Ch.96Work Record #014 – Forging a Harpoon (5)

The gloomy atmosphere of the office seemed to suit only one person—Simon. He alone appeared to know how to blend with the ashen colors of Los Angeles.

The others were resisting the gloom. They were trying to block the smog seeping through the imperfectly sealed windows, wearing cheap 50-credit gas masks from the mart.

Those masks could last quite a while if the filters were changed regularly, but they struggled to block both smog and gunpowder residue. For a workday, though, they were the best option available.

Simon wore proper bulletproof gear, while the others barely managed to put on bulletproof vests under their everyday clothes. Simon greeted me with a casual wave before speaking with a grin.

“Don’t make that face, freelancer. That ‘Is this where people live? Looks like a sewer to me!’ expression. Even sewer dwellers have feelings, you know?”

“If I start touching my face awkwardly now, does that mean I really am thinking that?”

With a chuckle, he nodded. I asked for the changing room location. I changed in a makeshift locker room that had probably once been intended as a break room.

Since there was nothing painted in matte white, I put on combat fatigues with desert tan and gray camouflage.

It was a shame, but since visibility was limited to about one meter anyway, the color didn’t really matter much.

Little Evil was always ready to fire, as was my rifle. After confirming both had their safety switches on, I holstered Little Evil at my waist.

The tactical knife’s vibration function was working fine too. With that, my preparations were complete. The only difference from before was that I wore a semi-transparent display helmet instead of my skull-shaped bulletproof mask.

The helmet revealed the silhouette of my face, so the feel wasn’t much different from the bulletproof mask. After checking everything, I switched the display to combat mode and walked out of the changing room.

Simon whistled once and began the briefing. It wasn’t something I was used to. It was rather informal.

“Not exactly snow-white, but it won’t be visible in the smog anyway. The targets are those Smog Crawlers we saw at Hive Bar yesterday. We’ve got their hideout address, and with the freelancer with us, there shouldn’t be any problems…”

Only the sound of chewing nicotine gum echoed in the office. Simon touched his forehead, pointed at the large man—Wilderf or something—and said:

“Wilderf. If you’re going to carry a bulletproof shield, keep your posture low and cover all the parts not protected by your greaves. Evelyn, don’t start trembling and planning your escape the moment someone gets hurt. Riley, don’t go wild. And…”

This place is a mess too. Unlike the night watch, which had its peculiarities mostly unrelated to work, everyone here seemed to have their own quirks—or inefficiencies—when it came to the job itself.

Simon didn’t look particularly dangerous right now. He looked more like an instructor teaching rookie mercenaries. He sighed again as he looked at his nephew and said:

“Noah, don’t obsess over taking everyone out at once. There’s no benefit to ending things with a flashy explosion. Freelancer, what do you think?”

So this one’s about glory-seeking. The last employee was… a man without any notable features. Judging by his equipment, he was office staff who would wait in the van. A hacker, probably. He couldn’t possibly have any distinctive traits.

“I prefer handling things quietly too. There’s a reason I installed a voice modulator like the ones used by the Anti-Air Department. Mercenary companies are basically outsourced peacekeepers, and there’s no benefit to making a commotion.”

Gangs typically use ordinary people as shields. They hide among people, hoping their stench will be masked. Making a noisy scene would only result in bloodshed among ordinary employees and citizens.

Noah finally looked my way. It was a different impression from his hesitation yesterday. This time, he bit his lip as if in a hurry and said:

“Still, I… I want to become famous. Famous enough to catch the eye of Belwether or Fitts & Morrison. To do that, I need to stand out somehow, even if it’s just taking down a gang.”

Does he not harbor resentment toward Fitts & Morrison? I decided to revise the imaginary relationship chart I’d been drawing. Could it be that Noah Verami doesn’t know the cause of his parents’ death? That was possible.

We live in an age where reality can be censored and truth can be manufactured. It wouldn’t be strange if Simon Verami was the only one who knew the truth. With these thoughts, I let my mouth speak on its own.

“Isn’t it strange for major corporations to notice you just because you took down a gang in a flashy way? The easiest way to get noticed is through diligence. Show them you’re skilled at similar tasks.”

My method of speaking like this was something that had used up all my connections and lucky breaks. Being a Belwether retiree, and the fact that among the project files Kay happened to steal there was one about Mr. Günter—those were strokes of luck.

But I was the one who seized that luck and climbed up. I was the one who, with certainty, tore Walter’s throat apart and impaled him on a harpoon. I spoke with conviction.

Simon nodded with satisfaction, then pointed at Noah and spoke. It seemed like he was giving advice, or perhaps trying to temper youthful enthusiasm.

“I’m glad I brought in a freelancer around your age. Noah, this time the freelancer will handle the leader. Don’t just try to stand out. Understand?”

Noah nodded, though with a dissatisfied expression. Was he not being shy in front of me earlier, but observing me instead? I tried to reconsider his reactions. It was hard to tell.

Simon brought up a map and began explaining. It was a large mansion in the ruins. Even in a ruined area, seizing a grand, magnificent mansion was the easiest way for a gang to display their authority.

“There are about twenty to thirty gang members living in the garden. Only the executives can enter the mansion itself. We’ll quickly clear the garden with grenades and then move inside. And…”

He raised his finger and pointed deeply at the center of the mansion displayed on the hologram. He moved his finger to write “Smoking Room” and tapped it.

“True to their smoke addiction, the boss usually stays here. It was originally an indoor garden, but the Smog Crawlers converted it into a smoking room, so there’ll be heavy smoke. We’ll send the freelancer there.”

The consideration for handling the mission was quite decent. Simply running to the center of the building to kill the boss was something I could accept as an official request.

“The rest of us will spread out to subdue the gangs inside. I’ll take Noah with me. Wilderf, take the others with you. There won’t be many inside anyway, just executives who probably haven’t fired a gun in a month.”

The hardest thing for a Belwether person to understand was this: why do people think higher ranks mean easier work and less responsibility?

Companies where the leader handles everything, middle managers slack off under loose standards, and only the bottom employees work hard, easily fail. It’s inefficient. At Belwether, that was an absolute evil.

The only concerning part was that he said he’d take Noah with him. There might be something to find inside the mansion. I recalled the Battering Rams vigilante group.

“Any special notes about these Smog Crawlers? This seems large for a simple cleanup operation. It’s big enough that it could have been a public tender.”

I thought about how companies handling public tenders sometimes just follow the Mobile Department for support and then return. Simon pushed the entire request form toward me.

There was nothing strange in the request content. There were no sections that would open with Canun Company credentials. It really was just a gang cleanup job, nothing more, nothing less. I should keep an eye out, but there was no immediate reason for suspicion.

“I confirm there are no special notes. So I understand this is just about infiltrating the site and handling everything. I’ll connect the communication channels. Oh, and I’ll take your voices to help with disruption.”

I lightly touched the back of my neck to turn on the voice module and received the voices of all six Canun Company members. I had already deleted Walter’s voice, and conversations with Adrian had been censored long ago.

Simon was a better boss than I expected. I wondered if “than expected” was the right way to put it. Someone who was prickly and sharp during downtime seemed to come alive during work.

I felt a sense of kinship. It reminded me of how I wanted to prove my efficiency at every moment when I was in front of Mr. Günter. Perhaps being good at the job was the more dangerous aspect.

If I was going to be suspicious, it should be after completing the job. Simon gave the desk one final hard tap and said:

“Alright. Even though he’s a freelancer, he’s just another armed human like you! Don’t be nervous or uncomfortable. The division of labor is the same as usual. Everyone to the car. Freelancer, stay back a moment.”

After the other employees went down to the car, only people who matched the gloomy office remained. Two mercenaries in proper combat gear.

I worried about what he might say, but he finally spat out his nicotine gum and put a cigarette in his mouth before speaking. His voice sounded completely relaxed.

“How old are you, freelancer?”

“Twenty-two.”

He laughed incredulously and said:

“Exactly one year older than Noah, one year younger than Riley… three years younger than Wilderf. They might not seem like kids to you, but take care of them anyway. They’re colleagues Noah chose himself.”

“Your attitude seems completely different from yesterday. You seemed to hate people who act like model students.”

A stream of smoke added to the office air where smog was already leaking in, but it didn’t make much difference. A single stream of smoke just dissolved into the city’s smog.

“I looked you up, that’s why. You’re a natural. Destroyed the Osgard guys, wiped out the Battering Rams in a single night. Made the wanted criminal die like a pathetic nobody who couldn’t even become a martyr. Isn’t that right?”

“I meant that I thought you disliked naturally talented people.”

Simon exhaled smoke with a sigh and nodded. For the first time, I heard his voice without any deception.

“I do. I hate them. I hate them terribly. But do you know what I hate the most?”

He tapped his own combat gear, covered in scratches, bullet grazes, and signs of replacement, then lightly tapped my smooth, unmarked combat gear.

“Living as a poor person in Washington, I thought all the big corporations were just full of fat-bellied bastards and idiots loyal to companies that grind people up. But that’s not it. People like you…”

Washington belonged to the nationalists. I didn’t know much about territories or states, but I knew it was the capital claimed by the nationalists. He continued with a sigh.

“You probably never had to face life’s hardships, so you’re generally untroubled. You have certainty and confidence because you have rails to follow in life. You’re comfortable enough to fill your stomach, so you have the luxury to talk about morality. That’s what annoys me.”

People tend to rely more on prejudice than vision when looking at things. Both he and I were the same in this regard. I burst into laughter. I waved my hand.

“I’m not quite that naturally gifted. Like I said, I died and came back twice. That’s no lie. My certainty and confidence were trampled, and I learned that morality means nothing.”

I still remembered Walter’s face as he approached, having already decided my death, claiming to show mercy. I remembered the Legal Assassination Team sneaking into the office at dawn, and the help that never came.

I still remembered the sense of liberation and joy I felt when I threw a harpoon through Walter’s barely-alive head. It was a moment of freedom.

I removed my helmet to reveal my bare face and faced him. We were looking at each other with eyes that were no different. I spoke leisurely.

“Still, this way of living just naturally suits me better. I have no interest in becoming cold-blooded or a revenge ghost. I’m not interested, and while I feel a sense of duty, I couldn’t enjoy it.”

The world didn’t need that many people left with nothing but stubbornness and spite. I wanted to be someone necessary to the world as I saw it. That’s why I returned to night watch.

Now I could understand Simon’s reaction. The problem wasn’t that I looked like a natural-born mercenary, but that I looked privileged. He became friendly because of the fact that I had walked the bottom.

He chewed the cigarette he was holding, spat it into the office trash can, and extended his hand. I grasped it. For the first time, we shook hands with bare faces.

“Thick-skinned bastard. I hope Noah doesn’t end up like you.”

“I agree. He shouldn’t end up like me.”

The fact that we faced each other with bare faces was important; the handshake itself was trivial. After putting my helmet back on, I went down to the car and got into the passenger compartment. The van’s seats were quite small. The interior was more cramped than what we used for night watch.

The car sped through the smog. Following the outlines of roads and cars displayed on the screen above the window, we headed to catch the Smog Crawlers. I wasn’t carrying a grenade rifle, but I was connected to Chance.

The car entered the ruins, and the surrounding area was designated as a work zone. Still, we began to slow down to avoid being detected by the gang wandering in the smog. I lightly touched the side of my head and said:

“If we’re going at this speed, I’ll get out and move on foot. I’ll count how many are outside the mansion before the vehicle arrives, so follow me. If you want, I’ll initiate combat first.”

Simon handed me two modular grenades. Judging by Noah’s slightly distorted expression, he had never received such items from Simon.

Since we had shared enough trust to work together, Simon apparently wasn’t worried that I might throw the grenades into the van and block the door. After receiving them, I got out of the van.

I scanned the surroundings with my hearing. Through the flow of smog, I could hear whispering voices. The sounds weren’t very dense, but it wasn’t difficult to count them.

The most common sound was coughing. Without gas masks, inhaling this smog while staying outdoors—their respiratory systems couldn’t possibly remain intact. I could hear more than nine different types of coughing.

If they had replaced their respiratory systems, the next thing would be itching. Beyond the acrid smell of smog, I could faintly detect the scent of blood dissolved in the air. I heard the sound of scratching skin hard enough to draw blood.

I distinguished them one by one. Using my hearing to see ahead, I lightly jumped up and silently climbed onto the mansion’s fence. Without opening my mouth, I output my voice to the communication channel:

“I count twenty-two. By the looks of it, they won’t be able to put up proper resistance. You can speed up and enter.”