Ch.49Work Record 009 – Nothing but the Horizon in Sight (5)

Fitts & Morrison would prefer to bring them back alive. While it would be better to kill them in cases of routine intrusions and terrorist attempts, these ones at least knew how to bypass Fitts & Morrison’s preventive measures.

Fitts & Morrison had been too lax. They’d invited unnecessary trouble by advertising their security team’s capabilities and internal security situation. I hide behind the kitchen’s metal shelf-equipped counter, using it as cover.

The door opens slowly. A Posthuman Type IV could truly make no sound at all just by holding their breath. A grumbling voice leaks out. I can pinpoint their location.

“These bastards, what kind of fire—”

It seems the other one had already cautioned him earlier. I quietly raise myself up. I could see the faces of the two terrorists who hadn’t expected the kitchen to be dark in broad daylight and weren’t even wearing night vision goggles.

The complaining one was still biting his lip, but the other one was quite capable. He hesitated momentarily after seeing me rise silently in the darkness. There’s no time to waste.

I pull the trigger. Before the hand of the other terrorist could reach out to lightly tap the arm of the complaining one, muzzle flash erupted, and the gunshot began reverberating off the walls in the enclosed space. I suppress the sound.

The terrorist who took a bullet to the head collapsed on the spot as if his connection had been severed. We live in an era where even gang members wear motorcycle helmets lined with bulletproof plates during all-out warfare.

I wasn’t efficient enough to non-lethally subdue two armed people. If I had fully equipped implants, perhaps, but not right now. I grip the counter and lightly throw my body forward.

Even with one arm’s strength, it was enough to push off the counter and launch myself right in front of the terrorist. I grab the barrel of the rifle he was trying to raise with my left hand and lightly strike his chin with my right.

But he pulled his head back, dodging my fist. A properly enhanced human mercenary. I try pulling on the rifle barrel I’m gripping. It comes easily, showing that his objective performance doesn’t match a Posthuman Type IV.

He understood what I was testing by pulling on the barrel. An operational sound came from his prosthetic hand as he removed his finger from the trigger guard. It was a much cruder and simpler device than the servomotors used in enhancement suits.

An old-style hydraulic prosthetic. It was an obsolete item because few people could tolerate its noise and vibration for the sake of punching power, but that power alone exceeded today’s combat prosthetics. A fist would be coming.

I pull my left hand gripping the barrel outward, pushing his arm away with the rifle body. Even with the excellent dynamic vision of a Posthuman Type IV, his fist brushed past my head at a speed I couldn’t track for a split second.

The sound of air being torn is suppressed. The function designed to suppress sounds like gunshots activated automatically. I throw away his rifle completely. He sneered.

“Quick enough to be Belwether merchandise, a Belwether man. Why would someone like you be right outside Fitts & Morrison headquarters?”

There was no reason to answer. If a properly enhanced human came heavily armed to shoot civilians, that meant they weren’t someone you could talk to. His hydraulic prosthetic began operating again.

It’s actually ridiculous to even call it a prosthetic. From fist to shoulder, it was entirely that metal mass designed for close combat. Fortunately, his left arm seems to be normal. I step back with one foot and bow my head deeply.

Once again, the metallic frame of the prosthetic makes a creaking sound, unable to withstand the force of striking the air. The clanking of metal coexists with the chilling sound of wind brushing over my head.

He won’t be able to throw such punches repeatedly. If he keeps using that much force, the oil filling the hydraulic system will boil. I pivot on the foot I had placed behind me. I recall close combat training.

Unlike his hydraulic muscles, I gather strength in my muscles—the culmination of Belwether’s biotechnology. The feeling of adrenaline seeping out is almost sweet. I put my full weight into a powerful punch.

This was only the second time since Osgard Company that I’d hit someone with all my might. There weren’t many occasions for punching when shooting to kill was simpler.

But instead of feeling my fist crush his chest and strike the interior directly, a loud metallic clang resonated. Internal body armor. No, internal body armor was usually Kevlar. This too was for close combat.

Despite this, the impact that shook his entire body seemed painful as he gritted his teeth and barely managed to take a deep breath. In terms of performance, he’s definitely superior. I just need to avoid panicking.

“Ssss, hoo… Are you trying to capture me alive by beating me just short of death? I don’t particularly like being underestimated, kid. Do you know how your buddy, whom you coldly shot dead, died at the hands of Fitts & Morrison? I guess not. Without knowing anything, you think this is better…”

So apparently they know all about the lives and stories of the people hiding behind chairs in the store. How impressive. As I raise both fists, he mirrors me.

“Ha. Fine. You don’t want to hear it and prefer to settle this with fists. Such a child.”

I take a large step forward. The enhanced human terrorist raises his guard higher at the vibration. Fixating on one thing is always inefficient. I step back once and draw my gun again.

I could see well in the darkness anyway. When his guard dropped because my fist didn’t come at the timing he expected, I was no longer in front of him. I aimed the gun at his knee. I pulled the trigger, and my hearing is suppressed.

The smell of gunpowder spreads. The muzzle flash flickers continuously as if the gunpowder smoke would ignite, and the gunshot, amplified by internal reflection to near-explosive levels, hums in my ears before quickly adapting.

The first two shots embedded in his knee guards, but the third bullet I fired as he began charging pierced straight through his knee. His posture collapses. I aim the gun at the head of the man clutching his knee.

“After identifying me as a Belwether man, I can’t understand why you thought I would fight fairly with fists.”

Efficiency takes precedence over fairness. I wait briefly while subduing the growling terrorist. As if to say I wouldn’t have needed to end it this way anyway, the warehouse door opened after about ten seconds.

From outside the warehouse door, I could see the silhouette of a human moving strangely. The full-body prosthetic creaked like a machine in motion. Yet it was moving efficiently. I remained alert with my gun raised.

Judging by the bulletproof vest over the full-body prosthetic and the visor helmet covering the entire face, could this be from a Fitts & Morrison affiliate? I couldn’t be certain, but the face behind the visor was female.

Her skin was dry and rough. Her hair was gray optical fiber with remnants of a bright red dye, and… judging by the smell, cosmetics were haphazardly sprayed over her bulletproof vest.

Just as I was thinking how incomprehensible this appearance was, she, who had only been making creaking sounds until now, spoke. Her voice sounded like it was being outputted.

“Identity confirmed. A-3 situation has already been terminated. Removing personality adjustment module.”

With those words, a small chip was extracted from a device attached to the base of her skull. She took the chip and stored it near her wrist before giving a clean Fitts & Morrison-style salute.

“Well, look at that. Those trying to mess with Fitts & Morrison got citizen-arrested. I’m Section Chief Carmilla Lupus from Fitts & Morrison’s official partner ‘Sin City’s Bitches.’ You killed one cleanly and left one alive. What are you, Santa Claus? I have been living more kindly lately. You don’t have any objections to the arrest, do you?”

“Of course not. I left him like that to make your arrest easier. Detaching the close-combat prosthetic arm would make the arrest more convenient. And…”

She waved her hand as if to say my introduction wasn’t necessary.

“Mercenary staffing company Nightwatch’s Arthur Murphy, general employee. We’ve heard about you. Even when we work with military personality chips installed, our minds don’t completely fly away. Come on, I’ll make it painless, so just relax…”

With a relaxed tone as if soothing a child, Carmilla stomped on the terrorist’s back and shredded his hydraulic muscle with the sharply processed tips of her prosthetic hand. Oil leaks out.

Now it’s no longer as dangerous a weapon as before. Sin City—Las Vegas. And judging by her mention of military personality chips and personality adjustment devices, she seemed to be an exile from Vegas.

These days, entertainment conglomerates felt clone hostesses were insufficient. They were too stupid and submissive, not feeling like real people. But real people had too many variables.

That’s why personality adjustment devices were created, along with customizable hostesses. After deciding not to ask further, I straightened my posture and asked. Ms. Eve also entered the kitchen soon after.

“Are the other stores intact? I’d prefer not to have the smell of blood in the shopping district.”

She nodded lightly. Her neck was still skin, but below that, metal plates replacing skin and bulletproof vest covering artificial muscles were visible. About twenty percent of her body was probably human.

“Suspicious because I’m from a Belwether partner? Don’t worry. This place was the lowest priority because there are people from companies that could be Belwether partners. The other stores were secured first. Civilian casualties… weren’t completely absent. Four is too many. Anything above one is too many, but still. Any other questions?”

When she said four was too many, her expression naturally softened. The statement that criminals could die in any number, but even one ordinary employee-citizen dying was too many, was quite kind.

“No. It was efficient work.”

“Really?”

She asked with a probing smile, taking out a chip from her wrist storage device with the Nationalists’ flag drawn only in black and blue, and waving it. I answered the same way.

“Really, nothing. I wouldn’t have access to Fitts & Morrison’s clearance levels for work-related matters, and personal matters are personal.”

She stored the chip back in her wrist and wiped off the cosmetics plastered on her bulletproof vest with her metallic fingertips. Unlike her machine-like movements earlier, she was now moving perfectly like a human.

“I see why the security chief said he had a good first impression of you. You know what you need to know and properly don’t know what you shouldn’t. Hmm? Let’s exchange business cards. Do you have a license?”

I took out my license to show her, and she held up her holographic business card. Scanning it with my phone added her contact. It seemed like my network was growing.

She appeared to be checking my career section, looking skeptically at my mercenary staffing company profile and glancing at me a few times before saying:

“You’ve got quite a personal history too, huh? Since we don’t have access to Belwether, it looks quite suspicious. Anyway, we might work together next time…”

After pushing the enhanced human terrorist whose prosthetic she had disabled and restrained for other mercenaries to take away, she took out other chips from her wrist storage device to show me. They were all elaborately decorated.

The wrist storage device itself seemed to have originally sparkled with bright colors but had been repainted. Chips with explicit summary images rose and fell like waves.

“Sin City’s Bitches is a company founded by prostitutes who escaped from Vegas. More precisely, Fitts & Morrison helped. The Los Angeles security chief booked all the girls, called them to the largest hall, gave a lengthy speech about pioneering spirit, and then distributed personality chips modified from military weapon AI chips he said he got from the Nationalists. What do you think happened?”

It must have been horrific. People moving like machines, and a megacorporation’s security chief completely destroying a business that provided such customizable hostesses.

Of course, it could have escalated into a corporate war. From the perspective of those ruling Vegas, it might have looked like Fitts & Morrison was plotting something. The fact that they didn’t care about that was very Fitts & Morrison-like.

“If they hadn’t put personality adjustment devices in the necks of normal people, no one would have died.”

Ms. Eve’s expression, who had been quietly trying to follow our conversation from behind, darkened slightly. This context wouldn’t be difficult for her to follow, and Hollowwood Creek clearly did similar things.

The clones displayed an extreme lack of judgment… or personality to be considered human. And she had feared being captured and turned into a clone. Carmilla smiled with just one corner of her mouth before speaking.

“How cultured. That’s right. That’s why we work for Fitts & Morrison. Using personality adjustment devices the same way Vegas people broke us. You should know so we can work together without unnecessary curiosity. Now do you have more questions?”

Someone whose personality changes multiple times a day would need people who truly know their real self. That’s why she’s telling me everything. As I quietly listened to her words… I remembered someone.

7436 Bella. No. Helen Schmidt was her only name. Carmilla’s company would be the perfect place for her to go, so I asked:

“I’m not sure if I have the right to ask, but does your company have an employee named Helen Schmidt?”

She clicked her tongue and brought up a window inside her visor helmet. It was a window I couldn’t see from my side.

“You know Fitts & Morrison isn’t strict about that. More importantly, what kind of woman are you looking for in Sin City’s Bitches? Helen, Helen… Helen. Now Schmidt… No, she’s not here. Whoever she is, she hasn’t joined us. Who is she?”

It was just an inquiry at one company, but it felt good to be able to hope that Helen was living her own life somewhere, one that didn’t require carrying a gun.

I decided to joke a little. I shook my head lightly.

“Just someone I know. If she were to join a mercenary staffing company, yours seemed the most fitting, so I asked to check.”

“You don’t seem to fit the mercenary life either. Well. Thanks for helping with Fitts & Morrison’s employee-citizen relief efforts. The reward will be deposited into your account, and it would be an honor to work with you.”

She gave a simplified salute, different from before, swaying slightly, and then turned around to leave through the storage room. Ms. Eve’s hand came up to my shoulder, and soon I could feel her breath on the nape of my neck as she drew closer.

Although her expression had darkened briefly, she no longer looked gloomy while I was asking about Helen.

“I thought this would be the worst place for us to come, but it’s not the worst. Second worst, maybe. There was one good thing. Where do you think Helen is now, Arthur?”

“Considering she hasn’t caught the eye of mercenary staffing company employees who move between Belwether and Fitts & Morrison, she must be living well. What did you think of Carmilla?”

When I asked that, Ms. Eve’s head leaned completely on my shoulder. Like a cat hiding where I couldn’t see, only her voice could be heard.

“An amazing person. There are too many amazing people in Los Angeles. If I were her, I would have torn out the machines from my neck and wrist as soon as I escaped Vegas, but she’s still working with them attached. And doing quite good work at that. I don’t think I can do good things with what I learned at Hollowwood Creek.”

I tried to reach back and stroke her hair, but she shifted her head slightly to avoid my hand. Finally giving up, I said:

“You’re already doing it. As someone from Creek, you understand Creek people and are helping Hollowwood Creek escapees. Aren’t you doing well enough?”

No matter how many good deeds she does, she probably can’t erase the fact that she shot and killed the cult leader who tried to help her. Ms. Eve nodded for now. Just for now. Not yet.

The word “yet” implied things would change soon, but I didn’t know if Ms. Eve could escape from that incident. Still, I decided to add the word “yet” with hope.