Ch.298Work Record No. 042 – Beast Wearing the Skin of God (2)

Without warning, the members of Los Soñadores gang began chanting El Sueño’s name. What started as cheers soon transformed into something that sounded like an intoxicated, religious incantation.

So this is how fanaticism, dictatorship, and cult leadership are born so easily. I had certainly done the job El Pastor entrusted me with well, but I never imagined it would go this far.

I don’t always make the right decisions. I don’t always have perfect, concise answers to everyone else’s problems. I repeat words to myself that might bring my floating feet back to the ground.

For now, La Roca and El Pastor were still making their own judgments, so I wasn’t completely manipulating all of Los Soñadores in the palm of my hand, but even they wouldn’t last long.

At some point, La Roca had stopped wearing her usual cynical expression. I could see the deep admiration in her eyes when she looked at me. People don’t bother trying to understand the objects of their admiration.

I’ll miss the La Roca who fiercely tried to find evidence that El Sueño was human, as she had been doing until now. But I had no intention of taking back my move and showing her my face.

I revealed myself as an ordinary person to the Witch of the Wasteland only because there was no other way. If there had been another option, I would have taken it. I don’t want to increase my gambles unnecessarily.

And religion breeds misfortune in two cases: when it becomes completely uncontrollable, and when it becomes perfectly controllable. I desire neither.

If I convinced La Roca that I was an ordinary person, I would be able to control her completely.

At this point, with her faith so deep, I could proudly reveal my humanity without her feeling betrayed. No, she probably already knows and feels sorry for me.

Rather, thinking that I revealed my identity to her would add human affection to her religious devotion, turning it into personal worship. Then I could keep her perfectly under control.

I already had El Pastor following my words like commandments; I couldn’t let La Roca become the same. She needed to remain a believer but not a fanatic. Ambiguity sometimes becomes the highest good.

To the crowd still shouting my name at the top of their lungs, I made the gesture of tapping my chest twice—what had now become our own version of “amen”—before disappearing into the optical camouflage.

I arrived at my office, which had originally been the lab director’s room, and removed my enhancement suit where no one could see. A god might not need to eat or drink, but a human must.

El Pastor thought I hadn’t eaten anything for over ten days since I appeared, but that was just deception.

I was managing hydration with the moisture collection and reprocessing device attached to my enhancement suit, and for meals, I was simply consuming high-calorie packs every three days, just like when I worked in Belwether’s security division.

As for sleep… I was getting four hours a day, split into one-hour segments. This would become problematic if continued long-term, but it should be fine for two or three months. My body was used to functioning on just two or three hours of sleep per day anyway.

Still, the fabricated image of a god who neither sleeps nor dozes, eats nor drinks, was enough to inspire. All these manufactured inhuman qualities and the brainwashing techniques of the image injector were producing believers.

After briefly feeling unprocessed air, I put my enhancement suit back on just as I heard La Roca knocking. Instead of telling her to come in, I concealed myself with optical camouflage, approached the door, and opened it for her.

She entered with a slightly flushed face and looked around my office. Slowly, believing and certain that I was somewhere inside… she closed the door and whispered:

“I know you’re here, El Sueño. I hope you called me because I’m a useful apostle to you. I’m different from El Pastor. I’m not a fanatic.”

She boasted about this fact as if it were something to be proud of. I slowly reached out, placed my hand on her head, tousled her hair, and spoke in a gentle voice. With La Roca, I needed to speak like a human.

“Cynicism has vacated its place, only to be filled with arrogance, La Roca. But yes, that’s the reason. I’ll need your insight when planning to devour the wasteland.”

At my words, La Roca made an expression like a returned child being praised by Belwether. It was the face one would make toward a benefactor who had given them life, a bright smile blooming instead of cynicism.

“As expected. Then, there’s something I want to ask. Do you have the ability to visit every gang in the wasteland and annihilate them one by one?”

“Doubt not. But piling up mountains of corpses would only satisfy the City of Sin and Decadence. I will convert them. Perhaps even Los Payasos.”

La Roca nodded vigorously. She was still rational and reasonable enough to understand exactly why I had said mercy could be granted.

“I never doubted you. I just wanted confirmation. And if that’s the case… it might be better to use a direct show of force. Leading a crusade army straight across the wasteland.”

It would certainly make a strong impression. The black markets and villages converting to El Sueño’s faith as his footsteps reached them, growing the El Sueño cult, would put significant pressure on the Las Vegas Strip.

But it wasn’t a perfect method. I started hearing Chance’s voice in my head. While Chance could get emotional about matters related to the extinction war, in all other cases, he was always a perfect advisor.

“It would be easier to expand influence, but the risks would increase simultaneously. The reason the Strip can’t touch you right now is because they don’t know your location. If they could pinpoint your exact position…”

It would also make it easier for them to attack. No matter how powerful the Las Vegas Strip is, it’s still a mega-corporation. No matter how sealed my enhancement suit is, if they start deploying resources, my options become limited.

For now, I needed to hear both opinions. In my head, I spoke to Chance in English while simultaneously asking La Roca in Mexican Spanish. This level of multitasking wasn’t difficult for me.

‘What do you think about dividing into smaller groups and starting with the smaller gangs’ strongholds? Now that we’ve replenished our forces, we should be able to handle gang hunters with that number.’

“Didn’t I tell you? I am merely one who connects streams, not one who creates rivers. What if we divide the crusade army and scatter them in multiple directions simultaneously, Paulina?”

Chance’s answer came first. Being an AI from a homeland defense drone during the war, he was certainly better than La Roca in this regard.

“I assess this method has mixed advantages and disadvantages. It would make it difficult for enemies to use the simple method of eliminating El Sueño to remove the central figure, but dividing forces is always a bad move unless well-planned.”

That was true. Numbers themselves carried power. Even though the Special Operations Division could tear apart humans easily, they didn’t achieve legendary results during the Belwether coup.

Even the Security Division, armed with rifles and with a low modification ratio, could find ways to capture Special Ops with volley fire and thermobaric grenades if they had enough numbers. And my gang members weren’t even Special Ops.

Soon La Roca’s answer followed. Her response was much more positive than Chance’s. Probably because she was convinced I possessed abilities befitting a god.

“Then picking them off one by one… Oh! Right, since they don’t know where El Sueño is, it would be hard for them to send forces to pick us off easily. And those bastards, five or six organizations gathered together looking out for their own interests, won’t be able to coordinate either.”

The Las Vegas Strip had two security teams. The largest was the security team responsible for city security, while the gang hunters who hunted gangs in the wasteland were affiliated with the personnel team.

I wasn’t sure how many personnel the HR team could request from the security team to deal with El Sueño’s crusade army, but it certainly wouldn’t be many. The security team wouldn’t want to weaken their own position.

Instead, they would wait for the HR team’s gang hunters to be torn apart by El Sueño, then try to take over the wasteland gang management duties themselves. More responsibilities meant more voice in decisions.

The Las Vegas Strip survives through a considerable level of cooperation. That was true, but it contained not agreements and negotiations for cooperation, but only desperation for survival.

Various organizations were entangled haphazardly, focusing only on their areas of expertise—this wasn’t the Strip’s ideal but a survival strategy they had no choice but to adopt.

Naturally, there would be internal power struggles, which meant efficient troop deployment like Belwether’s would be impossible. Dividing forces didn’t seem like such a bad move after all.

But now I couldn’t just think about tactical issues. The image injector that had helped me gain the loyalty and faith of Los Soñadores was now creating a problem.

“But no matter how good a tactic it might be… Los Soñadores would prefer one large crusade army. Because, you know? That’s exactly the vision you showed them.”

But this much could be overcome with rhetoric. I reassured the anxious La Roca once more.

“That prophecy will be fulfilled. Just not yet. Instead of sweeping through like a swollen river, Los Soñadores will flow into every valley and every crevice, bringing life back to the Mojave.”

Comparing uncritical faith in El Sueño to life… it might be right for them, but it didn’t seem quite right to me.

What was mythology to them was a collection of desperate struggles to me. I could only see the crude aspects of everything, while they could only see the shining aspects.

But… I won’t deny it. Los Soñadores no longer sells drugs. They’re using the money they’ve made so far as funds for the temple, but drugs no longer give them enough joy.

Narcotic pleasures always come with side effects that hit when the pleasure ends, but the sensation of being guided toward the future doesn’t have that. Either way, it’s somewhat of a good thing.

La Roca wrote down what I said in her notebook, just as El Pastor would do. Her eyes were shining. She had become much more energetic than when she believed herself to be an outcast of this sewer of an era.

“Instead of sweeping away like a river, spreading into every valley and every crevice like a stream… Good. I’ll tell El Pastor to add these words to the book. The others need to hear this too.”

“Is that all you have to tell my children?”

At my comment, delivered like correcting a child who had missed the point, La Roca let out a small laugh. Someone who couldn’t laugh learning to laugh… that’s definitely a good thing.

“Don’t worry, don’t worry. I’ll also tell them about dividing forces to go into the wasteland. I think maybe five or six people with one of those fanatics who stay by El Pastor’s side each should be enough, what do you think?”

Los Soñadores, with around eighty members, was one of the larger gangs. Most of what filled this wasteland were groups of five to ten people that could barely be called gangs.

Among these dogs, only about half could hold guns and fight, while the other half were scavengers, errand boys, and mediocre wasteland technicians. The average skill level of the so-called combat forces was also low.

In contrast, the forces I had received from the Witch of the Wasteland were all proper personnel who had been responsible for wasteland reconnaissance in organized groups—the most capable among the wasteland groups.

We had brought in sufficient equipment through the cash alchemist, created a central focus through the El Sueño faith, and I could join them if necessary… it didn’t seem like a bad move.

“I assess this is a reasonable judgment. For small factions, joining Los Soñadores’ ranks is an attractive enough proposition. There won’t be many occasions requiring life-or-death battles.”

‘Any additional concerns?’

“Los Payasos. Not because they’re the largest gang in this wasteland, but because their behavior patterns are difficult to predict. I request that you review this as well.”

Los Payasos… the Clowns. Murder artists. They were notorious for indiscriminately attacking people entering the wasteland, but their purpose seemed to be solely enjoying their murder art.

Because… they never touch people directly escorted by the Strip. They rarely engage in gunfights, focusing all their efforts on kidnapping people to use as materials.

But their very existence benefits the Las Vegas Strip. Because of them, people use the Strip’s exorbitantly expensive wasteland escort services.

To unite the entire wasteland, we would eventually have to deal with Los Payasos too. I stroked La Roca, who was looking at me with a child-like expression seeking praise.

“You’re truly perceptive, Paulina. Go to the others with the words only you have heard and tell them so. Ah, try not to make El Pastor too jealous. Understood?”

“That would never happen, El Sueño. El Pastor is a priest, and I’m a mercenary. I wouldn’t provoke jealousy by suggesting I receive more of your love than him… there’s no rivalry like that.”

Afterward, with my enhancement suit still hidden by optical camouflage, I discussed Los Payasos a bit more with Chance. Looking at their behavior patterns, they meticulously avoided fighting against the strong.

If Los Soñadores grew large enough, they might become strong enough not to be attacked by them… but that still left me feeling uneasy.

There was a possibility that Los Payasos were dogs released by the Las Vegas Strip. Making money by rescuing people from threats they themselves created seemed like something they would do.