Whack-a-Mole 3
I folded up Mark Beckett just enough to fit him into his own bag and hurried over to Bell. The place she'd taken on was a suspicious barbershop deep inside the underground from the start. When I rushed in, the interior was a total wreck, and there she sat in the chair smack in the middle of the shop. Something about the vibe felt off.
"Bell! What happened?!"
"Ah, you've arrived, young master..."
Her trembling emerald eyes fixed on me. She didn't look physically or electronically damaged... so what the hell went down here?
"Why do you look so down? You don't seem hurt."
"Gasp...! Young master! Does that mean you're sick of my face—"
"Agh! Cut the menhera crap! Did you get hit by an EMP or something?"
"No. I destroyed it with a gyrojet before they could even fire... no issues there."
Then why? I stared at her, even more puzzled. Bell hung her head with a bitter look. Just as she opened her mouth to speak, someone emerged from the door in the back.
"Oh. The young lord's here. As expected, no problems on your end."
It was none other than my mentor, waving at me casually. Huh? Why was she here?
"Master. Did you find the guy on the east side?"
"I took care of him ages ago. He bolted the second I approached—made things easy."
"Then what brings you here?"
"Carrying people around draws too much attention. Needed an interrogation spot, and this underground felt perfect. So I came straight here. And—"
Her purple eyes shifted to the center of the shop. Bell's pink twintails twitched and shuddered visibly. My mentor smirked in satisfaction and continued.
"And when I got to this barbershop underground, Bellatrix here was struggling. So I 'helped' out. Gladly."
"Helped?? Struggling??!! That woman!"
Bell shot up, glaring daggers at my mentor with fire in her eyes.
"I approached slow on purpose to avoid collateral on nearby shops! And you barge in uninvited, acting all high and mighty!"
"You were still late. I trashed this place as stress relief."
"Aaaargh!! Hey!! Come out here!! One of us dies today!!!"
My mentor shrugged nonchalantly, and my loyal bodyguard started hopping mad, shaking her fists in frustration. Ah, a pride clash. It reminded me of the lively atmosphere back home—kind of nostalgic. Wish we could get back to days like that soon.
"So where'd you stash the ones you caught?"
"Locked 'em in the back. The shop owner was in on it too—tied him up with them. Yours in that bag?"
"Yeah. Looks like I take the prize. Mark Beckett himself."
They stopped bickering and turned to me in unison. I savored their stares, then grinned.
"So, that means my score's the highest, right?"
My attempt to play peacemaker backfired spectacularly. Specifically, they both hugged me, patted my head, and clapped like I was some prodigy—leaving me embarrassed instead. Sigh, not the reaction I was going for. Anyway, we headed to the back of the barbershop, a storage-slash-break room setup. The sight that greeted us was quite the spectacle.
"What the hell happened to these guys?"
"Simplest way to keep 'em from running."
My mentor said it like it was obvious. The two suspects—Mark's comrades, by the look of them—were out cold, their legs cleanly severed. Prosthetics, sure... but these slippery bastards? Eh, whatever. I chucked Mark over to join them, and he took one look at his buddies, got pissed, and started thrashing.
"Y-you... cruel noble scum! What grudge do you have against us—"
"How dare you speak to the young master like that!!"
"Gahk!!"
Bell grimaced and stomped on Mark's leg, shattering it. Then she whipped out the blade from her left forearm and slammed it into the floor right by his head. Still fuming, she growled. The terrified red looked to me for salvation, trembling.
This guy's got a weak heart. How'd he even lead riots?
"Calm down, Bell. Mark Beckett. Ever wonder why we're here to nab you?"
He nodded frantically, still shaking. Time to play good cop and ease the tension.
"Truth is, we don't give a damn about your ideology or so-called revolution. No vendetta here."
"Figures. As a hereditary noble, you should hate our guts..."
"Not at all. Just got questions. Cooperate, and you won't get hurt."
"R-really...?"
"Of course. I swear on my honor."
A noble's honor seemed to impress him—light returned to his eyes. Weird and melancholic for a class-smashing revolutionary, but better than him clamming up and complicating things. He'd self-criticize later anyway.
"First off: You started the riot with Anastasis Group backing, right?"
"Yes, I mean... We got some funds and weapons from the start, but after the fired workers' massacre, support spiked—"
"Not interested. Did they specify targets? Like exact locations?"
"They hinted to hit the Thames & Bray department store hard. Said Transco execs were having a party there..."
"That's it? No other spots?"
He looked baffled, then terrified of offending me, shaking his head wildly. Even pointing at Bell outright—nothing. He swore he'd never seen her before. No matter the sparks from her hand or my mentor toying with her blade. He just pissed himself like a water spell in a desert. The shopkeeper could clean that up.
"No civilian raids by other riot groups, then?"
"N-no! We didn't have any heavy-armed soldiers like that!"
"Got it. I'll take your word."
"Th-thank you...!!!"
Mark bowed repeatedly, tears streaming. Pathetic enough—no need for truth serum, water, or shocks. My bodyguards seemed convinced too. I turned to them.
"Looks like the Shareholder lied. Either he fooled us or shirked his duty to maintain trust—guilty either way."
"Demand a reinvestigation?"
"Yeah. If he refuses, I'll grab him by the collar and cut ties. We don't need partners without basic respect."
"...I'll talk him into it. Fine."
"What about these self-proclaimed revolutionaries, young master?"
"Them? Evidence for submission."
"N-no! Mercy! Transco will kill me horribly! Your Excellency!!"
Mark wailed, but wilted under our cold stares. We debated reporting vs. delivering ourselves—opted for reporting to emphasize our official capture. We called Transco security and waited.
About five minutes later, not just regular guards but full hazmat-clad security swarmed in to take custody of the reds. The three agitators and their merchant collaborators got nabbed—including that pie lady, apparently caught after hiding post-me.
"Thanks for the assist, Sir William. An honor to have someone of your stature step up."
"No trouble. We did a quick interrogation—transcript to follow, so please review it."
"Of course. We'll leave you to rest the—"
"You murderers!!!"
A desperate scream echoed nearby. Looking over, someone in the gawking crowd hurled something at us, screeching.
Throwing? Bomb? Grenade—?
"Get down, young master!!!"
Bell reacted instantly, raising her hand and firing a laser. The red beam arced perfectly, nailing the incoming object mid-flight. It incinerated into scattering ash. The mild-mannered security chief's face turned ashen too.
"Who the hell?! Don't even think about running!!"
My mentor drew her blade, blocking me and bellowing at the crowd, pointing at someone. Amid the denials, a shabby elderly man stood out. He hesitated but glared with venom, tears streaming as he raged.
"You... you killed my son!! Treating people like trash just for touching the means of production..."
Ah. Family of one of the murdered fired workers. Meanwhile, the chief snapped to and ordered his men.
"S-Sir William, apologies... You lot! Arrest that lunatic already!"
Three armored soldiers moved to grab him. But that attempt hit another snag.