The Private Property Defense
The news broadcast casually cut away from the video, returning to the deeply depressed anchor. He wasn't even in his chair anymore. He was literally lying flat on his back on the studio floor, staring at the ceiling.
"So, yeah. That happened," the reporter mumbled into his microphone, his voice echoing slightly off the floor tiles. "If you eat lunch in the forest and a tiger makes fun of your face, just let it happen. Or get arrested and fight the special forces. I honestly don't care. Don't call the station about this. I'm taking a nap."
The massive analog screen flickered off as Salesh aggressively yanked the cord out of the wall, breathing heavily.
The executive lounge was completely silent for five seconds.
Malesh smoothly adjusted his Dragon-themed silk tie, placing his hands on his knees as he leaned forward with an expression of pure, unadulterated corporate outrage.
"Well, I logically have to say, that man was completely in the right," Malesh declared flatly, his dark eyes flaring with absolute CEO authority. "That entire military intervention was a catastrophic violation of private contract laws. That lunchbox was legally purchased personal property! The tiger committed an unauthorized biological raid on his food assets and then openly engaged in hostile psychological warfare by sticking its tongue out! That is literal provocation!"
Malesh pointed a sharp, authoritative finger at the blank screen, deeply offended on a corporate level.
"Why the fuck did the DI'an military have to intervene in a purely private dispute?!" Malesh ranted, completely serious. "That was a personal matter between a consumer and an aggressive wild asset! The citizen was simply exercising his constitutional right to liquidate a thief! The special forces had zero regulatory jurisdiction to handcuff a man who was actively protecting his investment from a mocking predator!"
"Exactly!" Kniya yelled, popping his mint gum aggressively and throwing his hands up in support. "The tiger literally stuck its tongue out twice, Malesh! It was begging for a forty-hit combo! If a wild animal touched my liquid glucose drink and then mocked my existence, I would have body-slammed it into an active volcano!"
The Geopolitical Risk Assessment
The billionaire Client, still slouched heavily into the plush, custom-stitched leather sofa, simply let out a long, rattling, exhausted sigh and stared blankly at the television screen.
"I wish I had the energy to fight a wild tiger over a roasted chicken sandwich," the Client whispered, his voice filled with a profound, high-class, existential burnout. "I barely have the physical energy to sign my own dividend checks anymore. Please, put the Tree Spy movie on. I critically need to escape reality right now before my brain completely melts out of my ears."
He lazily waved his hand toward the media player, expecting his demand to be instantly obeyed.
Kniya, who was currently holding the heavy, gold-plated remote control, completely froze. His thumb hovered over the power button, trembling slightly. He aggressively chewed his mint gum, his eyes darting back and forth between the exhausted billionaire and the glowing television screen.
"Sir, with all due respect to your fragile, rapidly deteriorating mental state," Kniya started, his chaotic energy bubbling to the surface. "I absolutely cannot change this channel right now."
The Client slowly blinked, turning his head at a glacial pace to look at Kniya. "Excuse me?"
"I am far too emotionally invested in this biological warfare," Kniya blurted out, gesturing wildly at the TV. "The man just threw a six-hundred-pound apex predator into a tree! He is currently in a federal holding cell! I cannot just watch a fictional Tree Spy movie when there is a highly real, unhinged sandwich warrior currently fighting the legal system! We need closure!"
Before the Client could even muster the energy to argue, Malesh stepped forward, smoothly adjusting his immaculate, Dragon-themed silk tie.
"I have to logically agree with Kniya on this matter," Malesh stated flatly, his dark, analytical eyes locked onto the broadcast. "We cannot turn the television off yet. This is no longer just a news report. It has evolved into a highly critical, real-time geopolitical risk assessment."
From the floor, Salesh let out a muffled, high-pitched whimper, burying his face directly into the expensive Persian rug. "It is a news story about a cat..." Salesh sobbed into the carpet fibers. "We are postponing a fifteen-billion-credit merger over a fucking cat..."
"Quiet, Salesh, you are interrupting my data gathering," Malesh snapped without looking down. He turned his deadpan gaze back to the Client. "Think about it from a purely macroeconomic perspective, sir. This broadcast is actively demonstrating the exact threshold of local law enforcement. If a completely average citizen can assault an endangered species, fight off a tactical military barricade, and potentially bribe his way out of federal prison all before dinner, we need to know exactly how much that bribe costs. It is vital market research for Kavilson Steel's quarterly projections."
Kniya aggressively pointed at Malesh in enthusiastic agreement.
"Exactly!" Kniya cheered. "What if one of our factory workers gets into a fistfight with a rhinoceros on company time?! We need to know the legal precedent! This is high-level corporate espionage, sir. We are taking notes!"
The billionaire Client stared at Malesh's perfectly serious face, then looked at Kniya's manic, gum-chewing grin. The sheer, overwhelming stupidity of their corporate logic completely broke his will to fight back.
"Fine," the Client whispered, aggressively rubbing his temples as a massive migraine began to form. "Leave the news on. But if they don't show the tiger's medical charts within the next two minutes, I am going to legally purchase this news station and fire everyone."
"Excellent strategic decision, sir," Malesh nodded respectfully.
The Medical Update
The news feed cut back to the studio. The deeply depressed reporter was no longer even trying to pretend he cared. He was currently resting his head completely flat on his desk, speaking directly into the microphone without bothering to sit up.
"So, yeah. That was the thing," the reporter mumbled into the desk, his voice muffled and exhausted. "And now my producer is screaming in my earpiece that I have to tell you the aftermath. So... here is a doctor talking about a cat. Enjoy."
The screen cut to a highly chaotic scene outside the DI'an National Veterinary Hospital. A frantic field reporter shoved a microphone into the face of a highly stressed, blood-splattered surgeon wearing green surgical scrubs.
"Doctor! What is the status of the apex predator?!" the field reporter yelled over the sound of medical sirens. "Is he safe right now?!"
The doctor ripped off his surgical mask, looking profoundly disturbed and highly confused by modern biology.
"The tiger is in absolutely critical condition," the doctor explained, gesturing wildly toward the emergency operating room. "It has severe blunt-force trauma from being body-slammed, and thirty distinct stab wounds from a rusted pocket knife. But... honestly? The tiger is really, really happy right now."
The field reporter blinked, completely thrown off. "Happy? It was stabbed thirty times by an enraged citizen."
"I don't know why, but it is overjoyed!" the doctor panicked, waving his hands in the air. "Its pulse is dropping, its ribs are completely shattered, but it is still smiling! Even on the operating table, completely unconscious and hooked up to a heavy medical ventilator, it keeps trying to stick its tongue out! It absolutely refuses to lose hope in mocking that man! The sheer, unadulterated dedication to being a hater is literally the only thing keeping this animal's heart beating!"
The broadcast cut back to the main studio. The lazy anchor had finally managed to sit up, though he was leaning heavily on his elbow, looking like he wanted to dissolve into the floor.
"Right. Inspiring stuff," the reporter deadpanned, entirely devoid of emotion. "So, naturally, now let's hear the man's POV. We were supposed to send a camera crew to the federal police station to get his statement from a maximum-security holding cell. But then, we realized something."
The reporter slowly reached under his desk and pulled out a cheap, dusty piece of cloth. He lazily tossed the cloth over a completely empty folding chair sitting right next to his news desk.
"We realized we are a massive news corporation, and we can just do whatever we want," the reporter sighed.
He lazily yanked the cloth away.
With absolutely zero logical explanation, the enraged, dirt-covered, blood-splattered sandwich guy was instantly sitting in the chair. He had magically appeared in the studio out of thin air.
"But yeah, we got this man released," the reporter stated flatly, ignoring the blatant violation of physics. "And somehow, he directly reached our TV station to directly give us the interview."
The man didn't even blink at the magic trick. He aggressively snatched the microphone right off the reporter's desk, his eyes burning with an unhinged, psychopathic fury.
"I WILL BEAT THE ABSOLUTE SHIT OUT OF THAT FUCKING ANIMAL!" the guy screamed directly into the camera lens, spittle flying from his mouth. "That striped bastard has to get discharged from the hospital sometime! And the exact second he rolls out of those ICU doors in his little tiger wheelchair, I will be waiting! I will take my revenge! How dare he destroy my sandwich?! I was having a peaceful, highly relaxing afternoon, but that giant fucking rug had to completely ruin it!"
The lazy reporter slowly blinked, completely unfazed by the screaming lunatic sitting two feet away from him.
"You assaulted a protected apex predator and fought off elite special forces," the reporter noted in a bored, monotonous drone. "How exactly did you get out of federal lockup and bypass studio security?"
The raging man instantly stopped screaming. He casually reached into his torn, bloody pocket and pulled out a massive, cartoonishly thick bundle of high-denomination cash. He slammed the brick of money onto the news desk.
"Yeah, this is a bundle of notes," the guy stated proudly, pointing at the cash. "Yeah, due to this, I reached here. I just handed this to the cops, and suddenly they drove me directly to this television station so I could publicly declare war on a cat."
The reporter stared at the massive stack of bribe money, then looked back at the camera with entirely dead eyes.
"Well, that makes perfect sense," the reporter mumbled, aggressively rubbing his forehead. "This country is incredibly corrupt. Anyway, that's the news. Now back to whatever the hell you were doing."