Ch.30Work Record #005 – Do Not Let the Witch Live (7)

After that, I spent some time inefficiently. I just lay down on the sofa. After briefly glancing at the door through which my senior had fled, I sighed, having lost all motivation to do anything.

Once again, a voice echoed in my head. We weren’t the only ones in this office. Nadia was here, and though she couldn’t have heard the conversation itself, she must have heard Eve’s bike starting up.

“Nothing… serious happened outside, right?”

She could speak but couldn’t hear. The technology could convert sound into electrical signals directly inserted into the brain, but not the other way around. I got up unsteadily and entered my night duty room.

After lightly tapping the thin wall separating Nadia’s room from mine, I spoke. Even though she said it wasn’t my responsibility, I couldn’t help feeling responsible.

“It’s nothing major. Just, how should I put it? The situation was a bit bad. Can we leave it at that?”

A knocking sound came from inside the wall in response. As I leaned against the wall, I could hear her voice from the other side. Nadia’s voice was still trembling slightly.

It was because she knew about mutant hunters who wore Post-Human Type IV suits with additional visors for hunting abnormally formed mutants. They were often the subject of horror stories.

Overcoming fear is difficult. Is killing monsters also about overcoming fear? I couldn’t tell. It seemed like Nadia had placed her palm against the wall. I could faintly hear her heartbeat through the wall.

It was slightly irregular. Not seriously so, but I briefly wondered if that anxious heartbeat might be part of her abnormal formation.

“If no one does anything, situations just stay bad. I… honestly, I didn’t expect a mercenary in a Post-Human Type IV suit to apologize to me first. That’s why I thought Arthur was… a good person. Eve probably thinks the same. But there are many stories in this world that can’t be told even to good people.”

I let out a small laugh. Through the wall, I could feel that Nadia was also leaning against the same spot as me.

“That’s why I always told my senior that he’s not always a good person. I just kept saying he’s an ordinary person. Did she want to hear something more? I’m not sure.”

“I think every time Eve heard that, she realized how high Arthur’s standards for ‘good people’ are, and it was hard for her. That’s just… what I think. Don’t worry too much.”

Did I have clear standards for what makes a good person? I just wanted to appear as a good person to those I trusted at any given moment. Perhaps my standards had become high because I acted that way.

Blaming others is an easy and sweet method. You don’t have to take responsibility for long, and you can quickly escape guilt. But the situation doesn’t change. Finding my own responsibility was the efficient way to solve it.

I tapped the wall lightly with the side of my head, feeling like I’d just had a vague suspicion confirmed. I spoke in a more comfortable voice.

“That’s an efficient answer. Much more so than lying on the reception sofa wondering where it all went wrong. Oh, where’s Tina? I think she said she wouldn’t leave Nadia alone.”

I changed the subject slightly. I didn’t particularly want to talk about someone else’s darkness all day. Nadia… once again responded with an awkwardly flustered voice, though it wasn’t serious embarrassment.

“She’s sleeping next to me. She often sleeps here because it’s quiet…”

It seemed that even a night watch post could be a place someone called home. The same was true for me right now. I felt like I’d seen something in Valentina beyond her relaxed demeanor and obsession with speed.

With peace of mind, I entered the virtual reality training ground again to continue the training that seemed to be a mix of Belwether Security Team’s mobile and assault courses, probably designed by President Yoon himself.

A gun is a tool for killing people. Security team training is training to kill people. That’s what Belwether always emphasizes. What matters is the purpose. What is worth killing people for?

If you don’t realize the value, you gradually lose motivation, or you surrender to unnecessary guilt. You start to think that the sight of someone being shot to death before your eyes is terrible, but not justified.

Belwether’s answer was simple. One is order. Order protects people. Killing those who disrupt order saves more people, so it can be compared in absolute terms and is a worthwhile endeavor.

The second is duty. The security team’s duty is to protect other employees-citizens. Therefore, shooting and killing threats to employee-citizens’ safety is fulfilling one’s duty, and thus a worthwhile endeavor.

But I wasn’t part of Belwether’s security team now. What is worth killing for a mercenary? It’s doing one’s part in maintaining the precarious order of this city.

More people would be happier without Osgard, without the Battering Rams militia… and without gangs.

I’m still searching for the second reason. If you rely on just one, you can’t move when that one fails. Always create a Plan B. I recalled the lesson from Belwether.

After eight hours of infiltration training, I emerged. There were several missed calls on my phone. It was the contact information of the mercenary I had protected from other mercenary companies while escorting Jack. The last call was from four minutes ago.

I called back immediately. After a couple of rings, a much more cheerful voice than last time answered.

“Hey, Offliner. Were you working? Looks like you pulled off something big in front of Farmers today, so you must be busy. You haven’t forgotten that I owe you a drink, right? I’ll give you the address. My colleagues are here too, so come join us.”

Records can be censored, but memories cannot. I smiled slightly at something even Belwether couldn’t do, and nodded. I forgot I was on the phone.

“I was in the middle of training, so I’ll clean up and come. Know that if you pack up within 30 minutes, I’ll track you down to your company.”

Since it was said with a laugh, I heard laughter in return through the earpiece. A comfortable time. Not enough to forget my senior’s frightened, tearful face.

“We’ll be drinking until dawn, so don’t worry and come. We’re also calling you to network with the 46th official partner company, so don’t doubt our mercenary motives.”

“I think I should be certain rather than doubtful. Anyway, see you soon.”

It was still a conversation that made me feel somewhat better. After washing up adequately, I headed out into the humid night air.

In the hazy streetlight glow and increasingly blurry scenery in the distance, only the downtown area flickered like will-o’-the-wisps in fluorescent colors. I headed toward those ghostly lights.

When you enter them, they cease to be will-o’-the-wisps. They become not so fantastic, not so special, just an ordinary night scene. The bar at the address I received smelled of fried food.

Not chicken, but quail. That seemed more fitting for a place where mercenaries would end their day. After presenting my mercenary license at the entrance and receiving civilian and adult verification, I headed inside.

A mercenary with now-familiar triple concentric circle artificial eyes waved to indicate their location. I waved back and headed to their table. I could see one mercenary still wearing a cast on one arm.

He nudged me with his casted arm, already seeming a bit tipsy. With a leaking laugh, he said:

“You look much better with clothes on. Originally, I was planning to make you pay dearly for breaking my arm… but since you saved Tara, I’m buying you drinks instead. You know it’s not easy to get free drinks after breaking someone’s arm, right?”

With those words, he pushed a glass of synthetic ale toward me with his good arm. I accepted the glass. Synthetic ale was no different from regular beer.

More precisely… if you repeated that to yourself about five times while drinking it, you could self-hypnotize into thinking there wasn’t much difference. Still, it cost less than half the price, so becoming adept at self-hypnosis was the better option.

“So, have you been forgiven by Tara? Or has the punishment already been completed?”

“The latter. I barely talked her out of quitting the company and everything if things continued like this. Our situation was a bit better, but when I told her we were attacked too, she finally calmed down.”

So she was going to sink the whole company. Their attack was probably my fault. They were caught up in it because they were present when I was revived in the Post-Human Type IV suit.

Should I tell them? For now, it was just a suspicion, so it might be better not to say anything. If they tried to take revenge on innocent Belwether, something bigger might happen.

“What about that company?”

At the mention of the company, the mercenary with the cast lightly struck the table with his cast. A heavy sound resonated.

“Once my arm heals, I’m going to raid them and show those bastards what an attack really is. Those sons of bitches… I mean, I’m not a generous guy, but I can let a broken arm slide for a few drinks. But those bastards tried to tear us apart and swallow us whole like we were some gang that needed to be wiped out. Gotta teach them a lesson.”

A normal company would have kept business records, and for emergency operations, they would have kept especially accurate records to prove they were justified. Unless Belwether had classified it, that is.

To blend in naturally, I spoke. I felt a bit guilty about the creeping thought that it was fortunate his arm hadn’t healed yet. But only a bit.

“Call me if you need a gunman. To pay back for the broken arm, and to add another line to my personal request history.”

The mercenary really liked what I said. He immediately extended his beer glass for a toast. When the glasses clinked together, a somewhat clearer sound rang out, and though the synthetic ale didn’t taste good, it was refreshing.

After putting down his glass, he chewed on a quartered, crispy fried quail, bones and all. Quail bones were at least chewable. After chewing and swallowing, he said:

“You’re such a considerate guy. I like it. No, people are all good. The problem is that the beer is damn synthetic ale and the fried stuff is quail, not chicken. After feeding 3.7 billion pre-war humanity, isn’t it about time they made way for something greasier? Huh?”

The slightly intoxicated man looked at the broken pieces of fried quail as he spoke. The mercenary with triple concentric circle artificial eyes sitting across from me showed off her new artificial hand and said:

“You know that we’re the ones who owe him, right? Even though he’s in a Post-Human Type IV suit, he could have broken the neck of a mercenary with just a helmet ten times over, but he only subdued him. And then he came to rescue us just from hearing a message left on an answering machine. So, forget about paying back for the broken arm and take every credit you’re owed. Got it?”

“I’d need to sign a contract to get paid here. And in that contract, I’ll make sure to collect every penny.”

A slightly cunning response seemed appropriate now. She extended a refilled beer glass, and I clinked mine against hers. After taking another big sip, I picked up a piece of fried quail and chewed it, bones and all.

Though less greasy than chicken, there wasn’t much difference in taste. I chewed and swallowed, enjoying the nutty greasiness and the texture of the batter crumbling with the bones—a moment of happiness.

The only thing I hadn’t been satisfied with at Belwether was the joy of eating, and fortunately, I felt like I was reclaiming that joy since leaving.

I won’t remain a Belwether retiree forever. I was already more accustomed to being called Offliner than Shepherd Six.

Still, as long as I lived in Los Angeles, I couldn’t part ways with Belwether. So I needed to find out what the pus inside Belwether was. Whether it was the Human Resources team, the Legal Assassination team… or the Security team.

It would be inefficient not to suspect the Security team just because I belonged to it and had a team leader who trusted me. Everything must be questioned. Belief can come afterward.

Fortunately, meeting these people gave me an opportunity to find where the festering wound of Belwether’s Los Angeles branch began.

Everything eventually connects to a single point. Jaina’s terrorism benefited someone greatly. Someone at the source of Belwether’s wound.

The Security team lost trust, and although they didn’t obtain the Post-Human Type IV suit as planned, they at least bought time for everything else to unfold naturally.

It must be Walter. I just need to find Walter. Whoever he is, I’ll beat him to death with my bare hands. Good memories fade with each recollection, but bad ones only grow more vivid. I remember my hatred again.

I suppress the feeling of fire rising inside me by downing my beer. I sigh, and shift my focus from the revenge I must take back to the immediate drinking party. This scene will fade when I recall it later.

I relaxed my momentarily tense expression and spent the night there. Tomorrow was a workday, so I needed to wash away my anxious feelings to maintain sufficient efficiency. The drinking party really did last until dawn.

Only Tara and I, who could perfectly and quickly break down alcohol thanks to the Post-Human Type IV suit, remained sober, while the other two had collapsed with their faces on the table.

Tara lightly tapped her side with her artificial hand and smiled. She also had a slightly tipsy look on her face.

“This is why I replaced my liver first. Can you help carry these guys to a taxi? Unfortunately, my artificial hand is for everyday use, and I need to pay the bill.”

As she said, I lightly lifted the two by their clothes. Tara whistled softly. The strength of this enhanced body wasn’t something worth watching, but it was still an amusing sight.

After the bill was paid without me spending a penny, I gently pushed the two into a taxi waiting in front of the bar. I watched as Tara forcibly sat them down and got in beside them, and I smiled slightly.

“You’ll have a hard time when you reach the company. Take care. Call me when you want revenge.”

“Of course I will. It’s a chance to show Belwether’s biological weapon to those who tried to crush us by hiring riffraff. Oh, when did you say your day off was?”

After closing the taxi door, I leaned slightly against the window, which was still rolled down. Since it was driverless, there was no driver to make impatient clicking sounds urging me to move away.

“Wednesday and Thursday. Most daytime hours on weekdays are pretty free too… but I probably can’t on days with official business.”

Tara waved her hand in thanks, and the taxi departed. The bustling atmosphere that had kept the nagging feeling in my chest at bay for a few hours—the one caused by my senior’s situation—evaporated just like that.

After checking that the gun in my pocket was secure, I walked back to the office. Despite it being just past midnight, the temperature was over fifteen degrees, the roads were packed, and… faint consecutive gunshots could be heard, suggesting some mercenary company was performing operations nearby.

At least there was no gunfight happening right in front of me or rain falling, so it was quite a nice day for walking back.