Work Log #001: The Man From Nowhere (Part 2)
Something was off. There was no way only two people were in the entire company. Valentina had clearly phrased it like she'd heard from someone that I wasn't on the blacklist. That meant there should be at least one more person. No communication chatter either, so it made sense to assume they were inside. It was about time for employee introductions anyway, so I decided to ask outright.
"The person who confirmed I'm not on the blacklist doesn't seem to be in the office, huh? I didn't hear any voices talking inside either."
I said it lightly, tapping my ear. The augmented body I wore was Bellwether Corp's latest model. Hearing sounds through walls without audio enhancers was par for the course.
The boss froze for a moment, then called out with a curt "Bring it out." Several precision work drones buzzed out in formation, spinning lightly in front of me.
"I asked the IT guy working from home. You know how those types act like something inside them breaks if they have to come into the office?"
"Catherine, say hi to the new guy at least."
The drones started outputting synthesized speech. Multiple voices blended into something surprisingly natural, brimming with unnecessary pep.
"What? Where are you, boss? All I see in this office is some random smartphone in the reception room!"
"Don't check the net connection—use the camera. He's right in front of me. Didn't you just help check his resume? You know him."
She was hiding something. The dissonance was thick. If she was really the IT person who'd vetted my resume, she'd know I was in a Posthuman IV Augmented Body with no attachments. Yet she couldn't see me.
Still, I couldn't tell if this was the kind of big deal where mercenaries sell trust over marksmanship.
To me, whoever she was hiding was just someone who'd cleared my ID. Not important. But the boss was waking up an off-duty IT drone to make excuses for this nobody. That screamed personal.
Even if it wasn't personal, she wouldn't answer once and then suddenly spill on a second ask. Better to play flexible for now. Dig covertly.
"Ah, yeah. As you know, Arthur Murphy. Right now it's a pure bio-aug without connections..."
"Hey, you a company man? Looks like big-corp salary slave, but the career field's wiped clean. Call me Kay, offliner! More field boots for us is always good. Me and Tina aren't field ops anyway—boss can spot it at a glance, right? Ex-Mobile Unit 2 sniper lady, probably can't even run these days?"
I listened to the word-vomit pour out steadily. Loose lips. No thought of repercussions. Acts like "info sec" is alien lingo.
Chatting with her type reveals plenty. Or not. Unimportant stuff.
The boss being ex-Mobile Unit 2? Straight from her mouth. No one pegs Valentina as field ops. So this barrage was pure smokescreen. Hoping I'd chase shadows and flail.
Who vetted me to trigger this? Personal for her too. Everyone in this company hiding something personal. Personal enough not to hurt me.
Better wait it out. Everything's unknown as hell. Why'd Jack say only a Posthuman IV lets you stand up to Walter? Where'd the abomination flee? How'd that cult weirdo infiltrate Bellwether Corp HQ? All mysteries.
One by one. If they're hiding personal shit and testing my skills, I'll use the company right back. Worry about fallout later.
And there was one prime way to leverage it first. IT drone right here, and most mercs have net profiles. Even if smokescreen, her brag about knowing people rang true with that pep. Flatter a bit more.
"Ah, mind a personal favor? Got tangled with two mercs on the way down. Building contacts anyway—need to reach out, but never got numbers. Hair like Valentina's tied up, one eye with triple-concentric cybernetic rings. Can you find her?"
The three precision drones in front of me started spinning. Not operational—just habitual fidgeting, like fiddling a stress ball.
"New guy's asking so nicely—how could I say no? Hold on! Finding now. Hair like Valentina's—brighter or darker? Running image sweeps anyway."
My eyes were sharper, not color-tuned. I glanced quietly at Valentina's head on the desk post-shift cleanup. Mental compare.
"Darker than Valentina's. Just a shade."
"Got it. Good. Good... There! Check your phone. Get a neural calc booster in that head! Nah, don't—you're an offliner, that's why boss went nuts and hired you pre-contract! Turn you online, I'd be fired!"
I pulled my smartphone from the jacket pocket, checked the screen. The merc's face from that day stared back.
"That's her. Name and contact?"
"Nah, can't. Bellwether or Fitts & Morrison would eat me alive. For real. Hate facing their lobster goons head-on! Instead, here's her agency's number. Law's like the ocean, right? Don't fight the waves—ride 'em! How cool is that?"
Fitts & Morrison's sealed aug-suits were round head-to-neck domes in garish red—hence "lobsters." Her smokescreen word-wall was masterful... or maybe Kay just talked a mile a minute. Not just chatty—five semi-coherent nonsense lines per second. One thing for sure: exhausting opponent.
Got the number, signed the contract. Even Bellwether did paper handwritten ones. Hackers crack anything digital, but a locked vault's paper? Safe.
Post-signature, the boss's face eased. Clean wrap-up. Seems no ground's free of personal stains, no one's ashamed of the marks.
"Neat and tidy. Work talk tomorrow then. Clock in by 8 PM. Gotta meet Bola and Enzo, and Wild Night gigs mean overflowing roles for you. Here's to a good run."
"Ah, yep. Matches my night shift hours."
My slip—Bellwether night shifts in glee—got a finger to lips. Don't spill.
Wild Night's auto-door still ignored me, but Kay's drone popped it open. Funny—less than a drone. She laughed loud.
Out the building, across the intersection, checked the merc agency's profile. Close by. Call and head over fine.
Dialed, waited. Unknown number pickup? Sudden connect. Urgent voice flooded.
"Who—who's this line? Fredo! Mo! Who's this shit? I just said—raiders hit the office, we're outgunned!"
Heard her out first. Interrupting's inefficient.
"We split—Jamie city-side, me junkie-way! If you're hearing, backup! Sending ping, damn! Yesterday Bellwether nearly bit us, today..."
Chaos. Meant for her agency's secure channel, spilled on my call. Timing too perfect?
Kay's drone piped up.
"What, 90s... like a hundred years back 90s! Action star much? Explosions everywhere you go! Wild Night next? Ha! Joke. That's a looped recording from minutes ago. Fredo and Mo ghosting hard! Wanna chase? Housebound me welcomes fun!"
"Not some net detective game, Kay... But yeah, help's welcome. I'm phone-glued; you're not."
"Not a game makes it fun. I'm a lore nut—protagonist smokes ten years post-timeline? I'd rage! Here? No sweat. Good. Follow drone, offliner! Walls and crosses on you! Drones fly free. Scuttle fast, ground-crawler!"
Her drone didn't slam walls or flex at crosses. All talk. Good or bad.
Left tidy intersection, soon hit alleys like my hotel zone. Not total shithole. Yet.
Cokeheads stayed suited indoors; painkiller psychos piled corpse-like in corners. Nearby homeless—me without hotel luck or supervisor grace—leaned walls with dead eyes, ignoring junkies.
"Ha! Good no olfactory on drones. Two blocks from main drag, this scenery? Lovable city. So, charge in and catch bullets? Looks like turf war ambush—don't show up shot for work, right? Or persuade skill check?"
Her drone dinged artificially. No savior complex for drinks.
Couldn't hold laugh at her last bit.
"Pop one, it'd be nice. Posthuman no-serial guy shows: 'Enough!' They'd flinch. Got pistol—chase 'em off. Seen mercs risk others' lives on turf, not their own. You?"
"Same! Not close-range bullet-bait anyway—if bluff works... Hey! That's skill check bluff! All-in table-flip moron!"
Gangs shunned these stinking smog-human alleys. Then—gunfire.
Bellwether sec team: five minutes out. Enhanced hearing pinned location.
Now I led; her drone trailed.
"Play along for fun! Bluff resumes—fake it. Booze on me!"
Asphalt skid-marks from sneakers; Bellwether staff-discount walkers ground down. Alley map in head.
"Hey! Booze for her too? Urban legend: buy drinks, two killers come? Nah, dumb even for me. Can't resist fun. Helping! But bed-scratch entertainment level or bust!"
Her drone whined double-motor, but couldn't match my alley turns.
Hurdled twice-man-height wall easy, no-knee land, zero pause sprint. Gunshots paced my strides, homing me.
Shots boomed louder, ear-numbing sans dampers. Corner-turn: scene clear.
Two mercs; one shot side/arm, sparks from prosthetic. Two others loomed.
Decent gear for mercs. Helmets, Bellwether suppressed rifles near-issue. Wild Night-linked agency, per Kay. Bluff all-in, sweep table.
Bellwether merc-liaison: Merc Agency Management Division. Remembered.
Approached gun-holstered.
"You two! Fuck, off-day ruined by trash? Badges or agency reg numbers. Now."
They scanned me top-bottom. Hoping cocky merc.
Result: obvious Posthuman IV. Bellwether heavyweight.
Young face? Aug type fixes.
They eyed me, reported.
"Posthuman... Our reg: MHRC-11283769! On a job!"
"Bellwether subcontracts kills? We lead sheep. Sheep knifing sheep? Who's Management Div sender? No turf war auth on my end."
"C-can't recall. Inbox this morning. Expanding partners to 120—nail this, we're in."
Strutted bold—or reckless. Raised fist, thumped one helmet light.
Now they knew: real Posthuman IV.
Hit merc wobbled, stiffened at attention. Thumped again.
"Can't recall? Inbox randos: 'Job!' and you scurry? No-sender hit = query corp, morons. Mobile Div inbound—scram. Busted mid-shitshow? My paperwork quadruples."
They barked affirmatives, vanished junkie-alley.
My exit time. Mobile Div clash bad for all.
Confirmed clear, Kay's drone chip-laughed. Word-wall too.
"Love it. Perfect bluff table-sweep! I muted, rolled laughing in bed pretending Bellwether AI. Newbie? Thought boring corp drone! Now scoop her? Romantic BGM?"
"This chatter on-duty? Workman's comp. Uh. Let's go. Mobile Div hates us too."
A nowhere man could be anyone. Right now: 'Just impersonated Bellwether staff guilt-free.' Instead, I'd say this.