Ch.29005 Work Record – Do Not Let the Witch Live (6)

The servo-motor powered limbs and reinforced joints of the closed-type power armor left no exposed parts, making it difficult to find a place to stab a knife into.

True to its name, being a completely isolated space from the outside, it was immune to gas attacks and had superior combat endurance compared to regular acolytes. Even more so than post-humans without power armor and implants.

The only similarity was in strength. The heavy power armor driven by servo-motors and a body with muscle fibers and tendons completely replaced by Belwether research team’s masterpiece could exert almost identical force.

Normal power armor includes various safety features to protect the user. An enhanced body allows one to focus on performance rather than safety features. They were trying to use such muscles for hand-to-hand combat.

Fortunately, that inquisitor’s closed-type power armor had one fatal flaw. That helmet couldn’t see forward. Whether they thought of themselves as a messenger or not, it had a display showing the cult leader’s face.

Inside, they would have to view the outside through cameras. For such a purpose, it would be easier to overlay the leader’s face over their own with a hologram rather than covering the front with a display, but they must have considered that sacrilegious.

The price for such inefficiency was steep. The inquisitor seemed puzzled that I didn’t even stagger despite clearly being hit by their power armor fist. They output their voice through a speaker.

“That woman is a witch! She infiltrated the prophet’s home in the wasteland where he was living peacefully, shot him dead from behind, and is certainly a mutant with seductive abilities! Has a Belwether affiliate employee forgotten even Belwether’s principles? Don’t let a witch live. You must have heard this before.”

I openly mocked those words. After gently pushing my senior back, I prepared to charge. I was going to kill this one. It’s better to be kind to people. Only to people.

“Mutants can only send signals that disrupt the nervous system through various sensory organs. But what? Seductive abilities?”

I charged at the inquisitor who thought we would continue arguing, pushing off the ground. I jumped lightly. Gravity didn’t hold me back. I grabbed his head and struck the display-covered helmet hard.

“Then it seems I’ve been using my ‘ability to make you feel like shit’ until now, and now I’m starting to use my ‘ability to make your face sting.’ Before shouting ‘witch!’ or ‘magic!’ when you don’t understand something, maybe you should learn a bit…”

The uniformly white display was about half shattered, barely flickering white. He shook his head as if he couldn’t see properly. When you don’t know which one is the camera, just smash them all.

Despite being pushed back a step, the copyists with submachine guns were kneeling and praying as ordered by the inquisitor. A crowd was starting to gather.

It’s not common to see a Hollow Creek inquisitor getting beaten. It’s not an unpleasant sight either. Most people want to see such a scene.

“It’s more efficient this way. In Los Angeles, you follow Belwether’s rules. The rule that says efficient things are right, and inefficient things are wrong.”

I stepped on the nozzle of the flamethrower the inquisitor was trying to pick up. I completely crushed it, twisting the end. Unless he wanted to show himself being flambéed on the spot, he wouldn’t be able to pull the trigger.

The flamethrower itself was disturbingly inefficient as a weapon. It was only effective against opponents who were ambushed and couldn’t neutralize the flamethrower operator.

It wasn’t for combat. It was a weapon suitable for burning lambs who didn’t want to go home. Taking another step forward, I struck him with my fist this time. He fell backward.

Now only about a third of the display barely flickered. The inquisitor who had boldly told his copyists to keep praying now turned his head toward them, seemingly trying to call them.

I lightly struck both sides of his neck, smashing the speakers. A Post-Human Type IV wasn’t strong enough to destroy a closed-type power armor, but it was strong enough to smash externally protruding devices.

He pounded the ground with his hands as if calling the copyists, but they remained focused on prayer. Even the laypeople were among the most fanatical zealots I had seen.

As I lightly placed one knee on his chest and mounted him, he drew the Hollow Creek standard dagger from his waist, sized for the power armor’s hand, making it look like a one-handed sword. He tried to pierce my head horizontally.

I reached out and grabbed his wrist. I gently gripped and removed his fingers one by one from the dagger. I looked down at him with the dagger in my hand. I struck the remaining display with the dagger handle, completely blocking his vision.

I didn’t sympathize with his condition of only being able to see the world through the auxiliary camera on his chest. It was inefficient and unnecessary. Instead, I raised the dagger high.

I showed everyone around how the inquisitor was squirming on the ground, crossing his hands in an X to somehow cover his face. I hadn’t forgotten my promise to my senior.

I stabbed the dagger next to his head. A heavy feeling of air settling down began. And then, I watched as closed-type power armors with green face shields for anti-mutant operations descended.

It was the Assault Team. The elite of the security team. My Post-Human Type IV could match the inquisitor in strength, but it would be impossible to fight the Assault Team 1 with their Post-Human Type III and appropriate power armor.

Fortunately, there was no need for that. I gave a brief Belwether-style salute to the Assault Team member who had descended with his gun pointed at the ground. He identified himself first.

“Belwether Los Angeles Branch Security Team Assault Team 1, Mastiff One. Report the situation. Arthur Murphy, general employee of Nightwatch Mercenary Agency.”

“On my day off, I was spending time with a colleague from the same company when a Hollow Creek inquisitor tried to make an unauthorized arrest, so I resisted and subdued him non-lethally. Is there any problem?”

A small laugh came from the Assault Team leader’s speaker. It was mockery, but not directed at me. It was aimed at the inquisitor who had been subdued by an unarmed mercenary.

“No, no problem. And, Hollow Creek inquisitor. Investigation of criminal records of Belwether affiliate employees is Belwether’s authority. In LA, the right to arrest criminals in the city is an exclusive right shared by LAPD, Belwether, and Fitts & Morrison. Do you understand? Ah. Right. The helmet is the problem.”

Knowing that I had cleanly destroyed the cameras and speakers, the Assault Team leader raised the inquisitor and grabbed his helmet… and lightly tore it off. Something I couldn’t do.

“Your ears should be fine. Answer what I just said.”

Finally given a chance to defend himself, the inquisitor who hastily opened his mouth had a rather ordinary appearance. He was just a somewhat frail-looking blond man. A face that reminded me of Jack.

With a large bruise on his cheek, hair sticking to his face with cold sweat, and one prosthetic eye slightly sparking, he resembled Jack.

“The, the prophet said he would contact Belwether…”

“The branch manager refused. The reason was that allowing another major corporation’s security team to conduct arrest operations within Belwether territory would create a long-term inefficiency.”

That efficiency freak does his job well when it matters. Was his uncompromising attitude toward me also good work? I couldn’t be sure, but getting buried in old memories was certainly not good.

“And while we were coming to inform you of that refusal, you assaulted our affiliate employee. Well… you hit him at least once. Maybe our affiliate employee took the hit so he could call a Mastiff instead of a Border Collie.”

Some laughter leaked from the surrounding crowd. My senior couldn’t laugh. She was just barely exhaling with relief.

The Assault Team leader pushed a holographic document to the inquisitor. It was probably an expulsion order. This was also one of the powers shared between Belwether, Fitts & Morrison, and the City of LA.

“The content is long, but to summarize briefly, it means don’t ruin the healthy and efficient relationship between Hollow Creek and Belwether, and please go back now. Don’t think about causing trouble here. What did the Farmers’ cleaning team do to deserve this?”

He was now without even his helmet. If he couldn’t subdue a single Post-Human Type IV, even the stupidest human could deduce what would happen if he fought twelve members of Assault Team 1.

The inquisitor got into the van parked on the roadside and left. The commotion disappeared, leaving only quietness. The Assault Team boarded their helicopter and returned to the Belwether building… and a reporter started running toward us.

With a drone cam floating beside her, she ran into an area where power armor and enhanced humans had just been fighting, not wearing even a single layer of bulletproof vest for easier running. She was one of those reporters obsessed with scoops.

A woman with round, large smart glasses that clearly showed document editing already in progress. With short, straight black hair and artificial eyes… but the camera lenses instead of pupils were too obviously visible.

Kindly speaking, she was a war correspondent. Unkindly speaking, she was one of those maniacs who would run behind cover during a gunfight to try to get an interview. There weren’t many sane people in this city.

“Hello! The fastest reporting! The most accurate reporting! Rachel Liu, reporter from Daily Los Angeles! You were just fighting with a Hollow Creek inquisitor, could I have an interview…?”

Her words paused momentarily, and a large X appeared on her smart glasses. Media control. It seemed she could report on the incident but not who was involved.

“Ah, Belwether, these damn bastards! It’s blocked. Blocked. A reporting ban has been issued. A man in his 20s affiliated with Belwether… that’s not allowed either?! A male affiliated with Belwether! Knocked down a Hollow Creek inquisitor! That’s allowed. Ah, just go. If I can’t get an interview, there’s not much to hope for anyway.”

It didn’t take even half a second for her attitude to become rude. All these vultures felt the same. There weren’t many times when valuing a scoop more than one’s life seemed like journalistic integrity.

I left the place with my senior. The spectators who saw their footage being censored in real-time quickly lost interest. Still, if they had heard my report, they might know my affiliation and name.

Should I have given the inquisitor some credits as an advertising fee? With that idle thought, I returned to the cafe and got on my bike. After a brief exchange of “See you at the office,” we headed in different directions.

Although Belwether had issued reporting guidelines, major media corporations often ignored such directives, so it was better to be cautious. I took a roundabout route to the office. It was relatively quiet there.

Only after getting off the bike did I remember I hadn’t charged it. I rubbed my face with my palm and went up the stairs to the office. My senior was waiting.

I decided not to mention the bike. The sofa in the reception room, changed by the interior design company, was firm in both leather and cushion, probably because it was new. My senior, sitting in the corner of that sofa, lightly patted the seat beside her.

Although it felt like I had become a dog that followed her every gesture, I followed her motion and sat beside her. Naturally, her head leaned against my shoulder again. This time I could feel her heartbeat.

She tried to hold back her laughter for a moment, then spoke. The laughter wasn’t deep. It seemed like she was trying to lighten the mood before saying something else.

“It was funny. The inquisitor was a symbol of terror in Hollow Creek, but I never thought he would be crushed so easily in a direct physical fight. But…”

There was a brief silence. It lasted a little over ten seconds. About eleven seconds. It wasn’t complete silence; I could hear my senior fidgeting with her lips. She seemed to be choosing her words.

Or maybe she was preparing herself. Preparing to speak about something she feared more than facing the Hollow Creek inquisitor directly.

After that ambiguous silence passed, she finally chose her words and spoke again in a small voice.

“Didn’t you care about the crime the inquisitor shouted? Just… curious. As always.”

“It’s not a crime to seek freedom. Just like it’s not a crime for Helen, who was 7436, to live normally somewhere in this city.”

She shook her head while resting it on my shoulder. Turning her body, she lightly leaned against my arm and looked up at me. Our gazes were close. Her heartbeat was now once every three and a half seconds.

“I don’t think that’s a crime either. Not that, but shooting the prophet dead. You heard it too, right?”

The prophet… probably the person who started that fanaticism in Hollow Creek. If she met him while trying to escape from the shackles of that fanaticism, she would have had no choice but to shoot.

It’s not a crime to choose the worst option in a situation where there is no choice. Just like it’s not a crime that I received this copycat enhanced body. Or maybe that’s what I wanted to believe.

“I think it’s okay as long as it wasn’t running away to avoid punishment after killing someone. I cause several deaths every time I do my job, don’t I? Wasn’t it like that?”

This morning, five people died. If I hadn’t listened to Eve, I might have killed the Hollow Creek inquisitor in front of Farmers. Stabbing the dagger into the ground was an act of mercy.

My senior lowered her gaze and head, shaking it. She kept shaking her head for a long, very long time.

“It’s not like that. It’s not that I killed that person and escaped to avoid punishment. Anyway, anyway, it’s not. Just, it’s my fault. Yeah. It seems too early. I can’t speak. Is that okay?”

This is rock bottom. It seemed like the reason she hated killing, yet lived as a mercenary who had to face killing, all stemmed from this foundation. The door to the basement remained firmly closed.

But my senior leaning on my shoulder was trembling. It was the first time I’d seen her this vulnerable. As I tried to place my hand on her head to calm her, she convulsively knocked my hand away.

It didn’t seem like a conscious action. Flustered, she shook her head, but couldn’t find words to say as she gasped for breath. The closeness that had been established now distanced again.

“I’m s-sorry. Arthur. Just, no. I’m scared. If I stay like this any longer, I think I’ll regret it. Yeah. I-I’ll go now. See you tomorrow…”

It didn’t seem like something that would improve in a day, but rather something that hadn’t improved at all since escaping from Hollow Creek until now… but there was no other option than to let her go.

I came from Belwether, but all I learned was how to become a Belwether employee. She hated Hollow Creek, but she learned how to become a person there.

We were trying. I didn’t report Nadia against Belwether’s principles, and she started telling me stories about when she lived as Eve in Hollow Creek.

I hope this is just trial and error, not deterioration or festering. Through the office window, I heard the sound of her bike hastily crossing the road.