47. Purpose
"He intended to get caught from the beginning."
Mason, Director of the Central Intelligence Bureau, said.
"He drove straight through the front gate without a shred of deception. Within five minutes, he'd have been surrounded by the police tactical unit. Yet the moment he arrived, he stepped out of the vehicle and sprinted directly toward the main building — cornering himself further. What, if anything, went missing from inside?"
The man Mason turned to was Christoph, director of the National Geological Survey Bureau.
"Nothing of particular value was lost. Only the door to the archive room was destroyed."
"Attacks on weapons depots, destruction of distribution centers, demolition of population registers — looking at their track record, they've consistently targeted government facilities used to manage civilians. But this time, they struck somewhere no one would have anticipated. the National Geological Survey Bureau. Director — what exactly does this facility do?"
"We monitor geological conditions. Primarily to prepare for magma eruptions that could occur without warning."
"Then could the geological data itself enable any kind of threat? Say, identifying an eruption path in advance and redirecting it elsewhere?"
"Impossible. To date, there are no active magma chambers detected within 120 kilometers below the surface — and even if there were, redirecting a flow from a chamber outside the district toward a specific location would require a weapon of greater destructive force than a nuclear bomb. That is simply beyond our current capital and technological capacity."
"Then why would they want observational data that holds no practical value?"
"…They didn't touch the observational data itself."
The voice came from an elderly white-haired gentleman who had been listening quietly from the back of the room.
"And you are?"
"Petu. I oversee the archive."
"Then what data did they take?"
"Log data. Records of user activity within the system."
"And how would that be of any use to their operations?"
"Well… the bulk of it would be routine — entries related to regular observation records and program maintenance. Rather formulaic in nature. However…"
"However?"
"The observational data is set to be transmitted to the Core at regular intervals."
"The Core is collecting data from this observatory?"
"Yes. It's been classified since the facility's founding… it should not have been disclosed. But given the gravity of the situation, I believe the Core must be made aware that something has occurred."
"The Core…"
Mason fell silent. It was not a name he had expected to hear.
Since the Great Purge, the Core had vanished without a trace. Not a single person knew what activity, if any, continued within it — at least, that was what the people of the district believed. There had been no means of contact, and the Core had appeared to have abandoned humanity entirely. Those in power had used this silence as a tool of authority, conducting themselves as though they had been chosen by the Core — yet in truth, no one was connected to it. Its existence had been shrouded so completely in mystery that the powerful had learned to enjoy wielding that very obscurity. And now, to discover that something still linked the Core to the district — it was nothing short of staggering.
"How is the data transmitted to the Core?"
"I don't know. Only that it operates through a transmission module configured during the observatory's original construction. Beyond that, I know nothing."
"If this is true, then the Liberation Army's objectives cannot be reduced to mere social disruption, terrorism, or a struggle for power. They may be reaching for something far larger."
"What do you mean?"
"They're looking for a way to provoke the Core. The same way someone once drove this district to the brink of starvation —the Great Purge. This could become a far graver problem than any of us anticipated."
Mason rose abruptly from his seat.
"I must report this to my superiors at once. I regret to ask it of you, but everything discussed here today must be kept in the strictest confidence. Good day."
＊ ＊ ＊ ＊ ＊ ＊ ＊
April lay across the sofa. She had received treatment and was resting at home.
"Elicia, tell me about the Liberation Army."
"The Liberation Army is a terrorist organization formed around 2557 under the leadership of an individual known as Bismarck, with its base of influence centered in the Kazan region of the Kast district. In March of 2561, a population register in the Vladimir region was detonated. June of the same year, Kaluga. August, the registers in Tula and Novomoskovsk. In March 2562, the distribution center in Orsha was destroyed. The following April—"
"Stop. Tell me about Bismarck."
"Bismarck is the central figure of the Liberation Army. Nothing has been confirmed regarding his origins or associates. In February 2567, he was arrested following an assault on the National Geological Survey Bureau, and in May he was temporarily held at Voltsky Prison before being transferred today to Saratov Prison — from which he escaped en route."
"Right… I was there."
April turned the man's face over in her mind — Bismarck, as she had seen him that afternoon. He looked nothing like the monster the world had painted him to be. There was a warmth to his face, unhurried and gentle. She had never paid much attention to talk of the Liberation Army — until today, when she had let him slip through her fingers and come away with nothing.
At that moment, a message appeared on April's Placebo.
[INCIDENT]
Location: Mariano Benlliure District 5
Subject: Male, approximately 30s
April set her thoughts aside and rose instinctively, stepping outside.
＊ ＊ ＊ ＊ ＊ ＊ ＊
Supremer and O'Brien were already moving through Mariano Benlliure District 5.
"Obie. What's the situation?"
"Well. Based on the wounds on the body, the target looks like H10 — semi-madman. But there are a lot of Hunters on its tail. We need to move."
"Where's Supremer?"
"Right here. Setting traps and waiting."
Supremer was crouched outside the alley, trap set and ready.
"If you wait with your mouth open for an apple to fall, will it?."
"The Hunter is one who waits."
"I'll sweep around Reina Square."
April cut the channel and moved toward the plaza.
The semi-madman was running — weaving through narrow alleys to shake the Hunters at its heels. Then something passed through it, cold and wrong, and it turned around. A man had emerged from a different alley. Flame-shaped tattoos wound up his neck and arms without interruption, suggesting the markings covered his entire body. The red-eyed man regarded the madman and spoke.
"Officer Miller, Investigative Division, Central Intelligence Bureau. Where are you off to in such a hurry?"
The madman seemed to recognize him.
"You are the executive, aren't you. I saw you at the El Cid Tower groundbreaking. Your people did this to me."
The madman's posture turned aggressive.
"My, my, Miller. Mind what you say. You were caught running intelligence for the Liberation Army. Aren't you a wanted man?"
"Don't give me that. I spent my whole life working for you people like a dog, and now you're cutting me loose? Did you think I'd just take it?"
The madman lunged at him with a shout. But the man vanished from its reach. It turned, searching — and found something standing behind it. A creature wearing a demon's face, eyes burning red. It seized the madman by the head. Veins rose across the madman's face. It began to convulse. Its body shook as though the blood in its veins had been brought to a boil. Then the presence receded — and the man with the tattoos stood there again, composed, as before.
"This is where it ends for you. To the last, you serve the organization."
He smiled at the madman, which could no longer hold itself upright.
April was still combing the alleys when she heard it — a scream, somewhere ahead. People were scattering. She pushed through against the tide and found the madman. The semi-madman's clothes were torn as though it had been clawing at itself, veins raised across its skin, its face contorted in agony — its blood seemingly burning beneath the surface.
April fired her taser. The madman dropped. She moved toward it immediately — and noticed, at the edge of the alley, a man standing over it with a gun leveled at its head.
"Hey. I'm the one who caught it."
The man looked at her and smiled.
"I believe my hypno-round reached it before your taser did."
He pointed. Lodged in the madman's skull was something small and red, like a dart. It made sense now — something had already broken it before she'd fired. Even so, April didn't back down.
"Debatable. I think we'd have to look at the evidence more carefully."
The man read her expression and gave a small, resigned shake of his head.
"Fine. It's yours. After I put a round through its head, of course."
"It looks like a semi-madman. Shouldn't it go to the Rehabilitation Center?"
"The Rehabilitation Center. Funny. Have you ever actually heard of a madman being rehabilitated? Returning to normal?"
"That's not my concern. I follow the rules."
"Yes. But what's inside his head can't be allowed to reach that place."
He pulled the trigger. The madman's head came apart.
"What the hell—"
"You can take it from here. My business is done."
"You're not a Hunter."
"Does it matter? Justice was served. You've got nothing to complain about."
He turned and walked away without looking back. April watched him go, her jaw set. She had no desire to exchange another word with him. She kept her eyes on his retreating figure and called for the disposal unit.