Ch.28Work Record 005 – Do Not Let the Witch Live (5)

I park my bike on the curb of the residential area and push open the door of the shop. Due to the early hour, there are no customers inside.

The shop is quite different from what I had imagined. The man I had seen was German. He spoke with angular German inflections and, naturally, referred to mercenaries by their German nicknames.

However, the shop turns out to be a Turkish restaurant. As I briefly watch a large skewer stacked with layers of meat that doesn’t smell like cultured meat rotating slowly, my client emerges from the kitchen area.

He has too many mechanical parts to be called just a restaurant owner.

His spine has clearly been replaced with machinery, and he’s wearing something on his hands similar to what I used to wear when working at Belwether. The chrome parts on his knuckles reflect the sunlight with a matte black finish.

Apart from that, he looks about sixty or seventy years old. It’s hard to call him elderly. Perhaps because he’s replaced all his aging, underperforming parts with efficient implants, he gives off a rather youthful impression.

His nearly white, gray hair is cut short, giving him a military-like appearance. Both his eyes are clearly prosthetics, though they’re everyday gray models that don’t differ much from human eyes.

The client speaks with a voice full of vigor that doesn’t match his age. I briefly suspect it’s due to his healthy demeanor.

“Are you comparing what you saw during our call with what you see before you, Metzgerhund? Good attitude. But there’s nothing to doubt. Before Berlin became a nuclear pit, kebabs were quite famous there. When retirees open restaurants, it’s usually one of two things, isn’t it? Either they sell something popular with minimal effort, or they have enough leisure to choose food they actually like.”

His ability to see through me wasn’t due to high-performance prosthetic eyes or sensitive sensory organs. It was closer to wisdom gained through years of experience. I shrugged slightly.

“Then… I suppose you’re a man of some means. Metz—what does that mean?”

“Metzgerhund, an old nickname for Rottweilers.”

Using dog breeds as nicknames was indescribably Belwether-like. My security division 4 had been the Shepherds, and the mobile division that came to rescue me had been the Border Collies. I let out a small laugh.

Most nicknames were simply dog breeds for the sake of distinction. Cases where they used uncommon old names like Alsatian or Metzger-whatever were rare.

“I doubt even the Belwether chairman would name everything he sees after shepherd dogs. Oh, and I eliminated all five targets as requested.”

He nodded slightly while stroking his chin, as if to say “not bad.”

“Were all five stupid enough to be worth nothing more than fertilizer for the rotting Pacific?”

“I killed one first, then told the others my target was just him and they could leave. They all came out unarmed, so it was easy to deal with them. Though one did realize I hadn’t filed a work report.”

They trusted without sufficient doubt. Generally, trusting yields better results than not trusting, but that only applies when you trust after sufficient doubt.

“Efficient. You’re quite excellent for a mercenary I could hire cheaply. Sit down. I’ll bring out some food.”

Before pushing through the door, what I had looked forward to most was adding a line to my resume and getting paid, but the moment I entered, what I anticipated most was the food. This restaurant didn’t smell of synthetic food ingredients.

Synthetic ingredients usually give off an unbearably fishy smell. Normal bodies can tolerate it to some extent, and Posthuman Type IV can reduce sensory input to bear it, but it’s impossible to forget.

Being able to enjoy real food in such circumstances is a joy. Real food is vaguely more expensive than synthetic ingredients. It’s not exclusively for the wealthy, but it’s too expensive to eat every day.

After a short wait, I received a sandwich with diced, juicy lamb between thin bread slices, along with tomatoes that smelled quite fresh and several vegetables.

Synthetic meat lacks this juiciness. Terribly so, in many cases. The happiness I felt when taking a big bite and experiencing the juiciness of the meat and the moisture of the vegetables was momentary but profound.

For a mouth accustomed to the regular texture of cultured meat and synthetic vegetables without any chew, such ordinary, perhaps even rough and irregular food was one of the best compensations.

The only problem was that it disappeared too quickly. I finished the entire sandwich and wiped my hands in less than a minute. It was somewhat embarrassing. Indulging in crude desires is inefficient.

The client didn’t seem to mind. No, he even burst into laughter. He sat down in the plastic chair across from my table and smiled with just one corner of his mouth.

“I thought a killing machine made by Belwether had leaked into the mercenary industry, but you’re more ordinary than I expected. But looking at your mercenary background, you graduated from a security team training college… why didn’t you join Belwether?”

Since it was something he couldn’t have known about, I didn’t feel offended. I leaned back against the plastic chair and replied while facing him.

I had a few excuses prepared, and now a lie was better than the truth. Though perhaps it wasn’t entirely a lie, as it was something I’d been increasingly feeling since leaving Belwether.

“I’ve lived my whole life at Belwether, and if I worked there too, I felt like I’d never know the world outside that building. Not joining Belwether means I get to eat a sandwich like this, so it’s not bad.”

I feel the same sense of respect here that I felt during night shifts. He nodded briefly and extended his hand first. We shook hands lightly.

“Your performance is excellent, and your character is decent. I’ll call you again if more work comes up. And if you need anything… well, tell me. Not that this old man can do much.”

“It’s not very convincing to call yourself an old man when you’ve replaced all your joints with machinery. And if you’re retired and came here, I should be helping you, not the other way around. Please call me when you need me.”

As I was about to leave with my motorcycle helmet that still had faint traces of wiped blood, I heard a tongue click behind me. Thinking I might have left a gun behind, I turned around, and the client added as if reminding me:

“Be careful when you’re out today. I hear Hollow Creek inquisitors are around. They say Creek escapees naturally came to LA… You know those guys don’t listen to reason. Damn fanatical bastards.”

The fact that he denounces them as fanatics suggests he’s religious himself. He knows they make him look bad by association. The selfless Hollow Creek inquisitors couldn’t be called human.

I should inform Eve about this. Or perhaps she already knows. Should I suggest going to the wasteland until the Creek people leave? Not a great idea.

I could simply thank him, but for some lingering reason, I asked one more thing:

“Where are they supposed to be?”

“Why do you ask?”

I couldn’t answer the question of why. Perhaps I thought observing Creek people might help me understand Eve better. It was my own thought, yet I couldn’t even be sure of it myself.

Fortunately, I was quick at coming up with excuses. I spoke as if the excuse I’d thought of half a second ago was perfectly natural.

“Well, if I’m going to avoid them, I need to know where they are, right?”

The client tapped the counter lightly with his finger and spoke. His expression showed clear suspicion.

“If I tell you their location, you look like someone who’d go straight there rather than avoid them. They’re in front of the Farmers’ building, I hear. Farmers is the company that most readily grants assembly permits.”

Come to think of it, the Zaina campaign site was also in front of Farmers. I thought it was because an employee of that company had set it up, but it seems it was due to their leniency.

After saying goodbye once more, I leave the shop. I get on my bike and ride in the opposite direction of the Farmers’ building, making a loop. I didn’t want to make him worry unnecessarily.

After getting far enough away, I briefly stop my bike and call Eve. The connection doesn’t take long. When the call connects, I hear Eve’s cold voice, as if she’s composed herself.

“What is it, Arthur? It’s as awkward for you to contact me first as it is for me to visit without notice.”

I deliberately lower my voice a bit. After confirming there aren’t many people around, I say:

“I heard that Hollow Creek inquisitors are in the city. I thought you should know… I hope that’s not overstepping?”

“You’re so kind, Arthur. It’s fine. I already knew. I’m observing them, and if you’re okay with spending both your days off with me, could you come? They’re the kind of people who give you chills just by looking at them.”

Is it like observing a spider or bee stuck on the other side of a window? I don’t fully understand the reason, but I’m certain something would happen if Eve and the Hollow Creek inquisitors were put together.

“Ah, yes. I’ll come right away. And don’t worry about me spending my entire holiday with you—I was just doing some personal work this morning when I heard about this from my client. Where are you?”

I follow the address she gave me. Only then do I remember that what I’m riding isn’t mine but borrowed from Tina… but I can recharge it with my own money before returning it.

With these thoughts, I arrive at the cafe and spot Eve in a corner that’s not easily visible from outside. Instead of waving, I enter the cafe, order something moderately ordinary, and head to her table.

Through the holographic foliage used for interior decoration, I can see the Farmers’ building, and in front of it, one person in a white closed reinforced suit and four others. No, they can’t be called people.

Standing on either side with submachine guns are two Adams and two Eves. All blonde. Eve points at them through the holographic foliage with a plastic straw and whispers quietly:

“The one in the middle is the inquisitor, and those guarding him are copies. Inquisitors are almost all Adams. The copies are just ordinary believers, while inquisitors are more obsessed with the cult leader than others.”

She knew Hollow Creek well. In many ways, escaping from a fanatical city where there was no one to trust required thorough knowledge.

The trite saying that knowledge is power becomes desperately relevant in such situations. I quietly observed the front of the Farmers’ building while listening to what she said.

“You hate memories of Hollow Creek so much, yet watching them makes me think you have some kind of plan.”

Eve’s eyes briefly met mine. She seemed to be trying to look deep into my pupils as if verifying whether I was trustworthy. Since they weren’t prosthetic eyes, perhaps she could see.

“I’m going to provoke them so they’ll be driven out of Los Angeles. We’re employees of Belwether’s partner company, and they’re outsiders. Entry conditions are relaxed because they’re both major corporations, but they’re not insiders.”

“Why?”

If she simply didn’t want to see Hollow Creek inquisitors, she had more options. Actively trying to get rid of them wasn’t like Eve.

“They really did come. The Hollow Creek fugitives, I mean. They’ll be leaving soon. Los Angeles is too close to Hollow Creek. But those guys need to believe the fugitives are somewhere here. If they get kicked out over something trivial, they’ll believe Belwether is hiding the fugitives and create friction. Meanwhile, the fugitives can go anywhere.”

The words “Yet you didn’t go anywhere” almost rose to my lips, but I held back. It was a question I wouldn’t get an answer to. It wasn’t good to ask about Hollow Creek times first.

The problem was that Belwether’s situation wasn’t that ideal. Even if what I’d seen was superficial, there was no teamwork between divisions—could we really throw a challenge at such a Belwether?

It was an absurd thought. Belwether would gladly maintain efficiency. Freedom increases efficiency. They would gladly repel Hollow Creek, which tries to interfere with Belwether’s freedom.

If everyone within the Belwether Los Angeles branch thought this way, they might unite against an external enemy. It was quite amusing that a mere mercenary like me was worrying about Belwether.

“The provocation…”

“I need to show my face. I’ve prepared this too. They’ll recognize me with this. Hollow Creek will wait for the prodigal child until their corpse rots and crumbles.”

With that, she showed a long blonde wig from under the table. Did the cult leader who couldn’t perform the miracle of making different people identical settle for dyeing everyone’s hair the same color?

It’s superstitious. Religions have systems, and each person desires their own god with their own desires. But Hollow Creek had no system. There was only the desire of the cult leader. Utterly inefficient.

Inefficiency is abhorrent. The only sin Belwether knew was inefficiency, and the only virtue the Lamb of God knew was efficiency. Inefficiency should be cut out like the rotten part of a fruit.

If what she was trying to do was cut out inefficiency from this Belwether city, I was gladly one of the people who would help.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

Eve quickly shook her head. She opened her mouth as if to explain that what she was about to do was dangerous, then stopped. She paused for about two seconds.

“When you tried to meet with Belwether’s security team leader, what I said suddenly came to mind, so I can’t say no. Just stay by my side so I don’t tremble too much. Don’t get involved in anything dangerous. Understand?”

Eve also knew that I would gladly step forward if danger arose. We knew the answer to that question, and we also knew it wasn’t affirmative. I spoke with a hint of laughter:

“As I said yesterday, you’re carrying my share of responsibility too, aren’t you?”

Eve sighed, but she didn’t seem upset. Hidden behind the holographic foliage with the blonde wig on, Eve was… pretty, but not natural. Her blue hair seemed much better.

She gritted her teeth and then released them, as if the sensation of hair touching her shoulders and back was disgusting. She whispered softly to me:

“Stand up first and offer me your hand. We’ll walk in front of the Farmers’ building, and I’ll make the inquisitor cause a disturbance. Remember one thing: no one dies here today. Got it?”

It was less “don’t die” and more “don’t kill.” She knew very well what performance my Posthuman could deliver. I stood up first, slung my gun bag over my shoulder, and extended my hand to her.

Eve reached out with her prosthetic hand, which looked almost identical to real skin, and took mine. Thanks to the heating function that mimicked body temperature, her hand was warm, but I couldn’t feel a pulse. It was soft silicone, but not flesh.

Holding hands like that, we headed toward the Farmers’ building. It was the only company in this smog-filled city that cared whether the sky was blue or gray. Through the windows, a small garden was visible inside the company.

We didn’t even need to get that close. As soon as the Hollow Creek inquisitor saw Eve’s face, he seemed flustered, gesturing at holographic screens in the air before blocking our path.

It was a closed reinforced suit, white with wood-like finished borders. Like armor, the shoulder blades and all components were cut slightly longer than necessary, making a clanking sound with every movement.

The only part that wasn’t white was the helmet section made of a display, where someone’s face began to appear.

It was the face of an old man who looked much older than the client I met today. The inquisitor probably wasn’t this old man; it seemed like he was watching this place through the display helmet like a video call.

A wrinkled, round face, a mouth pathetically devoid of teeth, and half-bald hair with barely a few strands that showed signs of being gathered as neatly as possible… aging is also inefficient.

Eve’s hand, holding mine, began to tighten. That must be the cult leader’s face. With his mouth closed and eyes shut, he might have looked like a gentle old man, but that face shouted:

“Eve #113764… prodigal child of Hollow Creek! You’ve returned like this to your father’s embrace. I always liked your blonde hair the most. Speak. You’ve come here of your own accord to return to me, haven’t you?”

Calling her “Eve” even in my mind started to seem… horrific. With no teeth, it sounded like something wearing a human shell rather than a proper person.

Nevertheless, my senior knew exactly how to anger the cult leader. She threw off the blonde wig she had worn to attract attention. Revealing her blue hair, she answered with a slightly trembling voice:

“No, absolutely not. Since you don’t seem to understand no matter how many times I say it, I came to tell you once more that I’m never coming back. I want you to stop playing Hollow Creek songs in Belwether’s city and get out.”

The old man beyond the display seemed disappointed by her answer. But chairmen of major corporations don’t stay disappointed for long. They soon start being unreasonable.

“True love sometimes hurts. Bring Eve, inquisitor. The Lord stands by your side. I’ll talk to Belwether, so don’t worry.”

With those words, the display turned off, and his helmet turned white. It would take about a minute for the Farmers’ security team to come out, and about three minutes for Belwether’s assault division to arrive.

The inquisitor, who had finally stopped showing someone else’s face, drew a weapon from behind his back. Even with a closed reinforced suit, it would be enough to withstand for a short time. I tensed my enhanced body.

It was a flamethrower. At the end of the extended nozzle hung a ceremonial incense burner, and attached to it was a small idol in the shape of the cult leader with light flashing from behind, rather than a crucifix. Disgust rose again.

He made the sign of the cross in a strange way—strange even to me who had learned almost nothing about religion—and said:

“Copies, stand by and pray. Eve #113764, I’m arresting you on charges of murdering the founder of the Hollow Creek Church and escaping our New Eden! Fear not. Sin is just a minor blemish that can be erased with administrator privileges. The Lord will surely reprogram you, sister.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at those words that sounded like Hollow Creek doctrine. My senior had said she wanted to cause a disturbance. There’s a very simple way to cause a disturbance: insult them.

“Looks like some Silicon Valley nouveau riche tried to become a cult leader but knew nothing about religion, so he preached with both a scripture and a programming manual open side by side. And until now, you never thought that was strange and believed it wholeheartedly? Huh? I’m starting to understand why Belwether invests in public education. Definitely.”

The inquisitor seemed to have decided to punish my blasphemous, or perhaps obvious, words in a way more barbaric than the flamethrower. People raise their fists when they can’t find words or curses to respond with.

There was a sound of the joints of the closed reinforced suit being pulled, and the powered fist of the suit extended toward me with a motor sound. It wasn’t particularly fast, but I turned my shoulder and took a glancing hit.

Seeing the inquisitor in a closed reinforced suit start attacking a citizen, and a Belwether partner company citizen at that, a Belwether drone began sounding its siren.

Assault and attempted arrest of a Belwether partner company employee is enough to bring the assault division. If it had been just one of the two, the mobile division would have come, and the mobile division arrives more slowly than the assault division. Three minutes left.