Ch.53Work Record #010 – Routine Corporate Dispute (4)

A meal at Farmers’ company cafeteria was… I apologize to Mr. Günter, but it was the best I’ve had in recent memory. Even a Belwether retiree can’t source better ingredients than Farmers.

The best part is that after eating, what awaits isn’t more work but going home. While the security team is responsible for employees’ lives throughout their shift, mercenaries are only responsible within the boundaries of their contract.

PD came out to see us off, and particularly offered me a handshake since I had asked about the meaning of plants. Of course, I had to cut off what he said along with the handshake.

“It was truly fortunate to hire Nightwatch. Oh, and thanks to you, Arthur, I was reminded of this project’s purpose. Perhaps sometime we could grab a drink…”

“Um, the last person who said that was attacked by another mercenary company the very next day, and another person experienced something that would have made being attacked by mercenaries preferable. Not exactly a lucky phrase.”

It wasn’t a serious rejection, just a joke. After bumping fists to say goodbye, I got into the van to return to Nightwatch.

Vola immediately sat down on the reception room sofa and started looking for private contracts. Getting implants was quite expensive, but modifying a full-body cyborg like her cost even more.

Of course, she could have stopped the modifications. She could have been satisfied with the quarter of her face she had left—whether by choice or to remember her human appearance. But people like her don’t stop.

I couldn’t understand why, but most people behaved that way. Speed-obsessed racing drivers, augmentation supremacists who can’t stop modifying themselves, and even me, who won’t stop seeking revenge under the label of “liquidation.”

Sitting beside her on the sofa, I checked my phone that I leave behind when going on assignments. It was fully charged, of course, and had several messages. It was Tara. The mercenary I had saved.

She had sent a photo of someone’s arm. An arm with its cast removed. The last time we met, she said… once her colleague’s arm healed, they would raid that company.

‘Fredo got his cast off today! Don’t know who those bastards are, but we’re going to wipe them out, Cowboy. Free this evening?’

So I’m “Cowboy” here? Well, I did tell her at the bar last time to call me if she needed a gunslinger. My name at Belwether was Shepherd Six One, but since leaving, it seemed I was collecting more and more names.

As it happened, today I had only handled urgent tasks. I had warmed up my body thoroughly since morning, and if I took the job as an individual mercenary rather than as a Nightwatch employee, I wouldn’t burden my colleagues. I replied:

‘That’s something worth making time for. Just tell me the rendezvous point and submit it as a personal contract.’

It wasn’t simply about helping with revenge. They had tried to kill Tara on Belwether’s orders. As far as I knew, there was only one reason Belwether would target her.

She had been with Jack Winstead and a regular employee whose records of wearing the Posthuman Type IV had been erased. So, this must be connected to Belwether’s tumor. I needed to find out.

At the moment, I couldn’t know the company’s internal situation. The Shepherd said he would call Internal Affairs, but it was uncertain how much power they could wield without the approval of other team leaders.

I hoped all this would end with the mundane and anticlimactic conclusion that the Audit Team had made their decision, but the best outcome isn’t something that just happens. It’s something you have to pursue.

I received the rendezvous point by message. Vola, who had been searching for contracts beside me, wrapped her metallic prosthetic arm around my shoulder, pulled me close, and said:

“Here I am struggling to find work, and you’re just sitting there getting rendezvous points. I know you’re not ordinary flesh but a machine made of flesh… but it’s annoying.”

“Vola, you’re for full-scale warfare. You can’t exactly spray those cluster rounds you fired today in the city center, and this isn’t a city where contracts requiring a full-body cyborg mercenary are common.”

Her metal fist lightly struck my side. The sound was quite solid, but to a Posthuman Type IV with shock absorption, it wasn’t even painful.

“Big contracts, big contracts. Yeah, that’s the problem—there aren’t enough. Must be nice being versatile, punk. Call me if you need fire support. Like you said, there don’t seem to be many jobs requiring a full-body cyborg for all-out warfare.”

Vola was non-standard, in both good and bad ways. And she was thirsting for non-standard contracts that suited her. That’s information that might be useful someday.

As we were bickering like that, Eve sat down next to me on the sofa. Vola thought for a moment, then output language:

“So, can I call you Eve? Or did you only allow that during work? Are you going to glare at me?”

It was actually strange to see Eve’s cold demeanor return. The Eve I knew wasn’t cold at all.

“The former. To you, Vola, I’m just Eve who’s useful for a flesh-bag, not one of the countless Eves in Hollowwood Creek. I was just a bit upset, you know. Living in Los Angeles while looking at Hollowwood Creek.”

“So you’re separating registries. Not very flesh-bag-like. To be honest, it’s quite efficient. Thanks to the rookie, Eve?”

Everyone was picking up on things. They would have heard from Tina about us going out together every holiday, and if they knew about Nadia, they would have heard from her too… There were plenty of sources.

And only when she heard those words did Eve drop the cold demeanor she had been showing Vola. More precisely, her coldness melted away. She started to shake her head in embarrassment, but upon seeing my face, she nodded.

Her cheeks were already flushed red, and she seemed torn between wanting to explain everything that had happened to end this embarrassing feeling and being too embarrassed to do so.

Vola looked at me with her camera and one eye, then smiled only with her human eye. Another painless metal punch landed in my side.

“A guy who enjoys working miracles, I tell you. What’s next? Going to purify the Pacific Ocean?”

I let out a hollow laugh and punched Vola’s side in return. Her metal frame shook slightly.

“Is that all it took for Eve to stop disliking her name? Well, if I could really do it, I’d like to bestow a blessing on Farmers and fill the surrounding wasteland with wheat fields.”

Vola and I burst into laughter simultaneously, then after a moment, we looked at Eve. Our eyes met briefly before she turned away and said:

“I have things to do today.”

I hadn’t even said anything yet. I shrugged slightly and said:

“That’s good. I just accepted a personal contract myself.”

Eve wasn’t the type to simply say “that’s good” and move on in this situation. Perhaps expecting me to offer help again, she bit her lip and asked:

“Well… it’s good you’re living diligently. I wanted to at least show your face to the people in Los Angeles. Can’t you come?”

I glanced around slightly, wondering if it was okay to speak so openly, but Vola lightly struck my back with her metal full-body cyborg hand as if to say not to worry.

“How could we live without that level of trust between colleagues? Everyone knows, except maybe guys with black information like you. They know Eve helps Hollowwood Creek escapees, that Enzo donates money to help gang victims rebuild their lives, and how dirty the fire emergency exit is.”

The fire emergency exit… that’s Nadia’s business. Come to think of it, when they first hid Nadia from me, even K joined in pretending not to know. Nightwatch seems like quite a good company.

Thinking about it, I was quite suspicious too. All my post-college career records were either redacted or erased, and the body I wore was Belwether’s latest enhancement model.

I could explain through a riddle-like conversation with President Yoon that I was from Belwether and my records were erased for some reason… but I had only properly explained what happened to Eve, even as I learned each of my colleagues’ secrets one by one. Belatedly, I realized that from Nightwatch’s perspective, there was no reason to trust me.

Had they trusted me anyway? When I was absorbed in my own problems, there were too many things I couldn’t see. Inefficient. I decided to open up a bit more.

I had made the decision, but there was no better opportunity than today. This was my chance to take down mercenaries connected to Belwether’s pus, and I had already accepted the contract.

“Ah, well. I definitely can’t make it today. It’s something I have to do. How about next time we meet properly instead of me just showing my face? I’d like to get to know the Hollowwood Creek people too.”

If asked whether most of my purpose was to learn more about Eve, I wouldn’t deny it. When feelings for one person extend to many, selfish acts become altruistic.

My voice must have sounded quite sincere, as Eve nodded as if she couldn’t help it. Though she had told me not to do it, she placed her hand on my head and gently stroked it.

“Alright. I won’t ask what kind of personal contract it is, but be careful. Arthur, you’re too reckless with your body. If I need an emergency call, I’ll call you, Vola.”

While Vola had no hesitation in lightly patting or punching my body, she didn’t touch Eve and complained:

“What, you’re using me as a substitute for the offliner too? I don’t like this at all. Fine. Creek folks are flesh among flesh, so they’re more fun to fight anyway.”

And so passed a somewhat family-like afternoon. As the office emptied and evening came, I headed out wearing casual clothes with body armor underneath, carrying only a bag containing a helmet and rifle.

Only when working with Belwether could I wear combat gear on the streets. At other times, it would arouse suspicion. I headed to the address of Tara’s office.

And I was reminded again of how luxurious Nightwatch was as a company. While it had the fewest personnel among Belwether’s official partners, at least its office was divided into a reception area and work area.

Tara’s mercenary staffing company office was literally… just an office. It had the feel of a detective agency. The only thing separating the employee area from the client area was a single partition.

They had tried to improve the atmosphere with a few holographic plants, but they couldn’t completely hide the shabby office building’s ambiance. The client table area was just big enough for the company’s entire staff of four people.

If I hadn’t contacted Francis, I would have been working in a place like this. This isn’t about good or bad. It’s just that finding and removing Belwether’s tumor would have been much more difficult.

Tara raised her hand slightly to greet me. Only after checking that I was wearing body armor under my T-shirt did she smile with satisfaction.

“Looks like you didn’t come ready to die, Cowboy. Good. Those guys are Wolfpack, priority bidder #103. Far from a wolf pack, they’re more like puppies who backed off when our Cowboy said a few words, but they are armed with Belwether equipment from who knows where. Their gear is better than what ordinary mercenaries like us have. The good news is…”

She lightly patted my back. As I stepped forward following her touch, she began introducing me.

“We have Belwether’s bio-weapon too. Posthuman Type IV! You could probably take down those mercenaries with your bare hands. So we just need to cover the Cowboy. At the front…”

She didn’t seem particularly skilled at making plans. I cleared my throat lightly and began speaking.

“I should take the lead. As you said, I’m a Posthuman Type IV. Even if bullets hit parts not protected by body armor, I can sleep it off like nothing happened—Belwether’s masterpiece. I didn’t receive this to stay in the back being covered while shooting. I’ll take point. Could I see the tactical map?”

I checked the tablet Tara handed me. Wolfpack’s office was in a five-story commercial building. They occupied the fourth floor alone, so minimizing civilian casualties shouldn’t be difficult.

Wolfpack only used part of the fourth floor, but the rest of the floors were vacant. Ideal conditions for infiltration. There was an elevator right next to the stairs coming up from the third floor, and the office was right in front.

We would obviously need to go up via the stairs. I took out two bundles of flashbangs that Tina had given me last time. Flashbangs were essential for indoor infiltration.

“Going up the stairs is good… I have my own flashbangs, so we’ll throw these and clean up neatly. Keep one alive, and we’ll take all their operation records. That way we can find out who’s doing this dirty work in Belwether’s name.”

Could I finally find out who Walter is? I hoped the Shepherd’s name wasn’t Walter, but if it was… things would get very complicated.

Tara, who had been naturally reviewing the plan with me, looked somewhat puzzled and asked:

“Wait, weren’t you fired from Belwether? I tried to contact you the next day, but Belwether just showed an error message. Said there was no employee by that name.”

This question again. I am not affiliated with Belwether. But I am a person created by Belwether’s hands. Though I was working at Nightwatch, if asked about my company, Belwether came to mind before Nightwatch.

It was changing a bit. As I learned about Nightwatch colleagues’ pasts and secrets, and as my work at Nightwatch accumulated, a sense of belonging was developing. But I was still bound to Belwether.

I need to find Walter. I need to liquidate the monstrosity. I need to cleanly excise Belwether’s pus and tumor. Only then can I truly retire from Belwether.

After refocusing on my purpose, I spoke. What needs to be done is clear. Whether I’m prepared to handle it remains unknown.

“I was fired… but that doesn’t mean it’s over. I need to know why they’re trying to kill mercenaries involved with a regular employee who came back to life only to be fired over a copy-up issue. It’s just so frustrating. I’m involved in this, but I don’t know anything about it.”

The four mercenaries, who had been viewing me simply as Belwether’s bio-weapon to make the job easier, now showed some seriousness in their eyes.

Everyone here was in the dark. Everyone was frustrated. Share one emotion, and you can share a purpose. If you can share a purpose, work becomes more efficient.

I boarded the mercenary company’s van. It was definitely narrower than Nightwatch’s, and they didn’t have spare vehicles parked. It didn’t matter. This feeling suited the situation better.

After all, this was nothing more or less than an everyday dispute between insignificant mercenary staffing companies.