Ch.87013 Work Record – Too High a Price (1)

With a few cans of beer not even enough to make me tipsy, I returned to my home completely sober… and found it restored as if nothing had ever happened.

The broken window had been neatly replaced, and there was no trace of the search or evidence that I had torn off the heads of the Assassination and Assault Department chiefs. I entered with an incredulous laugh.

Seeing that Chance’s server computer had also been returned, it seemed the Shepherd had taken care of things. As soon as I threw myself onto the bed, I lightly tapped the side of my head to turn on the computational assist device and connected to Chance.

My voice didn’t sound intoxicated. I didn’t bother pretending it was, either. I might have been acting a lot lately, but I hadn’t forgotten my own voice.

“Chance.”

“I’m listening, Agent Arthur Murphy.”

“Was I right to try to save even one more life?”

I could nod and move past everything else, but somehow my chest still ached about capturing Walter and then leaving everything else to the Belwether security team before returning to the Chairman.

At that time, I was wearing assault-grade reinforced armor and holding a grenade launcher connected to Chance. Ideally speaking, I might have been able to handle one Assault Department chief.

“Affirmative. You did everything within your authority as an agent. You looked after those you could save directly, and you captured the coup’s leader and brought him to the rightful authority.”

“I didn’t really save the team leaders—I just diverted two Special Operations agents who were in my path to my target… but I guess I did save people one way or another.”

“Would you like an additional response?”

I nodded slightly. It was the first time Chance had indicated wanting to say more. Chance’s voice echoed in my ear.

“Even for me, it’s impossible to derive a perfectly correct answer every time due to performance limitations. In such situations, the alternative my algorithm uses is to continuously improve upon the initially derived answer.”

A perfectly correct solution or perfect execution wasn’t a destination to arrive at, but a direction to head toward. It was closer to a place one could never actually reach.

Like setting the North as your destination and endlessly sailing your ship, walking through the blizzards of the Arctic, or running across Antarctica, only to return to where you started… There was no point in blaming yourself for not being perfect.

If you really felt that inadequate, the question seemed to be that you shouldn’t blame yourself but rather improve. For such dry advice expected from the emotionless Chance, it was surprisingly humane.

“That’s right. I should work to make good choices again in the future, and as you said, continuously improve upon choices I might have made poorly. That’s quite a human answer from someone who isn’t human.”

Should I have let Walter talk with Chance for about thirty minutes? Chance’s answers, despite operating purely on reason and algorithms as Walter had idealized, were always human-like and emotional. Yet still rational.

No, that’s not right. If I’d bought him ice cream with chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry flavors mixed well, that idiot kid would have tried to separate out just the chocolate. He wouldn’t have listened. I shook off the thought.

Rather than imagining a man who was already dead with his head pierced through, I decided to sleep. The bed was soft and comfortable. When I recalled this feeling, everything else I had gained seemed secondary.

More than what I was now capable of doing, the fact that I had regained this simple, natural feeling that had been temporarily taken from me became more special. The quality of sleep wasn’t bad. Morning came without dreams.

It was fortunate that today was also a holiday. And not just anyone’s holiday, but a day off for Arthur Murphy, ordinary employee of Nightwatch.

Otherwise, it was Los Angeles as usual. The rain that seemed like it would pour all day yesterday had stopped in the evening, so the morning sky was the color of smoke exhaled through the hazy eyes of a drug addict.

I flipped past a news report where one of Creative Heaven Robotics’ few human executives was angrily shouting that if Belwether had requested it, they would have sent hundreds or thousands of drones to suppress the coup. There was a message waiting for me.

The sender was… Shepherd One. That is, the chief of Security Department 4. I couldn’t tell how far my gag order had flown away. Walter’s decision to erase my records seemed to still be in effect.

Though Walter made the decision, it was a company-level matter. I wasn’t particularly upset, but the thought that I needed to live diligently did cross my mind.

If I died now, I would simply evaporate. Disappear without having done anything, with no one knowing my name except my colleagues at Nightwatch.

I contacted the chief. I didn’t want to miss an opportunity to talk with someone who knew who I was, regardless of censorship. The connection took less than five seconds.

“Yes, Chief. You’re calling early this morning. Aren’t you going to work?”

“What’s with this ‘Chief’ business? Once you resign, whether you’re a chief, director, president, or chairman, you’re just a mister or grandpa. They’re not stupid enough to make you come to work today after putting you through the wringer yesterday.”

Well… come to think of it, I did call Mr. Gunter by that name. He probably wouldn’t have preferred being called Chairman Belwether. He had treated me like a son, after all.

“Still, from the perspective of a partner company employee looking at a headquarters employee… How’s Security Department 4? They’re all people I know except for the six new Shepherds.”

Seeing that he didn’t caution me or click his tongue at this comment… Ah, damn it. I couldn’t tell. The gag order seemed to remain in an ambiguous, floating state.

Thinking about it, it was an issue the company couldn’t handle even if they wanted to. The two people involved in that matter were the Chairman and Walter—Walter, whom I killed with my own hands, and the Chairman, who left LA just yesterday.

“Of course, kid. Everyone’s got a bullet mark or two… but that’s why I always insisted on daily life support system tests. Still, we have one serious injury. I’m calling because I want to visit him in the hospital.”

Considering that the Special Operations Department was their main enemy, guarding the medical wing was probably one of the less dangerous tasks. Special Ops didn’t go to the medical wing for treatment; they typically went to the repair department.

“A Special Ops bastard who resisted to the end nearly cut the throats of two Shepherds with his fingertips, but fortunately his life support system kicked in, and the Mobility Department transferred him to Old Pasadena General Medical Center. Ah, maybe…”

The reason his voice trailed off was simple. I was someone who had experienced something similar. Fortunately, I had already settled that matter.

“Don’t worry—seeing how Walter, who put me in that state, met his end cleared all my resentment. I should go congratulate those two Shepherds for not ending up like me.”

“You’re one capable bastard. I’ll be there right away, so let’s meet at the hospital. I thought this was as good an excuse as any to see your face, so don’t bring any gifts, Arthur. Got it?”

This is something I should record in my work log. Since records 13 through 15 were censored, I’ll delete those redacted documents and start again from number 13. Though it was a bit of a stretch to call this work.

Since my bike helmet was already smashed, I put on the display helmet I received from the Chairman and left the apartment. The neighborhood wasn’t usually this quiet, but right now it was eerily silent.

Gangs only flex their power when Belwether is behaving. When Belwether starts rampaging like a rabid sheep, the gangs cover their tattoos with synthetic skin and pretend to be ordinary layabouts to survive.

Everyone’s goal was survival. The city’s goal, the corporations’ goals, people’s goals. Those who could hope for more weren’t even a handful. I got on my bike and headed downtown.

Belwether’s identification drones were flying throughout the streets. One approached me, and Stephanet’s voice began to speak.

“Identification checks are being conducted for coup participants, so please adjust your helmet display to show your face. We cannot verify either your vehicle or body registration number.”

“It’s red information, Stephanet.”

I smiled leisurely and tapped the side of my helmet to reveal my face. The drone, after comparing my face with the list of coup participants, was about to fly away but returned to me.

“I don’t have any record of casual conversations with you in my personal database, Arthur Murphy, general employee of the mercenary company Nightwatch. How is a regular employee of a partner company also a freelancer?”

“Because I’d rather choose to obey of my own will than accept forced freedom. Is the identification check over?”

The drone hovered in place for a moment. Stephanet seemed to be searching her memory. Finally, an uncertain voice returned.

“It’s complete. But when did I forget you?”

“That’s also red information. No… you have the ability to infer, so it would be black. Anyway, have a good day. Don’t fuss too much asking your employees for comfort.”

Stephanet was an AI whose performance was no less impressive than Chance’s. It seemed that the moment she discovered she didn’t know something, she began to infer why.

From the color classification system, she could tell I was from Belwether, and the only reason she wouldn’t remember someone from Belwether would be if they were erased or censored by the company.

Someday I might become friends with Stephanet again. After playing a prank on Stephanet, who wouldn’t report this suspicious situation due to her broken reporting system, I headed straight to the medical center.

I should have woken up here a month ago. After an interview with Dr. Isabella Shaw, I should have limped back to the staff quarters, collapsed for the entire day, and gone to work the next day.

But I couldn’t. That’s why I was here now. Feeling the absurd contradiction and acceleration within that contradiction, I waved to the Chief who was waiting in front of the hospital.

I took off my semi-transparent display helmet and revealed my face. The Chief, who seemed to have injured his shoulder as one arm was immobilized, greeted me with a slight nod of his chin.

“Look at you. Quit your job and now you’ve got the face of someone living easy. What were you doing at headquarters that day?”

He didn’t believe what was reported in the news. Probably because there was no mention of me at all. I answered just like when I first joined Nightwatch and lied about my experience.

“I didn’t do anything. Maybe you saw wrong?”

“So I was talking to a hallucination?”

“Something like that. Is your shoulder okay?”

The Chief knew this was something that couldn’t be discussed. He let the conversation naturally shift topics and lightly tapped his injured shoulder before answering.

“As if there’d be just one or two snipers at headquarters. I shot a few dead, but when I raised my head again, my body suddenly jerked backward. The pain medication injected quickly, so I didn’t scream. They say regenerative therapy will fix it in a week.”

I might not know much else, but I would have advised against nanomachine treatment. After seeing Adrian, that is. After exiting the elevator, we walked down a corridor with windows that wouldn’t open. The gently blowing air had already been purified twice.

“So who was he? That hero of Belwether.”

At this point, shouldn’t the Chief also have been under a gag order? After checking the CCTV that couldn’t record audio, I spoke while turning my back to the camera as we passed.

“As far as I know, he was exactly as shown in that footage. He was a good person.”

With this pointless conversation, we lightly touched the hospital room door to open it and entered. A former colleague with his neck wrapped greeted us with a wave. I started with a relaxed joke.

“You should have protected your head like I did. Are you okay?”

“Except for the preservative solution stinging my wound every time I speak… and you just making me talk. It’s fortunate I retired. It’s fortunate I wasn’t there yesterday.”

It seemed only the Chief knew the full story. Belwether wouldn’t simply overlook the fact that everyone in Security Department 4 knew I was there but didn’t file a gag order.

The six Shepherds, who were being dragged deeper into the quagmire regardless of their choices and growing only in vengefulness, had enough with just me. In the midst of our friendly conversation, my hearing detected something.

The sound of metal scraping. Something light and metallic seemed to be moving across the ceiling in a fairly regular pattern. It sounded similar to the movement of Special Ops cyborg bodies.

I didn’t turn my head. This was inside a hospital. It should be a safe place, and if something were to happen, it would need to be handled quietly. I asked the Chief in a relaxed voice.

“By the way, were all the Special Ops caught? It would be like a horror story if those things were wandering around LA grinding their teeth at Belwether employees.”

“Are those the kind of guys who die just because you try to kill them? I heard two escaped. One broke through a weak point in the encirclement, and the other was carried away in a waste truck with only half his body remaining. Didn’t you see the drones flying around on your way here?”

All I could manage was an awkward expression. I lightly tapped the floor with my toe and spoke. The situation might be too big to hide and handle.

“I’m going to go down one floor quickly. I keep hearing metal scraping sounds from below… it sounds similar to Special Ops full-body prosthetics.”

If they had come for revenge against the security team members who were now filling the hospital with injuries from fighting them, they would pay a heavy price.

Surely the entire Special Ops team hadn’t gone mad with the idea that they needed to purge the security team and attack a hospital. Their goal was also, after all, to do the right thing as security.

As I drew the gun tucked at my waist and prepared to go downstairs, the Chief clicked his tongue a couple of times and pulled out his own pistol with his good hand, grabbing the barrel and handing it to me.

“Whatever else we might have lacked yesterday, we were supplied with enough armor-piercing rounds for handguns. Don’t struggle with regular bullets. We’re going where we need to go.”

“You don’t need to go anywhere, Chief. Am I the only one here with two arms and a neck?”

My revenge was now over. This was… yes, I could think of it as public security maintenance work. I put the gun the Chief gave me inside my jacket and left the room.

The surest method would be to exit through a window and peek through the window of the floor below before entering, but hospital windows were designed not to open except in emergencies.

It was wiser to keep them closed rather than leave the possibility for smog-filled air to leak in. Natural soil was unsuitable for plant growth, and natural air wasn’t particularly good for breathing.

I went down one floor via the emergency stairs. Nothing special. As I headed toward the room where I had heard the sound… once again, a deep scraping sound was heard. Were they digging like dogs? I couldn’t tell.

With my gun slowly drawn, I gently touched the door of the room where the sound came from. The opaque door instantly became transparent and then opened. The unpleasant feeling of my hand passing through a sound-dampening field traveled up my fingertips.

There was one more Special Ops agent inside than I had expected. One with only his head and upper body remaining was attached to the ceiling, and another almost intact one was standing in the room.

Despite the sound-dampening field, it was just a layer of air, so it couldn’t mask the sound of the ceiling-mounted half-bodied Special Ops agent’s prosthetics scraping against the ceiling.

I immediately aimed the gun I had already drawn. If they had set up a sound-dampening field, it would be good to handle this quietly. I first aimed the gun at the Special Ops agent on the ceiling.

The half-bodied Special Ops agent also tried to lunge at me. He pointed the sharp end of his prosthetic hand, which could also be used as a weapon, at me.

But the other Special Ops agent… blocked both of us. With one hand, he blocked the front of my gun as I pulled the trigger. Though the armor-piercing round made a hole in the back of his hand, the full-body prosthetic couldn’t feel pain.

With his other hand, he was restraining the Special Ops agent trying to attack. The unarmed Special Ops agent was holding back the other half-bodied Special Ops agent with one hand, even at the cost of getting scratches on his arm.

A full-body prosthetic without even artificial muscles couldn’t express emotions. Yet somehow, he exuded a melancholy atmosphere as he stood against the wall opposite the door, slightly nodding as if asking me to come in.