Season 3 chapter 61
The Tactical Analysis of Sweat
Kniya stopped on the concrete steps of the Seistain hospital, crossing his arms as his eyes locked onto the heavily sweating, panting man leaning against the outer pillar.
"Mantouse?" Kniya blurted out, pure skepticism washing over his features. "Why the hell are you here? You just suddenly ghosted out of nowhere onto a hospital staircase?"
Mantouse Adeius wiped a heavy, dripping layer of perspiration off his forehead, aggressively smoothing down his tattered disguise coat. "I have something incredibly important to discuss with you two. We need to secure a perimeter."
"So discuss it over an encrypted radio deck," Kniya dismissed lazily, inspecting his nails. "Or you literally could have just called our secure switchboard. Why are you sweating like a literal pig? Did you jog across the Antovian desert?"
"Well, regarding the active perspiration parameters..." Mantouse stammered, glancing up and down the dusty street. "It is simply because of a highly complex situational variable. I will explain the context later on, yeah. Right now, I have highly critical geopolitical intelligence to tell you guys. First, we need to focus entirely on that."
Before Mantouse could pitch his shadow-ops briefing, Malesh stepped down the concrete steps. His ruined charcoal suit hung open, but his dark eyes gleamed with absolute, unadulterated deadpan malice.
"Mantouse, do not attempt to lie to us," Malesh flatly accused, stepping directly into his personal space. "We watched the entire interaction through the lobby glass. We know with absolute certainty that you just got thoroughly terrified by a standard compounder's sidearm like a literal infant."
Malesh let out a highly uncharacteristic, deeply obnoxious, mocking laugh right in Mantouse's face.
"Thoroughly pathetic," Malesh deadpanned coldly. "How incredibly sad it is to witness a legendary syndicate strategist thoroughly liquidate his baseline composure over a single pistol barrel. Tell me, why was that unhinged medical assistant jamming iron point-blank into your skull? Did you attempt to steal their hospital rations?"
Kniya instantly leaned forward, a massive, thoroughly unhinged grin spreading across his face as he joined the interrogation.
"Actually, Malesh, let's analyze the obvious sociological variables," Kniya loudly interrupted, gesturing wildly. "It is completely obvious! Mantouse was secretly dating that specific assistant's sister! That is exactly why the old surgeon and his compounder got thoroughly enraged and tried to publicly execute him on the pavement! Pure domestic retaliation!"
Mantouse's left eye twitched violently. Pure, unfiltered exhaustion seized his face.
"You two are literally manufacturing completely unhinged, random fictional scenarios straight out of your own diseased brains," Mantouse growled bitterly. "It was absolutely nothing like that! The compounder simply misidentified my operational profile for a hostile asset!"
"Yeah, he clearly misidentified you for a degenerate street playboy," Malesh noted dryly, crossing his arms. "I know perfectly well that unverified playboys lingering outside premium medical wards are statistically highly dangerous to the local nurses."
Mantouse glared point-blank at the Managing Director of Malesh Energy.
"Malesh," Mantouse hissed through his teeth. "I honestly think you thoroughly require a sheet of heavy-grit industrial sandpaper right now."
Malesh's deadpan baseline didn't even flinch. "Why would I logically require a sheet of sandpaper?"
"For one specific, highly necessary mechanical task," Mantouse spat ruthlessly. "And that is to thoroughly shine your unhinged ass off. Literally, I will personally take a sheet of coarse sandpaper and rub it so thoroughly hard across your ass that it will permanently shine like a literal morning star in the pitch-black sky, you absolute idiot. Shut your mouth."
Kniya chuckled obnoxiously, entirely unbothered by the violent threat.
"So, Mantouse, let's establish the absolute truth," Kniya pressed, tapping his foot. "What are you really talking about? Why did he actually jam that gun against your head?"
"I told you, it was a highly complex, entirely different operational misunderstanding!" Mantouse defended loudly.
Kniya gasped dramatically, clutching his ash-stained lapels in sheer, exaggerated horror.
"Oh, it is a really different thing!" Kniya yelled mockingly. "I thoroughly understand the biology now! Mantouse, you are literally pregnant!"
Mantouse froze, looking like he was about to suffer a catastrophic brain aneurysm right on the concrete.
"What the actual fuck are you literally talking about?!" Mantouse roared, completely dropping his elite, shadowy demeanor. "Okay, just shut up, you absolute idiots! Listen to me! It is an incredibly long story short, and I need to brief you on an active crisis that is a matter of absolute life-or-death importance to your corporate survival! So please, do not interrupt me with your degenerate medical theories! Let's get straight into my secure vehicle!"
"Well, yeah, I suppose we can authorize a transport shift," Kniya shrugged lazily. "But statistically, you still owe us a thorough explanation for your elevated heart rate."
As Mantouse turned to lead them toward the street, Malesh's sharp gaze dropped to the dusty pavement. He casually reached down and picked up the thick, brightly colored paperback that Mantouse had dropped during his panic attack.
Malesh inspected the bold cover lettering: How to Become the Best Idiot in the World.
"Mantouse," Malesh deadpanned, holding the book up with absolute, uncompromising judgment. "Why is this specific literary asset actively circulating in your inventory?"
Mantouse aggressively snatched the paperback out of Malesh's gloved hand, his face flushing a deep, embarrassed red. "Yeah, no, it is simply a highly amusing text! I thoroughly enjoyed the narrative pacing. It contains a massive volume of excellent jokes."
"Actually," Malesh noted coldly as he adjusted his tie. "It thoroughly suits your baseline operational personality."
"Get inside the fucking car, you absolute bastards!" Mantouse shrieked, pointing a shaking finger toward an idling, heavily armored black steam-sedan parked near the outer gates.
Thoroughly enjoying the absolute destruction of the strategist's ego, Kniya and Malesh exchanged a highly satisfied smirk and piled into the back bulkheads of the armored vehicle.
The Tape Recorder
The heavy iron doors of the steam-sedan slammed shut, sealing them inside the soundproofed passenger cabin as the heavy engine instantly revved.
Kniya stretched his legs out across the plush leather seating, entirely relaxed. "So, let's drop the baseline parameters. What was this incredibly critical crisis you actually wanted to brief us on?"
Mantouse sat in the forward facing seat, aggressively wiping the last traces of sweat from his neck with a handkerchief. "It is highly sensitive global intelligence. I absolutely cannot disclose the tactical parameters while we are actively traversing open city transit lines."
Malesh raised an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. "Oh, does it carry that extreme level of operational importance? Does this intelligence dossier contain highly unverified, heavily illegal parameters related to the underlying shadow syndicates?"
"No, no, it is absolutely not related to standard criminal enterprise," Mantouse sighed heavily, rubbing his temples in profound disgust. "Honestly, the psychological parameters of your two brains are thoroughly corrupted. You see illicit variables in everything."
CLICK. A sharp, highly distinct mechanical sound echoed inside the quiet cabin. Kniya smoothly pulled a sleek, custom-machined brass pocket-recorder from his inner coat lining, aggressively thumbing the physical analog save lever.
"Mantouse," Kniya announced with absolute, uncompromising corporate pettiness. "I have officially archived and locked this specific audio recording into my permanent hard drive. You literally just stated on the record that our operational minds are thoroughly corrupted, while implying your personal baseline is morally pure."
Mantouse stared at the brass transponder, blinking in pure disbelief. "What?"
"This explicitly guarantees my future leverage," Kniya smirked triumphantly, crossing his arms. "This means that the exact millisecond you attempt to propose a highly illegal, thoroughly degenerate shadow-operation in the future... I am going to aggressively broadcast this exact audio file over the room speakers to thoroughly liquidate your hypocrisy."
"Oh, whatever the fuck," Mantouse groaned, throwing his head back against the leather headrest in complete and total surrender. "I am actively losing my baseline sanity."
The armored steam-sedan accelerated heavily through the dusty Seistain streets, leaving the inner capital districts entirely behind. They drove straight out into the desolate, sprawling industrial outskirts of the city, finally pulling up to a highly secure, concrete safehouse camouflaged behind an abandoned manufacturing sector.
Flanked by silent syndicate operatives, Mantouse led the two corporate warlords deep into the inner subterranean bulkheads of the facility, finally unlocking heavy double doors to reveal a sprawling, dimly lit tactical briefing room where the true shadow war was waiting to continue.
The Tactical Discrepancy of the Guns
The heavy subterranean doors of the safehouse clicked shut, sealing out the industrial hum of the outer manufacturing sector.
Mantouse Adeius marched straight toward the center of the sprawling briefing room, pulling out a heavy metal chair. Before he could even sit down, Malesh stepped up to the edge of the mahogany table, entirely refusing to let the previous interrogation drop. His ruined suit jacket hung open, his dark eyes locking point-blank onto the syndicate strategist with absolute, uncompromising deadpan precision.
"Mantouse," Malesh flatly analyzed, his dry drone echoing in the quiet room. "There is still one specific operational variable that I am entirely unable to understand. You were thoroughly terrified by that compounder's sidearm just now. But let us look at the historical data. When Kniya and I cornered you inside the concrete bunker during our previous encounter, we both aimed our custom weapons directly at your center of mass. They were absolutely not standard revolvers; they were high-velocity assault rifles. Yet, your biological fear response was zero. Literally, you stood there acting like some kind of untouchable God, and you even point-blank threatened us that we would die."
Malesh leaned forward, resting his gloved hands on the polished wood.
"But today," Malesh deadpanned coldly. "You were thoroughly shivering over a single pistol barrel like a literal sobbing child who just watched his favorite piece of candy drop straight down into the street gutter. The psychological inconsistency is massive."
Mantouse dropped his face into his hands, letting out a long, thoroughly agonizing groan. "Please, can you two just stop talking about it?!"