two…”

“The former would benefit that Inquisitor, and the latter is what that Inquisitor has always been doing, isn’t it? For all his guilt, how many Creek escapees has he seen die without receiving supplies?”

If he had quit being an Inquisitor, fled to Los Angeles, and sought refuge with my Eve’s escapee broker service, I would have trusted him, made him a colleague, and discussed this with him.

But he didn’t do that. He’s still licking Hollowwood Creek’s honey, still living as a privileged person with guilt while carrying out his duties. So all I can offer him is an opportunity.

“I find myself speechless. Very well. That’s how it will be. It’s not a matter for personal feelings to interfere with, and even if they did, that way of thinking would be correct… I’m just glad I’m not a judge.”

“And I’m glad that Pastor Bill is my court’s compassionate juror. Now I think I’ll go out and show off a bit to the Creek escapees who arrived today.”

I was rather uncomfortable with the name Boogeyman, but for my purposes, there was no reason someone who could imitate the person I disliked most couldn’t use an uncomfortable nickname.

To tell them that the Boogeyman who makes no sound when walking and speaks in the voice of others is on our side… I decided to consider showing off a little as something familiar.

It felt cringeworthy to intimidate others with it, but giving reassurance to people looking for something to lean on was enjoyable and something I could appreciate. I naturally left the room with the hologram projector.

Outside the door, someone wearing what my Eve called a baggy tablecloth-like outfit typical of Hollowwood Creek was waiting. Looking at Pastor Bill Weaver’s hologram that appeared next to me, not at me, they spoke.

“Teacher, I mean… is it really true? That the Inquisitors don’t bring back people who left Hollowwood Creek to make them copies who repent, but instead…”

He spoke as if it were a merciful act, but making someone a “copy” meant reprogramming their brain to think and function like a clone. As always, a twisted sense of normalcy.

Pastor Bill Weaver’s hologram projector turned toward him first, and only then did his body face him. His actual self wasn’t the floating illusion but the program replicated on that platform.

“Please call me Bill comfortably. That’s how Hollowwood Creek originally called me. And yes, that’s correct. They don’t give you a chance to return and leave you to die in the wasteland.”

People don’t change overnight. I didn’t care about changing the people of Hollowwood Creek. I only wanted to give them a blank palette.

But Pastor Bill Weaver had will and perseverance. Even as a copy containing 42% of himself in an undying body… no one would deny that this was Pastor Bill Weaver’s original character.

The Hollowwood Creek escapee seemed to feel great authority in Pastor Bill Weaver’s words. Just his confirmation alone made the man tremble with fear, his body shaking.

“Even on the way here, I reassured my family that even if we were playing into Satan and the devil’s hands and making the wrong judgment, we would have a chance to repent…”

How on earth could people in just a few generations come to believe so deeply that only Hollowwood Creek exists, and that there is no love or truth outside the Creek?

Religion is addictive, though not lethally so. Relying on something greater than oneself, standing on the shoulders of giants, gives people reassurance. That reassurance typically establishes order.

What religion offers is comfort, not salvation. Salvation must be found by oneself. But… to people right after the extinction war, even comfort must have seemed like salvation. People facing despair spreading like a plague.

I interpret the person before me. Hollowwood Creek was becoming something beyond what Hollowwood Creek could handle. Just as Mr. Günter couldn’t determine the direction of efficiency… the same goes for the cult leader.

God is merciful. God willingly bestows mercy. These two sentences were the comfort people wanted. And that comfort grew like a dandelion trampled under fanaticism, growing to this day.

So the Hollowwood Creek Inquisitor picked up the Bible, and this man trembling before me…

“Why did the most beloved Adam do that? Isn’t God merciful? It seems like an obvious question, but my neighbors criticized me so much for asking it…”

This seemed to be the extent of awareness for someone awake in Hollowwood Creek. It’s rare in Hollowwood Creek to not worship John Rutherford like a god, but to recognize him as God’s representative.

“Because humans can’t become gods. It’s such an obvious statement, but that obvious statement isn’t obvious in Hollowwood Creek. Ah, this is…”

“Your Eve already told me. She said you’re a freelancer certified by a company called Bellwether. Someone the escapees can call when something happens.”

The phrase starting with “a company called Bellwether…” felt very awkward. It must have felt like hearing “Aren’t you so-and-so from the United States” in the pre-extinction war world.

And I had no intention of standing by while Hollowwood Creek, which I despise, threatened to harm people my Eve wanted to help. And if there was even a glimmer of hope in someone… helping was much more enjoyable.

“My Eve, huh. I hope you’re not comparing me to John Rutherford. While I’ve done many things, it was just for someone I love… not bestowing mercy on someone lesser than me.”

“Still, only firm faith alone can change a person like that. I’m impressed. I thought everywhere outside Hollowwood Creek was a corrupt world, but to see such great faith…”

Faith alone can change a person. The world is always a collection of people. So it can change the world. But faith is grasping something without substance. Only people have substance.

Joy has no substance. It only has substance to me who believes in joy. So… this high-speed era built solely on rampaging faith is so imperfect.

But faith, however imperfect, allows us to draw an outline. I know better than anyone how magnificent and beautiful a cityscape the outline of efficiency has created.

There is one more thing about desiring something that doesn’t exist. Hope. Hollowwood Creek’s death doesn’t exist yet, so it’s what I desire. Hope is also a non-existent finish line.

That’s why Prometheus’s plan was imperfect and dangerous. But as Polaris said… we can’t reach the sea of stars, but we find our way by the North Star. Hope always serves as a guide.

The only thing that can grasp substance comes after that. Love. Believing in people leads to betrayal, hoping in people makes you look only at an idol resembling that person… but loving people is ordinary love.

I love my Eve. I love Bellwether and the people who believe in Bellwether’s efficiency. I love this high-speed era mixed with all those people. I am grasping that substance and moving forward.

Bellwether was not simply immersed in efficiency but contained love for the people living by that efficiency, which is why the beautiful world of efficiency I love has some degree of perfection.

“If I only had faith, I might not have known how beautifully my Eve can smile, or how she can act cute like a cat. I guess it’s because I had love that I could know all that.”

My words seemed to make him a bit… more comfortable. He pulled out an old Bible stamped with the Hollowwood Creek seal from his bosom, hugged it to his chest, and nodded. He said something difficult to understand.

“Among faith, hope, and love, the greatest is indeed love. You are more trustworthy than I thought. I might be able to feel somewhat at ease.”

Pastor Bill Weaver’s hologram projector looked at me. I couldn’t read emotions from that camera lens, but… I felt something like a mixture of expectation and fear.

Soon my Eve was approaching from behind him. But… she was wearing body armor. She spread her arms to me while wearing thick body armor over her clothes. I lightly embraced her and then set her down.

“I was a bit worried about leaving them with Pastor Bill Weaver since he doesn’t have a body, but it’s good you’re here. Can you stay with these people? There are more people I need to bring.”

There weren’t that many Hollowwood Creek escapees. Probably fewer than three per week. So if someone was coming when families were already here, it meant a different group. They were coming from the wasteland.

My Eve wiggled her feet slightly as if asking to be put down, but I pulled her closer and said while maintaining eye contact. Misfortune despised complacency. It didn’t matter whose complacency it was.

“While it would be fun to watch the house, there must be a better way to use a freelancer who came with a railgun rifle. Let’s go together, shall we?”

Only then did my Eve lower her tiptoes to touch the ground and look up at me. She stroked my not-so-fluffy hair and tilted her head.

“Isn’t this a rather political job for the Boogeyman?”

“If Hollowwood Creek unfortunately loses an Inquisitor and the cult leader’s Eve, would they know the Boogeyman did it?”

A murder that leaves no witnesses or evidence is simple. Just snipe from beyond the horizon with a railgun. Usually, what makes this a difficult plan is the absence of a railgun… fortunately, I had one.

Of course, that method has its limitations. Not many people can fire a railgun so freely, and if Hollowwood Creek discovers that I’m the Boogeyman, it would become troublesome.

Then I can use a more traditional method. Listen to all the verbose talk from those who believe everything in the world can revolve around the cult leader’s orders, and then answer with a simple “No.”

“So, do you have clothes? The name ‘freelancer’ doesn’t make your skin bulletproof, you know.”

“Well… my skin does stop handgun bullets. Anyway, you know I always keep it in the storage compartment under the bike, right? So I can put it on in an alley or something when needed.”

My coming along seemed to reassure my Eve as well, as she smoothly slipped out of my embrace and asked with a gentle, beaming smile.

“Somehow that’s a very superhero-like approach, Arthur.”

“People who are amazing enough to be called ‘super’ are never heroes, and people who deserve to be called heroes aren’t that amazing in this world, right? You know I’m just a contractor.”

“Contractor slash dark hero is also a cliché, Arthur. Call Sign: Gardner succeeded with that, didn’t he? I’ve been watching it lately since there’s nothing else to watch… it’s not as brutal as I thought.”

My Eve… had frighteningly good intuition in strange areas. It was quite fortunate that I was the only one who knew how much truth was contained in her casual remarks.

In this situation, trying to deny it awkwardly would only cause unnecessary misunderstanding. I decided to naturally dismiss it with a smile. I even took her comment a step further.

“Though you say it’s not as brutal as you thought… would you like it if you imagined me inside that helmet? Anyway, let’s go. Seeing you going out in body armor to pick someone up, it can’t hurt to go quickly.”