Chapter 24
Chapter 24
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 24
Chapter Title: Talking Machine
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Walter Müller, who ran Walter's Recycle Shop all by himself, had sensed an unusual ominous feeling from early morning.
A morning different from the usual.
"...Tsk."
It really felt ominous.
Extremely so.
Walter, who had woken from a nightmare, grabbed the PET bottle by his mattress without even wiping off the cold sweat clinging to his body.
As someone whose profession required intense concentration, the bottle contained purely distilled water—no cheap food additives or coloring.
He gulped down the water that tasted like an old swimming pool filled with chlorine.
"This fu—."
His eyes met a large dark brown bug swimming inside.
The way it flapped its wings...
Walter spat curses and poured the remaining water down the sink.
Even living in Area 49, where hygiene was poor, plenty of people hated bugs.
Some treated them like snacks, sure.
But Walter had no hobby of drinking protein-flavored water, so his first thought was that the day was off to a bad start.
...What rotten luck from the get-go.
He must have forgotten to close the cap before bed last night.
Anyway, it was his own fault.
He'd have to spray some bug killer later.
Walter suppressed his rising irritation and shuffled unsteadily toward the kitchen.
He filled the pot with water and flipped the switch.
While waiting for it to boil, he pulled a cup of instant ramen from the kitchen cabinet.
With no one to cook for him, Walter usually settled for instant meals like this.
Confirming the steam rising,
Walter's face twisted seriously as he tore open the ramen packaging.
"......?"
A question mark popped up over his head.
There was no powdered soup inside.
Not even any dried bits.
Only the fried noodles awkwardly greeted him.
Having endured a string of minor misfortunes right after waking, Walter instinctively sensed that today would be no ordinary day.
For the record,
his bad luck didn't end there.
Like his perfectly fine shoelace suddenly snapping.
Or the bulb he'd just replaced flickering out.
Or a new dog-shaped character appearing on the sign reading Walter's Recycle Shop, replacing "fucking" with something worse.
Now Walter's title was "Dog-Fucking Walter."
Maybe I should just close up for the day.
Walter let out a deep sigh as he stared at the shop sign.
There were too many recent customers who'd left cursing for him to pinpoint the culprit.
Crazy bastards hunting for brand-new items in a used recycle shop...
But as a sad self-employed money-maker—Walter had no choice but to endure it.
And then.
A voice at the ominous timing.
"Excuse me."
"......"
A sleazy face like a thug.
The guy from a few days ago.
A rare Asian around here, so Walter hadn't forgotten his face.
Considering the misfortunes so far,
Walter couldn't view the man's arrival positively.
So he struck first.
"No refunds, period."
"...Pardon?"
"What refunds at a recycle shop? If you're selling back, maybe—but price halved at best. No free repairs either. What do you expect from a hole-in-the-wall shop—."
The city stranger—Abel Anderson—frowned at his mutterings.
He'd only said hello.
* * *
A moment later.
Walter, somewhat calmed, gave an awkward smile.
"I'm not here for a refund."
"How many times do I gotta say it? I'm telling you, no. Why hassle someone using it fine...?"
I said that while shaking the terminal from my pocket.
Walter scratched his disheveled hair.
"Figured you were a troublemaker."
He looked especially rough today.
Like most self-employed folks, he seemed to have lost faith in people.
"Well, normal customer's always welcome."
Stepping inside, the cluttered interior assaulted the eyes with chaos.
As a fellow shopkeeper (sort of), the lack of organization was uncomfortable.
Our grocery store was serious about FIFO and neat rows.
...Though the entrance was smashed.
"Don't you tidy up in your spare time?"
"What're you talking about? This is tidy. Though an amateur might not get it. Everything's in its place."
People who never clean always say that.
Walter plopped into an old chair.
His large frame made the joints screech loudly.
"So, what brings you? Terminal battery looks fine."
"Battery-wise..."
Ah, right—this thing explodes if you press the button.
Walking around with a bomb in my pocket.
I shook my head.
"Probably never using that function."
"Can't predict life. Weapons shine brightest unused, of course."
A bit nuke-like sentiment.
Walter's mechanical eye whirred around.
I'd seen it last time—eerie movement.
I met his spinning gaze and continued.
"Uh, you busy lately by any chance?"
"Not that busy, but why?"
First hurdle cleared.
Sensing something ominous, Walter's face hardened again.
I ignored it and spoke.
"Then how about a house call?"
"...Say that again. What?"
Veins bulged on Walter's hand.
Wait—is that a wrench...?
I stepped back and repeated.
"How about a house call?"
Walter rubbed his face dryly.
Fortunately, he'd set the wrench down.
"Goddamn, you are trouble..."
"Trouble? I'm a proper customer."
At my words, Walter sighed and thumbed sideways.
"Can't you read?"
"...I don't see anything. Just junk over there."
For reference, if even my good eyes can't see it, it's really not there.
"Ah."
At my curt reply, Walter let out a flustered exclamation.
He shuffled the junk aside.
There,
was the scrawled message.
I hadn't noticed it last time, hidden by stuff.
"...And this is 'tidy'?"
"Ahem."
Even he seemed embarrassed, coughing awkwardly.
"Anyway, shop rule. Bring it yourself. Scavenger flies buzz around enough—can't leave even briefly."
"Fair enough."
A practical issue.
Did I waste the trip?
As I pondered, Walter stroked his beard and asked back.
"So why the house call? Boiler busted?"
"You said no anyway."
"...Even consulting's a pain!"
Seeing the wrench again, I quickly added.
"We have a turret—or several—at home. It can't talk, so I wondered if a tech could help communicate better."
"......"
Walter's gaze turned subtle.
Like looking at an idiot.
"What do you think an android is?"
"...Talking machine?"
"Lucky you didn't say sex toy..."
Walter sighed and explained.
"Androids are built that way. Simple terms: machines with self-awareness from the start. And you're saying you want to turn a mute turret into one."
He eyed me like a mad tinkerer.
"Why not buy a used sex toy? At least it'd fit your creepy tastes."
"...Think you're misunderstanding."
I pictured the grocery turret—Nova.
It clearly had self-awareness.
"Ours obeys well. Good personality, kind. Just hates walks."
"...Raising a pet?"
"That's what I'm saying."
My point:
proper AI installed.
Walter tilted his head at my explanation.
"...Turret with AI? Not just target-and-shoot?"
"Yes."
"Odd. Overkill for home security. No reason for AI on a turret."
"Maybe planned unmanned store... Didn't install it myself, so not sure."
"Yeah, not a normal home. Knew you didn't—no need to say."
Liberal arts reject ignored by cyberpunk techie.
......
Deserved it, I guess.
"It surely recognizes your voice?"
"Yes. Bought terminal days ago—been voice only."
"...Then."
Walter rummaged junk piles,
returning with long cables, connectors, and a speaker.
"You know security turrets ignore all but direct connects to block hacks."
"......"
"...Raised Amish in the sticks?"
Silence answered.
"Anyway, there's a central AI computer controlling all turrets somewhere. Ports are proprietary per corp—may fit, but this'll do."
Heavy cables and speaker on counter.
"Sounds usable as android OS, but we don't handle androids. You just want to hear it talk."
His voice trembled slightly, but I nodded casually.
"Try this output. Come back if not."
"Thanks."
"Hm."
Very satisfactory service.
No house call—install myself.
I lifted the cables, connectors, speaker.
Heavier than expected, but hand inconvenience aside, carryable.
And.
Walter extended his hand.
I reached to shake—
Thwack.
...Huh?
Walter slapped my hand aside.
"Cut the crap—pay up. Cables, connectors, speaker: 400 bucks."
"...Neat half: 200?"
"Ugh, you little shit..."
Walter gnashed teeth in exasperation.
Thanks are thanks.
Haggle when needed.
Of course.
* * *
Back at the grocery, I sought Nova's main body.
"This it?"
Looks like a toad house.
Examined ports one by one.
...USB to C gives headaches—now corps with unique ports.
Capitalism's dangerous.
Sickle and hammer time...
After 30 minutes fiddling,
successfully found the match.
Connected speaker.
Beeeeep...
Short howl, then silence.
Not ordinary silence.
Like white noise.
Quiet connection to someone opposite.
And.
I witnessed the talking turret.