Ch.37007 Work Record – Hostile Takeover (3)

If the people of Bellwether were fanatical about efficiency, the Market Keepers were fanatical about the free market. Libertarian crusaders, Paretians, walking weapons testing grounds—these were all their nicknames.

When such extremism becomes excessive, one might call them lunatics, but when they’re too extreme even to be called lunatics, they’re called Market Keepers. Compared to them, Bellwether people seemed quite human and emotional.

I climbed into the van to return to the office. When a job felt truly finished, even the van’s seat felt comfortable, but since this job wasn’t completely over yet, I didn’t fully recline.

I hadn’t even removed my mask and ballistic face shield when I noticed the senior colleague sitting beside me staring intently at me. When I turned to meet her gaze, she quietly looked away.

Was it because I was still in my work attire? I removed my helmet, loosened the ballistic mask, and took off my face covering. The humid, slightly cool air against my face felt quite pleasant.

My senior colleague perked up her ears at the rustling sounds but said nothing more. I should have held her gaze, filled with what might have been curiosity, displeasure, or some other indecipherable emotion.

When we arrived at the office and exited the van, someone was already waiting for us at the office door up the stairs. A woman who would probably be about my height without her exosuit, but who appeared as tall as Volla because of it.

She had neatly arranged dark blonde hair and emotionless blue eyes. The UI visible within her eyes indicated they were prosthetics, but they were of such exceptional quality that they looked like real eyes.

She noticed my gaze lingering on her eyes and retracted the UI that had been visible in them. Just from the performance of her cybernetics, I could easily guess who she was. Naturally, she had to be a Market Keeper.

Beyond the cybernetic performance, the exosuit she wore—black with gold trim but otherwise unadorned, simultaneously elegant and modest—was what Market Keepers typically wore.

The Market Keeper, who had been silent while looking at me, saluted Director Yoon with a clean posture. Her movements were smooth yet mechanical, as if servo motor sounds might be heard at any moment.

“Money must flow. Markets must be free. I am Louisa Lindemann of Market Keepers. I was told you would provide information necessary for my assignment. Do you require a verification process?”

Even Stephanet spoke more humanly than this. Starting with the organization’s creed before speaking was also reminiscent of Stephanet. But she wasn’t an android. Despite everything, she was human.

Director Yoon, straightening her back in response to the eerie feeling people typically experience when facing a Market Keeper, replied:

“I think we’ll need a moment. We just confirmed one location before coming straight here. Kay, please go in and show her.”

The Market Keeper left a simple “Thank you” and entered the reception room with Kay. Her eyes moved independently, selecting hologram windows that Kay had displayed. Then her eyes synchronized again.

It seemed that even Bellwether, which had insisted on handling only one dissatisfied shareholder at a time for regular mercenary companies, was assigning multiple cases simultaneously to Market Keepers.

Market Keepers had no loyalty. Just as a program outputs coded messages not out of loyalty, Market Keepers performed their duties simply because they were duties.

This was where Bellwether and Market Keepers differed. Bellwether utilized company loyalty, devotion, and camaraderie, while Market Keepers considered all use of emotion inefficient.

That’s not to say they had no emotions. Well… one could form such a hypothesis. An uncertain hypothesis. Probably a false one… People didn’t believe Market Keepers had emotions.

I’d heard they chemically erased all emotions. Whether this was just a rumor or the truth, I couldn’t tell. Perhaps it was just a distasteful joke.

Having finished reviewing the information, the Market Keeper immediately stood up and spoke. She had only sat down because the hologram generator projected images too low.

“Thank you for the quality information. I have confirmed six dissatisfied shareholders. Their combined stake is 8.59%. Please select up to two employees to observe. I was informed that would be the compensation for providing information. I will also provide eye-prosthetic recording footage to other staff members. Have you made your selection?”

“Ah, yes. I have. Ms. Volla and Ms. Kay. Since the Market Keeper’s primary role is similar to Ms. Volla’s direct combat, and her electronic warfare capabilities are incomparable to most IT specialists, I’d like these two to observe the Market Keeper’s operational methods firsthand.”

Neither Volla nor Kay objected. Volla actually seemed pleased at the prospect of observing the most mechanized people in the world up close.

The Market Keeper ceremoniously shook hands with both of them before putting on her helmet. She added one more crisp statement:

“I will also borrow your driver. I will pay 3,000 credits per hour. The objective is to transport dissatisfied shareholders to the Bellwether headquarters, and risk factors are assessed to be minor.”

With that, Tina went along too. Only Director Yoon, who wore a satisfied expression at having secured another job, Enzo, who couldn’t bring himself to look at the Market Keeper, my senior colleague, and I remained at the company.

My senior colleague… had a dumbfounded expression. Even after the Market Keeper had left with the three, she stared at the door for a long while before turning to me. With comically rounded eyes, she asked:

“What… was that? An android?”

I hadn’t expected to witness such complete ignorance of the world outside Hollow Creek again so soon. Suppressing a smile that threatened to emerge, I replied:

“Um… no, just a very average Market Keeper. That’s how they are. The most emotionless people in the world, but also the most exceptional. They’re a bit creepy… but they’re an organization created by megacorporations to keep each other in check. When one starts acting irrationally and things begin to go awry, they send in this execution squad.”

Without checks and balances, whether megacorporations or nations, everything in the world corrupts. And megacorporations wanted to avoid corruption and make money forever. So they created this regulatory body.

No nation would stop megacorporations from holding knives to their own throats, and some even supported the creation of Market Keepers. That’s how these people came to be.

Of course, they wouldn’t have been seen in Hollow Creek. Hollow Creek’s inefficiency didn’t harm the market. It only harmed people. And Market Keepers didn’t care about that at all.

My senior colleague seemed to reach the same conclusion, pulling her legs up to hug her knees while sitting on the sofa. She quietly said:

“That’s awful. I was going to say that, but thinking more about it… I can imagine how much people would curse them for not saving them or their friends, and I don’t want to say it anymore. I especially don’t want to because I can picture them just staring blankly and saying, ‘That’s not our purpose.’ You know what I mean?”

A Market Keeper would indeed do exactly that. I didn’t hold back my laughter as I replied:

“Absolutely.”

A brief silence followed. Soon, the hologram projector Kay had left behind began transmitting video and audio from the Market Keeper’s perspective. It was a live feed.

She was looking at the exterior of a building. Several windows appeared and disappeared in her vision. While identifying a mercenary company based on a mercenary leaning against a window, she was simultaneously simulating the internal structure.

After precisely one and a half seconds of observation, the Market Keeper spoke. It meant she was about to engage in combat. Intuitively sensing that someone was about to die, my senior colleague turned away.

“Target confirmed. I will correct market failure.”

A wire extended from the left arm of her exosuit. It was a sturdy piece of equipment. The hook at the end of the wire pierced through the window… and into the back of the mercenary who had been leaning against it. The scream was muted.

The wire retracted. The window, structurally compromised by the hole, broke easily. After violently pulling the mercenary from the third-floor window toward the ground, she retrieved the wire. The Market Keeper drew a revolver.

It was a collaboration between Fitts & Morrison and Bellwether. An ergonomic grip, appropriate weight, and enough power to pierce an exosuit with a single shot. A collaboration in the best sense.

She fired one shot at the mercenary who lay impaled on the ground, showing no vital signs. The gun barrel immediately rose. She aimed at another mercenary who had poked his head out the window to see what was happening. She pulled the trigger. That mercenary fell.

And then, the Market Keeper… flew. More precisely, she appeared to fly. Whether it was a Posthuman Type IV or something better, a collaboration of various companies, her body combined with the force-assist device made it look that way.

Mercenaries trying to block the door against the attacker came into view, but the dissatisfied shareholder was nowhere to be seen. Instead, behind them was what looked like a panic room resembling a vault. Her gaze swept over the panic room.

Other mercenaries opened fire, but the bullets that rained down on the Market Keeper’s exosuit ricocheted randomly, creating marks on the walls, floor, and ceiling. This was a moment when she could simply overwhelm them with superior performance.

Even amid the hail of bullets, she quietly tapped the building’s wall. The sound wasn’t very loud, suggesting the wall wasn’t as thick as expected. Thinking her revolver would penetrate it, she holstered the weapon.

With a slight flick of her right arm, a blade emerged from the side of her exosuit arm, vibrating so rapidly that it appeared to ripple slowly. It was something typically used as a tool.

She stabbed. Twisted, and then sliced through. These three mechanical movements were repeated. When one of the last two mercenaries tried to flee, she pierced his back, and she slashed the one who stood still last.

The area in front of the panic room, which had been guarded by eight men, was cleared that easily. The Market Keeper approached the panic room with the utility blade still extended. Those inside would be able to see outside. Cursedly so.

She first pierced the metal door, which was resilient and difficult to cut, then created a long gash with the high-frequency blade. The blast-proof interior material began to fly into the room as it was torn by the blade. It looked like snow.

After creating a large crack in the door, she projected her voice through it. Though she spoke through her mouth using a speaker, it sounded like an output.

“Mr. William Knight. Bellwether has prohibited your termination. They have not prohibited causing some damage to reduce you to a state where only decision-making is possible. If you will not open the door, I will enter.”

That dissatisfied shareholder chose to open the door rather than face the horrific prospect of having his head severed and placed in a preservation tank, forced to make decisions in that state. My neck tingled uncomfortably. I had experienced that.

In just one hour and thirty minutes, that Market Keeper traveled across the city, capturing six dissatisfied shareholders and handing them over to Bellwether. Five who had disarmed peacefully as instructed were seated, but one who hadn’t was contained.

When your head is severed, you cannot speak. The vocal cords still try to form words, but with no breath passing through them, no sound emerges—only the mouth moves silently. My hand tensed. I felt warmth on the back of my hand.

It was my senior colleague, who knew how I had died. At that sensation, I slowly relaxed my hand. I suppressed the incomparable hatred that had been directed at the Market Keeper for showing this sight instead of the monstrosity I couldn’t find.

It was a matter to be resolved. Killing that monstrosity and severing its head as had been done to me might make me feel slightly better. It would also be a final courtesy to that monstrosity that had once been human.

Such thoughts subsided somewhat while my senior colleague’s hand rested on the back of mine. I considered postponing for another day. I hadn’t measured efficiency. I exhaled slowly.

Only after hearing my breath return to normal did my senior colleague lean against me again. Her body was worryingly light. The result of minimal modifications.

“It’s about to overflow, isn’t it? Hmm? Working too much isn’t good either. Don’t take personal requests on holidays, Arthur. Rest a bit. Usually, the body can’t handle it, but you’re the problem because your body can.”

I had never felt unable to get out of bed. I could always get up. I was always in condition to work, always efficient.

Not performing at peak efficiency was a signal to rest. At Bellwether, I could rest on such days. But my body, regrown in a cultivation tank, had forgotten even how to become tired.

Though her voice was cold, her words were kind, so I nodded after turning off the hologram screen. It was true that I had been too focused on work.

“That’s not what you meant by ‘irresponsibly robust body,’ is it?”

“From now on, let’s say it includes this meaning too. Should we go get lunch? The whale will swim just fine without us.”

Referring to megacorporations as whales seems to be a universal practice. For shrimp like us, that is. After reporting to the Director, I put on a raincoat over my casual clothes and left the company building.

Today’s rain actually felt like water. Even with a Posthuman Type IV nose, the smell was detectable only with concentration, and the downpour that had been obscuring visibility earlier had somewhat subsided by lunchtime.

It seems this week will have less rain. In July or August, it sometimes rained for an entire month straight, or didn’t rain at all for a month. Typical LA weather.

This time, we had a destination in mind. We headed to the client’s shop in an apartment complex within walking distance from the company. The shop door was, of course, open.

But the interior had changed somewhat. The biggest change was that a sharp-edged harpoon now hung on the previously bare wall, along with several photos of the shop owner spearfishing.

Fishing… and ocean spearfishing at that… It was a hobby suitable for someone who had retired from Bellwether long ago. He might have seen the clean Pacific Ocean.

While I was looking at those photos, the client walked out. I still didn’t know his name. The apron draped over his body, enhanced with all sorts of cybernetic implants, looked oddly out of place.

“So it’s true that treating service workers kindly can double your money. Metzgerhund, what’s your order?”

My senior colleague always left ordering to me. So I ordered the same two sandwiches as last time. The client looked us both up and down and said:

“I guess you asked about the Inquisitor last time because of that Creek woman, eh, Metzgerhund? I heard she even knocked someone down.”

My senior colleague, immediately exposed as being from Hollow Creek, quietly closed her mouth. She knew that raising her voice here would only confirm her Creek origins. The client let out a hearty laugh.

“Don’t look at me like that. I was watching footage some reporter filmed there before the media censorship came down. If I was rude, I apologize.”

At this casual apology, my senior colleague nodded briefly and relaxed her expression. In this world, what you hope remains unknown spreads too easily, while what you want known gets buried.

The client, about to enter the kitchen quietly, placed his hand on the counter as if asking one final question. His voice was leisurely.

“As one religious person to another, let me ask one more thing. If you had the power to sweep away Hollow Creek like Sodom and Gomorrah, but there were exactly one hundred innocent people in Hollow Creek, what would you do? Would you spare Hollow Creek for those hundred? Or would you just rain down fire and brimstone?”

My senior colleague answered without showing any displeasure. The only part that seemed to displease her was being called a fellow religious person.

“The hundred righteous people are more precious than a million trash from Hollow Creek, so I’d reconsider. What about you?”

The carbon fiber embedded in the client’s hand gleamed with a matte black finish, and his eyes, though similar to human eyes, emitted a light that wasn’t human. Despite his eerie gaze, his voice was gentle.

“Don’t be trapped by the answer choices. I would extract those hundred people and then rain down fire and brimstone. We call those who claim they can rain fire and brimstone but can’t save a hundred people ‘butchers,’ don’t we?”