'It's all your fault! Because you left me, Patrick!!'
Before Patrick stood a woman, screaming in a rage. He swallowed his words and placed handcuffs on her wrists. Beside him, Noemi read her her rights in his stead.
'You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you...'
The raging woman was being held in a full nelson by a large man in a bulletproof vest. But she continued to hurl abuse at Patrick, who had cuffed her, her mousy hair flying wildly.
Eventually, Noemi finished reading the rights. She gave Patrick a light shove on the shoulder, urging him to step back, and then got into the patrol car with the man who was holding the woman.
Patrick silently watched the flashing red lights of the patrol car in the dark night. He stared blankly at the scene through the blurry filter of the pouring rain. He just stood there, beaten by the freezing winter rain.
"..."
When Noemi had pushed him, she had said something. Her lips had moved. But he had not been able to understand what she had said.
The several patrol cars that had gathered at the crime scene at the time must have been blaring their sirens. But Patrick had not heard them.
He had not heard what the woman he had just cuffed had said to him last.
"..."
At that moment, his hearing had temporarily failed him. But his eyes could see. And with his hearing gone, everything he had seen at that moment was burned into his brain with vivid clarity.
Until the moment she was pushed into the patrol car, the raging woman had been glaring at Patrick. With bloodshot, tearful eyes, a mixture of hatred and an unshakeable love, she had glared at him. It was a look that seemed to plead, how could you do something so cruel, why won't you help me? But even with that look, there was nothing Patrick could do.
Because she had committed a crime. She had kidnapped seven underage children, some not even ten years old, and held them captive for a long period of time. In a concrete house standing alone in a remote forest, in a space in the basement that was equivalent to a prison. A dark, cold, unhygienic environment with no light and no ventilation, where the longest-held child had been confined for nine months.
The most terrifying thing was that all the children had been made to look similar.
They all had fair skin. Their irises were black, their eyes large and double-lidded. So far, these were congenital traits. The problem was everything else.
The photos of the children collected from their parents showed a variety of hair colours. There were children with curly black hair, straight brown hair, and curly blonde hair. But the hair of the rescued children had all been changed to straight black hair. And the girls' hair had been cut short enough to see their napes. And their hairstyle was the same as Patrick's.
"...Sig…rid..."
The culprit had been styling the kidnapped children to look like Patrick. When he realised this, what he felt was fear, regret, and self-blame.
It had all started when Patrick had pushed her away. After living together with his fiancée for three months, he had been bewildered and frightened by the overwhelming, unconditional love she had given him, and he had been the one to unilaterally break up with her.
She had loved children, the idea of children. But her feelings were different from maternal love. She was a child molester. A seductive-type preferential child abuser.
At the time they were living together, Patrick had not been certain of this. But he had felt that something was off. Her behaviour towards him had changed from when they had first started dating. It was like... the way a nursery school teacher would treat a small child. That is why he had broken up with her.
I'm an adult, I can take care of myself.
So, maybe, we're just not right for each other.
When Patrick had told her this, she had transformed. She had tried to hold on to him at all costs, hurling cruel words at him, trying to convince him that that was precisely why he needed her. Finally doubting her humanity, Patrick had decided to leave her without a word. And her rampage had begun the day he left her.
If he had not left her, would those children have been spared? Six months after her arrest, Patrick was still unable to shake that thought. Even now, after transferring from the ABoI to the ASI, his regret had not faded.
If only he had not pushed her away. If only he had meekly accepted her. If only, at that time, he had...
"...!"
At that moment, Patrick shot up. He instantly sat up in bed and rubbed his sleepy eyes. He then looked at the alarm clock blaring on his bedside table with an exasperated expression and slammed it off.
He then staggered out of bed. He roughly threw open the closed curtains and let the morning sun into his bedroom. He then cursed.
"...Aargh, damn it. What a terrible morning..."
Six-thirty in the morning. Muttering a string of complaints, Patrick took some clothes from his closet and left the bedroom.
Thanks to the sleeping pills he had received yesterday, he had managed to sleep through the night without waking up as usual, but he did not feel rested. In fact, he felt even more tired, thanks to the nightmare he had had for the first time in a while.
But blaming the medicine would not change anything. There was only one cause: Patrick's own mind was a mess.
"..."
With these thoughts, he went out into the corridor to head to the bathroom for a shower, holding his clothes. But as he stepped into the corridor, he noticed something was wrong.
For some reason, the corridor was filled with the foul smell of burning meat. And if he listened closely, he could hear the sound of oil sizzling in the kitchen. And the sound of an unfamiliar woman's humming was also drifting from the kitchen, along with the bad smell.
What the hell is going on? Frowning, Patrick quickly went to the bathroom, left his clothes there, and took out the pistol he had hidden under the floorboards in the corridor. He then moved to the kitchen entrance, raised his pistol, and burst in.
"You there, hands up."
Patrick pointed his pistol at the back of the woman standing in the kitchen. He glared at her menacingly. But the woman, holding a frying pan in her left hand and cracking an egg with her right, glanced back at him once, then immediately returned her gaze to the front and dropped the cracked egg into the pan, continuing to make breakfast. She showed no signs of being intimidated by his threat and had no intention of raising her hands as instructed.
In fact, she spoke to him in a playful tone. "Ah, g'day, patric. You seemed to be having a pretty bad nightmare, but did you sleep well?"
"I asked what you are doing here. Answer me."
"It's obvious, isn't it? I'm making breakfast. You'll have some too, right?"
The woman, with her long, mousy hair tied up in a ponytail, had an air of casual confidence. This only confused Patrick further. And the woman, who should have been a complete stranger, had just called him by his name, Patrick. As if she knew him.
His expression hardening, Patrick kept his pistol raised and tried not to show his confusion as he glared at her. But his silent glare only served to convey his confusion to her.
Sensing his confusion, the woman added a few drops of water to the pan with a pitcher, then put a lid on it, set the induction hob to high, and began to introduce herself in a tone of exasperation.
"I'm Eileen Field, an agent of the Special Service Agency WACE. I'm here because we're teaming up on the Fuck hook-nose case. We'll be pretending to be a couple, so nice to meet you. So, for the next few weeks, I'll be staying here. I heard from the Sir that you agreed to this. Did you forget because you were so deep in your nightmare?"
"Who is this 'Sir' you speak of?"
"Arthur from the Special Service Agency WACE. You met him yesterday, didn't you? The tall bloke. Remember?"
"..."
"Our big boss, Madame Morgan, pissed off the higher-ups and got transferred to the United States of North American, so Arthur had to take her place, just because 'he looks the part'. So now we call him 'Sir Arthur'. To make him aware of his position, you know, since he's so unmotivated."
The woman, who had introduced herself as Eileen Field and then given a lengthy explanation, continued to cook the fried eggs, then turned her head slightly to look at Patrick standing behind her and shot him a suspicious look. She then asked him:
"You don't think everything that happened yesterday was a lie or a hallucination, do you?"
"..."
"If you do, then I'm telling you, it was real. So don't get the wrong idea, okay?"
Patrick met her gaze with one of his own, full of disbelief. Eileen then placed her left hand on her forehead, making a show of her exasperation. She then let out an exaggerated sigh and said, "Oh, dear. Looks like I'll have to explain everything to you from scratch."
"..."
"Hey, can you put the gun down? I'm not hostile, so don't worry. I don't have a gun, I'm unarmed. I'm just making bacon and eggs."
She pointed to the frying pan on the induction hob and showed him the sizzling oil. She then chuckled merrily.
She seemed to have no hostile intent. After confirming this, Patrick lowered the gun he had been pointing at her. He then glared at her and grumbled, "...I don't know who you are, but I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't use the contents of my fridge without permission."
"It's fine, isn't it? I'll replace whatever I use later."
Whether she noticed his on-edge state or not, the woman who called herself Eileen was still humming cheerfully as she removed the lid from the frying pan. The two fried eggs and four strips of bacon that were revealed had been subjected to high-heat torture and were on the verge of burning.
As Patrick stared at the pan with a cold expression, Eileen seemed to notice his gaze and gave a defiant smile. She then said:
"Ahaha. You shouldn't try things you're not used to. I burnt it. But well, it's still edible, so it's fine, right?"
Eileen clumsily used a spatula to move one of the burnt fried eggs to a plate, then placed two strips of burnt bacon on top of it. She did the same with the other plate.
The two plates were now adorned with burnt fried eggs and bacon. Patrick carried the two plates to the dining table, staring at them with a grim expression.
Behind him, Eileen helped herself to his fridge. She opened it without hesitation, rummaged through its contents, and asked him, "Got any tomato sauce?"
"Sauce? No, I don't."
"You don't? Really?"
Eileen looked disappointed at his answer. It seemed she had wanted to use tomato sauce on her fried eggs. But what was not there was not there.
"Yeah, well. I don't really cook anything that needs sauce..."
Wait, what does she think my house is?
He had many things he wanted to say. But he swallowed them and decided to observe this unknown woman named Eileen.
Patrick opened the cutlery box in the centre of the table, took out two knives and two forks, and arranged them on the table. Eileen then sat down at one of the chairs as if it were the most natural thing in the world and pulled the knife and fork in front of her.
Patrick watched her with a cold expression, then pulled out a chair and sat down at the table. After confirming that he was seated, Eileen began to speak as she cut into her burnt fried egg.
"Right then, I'll tell you about myself and our plans for today while we eat."
Patrick also cut into his fried egg, carefully removing the completely burnt, carbonised parts, and looked at her as she began to speak. He listened to her silently and looked at her face.
"..."
Eileen. She was dressed in very eccentric clothes. She looked to be in her early twenties, or perhaps a little younger.
And her long, mousy hair reminded him vaguely of his ex-fiancée, Sigrid. She had tied it up in a ponytail with a hair tie that had a huge white ribbon on a painfully bright yellow background. And in her ears, she wore large, apple-shaped pendant earrings.
What caught his eye the most was the large, Wellington-style glasses she was wearing. The frames were a colour that could only be described as fluorescent green. It was a green that was very painful to the eyes.
"So, like I said before, I'll introduce myself again. My name's Eileen. Eileen Field. And my name in the Special Service Agency WACE is Lucan. I'm in charge of technical support..."
"Technical support?"
The words technical support made Patrick think of a call centre for an electronics company. Dealing with unreasonable customer complaints while dying inside, and solving problems that occurred during product use... At least, that was his understanding of the term.
But Eileen's definition seemed to be different. She explained her definition to the confused Patrick. "Basically, a black hat. I hack into the security systems of places the tactical team is infiltrating, force open the shortest route, and tamper with surveillance camera footage to deceive the authorities. I also give directions with voice guidance and provide updates on the current situation. And I do a lot of other things too, like stealing classified information from cyberspace."
"...So, you're a hacker?"
"That's right. I used to be a black hat hacker with no principles, but now I'm a righteous black hat hacker, so I'm not doing anything wrong. Well, I'm breaking a lot of laws, though."
Eileen, who called herself a righteous black hat hacker. Her clothes were even more garish and painful to the eyes than her glasses and earrings.
A three-quarter-sleeved cardigan with a pale blue base and white zigzag lines. This was the most subdued and decent colour. But the rest was a disaster.
A large, lace-trimmed collar that covered her shoulders, a fluorescent green that seemed to flicker even though it was not glowing. And the shirt dress she was wearing under the cardigan had a pale pink base with large, fluorescent yellow spots (and the large frill at the hem of the dress had a strawberry pattern). The brown belt wrapped around her waist to cinch it was the only basic item in her entire outfit.
Her footwear was also a disaster. She was wearing deep green tights, close to viridian, with vivid orange Mary Jane pumps. The explosive psychedelic colour sense was making his eyes tired just by looking at her.
"...Can an outlaw hacker really be called righteous...?"
Muttering this, Patrick cut off a piece of the unburnt part of his fried egg and took a bite. But it was just a fried egg, yet it tasted strange. It had a flavour that was different from the burnt part, a smell similar to coriander.
Something was wrong. Realising this, Patrick looked from the dining table to the kitchen. And he quickly found the source of the strange flavour.
The lid of the frying pan, lying upside down on the kitchen counter. There was an insect stuck to it.
It was a stink bug, a pest that had entered the country several years ago in a container shipped from the East and was now breeding rampantly throughout the country.
That stink bug had been steamed in the frying pan with the fried eggs and bacon and had died stuck to the inside of the lid. It must have desperately clung to the inside of the lid in an attempt to escape the sauna-like pan. And the stink bug had released its foul smell just before it died. If that was the source of this coriander-like smell—
"Mmm. Putting that aside. So, about the target our team is going after."
Eileen cut up her fried egg and continued to talk as she ate. But Patrick stopped eating and quietly placed his knife and fork on his plate.
He then tried to banish the image from his mind and focus on her story.
"This time, our target is a big shot in the Abaddoselenium engineering world. Senior Technocrat Pellmond Varlozzi. You know of him, of course, right?"
"Yes, of course. The military defense division's senior technocrat, right? The one they're calling the Founding Father now, that..."
"That military defense division's senior technocrat. In other words, a super big shot at the cabinet level."
Eileen's face was dead serious as she said this. Hearing this, a chill ran down Patrick's spine.
Pellmond Varlozzi was an incredible VIP. The ASI Director Bartholomew Bradford was also a VIP, but Pellmond Varlozzi was an even more important figure. Because he was the man who was said to have transformed the Federal Republic of Alusthogrun into a floating continent in the sky.
—That VIP is our target?
"W-w-wait a minute. I'm a rookie who just joined the agency. And you're telling me to go after a VIP?!"
Patrick, hit with information so big it blew the stink bug right out of his mind, said this in a high-pitched voice and jumped up from his chair. Eileen made a "sit down" gesture to calm him.
He obeyed and sat back down, but he was far from calm. Enduring the discomfort and fidgety restlessness, Patrick looked into her eyes. And she began to speak again.
"Pellmond Varlozzi. We recently got some info that he's keeping an eye on something, that he's on guard. We know it's related to Abaddoselenium, but we don't know who or what he's wary of. So, our mission is to figure out what that is, and if necessary, to intervene."
"...Sorry. I'm not following at all. What do you want from me?"
"Right now, the Special Service Agency WACE is short-staffed. So we want you to gather information in the field."
"Then, couldn't it have been someone other than me? I'm inexperienced as an intelligence agent, and besides—"
"We wanted someone who had no prior contact with Pellmond Varlozzi and who he wouldn't recognise as an agent. So, I know we've done you wrong, but we had your career changed. You made a name for yourself in the serial girl kidnapping and murder case as a 'special agent', and I'm sure Pellmond Varlozzi also thinks of you as a 'special agent'. That's why we wanted to use you."
"So you're the ones who had me transferred to the ASI?"
"That's right. Sorry about that. But you learned some new skills at the ASI, didn't you?"
"...I'm still just at the stage of learning those new skills."
"Well, don't worry. I'll be supporting you by tracking your movements in real time. And I'll be simultaneously organising and analysing the information we collect. And your codename, your name in WACE, will be 'Dinadan', the knight who plays the fool. Remember that. As of today, or rather, as of yesterday, you are Dinadan."
"So I'm the one who will be directly investigating the senior technocrat?"
"That's right, field intelligence work. You'll be subtly extracting information from him. Do you know of any dark rumours about Abaddoselenium?, that sort of thing... And what I've just told you is what the Sir should have explained to you yesterday. You really did forget, didn't you?"
The word intelligence. It confused him even more.
As an intelligence agency, the ASI engaged in intelligence gathering and espionage. Patrick understood that well, and intelligence was one of his duties.
Sitting in an interrogation room in the safe headquarters, facing down heinous criminals who had plotted crimes that could threaten the state and the lives of its citizens, or agents who had infiltrated from other countries, and extracting information. That was Patrick's job.
Therefore, what his direct superior had taught him was mainly negotiation skills, and interrogation techniques such as effective threats and ways to exploit weaknesses.
But the 'intelligence' that Eileen was talking about did not have much of an 'interrogation' meaning. Instead, it had a strong 'infiltration' meaning.
But Patrick had never been on an infiltration mission. Nor had he been taught any skills that would be useful for infiltration.
"This intelligence work you speak of, that means infiltration, right? But I've never been in charge of an infiltration. My specialty is interrogation... Don't you think you've made a mistake in choosing me?"
Patrick threw this at her, but she just smiled back. And the reply he got was, sadly, a positive one.
"I know your specialty is interrogation and that you have no experience with infiltration. In fact, that's what makes you perfect. And I know you'll be fine. You've got the guts to go in alone, and you're quick-witted. You'll manage."
"..."
"Actually, this is my first time dealing with him under the new system, too. I'm super nervous. We're both first-timers, so let's help each other out, okay?"
Eileen said this, her words offering little encouragement, and finished her fried egg, which had been steamed with the stink bug. She then looked at Patrick's large, black eyes with her green ones and said, "So, about our plans for today."
"...What is it?"
"First, go to work as usual. Director Bradford knows you've been seconded to the Special Service Agency WACE, but the other agents don't. That includes Deputy Director Ezra Hoffman and your direct superior. You haven't told your colleagues, have you?"
"About that, well..."
"It's fine. I checked all your movements after you left the Director's office. You haven't told your colleagues. Don't worry."
"..."
"And as for today, I think you'll figure it out when you get to work. We have a plan, but plans are made to be broken, so they're not much use. But to give you a rough idea—as soon as you sit down at your desk, you'll get a call. If all goes according to plan, it'll be from your former colleague, Special Agent Noemi Zedillo. And she'll say this: I need you to come to Canberra National University Hospital right away, the ASI's cooperation is essential for this case."
"Noemi? She's not, by any chance..."
"No, she's just a pawn. We created a situation where we knew she would act in a certain way. So when you get the call, head to the university hospital."
"Understood..."
Patrick nodded, then left the half-eaten fried egg and stood up from the table. He then went to the bathroom, trying to appear as calm as possible, and closed the door. He deliberately turned on the shower, making a loud rushing sound.
Only the sound of the shower water could be heard from the corridor. Eileen, confirming the sound, collected her used plate and took it to the kitchen.
She probably thought at that moment, Patrick must be taking a shower. He was having such a terrible nightmare just before he woke up, and his pyjama shirt was soaked in sweat when he came out.
Humming cheerfully, she washed the dishes, unaware that Patrick was on his knees in front of the toilet next to the bathtub, a sick look on his face.
"...Aargh, a stink bug. Why in a place like that...!"
Muttering this, Patrick opened his mouth, stuck his fingers down his throat, and forced himself to vomit. Just after he had managed to throw up what he had eaten, a scream came from the kitchen, presumably from Eileen, who had just discovered the bug.
After throwing up almost everything in his stomach, he took a shower to wash everything away, changed into a suit, and left the house, leaving the stink bug disposal to Eileen, and headed to headquarters as usual.
He passed the reception on the ground floor, took the lift, and entered the fifth-floor office where his desk was. He greeted his superiors, charmed his female colleagues, joined in the men's conversations, playing the part of the perfect jester. After establishing his usual stable position, he sat down at his desk.
He sat down in his chair and placed his personal belongings in his space on the desk. Work-related documents, a pencil case, a tablet, and the glasses-style communication device he had received from Eileen before leaving the house. And a sandwich he had bought on his way to headquarters.
He first picked up the glasses-style communication device and put it on like a pair of glasses. Next, he took out the sandwich from the brown paper bag and opened the packaging.
Just then, one of his colleagues, a woman named Sarah Collins, approached his desk. She said to him, "That's unusual, Lerner. You eating breakfast here. Did you oversleep by any chance?"
"Yeah, well. Actually, I did..."
Patrick replied with an awkward smile. The colleague who had spoken to him then said, "There's a shop nearby that sells delicious mackerel sandwiches, you should try it sometime," and took out a notepad. She quickly scribbled the shop's address on it, placed the memo on his desk, and left with a smile and a wave.
"Alright, I'll check it out sometime."
Patrick said to his colleague and began to peck at his sandwich. It was 8:15 in the morning.
It was at that moment the phone on the department head's desk rang. The previously cheerful office fell silent in an instant.
The department manager picked up the receiver. A tense silence filled the air, thick with anticipation of what was to come.
"European Information Analysis Department, Travis Haydn speaking."
The department head answered with a grim expression. But then, his expression relaxed slightly. It was because the caller was an old acquaintance.
"...Oh, Thomas. So, what's up?"
Seeing the department head relax, the other members of the department probably judged that it was not an important call. The tense atmosphere immediately dissipated, and a quiet but calm atmosphere returned to the office.
But the calm was short-lived. The department head's tone suddenly became tense, and his expression hardened.
"—What? You want me to send Lerner?"
As the department head's voice rose slightly in surprise, everyone in the office turned to look at Patrick. The department head was also looking at him. And Patrick looked back at the department head.
"..."
Patrick, while pretending to be surprised, was thinking, Could this be what Eileen was talking about?
And he was convinced when the department head's expression relaxed slightly again. He said to the person on the phone:
"Ah, I see, you want me to send him to the scene. Right, I'll send Lerner over... Yeah. We should proceed with caution. It's better to be safe than sorry. You be careful too."
The department head finished his call and hung up. He then beckoned to Patrick to come over to his desk. Patrick stood up, went to the department head's desk, and waited. The department head then said exactly what he had expected.
"We've had a request from the Alusthogrun Bureau of Investigation. You may have heard, Lerner, but you're to go to Canberra National University Hospital. The only witness is being tight-lipped, and they're having a hard time. It seems Special Agent Noemi Zedillo has requested your assistance."
"The university hospital, sir..."
A request from Noemi to go to the university hospital. It was all going according to the script that the Special Service Agency WACE had written.
If what Eileen had said this morning was true, then some kind of incident related to the country's VIP, Senior Technocrat Pellmond Varlozzi, must have occurred. So, in order to grasp the situation, Patrick first decided to ask his department head. "Is this a major or unusual case, sir?"
"Yes, it seems so. An hour ago, Senior Technocrat Pellmond Varlozzi was shot by someone and is in critical condition, unconscious."
The name that the department head mentioned was, as he had expected. But with it came some unsettling information.
Shot, in critical condition, unconscious. This was not what Eileen had told him. The department head continued.
"But there's little physical evidence to identify the culprit. Furthermore, most of the surveillance cameras in the surrounding area have been tampered with, some of the cameras and recording devices have been destroyed, and the only witness, the victim's daughter, is refusing to talk. That's where you come in. Lerner, get a statement from the witness."
"..."
"—That's the official story, of course. I need you to gather information at the scene. As long as we can't rule out the possibility that this was the work of an assassin sent from overseas, this case is also under the jurisdiction of the ASI. But sending a homegrown ASI agent would cause friction. In that respect, you're from the ABoI. They won't have a problem with you. In other words, you understand, don't you?"
The department head said this and placed a hand on Patrick's shoulder. It was probably meant as encouragement, but it only added to the pressure on him.
"Y-yes, sir..."
Patrick, who wanted to complain, could not say such a thing in his position. He forced a strained, nervous smile, gave a slight bow to the department head, then turned his back on him and looked at the faces of his colleagues behind him.
Their expressions were a mixture of emotions. They seemed to be both envious and jealous of him for being singled out by another agency, and some looked worried. Others seemed to be suspecting that there was something more going on.
In this situation, any suspicious behaviour would undoubtedly make a bad impression. He should not say or do anything careless.
Patrick hesitated. What should he do in a situation like this? The answer he came up with was to maintain his awkward smile and leave with an anxious look on his face.
He gave a slight bow to his colleagues. He then returned to his desk, gathered the bare minimum of his personal belongings, and left the office. And so he headed once again to the Canberra National University Hospital, the same place he had been the day before.
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