Gotta Have Insurance
You gotta have insurance.
The next morning, Kate Coleman was out buying bulgogi stir-fried noodles at my request, so she wasn't around. My suppressed ego, held back for the sake of appearances, had awakened and evolved into full-blown Anglo-Kimchi Man, and I just couldn't hold it in anymore. Anyway, thanks to that, the safehouse now held only me and Bell.
That didn't mean we were free from surveillance, though. According to Bell's report, no monitoring equipment had been found inside the house itself. But there were signs of activity outside—picking up on our radio signals or vibration frequencies, most likely. At the very least, they were eavesdropping.
"Hmm..."
"Is there something you need, young master?"
I glanced at Bell, who was sitting next to me on the sofa. She tilted her head, looking back at me. There was something I'd felt when she hugged me yesterday, and now seemed like the perfect time to check it out.
"Bell, mind lending me your hand for a sec?"
"Oh, young master, surely not here of all places. But if it's what you want, I'm ready anytime...!"
"Ugh, no! Cut the weird talk and just give me your hand!"
Bell twisted her body playfully, then laughed and extended her left hand. That teasing side of hers. Still better than moping around, I guess.
I took her offered hand in my right. Warmth and a soft texture flowed through. Then a spark flashed in my mind, and some kind of electric current spread from my body into hers. It felt like detaching my soul and slipping it into her body.
Bell flinched too—she'd felt it. Careful not to cause any harm, I probed for her comms module. Then I "grabbed" her data conversion code—best way I can describe it—and inscribed my intent like writing letters.
I turned to look at her. Bell was staring at me with wide eyes. Ever since my body got reconstituted and all the implants vanished, she'd assumed I couldn't do radio comms anymore. She'd noticed the changes in my body early on, but I'd signaled her to keep quiet without explaining in detail. The last thing I needed was the Investors getting curious about my physiology. Who knows what weird tape they'd send Bell to slap on me.
It was a shot in the dark, but it worked on the first try. Perfect timing too—we desperately needed secure comms right now. With Kate out of the room, there was stuff to discuss. Direct data input like this should dodge any eavesdropping risks.
The venue and attendees were unfamiliar, and if they controlled security too, I'd be a sitting duck. Come to think of it, there wasn't even a formal agreement between me and the Investors. This "social" event could be a negotiation trap.
No real way around attending. Fine—at least prepare so we can protect myself if shit hits the fan. My reconstituted body felt light, energetic, with abilities emerging, but I wasn't counting on soloing the place like an action flick. That was for ex-hitmen mourning their dog or legend mercs with ego-terrorist brain chips.
Problem was, they might assign someone to tail Bell—wait. Hold up. What if the target wasn't just me?
Bell tilted her head. Thinking about it, the simplest way to truly isolate me was staring us in the face.
Around 3 p.m., Kate Coleman showed up in a black suit and sunglasses to pick me up. Following her lead down to the underground parking, I saw the same black armored sedan from before waiting.
I'd half-hoped to see Cana again—kinda disappointing. But riding around in that pickup would advertise my presence, so for safety's sake, the sedan made sense.
"Considering Lord William's status, I should've brought a limo, but anything too flashy might draw eyes. Please forgive the oversight!"
Security concerns, yeah. I was still a target with people chasing me.
I nodded casually and approached. She hurried ahead, opened the rear door, and gestured politely. Then she slid into the seat next to me. Someone else driving this time?
"Veril up front will take us to the destination. Safety's no issue, of course."
"Pleased to meet you. Looking forward to it, Veril."
"Likewise, my lord."
His voice had a mechanical edge, clipped and robotic. Veril was a guy with sporty hair, sunglasses, and a black suit.
The car pulled out. The navigation's cold voice chimed in.
Through the rear window, the scenery was a mashup of past and present. Drones zipped over classic street market stalls delivering goods, while people handled wares and paid via iris scan. The old-school bustle fused with tech into its own chaotic vibe.
Pretending to sightsee, I scoped the car's interior. No rising partition or gas vents. But as expected, Veril was heavily augmented for combat—not just a driver.
While warily eyeing Kate beside me and gazing out the window, Veril spoke up quietly in his mechanical tone as he drove.
"...Hey, Kate. Traffic snag. Roads are jammed."
"Huh? We're manipulating signals in real-time—no backups. What's up?"
"What else—those commie bastards. Ahem, Luddite rioters. They were quiet, now they're at it again."
"Rioters?"
Kate flinched at my question, then pulled a pad from her bag. She swiped the screen a few times and showed me live footage.
It looked like security cam feed from a streetlight. Crowds with flags, placards, and weapons torched spots here and there, shouted, and smashed every visible robot. Up close, they targeted Transco's delivery bots and drones.
Wasn't it supposed to be safe?
"Ms. Coleman, didn't you say the commercial district was locked down tight by Transco security?"
"Ah, sorry! We're in the middle of firing all remaining logistics staff and replacing them with robots and machines..."
"Ah, so the layoffs hit the streets."
Veril grumbled louder, annoyed.
"Look at their flags—you'll see. Not just protesters; full-on commie infiltration! If you're gonna riot, do it quietly without the collateral damage..."
Sure enough, the flags were red with hammer-and-sickle motifs under slogans like "Struggle" and "Unity!" Marx's ghost, rising when capitalism's shadow grows long. And folks mistaking shadows for substance were at the heart of this mess.
"Don't worry. Our security forces will swarm once they assess."
"Kate's right. But just in case, raising bulletproof panels."
Thick black panels rose over all the glass, front included. Silence filled the car.
Soon, the hum of air vehicle engines echoed from afar. Gunfire mixed with screams into a discordant, gut-wrenching symphony.
"..."
About ten minutes later? Veril got a comm, said nothing, and started driving. Panels still blocked the view—external cams and sensors, probably.
Automation unemployment wasn't new. Elson had done the same post-acquisition: axe "inefficient" staff, automate aggressively, cut labor costs, boost stock. Then sell high for profit. It all boiled down to numbers on paper. Human rights? Not some declaration fluff—tied to value as production tools. Once replaceable, out they went.
Thud—boom— The car jolted as it rolled over something. I decided not to dwell on what.