Ch.4Final Work Record – Dishonorable Discharge (2)

“Bertha, can you adjust the avatar performance to match the enhanced body that’s currently being cultivated?”

Those were the first words I spoke after waking up, having lost consciousness twice but not getting a wink of sleep. I wanted to feel like I was moving my body, even if just a little.

The avatar glitched into a mass of graphics before beginning to reconstruct itself. Since this was a recovery virtual reality programmed to faithfully follow the laws of physics, I could feel the changes in my body.

My heart beat only once every four seconds, and my senses were so sensitive that if I closed my eyes and concentrated, I could even feel my body trembling slightly with each heartbeat. Normally, my senses were dampened, so it wasn’t too uncomfortable.

The feeling of lightness in my body was extreme. It was incomparable to the movement of my original body—it was precisely the speed of that bioengineered monstrosity that had torn me apart. I barely managed to suppress the urge to vomit.

The simplified physical abilities matched exactly with the catalog specs of the Posthuman IV enhanced body. I had to assume it was really being created. Now I needed to figure out what the purpose was.

First, they’re after enhanced bodies. Posthuman series enhancement procedures were only performed on Bellwether Company employees or those certified by manufacturers approved by Bellwether.

Rather than getting permission directly and performing the procedure on whoever they wanted, it would be faster for them to use the brain of a Bellwether employee who happened to come in, cultivate it, then extract my brain and distribute the enhanced body.

Trying to adapt more to the body’s movements, I walked around the virtual reality of the employee quarters—only the parts visible to me were modeled—and asked Bertha:

“Is it possible to install something in the cultivation tank? Like… medical equipment. Especially brain transplant equipment.”

“Impossible. Nothing can be installed inside the cultivation tank except for nutrient injectors, nutrient extractors, and brain wave sensors, and nothing has been installed.”

At least I wouldn’t die without seeing the light of reality again. I took a deep breath, then exhaled again. They would probably be waiting in front of the cultivation tank to subdue me.

Fortunately, all my components, from the neural computing assist device to everything else, were damaged in the fight with that bioengineered monstrosity, so there was no worry about my brain being hacked. I wasn’t sure if that was actually a good thing.

The doctor who trapped me here probably believed I was truly deceived. He wouldn’t think I would bow my head when I had no choice. There probably wouldn’t be many people waiting out front.

Could there be another purpose? There was no way their goal was simply to give me a counterfeit enhanced body. People don’t act without getting something in return.

All I could rely on were the things I learned at Bellwether’s security team training college and what I picked up during a few months on the job. This might be the wrong judgment.

But in a situation where judgment must be made, the only bad judgment is making no judgment at all. I had to act. I needed to swallow my anxiety and, as Bellwether’s motto says, be the leading sheep.

First, I’d be naked when I got out. After struggling to remember the approximate dates of my hand-to-hand combat training, I called Bertha.

“Bertha, can you administer a hippocampus stimulant to recall my memories from the second week of July 2096? Please.”

There was no need to add “please” when commanding an AI, but I was desperate now. I took a deep breath and looked at the virtual screen that appeared before me.

On it was a professor giving a lecture on hand-to-hand combat. He was a bald man with a distinctive appearance—his entire jaw replaced with metal and a large nut embedded at the end of his jawbone.

Even he had started his education by saying that hand-to-hand combat would be almost useless in real situations. It doesn’t seem quite that useless after all, Professor. I listened to the lecture from my memories again.

For a month, until the cultivation was complete, I repeated this. With Bertha’s help, I created entities with about half or more of the physical abilities of the Posthuman IV enhanced body I was going to wear, injected the combat techniques I had reviewed, and destroyed them. Whatever mercenaries that doctor had prepared didn’t matter. This enhanced body would be an excellent tool for digging out of a grave.

There was no way to contact the outside. Whenever anxiety about not knowing the outside situation rose, I checked the cultivation progress. By the time almost four weeks had passed, there was a body that looked almost identical to my original one.

I swallowed my anxiety about whether just one month of reviewing combat lectures would be enough by increasing the number of training entities Bertha created for me and making their physical abilities closer to those of the Posthuman IV enhanced body.

Time passed faster than I thought. Halloween approached quickly. They say ghosts and monsters wander on Halloween. It was the perfect day to burst out of a coffin after a month.

October 30th, 10:55 PM, with just over an hour left until cultivation was complete, the tank was finishing its final procedures. Normally this would be the process of engraving a serial number, but a counterfeit wouldn’t have one.

I took a deep breath. By now, the body outside could breathe too, it was that complete. It was time to say goodbye to Bertha, who had been my only window to the outside while trapped in this virtual reality.

“Bertha, do you know how soon before the end of cultivation I can get out?”

“The preservation and nutrient solution will fill the cultivation tank until 30 minutes before cultivation ends. It will take 10 minutes for the mixture to drain completely, after which you can exit after waiting 20 minutes for an external status check. The external status check may be skipped at discretion. Do you need additional information?”

I wouldn’t be able to punch while the tank was full of that mixture. Around 25 minutes before cultivation ends, my upper body should be above the solution. Then I could break the tank and get out.

“No, that’s fine. I’ll just say goodbye in advance. Take care. And, thank you, Bertha.”

My heart, which had been beating once every four seconds, now beat once every two to three seconds, matching my anxiety and stress levels. After barely waiting another 10 minutes, the surroundings began to turn completely white again.

Bertha announced my release from this terrible brain prison. The AI’s default female voice sounded almost sweet.

“Cultivation is complete. You can reconnect to your body now. Would you like to exit the virtual reality waiting area?”

I could finally say what I had wanted to say all month. I hadn’t been flailing through this virtual space filled with virtual air and virtual walls just to shout these words at this moment.

“Let me out. Good. Yes. Good…”

My consciousness blurred momentarily. And then… I felt a heartbeat once every four seconds. It seems I really was inside our Bellwether Company’s latest enhanced body. Let’s hope this terrible counterfeit works at least once.

I opened my eyes. Real eyes. Not eyes recreated from memories of my life, but my actual eyes. The cultivation fluid still filled the surroundings, but thanks to the enhanced body’s capabilities, my eyes didn’t sting.

My lungs were full of nutrient solution, but breathing wasn’t a problem. The feeling of breathing underwater was just terribly alien. Now with clearer eyes, I looked outside the cultivation tank.

The doctor was waiting outside. Now I could see his face properly.

A pale face with sunburn marks, short and irregularly cut brown hair with blond streaks, and glasses with a simple HUD display. He looked less like a counterfeiter and more like a scholar, or rather, more like a student than a scholar. A student with too much ambition. The type who would blow up the school and then shout “I’ve made the discovery of the century!” when campus police arrived.

As soon as our eyes met, he clenched his fists and muttered to himself. I could hear him. The Posthuman series enhanced body wasn’t called the new humanity for nothing.

“I told you I could do it. Yes, I can do it… At least now I won’t have to be pushed around by that bastard Walter anymore…”

I didn’t know what he meant. I pretended to be flustered, flailing awkwardly in the cultivation fluid. He approached the tank as if to calm me down and spoke loudly:

“Please wait a little longer! The cultivation fluid will still be there for about 30 more minutes. The finishing touches are done, but for safety’s sake. After that, I’ll open it for you, and you can come out and get a status check in the examination room next door!”

Bertha had said they could check my status externally through the cultivation tank. A crude lie. Waiting for the moment of revenge, I nodded briefly. I looked around with my green-tinted vision.

The surrounding space wasn’t large. Several tablets were irregularly placed on the desk, which was cheap, but the chair had a double backrest and was high-end. And there were two mercenaries.

They wore cheap helmets that I doubted had any bulletproof capability. The fist of this enhanced body could probably tear through those helmets.

One held our Bellwether Company’s shotgun, and the other held a shotgun from our competitor, Fitts & Morrison. If this were really Old Pasadena General Medical Center, there’s no way someone with a Fitts & Morrison gun would be there.

After crushing my anxiety with numerous pieces of evidence and inferences, I waited for the nutrient solution to drain. The 30 minutes felt like an eternity. Bertha’s voice confirmed my second release.

“The stabilization waiting period has ended. Removing cultivation fluid. Please wait a moment.”

Slowly, very slowly. As slow as my heartbeat, the cultivation fluid began to drain. When my head emerged from the fluid, I bit down on a hose that approached to allow me to empty my lungs of the cultivation fluid.

The feeling of breathing air after exactly a month was truly special. I wanted to cheer, but not yet. The main dish worthy of real celebration hadn’t even arrived.

My shoulders emerged. Soon my arms came out of the cultivation fluid, and my upper body was almost free. The doctor… no, Jack, approached the cultivation tank and began jumping like a child seeing a present.

“Are you functioning perfectly normally? No, no. That’s something I need to check… I’m sorry. This is my first Posthuman IV type enhanced body cultivation. I’m just so amazed…”

“No, it’s fine. That’s only natural. I’ll show you if it’s functioning normally right now…”

Drawing out my words, I pulled back my shoulder. With all my malice. If he wanted this enhanced body, I could just give it to him. I threw a punch with all my strength while continuing my drawn-out sentence.

“Jack.”

He uttered “Thank you” without suspicion. Only then did he realize I shouldn’t know his name, and his face began to turn blue as if suffering from hypothermia.

I threw my punch. The performance of this enhanced body, which Bellwether had poured all its technology into creating—this enhanced body produced through countless experiments that turned humans into bioengineered monstrosities in the research wing—was extraordinary. My fist embedded in the reinforced plastic outer wall of the cultivation tank. My fist had pierced through, leaving my hand halfway through the plastic.

I had to be at least somewhat careful. The reason the Posthuman IV type enhanced body was Bellwether’s strongest weapon was usually because the soldiers wearing them were armed with Bellwether’s finest weapons. Right now, I was bare-handed without even a pistol, let alone bulletproof armor or even a scrap of cloth.

Red lights began flashing inside the cultivation tank. Warning lights indicating the tank was damaged. Unfortunately, the cultivation of my enhanced body was already complete. I gripped the hole I had made and began to pull it open.

The cultivation tank, which had been tightly sealed with mechanical locks, began to open with the sound of breaking machinery. Jack had already hidden behind the mercenaries, who, though surprised by the unexpected situation, raised their shotguns.

The sound of unsuppressed gunfire indoors is always painfully loud. The shotgun blast, almost like an explosion, rang out, and I felt shotgun pellets shower my left arm, which I had raised to protect my face. It stung and hurt.

But it was real pain, not virtual. It was much more vivid and alive than the pain I felt behind that damned shadow play. When I shook my arm, some of the pellets that had shallowly embedded in my skin fell off.

My body jerked backward from the impact, but the bleeding seemed to stop almost as soon as it started. I widened my stride as I had practiced in virtual reality and rushed forward to engage.

By the time the mercenary lowered the shotgun barrel that had risen from the recoil, I was already in front of him. He tried to strike my jaw with the butt of the shotgun, but my eyes were good enough to measure the speed of sweat dripping from his panicked eyes.

Did they think I would stupidly lie on an operating table with a body like this? It was almost laughable. I completely shattered the shotgun’s body and then punched upward into his side.

Seeing it had no effect, the mercenary drew a dagger from his waist, but I grabbed his wrist and broke it. I gave it another jerk to completely shatter his forearm, then threw his body toward the other mercenary.

Another gunshot rang out. This time, the shotgun pellets hit my side directly, but it wasn’t more painful than just making my body shake. The heated lead pieces burned as if cauterizing the wound.

Jack tried to flee, but the cultivation tank was right next to the door. As he moved toward the corner of what looked like a personal research room, he shouted hysterically:

“Do something! What kind of mercenaries are you if you can’t subdue one naked man!”

“You said he was just a normal human…”

I stomped on the research room floor hard enough to crack it slightly and leaped forward. The mercenary pulled the pump of the shotgun. I approached and grabbed the pump with my hand to prevent it from loading.

Fear began to rise in the face of the female mercenary with light brown hair tied up in a ponytail and only one eye replaced with a prosthetic. Like milk soaking bread, at first just a little, but soon completely soaked with fear.

Her shocked expression looked so much like mine when I encountered that bioengineered monstrosity in front of the research wing that it made my stomach churn. Fortunately, I hadn’t eaten anything, so there was nothing to throw up. I forcefully pulled and took the shotgun.

Mercenaries just do jobs for money. Do these ones also receive life allowances? The moment that thought occurred to me, I couldn’t bring myself to remove her helmet and shoot her in the head with the shotgun. We’re just the same—people who sell our lives.

I pointed the shotgun at her head and said. Jack didn’t even seem to have a self-defense weapon. The price of carelessness is security failure. I reflected on my own failure.

“Yes, a normal human. Bellwether Company Los Angeles Branch Security Team, Guard Division 4, regular employee. Do you know what they made by trapping that regular employee in a cultivation tank? You’ve been duped. You’ve gotten involved in something you can’t handle. I’m going to contact Bellwether. If you don’t resist, you can pretend you didn’t know anything. Which will it be? Bellwether, or that bastard?”

The mercenary calculated quickly. Her prosthetic eye, with its three concentric circles, flickered anxiously before she drew her pistol and aimed it at Jack.

“Damn… I’ll bet on Bellwether. Here, take this. You probably don’t have any means of contact.”

With those words, while keeping her aim on Jack, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a smartphone, extending her arm toward me. People who didn’t have neural computing devices implanted in their brains still used these. It was purely a matter of preference.

It was an uncomfortable and crude object, but at least there was no risk of having your brain hacked and your gray matter fried. I used that phone to contact Bellwether.

Without even a ring tone, Stephanet’s voice came through. It was the security team’s AI’s job to respond when an external device attempted to contact Bellwether. She was quite cold.

“External communication device, please identify yourself. Location tracking of the device is complete. In case of non-compliance, in the worst case, Bellwether’s emergency response team may be dispatched to your location.”

“Stephanet, I hope you haven’t forgotten my voice already. Bellwether Company Los Angeles Branch Security Team Guard Division 4 ‘Shepherds’ Arthur Murphy, call sign Shepherd Six. Please confirm my voice.”

An irrepressible smile rose to my lips. I was giggling to the point of looking foolish, but the sensation of escaping this brain prison by my own power and being able to return to the company was that joyful.

“Arthur… you’re alive? Bellwether records show you were rushed to the hospital that day but died due to severe brain damage. Where are you now…?”

“Ah… haha! I didn’t know you could be surprised too, Stephanet. You said device tracking was complete. I don’t know where I am either, so please send a response team. Some counterfeiter stole my brain and used it to cultivate an enhanced body.”

This was inefficient, but it was a pleasant inefficiency. Stephanet seemed to optimize her performance before speaking. She sounded almost happy.

“You ran into a nasty one. I’ll send a response team to the tracked location right away. Do you need anything else? Medical support, perhaps…?”

The place where I was hit by the shotgun had healed on its own with almost no bleeding. Thinking that this regenerative ability was why that bioengineered monstrosity was created made my fingertips tremble a bit.

“Nothing else…”

I was about to say, but the mercenary who had lent me the phone cleared her throat with a flushed face. Only then did I become aware of my condition and added:

“Ah, damn. Send me a company uniform in my size too. I just came out of the cultivation tank and subdued the counterfeiter before contacting you.”

Judging by Stephanet’s reaction, there was a faint hope that the company might take the situation into account, confiscate this enhanced body, and cultivate a new body for me. The phrase “no exceptions” sounded like the name of a monster that only appears in nightmares—the kind that disappears when you open your eyes.