Mob No. 131: “Now then—will you surrender quietly, or would you prefer to be turned into Swiss cheese like some theatrical criminal? The choice is yours.”
After encountering the enemy’s reconnaissance unit and managing to drive them off, aside from the occasional power plays from the rookie, Tenon Karalema, things remained peaceful with no major incidents.
During that time, thanks to warnings from the queen-class lady, Kati Alptet, skepticism toward Tenon Karalema’s remarks and her domineering attitude grew, and she eventually stopped speaking to anyone outside her immediate circle.
Miss Dilopers also seemed to have persuaded her usual hangers-on to distance themselves from her.
Amidst all this, the contract period for the current mission—[Patrol and Security Duty in the Zanzaha Sector, Starting from Planet Gulpei]—finally came to an end.
In jobs like these, the fact that there’s no celebratory after-party or “good work” gathering is truly a blessing.
So once the job was done, I swiftly set off for headquarters.
The journey back was thankfully uneventful. Upon arriving at Yttz and docking the ship, I headed to the usual reception lobby to collect payment—only to find that the number of receptionists had significantly decreased.
Spotting old man Roans first, I decided to ask him about it.
“Yo. You’re back.”
“Yeah. Wrapped up the job without a hitch.”
The old man was sipping coffee from a plastic bottle while seemingly sorting through paperwork.
“Hey, there aren’t as many receptionists around, huh?”
I asked casually while handing over the mission completion proof.
“Yeah, figures you’d notice. Turns out, a week ago, an audit team from the Guild HQ came down. A bunch of staff got fired—some for misconduct, others for slacking off. Even that woman who always gave you the most trouble got the boot.”
“Huh…”
I was surprised the Mercenary Guild even had a self-policing system, but more than that, I was shocked that that receptionist—the one who had clung to her position for so long—was actually dismissed.
I didn’t want to remember her, but hearing she’d been axed made me think, “Serves you right.”
Yet, in the next instant, a different worry crossed my mind.
“But is this staffing level even manageable?”
The reception desk alone looked about 40% lighter—was the entire branch hit the same way?
Even if they could keep operating, it must’ve been brutal.
As I pondered this,
“Well, today’s the last day of that. Tomorrow, we’re getting reinforcements.”
Zeistole suddenly appeared, joining the conversation with Roans.
His flawless, doll-like appearance and voice made his sudden interjection a heart-stopping experience.
Roans, being used to it, continued unfazed.
“The ones who got trained at HQ, right…?”
The old man grimaced.
Hard to believe, but even that clingy receptionist had passed HQ’s training and screening before being hired.
“The ones fired this time also went through proper training, yet look how they turned out. Hard to trust anything now.”
Joining the conversation was a woman with bright green hair tied in a side ponytail and striking blue eyes—
Miya Ausim.
She was the same staff member who had filled in for Roans when he took leave before—
until Strirdam Bissen decided to butt in, anyway.
Though, when she later apologized for that incident, she added:
“Next time that ridiculous man interferes, I’ll personally deal with him. You have my word.”
…While checking the magazine of a Res Armor-Shining Fire military-grade rapid-fire blaster.I couldn’t let things escalate to murder, so I made sure never to speak to her about it again.
Still, shouldn’t receptionists be, y’know, working instead of chatting?
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Just then, the lobby suddenly erupted into noise.
Turning toward the commotion, I saw her—that trash incarnate, the clingy ex-receptionist Etesina Spihoche—marching in with what looked like a bunch of lowlife thugs in tow.
Blocking their way was Terry Wardell, the newly appointed head of reception.
“What business do you have here, Ms. Spihoche? You were formally dismissed a week ago. If you’ve come to collect forgotten belongings from your locker or desk, do so quickly.”
His tone was icy and professional, but the clingy ex-receptionist only twitched a strained smile.
“That termination notice must be a mistake! Someone as talented as me—being fired, and for misconduct? Impossible!”
She kept insisting she was “too exceptional” for this, but Wardell didn’t budge.
“Unfortunately, your dismissal was the result of a thorough investigation by the Guild’s audit division. There are no errors, and it will not be overturned. If you resent anything, resent your own actions.”
With that, Wardell—no, Department Head Wardell—cut her down decisively.
Yet, the clingy woman refused to back down, snapping back at him.
“Then tell me—what exactly did I do?!”
At that, Wardell’s expression twisted in barely contained fury.
“Your accomplishments include dereliction of duty, leaking confidential information, document forgery, embezzlement, and theft—all criminal offenses. Only the cover-up by your noble predecessor kept it buried, but make no mistake: you did it. The count easily reaches triple digits. Legally, you should’ve been arrested, but due to insufficient evidence, termination was the extent of it. We hoped you’d take this mercy as a chance to reform—but clearly, that was wasted effort.”
His words hit like hammer blows, leaving the clingy woman frozen.
The thugs she’d brought, however, remained unfazed.
“Hey. We can wreck this place, right?”
their leader asked, cracking his knuckles.
“Of course. Go wild. A workplace that would reject me deserves no less!”
Revitalized, the woman smirked at Wardell—
only for every mercenary in the lobby (myself included) and several staff members to immediately draw weapons.
Pistols, shotguns, even laser dots dancing on the thugs’ foreheads.
Zeistole brandished what looked like a beam-cartridge pump-action shotgun. Ausim had her Res Armor-Shining Fire at the ready.
Roans held a well-worn Cortez Government, and Wardell himself aimed a Cortez Viper 777 Magnum—a beam-cartridge blaster—straight at the woman.
“Did you forget this is the Mercenary Guild?” Wardell said coldly. “Everyone here either fights for a living or used to. Storming this place is as suicidal as attacking a military base or police station.”
The sheer number of gun barrels left both the thugs and the clingy woman petrified.
“Now then—will you surrender quietly, or would you prefer to be turned into cheese like some theatrical criminal? The choice is yours.”
At Wardell’s ultimatum, the woman collapsed to her knees, while the thugs wore expressions of bitter defeat.
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