Cyberpunk: 2075.

Chapter 860, Section 70: The Fourth Secret Vault?

Carl Taylor was indeed a rare and excellent boss.

Although he said he would teach those who had done bad things a lesson and threatened that they would be unable to go anywhere and would have to wait obediently until the shift change, after everyone had done their jobs properly, he still waved his hand and treated everyone to beer, and also instructed the Ghost Hounds who delivered the meals to the armory.

"Do a good job, everyone! After we finish eating, another batch of goods will arrive this afternoon. If you do a great job, I'll bring in those robot guards to take over the duties, and you can have a few hours off earlier."

Despite saying such things, Carl-Taylor's words did not violate the rules of the Hound of the Underworld.

Rather, the fact that he thought of using machine guards in rotation was already quite a responsible act, and it's no wonder that Hansen and other high-ranking members of 'Ghost Hound' chose to send him to guard the sub-armory.

If this task were handed over to subordinates—not to mention whether they could properly guard the armory, they would probably rely on machine guards all day long, and might even steal from the armory and secretly transport the equipment out to sell.

Such things are not uncommon within the 'Ghost Hound' organization. Although once caught, the inevitable fate is being hung up and displayed in public, there are always those who will take the risk for the sake of profit.

Faced with Carl Taylor's promise that it wasn't just empty talk but could be delivered through hard work, his seven subordinates nodded in agreement, then took their lunches and found seats.

Compared to the four 'Ghost Hounds' who had already been working in the armory, the three newly transferred personnel seemed to be unfamiliar with their colleagues since they had only been there a short time, and sat alone to the side.

Seeing how out of place they were with their old subordinates, Carl Taylor sighed softly and took his lunch to sit down next to them.

"Don't blame me for being too harsh just now, but you really shouldn't have made that mistake this time. You were only transferred here the night before last, right? You made the same mistake yesterday and again today—it's only been two days, and you've made the exact same mistake twice. I really can't let this go without giving you a serious warning."

As he spoke, his tone softened: "It's not that I'm deliberately making things difficult for you. If this kind of thing isn't handled properly, and the colonel and lieutenant colonel come to investigate, none of us can bear the consequences. Just be more careful when working under me in the future. I don't mean to target you, but there are some things that really need to be taken seriously."

As he spoke, Carl Taylor reached out and patted one of his youngest-looking subordinates, then opened his lunchbox, picked up a large piece of synthetic fried chicken from the meager stir-fry side dishes, and put it into the other man's lunchbox.

"Eat well, you're still young, you need to grow up healthy."

After saying this, Karl Taylor nodded to them, picked up his lunch, and continued to check the items at the data panel of the armory while eating. He wanted to check everything again to make sure everything was correct.

The young 'Ghost Dog' showed a slight change in expression upon seeing the fried chicken covered in yogurt sauce in the lunchbox.

To be honest, he was very touched by Carl Taylor's actions, but...
He wasn't the newcomer who kept making mistakes.

The youngest of the ghost hounds is Carl, who, along with Oliver and Jack, replaced the three ghost hounds last night.

With the help of the three Hanz personnel already stationed at the armory, they did not deal with the three men, but simply imprisoned them—Karl had checked their backgrounds and confirmed that they had not done anything wrong, and that the 'mistake' this morning was just a deliberate act to scout the armory.

As a result, not only did Carl Taylor mistakenly think that he was just "stupid" rather than "intentional," but he also felt guilty because he felt that he had spoken too harshly. He came over to comfort them and even took out the most substantial piece of fried chicken from his lunch.
It's worth noting that, apart from this fried chicken, the only other food in the Ghost Hound's lunch of fried noodles was some synthetic vegetables and a few synthetic meat rolls.

I feel a bit sorry for the 'ghost dog' who was replaced. This boss is so reliable and values ​​his subordinates, yet he was inexplicably burdened with the blame for being 'stupid'.

"This Karl is a really good person."

While eating fried noodles, Jack said on the comms channel, "I thought people who care about their subordinates, take on all the work themselves, and always try to make things easier for their subordinates have disappeared long ago."

"Let alone in 'Ghosthound,' I've never met such a good person in my entire life, not even in the Sixth Street Gang," Oliver chimed in. "If the boss who led me on my first mission back then had been like him, I might still be hanging around in the Sixth Street Gang now."

Karl couldn't help but interject, "Come on, didn't your dad arrange a supposedly reliable leader for you? But the guy got shot as soon as he made contact with the Vortex Gang, didn't he?"

“Oh, I think that’s true.” Oliver laughed. “Well, it seems it’s the same everywhere. But to be honest, it’s really comfortable to be around a responsible and considerate boss like him. It always makes you think a little more.”

As he spoke, he stirred the clump of fried noodles with his fork, but eventually put down the fork and used a spoon instead—the noodles were so mushy that they couldn't be picked up with a fork at all.

"This stuff tastes awful, but maybe it's because we're used to eating good food. This stuff might actually be pretty good on the street."

"No, it's just plain bad. Don't slander street food."

Carl also switched to eating noodles with a spoon: "This thing is just a boxed lunch, what can you expect?"

"Heh, it's been a long time since the three of us have been squatting and eating like this. If we were on the street, we'd really look like street thugs."

Jack chuckled and picked up a piece of side dish. "If this were on the street, it would be no different from what you'd see as a thug." He chewed a few times. "The taste is so-so. The most decent thing is probably that piece of synthetic fried chicken—Carl, you got to enjoy it. Now you can eat this without any problem, right? You won't give yourself away because you can't swallow it."

“In the past, I could have forced myself to eat it even if it tasted terrible, just to hide my identity, let alone now.” Carl took a bite of fried chicken and nodded. “Hmm, it’s alright. There’s plenty of filling, and the chicken flavor is quite strong. The manufacturer that makes this synthetic fried chicken didn’t try to cheat us. At least they didn’t just make something that smells like crab and plastic just because not many people have eaten real chicken. They dare to call it ‘real chicken.’”

"Put the taste aside for now. We've spent the whole morning moving weapons and counting ammunition—have you guys found the whereabouts of that mysterious box or the weapons inside?" Oliver said in the channel, taking a big bite of chicken. "I feel like we might have to find a way to infiltrate the main control system without being caught on camera. Do you think the records of that thing might be on the main control computer?"

“I think it’s unlikely,” Jack replied. “Hansen kept it so well hidden that it might not have been recorded in the system at all. But look at the behavior of our department head; he’s clearly one of the few who knows where that thing came from—or at least he knows it’s too important to touch.”

“I know, but,” Carl interjected, “maybe we can start from this angle. He’s a good guy, but even for the sake of this fried chicken, I don’t really want to drag him into this. Let’s try another approach.”

"Your moral standards are always quite remarkable, Carl; you remember even the smallest things so well."

Oliver spoke, but he didn't seem to be criticizing his friend's idea, because this was the Carl he knew: "Then let's do it your way. Do you have an idea?" Carl swallowed the last bite of fried chicken with a strong synthetic flavor, his gaze sweeping over the back of Captain Carl-Taylor, who was busy in front of the data panel.

“As for ideas.” His gaze, however, was fixed on an old physical log register in the corner of the armory. The machine seemed out of place with the entire warehouse’s digital system, like a corner forgotten by time.

"Perhaps. Since Hansen's people want to completely conceal their whereabouts, digital records can be altered or deleted. But even the most secretive things will leave necessary physical backups when they are carried out. Otherwise, if something goes wrong, even if the superior wants to shift the blame, there may be no one to shift it to."

"What kind of company idea is this?"

Carl's response to Oliver's criticism was...
"Do you think there's any difference between the Netherworld Hounds nowadays? There's a king at the top, and the generals and prime ministers below are fighting each other to the death. There's no difference."

He quickly shoveled the last few strands of fried noodles from his lunchbox into his mouth, stood up, and casually strolled towards the registration desk.

Oliver and Jack understood each other perfectly. One stretched and naturally moved to block part of the warehouse's main surveillance camera's view with his body, while the other picked up an empty ammunition box, pretending to tidy up the scattered ammunition, but actually keeping a watchful eye on his surroundings.

Next to the registration desk were several thick leather-covered journals, their edges worn and frayed, but clearly frequently turned over. Carl ran his fingers along the spine of the journals and found the most recent one by date.

“Captain,” Carl suddenly spoke, his voice carrying just the right amount of doubt, much like his status as a newly transferred recruit: “Do these physical logs still need to be entered into the system? I see some entries seem a bit different.”

He deliberately spoke vaguely, as if he were just a newcomer asking for advice.

Captain Carl-Taylor looked up from the data panel, pushed up the brim of his Ghosthound costume, glanced at the logbook in Carl's hand, and gave a helpless look on his face, as if to say, "Who still uses this these days?"

“Oh, that’s the usual procedure, the colonel specifically requested it.” He walked over, seemingly not thinking it was something that needed to be publicized. “All equipment entering and leaving the warehouse, in addition to going through the internal system process, must also be registered by hand and archived separately. It’s said to be, um, double insurance? It seems to be to prevent the system from being hacked or malfunctioning.”

His gaze unconsciously drifted to the locked special isolation room.

Carl noticed the captain's subconscious movement, but his face remained puzzled: "Special equipment? Like, for example, some highly dangerous stuff?"

“Yes, those are the ones.” Carl-Taylor nodded, seemingly pleased with the recruit’s comprehension. “The higher-ups are keeping a close eye on the movements of those things. Every time they are moved, the time, number, person in charge, and the unit to which they are being transferred must be written down in detail. Some things even have to be done even if the computer doesn’t record them. It’s a bit of a hassle, but there’s no way around it. Rules are rules.”

He patted the journal: "So this thing can't be lost, and don't scribble on it. Okay, after you finish eating, hurry up and get ready, the afternoon's goods will arrive soon."

After giving his instructions, Carl Taylor returned to his data panel and continued working.

But Carl and his friends realized something.

Some things have to be done even if the computer doesn't record them; in other words...
If you want to find out the movements of those weapons in this sub-weapons department, then this handwritten notebook is likely the only one that will record them.

Hansen was a very careful person, so he would request a separate record, a handwritten copy of which had no electronic version.

This is clearly the right thing to do, because even in 2077, the confidentiality of handwritten things is the highest, since there is only one copy.

But this caution actually helped those who had infiltrated the area with their own agendas.

Carl, Oliver, and Jack exchanged glances in the air; without a word, the plan was clear.

After lunch, the afternoon shipment arrived on time, and the entire armory immediately sprang into action.

Captain Carl Taylor was busy, with most of his men being reassigned to unloading and inventorying newly arrived conventional weapons and ammunition. The noisy environment, stacks of boxes, and people moving back and forth provided excellent cover.

Oliver, with his agility and miniature jammer, briefly disrupted the circuit of an old surveillance camera near the registration desk. Meanwhile, Jack and two other accomplices of Hans "coincidentally" carried several heavy boxes and clumsily blocked the narrow passageway leading to the registration desk, constantly complaining that "this place is too small," cleverly obstructing any possible view.

Using those precious ten seconds or so, Carl quickly flipped through the thick physics logbook. His eyes darted across the recent 'special registration' entries, his gloved hands tracing the lines of slightly messy handwritten notes. Most of these records were routine special equipment deployments, until—

His gaze was fixed on a record from about a week ago.

Item type: Specially modified Ajax assault rifle and matching under-barrel shotgun equipment
Quantity: 4 sets

Dispatcher: Carl Taylor
Transferred Unit/Receiving Party: Chester Bennett

Authorization Instruction: Kurt Hansen
A specially modified Ajax assault rifle, that seems to be it. So, where is it to be deployed?
"Secret Vault Number Four?"

What is that place?
Carl wanted to take a closer look and browse through the others, but just then, he heard the phone ringing on Carl-Tyler's end, as if someone was calling. In that instant...

Time seemed to slow down.

Carl quickly flipped through the entire logbook, completed the record, and restored it to its original state before looking at Carl-Taylor.

The name displayed on his phone is
"Colonel."

(End of this chapter)