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The Sunday Broadcast
The executive office of Kavilson Steel in Seistain was supposed to be a place of highly optimized corporate warfare. But today was Sunday, which meant it had devolved into a multi-billion-credit daycare center.
Filoska Vinten was sitting at the far end of the massive mahogany desk, aggressively stamping a mountain of Arvonian export manifests. She was on her fourth cup of black coffee and looked like she was ready to murder someone.
On the other side of the room, Kniya was violently slamming the buttons on a custom-built, aggressively loud mechanical pinball machine he had installed in the office for absolutely no reason other than to annoy Filoska.
Malesh was sitting perfectly upright on the leather sofa, staring blankly at the heavy, brass-plated cathode-ray television set humming in the corner.
The DI National News was playing. The news anchor, a man who looked completely dead inside, was delivering the morning report in a flat, unbothered monotone.
"In domestic news today," the anchor droned, "a forty-two-year-old local man was brutally hospitalized after purchasing thirty thousand square kilometers of barren land directly on the border of KDC and SDC."
Kniya kept slamming the pinball flippers, half-listening. Ding-ding-ding.
"According to federal reports," the anchor continued, a grainy black-and-white photo flashing on the screen, "the man spent his entire life savings to build a massive, electrified chain-link fence directly down the middle of his property to officially demarcate the state boundaries. He then stood on a soapbox, yelling that KDC and SDC are culturally incompatible and should be treated as entirely separate sovereign countries, effectively triggering the deepest, most toxic regional rivalries in the Republic."
The footage cut to a shaky camera recording of the man standing by his fence with a megaphone, before exactly twelve DI'an police officers sprinted into the frame.
"When local authorities arrived to inform him he lacked the proper zoning permits," the anchor stated, completely devoid of emotion, "the man declared independence. The police responded by aggressively beating his ass with heavy iron batons for approximately ten uninterrupted minutes. The fence has been dismantled, and the man is currently in a full-body cast. In other news, the price of corn..."
Malesh reached over and clicked the television off. The room fell silent, save for the obnoxious clack-clack-clack of Kniya's pinball machine.
Malesh adjusted his tie, a look of profound, genuine disappointment washing over his usually robotic face. He let out a heavy sigh, shaking his head.
"It is so unfortunate," Malesh muttered, resting his chin on his hands, looking genuinely aggrieved. "He was doing such a good thing. Why was he beaten off by the police officers? It was really a brilliant sociological experiment to show the states are different. 'Your state is different, our state is different.' It is a beautiful expression of geographical boundaries. He was a visionary."
Kniya slammed the side of the pinball machine as his silver ball drained down the middle.
"So what?" Kniya scoffed, not even turning around. "The guy was a fucking idiot. The police did the right job. You don't just buy dirt and start drawing imaginary borders unless you have the heavy artillery to back it up. If you act like a rogue nation without buying the cops first, you get the baton. That's just basic DI street logic."
Filoska didn't even look up from her paperwork. "Can you two please discuss treason a little quieter? I am trying to balance a trillion-credit ledger."
Malesh ignored her. He stared at the blank television screen. The gears in his sociopathic, mathematically obsessed brain began to turn. A very strange, highly unusual spark ignited in his dark eyes.
"Okay, Kniya," Malesh said slowly, leaning forward on the leather sofa. "I have an idea while watching this. My mood is going in a completely different direction right now."
Kniya stopped playing his game. He turned his head, narrowing his eyes at his partner. "What are you talking about?"
"I think we should purchase a huge amount of land," Malesh stated, his voice deadpan but laced with a terrifying undertone of inspiration. "For absolutely no fucking reason."
Kniya fully turned around, leaning against the glass of the pinball machine. He looked at Malesh like he had just grown a second head.
"What the fuck?" Kniya asked, raising an eyebrow. "Do you also want to get beaten off by the cops like that idiot on the news for creating state boundaries? Are you having an identity crisis?"
"No, no, I don't want to be beaten like that," Malesh clarified immediately, waving his hand dismissively. "I have no interest in getting assaulted by low-tier government employees. I just think... it would be a crazy idea to buy a land. A massive, entirely pointless piece of land."
Filoska slowly lowered her stamp. She looked across the room at Malesh, genuine fear creeping into her eyes. Whenever Malesh Bulwadi wanted to do something "for no reason," it usually ended with the global economy catching on fire.
Kniya crossed his arms, staring at his best friend. He knew that look.
"I know you are having some kind of ridiculous idea right now," Kniya said, a slow, chaotic smirk spreading across his face. "You don't just buy dirt for fun. What the fuck are you actually planning to do with it, bro?"
The Sunday Excursion
"I don't have a plan. That is the beauty of it," Malesh stated, standing up and smoothing out his tie. "I just want to buy dirt. Kniya, you need to come with me."
Kniya leaned back against the pinball machine, crossing his arms. "Okay, if I am going to come with you to buy useless dirt for a sociological experiment, who is going to manage the company?"
Malesh didn't even blink. He just pointed a finger across the room. "Filoska is there for that, right?"
At the far end of the mahogany desk, Filoska's head snapped up so fast her neck practically cracked. She dropped her heavy ink stamp.
"Don't you ever dare to leave this office, Kniya!" Filoska shouted, her voice echoing off the high ceilings as she pointed a manicured finger directly at his chest. "I have been staring at Arvonian export taxes for six straight hours! I am not going to do all of the work alone while you two go play real estate agents in the mud! I will physically set this desk on fire!"
Kniya held his hands up defensively, laughing. "Okay, you listen, you have to relax. It's a Sunday!" He turned to his partner, shaking his head. "Okay, Malesh, you got this. I'm not coming with you. Have fun buying your dirt."
Malesh's deadpan expression faltered. He actually looked desperate.
"Please," Malesh said, his voice completely devoid of its usual robotic authority. "Please, please, please."
Kniya stared at him, genuinely disturbed. "Did you just beg? Bro, you own twenty percent of the Earth's oil. Stop begging, it's creeping me out."
"Okay, I have an idea," Malesh pivoted instantly, clapping his hands once. "We are not leaving her behind. We all three are going to buy the land."
"What the fuck?" Kniya demanded, throwing his hands in the air. "All three of us? So who is going to run the company for one day? The ghosts? The janitor?"
"Your company isn't going to die in one day if no one manages it," Malesh replied logically, walking toward the door. "It is Sunday. The global markets are closed. Apply some basic delegation protocols. Provide the powers to the junior officers for now, and we are going to do this thing."
Filoska looked at the mountain of paperwork, then at the door. For the first time all week, the idea of abandoning her post sounded incredible.
"Fine," Filoska snapped, grabbing her coat. "I am leaving. If the Antrious Hub burns down while we are gone, I am blaming both of you."
The Parking Lot Debate
They moved out of the executive suite, leaving a highly confused team of junior managers in charge of a multi-billion-credit steel monopoly.
As they rode the glass elevator down to the executive parking garage, Malesh looked over at Kniya.
"So, where exactly are we going right now to buy this random land?" Malesh asked, adjusting his cuffs. "Because you can't just casually walk into a grocery store and ask for thirty thousand square kilometers of dirt."
"I know an estate manager," Kniya replied, tossing a heavy set of brass keys in the air and catching them. "Khno Louison. He operates out of the upper commercial district. He is a great man. Totally corrupt, loves money, hates asking questions. So yeah, we are going to his estate to buy some land."
"Acceptable," Malesh nodded as the elevator doors opened. "So, what kind of vehicle are we going to use? I think we should cover this distance by using the fucking bikes. We can take the heavy-diesel motorcycles. They are highly efficient for Seistain traffic."
Kniya stopped walking. He looked at Malesh with pure, unadulterated disgust.
"Absolutely not," Kniya sneered. "We are not going to use that poor, cheap fucking thing. Look at my shirt. Do I look like a street courier? I am rich."
Malesh's jaw clenched. His eyes darkened, locking onto Kniya with a cold, murderous intensity.
"Don't ever dare to say that word in front of me again, Kniya," Malesh hissed, his voice dropping an octave. "You are not richer than me. My liquid capital objectively dwarfs yours. You just have a vulgar psychological need to display it."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever, oil boy," Kniya waved him off, walking into the pristine garage. "So what do you want me to go on with? We are taking my new baby. The Vulcan Zenith RD456 ."
Kniya pointed across the concrete floor. Sitting in the VIP spot was an absolute monster of a vehicle. It was an ultra-luxurious, custom-forged, petrol-powered heavy sedan. It was painted a flawless metallic crimson, heavily armored, with massive brass exhausts and a grille that looked like it belonged on a military tank. It was loud, unnecessary, and cost more than most small towns.
"Okay, so I am going to drive," Malesh stated, stepping in front of Kniya and reaching for the heavy brass door handle.
"No. Absolutely not," Kniya slapped Malesh's hand away. "It is my luxurious car and I am not allowing anyone to drive this fucking thing. Especially not you."
"Why?" Malesh argued, stepping into Kniya's personal space. "My spatial awareness is mathematically superior to yours!"
"Because every single time you take a car out, you completely total it!" Kniya yelled back, holding the keys high in the air. "You are a menace behind the wheel! You try to 'calculate' the optimal turning friction and end up putting the vehicle straight into a fucking wall! You crashed the last luxury sedan into a bakery!"
"The bakery was structurally out of alignment with the road!" Malesh fired back. "Give me the fucking keys!"
"Can you two stop arguing for a minute?!"
Filoska's furious scream echoed across the concrete parking garage. She was standing by the passenger side door, clutching her leather bag, looking like she was about to have an aneurysm.
"We haven't even left the office building!" Filoska yelled, pointing accusingly at both of them. "We are just arguing right now standing on the concrete! Can you argue in the car, right?! Please! We need to move before I lose my mind and walk back upstairs!"
Kniya paused. He looked at the screaming Vice President, then lowered the keys.
"Okay, okay," Kniya sighed, hitting a button to unlock the heavy armored doors with a loud clank. "Well, we should go. Yeah, Malesh, sit."
Malesh glared at Kniya, his chest heaving slightly with contained rage. He violently yanked the back door open.
"Fuck, fuck, quadruple fuck you, Kniya," Malesh cursed in a flat, terrifying monotone as he slid into the plush leather backseat.
"Welcome aboard Kavilson Airways," Kniya cackled, sliding into the driver's seat and gunning the massive V-12 engine. The roar of the exhaust shook the entire parking garage as they peeled out onto the chaotic streets of Seistain.