Chapter 110: The Angel (２)

****

A cup of coffee Aide An had brewed sat on my desk. The most palatable coffee in the Director’s Office, at least. The Librarian would enjoy it, but the in-house café was quite far, and getting there was a hassle.

Not that I could ask someone else to fetch it either.

****

Professor Maier had lost it. The angel had been moved to an information-blocking containment cell. It was isolated so that no one without cognitohazard expertise could make contact.

Dr. Kang from the Humanoid Division came to see me.

“…”

“I apologize. The anomaly took the shape of an angel, so I think our guard slipped a little.”

At least no one had died yet.

“What about Professor Maier’s condition?”

“He’s physically fine, but he’s speaking in the same 4-beat, 4-phrase pattern as the angel itself. I was worried it might be a spreading type of cognitohazard, so I’ve placed him in a soundproof room.”

“Nothing we can do about that. For now, it’s most likely a cognitohazard that only alters speech patterns, right? Have you, um, confirmed any malice from the angel’s side?”

“Yes.”

“Is there a countermeasure?”

“We’ll administer amnestics. Cognitohazards have a high information density in the mind, so even a small dose can sometimes remove them. If that doesn’t work, we may have to hypnotically erase the memories of that day entirely.”

I nodded.

“Have you prepared a method of controlling the angel?”

“Of course.”

Dr. Kang rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a single round of ammunition. A shotgun shell. I sliced open the casing with my pocketknife.

The inside was packed with something like steel balls and wooden beads. English was printed on the casing. MST — I had no idea what it stood for.

“Mistilteinn?”

“Compressed mistletoe pellets and steel balls. You know this, Director — mistletoe. The thing that killed the god of light.”

It’s a story from Norse mythology.

When the prophecy came that Baldr, the god of light, would die, the gods extracted an oath from every being in the world not to harm him. All except mistletoe, the weakest being in existence.

Loki made a spear from mistletoe and tricked the god of justice into killing Baldr, the god of light.

The god of justice, who could not swear the oath, killed the unkillable god of light with the weakest being, the only one that had never sworn.

That’s the myth behind mistletoe.

“It’s a bit ridiculous, us playing type matchups like this isn’t Pokémon or anything. But regardless, this is definitely effective against light-attribute monst— anomalies. And it’s safe for humans too.”

There were steel balls inside the shell — there’s no way that’s safe. Well, relatively speaking, I suppose.

I thought it over for a moment.

“Dr. Kang. Well, these things happen when you deal with anomalies. If Professor Maier gets back to normal, we’ll pretend none of this ever happened.”

“Thank you.”

Dr. Kang bowed his head.

****

Dr. Kang’s feelings were complicated.

“Still, she let me off without much fuss.”

Dr. Kang was the physician who had examined Dr. Geum when she first entered Facility 82.

He had concluded she was a normal human being, chimerism aside. Back then, she was just a small girl. When had she grown into such a monster?

Now she openly used the Director’s Office and was called Director by everyone inside and outside Facility 82. Especially at Foundation headquarters.

Well… no one at headquarters was particularly inclined to dispute the title of Director. And anyone who might have been wouldn’t have had their survival guaranteed.

It was quite ironic.

Dr. Geum was nothing more than an outside researcher Nanami had brought in from somewhere. There was talk of Foundation experience, but that was just rumor.

And yet. Dr. Geum had started working in the Director’s Office before anyone could say a word.

She worked without clocking out and earned the trust of the Research Department, and she threw herself into the field at the risk of her life and earned the trust of the Foundation’s military wing. Though, from the very start, having Nanami’s trust meant she’d already secured forty percent of Facility 82’s combat power.

There were countless people who raised questions about Dr. Geum, but all of them met more or less the same response.

You try it, then.

Go to the Director’s Office and argue with Nanami. Go to the Recovery Division Chief and suggest they go after Dr. Geum, a field researcher who’s shared life and death with them. Go run field duty in Dr. Geum’s place.

Go sit in the seat of the Chief Researcher position where all three predecessors killed themselves. Go to the HR Section Chief and suggest they kick out Dr. Geum, who has the most accomplishments in both research and fieldwork.

Naturally, no one did any of that.

The task forces had also shared life and death with Dr. Geum on the battlefield. The Head of Research, who had raised even a token opposition to Dr. Geum, was dragged to a containment cell by the task forces, and rumors circulated that the Precognition Division Chief’s resignation letter had been torn up in the Director’s Office.

One more problem.

As the Director personally supported most of the facility’s important research, in the end, most of the useful or dangerous anomalies in the Seoul Branch fell into the Director’s Office’s hands.

And the result was…

A monster was born—one capable of elimination of several Foundation facilities single-handedly, and one who commanded absolute trust from the Foundation’s military wing, special personnel, and even the containment subjects themselves.

Dr. Kang participated in Dr. Geum’s treatment process and saw what had happened on Jeju Island.

Of course, Nanami—one of the most powerful anomalous humans—had provided support at the risk of her life.

Dr. Chae sent an avatar, and other Foundation personnel mobilized thousands of living sacrifices for reconnaissance, along with intelligence assets, to support Dr. Geum with their full strength.

Within a single day, several Foundation facilities were eliminated by Dr. Geum, and she even performed the feat of climbing aboard and seizing a naval vessel that had set sail.

And then, the conclusion of it all.

The 8th Overseer, Justitia, personally came to the ship. In a sense, the Foundation had to officially acknowledge Dr. Geum’s complete victory.

In the end, everything was flattened completely.

There had never been a Director like this in Korea.

Chief Researchers had killed themselves in droves, and Directors-level officials were routinely ground up in various power games or quit—and the easiest way to quit was, of course, suicide.

Dr. Kang wasn’t at the Section Chief level, but she knew no less. A Foundation physician was a fairly high position, and there were things you heard.

What Dr. Geum was currently pondering was a way to increase her allies outside the Foundation. At least, that was what the rumors circulating inside the Foundation said.

And in fact, when eliminating the Pitch-Black cultists, she had used government officials and some corporate figures like subordinates. So it wasn’t entirely a lie. Though how much of it was true, no one could know.

****

Meanwhile, at the underground bunker of the Yongsan Ministry of National Defense building.

The Anomalous Incident Response Agency Director opened his mouth.

“We will now begin the Central Incident Response Headquarters meeting. Let’s confirm attendance first.”

The Central Incident Response Headquarters—one of the largest power institutions in Korea, never dissolved since the collapse of the military regime. One of the best-kept secrets within the Korean government.

There were several reasons for calling roll. It was one of the many safety measures to catch proxy attendance, spies, or mimics.

“National Defense Science Research Institute, Anomalous Phenomena Research Unit Chief. Is Mr. Kim Sanghyeon present?”

“Here.”

“Ministry of Science-affiliated Anomalous Phenomena Research Lab. Is Mr. Park Jeongchil present?”

“Here.”

“NIS-affiliated Anomalous Incident Investigation Unit.”

“Present.”

“National Police Agency, Anomaly Management Bureau Chief.”

“Yes.”

“Special Warfare Command, Anomalous Weapons Tactics Unit Chief Nam Gihyeon. Are you present?”

“Present.”

The Director cleared his throat a bit.

“First agenda item. The President and the National Assembly still won’t accept the creation of a new ministerial-level department for anomalous phenomena. They just tell us to go beg the Foundation.”

“Honestly, how many times do we have to say it before they accept? We can’t even bring this to public debate.”

“It’s awkward to spend big money on something that doesn’t help with voter sentiment. And if we expand the size of a government department dealing with anomalous phenomena and end up offending the Foundation…”

“No one knows who might die, and how.”

“We do need to come up with some kind of countermeasure. After all, now that the Foundation has stably installed a proper Director, they’re demanding more and more from the government. Only if we do something right will we have the strength to stand up to the Foundation.”

Nam Gihyeon, chief of the Anomalous Weapons Tactics Unit, raised a voice that drew the others’ gazes.

“Didn’t we see it on Jeju Island? They change the weather among themselves, and they fire anti-tank missiles within spitting distance of civilian homes when they trip. Anomalous humans stir up typhoons. Are we really going to say nothing even after all that?”

“It’s not that we say nothing despite all that—it’s that we say nothing *because* of all that. We’ll send civil servants to request restraint, at best.”

“Just who in the hell is this Director, anyway?”

Only the Agency Director had met the Director in person.

The Agency Director mulled it over for a moment.

“The appearance of a young—or at least young-looking—woman. Rumor has it she cleaned house in the Foundation’s unstable Korea Branch command and now rules like an emperor. I can’t say for certain.”

“Well, understood for now. So there *is* some kind of check in place against the Foundation, right?”

“Aside from begging them, not really…”

“Then I suppose we’d better get to begging in earnest.”