Ch.287Work Record No. 040 – Faith Alone (7)

“Repentance for Bill? Do you really believe Bill’s pretty little story will become reality, Boy Scout?”

I was in a position to force her. I wasn’t expecting to hear nice words, but… the mocking term she used at the end was unfamiliar to me.

“Pastor Bill Weber just needs a mascot, old lady. And I don’t think I’m old enough to know what that… boy scout thing means.”

“Huh. The world has changed… so damn much.”

Instead of explaining, she just grew bitter. The world had changed terribly. Only they remained unchanged. Was it the sense of stability, isolated from those changes, that kept them tied to Hollowed Creek? Maybe so.

There would be a bit of commotion, but I capture her, bind the Pastor’s Eve with cable ties, and place her in an organic waste bag loaded onto the back of my bike. With a different helmet on, I return to the streets.

No matter how incompetent and inexperienced the Pastor’s Eve might be, she must have learned something living at the top of Hollowed Creek. I deliberately take a slow route with few major curves toward Jerome’s apartment.

With the bag slung over my shoulder heading toward Jerome’s apartment, I hear a voice from inside the bag.

“What were you planning to do if I started thrashing around while you carried me like this, Boy Scout? Hmm?”

“Seems you think the hands that could crush your ribs and grab your insides couldn’t cut your tendons. You’re getting a new body anyway.”

She shuddered inside the body bag as if finally getting the creeps. I carry her up the stairs instead of the elevator. After arriving at Jerome’s door, I knock firmly.

From inside, footsteps approach and a small drone emerges in place of a peephole lens. I remove my helmet, and the door opens immediately, but… Jerome is half-hiding his body behind the door.

“Um… I mean, you’re certainly welcome, but… what, I mean, what are you carrying? I can certainly do you various favors, but…”

There’s no need to ask Jerome to dispose of a body. Since she was the Pastor’s Eve of Hollowed Creek, I could simply report that I killed someone trying to infiltrate the city and hand her over to the cleaning department.

I slightly tightened and released my grip on the bag, causing the Pastor’s Eve to squirm uncomfortably. As if revealing that the bag didn’t contain a corpse, she spoke in a tone that seemed to be giving me a hint.

“Ouch.”

“I came for that small favor you could do. Could you cultivate a new body for this woman with the same appearance settings as her current one? Her current body is damaged… and might have trackers in it.”

At my words, the Pastor’s Eve grumbled as if displeased. Either way, she seemed to have regained her previous arrogance, thinking I would use her.

“Why not change my face while you’re at it, kid? I’m guessing you don’t want me standing next to bodiless Bill waiting for John to come get me.”

“Don’t you think keeping the same face would give at least a little credibility to the claim that the Pastor’s Eve has repented? Don’t worry too much—I’ll provide protection as long as you’re in that house.”

It was somewhat comical to still be talking to someone inside a body bag, so I opened the organic waste bag in front of Jerome and took out the Pastor’s Eve.

Judging by appearances alone, she could be called beautiful. Voluminous blonde hair, a body more suited to the porn industry than a cult, and sensual movements that seemed almost instinctively programmed.

But there was nothing natural about her anywhere. Compared to Polaris’s smile that seemed intoxicating, the Pastor’s Eve’s smile was as unnatural as one printed on the face of a cheap love doll.

The same was true compared to my Eve. Jerome stared at her face briefly as if interested, but then shook his head as if something unpleasant was bothering him. He spoke like a craftsman breaking porcelain.

“If this is about escaping or something, I can certainly help… but cultivating such a crude face would tarnish my personal reputation… The bone structure is pretty, but the taste is so…”

“It’s certainly old. A face created by a man who’s lived for 120, maybe 130 years wouldn’t match today’s sculptors’ tastes, would it?”

The Pastor’s Eve, now knowing she could no longer return to the Pastor’s care and live in luxury, now even mocked the Pastor himself. Jerome thought for a moment, then spoke with strange enthusiasm.

“Then, may I make some small adjustments? I mean, with just a few simple modifications, I could sculpt a face that matches this expensive and beautiful bone structure. Probably just here, and this part, and this much…”

The areas Jerome hastily marked with a pen were places where I could see exaggerated features. It seemed possible to remove the outdated elements without ruining the overall impression.

More surprising was Jerome himself, naturally identifying parts that needed to be cultivated differently in this awkward situation. He seemed anything but ordinary—his fear and confusion seemed to vanish the moment he examined her face.

Jerome didn’t need to get involved in this. He probably already knew it was something dangerous, but he started looking for ways to help without hesitation. Somehow, he smelled like one of my kind.

Not the kind that howls like beasts and turns the world’s paradigm to suit their preferences, but the kind that willingly throws themselves into things they can enjoy and find pleasure in.

Still… at least Jerome had safeguards. He wasn’t a mad scientist. He was someone who gave new bodies to dead people—very much to his taste—and supported their new lives.

That’s why Jerome earned people’s goodwill. All those women he had saved would come to protect him, to repay him for the new lives he had given them. That was Jerome’s safeguard.

Oh, and Panacea Meditech’s armed forces would pour in too. Jerome knew very well how to enjoy that protection. Now more seriously calculating the estimate, Jerome muttered.

“I’ll remove the damaged computational assist device… would a basic model be okay? No, judging by this skull structure, a rear-mounted type would suit better. Can’t give up this profile line…”

After muttering to himself for quite some time, recording measurements and model numbers, the Pastor’s Eve looked at me as if asking if this was normal. I shrugged. Jerome wasn’t wrong, after all.

Jerome’s estimation didn’t take long. He brought up a holographic model of the Pastor’s Eve with a much better face that still maintained her basic appearance.

“Well, I’ve completed the estimate. The goal wasn’t to create the face I wanted, but one that matches this antique, expensive bone structure with its old-world charm. So…”

I couldn’t tell if such things could be determined from bone structure alone, but Jerome was the expert here. I nodded slowly, and Jerome continued his explanation with enthusiasm.

“I didn’t touch anything beyond shaving off and adding a few things to create a natural face. I’ll work on the body to better balance the physique too… with a standard artificial body, roughly…”

“My breasts are a bit forcibly large. That old man has disgusting taste. I’d welcome reducing them, designer.”

Jerome straightened his shoulders at the word “designer” and continued. Receiving praise must not be a common experience for Jerome. Probably.

“It should take about three days for cultivation to complete, but since it’s just a matter of inputting the data and waiting for cultivation, you don’t need to guard the place. It’s inside an apartment complex, and I’m not exactly low-ranking.”

Jerome looked surprisingly reliable. I was about to ask about body disposal when he spoke first. Jerome was clearly a professional when it came to body cultivation.

“Since the remaining body needs to be disposed of securely, we can use a solvent to liquefy it, then extract all the moisture and throw it away as regular garbage. The trackers will dissolve with it.”

I should probably work on my habit of only considering courtesy and proper behavior after a clear solution has been presented. Jerome wasn’t a tool. He might have been Arthur-2’s father.

“I’m glad I came to someone reliable. Ah, I’ve been here after so long and we’re only talking about work… Are you still in the business of saving people?”

Jerome awkwardly waved his hands. Not many people would naturally repeat their actions after witnessing what happened when he revived me as Arthur-2.

“Honestly, I was going to say the source of information doesn’t matter… but knowing what happened because of that information source, it’s difficult to just irresponsibly say ‘because I like it.'”

Instead, Jerome pushed a virtual screen toward me. It was a proposal for Panacea Meditech’s insurance program. It involved receiving brain scan data in advance for resurrection.

It was literally the same method Jerome had been using. The only difference was that they would store brain scan data for later use… but it didn’t seem particularly practical.

People wouldn’t want to have their minds completely copied and handed over to a megacorporation. Especially from the perspective of megacorporation employees, they couldn’t entrust information to Panacea Meditech.

So the alternative was to minimize Panacea Meditech’s storage period by allowing people to deposit brain scan data the day before dangerous missions.

A day is more than enough time to review the information in a person’s mind. Other megacorporations probably wouldn’t use this. Maybe… a Panacea Meditech subsidiary might.

Then it could be sufficiently differentiated. The body is just like clothing. What matters is the brain inside… and there would be some people who would welcome the ability to back up that brain.

I probably couldn’t be quite so welcoming. If it were a completely identical consciousness, I’d be fine with losing a coin toss, but Arthur-2 wasn’t that perfect.

Then there was no guarantee that a second scan wouldn’t be degraded compared to the first. Rather than gradually wearing down, it seemed much more human to live just once.

“Instead, I’m trying to submit this proposal to the company. The worst incurable disease Panacea Meditech wants to treat is death. This might be a kind of treatment in its own way.”

These terrible idealists were fighting death in ways that didn’t make them look like terrible idealists. They didn’t believe people could be fully resurrected, but they did believe in the possibility of resurrection.

“That’s much better than the method you’ve been using. Ah, can I watch the Pastor’s Eve enter the cultivation tank? Even though she’s not very skilled…”

With her wrists and ankles still firmly secured with cable ties, the Pastor’s Eve made a sound of displeasure.

“Not very skilled? Your standards are too high, Boy Scout. By that measure, no inquisitor, no Adam’s wives would be skilled enough.”

“That’s true, old lady. That’s what makes me angry. Those with no skill whatsoever are extremely skilled at putting leashes around people’s necks, oversupplying this world with misery.”

I gently grab her bound arms and move her to Jerome’s workshop. In the small laboratory inside, I watch as the already damaged computational assist device and skull are cut open, and the aged brain is extracted.

The brain is placed in the cultivation tank as the cultivation matrix, and the body is processed exactly as Jerome described… with that, my work for today is done.

Tumors are slowly being planted in Hollowed Creek. This Pastor’s Eve will become a betraying Eve. He will no longer be able to trust even his closest sex slaves.

Additionally, one inquisitor will increasingly develop beliefs outside of Hollowed Creek. The creaking will gradually worsen. Enough to cause insomnia for the Pastor.

By the time they start thinking about internal subversion, I will visit. Not sneaking in through the back door like a thief, but charging proudly through the front gate with Pastor Bill Weber’s gospel.

To do that… I need to turn my attention elsewhere again. I should see what happens with the report that went to Fitz & Morrison. It’s time to practice killing a megacorporation.