Season 3 chapter 62
The Anatomy of an Analyst
Ignoring the strategist's absolute misery, Kniya and Malesh smoothly rounded the table and sat down together on a plush, oversized leather sofa. Kniya crossed his legs, leaning back comfortably while Mantouse slumped into the chair directly across from them.
"Okay," Mantouse sighed heavily, rubbing his temples to reset his baseline parameters. "So let me start briefing you on what actually happened. I called you here to tell you something highly critical. Clist has died. Or rather, he has been actively targeted and killed."
Kniya didn't even flinch. Thoroughly immersed in his unhinged, immature energy, he tilted his head with a wide, mocking grin.
"Who the fuck is Clist?" Kniya asked lazily.
Mantouse glared at him point-blank. "The literal insect that is constantly crawling around inside your ass, Kniya. That is Clist."
Before Kniya could launch into an aggressive CEO tirade, Malesh smoothly intervened, his deadpan delivery perfectly timed.
"No, Mantouse, your biological mapping is absolutely wrong," Malesh corrected flatly, entirely straight-faced. "That specific parasitic insect is actively present inside your ass, not inside Kniya's ass. I have cross-referenced the variables. Whenever that insect physically bites you from inside your ass, you immediately start acting incredibly weird and losing your tactical composure."
Kniya completely lost it, bursting into a loud, thoroughly obnoxious fit of laughter while Malesh offered a rare, highly satisfied smirk at the absolute destruction of Mantouse's dignity.
"Okay, okay, fine!" Kniya chuckled obnoxiously, waving his hands to settle himself down. "Let me take this thoroughly seriously for a second. I actually know Clist. But tell me, what is his exact verified surname? You are just sitting there saying 'Clist.' Statistically, there are thousands of Clists operating across this world. There are numerous Clists present in the Republic alone."
Mantouse scowled, aggressively crossing his arms. "I don't know his fucking surname. Why would I logically need to know his administrative surname?"
Kniya gasped loudly, throwing his hands up in sheer, theatrical CEO outrage.
"You don't know his fucking surname?!" Kniya shrieked mockingly. "Then why the hell are you briefing me that he died?! It could literally be a completely random civilian named Clist! How would I logically verify the target?! You just call us out to an underground bunker to announce 'Clist has died.' Which Clist?! What Clist?! I don't know anything about that specific asset! You don't even know his basic legal documentation, and you actively sit there calling yourself clever!"
"I absolutely never called myself clever, you absolute fucking idiot!" Mantouse roared, his baseline patience thoroughly liquidated. "I simply possess basic, functional common sense, and that is statistically significantly more than you possess, Kniya!"
Mantouse aggressively reached deep into his tattered overcoat.
"And because of this absolute spatial disrespect," Mantouse spat ruthlessly. "I think I definitively need to take out my heavy-grit sandpaper right now."
He slammed a coarse, industrial sheet of sandpaper directly onto the mahogany table.
"Look at this specific asset," Mantouse threatened point-blank, his eyes wide with unhinged malice. "This is going to thoroughly shine your ass so incredibly hard that your ass will literally be casting a high-lumen glow visible to other civilian populations at night. You will permanently light up the skyline like a literal bright star in the pitch-black night, you absolute bastard."
Kniya let out a loud, highly dramatic scoff, entirely unbothered by the coarse grit.
"Oh, wow, you are going to thoroughly sand my premium skin!" Kniya mocked loudly, clutching his chest. "I am so incredibly scared! Fuck you, you absolute idiot. I am absolutely not scared. I don't give a single fuck about your manual workshop tools. You are thoroughly vulgar, Mantouse Adeius."
Kniya instantly dropped his hands, leaning forward with aggressive corporate authority.
"Well, let's return to the target," Kniya interrogated. "Do you actually know anything verified about this Clist? Do you even know his surname yet?"
"I literally just told you I don't know his legal surname!" Mantouse yelled back.
"So do you even know his official corporate position?!" Kniya pressed loudly. "Who the fuck are you literally talking about?!"
"Yeah, definitively!" Mantouse defended, tapping the table. "I know for an absolute fact that he operates as the primary financial analyst for the inner Royal Family!"
"So do you know his surname?" Kniya asked again point-blank.
"No! How many fucking times do I have to repeat my parameters?!" Mantouse shrieked.
"Okay, let me ask you one final, incredibly basic question," Kniya sighed, rubbing his temples in profound disappointment. "Do you at least know which specific branch of the aristocracy he serves? Out of the primary eight ruling families that control the Republic's capital, which exact bloodline does he belong to?"
Mantouse blinked, his anger pausing for a fraction of a second. "...No."
Kniya slowly shook his head, looking at Mantouse with an expression of pure, unadulterated pity.
"Oh, you are an absolute fucking idiot," Kniya deadpanned smoothly. "Well, let me educate your intelligence network. The verified legal surname of the Royal Family's financial analyst... is Vinton."
The Lineage Lecture
Malesh instantly stiffened on the leather sofa, his thoroughly exhausted, deadpan baseline completely short-circuiting as pure, unadulterated shock crossed his features. He spun around to stare directly at his best friend.
"What the actual fuck?!" Malesh demanded point-blank, his voice dropping into a heavy, highly alarmed register. "Are you thoroughly verifying to me right now that Clist officially belongs to the exact same aristocratic family tree as Filoska?!"
"Yeah, absolutely," Kniya confirmed smoothly, leaning back and casually adjusting his ash-stained cuffs. "Clist Vinton is officially one of her extended family members. But let's look at the actual internal network of their bloodline. The definitive, absolute head of the entire connected Vinton family... is Filoska's biological father."
The moment the explanation left his mouth, Kniya's serious posture instantly vanished. He slumped back against the cushions, aggressively popping his mint gum and glaring at the strategist.
"But honestly, Mantouse, look at you," Kniya complained loudly, waving a hand around the room. "Dude, don't you even know how to serve a guest? We just survived an assassination attempt, we are here to talk business, and you can't even offer us a cold drink or some tea? Where are your manners?"
Mantouse rolled his eyes, letting out a sharp, irritated hiss. "Why the hell do I have to serve you? Look behind you. There is the fridge, there is the cupboard. If you want something to drink so badly, just get off your lazy ass, grab it yourself, and take it. I am not your personal servant. I actually have other fucking work to do."
Kniya scoffed, crossing his arms tightly. "Other work? What kind of fucking work do you have to do sitting in a concrete box?"
"Well, it is important, you idiot!" Mantouse fired back, stepping directly into Kniya's personal space. "Serving you with confidential intelligence requires me to actually go out and get that fucking information in the first place! It doesn't just magically fall into my lap! So yeah, now you get the work. Just shut your mouth and don't talk shit to me."
Mantouse violently gripped the lapels of his overcoat, looking back and forth between Kniya and Malesh with absolute, soul-deep frustration.
"I swear to God, you two take up my fucking mind every single time," Mantouse growled, his voice trembling with irritation. "Why do I actually behave like a fucking pig in front of you guys? I am normally a completely rational person, but the exact second I look at your face, Kniya, my entire composure liquidates and I want to start throwing things. You are like a virus for my sanity."
Kniya let out a loud, obnoxious laugh, entirely unbothered by the insult. "Oh, we take up your mind? Please, Mantouse, your mind was already a scrambled mess before we walked through the door. Don't blame your pig behavior on our presence. You've been rolling around in the mud since the day we met."
"Bite me, Kniya," Mantouse snapped, his face flushing a violent shade of red.
"With your budget? No thanks, I might catch poverty," Kniya fired back instantly, flashing a wicked, highly condescending smirk. "You should really look into upgrading your insults alongside your beverage selection. It's truly pathetic."
The absolute absurdity of the bickering finally broke the last remaining fuse in Mantouse's brain. His eyes went wide, his posture went completely rigid, and his elite strategist persona permanently shattered right on the safehouse rugs.
Completely losing his mind, he threw his hands in the air and began aggressively pacing the floor bulkheads, executing an erratic, highly unhinged mock-dance across the room. He opened his mouth and began loudly singing a perfectly rhyming, highly aggressive punk song directly over Kniya's voice just to completely drown him out:
"Eight ruling families pulling the strings!
Buying the kingdoms and guarding the rings!
But down in the dirt where the switchboards bleed,
The shadow commander has lost his lead!
I don't know the surname, I don't give a damn,
I'm stuck in a bunker with a total sham!
Get that parasitic insect straight out of your chest,
Before I put your premium skin to the test!
Take the heavy-grit paper and shine it so bright,
We're casting a permanent glow tonight!
So fuck all your variables, fuck the whole crown,
Just get in the sedan and burn it all down!"
Kniya aggressively rubbed his temples, screaming at the top of his lungs over the deafening performance. "Mantouse, shut the fuck up! Your acoustic pitch is entirely unverified! You look like a maniac!"
"Fuck Clist! Fuck his family, fuck the eight families, and fuck everything else!" Mantouse shrieked in a final, deafening crescendo, aggressively throwing a custom-machined steel pen across the concrete walls. "I absolutely do not give a single fuck! Fuck you point-blank, Kniya! Fuck you thoroughly, Malesh! Fuck this entire underground safehouse, and fuck your custom assault rifles too!"