Duty Log 002 - Just Consequences (1)
The mercenary license arrives the next day. Normally, they only provide an online version, but perhaps because of my near-pure-human, horrific condition, a plastic card embedded with a chip shows up too. At least now I don't have to explain at length who I am. In this era, to prove your identity, you need to work for a company. The unemployed only exist for the census—otherwise, they're ghosts.
He slips the chipped card into his wallet and inspects the gun. It's from Bola's favorite shop, so no worries there, but it's a habit since middle school, when he set his sights on Bellwether's security team. Is it weird for middle schoolers to get rifles for career day? Who knows. If that's abnormal, what does a normal life even look like?
The gun from the arms dealer is brand new, high-quality enough for immediate issue to security teams. No wonder those attackers who ambushed the merc buying him drinks were armed with Bellwether gear. Someone in logistics is behind this. Sure, Bellwether doesn't pay enough to swim in cash, but the salary covers everything. Controlling nearly half the city means employee discounts everywhere. It's respect and perks you can't buy but that pay dividends.
Bellwether will sniff out the embezzler eventually. They'll lose credits, privileges, everything. No reason to gamble like that. So money's not the motive. If not money... who knows.
Bellwether's no longer his problem, but it's vital to the city, and people he cares about are still there. He'll report anything he uncovers. Old-school evidence boards might work too. Great, now I'm playing detective. He has to dig up Jace anyway for revenge, so this is side hustle.
Reviewing files on his phone, someone knocks on the on-duty room door. Only one person visits this early: the boss. He cases the gun first.
"Come in."
The door swings open at his words. Unlike yesterday's casual attire, Yoon enters in a sharp suit, handing over a box emblazoned with the Bellwether logo. A faint smile suggests good news. She glances around, nods twice.
"Much cleaner than when Valentina used it as storage. Feel free to crash here like a dorm. And this came through Bellwether connections—open it. It's a job for you, Arthur."
Inside: a black-and-dark-gray combat suit with patterned grays, limb guards, and a ballistic mask with skull-like openings for eyes and nose only.
"No hacker can crack you, Arthur. No parts to hack. Even an earpiece comm won't trip radio detectors."
"They're tuned for cranial compute assists—ignore smaller signals. Doesn't make you weak, though. You're in the same body as the wolves in sheep's clothing."
Wolves in sheep's clothing: Bellwether assault team's nickname. Branch assaults still use Posthuman III, so his body's superior.
He taps the translucent-lensed mask obscuring the eyes, holds it to his face, checks the mirror she provides. Skull vibe.
"We're not facing megacorp troops. Real threats: merc firms disrupting city peace that Bellwether's handling, true gangs, terrorists."
Terrorists.Jace. Hatred surges. Directionless. Her next words taste sweeter.
"Terrify them. Make hackers hole up in fear, drivers slump dead over steering wheels."
Wild Night's field team: four total—Bola, Eve, boss, him. Three without him. Bola's unbeatable in open fights. Proper frontal armor shrugs small-caliber rounds; they'd need heavies she outclasses. But she's hacking-vulnerable—brain aside, fully hackable.
Bellwether folk hate variables. He's her variable-killer. One success, spread the rumor: fighting Wild Night, hackers drop dead, no alerts. Black suit, mask: theater for rumors.
Perfect for him—no compute assist means no net access barehanded. Do well, and it's safe.
"Rear ambush kills morale—they crumble to Bola. Less hack risk lets her move freer."
Company alums sync easy. Pitts & Morrison go autonomous; Bellwether thrives on planned improv.
"Same company... no, even trained for the same corp, it's smooth. Not hard. Bellwether's enemies are ours, soon the city's. Different badges, but serving the city, Arthur."
The city's fused with Bellwether—natural. Terrorists claiming its fall births a new era? Maybe true. But it'd crumble everything worse. He joined to protect the normal. Bellwether built schools, took unprofitable public security, made guards city watch. That's why security uni.
Leash changed, but Shepherd's Shepherd. No grand ambitions—just normal life. Jace stole that irrecoverably. Even if faith betrays, he won't betray it. He steels himself, nods firmly. Reliable rookie face feels natural now.
"Tough, but I'll take it. Dragged by surprises till now—now I'm the surprise. Time to surprise back."
"Lucky to hire you. Gear up, check training sims I prepped—Bellwether standard. Oh, and..."
She trails off. Her eyes usually gaze afar, beyond sight, but now she's just a coworker.
"You won't know them, never worked together, but a Shepherd provided all this. Some mix-up."
Yoon starts easy. Her leisurely tone contrasts terror-talk—feels good.
"Said 'share training with official partner' but meant 'handle my six Shepherds well.' Unknown six lived right, huh?"
City automates, but not everything. Deep breath, nod. Locks tear ducts consciously. Severance pay was too much; now unrepayable. Not a Shepherd Six—no need, can't anyway. Creeping unease rises.
He kills time till shift in old training sims. Guards hold ground till evasion or assault/special ops chew intruders. Side-learned before; now not.
Emerges from "training room"—VR pod in corner—showers in on-duty bath. Nearly 8.
Eve's early, chin-nods greeting. Dark blue wavy bob sways; pauses, turns.
"License delayed yesterday—no go. Today?"
"Came this morning. Field-ready, but no shoulder-to-shoulder, senpai."
She frowns, shakes head. Forehead-touch aborted—remembers prosthetic hand, pulls away annoyed. Sore spot. Voice sharper than cold usual, leaking despite suppression. Not anger.
"I find calling kill-buddies 'friends' ridiculous. Please, no more. You're... not a bad guy."
Long silence after "you're." Doesn't guess intent. Like picking scab—clot stops bleed, but wound festers. Healing slow. She's got one.
No words; nods lightly. She slumps in corner chair, hugs knees, dons old headset.
Team assembles. Bola: thick bulletproof coat hiding spine, helmet veiling quarter-face. Kay: fluffy peach hair ponytail, proper prosthetics not lightweights. Valentina too. Ready.
Boss briefs his role; Bola approves, metal hand lightly thwacks back. Body flinches, barely hurts.
Then yesterday recap: convenience robbery duo downed by boss and Eve sniping, easy cleanup. Wild Night tempo sinking in. 8AM personal prep, review past jobs; 11 prep bids. Kay snipes, all scan.
Center hologram display up. Kay refreshes obsessively pre-11. 10:59, drags for auto-refresh, stopwatch-syncs. Perfect.
Job wall floods: 200+. All kill-one-or-two minimum. City churns 200+ daily for mercs. LA sprawl huge.
Kay scatters. Higher bids auto-vanish. Eve picks one, slides to boss. Bid stamps Wild Night logo.
Overwhelmed, can't track picks. Knight-shield-pistol logo hovers. Building pic, map pin, six faces. Another firm. Wasteland road map outside metro—corpo haul route, empty, gang hideouts dotting.
Briefing. First job. Fists clenched in black-gray gear, steels will.
"Today's purge: Osguard, Bellwether official partner, extorts locals, evicts good shops for kickback tenants—lost quals. Bellwether-sanctioned wipe."
No-justice violence tanks morale. Detail rationale boosts efficiency.
Next pic: Osguard guards other shops as gangs loot nearby. Drone shot. Proof.
Citizens sprawled, cash snatched mid-offer. Osguard enables via turf deals—they're tonight's wipe too. LA nights often smell of powder.
"Osguard's on Bellwether dispatch: wasteland op. Wait post-job, revoke partner status, no protection—purge."
First map: their site.
Fail op, Bellwether loses a firm.
"No hills/cover, terrain below road—van sniper perch enough. Spot stop, Bola and lead rifle flank. Arthur: approach van, handle office staff... any perimeter mercs. Questions?"
Not Eve—lead rifle. Subtle care, clean split; no unease voiced.
Bola first: "Gang purge in wasteland base—if holed up resisting?"
"Ideal: lure out, strike distant. Else, Bola's grenade launcher. Closer approach means 50% life-pay bump. More?"
Yoon scans silence, nods satisfied, rallies:
"Osguard had their shot: thrive as partner. Rejected. We're not acting—reacting. Delivering just consequences. Mount up."
Bola mechanical, Eve cold, Kay half-assed, Valentina drawling... Enzo uneasy, him calm. Down stairs.
Board armored van. It rolls. LED-neon haze dazzles like addict hallucination, billboards blaze daybright downtown. Below, black mask on—lenses dim glare. True black night doubles sharp.