The Citizen Safety Guarantee Act
After the conclusion of the Spring Great War, Westania had clearly risen to the ranks of the strongest nation on the western continent. It was only natural that real estate values in its capital and primary city, Central City, climbed steadily as the metropolis developed day after day. With the exception of the South District, which was still under development, it was no exaggeration to say that the citizens residing in Central City belonged to the affluent or at least the productively stable class. Those who owned homes in the capital had secured a measure of their future. Yet that was merely the minimum guarantee; no one could be entirely certain of what lay ahead. Humans could survive a bullet to the head by sheer chance, but they could also trip on a roadside curb and meet their end. Tragedy could strike at any moment. Everyone understood this. They simply did not react sensitively unless an unmistakably ominous atmosphere took hold. They were quietly afraid, but the fear of deviating from routine and the worry of future repercussions kept them from raising their voices first. For ordinary citizens, protests were radical acts reserved only for those whose right to survival was under immediate threat or who had already lost something greater. People living peaceful lives preferred to continue those lives as usual rather than take to the streets. But that also meant that if their daily existence seemed on the verge of destruction, anyone could rise up at any time.
"The government must not abandon its duties! Protect the citizens! Station troops in the capital!"
"What the hell is the Metropolitan Police doing?! Why can't they catch even one criminal!"
A full week had now passed since the monsters escaped from the Slain Biotech research laboratory, leaving their traces across the capital, invading private homes, and slaughtering dozens of people—including wealthy citizens and government officials. Yet the whereabouts of Slain Pavlov, the mastermind behind the massive human experimentation and the prime suspect in the capital terror attack, remained unknown. Inevitably, a level-one alert had been issued throughout the capital, and soldiers and police continued to patrol the streets. Curfews and various restrictions had been imposed, and the citizens, frightened by the abnormal state of their city, cried out for the guarantee of their right to survive.
The military and police must be deployed to every street, day and night. Firearm possession must be legalized for all citizens so they could protect themselves. Or the government must authorize the use of private forces so people could defend their own safety. Countless opinions flooded in. Among them, the expansion of private military authority was regarded as the most reasonable. Under normal circumstances the proposal would have been rejected outright, but the victims of the laboratory monsters included not only corrupt government officials but also a significant number of the wealthy living in the North District. The affluent, now sensing that they too could be torn apart, demanded guards to protect their mansions. Their demands, backed by dark money, flowed directly to the politicians.
The lower house members elected by the citizens could not ignore those voices. They drafted a bill to expand private military rights and submitted it to the city council.
“We, a total of twenty-nine lower house members including Argon Manchester, hereby formally propose to the city council a bill to expand private military authority for the self-defense of ordinary Westanian citizens.”
It was the introduction of the so-called Citizen Safety Guarantee Act.
Date: March, third week, Friday
The name of the large-scale search operation conducted by the Metropolitan Police Department—the Western District Subjugation—has been changed to the Slain Biotech Human Experiment Incident.
Around five o’clock in the morning, the monsters that had dramatically escaped the laboratory spread throughout Central City. Most were eliminated by the military and police forces stationed in the capital, but some invaded private residences and killed a total of forty-two citizens: twenty-three in the North District, four in the East District, five in the West District, and twelve in the South District. This was an indiscriminate massacre of citizens regardless of occupation or wealth. Considering that the monsters were born from human experimentation, the total number of victims from this incident is estimated to exceed ten thousand.
As the leaders of the nation, the city council must present a clear plan regarding this tragic event. Rather than maintaining a perpetual wartime system, it is deemed right to move in a direction that enables citizens to defend themselves. The Citizen Safety Guarantee Act is hereby proposed. After thorough discussion and a fair vote, the majority of the city council affirmed the implementation of the Citizen Safety Guarantee Act.
“……Hoo.”
Cigarette smoke curled from wrinkled lips. The fumes spread instantly, swiftly claiming the bathroom inside the city council building. Abriham Dolores watched the scene but said nothing about the no-smoking rule. He simply prayed in his heart for this suffocating moment to end.
“Unbelievable. To think the council—supposedly the brain of the nation—harbored so many reactionaries. At this rate we can’t simply execute them all.”
These words came from Cagan Bertman after he had spent some time chain-smoking in silence. It was the first exchange between them in the ten minutes since Abriham had run into him in the bathroom. The silence had been oppressively long. Why stop a man only to unload such heavy words in such a heavy voice?
“……Well, the younger assemblymen may have different opinions these days.”
Abriham Dolores shook his head and shifted the blame onto the new members. It was a necessary skill for any veteran politician. At that, his longtime friend Cagan Bertman nodded and gave a faint smile.
“Yes, we old men will simply have to correct them gradually.”
“Indeed, indeed. They are still young with bright futures ahead. So please be understanding.”
Abriham forced a smile in return while inwardly longing to see his beloved daughter rather than these black serpents. Of course, the feeling was mutual.
“Pig-like bastard.”
Once outside the council chamber and inside his car, Cagan Bertman’s smile vanished at once. Staring at Abriham Dolores of the Ministry of Finance waving from afar, he muttered, “That fat, pig-like bastard is slinking away with remarkable cunning.”
Cagan knew the man had contributed substantially behind the scenes to the passage of this bill. Abriham had pretended otherwise, but he had surely noticed that Cagan had seen through him. They possessed too much to lose to start grabbing each other by the collar, so they had let the matter slide in silence.
The Minister of Military Affairs, Cagan Bertman, habitually rubbed his face as he murmured, “If this were wartime, we could simply shoot them.”
“…….”
The secretary in the driver’s seat kept a calm expression and let the remark—laden with genuine intent—pass without comment. Explosive outbursts from his employer were simply part of the daily routine. For the same reason, it was easy to predict that the master’s mood would improve the moment they reached their destination.
Today was his daughter’s discharge day. And there was no chance the master was unaware of what his secretary knew.
Upon arriving home, Cagan walked faster than usual. He half-ran across the vast mansion garden and finally threw open the main gate with both hands.
Bang!
Through the gap of the swinging doors appeared the face of his daughter, Ellyse Bertman, who had come out to greet him. The gauze on her pretty forehead and the loose clothing that suggested she was still uncomfortable caught his eye at once. Cagan Bertman furrowed his brows and eyes deeply and strode forward.
“……Father, welcome ba—”
He ran straight past his daughter, who had greeted him with polite affection, and burst into the study. Their first reunion in a full week ended just like that.
At the sight of her father rushing away, Ellyse Bertman blinked in bewilderment. Her mother, Julia Bertman, standing beside her, shook her head and murmured, “Your father is still the same as ever.”
Bang!
The moment Cagan Bertman closed the study door, he leaned against it and bit down hard on his fist to keep any sound from escaping. Then the tears fell like a waterfall. Relief that his daughter Ellyse was safe, sorrow and rage over her wounds, the overwhelming emotion that surged from his chest the instant he saw her lovely face, the regret and heartbreak of having postponed their conversation because he could not show her his tears—yet above all else, the tears of pure joy at having met his daughter again. All the negative feelings were swept away by that single overwhelming happiness.
“……She’s my daughter, but isn’t she simply too perfect?”
He was a daughter-fool of the most serious degree.
Another week passed. Despite the frantic efforts of the Minister of Military Affairs, Cagan, to block it, the bill ultimately passed. With no further incidents occurring, the citizens forgot their fear and returned to daily life. The surprisingly large protest crowds shrank by half in an instant. Some of the demonstrators had been agitators, yet no one could identify exactly who had pulled the strings. Unnoticed by most, the city’s pests had been greatly reduced, and aside from the new law, the capital quickly regained its former appearance.
An atmosphere in which peace could at last be spoken of had settled over the city. Bathed in that air, Central City gradually took on brighter, warmer hues. Encounters grew more frequent, clothing became lighter. It was full-fledged spring.
At that moment, Demian Cloud—who had been wrestling with a long internal struggle—instinctively sensed that the time had come to make his decision. He picked up the receiver and dialed. When the line connected, he said,
“I will meet with her.”
It was spring.