Season 3 chapter 57
The Analyst's Final Audit
(Present Day)
The morning air inside the luxurious, highly secure safehouse was completely still. Leon had left the grounds earlier for his routine morning walk, leaving the entire floor entirely quiet.
Sitting completely alone at his polished mahogany desk was the royal financial analyst, Clist. He was meticulously adjusting his tie, reviewing sprawling ledgers of embezzled federal funds, entirely confident in the absolute security of his secluded room.
Without a single sound of a door creaking or a floorboard groaning, a tall shadow detached itself from the heavy curtains near the window.
Clist froze, his pen hovering over the paper. He spun his chair around, his eyes widening in sudden, absolute shock as he saw a man standing casually in the center of his private office, holding a custom-machined, heavy-caliber pistol aimed straight at him. It was Muntari, calmly chewing his usual piece of gum.
"Wait a minute," Clist gasped, scrambling backward against his desk, his immaculate composure entirely shattering. "Who the fuck are you?! Why are you here?! Weren't you contracted on our side?! Why are you aiming your gun at me?!"
Muntari's face remained a flawless, uncompromising mask of complete deadpan. He didn't lower the weapon.
BANG.
A single, unsuppressed shot deafened the room. The heavy bullet tore straight through the side of Clist's expensive tailored coat, piercing deeply into his ribs.
"AGGHHH!" Clist shrieked in agonizing pain, violently collapsing out of his chair onto the polished floor. He clutched his bleeding side, coughing wildly as he stared up at the assassin in pure terror.
Muntari slowly walked over, looking down at the dying analyst, popping his gum with a quiet click.
"Your assessment is entirely incorrect," Muntari stated flatly, his voice devoid of all emotion. "I was always on your side. Look. My bullet has pierced you directly to your side. It is a highly accurate placement."
Clist opened his mouth to curse, but the sheer kinetic shock of the bullet completely overwhelmed his system. His breath hitched, his hand slipped from his bleeding ribs, and his eyes went completely glassy as he slumped dead against the mahogany desk.
Muntari calmly stood over the corpse for exactly three seconds, confirming the liquidation. He smoothly ejected the spent shell casing, holstered his smoking pistol inside his nondescript jacket, and pulled his small, encrypted burner phone from his pocket.
"Mission complete," Muntari muttered deadpan into the receiver. "Informing Mr. Asphalt."
Without another word, the legendary assassin turned on his heel and melted seamlessly back into the morning shadows, leaving the royal analyst completely liquidated on the floor.
The Emergency Ward
The sterile, blinding white hallway outside the central emergency ward was suffocatingly tense. The heavy smell of industrial antiseptic and floor bleach did nothing to cover up the sheer, unadulterated dread hanging in the air.
Kniya and Malesh were pacing the polished floor, completely stripped of their usual untouchable billionaire arrogance. Their expensive tailored coats were still stained with ash, dirt, and the dark, unmistakable patches of Filoska and Salesh's blood. For the first time since their corporate empire began, Kniya wasn't complaining about his shoes, and Malesh wasn't running detached, cold mathematical calculations about fuel efficiency. They were in absolute, unfiltered panic detail. Two of their absolute best friends had just taken high-velocity bullets straight to their centers of mass, and the agonizing wait outside the surgical doors was entirely tearing their nerves apart.
Suddenly, the heavy double doors of the emergency ward pushed open with a dull squeak.
An elderly lead surgeon stepped out into the hallway. But instead of projecting the grave, serious professionalism of a highly paid medical expert, the doctor's jaw was working furiously. He was actively chewing approximately fifteen pieces of bubblegum at the exact same time.
SMACK. SQUELCH. POP. The wet, incredibly loud sound of the massive wad of gum echoed down the quiet hospital corridor.
Right behind him, holding a stack of medical charts, his assistant practically tripped over his own shoes, his face contorting into pure, unprofessional rage at the sight of the surgeon's jaw.
"Hey, you fucking old idiot!" the assistant roared at the top of his lungs, completely ignoring the grieving billionaires standing just a few feet away. "Hey, you old man, just spit that fucking chewing gum out of your mouth! It is a fucking hospital, you know that! Why are you chewing the chewing gums inside the emergency ward?! Maintain the hygiene! It could be infectious!"
The doctor didn't flinch. He didn't drop his clipboard. He just slowly turned his head toward his assistant, looking absolutely, remarkably nonchalant.
"Yeah, I am spitting, you know," the doctor mumbled smoothly around the massive chunk of gum, blowing a small pink bubble that instantly snapped. Pop. "I was maintaining the hygiene by basically wearing a mask while I was chewing the chewing gum. And, you know, it was really, really a great method. The surgical fabric acts as a highly efficient biological filter."
"Just spit the fucking chewing gum out of your mouth!" the assistant snapped, his face turning pure red as he slammed his medical files against his thigh. "How many chewing gums are you chewing right now?!"
"It is around fifteen, I think," the doctor replied calmly, entirely unbothered by the screaming.
"Haven't you seen the chewing gum in your entire life?!" the assistant shrieked, throwing his hands up in absolute exasperation. "What the fuck are you doing?! Just spit it right now!"
Letting out a heavy, deeply exhausted sigh, the doctor finally walked over to the corner of the hallway and casually spat the massive, colorful wad of gum into the nearby dustbin with a heavy, wet thud.
Kniya and Malesh immediately rushed forward. Their hearts were pounding, their street-level survival instincts completely overwhelmed by sheer human terror. They had been trying to talk to the doctor the second he stepped out, but the unhinged sucrose argument had completely boxed them out.
"Doctor," Kniya asked urgently, his voice cracking with raw, profound seriousness as he stepped directly into the surgeon's path. "Can you please tell me how is their condition?"
Malesh stood tightly right beside him, his dark eyes wide and tense as he waited for the medical data to confirm if their best friends were going to survive.
The doctor dusted off his scrub hands, looking at the two panicked warlords, and offered a wide, incredibly relaxed, funny grin.
"Oh, them? They are all right," the doctor chuckled lightly, waving his hand as if a double gunshot wound were a minor scraped knee. "And you know, they are really, really all right. In my opinion, everything is all right. You know, they are so all right that they can dance, walk, run, whatever you want. They are really, really fine right now. Flawless biological recovery."
The Flawless Diagnosis
The heavy, suffocating scent of industrial antiseptic and iron-tinged steam thick inside the Seistain emergency corridor as Kniya froze entirely in his tracks. He stared directly at the elderly lead surgeon, his breath violently catching in his throat. Pure, overwhelming human relief clashed instantly against his deeply ingrained, street-level skepticism. After forty-eight hours of starving on waiting room sofas, the news felt entirely like a manufactured stage trick.
"Really, doctor?" Kniya asked bluntly, his sharp eyes widening as he searched the old man's wrinkled face for any trace of medical deception. "Is it true?"
"Yeah, it is completely true," the doctor affirmed lazily. He popped a small pink bubble, heavily chewing his gum as he casually scratched the back of his tattered tattered surgical scrub cap. "If you don't believe my advanced medical intellect, you can physically visit them right now. Go see for yourself. The physical tissue has fully closed."
Before Kniya or Malesh could take a single, eager step forward across the polished floorboards, the highly alert assistant aggressively shoved his way directly in front of the private ward bulkheads. He threw his arms out wide, creating an uncompromising human barricade to block their path.
"No, no, he is lying flatly to you!" the assistant hissed loudly, his face flushing red as he glared back and forth between the ash-stained billionaires and his lazy superior. "You should absolutely not disturb them! They are having some essential rest. They are sleeping peacefully right now to reset their baseline vitals. You absolutely should not disturb them under any circumstances! Don't go inside that secure ward!"
The lead doctor rolled his eyes toward the fluorescent ceiling lights, letting out a heavy, deeply resonant groan of profound administrative annoyance. Without an ounce of professional hesitation, he reached out with his bare hands and completely shoved his assistant aside with surprising kinetic force, nearly sending the younger man stumbling hard into the opposite concrete wall.
"No, no, he is just like that all the time," the doctor dismissed flatly, entirely desensitized to his staff's panic as he lazily waved Kniya and Malesh forward. "Meet them, you would be thoroughly relieved. It is a really important thing, you know. Just meet them first, and yeah, there are absolutely no worries remaining on the board. They are absolutely fine. Just go inside and have some conversation with them."
"Sir, you cannot legally authorize an immediate post-op civilian visitation while their IV lines are still—" the assistant shrieked frantically, scrambling against the baseboards to regain his footing.
"Oh, shut your mouth," the doctor grumbled bitterly, completely overriding the medical red tape.
Stepping forward, the old surgeon grabbed Kniya and Malesh firmly by the shoulders of their ruined, deeply wrinkled tailored coats. With uncompromising physical authority, he forcefully pushed both multi-trillionaire Managing Directors straight through the heavy double doors and directly into the quiet recovery ward.