Season 3 chapter 85
The Dark Room
The scene shifted violently away from the purple sky of the farmland.
The environment was entirely different. It was a massive, highly oppressive dark room, illuminated by only a single, heavy industrial spotlight hanging directly from the ceiling. The air was cold, sterile, and smelled faintly of burning ozone.
Sitting in the dead center of the spotlight on a high-backed, deeply luxurious leather chair was a man. His face was entirely hidden behind an ornate, featureless steel mask. He sat with a posture of absolute, unyielding authority.
Standing in a perfect, highly disciplined line directly behind the masked man was a mysterious group of silent operatives. They were all wearing the exact same heavy, frayed grey cloaks that completely obscured their identities.
Standing respectfully in front of the desk, bathed in the harsh light, was the unknown person from the farmland.
"Well," the Masked Man spoke. His voice was smooth, highly cultured, and dripped with a terrifying, absolute power. It was the unmistakable, bone-chilling voice of Mantouse Adeius.
Mantouse leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers together. "You did your work really well out there in the fields. I think so, this month, you might actually get some kind of performance bonus."
The unknown person immediately straightened up, his lazy, exhausted persona completely vanishing in the presence of his superior.
"Yeah, sir," the unknown person replied eagerly. "I did my work really fairly out there. I healed the assets and suppressed the interference. But honestly, sir, I think I should receive exactly twice my standard salary this month, because I definitely did twice the amount of field work."
Mantouse stopped tapping his fingers. The atmosphere in the room instantly dropped by ten degrees.
"I absolutely hate you guys," Mantouse sighed, his voice laced with rich, dramatic disappointment. "You are literally always like this. I entirely despise this specific habit of the people from the DI'an Republic. You are all so aggressively capitalistic. You always demand extra work, and then the exact second you do it, you aggressively demand extra salary."
Mantouse casually adjusted his cuffs, completely dismissing the request.
"You are absolutely not like my people from the Syndicate," Mantouse criticized smoothly. "My people operate on loyalty and fear. You operate on overtime pay. Well, I will think about it. But just for the record, I am entirely never going to pay you extra. Now, get back in line."
The Delegation of Chaos
The heavy, oppressive atmosphere of the dark room shifted slightly as the unknown figure relaxed his posture. Knowing his boss wasn't going to actually pay him double, he completely dropped the professional subordinate act, leaning casually on one leg with a lazy, joking demeanor.
"Well, sir," the unknown figure chuckled, shaking his head. "There is one more thing I need to tell you. It is highly important. I think so, it is now the fucking time for you to actually do the job that is required of you."
Mantouse Adeius, matching the exhausted, cynical mood of his operative, let out a long, highly frustrated groan from behind his featureless steel mask. He aggressively rubbed the bridge of his nose through the metal.
"This is so profoundly frustrating," Mantouse complained, his cultured voice dripping with pure irritation. "Why do I have to do this? I absolutely did not create that mess out there, but I am the one who has to fix all of it. The incompetence of this world is staggering."
Mantouse dropped his hand and turned his gaze toward the shadows at the edge of the spotlight.
"Hey. You," Mantouse commanded, his voice instantly sharpening into a cold, terrifying blade of authority. "Yeah, I am calling you. Come here."
From the darkness, another cloaked figure stepped forward. Like the others, his face was entirely hidden beneath a heavy hood.
Mantouse stared at the worker. Even though Mantouse was wearing a steel mask, the sheer, crushing pressure of his unseen glare radiated through the room. It was a look of absolute, uncompromising expectation that made the air feel instantly heavier.
"I think so you remember exactly what work I just told you to do," Mantouse stated softly, the threat lingering perfectly beneath his polite tone. "So yeah. I expect you will do that."
The cloaked worker bowed his head respectfully. "Yes, sir. I will definitely do that. It will be done in a few minutes."
The Aesthetics of Capitalism
The afternoon sun beat down on a wide, relatively empty dirt path bordering one of the public parks in the capital.
Kniya and Malesh were walking side-by-side. Kniya was holding a thick, hardcover book in his hands, furiously flipping through the pages with a look of pure, unadulterated disgust.
"Malesh, honestly, don't you think this novel contains the absolute worst strategies regarding capitalism?" Kniya ranted, aggressively tapping the page. "I don't know who the fuck this author is, but he clearly despises capitalism. It is entirely unrealistic. There is just this constant, massive war going on between the capitalists and the communists in this book, and the business models are a joke!"
Malesh, wearing his signature tailored suit, let out a long, incredibly exhausted sigh. His deadpan mask was firmly in place.
"What the fuck is that even, Kniya?" Malesh groaned, staring straight ahead. "Can we please stop talking about politics and economics for a single second? You own monopolies. You don't need to critique fiction. Just look around. Look at the path. Look at the beauty. Look at the people."
Kniya stopped walking. He slowly lowered the book and looked around the park, his face twisting into a scowl of pure, elitist judgment.
"What beauty?" Kniya asked, thoroughly offended. "What exactly should I look at, Malesh? There is a fucking dirt path. There are literal beggars sitting over there by the gate. There is a stray dog actively taking a shit right next to that bench. There is absolutely nothing beautiful here."
Kniya smirked, a highly unhinged, violent glimmer flashing in his eyes.
"You know what I want right now?" Kniya proposed enthusiastically. "You know how I could make this beautiful? If I just pulled out a rocket-propelled grenade and fired this thing directly into the center of the park. Just completely destroy it. Turn it into a crater. Everything would be ruined, and then it would look beautiful. What do you think about that?"
Malesh didn't even blink at his best friend's psychopathic urban planning.
"Yeah, yeah," Malesh deadpanned effortlessly. "Sure."
They continued walking down the path. A few seconds later, another man walking in the opposite direction crossed paths with them.
Kniya was mid-laugh, opening his mouth to make another joke about explosive ordnance, when his eyes locked onto the passing man's face.
The laugh instantly died in Kniya's throat.
Malesh froze mid-step. His dark eyes widened in absolute, paralyzing shock.
Neither of them said a word. Their entire corporate swagger completely evaporated. They stood frozen on the dirt path, staring after the man as he casually walked away.
Silently, heavily, Kniya and Malesh turned and walked out of the park. As they navigated the streets back toward the corporate district, they kept their heads on a swivel. They saw more of them. Dozens of people walking the streets, buying groceries, talking on corners. Many of them were covered in fresh white bandages. Some had jagged, raw pink marks and scars stretching across their skin.
But they were totally fine. They were walking. They were alive.
The 86th Floor Reality Check
The wind howled across the open-air terrace on the 86th floor of the Kavilson Steel headquarters.
The heavy glass door slammed shut as Kniya burst onto the rooftop, pacing frantically. His hands were shaking. His usual unhinged arrogance was completely gone, replaced by raw, unfiltered panic.
"What the fuck is happening in this country?!" Kniya shrieked, gripping the edge of the terrace railing and staring down at the sprawling city. "What the actual fuck did I just see down there, Malesh?!"
Malesh walked onto the terrace behind him, his deadpan mask entirely shattered. He aggressively loosened his dragon-themed tie, struggling to breathe evenly.
"I don't know about it, Kniya," Malesh muttered, his voice trembling with genuine disbelief. "I couldn't believe it. I literally couldn't believe what I just saw with my own eyes."
"Yeah!" Kniya yelled, pacing back and forth. "It was... it was really fucking weird! What can we even say about this thing?!"
"We saw that guy dead, Kniya," Malesh stated, the sheer impossibility of the fact choking him. "We totally saw that exact guy. He was dead. He was shot point-blank in the head by a soldier during the civil war. We saw the body! How the fuck is he alive and walking through a public park like nothing ever happened?!"
Kniya gripped his hair, his mind completely short-circuiting. "I don't know, Malesh! I don't know what the fuck is happening around here! Do you have any possible theories for this?! Anything?!"
"How could I possibly know about this thing?!" Malesh exploded, his usual calm completely breaking. "Do you think I am a god?! I don't have the answers for this! I don't know what is happening! We just saw a bunch of people who were categorically, undeniably dead in the civil war, and now they are walking perfectly fine! What the fuck is happening?!"
Malesh stopped pacing, desperately trying to force his pragmatic, logical brain to find a solution.
"They... they might be clones," Malesh rationalized wildly. "They might be something else entirely. Maybe they are duplicate people. Doppelgangers exist in real life, right? Maybe they just look exactly like the dead ones."
"No, bro!" Kniya rejected instantly, shaking his head. "Don't talk shit right now! It is absolutely not a coincidence that we just walked into hundreds of exact duplicate twins of people who died! That kind of coincidence is statistically impossible! We saw hundreds of people who were dead right in front of our eyes, and now they are alive!"
Kniya slammed his hand against the railing. "They were shot dead in the head! How the fuck is this possible?!"
Malesh leaned heavily against the concrete wall of the terrace. He stared out over the city, the terrifying, incomprehensible weight of the unknown pressing down on him.
"I don't know," Malesh whispered, his voice hollow. "I don't know what happened. It is really, really weird for us to see, and it is a thing I am entirely unable to understand. I am... I am genuinely shocked from the inside."