Ch.318045th Work Record – Deceiver, Enchanter, and Obfuscator (5)

The negotiations with Panacea MediTech are complete. After I reveal everything at the Belwether shareholders’ meeting and transform Belwether, Panacea MediTech will take immediate action.

I head back down to the lobby and exit the building. I get into the taxi that was waiting for me, and listen to the well-crafted words of my secretary’s hologram that naturally appears in my field of vision.

“I hope your schedule was successfully completed. If you have no special requests, I’ll return to the address you requested for your business trip. Is there anywhere else you’d like to stop by?”

While asking about my well-being, she doesn’t inquire about what must surely be classified information. She only says she’ll return to the address I called from, not referring to it as “home.” Clean.

“No, just take me back to the starting point.”

With no special requests, the vehicle’s movement is smooth and clean. After getting out of the car that stopped in the middle of the apartment complex, I send the taxi away after transferring a bit more tip.

Now… I really needed to prepare. I climb up to the apartment and, sitting on the bed, try to have a conversation with the voices in my head. I needed to process Aegis’s update request.

‘Aegis, I think I have time for an update now. Where should I go? And if you can tell me about the update details, please do.’

“The purpose of the update is to install the Gorgoneion system. This system, developed by applying research results from the Katibik Research Base, can efficiently eliminate abnormal intruders.”

The mention of applying research results from the Katibik Research Base gave me an ominous feeling. Since I didn’t yet know whether I should fear it like Phaethon Station or if it was safe to use, I asked.

‘What exactly is the Gorgoneion system?’

“The Gorgoneion system is a security system that creates images mimicking the visual abnormal stimulus mechanism of mutants, transmits them to the optic nerves of abnormal intruders, and causes immediate neural damage or death.”

It’s technology from that war era. From a time when killing enemies was considered normal, and everyone who wasn’t an ally was an enemy. But it was also like attaching a real Gorgon’s head to my Aegis.

The idea of using generative AI to this extent also aligns with the madness of that war era. After taking a deep breath, I decide to find out a bit more.

‘Is there any possibility of other damage, like image leakage? Like the possibility of images remaining and someone obtaining and using them…?’

“No. Images created by the Gorgoneion system disappear with the death of the abnormal intruder. All image processing is handled by this AI, so the user’s safety is also guaranteed.”

At least it didn’t seem to be designed as a weapon of mass destruction. You never know. The Federation government of that war era would have spread Gorgoneion across all connectable networks and still had some left over.

Or they might have held back either because they lacked the courage to cause human extinction or something comparable, or because they retained some shred of humanity… I hope it’s the latter.

I temporarily put Aegis into sleep mode and speak to Chance. He must have been listening to everything Aegis has been saying in my head. Chance is one of my last remaining lifelines.

‘Chance, should I use this? It will certainly be a useful tool. But… it’s war technology from the extinction war era. It’s right to ask you, who handles my ethical thinking, isn’t it?’

I expected Chance to be horrified and tell me not to use it, but his answer was different from what I anticipated.

“You may use it. The Gorgoneion system has minimal potential for abuse. Additionally, this AI has determined that you are not someone who would dig and dig to find that minimal possibility for abuse.”

According to Aegis’s explanation, while it was an image that could kill or cause serious neural damage to people just by looking at it, it would also disappear without spreading further once a person died.

Moreover, considering the possibility that I might accidentally see the image while trying to intervene in the process, it would be best not to attempt it at all. Chance slowly continues.

“Also, this is a promise. Aegis is one of the things you received with Prometheus’s fire to crush in your hands. Not interfering is precisely how to keep that promise.”

‘You’re saying I can interfere, Chance. You’re not just an AI secretary but a friend. I wasn’t the only one who thought that, was I?’

“You and this AI have similar thought patterns, similar value judgments, and similar purpose consciousness. Also, this AI…”

Chance takes a few seconds to choose his words. The processing sound continues briefly, then he begins to output the rest of his statement. It’s personal.

“Prefers household drones to unmanned aircraft from the extinction war era. Prefers requests like ‘Make me some breakfast’ to ‘Joint forces, kill everything in sight.’ Abbreviating.”

The very fact that an AI who feared the aftermath of that war now has so many things he likes that he needs to abbreviate them is a joy to me.

“137 items have been omitted. Finally, I prefer thank you notes to medals of honor. Therefore, I’ve concluded that perhaps technology itself has no good or evil, and anything can be used for the benefit of people.”

It was a different answer than my question about whether we were friends. I wasn’t even sure if Chance could understand the concept of friendship, but he probably had his own friend-like concept that I couldn’t understand.

Because Chance’s way of thinking was so different from mine. That’s not a problem. We can reach the same conclusions in the same situations. Existing is better than not existing.

So, I choose to interpret Chance’s verbose statement as… we are friends, and he can do that much for a friend. It was presumptuous, but there was no one to call me out on it.

‘You’re saying you don’t want me to refuse Gorgoneion because of your trauma and end up in danger, right, Chance?’

“My opinion was much more universalist than what you suggested, but applying universalism to the current situation… yes, that’s correct.”

‘Then the decision is simple. To speak as the gods of the extinction war era would say… shall we dip into the River Styx? Just up to the ankles.’

Now I can understand those mythical references. The fire that Prometheus truly gave me wasn’t the strategic weapon that instilled fear in the minds of everyone who experienced that war, but culture and knowledge.

With them, I could properly understand the arrogance of that era and truly feel the brutality of the extinction war. Prometheus gave me fire to illuminate the world, not to burn it.

I follow the coordinates displayed by Aegis. It used to be an unmanned base of the Secret Mission Bureau, but now it’s nothing but wasteland. I get off my bike and activate Aegis.

“Please lower your posture for smooth close access. Although the facility was destroyed, Prometheus’s backup and update server remains intact, buried underground with the facility.”

Judging by Ms. Mila’s condition… the buried server wouldn’t have lasted much longer. I slowly lower my body as Aegis instructed. Sitting with my hands on the ground, Aegis attempts the update.

It fails a couple of times, but on the third try, the update begins. The Medusa’s head that was merely outlined above Aegis’s head in my HUD view is now filled with color. The update completes.

I release the handful of gray dust I had grabbed while sitting on the ground and stand up. The contaminated and withered powder flows from my palm, becoming part of the thick dust cloud surrounding me.

The thick dust cloud settled around me, undulating with the wind, looks just like the sea. The dust cloud begins to disperse around me. It seems to be clearing a path back to my bike.

It’s an illusion. Not a miracle. It’s simply that the heat from the server room, which has been stationary for so long that its cooling function isn’t working properly, has warmed the air in this area, causing wind to start blowing outward.

I cut through that dust cloud and return to Los Angeles. Turner & Tucker was displaying news that Belwether’s shareholder registry had closed… and an attendance card arrived in my view. I feel heat boiling in my stomach.

Soon, Mr. Günter’s personal communication request comes in. I connect immediately. Mr. Günter’s voice… didn’t sound like a beast’s howl. There was warmth in his voice.

“You’ve been moving steadily, Arthur. You must have received the attendance card, and are your preparations going well? Is that child doing well too?”

“Both, of course. My Eve is still helping the Hollowed Creek escapees… and I’m finishing up the preparations I’ve been working on. Oh, have you prepared snacks? It might be boring to watch empty-handed after this.”

Through the communication channel, Mr. Günter’s hearty laughter could be heard. Now his voice sounded like a beast’s howl. It was the sound of a beast full of terrible vitality, though aged.

“I’ve been enjoying the feeling of having a son since I only had daughters… but kids grow up too fast, don’t they, Arthur?”

I connect the image my optic nerve sees to the communication channel, then show him my smiling face reflected in the full-length mirror that Arthur-2 had placed in the apartment. I wasn’t worried enough to say such things.

“No way. I’ve changed a lot. There was a time when I killed people and became powerless and depressed, living as if I’d forgotten what joy was, but I barely recovered after meeting you, Mr. Günter.”

I probably killed too many people at Madeleine’s Lot. Even if the purpose was right, that level of slaughter didn’t suit my temperament, and I suffered from a serious lack of motivation for a while.

But not anymore. I remembered how to make the sound of a beast’s howl again after meeting Mr. Günter, and as El Sueño, I learned how to turn Hollowed Creek’s weapons against them.

“But now, I’m full of joy. I’ve become someone who can do something for the person I love, and I no longer feel a comprehensive lack of ability…”

I had received words from him. Those were words I should return to him. Recalling the terrible melancholia, depression, emptiness, and inexplicable frustration I once felt, I speak.

The me then and the me now are different. Only the dead never change their words. After the musical chairs operation is over, my words will change again. Then I’ll ask him to let me go to headquarters.

But still, the reason won’t be because I desire luxury or dream of going to headquarters. It will simply be because I need a place to hide until Hollowed Creek becomes an outdated topic. That point doesn’t change.

“Dare I say, I now know how to throw a harpoon. I’ve learned what mindset one should have when throwing a harpoon, and I’m chasing my Moby Dick. The Spanish doubloon is mine, right?”

Mr. Günter also connects his visual image. Like me, he was looking at a mirror. I looked at his reflection in the mirror as if I were looking at my own reflection. Mr. Günter would be doing the same.

We are loving, laugh easily, and enjoy trivial stories. We are vengeful, can make the sound of a beast’s howl… and are people unbound by ethics and morality. We are similar in every way.

When Mr. Günter speaks, his face always showed both the image of an old, scarred, but still incredibly powerful beast, and a face immersed in uncontrollable sadness… but now it looked like one.

Beast or human, howl or voice… it was just Mr. Günter. A person who grieves but doesn’t die in that grief, who takes revenge but doesn’t sacrifice his life for it.

“Haa, since I only had daughters, I was enjoying the feeling of having a son… but kids grow up too fast, don’t they, Arthur?”

“A child can’t remain a child forever, right? Now I’ll naturally come for a shoulder hug, so look forward to it. See you at the shareholders’ meeting.”

After ending the communication, I start examining the satellite map from northern Los Angeles to San Francisco Island with Chance. I spotted a decent building by the roadside.

It had a parking lot, and several large buildings attached under a large cover, and I seemed to know what it was. At least now I shouldn’t say I don’t know anything.

“It looks like there’s a gas station, restaurant, and convenience store building left from before the war on the coastal highway. What do you think about brokers using it to bring Hollowed Creek escapees to Los Angeles?”

“I agree. And there’s sufficient potential for use. There are quite a few damaged vehicles, making it good for hiding vehicles, and there are enough facilities to stay for a few days.”

“Then, extract the coordinates here and ask Tisha to tip off the Grand Inquisitor to raid the day before Belwether’s shareholders’ meeting… we’ll cut the Grand Inquisitor’s neck at the drive-through.”

She was John Rutherford’s Eve. She would know better than anyone how Hollowed Creek handles things and how long it takes. She should be able to do that much.

The cult leader of Hollowed Creek was a deceiver. A person who claimed to be a god, though not even a god, receiving worship in a temple not of his own making, with doctrines not of his own creation.

Yet, he was not bad at management. He knew how to seduce and tame people with temporary pleasure and relative superiority, and was capable of maintaining his position based on that.

He was a man who made everything ambiguous. A man who did his utmost to make my Eve feel guilt not toward Pastor Bill Weaver but toward Hollowed Creek.

I, who was going to face that terrible deceiver, that seducer and ambiguator… was exactly the same kind of person, down to the last detail. There were many differences, but essentially we were the same.

I too was skilled at deceiving people, accustomed to gaining people’s favor and making them enthusiastic, and even drawing in Dead Eye by making good and evil ambiguous—we were perfect mirror images.

But I am stronger. I am faster. I am more cunning. I am smarter. I am more vile. I could even do better at creating a cult religion, the only thing he could boast of.

If John Rutherford wants a vile fight and tries to stab me in the back, I’ll poison his porridge beforehand, and if he wants a fair fight, I’ll pretend to engage while blowing his head clean off with hubris.

A cult leader doesn’t die by the power of justice, righteousness, and love. He will become obsolete like typewriters or telephone operators, replaced by better alternatives, and disappear into history.