Ch.72013 Work Record – To the Sky (9)

The drone took off with a small whirring sound, surveying the hospital room before focusing on my face and speaking. Kay’s voice lacked its usual humor.

“Arthur, are you okay? You don’t look so good… but are you able to talk?”

The nurse checked my condition once more before leaving the room. She even knocked on the wall to demonstrate the soundproofing, showing how no sound escaped or penetrated.

I needed to pull myself together first. I tried to smile, making an effort despite knowing it wouldn’t look natural. When light, goodness, and righteousness fade away, only faded remnants remain.

“Pretty good for someone who nearly died twice. Could you show me my wanted poster? I’d like to see what they wrote about me.”

Kay’s drone activated a holographic projector, displaying a wanted notice with Bellwether’s logo. It showed my front-facing photo—the same one from my resume when I joined Bellwether.

The charges were attempted murder of the branch director and killing escort personnel during transport. I was responsible for the first charge, but for the second… the branch director and Training Manager would have been escorting me. Did the Training Manager die?

From what I’d heard, it seemed the Shepherd had used his position as Security Chief to minimize the forces transporting the branch director to headquarters, then cleanly killed the Training Manager and extracted me.

So the Shepherd really had done something significant to get me out. But why? It’s still hard to imagine why one Bellwether employee would kill another.

I couldn’t help but let out a bitter laugh. Sitting on the hospital bed, I lowered my head, chuckling before looking up again. There was absolutely nothing funny about the situation, but I couldn’t help it.

“Fuck… I really don’t know what the hell is going on… So the wanted notice means my identity is still intact?”

At this rate, my language would definitely deteriorate, if nothing else. Kay’s drone bobbed up and down as if nodding.

“Of course! Arthur is better than Peter. Peter is just… such a wholesome name, you know? Like someone who’d save kids from traffic accidents and return people’s lost bicycles.”

“That name definitely wouldn’t suit me. God, I was so anxious… but hearing your silly jokes makes me feel a bit better. Eve’s going to kill me when I get back, isn’t she?”

“Judging by her expression, she’ll probably grab you and cry first.”

After a two-second pause, Kay continued.

“Then she’ll definitely lecture you for nearly two hours. Anyway… do you need anything, Arthur? If you need a way out of LA, it would be better to ask Mr. Enzo.”

I could imagine how happy each minute of that two-hour lecture would make me. I tried to organize my thoughts and consider my options.

The worst choice would be contacting another whale—another megacorporation. They would help me since I had dirt on Bellwether, but… their help would drive the situation toward catastrophe. Outside intervention always did.

“I don’t need a way out. I need a way in. Oh, and… what happened to the stuff we extracted from Bellwether?”

I spoke directly since this was surely a secure channel. Though a civilian secure channel just meant it would take Bellwether more than thirty seconds to tap it, it was better than nothing.

“There was something about the Transparent Eye, but the rest is mostly garbage. And right now, you’re more important than the Transparent Eye. That’s…”

“Please list that garbage for me. It seems like project data, and we might find something useful if we dig through it. Everything is precious in our current situation.”

“Hmm. If you need it…? But are you really going to do this? Like, ‘I got shot four times but now I need to catch up on work’?”

“I have to. I doubt Bellwether won’t find a private hospital on the outskirts of LA. I’ll need to find a breakthrough, or at least prepare a gun if that fails.”

I didn’t think the branch director would come looking for me personally. Even if he did, he’d be wearing closed-type reinforcement armor. Kay slowly began reading the files.

“You really are relentless… Fine. Let’s catch up on work! These projects are all years old, so I’m not sure how useful they’ll be… but they were all reported directly to Bellwether headquarters.”

The holographic projector began moving. Several reports appeared in mid-air. The first was about improving preservation fluid performance. The content seemed… familiar.

‘Since blood and preservation fluid of the same color could lead to confusion between bleeding and preservation fluid loss, red is rejected as a color for preservation fluid. Green, being a complementary color, is also widely used, so blue is chosen.’

‘Performance target is set to extend life support from 1 minute to 3 minutes in case of complete body loss excluding the head. The average response time of Support and Operations Departments was 2 minutes 36 seconds.’

This seemed to be the initial report on how Bellwether had kept me alive. I closed it. Efficiency had never betrayed me. It was always people who betrayed.

Should I stop trusting people? No… that didn’t seem right. It seemed foolish to refuse to trust while condemning others for being untrustworthy.

Of course, how one should live and how one actually lives are very different. I had denounced the Shepherd as a traitor simply for standing beside the branch director against me. The gap between ideals and reality is always wide.

There’s only one way to avoid suffering from that gap: endure some pain and discomfort to close it. I took a deep breath and continued reading the next report.

As Kay had said, most were useless. There were endless equipment improvement proposals from various branches to headquarters, and any potentially helpful parts had already been deleted.

But among those equipment improvement proposals, I spotted a familiar name. I reached out to touch the holographic screen. The file opened.

Why did this catch my eye? It was just an old reinforcement body improvement proposal, but… the filename was Project Metzgerhunt. A familiar term.

I read through the content. It bore the logo of Bellwether Los Angeles Branch and the branch director’s seal. The report’s content was straightforward.

‘Although the currently used Posthuman Type III reinforcement body is widely employed by field personnel including the Security Team and Legal Assassination Team, demonstrating excellent and consistent efficiency…’

‘Considering the wearer’s physical abilities while enhancing the suit’s performance brings tremendous cost inefficiency, and improvements in the wearer’s physical abilities would bring massive design advantages to reinforcement bodies…’

‘We propose the creation of Type IV reinforcement bodies with physical superiority utilizing the Los Angeles branch’s proud biotechnology capabilities, rather than simply reducing the inefficiencies of the human body as in the current reinforcement body design philosophy…’

Could it be…? No, it’s not just speculation. Project Metzgerhunt was the initial project name for the Posthuman Type IV reinforcement body. I was certain. I pulled up that report and asked.

“Kay, who was this report submitted to? Just a headquarters manager, or…?”

“Hmm? Wait a second… This went directly to the Chairman? It was only submitted to the Chairman. Since it’s just an improvement proposal, the project name probably changed when the actual Posthuman Type IV project started. Why?”

Personal information about Bellwether’s upper management was confidential, so even a Shepherd of the same rank couldn’t know other team leaders’ names. Mr. Günter had said no one in this city knew his name.

Chance, who had once met with the president of Bellwether Industries, recognized Mr. Günter’s voice. The Bellwether Industries president in Chance’s conversation was from Berlin, as was Mr. Günter.

Mr. Günter had said he started as a regular employee at Bellwether, but when asked about where he ended up, he deflected by saying he was just a kebab shop owner.

I had suspected he might be in a higher position than he let on, but that might not be it. Perhaps he deflected because his story wasn’t over yet.

Beyond that, he knew the negotiation process between Bellwether and the Nationalists well, and thinking back, whenever Mr. Günter was outside his shop, the street CCTV wasn’t even operating.

Coincidence? If not, had I met the only person in this high-speed world who wasn’t under surveillance? Perhaps, just perhaps, it was the latter. I recalled the vivid madness that permeated his words.

As I sat on the hospital bed, unable to stop my fingertips from trembling, I began to hear murmuring outside the door. The walls were soundproof, but the door less so.

I pushed Kay’s drone under the bed and spoke. Whoever was coming, I needed someone watching but didn’t need them to be discovered. Kay muted the drone and hid underneath.

Had Bellwether found me already? I tried to get up quickly, but the voice I heard wasn’t from a Bellwether person. It was Bellwether’s.

“I’m telling you, this room isn’t in use right now. Please check at reception first and then…”

“Then what reason is there to prevent me from looking into an unused room?”

It was Mr. Günter’s voice. Was it really him? He might have given me a false name, but I felt that wasn’t the case. I stood up from the bed, putting weight only on my left leg.

I limped on my left leg to the door and looked through the translucent glass at the silhouette beyond. It was indeed Mr. Günter alone. I gently knocked on the door from inside and said:

“Let him in, please. He’s someone I know. He’s not dangerous.”

Then I limped back to the bed and lay down. I still couldn’t move properly. Only after I was back in bed did the door briefly open. Mr. Günter entered.

He looked no different than when he stood in his kebab shop in the apartment complex. If he knew what had happened to me, coming with his face exposed was already a statement of confidence.

After entering my room and closing the door, Mr. Günter glanced under the bed and chuckled. Regardless of the situation’s gravity… no, that’s not right. If my suspicions were correct, nothing was serious to him.

“It’s good to see you working that brain of yours. That Shepherd fellow contacted me through the retiree network. Told me to come by. As if this old man could do anything…”

It sounded natural, but I knew it was a lie. The Shepherd didn’t know who he was, so he couldn’t have called him. I was certain. Mr. Günter was lying because he knew I couldn’t verify it.

Mr. Günter pulled up a chair and sat beside the bed. Despite his efforts to appear frail, his modified body was healthy. He was overflowing with vitality.

“I think if you really couldn’t do anything, you wouldn’t have come in the first place.”

“That’s true. I am in a position to help you a little. Do you know what’s happening at Bellwether’s Los Angeles branch right now, Metzgerhunt?”

Once again, I was called by the reinforcement body project name. It seemed the reinforcement body was what mattered to both myself and others.

I had attributed everything I’d done to the reinforcement body. And Mr. Günter had been calling me by the reinforcement body’s project name from the beginning.

I didn’t feel disillusioned. Thinking it was inevitable, I answered. It seemed better to play along to some extent.

“It’s on the verge of a coup. Everyone’s choosing sides. The Legal Assassination Team is probably with the coup… Security Team is uncertain, but the Training Department is with the coup. Human Resources is unclear.”

Mr. Günter’s eyebrows flickered. Had he not expected this much? He burst into hearty laughter again. He looked like a father proud of his son’s accomplishment.

“The answer I expected was ‘Something is definitely happening.’ But you always exceed expectations, Metzgerhunt. Excellent. Maximum efficiency. Do you know more?”

If Mr. Günter was truly Bellwether’s Chairman, those words were the best reward for my solitary pursuit of the coup’s traces—even breaking the law as an outsider to follow the trail.

But I shouldn’t be moved. I needed to stay focused. This wasn’t a friendly conversation. It was a probe. I took a deep breath and decided to gamble.

By now, Kay must have realized it too—that someone was addressing me by a name only the Chairman would know. Yes, it was time to bluff and sweep the table.

I recalled what Mr. Günter had said before. When I went with Eve, he told the story of Sodom and Gomorrah. A hundred righteous people and a million sinners. Whether to save them or rain down fire and brimstone.

He said he would save the hundred and rain fire and brimstone on the million. For the only person not under surveillance in this high-speed era—the Chairman of a megacorporation—this was possible.

“I know someone came here to save a hundred righteous people and rain fire and brimstone on a million. By the way, do you know what the project name for the Posthuman Type IV reinforcement body was?”

“That’s classified information for you. Red information, as they say. Is that important?”

“Not really. What’s important is that it was the name of an improvement proposal submitted to Bellwether’s Chairman from the Los Angeles branch before the reinforcement body project was approved.”

I expected Mr. Günter’s expression to harden, but it didn’t change at all. It remained the same as when he had grabbed my shoulders and told me machines produce and humans enjoy.

“Project Metzgerhunt. That name should sound familiar to you, Chairman.”

Mr. Günter flicked his prosthetic fingers. The entire room fell into a sound-dampening field. And then, he laughed. His face was full of pure joy.

The booming laughter gradually subsided, and I could hear his mechanically replaced lungs working. Still chuckling, he said:

“When I received the report that the LA branch server had been attacked, I suspected… and indeed. You’ll stop at nothing. I don’t regret a single penny I spent buying those returned children. Don’t you agree?”

Since I’d stopped playing along, there was no need to maintain an awkward smile. With his help, I could kill Walter. The opportunity to settle everything was still there.

I had died and come back twice because of Walter, so there was no reason not to kill him at least once. This wasn’t self-defense—it was what needed to be done.

“Why are you here? With this pointless disguise? If you wanted to handle the coup, you could have just sent the Chairman’s security team from headquarters.”

The CCTV in the room had already turned away from us. Mr. Günter pulled back the curtains covering the window. I was the only one huddled in the shadows. He leaned against the windowsill.

Like a free man. Completely opposite to me, who had drawn the curtains and hidden even in daylight, knowing I would die the moment Bellwether’s eyes found me. Standing in the sunlight, savoring freedom, he said:

“That was the original plan. But then, someone completely unexpected got involved. At first, I received a numerical report. Security 4 Department, 01 casualty. That was the first I heard about you.”

Shepherd Six, who died fulfilling his duty in the Security Team, stopping an abomination. Was it me? Part of me. I wasn’t Shepherd Six now.

“But, heh, funny enough, you came back alive a month later. When I received the report that Arthur Murphy, a general employee of Security 4 Department who had been processed as deceased, had returned alive, I attended the disciplinary committee. You know what happened after that.”

He was the one who allowed me to leave Bellwether with this reinforcement body. Did he just take it away so Walter couldn’t get it? But he seemed uninterested in such trivial matters.

“The coup is just business that needs to be handled. The Los Angeles branch will be purified. What mattered was whether an employee who accidentally got caught in the middle was worth saving.”

This was the opposite of what Walter had said. Walter had said preventing a precedent was more important than saving a single employee. And that was somewhat reasonable. So I briefly borrowed his words.

“But, well, wouldn’t preventing the coup in advance to avoid setting a precedent be more important than saving me…?”

“That’s an unusually foolish thing for you to say. We live in an era where reality can be censored and truth can be manufactured. Whatever happens can be changed afterward.”

I felt my spine straighten. The trembling in my fingertips intensified. The very fact that he spoke of such things as if they were trivial was incomprehensible.

“But the dead cannot be revived. Even copying the brain is barely possible immediately after death, and even then, putting it in a body would result in phantom pain. A hologram without sensation is the limit.”

Knowing the result means he had tried. The feeling of seeing the extreme negative outcome when someone capable also has the will to do something was chilling. The goosebumps turned to fear.

“Anyway, that’s why I came here, taking some vacation time. I did some business with the recipe from a shop I used to frequent in Berlin. The taste probably wasn’t much different from 70 years ago. It was quite an enjoyable time.”

He spoke with the same gravity about handling Bellwether’s coup as he did about this story. To Mr. Günter, this was simply a vacation. He chuckled again and continued:

“During this time, you’ve proven your efficiency. Efficiency is good. Inefficiency is evil! The efficient are the righteous. You’ve shown enough efficiency to earn a place among the hundred righteous people to be saved.”

Hearing the words I had been reciting in my mind spoken directly by their creator carried a different weight. The dissonance and surrealism of hearing what I had thought was a joke spoken in reality was beyond imagination.

“But now I see there’s more to it. In your eyes, I see my younger self. With passionate hatred. Filled with a desire for revenge so intense you’re ashamed to harbor it. You know what needs to be done but feel powerless because you think there’s nothing more you can do. Isn’t that right?”

It felt like even my thoughts and mind were being scrutinized. I tried to answer, but anxiety and fear prevented my voice from coming out. Only after pounding my chest could I finally speak.

“Y-yes. I thought I had grasped my last chance, but I failed…”

“No need to be so formal, Metzgerhunt. And I decide which chance is the last.”

My body froze. My thoughts of using him to kill Walter had already faded, replaced by instinctive tension and fear. Seeing me in this state, he smiled and asked:

“Well then… I’m going to hunt the whale that made you a cripple. Would you like to be my harpooner?”

He—the Chairman, or whoever he might be—extended his hand to me. I grasped his hand, covered in artificial skin.

In that moment, walls crumbled. A path appeared. I could run again. Speed limits were lifted. It was terrifying yet exhilarating.