Season 2 chapter 30
The Top Floor
A few days later, a sleek, armored Kavilson town car pulled up outside the massive glass-and-steel headquarters of Thullibulli Airlines in the commercial district.
Kniya and Malesh stepped out, completely ignoring the valet, and walked straight through the sliding glass doors into the main lobby.
A heavy-set security guard stepped in front of the private executive elevators, holding his hand up to block them.
"Hold on, gentlemen. Do you have an appointment?" the guard grunted.
Kniya looked the guard up and down. "Are you the Managing Director of this company?"
The guard scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Are you an idiot or what? I'm wearing a security badge. Do I look like the Managing Director?"
Kniya didn't say a word. He casually reached into the inner pocket of his tailored jacket, pulled out a heavy, black-steel revolver, and pressed the barrel directly against the center of the guard's chest.
"I'm going to ask you one more time," Kniya whispered, his arrogant smirk turning into a cold, dead stare. "Who is the actual Managing Director?"
The guard swallowed hard, all the color instantly draining from his face as he looked down at the gun.
"He... he is on the top floor, sir," the guard stammered, raising his hands in surrender. "Executive suite. He's drinking right now."
"See? That wasn't so hard," Kniya grinned, slipping the gun back into his jacket and patting the terrified guard on the cheek. "Have a great shift."
The 6.8 Trillion Handshake
Kniya and Malesh took the private elevator to the top floor and kicked the double doors of the executive suite open without knocking.
Sitting behind a massive glass desk, pouring himself a glass of expensive amber liquor, was a slightly overweight, red-faced executive. He jumped as the doors slammed open, spilling his drink onto his blotter.
"What the fuck is the meaning of this?!" the executive shouted, standing up. "Security!"
Kniya casually strolled into the room, pulling out a chair and sitting down right in front of the desk. Malesh stood silently by the door, analyzing the room's exits.
"So, you are the Managing Director of the company?" Kniya asked, completely ignoring the man's outrage.
"Yes, I am!" the man snapped. "Who the hell are you?"
"What's your name and wages?" Kniya asked, popping a piece of mint gum into his mouth.
The executive blinked, completely thrown off guard by the sheer disrespect of the question. "Fuck, you asked me a really hard question... My name is Sullari Thullibulli, and my wages? I cannot disclose this to you! I own this fucking building!"
Malesh let out a heavy sigh from the doorway, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"Stop joking, both of you," Malesh said, his voice dropping into a flat, no-nonsense tone. "We don't have all day. Can we actually move on to the point?"
Sullari glared at Malesh. "Yes! What's the point? Why are you trespassing in my office?"
"We want to buy your company," Kniya stated bluntly.
Sullari let out a loud, mocking laugh, taking a sip of his spilled drink. "Buy Thullibulli Airlines? I am not going to sell this company to a couple of kids. It is very precious. It's a legacy!"
"Five trillion credits," Kniya offered, not blinking.
Sullari stopped laughing. He stared at Kniya, processing the astronomical number, but his greed quickly overtook his shock. "A fucking absolutely no."
"You are bloating your company," Malesh interjected coldly, stepping forward. "Your fleet consists of 270 outdated planes. Your fuel logistics are terrible. Your company is not that much valued."
"It is the aviation industry!" Sullari shouted, slamming his glass down. "We own the sky! If you want to buy this fucking company, you need to pay at least seven trillion credits! Not a penny less!"
Kniya leaned back, exchanging a look with Malesh. Malesh gave a slow, imperceptible nod. The valuation was high, but with Kniya's 5 trillion loan and his existing Kavilson Steel profits, they could technically swing it. And the monopoly would pay itself off in a year.
"I agree to the valuation," Kniya said slowly, lacing his fingers together. "But I want a discount of 200,000 credits."
Sullari stared at him, utterly baffled. They were negotiating a multi-trillion credit corporate buyout, and Kniya was haggling over 200,000 credits like they were at a flea market. It was incredibly petty.
"Are you serious?" Sullari asked. "Fine. Whatever. To get you out of my office, I am going to sell this company to you for 6.8 trillion credits."
"Deal," Kniya grinned, standing up and extending his hand.
Sullari shook it, still looking slightly bewildered by how fast he had just sold his family's legacy. "In what time will you transfer the amount to me?"
"It will take some time to clear the federal wires," Kniya said, fixing his jacket. "Give me a few days. In the meantime, start packing up your desk, Sullari. The planes are mine now."
The Weight of Twelve Years (1447)
Twelve years is a long time for the world to burn, but an even longer time for the ashes to settle.
It was the year 1447.
Kniya Airlines owned the sky. Their massive, crimson-and-black diesel airliners dominated every major flight route on the continent. Down on the ground, Malesh Energy Limited pumped billions of gallons of crude oil through an unbreakable web of global pipelines. They had won. The corporate wars were over, the legacy barons were dead or bought out, and the Republic of DI operated entirely in their shadow.
Technically, Kniya Anderson and Malesh Bulwadi were forty-two years old. But biology, much like the federal government, had simply stopped applying the rules to them. Thanks to the glowing, unstable Limitless prototype sludge Kniya's grandfather had injected into their bloodstreams decades ago, they hadn't aged a single day past twenty-five. They were immortal billionaires, permanently stuck in their physical primes, carrying the weight of a thirteen-year monopoly.
And on this particular Sunday morning, they were incredibly bored.
The Sunday Park
The Seistain Grand Amusement Park was loud, bright, and crowded. The air smelled heavily of fried powdered dough, spun sugar, and the faint, underlying exhaust of the massive diesel engines powering the towering steel rollercoasters.
Filoska had forced them into a mandatory "team-building leisure day" to prevent them from accidentally destroying another industry out of sheer boredom. She was currently running thirty minutes late.
Kniya and Malesh had arrived early. They were currently leaning against a rusted iron railing near the center of the park, watching the crowds.
The pacing of the morning was excruciatingly slow. Without a hostile takeover to plan or a government official to extort, time seemed to rag.
"Look at this," Malesh muttered, his dark eyes scanning the main promenade. He was wearing a simple, short-sleeved shirt, dark pants, and a silk tie printed with a subtle dragon theme, looking completely out of place next to a cotton candy stand. "This entire park is infested."
Kniya, chewing a piece of mint gum and wearing nothing but a simple, well-fitted blue shirt and trousers, followed Malesh's gaze.
Everywhere they looked, there were couples. Teenagers holding hands, adults sharing oversized sodas, people winning giant stuffed bears for their partners. It was a suffocating sea of romantic affection.
"It's a Sunday morning at a theme park, bro," Kniya sighed, leaning back against the railing. "Where else are people supposed to go to avoid their miserable jobs? Let them hold hands. It doesn't affect the stock market."
"It is an overwhelming display of public vulnerability," Malesh deadpanned, his voice flat and unamused as he watched a couple aggressively making out near the bumper cars. "Why do they feel the need to press their faces together near heavy machinery? It is a safety hazard."
"You are such a miserable bastard," Kniya chuckled, popping his gum. "Just relax. Eat a pretzel. We have to wait for Filoska anyway."
They stood in silence for another few minutes, listening to the mechanical roaring of the rollercoasters and the screams of the riders echoing through the park.
Then, Kniya stopped chewing his gum.
The Bleeding Man
Kniya's eyes locked onto a wooden bench located just outside the entrance to the 'House of Mirrors'.
"Hey," Kniya whispered, his arrogant, relaxed demeanor instantly vanishing. He nudged Malesh's arm. "Look at that guy."
Malesh turned his head.
Sitting alone on the painted wooden bench was a man. He was wearing standard, middle-class DI civilian clothes—a faded button-down shirt and trousers—but the clothes were almost entirely ruined.
The man was bleeding. Not just a minor scrape from a rollercoaster, but bleeding heavily. Deep, vicious lacerations tore through the fabric of his shirt. Dark red blood soaked through his collar, dripping steadily down his neck. His left arm looked like it had been dragged across broken glass, and a steady stream of blood was pooling onto the concrete beneath his boots.
But that wasn't the disturbing part.
The disturbing part was the man's face. He wasn't screaming. He wasn't crying for help. He wasn't even wincing.
The man was casually eating a bag of buttered popcorn, tossing the kernels into his mouth one by one, staring blankly ahead as if he were waiting for a bus. People were walking past him, either too self-absorbed in their park maps to notice the blood, or actively avoiding eye contact because it was Seistain, and you didn't ask questions in Seistain.
"What the fuck?" Malesh muttered, his cold eyes narrowing as he analyzed the sheer volume of trauma the man was sustaining. "Why is he looking like that? His current rate of blood loss indicates he should be in hemorrhagic shock. He shouldn't be eating a snack."
"Right?" Kniya agreed, pushing himself off the railing. The sheer absurdity of the situation completely captured his attention. "That is not normal. We have to go talk to him."
"Approach with caution," Malesh advised softly. "A human exhibiting that level of pain tolerance is highly unpredictable."
"Nah, we need to disarm the tension," Kniya smirked, a terrible, chaotic idea forming in his head. "We need to hit him with something so stupid he drops his guard. Let's impress him with some dad jokes."
Malesh stopped walking and stared at Kniya. "Dad jokes? The man is bleeding out on a public bench, and you want to tell him a joke?"
"It's an icebreaker, bro," Kniya grinned, already walking toward the bench. "Just follow my lead."