AMLP 12

Chapter 12

And so, Raimund officially entered into an external service contract with the Human Preservation Foundation Federation… I wish I could simply put it that way.

But reality doesn’t flow that easily.

First, he had to undergo two days of various tests to confirm his physical abilities.

At the same time, in addition to the external service contract, he also had to sign a promissory note for the 30 million credits he borrowed from the Foundation Federation.

Yokanan, watching Raimund sign the promissory note with trembling hands, offered a quiet piece of advice.

—

*”90% of the payment Mr. Geppert receives from requests will go towards paying off your debt to the Foundation Federation. If you even think about running away because the work is too difficult or dangerous…”*

*”W-What happens if I do?”*

*”You’ll get to spend the rest of your life in the Bermuda Triangle.”*

—

Raimund didn’t know where the Bermuda Triangle was, but from the context, he could easily tell it was hardly a paradise on earth.

After filling out every possible contract and form, he also provided the serial number for his own credit stick to receive his payments.

Aside from that, it took a considerable amount of time just to receive basic training—explanations about the Foundation Federation’s internal structure, the organizations under the Anomaly Management Bureau, and other such details.

The entire process took a full week, and only on the morning after that week did Raimund finally receive news about his living arrangements.

—

“You’re saying… I can’t go to the 5th Residential District?”

“That’s right. You’ll be staying in a place designated by the Foundation. Of course, only until you’ve paid off all your debt.”

—

Colette, handing him a tray with his breakfast, said it as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

The warm white bread, butter, juice, soup, and glistening thin ham were part of a high-quality meal Raimund wouldn’t normally have access to.

But right now, he couldn’t afford to be distracted by the food. Not being able to go to his home in the 5th Residential District—what did that mean?

—

“But that’s my house. If you’re worried I might run away or hide…”

“No, that’s not really the issue. If the Foundation Federation gets involved, we’d find you within two days no matter where you hide. This is purely a security measure.”

“Security?”

“You might find this unpleasant, but my junior visited your house over the past week.”

—

My house? How did they know? Raimund’s heart sank.

They hadn’t done anything to Peony, Hazel, and Olive, had they?

They had no idea what he’d been up to, and no clue he’d suddenly incurred such a massive debt.

But Colette continued speaking, as if unaware of his concerns.

—

“Your security was lax. Anyone passing by could have just wandered in out of curiosity. You’re now a valuable asset to the Foundation Federation, and your safety isn’t just your own concern anymore.”

“Someone entered my house? Your junior? Without even telling me?”

“Oh, it wasn’t a break-in. They just rang the doorbell and pretended to have the wrong address.”

“I don’t understand what’s strange about that.”

—

By now, Raimund’s tone had become stiff. Colette glanced back at him and rolled her eyes.

Raimund knew nothing about this world. But he would have to learn, bit by bit.

In this world, the more you knew, the higher your chances of survival.

And the idea that he might die because of his own ignorance wasn’t even a joke.

Where should she even begin to make this kid understand?

—

“Do you remember what Yokanan mentioned during the interrogation? About the occult group?”

“Something called the Red Witch.”

“To be precise, it’s the ‘Crimson Witch.'”

—

Colette, seeing Raimund hadn’t touched his food, leaned her back against the wall by the door.

Unlike the isolation room, this was a temporary lodging on the second floor of a Foundation Federation building—its wall warmed faintly by sunlight filtering in through the window.

—

“One day, a Foundation Federation employee went home after work to the 3rd Residential District.”

“…?”

“He lived with his family, and his parents thought he was just going to work in the administrative sector. Disclosing Foundation affiliation to outsiders was strictly prohibited under security protocols. That day was as ordinary as any other.”

“And then?”

“His department members found it strange when he didn’t show up for work the next day. A senior staff member looked up his address in the database and went to visit.”

—

Colette smiled. But her eyes were cold and still.

—

“The house was red.”

“Excuse me?”

“Red. The windows, the carpet, the ceiling, the wallpaper, the dining table, the mirrors, the bathroom floor, the bathtub, the curtains, the bed—all soaked in blood. The family was found sitting cozily on the sofa. Of course, all missing their heads. In front of the sofa was a vase with a single red rose, still covered in dew.”

“… ”

“The neighbors, however, testified that it had been a perfectly quiet, perfect night—not a single scream. There were no witnesses either.”

—

Raimund stared blankly at her.

A story that didn’t quite hit home. An unrealistic, utterly unrelatable tragedy.

The 3rd Residential District had a considerable floating population—even late at night, there should have been a few people wandering the streets, right?

Seeing the young man’s expression, clearly not understanding, Colette continued lightly, as if it were nothing.

—

“The Foundation Federation knew that employee had been assigned to a new project. Records don’t show it anymore, but apparently, the deceased agent had been on a top-secret mission to find the ‘Crimson Witch’s’ sabbat.”

“Sabbat?”

“They gather under a powerful faith. I told you—they’re an occult group. A cult leader, an object of worship, and a gathering place called a sabbat. Every occult group hostile to the Foundation Federation has its own sanctuary. A sanctuary that can never be destroyed or revealed.”

“Then that agent…”

“He was killed as an example, for daring to threaten the Witch’s sabbat. A warning, of sorts.”

—

He shuddered.

For something like that? They barged into an ordinary family home and committed a grotesque murder? Three people?

Colette lowered her gaze to the toes of her shoes.

—

“He was on the field team. My senior’s senior, actually. I’d even had a meal with him a few times.”

“Oh.”

“He was an agent optimized for countering the Crimson Witch. A veteran, you could say. He’d been with the Foundation Federation for over a decade, and after that mission, he was supposed to be transferred to a support division. But he just happened to get caught by the Crimson Witches.”

“I-I’m sorry, Ms. Colette. I was complaining thoughtlessly. That wasn’t my intention—I just don’t know much yet.”

“No, you don’t need to apologize, Mr. Geppert. It happened years ago. …But after that, every Foundation Federation member was restricted to designated residential areas. The Crimson Witch isn’t the only enemy we have. For the sake of not dying in our sleep, or at least to get the job done, we have to prioritize safety.”

—

Colette took a deep breath and slowly let it out.

—

“Can you handle that? Of course, if you insist, I can’t stop you from going back to the 5th Residential District. But external contractors are more visible than Foundation employees. You never know when you might become someone’s target.”

“Well…”

“So for your own safety, and for the safety of those living with you, moving is the right call. What do you think?”

—

Her quiet voice carried no hint of pressure.

But Raimund found himself unconsciously biting his lower lip.

Helping the Foundation Federation is dangerous. Yokanan had said that too.

But the past Colette had just described chilled him to the bone more than anything else.

Headless corpses huddled together on a sofa.

What if that had been Peony, Olive, or Hazel?

—

“…I’m sorry. I was being stubborn without knowing the full story. I’ll move to the designated place.”

“Good choice. All of this—it’s because the Foundation Federation believes you’re worth it. Please cooperate.”

“If I said I wouldn’t, you’d probably put a leash on me and make me anyway.”

“How did you know? Busted.”

—

She winked playfully. All traces of her earlier gloom had vanished.

Raimund was relieved to see it, but he also wondered—was this just what happened when you worked with the Foundation Federation?

—

“Of course, we won’t just abandon your friends either. The Foundation Federation takes the security of its employees’ families seriously. If you want, we could station an agent next door to keep watch 24/7—”

“No, that’s not necessary. Just keep them safe enough so they don’t get hurt. And please, don’t tell them anything about me. Absolutely nothing.”

“Alright, the Foundation Federation will handle it. That work for you?”

—

He could cover his friends’ living expenses from his own pay, but he couldn’t guarantee their safety. So it was right to accept the Foundation’s help.

Finally easing his worries, Raimund pulled himself together and asked.

—

“Do you know where I’m going to stay?”

“Hmm, I’ve got the address. But before that, I’m a little curious about something.”

—

Colette looked at Raimund with a peculiar expression and dropped the question.

“Is it okay if you have a roommate?”

“A roommate? You mean someone I’d live with?”

“Something like that.”

“Fine with me. Is the place really small?”

“No, not at all. As far as I know, it’s got three bedrooms and a separate dining room. Three floors and a big yard too. It’s in the 2nd Residential District.”

“So there are like seven other people living there?”

“I don’t know what kind of dormitory you’re imagining. Just one roommate.”

“Then that’s no problem.”

—

A three-story house with three bedrooms, and only one roommate?

For Raimund, it was hardly an issue.

A luxurious home where he’d have more than enough space to roll around—and only one roommate? There was no reason to hesitate.

Seeing Raimund nod confidently, Colette looked vaguely uneasy as she pulled a small note from her suit’s inner pocket and handed it to him.

—

“After you finish eating, take the tram and go straight there. Your roommate is also an external contractor, just like you. I heard there’s no request today, so they should be home. But…”

“But?”

“If you can’t get inside, find a nearby public phone booth, dial 245577821, and give your name.”

—

What? Can’t get inside? What does that mean?

Maybe the roommate had just stepped out?

Raimund unfolded the note he’d received. On the blank white paper, one line was written in neat handwriting:

—

[ 36 Foster Street, 2nd Residential District ]

—

***

The UK Shelter Branch of the Human Preservation Foundation Federation was located in the administrative sector.

Stepping outside the building, Raimund turned to look back at the door he’d passed through—and was surprised by the exterior, which looked completely different from the sleek, high-tech interior inside.

It must have been built around the same time as the neighboring buildings; it was fairly old, with black stains scattered here and there on the walls.

When Raimund peeked through the glass door, he could see an elderly, friendly-looking security guard sitting in a lobby as old as the building itself, flipping through a Shelter news publication.

But he knew that the thing at the guard’s waist was a real gun loaded with live ammunition.

And that the seemingly easygoing, smiling guard’s gaze sharpened whenever someone registered their entry.

Was this also a form of camouflage, born from concern over the Crimson Witch—or whatever they were called?

Raimund thought grimly, brushed off his newly received clean clothes, and set off.

Boarding the driverless tram to the 2nd Residential District, Raimund realized how both welcome and alien the rattling noise and swaying carriage felt.

How many days had it been since he disappeared? At least three or four weeks.

Ah, what about the rent? He’d have to visit the bank and pay it all at once later.

How much would the late fees have added up to?

—

As Raimund mulled over mundane everyday thoughts, the tram came to a stop at the 2nd Residential District station.

He’d been here once before.

When was it? He’d disguised himself as a deliveryman, hoping for a stroke of luck, if he remembered correctly.

Finding Foster Street wasn’t hard. Just three blocks from the station and he was there.

Now he just needed to find the right number. 36, 36.

Raimund’s steps, scanning polished brass plaques and white-painted numbers, halted in front of one particular house.

An elegant residence with a lot of white paint and stone—practically a mansion, it was so impressive.

The dull-glowing fence showed no signs of rust. A silver plate on the chest-high gate bore the address:

—

[ 36 ]

—

This house. This place was definitely…

Raimund slowly pushed the gate open.

The lush green grass of the spacious yard—a place he’d never thought he’d set foot in—welcomed him.

After climbing four stone steps, a dark green front door emerged from the shadows.

—

*Knock, knock, knock.*

—

He knocked, but there was no answer from inside.

Raimund knocked again.

—

*Knock, knock, knock.*

—

He waited a good while after knocking, but there was still no response. Raimund glared at the antique door, then clenched his fist.

—

*Bang, bang, bang!*

“Hey! Is anyone there? Hello? Anybody home?!”

—

After pounding on the door for quite some time, Raimund, his hand starting to sting from the silent treatment, was about to turn away.

Maybe they weren’t home? What had Colette said? Find a nearby public phone booth and call, right?

Just as Raimund started down the steps to find a phone, a thin sound came from behind him.

—

*Creeeak.*

“Huh?”

—

He turned around. A white-haired man, squinting against the sunlight as if it hurt his eyes, was holding the door open, looking rather disheveled.

Their eyes met, and they both shouted at the same time.

—

“What are you doing here?!”

“You! The one who locked me in that container!”

—

It was the first meeting between the external service contractors.