Job Log 004 - Too Many of Me (6)
Shortly after Eve and I polished off a can of beer, the sun rose. It was sunlight refracted through the hazy air, but sunlight nonetheless. I caught Eve just as she was about to head back home—or wherever she crashes when she's off the clock.
As far as I knew, the boss would be pulling in soon... and 7436 would have to make her choice. It was a story we'd been forgiven for sharing, so I laid it out plain. She didn't seem pissed about it. Guess this much was fair game for me to know. Or maybe not. Our boundaries were fuzzy as hell. We never nailed down what's okay for outsiders to hear and what stays buried—most of the time, we just got swept up in emotions.
"Aren't you curious what 7436 will decide once she hears it? Might even lift your spirits to watch."
"Don't act like you already know everything, Arthur. You got lucky this time."
I snatched the helmet she tossed my way. Weaker than my head—or my limbs—but I strapped it on anyway. Only then did Eve's expression soften with relief.
Back at the office, I pushed the door open. 7436 was still blissfully asleep, oblivious to the world. We killed time on opposite couches in the reception area. The boss rolled in at 7:30 sharp, as always. She'd probably expected me lounging there, but Eve? No way. She'd said Eve was a ghost outside work hours.
"I figured on one, not two. Got something private to discuss and decided to wait?"
The boss didn't use Eve's name. That casual courtesy eased my tension a bit. Eve seemed aware it wasn't like her; she dipped her head slightly before replying.
"Just curious what 7436 would say. Not that weird a sight, right?"
That brush-off was the weirdest sight of all.
7436 stirred quietly at the voices outside, padding barefoot—slippers forgotten—toward the office door. She peeked out like she was scared of whatever scene awaited. I didn't call her out, didn't hold back my chuckle at Eve's response. Only after spotting that everyday normalcy did 7436 step out properly. She'd confirmed she wasn't plunging straight from ignorant sleep into a nightmare of countless "mes," and only then did she relax.
7436 cleared her throat. She walked between us, wearing Yakyeong's double-stick logo tracksuit, her mass-produced clone face lit with an expression that defied the mold.
"I've decided! I thought it over from dinner last night till dawn, all alone... That incubation supervisor or whatever who wanted me stored away? Yeah, maybe he tried to kill me. But I doubt he'd hand me a gun and slot me into security."
It was Eve's words echoing there. Trust him a little more. She was honoring the first kindness anyone had shown her—the unexplained goodwill from someone who'd become a mystery.
"So... living with a gun in my hand? Nah. New name, new face, new ID—I'll take 'em all. This company's solid, but it doesn't fit me."
The dead don't speak. Words in a dead man's name are ours alone. She was just borrowing one to convince herself.
She craved recognition for her skills. As a spy Bella who could infiltrate anywhere, she'd get accolades galore. But was that necessary? She was the type who'd settle for acknowledgment as a free-willed individual.
And so, 7436 chose simplicity over prowess and glory.
"Here's my pick... Name's Helen. Nothing fancy—just one of the few folks here who left a good impression. For the last name... what was that incubation supervisor's? Second-best impression from anyone at the company."
"Schmidt. German guy. So, Helen Schmidt it is. Want to pick a face too?"
In that instant, she became Helen. Better off than most, maybe. Everyone else lugs a name they didn't choose their whole lives, but she'd wear one she picked herself.
Eve watched with what looked like pride, a touch of emotion... or envy. Good call dragging her back here.
The boss summoned Bola and Enzo; the rest was on them. No computation assist for her, so she eyed the display, chose a face, and rode off in Bola's pickup. We'd recognize her if we saw her again. No guarantees of smooth sailing, though. In a city demanding two hundred mercs a day, civilian life shatters easy.
Eve, having seen it all, flipped her helmet on, fired up her bike, and vanished toward the horizon. She blended into the traffic-clogged roads in seconds.
Now it was just me and the boss in the office. Or so I thought.
Valentina—who'd gone boozing with Bola—emerged from the on-call room. No clue when she'd slipped back in.
"This holiday's gonna feel a bit more relaxed now~ Just hope we don't find that kid from the public posting gig sprawled somewhere tonight~. Right, Boogeyman?"
"C'mon, don't jinx it. Face swap means she's down a day or two anyway—no way we'll see Helen back on public postings tonight, no matter what."
Valentina paused, then grinned wide again. She propped her skeletal lightweight prosthetic hand on my shoulder.
"Never miss a beat, do ya? Fine, fine~. No Helen on postings means it's all good for us~."
She ducked back into the on-call room. Must've just gotten back—her steady breathing soon filled the space. Asleep, probably.
Did she roll in right when Eve and I nipped to the convenience store for that beer? Nah—we'd have heard something on our way back. The hour we waited? Dead quiet.
A nagging itch crawled through me like a bug. Something was there, but where?
"Oh, boss. We got a back door in the office? I was here, stepped out with Senior Eve for a quick beer... but no signs of life when we returned."
The boss answered without a flicker. No big deal, apparently. Or maybe not. Can't rule out a prepped response.
"Back door? Kinda—it's the fire escape exit over there. That hallway's been storage forever, so Valentina uses it to sneak in. She's got the only key."
Clean answer, utterly inefficient mess. Blocking a fire exit with junk? Locking it with one employee holding the key? All of it.
Something off. The boss who'd touted Bellwether's efficiency to sway Helen wouldn't tolerate this scale of waste.
Any facts linking to this? Yeah. Nightly taps on the walls. And that missing employee when I first applied. Brushed it off as personal then, but the inefficiencies piled up.
Personal curiosity or instinct screaming I need to know? Hard to say. Tomorrow's another holiday—boss doesn't come in mornings. Tonight through the day after, just me and Valentina.
Plan set clean; response stays clean. We still knew too little about each other to fully trust.
"I never worked at Bellwether, but..."
"Right. Classic inefficiency. 'Gotta clear it someday'—but merc life on off-days? Shit gets dragged out. Retired habits die hard."
Clean or honest? Too soon to tell. Generous of her not to warn me off speculating, at least.
I nodded. "If you're hauling it out, I'll help. Remember that drinking chat?"
"Newbie duty's cleaning trash. Done it? That's the real clunky, hierarchical waste, Arthur."
Her easy joke drew a shallow laugh. Not deep. But work first. Whatever's in the walls... didn't feel that dangerous.
So, off to VR training. Clunky aids for no-assist login. Bellwether's official sims were surprisingly solid—security mindset vs. others sharpened my focus plenty.
Time filled, evening hits. Shower, swap to combat gear. Black suit like skin now, armor over. As routine as Bellwether uniforms.
10:59, everyone's gathered, eyes on the holo-screen. Kay refreshes with her stopwatch; loading ends, postings flood in.
Familiar now. First time, I couldn't parse selections. Week later? Skim and sort easy.
My trick: Skip patrols. Prioritize sweeps, unknowns. Nipping unnamed sprouts pays simple and decent. City's not gangs'. It's corps', workers', citizens'.
Shove a few to the boss. Funny—my Posthuman IV dynamic vision shines on postings.
She checks, picks one. Yakyeong logo stamps it. Others vanish. Holo expands.
A caricature ram with massive curved horns. Bellwether-like... but feral.
Battering Rams Vigilante Group
"Public posting briefing. Vigilante disbandment. Battering Rams—Bellwether retirees. Designated emergency targets by the corp. Mostly ex-security and rapid response, some office drones. Stephanet caught their terror threats."
Horned goat logo screams "fighting for Bellwether." But nah. Just borrowing the name for legitimacy.
I nodded quietly. Uneasy twinge. Like me raging for revenge on biotech freaks and Jaiina?
Briefing rolls on. Twinge grows.
"Targets: Natural Person is Beautiful. LA branch of Jaiina. Most Rams lost colleagues in the Jaiina attack five weeks back, quit Bellwether over the corp's soft forgiveness. Now they're out for blood themselves."
Eve eyed me worried. Yeah. My turn to face the too-many-mes.
A month? Plenty to stew in revenge. Francis got our scout offer around then, everyone restarting somehow. Like me, they needed closure. Past purge. Vendetta. Revenge.
They don't know Jaiina's bled enough. Couldn't. I only knew 'cause I crossed Shepherd One.
Boss paused, then continued. Not just my burden of mes.
"Picked this posting 'cause it includes ex-Bellwether staff we scouted. Can't watch them stray from ideals—or let Yakyeong handle it without drawing corp suspicion. Personal bias? Object away."
Francis flashed first. Hand up instinctive.
Boss knew the question. "He's fine, Arthur. Your recommender's not in there. Fire away otherwise."
Hand down. Relief. No dead-man-walking reunion with twisted ex-coworker.
Not that lucky. Faces unknown, names maybe not—they're me. Same thoughts, judgments.
Ideological war, kinda. Bail? Can't. Dodged details so far with gag order vagueness—explaining means breaking it.
Head clear. Disband, not sweep. Corp'd say sweep for kills.
Hand up. "Disband over sweep—non-lethal options?"
"Stephanet says no, but LA branch downgraded from sweep. We'll try talking."
Corps prioritize no precedents over saving one soul... His words echoed.
Shoot 'em all? Precedent. Persuade to corp loyalty? Fizzles out, no mark.
Weirdly grateful to that efficiency nut branch head.
Swallowed emotion. Rational now. Talking's tough. Can't just "persuade and done!"
"Sorry. Got personal there. No complaints on the job."
Steady. Difference lingered—what set me from them? I'd infiltrated Jaiina for radicals, no public threats. Knew I'd get Osguard treatment if crossed. They didn't. I never claimed righteousness.
That was it.