Ch.296Work Record #041 – Irresistible (9)

I had thought the Witch of the Wasteland might be an Ideaformer, but I hadn’t remotely guessed she’d be an Ideaformer old enough to mention the Khatybik Research Base. My mistake.

Someone who has lived since that era might recognize the technology of this exosuit I’m using. After all, Fitz & Morrison Company has been Fitz & Morrison since before that war.

Moreover, Fitz & Morrison specialized in optics. If someone were to create the first closed exosuit with optical camouflage, it would naturally be assumed to be Fitz & Morrison.

That’s why I revealed my identity. As if I had no prejudice against mutants, I gave her alone a glimpse of who I am. Something that neither Bellwether nor Fitz & Morrison mercenaries would ever do.

Right now, I can control the Witch of the Wasteland through fear, but I need to make my origins as ambiguous as possible with this misinformation in case that changes.

Besides, the Witch of the Wasteland wasn’t someone who needed to be controlled in the name of a god. Looking at what she’s built here, she seemed like someone I could talk to as one person to another.

All she did after finding that hidden bunker from the war era was to bring gang members who she deemed sufficiently foolish—those obviously destined to die as cannon fodder—and let them live peacefully.

That’s why my apology was about two-thirds genuine. Until now, I’ve only encountered people I didn’t mind getting caught up in the Mojave Desert’s turmoil, but that won’t always be the case.

Yet to reach the best outcome, I had to keep wearing El Sueño’s mask. That mask is extremely useful. It eliminates the need for me to explain my words.

But at the same time, I had to prove myself at every moment. I had to package myself as something divine that mutant abilities couldn’t affect. I stand on that edge of fatigue and precariousness.

A person standing on a precipice supported by a single rope feels not fear but the wind and swaying. Fear is felt only by those already falling. I choose to enjoy it.

I came with prior research, but I needed to remind myself that the information I brought wasn’t perfect. I enter El Sueño’s exosuit again in front of her. I put it on.

I never thought I’d envy El Pastor. Someone who can simply believe wholeheartedly must have peace of mind. Much more than someone who has to scheme behind the scenes. I speak with the voice of a god again.

“So, you want help killing the Las Vegas Strip. Los Soñadores needs manpower immediately. How many people are currently staying here?”

She didn’t seem bothered that I suddenly started speaking arrogantly. Now that she sees me as an ordinary person wearing a mask for a purpose, her hostility must have softened somewhat.

“Fifty-three, all scouts from various wasteland organizations, so their skills should be decent. But… to do that—no, never mind. Follow me. It’s better if you see for yourself.”

She led me back to the living quarters of the bunker. She climbed down the ladder, and I jumped down before her. I made no sound when landing on the floor.

We head toward the place created by the Witch of the Wasteland. In the desolate bunker interior, I see a lobby where she’s grown vine plants and installed hydroponic facilities in the center, somehow allowing greenery to establish a small presence.

And in that lobby, there were children looking up at the hydroponic facility. The proportion of normal children was close to 20%… no, 30%. The rest were all children born with some form of deformity.

I didn’t want to think about how many children had been “returned” despite being born without incubators in the pleasure-filled Las Vegas Strip.

As always, even one would be too many… but here, there were at least thirty children. There were definitely fewer children than gang members collected by the Witch of the Wasteland.

Each child had one former gang member attending to them, yet some gang members were wandering around without assigned children. The fifty-three here are too many.

If I’m going to propose taking all or most of these fifty-three people and offering replacement personnel, I could propose a somewhat smaller number.

“We need people to take care of the children too. We bring in as many abandoned wasteland children as we can reach, but you’ll need to guarantee enough personnel to continue that work, won’t you?”

Fortunately, I had the right to mobilize Los Soñadores personnel. Thanks to El Pastor delegating all authority to me. I count numbers in my head. Just sending errand runners would be insufficient.

The remaining personnel in Los Soñadores right now were about twenty errand runners, and the rest were makeshift technicians, laborers, and handymen. I couldn’t simply mobilize the laborers and technicians.

They could handle the incubators and such in the building we were using as a hideout, but they were somewhat haphazard, causing frequent breakdowns. That building was obviously from the war era, and beside me stood someone from that time.

The threads of thought naturally connected. As soon as I realized I could weave them together, I crafted my words and conveyed them to the Witch of the Wasteland. There was a way to send more personnel with a reasonable justification.

“Twenty errand runners, plus fifteen technicians and laborers. In exchange, could you teach the technicians and laborers how to use and repair pre-war incubators and such?”

“That’s no difficulty. You’d hope they’d use it to survive, but… I know it’s hard to expect that much in the wasteland.”

I didn’t need to match the fifty-three people here one by one exactly. The Witch of the Wasteland didn’t want a specific number of people, but people who could care for the children.

The fear in the Witch’s eyes had receded somewhat. Now I needed to appear not as an object of reverence, but as someone who could truly unite this wasteland and kill the Las Vegas Strip.

“The errand runners will mostly be injured too. But well… while healing their bodies, doing good work here wouldn’t be a bad thing. With that many, I can provide all my personnel. Are you confident you won’t waste them?”

“They will see a god and an army. If there are both a god and an army, will people’s eyes focus on the army, Elicia?”

The Witch of the Wasteland muttered quietly, “You play the role of god remarkably well,” then shook her head, though the question hadn’t really required an answer.

“Those guys will be interested in you, El Sueño. They’ll try to gather even the tiniest bits of information. Still, you can’t stop all the bullets. And it seems only your exosuit can become invisible.”

Until now, we’d been engaged in practical number games, but now the Witch of the Wasteland was trying to repay me for the humanity I’d shown. The things you can gain by showing humanity are very small.

For example… something like a pre-war metamaterial waterproof camouflage sheet. It was literally just a transparent piece of fabric. Fortunately, it at least makes whatever it covers transparent too.

But even using this carried its own risks. My current exosuit could mimic even the surrounding airflow to hide my body, but this was simply a transparent piece of cloth.

The natural thing I was doing now—walking away hidden from sight—would become somewhat more difficult. Moreover, with my hearing, I could even hear the sound of this cloth rubbing.

The woman who handed me the cloth looked up at the empty space where I stood and whispered quietly.

The Witch of the Wasteland was an ordinary person. She knew how to wear the masks of those she feared, and she would become frightened, afraid, or servile.

And like all other ordinary people in this high-speed era, she too had a small vision. It wasn’t clear, nor was it a vision that would excite many people… but that was enough.

“Honestly… I don’t know which company you’re from. It doesn’t make sense no matter which one I think of. Still, at least it’s better for whatever company hired you to take over than for criminal organization dregs to control Las Vegas.”

It seems revealing my identity wasn’t a completely wrong move. Imagine that—a non-military company making optical camouflage exosuits being more believable than military companies accepting Ideaformers.

She pulled out a shotgun with a barrel completely twisted by brute force, then threw it into a waste bin. She continued speaking.

“And I was about to shoot you dead thinking you were trying to establish another Hollowed Creek in this already troubled desert… but now I see that’s clearly not the case. So… I can bet on you.”

“You’re saying you’ll entrust this to me because your abilities are insufficient?”

It wasn’t what I wanted to say, but it could sufficiently convey my meaning, so the form of the words wasn’t particularly important.

“Yes, I lack imagination. I use most of my imagination for being afraid. I’ve become an old woman who needs to bet on someone young enough not to need that fear. I believe in you, El Sueño.”

It wasn’t a declaration of faith but of trust, yet she emphasized only that final phrase. El Pastor interpreted those words not as trust but as faith.

“Even the Witch of the Wasteland has accepted El Sueño as a god! Enjoyment and pleasure are spreading throughout the wasteland like a spring that has already burst forth!”

He seems to have created his own slogan by now, but I felt I should object once. Unlike before when I was using a god’s voice but speaking human words, I turned on the Calliope module and shouted.

I didn’t increase the output too severely since it would reach the children. With the output just high enough to make my whole body tremble, I shouted lightly. The lobby, which already had good acoustics, resonated loudly with my voice.

“The Witch of the Wasteland has not converted, my little shepherd. She already knew joy! She knew how to enjoy life as a human being. Do I appear to you as one who bursts forth springs from dry land?”

“I saw it clearly! I remember how you burst forth the spring of faith in the withering Los Soñadores!”

Now I had to deny his words without actually denying them. I needed to refute those words while not confusing my greatest believer. Fortunately, I’ve always been good with words.

The lobby looked as if the center of a multi-story building had been hollowed out to create a common space, and we were above. I stomped heavily on the ground where I stood to make it resonate, then shouted.

“To me, you were already springs gushing with water. You were merely stagnating and rotting because you didn’t know the direction or path. I simply plant dreams, connect waterways, and shorten paths.”

My role name meant “dream.” Dreams resemble the North Star. No matter how far we walk, we cannot cross into the dream world, but we strive to create in reality the world we’ve seen in dreams. I borrow those words.

“Walk the path I have cultivated for yourselves. If you cannot see the path, look to the dream you received from me. Use it as your guide. The dream of Las Vegas becoming a city of joy and enjoyment, not depravity!”

They had already forgotten why they needed to restore Las Vegas as a city of joy. Not because it had tried to kill them at every turn, but because I wanted it.

While El Pastor was shouting, only La Roca seemed to notice that subtle dissonance, but after looking around, she too shouted what I had proclaimed, with an expression of compromise. Once is the beginning.

El Sueño magically recruited the Witch of the Wasteland with just minutes of conversation, so they could cheer once. His words have always led to good results, so they could follow once more. Everything starts with once.

As those “onces” accumulate, what was inside them washes away, gradually replaced by something else. Is this how Hollowed Creek corrupted? I understand a little more each time.

Is El Sueño leading Los Soñadores in the right direction? Am I just creating a small, crude, degraded version of Hollowed Creek? I pause my momentum and think.

I will destroy Las Vegas and leave. Afterward, they will ruminate on my words, not my idol. Perhaps someday they might create dreams for themselves.

Since I won’t be staying permanently, I’m at least slightly better than the cult leader of Hollowed Creek.

It’s still not enough. Right now, I’ve simply revived Los Soñadores from the brink of death. The tedious gang hunting must continue, and at the end, I must kill Los Payasos too.

During that time, I’ll need to bestow much mercy. To chill the hearts of the Las Vegas Strip, I needed piles of people more than piles of corpses.

From the beginning, simply hunting gangs would only be doing the Las Vegas Strip’s work for them. I must make maximum use of the mercy I can bestow while wearing this divine skin.

And because of my strategic decision to reveal my identity… I might be able to visit the Witch of the Wasteland occasionally for more trivial conversations.

Could I talk a bit about the Extinction War? Perhaps I could learn more about the Phaethon Station that I can operate.

Even without pouring the flames of the old era onto Hollowed Creek, at least confirming what I hold in my hands wouldn’t be a bad thing.

The pull… doesn’t feel as strong as before. Is it because I now know how exhausting it is to play god? Or because I’ve started learning about the events of that war era?

The technology was certainly brilliant, but that arrogant era ended because of its own arrogance. People of that era also struggled to find solutions, but the Extinction War era suffered from cultural lag even more than the present.

In an era when humans could cause human extinction, fear and despair were rampant—how much worse must it have been in an age when people could exterminate others as easily as wiping away dust?

So people chose narcotic arrogance for survival and stability. Rather than living in fear, they chose to become as arrogant as if they were gods.

Using relics from the Extinction War era is merely borrowing something left behind by that struggle. I won’t reawaken long-dormant evil spirits. Probably. No, somewhat certainly.