Ch.314Work Record No. 045 – The Deceiver, the Enchanter, and the One Who Creates Ambiguity (1)

After that, I spent several days resting with my Eve. Eve usually worked nights anyway, and I wasn’t exactly overcome with a thirst for blood every night.

Today is an exception. I had planned to spend enough time with my Eve before starting the chair-stealing operation, but as luck would have it, Eve was called in for morning duty. Los Angeles isn’t particularly beautiful when wandering alone.

Still, if I must go out, I’ll gladly walk all day through this city steeped in the remnants of smog and acid rain. I head toward the Hive. Naturally making my way to the underground shopping area, I walk toward a place I couldn’t visit last time.

It was one of the few weapon shops in this city that made cold weapons. A place that made truly ordinary cold weapons, without even high-frequency functions. The pure human owner glances at me and says:

“We don’t sell guns here.”

Ah, it’s been a while since I’ve been treated like an immature twenty-three-year-old mercenary. With a natural smile on my face, I look at him and speak. My voice is relaxed. So is my mind.

“But you seem to sell harpoons. Weight doesn’t matter, but I want a genuine harpoon with a real edge.”

“What do you need that for? Are you going to harpoon-fish the unmanned drones still circling around in the blackened Pacific?”

The Pacific has been thoroughly polluted. That’s why they say it will take twenty years for Farmers Corp to hunt and purify it with all their might.

Despite his gruff response, I met him with a good-natured smile. I deliver what isn’t a joke as if it were one.

“I’m going to catch a whale. The old-fashioned way, a really big one.”

“Are you on something?”

“If I were, I wouldn’t have made it to the Hive, would I? So, is it possible or not?”

The weapon craftsman lets out a hollow laugh but nods. It meant it was possible.

“If you’re okay buying from someone whose skills have rusted from just making props for G-Enter guys. This could be interesting…”

He spoke with eyes that occasionally sparkled like some older people do when they reminisce about fragments of experience from their youth.

He said it would be fun, and that settled it. After sending him a short-range connection request… I transferred an amount of credits that was too much for a single harpoon, but dirt cheap for the price of John Rutherford’s life.

However, seeing that amount, the weapon craftsman stared at me with sharp eyes. He seemed to deduce the nature of my smoothness and relaxed demeanor differently.

“So it’s a second or third-generation corporate aristocrat trying to hunt a person with a harpoon? You must know this isn’t nearly enough. Tell me. Are you buying a harpoon to kill someone?”

There was nothing to deny. I wouldn’t say my revenge is proper, but it was certainly justified. Once again, I whispered to him leisurely.

“That’s right. I’m buying it to kill someone. That bastard took away the life of someone I love, so I’m going to take his life in return. You won’t be implicated in any crime.”

The pure human weapon craftsman who had been quietly listening to me nodded slightly as if that was all he needed. He didn’t need to know the details, and with an expression suggesting he wanted to make weapons again after a long time, he said:

“Fine. Fine. If you were some lunatic planning mass murder, you’d buy a used submachine gun, not a harpoon. I’ll believe you. More or less. Where should I contact you?”

With a brief gesture, I sent my contact information to his net access terminal. Not the Boogeyman’s, just twenty-three-year-old Arthur Murphy’s.

Enjoying that pleasant feeling, I go up to the Hive’s bar and order a whiskey with synthetic honey when a long-distance communication request comes in. They really don’t give me time to rest.

Though I’m seeing it for the first time, the contact isn’t unfamiliar. Bill gave it to me. It’s the contact information of the Inquisitor who felt guilty about destroying the unmanned posts that were lifelines for escapees in the name of his “God.”

One of the things I asked Bill right after returning was to leave my contact information so that man, whose guilt I had only been poking at until now, could contact me.

I didn’t need to prepare to act. The way of speaking as El Sueño and winning people’s hearts began to come back to me like remembering a native language I hadn’t used for a long time.

I connect the call. Through the communication, I heard the voice of a fragile man. The voice of someone who just wanted to live happily, in a slightly higher position, better off than others.

Had he been born in another city, he would have become an elite, but born as an Adam in Hollowwood Creek, he became an Inquisitor. It’s tragic. I decide to think of it as a tragedy that will soon be resolved.

He willingly pretended to be strong. He doesn’t look strong. His is the voice of an individual who has ceased to be an individual, who must borrow the authority of others because nothing of his own remains.

“You filthy deceiver who causes disbelief and makes people flee from paradise. Seducer. Obfuscator… Why did you leave your contact information here?”

He listed my essence ridiculously simply. But at the same time, he believed in his heart that this couldn’t possibly be my essence. So what does he believe is my essence? It was the same as when I was El Sueño.

“Wouldn’t the master of paradise naturally leave a door open for return? Even if children are young and foolish enough to leave his embrace, shouldn’t he be waiting to embrace the returning prodigal son? What have you done?”

I strike directly at the source of his guilt. Even if I ease up a bit later, right now I needed to completely constrict his breathing. I need to make him breathe only the air I provide.

He tried to avoid the pain. Unable to think of removing the thorn in his foot, he was about to give up walking, believing that having a thorn stuck was inevitable. Not bad.

“I… I just followed orders. The First Adam just wants to teach his beloved children a lesson so they never leave his embrace again…”

“Has the First Adam ever ordered you to show mercy and save a prodigal son? Has even one prodigal son ever been saved after realizing the lesson before completely escaping or turning to dust in the wasteland?”

He fell silent. After letting him fully experience his self-justification being exhumed from the grave and desecrated, I stab once more at his guilt, now exposed as soft bare flesh after his rationalization crumbled.

Until now I had spoken like El Sueño, but this time I spoke like twenty-three-year-old Arthur Murphy. I make him feel like I’m speaking person to person, not as someone stronger or superior.

“You knew the orders were wrong, didn’t you? Yet you still followed them. For the freedom and treatment that even an entry-level employee at another megacorporation could enjoy. Right? Isn’t that so?”

“I, well… No, no. I’m just as much as those people…”

“As much as what? Suffering? Experiencing unfreedom? That’s not true. Besides the Inquisitors, who else in the wasteland has the freedom to talk to outsiders like this?”

Finally, he gives up. Of course he’s suffering too, and his pain might be separate from the pain of other Adams and Eves… but I make it seem like it’s not separate. I make it look like it’s his fault for whimpering.

“So what, am I fucking supposed to die? I called looking for help, and all I hear is…”

Only after hearing him plead for relief do I start to speak in a comfortable voice. I make an effort to build some human rapport.

“I can’t help someone who doesn’t know what the problem is. Now that you know the problem… you can get help. Don’t you have something distinctive? I can’t keep calling you Adam.”

“How could I? I’m just an ordinary Adam from Hollowwood Creek. Well… I was a good shot. That’s why I became an Inquisitor, only for the First Adam to order me to burn people with a flamethrower.”

It was time to repair some of the self-esteem I had just demolished with my own hands. There’s a saying about giving medicine after causing illness, but people tend to remember only the medicine given at the end.

“Good, Dead Eye. That’s your callsign from now on. It suits you perfectly, right? Good with a gun, and right now talking like someone with dead eyes. So, don’t you want to change something?”

“Dead Eye… Ha. What could I possibly change? I’m just another cog in this damn Hollowwood Creek. Whatever I do, I’ll just end up dead.”

Still, he didn’t seem to dislike having his own name. Individuality makes a person human. For him, this is something he’s experiencing for the first time today.

What should I say? Bill definitely had him read the Bible. I pull out a verse from that book, which I had memorized entirely to understand Hollowwood Creek, and naturally incorporate it into my speech.

“Was Rahab, who helped bring down Jericho, such a great person? You just need to let down a rope. I’m not asking you to betray your comrades. You said it yourself, killing Inquisitors won’t change the Creek.”

That means I won’t kill the Inquisitors. And there was only one way to change Hollowwood Creek without killing a single Inquisitor. I hear Dead Eye swallow.

“Damn, are you serious? Do you think this is some neighborhood pharmacy? Hollowwood Creek is a megacorporation too. Talking about harming the First Adam so casually…”

“Should I fear a First Adam who doesn’t even know you’re making these calls? Besides, that power armor you’re wearing… it’s not even Hollowwood Creek’s own product, is it?”

Mr. Günter has already shown what can be done with in-house products. But Hollowwood Creek isn’t a company with that technology. It was originally a religious community, with John’s cult overlaid on top.

Then our Mr. John Rutherford cannot demonstrate that perfect control. In this age, only those who built the world with their own hands deserve to play God. John doesn’t qualify.

And as usual, the unqualified and free-riders must be slaughtered. I will gladly do so. I whisper slowly to Dead Eye. I speak with increasing speed.

Now I quoted Hollowwood Creek’s doctrine, which seemed like an awkward mix of programming language and scripture. Knowledge is power. Especially in situations like this.

“I’ve seen what a real megacorporation chairman does. The entire city is in his eye, and he can kill someone with just a glance, without needing to gesture or speak. That’s what you call administrator privileges.”

Hearing this, Dead Eye mumbles, unable to speak properly. Now it was time to give him hope. Hope so sweet that it blurs the line between good and evil.

“That guy doesn’t even have such administrator privileges. I’m just trying to kill that unqualified person. If I can just accomplish that, do you know what you could become, Dead Eye? You said you’re good with guns, right?”

“Well… decent enough. Just, one of the best in the Inquisition. Not that there’s much need for shooting…”

“Here, that’s not just a parlor trick. Here, it’s a practical skill. Here, you can earn your living with it. You can be free without stepping on others, and you won’t be gripped by guilt when you rest.”

Now what I previously called “freedom that even an entry-level employee could enjoy” takes on a different meaning. It becomes something very light and simple that he can obtain just by cooperating with me.

People are weak at the moment when they can turn something that made them feel guilty into a source of pride. If I dig deep into that weakness of the heart, he will become an important asset.

“Sweet offer, but… why are you making such a good offer to me? First you condemn me as a sinner, and now… wait, you actually can’t infiltrate Hollowwood Creek without me, can you?”

Dead Eye seems smarter than I thought. Or perhaps he’s been endlessly turning over in his mind where my weakness might be, in order to escape his guilt.

At that, I downed my whiskey with synthetic honey, pushed my glass to the bartender to refill it, and burst out laughing. I decided to admit only half of it.

“You’re right. But also wrong. I could get into Hollowwood Creek without you. But I’d have to kill a lot of Adams and Eves. I don’t want that. I want to get in without killing anyone, with your help.”

“What are you, anyway? No, who are you? What should I call you?”

“Ahab. I can’t tell you for certain, but I’m good enough to know which unmanned posts you’ll patrol and leave a Bible with my contact information at your destination in advance. Is that enough for you to believe?”

Dead Eye made a grunt as if he wasn’t sure, but he answered anyway. He seemed to be considering whether having that level of intelligence capability was easy or difficult.

“Alright, fine. Ahab. If that’s really the way to escape this guilt… I guess I could help that much. What if this is all bluster, and I get called in by the First Adam tomorrow?”

“Then curse him out. Tell him how much trouble I’ve caused you. You know now how unremarkable he is, don’t you, Dead Eye?”

Dead Eye finally laughed, somewhat comfortably at my words. He could laugh a bit more easily now that he realized all the things he had feared were quite trivial.

“Yeah… I guess I’ll have to, damn it. Ending the call. I’ll contact you again, probably.”

Now our collaborator friend has a name. And it seems I’ve developed a habit of drinking too much. The new bartender at the Hive knew very well who I was. We’d often crossed paths in the Ruins.

Turning off the noise canceller, he approaches to refill my glass and asks leisurely. What am I to him? A Callsign Gardener series unfolding before his eyes? Probably something like that.

“When you’re on a call with that expression, sir, it makes me nervous. What’s the matter this time?”

I playfully pretend to take his eyes before shaking my head. It means I can’t tell him what’s going on.

“What’s with the ‘sir’? You know I’m only twenty-three. And it was just talk about trivial matters. As for my happy expression… let’s say it’s because I’m a workaholic?”

“Thanks to you, I’m tending bar here instead of collecting scrap in the Ruins, so I should call you ‘sir,’ shouldn’t I? And… let’s go with that. If that’s what you want to say, who am I to comment?”

Perhaps I should change bars next time. I absolutely detest being treated like a big shot, except when my Eve teases me. Still… for today, I could enjoy his transformation.