Season 2 chapter 18
The Five-Minute Warning
The Head Director slammed his finger against the ledger, panting heavily, a manic grin of victory trying to break through his sheer terror. "Massive, undocumented, illegal black money! You think I don't know?!"
Kniya stared at the man's finger. Then, he looked at Malesh.
For a second, the room was dead silent.
Then, Kniya threw his head back and genuinely, deeply laughed. It was a loud, echoing, deeply insulting sound that immediately wiped the victorious grin off the Director's face.
"Is that it?" Kniya chuckled, wiping a tear from his eye as he leaned over the desk. "Is that your fucking trump card? Black money?"
Kniya reached into the breast pocket of his jacket, pulled out an incredibly expensive, solid gold fountain pen, and tossed it onto the dossier. It clattered against the wood.
"Pick up the fucking pen," Kniya ordered, his voice dropping all traces of humor, replaced instantly by cold, sociopathic authority. "You are going to open that federal file, and you are going to write down that our capital came from my vast, documented ancestral property. Because unlike what your completely incompetent intelligence network told you, I was never disowned by my family. I am still very much tied to my bloodline. Your intel is garbage."
The Director stared at the gold pen, his chest heaving. "I... I will do no such thing! You are literally blackmailing a federal officer!" The Director forced out a harsh, nervous laugh. "Ha! What are you going to do? You are sitting in a government building! You cannot do anything to me! I am the Head of Commerce!"
Malesh finally moved. He slowly pulled out his mechanical pocket watch, flicked it open, and looked at the ticking hands.
"Your face is entirely covered in sweat, Director," Malesh stated clinically, not looking up from the watch. "Your vocal cords are straining. You are laughing because your brain is trying to cope with the reality that you have already lost. It is pathetic."
Malesh snapped the watch shut.
"It is currently 10:14 AM," Malesh said, his dark eyes locking onto the trembling official. "In exactly five minutes, you are going to receive a phone call from your direct superior. He is going to order you to close this entire investigation. If you argue with him, you will be fired on the spot. We will sit here and wait."
The Director's eyes widened. "You... you're bluffing."
"Five fucking minutes," Kniya sneered, leaning back in the chair and crossing his arms.
"You can't do this!" the Director shouted, his voice cracking as he began to pace frantically behind his desk. "You think you can just bribe the higher officials above me?! You think you can buy the entire federal government? The Republic is not for sale! You cannot bribe the entire industry just because you have some heavy machinery and a few oil wells!"
"We already did," Kniya said casually. "And we didn't just bribe them. We own them. We own the supply lines, we own the infrastructure, and we own the bank accounts of the men who write your paychecks."
"It's a bluff!" the Director yelled, pointing a shaking finger at them. "You're trying to intimidate me into dropping the charges! I've taken down legacy barons twice your age! I am not afraid of two arrogant twenty-five-year-olds! I am going to draft the injunction right now! I'm going to call the military police and have you dragged out of here in irons!"
He grabbed the telephone on his desk, his hand shaking so violently he knocked the receiver off the hook. He fumbled to pick it up, slamming it back down into the cradle. He was breathing in ragged gasps, his tie loosened, his pristine bureaucratic image completely shattered.
Malesh just watched him. "Three minutes remaining."
"Shut up!" the Director screamed, pacing back and forth, wiping the pouring sweat from his forehead. "You think you're gods?! You're just criminals in expensive suits! When the public finds out you've monopolized the grid, they'll tear your factories down brick by brick! The Anti-Monopoly Act will crush you!"
"You know, Director," Kniya sighed, sounding genuinely disappointed. "We actually thought about giving you a chance. We were going to let you keep this shiny office and pretend you still had power. But you just couldn't keep your fucking mouth shut. So you are definitely fired. You are absolutely done. By the time that phone rings, you are going to accept our procedure, or you are going to be walking out of this building with your belongings in a cardboard box."
"One minute," Malesh chimed in, perfectly calm.
"I won't do it! I won't sign a damn thing!" the Director hyperventilated, backing away from the desk until his back hit the glass window overlooking the city of Seistain. He looked like a cornered rat.
"Ten seconds," Malesh said. "Nine. Eight."
"Stop it!" the Director whimpered, putting his hands over his ears.
"Three. Two. One."
RIIIIING.
The heavy, metallic ring of the secure federal telephone on the desk shattered the silence like a gunshot.
The Director literally jumped, his entire body shuddering. He stared at the red telephone as if it were a live bomb. It rang again. RIIIIING.
"Answer it," Kniya whispered, a cruel, vicious smile spreading across his face.
Trembling uncontrollably, his hand vibrating with sheer terror, the Director slowly reached out and picked up the receiver. He brought it to his ear. "H-hello?"
"Director," a cold, harsh, deeply authoritative voice barked through the speaker. It was the Minister of the Treasury—the second most powerful man in the Republic. "Are you currently sitting in a room with Kniya and Malesh?"
"Y-yes, Minister," the Director stammered, tears of sheer panic welling in his eyes. "They are... they are threatening the department..."
"Shut your mouth and listen to me very carefully," the Minister snapped, his voice tight with his own underlying fear. "Do you want to mess with the guys sitting in front of you? Do you have a death wish for this entire government? Because if you want to play hero today, you are fired. Immediately. Stripped of your pension and thrown onto the street."
The Director let out a choked, pathetic sob. "Minister... the Anti-Monopoly Act..."
"The Act is dead!" the Minister roared through the phone. "You will close the audit immediately. You will apologize for wasting their time. And you will sign the federal waivers right now. Do you understand me?!"
"I... I understand," the Director whispered.
Click. The line went dead.
The Director stood there, his body vibrating so hard he could barely hold the phone. He slowly placed the receiver back on the hook. The fight had been completely ripped out of him. His soul was crushed.
He looked at Kniya and Malesh. They hadn't moved. They were just watching him with cold, dead eyes.
Slowly, agonizingly, the Director reached out with a trembling, violently shaking hand. He picked up Kniya's solid gold fountain pen. He pulled the federal monopoly approval documents from the bottom of the dossier, uncapped the pen, and signed his name, officially surrendering the economy of the Republic of DI to Kavilson Steel and Malesh Energy Limited.
The Federal Shootout
The Head Director sat frozen in his chair, the solid gold fountain pen slipping from his sweaty fingers. He had signed the waivers. He had just surrendered the entire economic framework of the Republic to two twenty-five-year-olds.
Kniya stared at the signature for a second. Then, a low chuckle started in his chest. Within seconds, it erupted into full-blown, echoing laughter.
"Hahahahahaha! Oh, man..." Kniya laughed loudly, slapping his knee and pointing at the broken bureaucrat. "Hahahahaha! Look at your fucking face! You look like you just swallowed a brick, you pathetic piece of shit!"
Kniya snatched the signed waivers off the desk, folding them neatly and slipping them into his tailored jacket.
Malesh adjusted his cuffs, his face remaining a completely emotionless void.
"We actually thought we could just do this the quiet way," Malesh stated, looking down at the Director with pure disgust. "We wanted to live like normal people for once. Just conduct our business, balance the ledgers, and go home. But some arrogant, boot-licking shits like you always have to force our hand. You always make us use our power."
"But hey," Kniya smirked, walking toward the heavy oak doors. "Thanks to these waivers, all that capital we poured into Kavilson Steel and the energy sector? It's officially backed by the federal government as legal, documented money from our 'fucking ancestors.' So, everything is perfectly fine and completely legal now."
Kniya threw a mocking, two-finger salute over his shoulder. "Have a terrible fucking life, Director. Bye."
Kniya and Malesh turned their backs, walking toward the exit.
Behind them, something in the Director's brain completely snapped. The humiliation, the loss of his career, the sheer, insulting arrogance of these two kids walking out of his office with the keys to the country—it broke his sanity.
"You're not leaving!" the Director screamed, a raw, psychotic sound.
He yanked open the bottom drawer of his desk, pulling out a heavy, black, standard-issue federal revolver. He aimed it directly at the back of Kniya's head and pulled the trigger.
BANG!
The gunshot was deafening in the enclosed office. But Kniya's street instincts were still razor-sharp. The second he heard the squeak of the desk drawer, he dropped. He violently bowed down, dropping to one knee as the high-caliber bullet shattered the heavy oak door right where his skull had been a fraction of a second prior.
"You stupid motherfucker!" Kniya roared.
Before the Director could cock the hammer for a second shot, Kniya and Malesh exploded into action. Operating on pure, synchronized muscle memory from their days in the Seistain slums, they spun around. Kniya lunged forward and kicked the massive mahogany desk with bone-crushing force.
The heavy desk launched backward, slamming into the Director's chest, pinning him against his leather chair and knocking the wind out of his lungs.
In perfect unison, Malesh and Kniya reached under their expensive tailored jackets. They hadn't walked into a federal building empty-handed. They both drew custom-machined, matte-black semi-automatic handguns.
Click-clack. "You want to play rough, you aristocratic bitch?!" Kniya yelled, leveling his weapon.
The Director, coughing up blood from the desk impact, blindly slammed his hand onto the red emergency panic button on his wall.
Less than three seconds later, the side doors burst open. Three heavily armed Commerce Department tactical guards rushed into the room, leveling submachine guns at Kniya and Malesh.
"Drop the weapons! Drop them now!" the lead guard screamed.
"Kill them!" the Director shrieked from behind his desk, clutching his ribs. "They are armed terrorists! Shoot them!"
Kniya didn't drop his gun. He just smiled—a wide, psychopathic grin.
Malesh didn't even aim at the guards. He just checked his pocket watch with his left hand, holding his gun steady with his right. "Right on time," Malesh muttered.
Suddenly, the lead guard—the one who had just ordered them to drop their weapons—pivoted on his heel. He pressed the barrel of his submachine gun directly into the neck of the guard standing next to him.
The third guard froze, completely shocked. Before he could react, the lead guard swept his leg, knocking the loyalist to the floor, and aimed his weapon right back at the Director.
The room fell into a terrifying, deadly standoff. Two guards were now pointing their weapons at their own boss, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Kniya and Malesh.
The Director's jaw dropped. He looked at his own security detail, his mind unable to process the betrayal. "What... what are you doing?! I am your commanding officer!"
"You really are a stupid fuck, aren't you?" Kniya laughed, lowering his gun slightly, completely unbothered by the chaos. "Did you actually think we would walk into a federal stronghold after what happened with General Klove without buying the men with the guns first? We own your security detail. We paid them ten times their annual salary yesterday."
"We do not leave variables to chance," Malesh added coldly. "Your security is now our private militia."
WEE-WOO-WEE-WOO. The screaming wail of police sirens suddenly flooded the streets outside, echoing up to the office windows. Heavy footsteps pounded down the hallway.
The oak doors were violently kicked open. A dozen Seistain City Police officers swarmed the room, riot shields raised, rifles aimed squarely at the desk.
"Police! Nobody move!" the Captain shouted.
The Director practically cried in relief. "Captain! Thank god! Arrest these two! They are trying to extort the federal government! They bribed my guards!"
The Police Captain completely ignored him. He walked straight past Kniya and Malesh, who casually holstered their weapons. The Captain marched up to the desk, grabbed the bleeding Director by the collar, and slammed him onto the shattered mahogany wood.
"Head Director," the Captain barked, pulling out a pair of heavy iron handcuffs. "You are under arrest for the attempted assassination of two federally sanctioned corporate leaders, corruption, and the unlawful discharge of a firearm in a government facility."
"What?!" the Director screamed, thrashing as the cold steel clamped around his wrists. "They are the criminals! They had guns!"
"We have waivers, actually," Kniya corrected, tapping the breast pocket of his jacket with a smug grin. "Signed by you. And a dozen witnesses who just saw you try to shoot an unarmed civilian in the back. Enjoy federal prison, you dumb bastard."
Malesh dusted off his jacket, completely unfazed by the smoke and shattered glass covering the room.
"Come on, Kniya," Malesh said, turning toward the door. "We have a monopoly to run."