Season 2 chapter 25
The 20-Million Credit Bet
The heavy, apocalyptic tension in the room finally evaporated. Kniya leaned back, tapping his gold pen against the desk.
"Anyway," Kniya pivoted, a smirk returning to his face. "I think we should gift something to Filoska for working so hard and keeping our company alive while we were in Arvonia. She deserves a bonus for not letting the legacy barons burn the Antrious Hub down. Plus, you literally just questioned her human rights, so we owe her."
Malesh pressed the ice pack back to his jaw. "A financial compensation for emotional and physical labor is logical. What is the budget?"
"I think twenty million credits would be a great gift," Kniya said casually, as if he were discussing the price of a sandwich. "You know my preferences. I am a fan of cars. A top-of-the-line, custom-forged, armored steam-sedan. Leather interior, brass fittings. A real executive beast."
"Inefficient," Malesh immediately countered. "Cars are cumbersome in Seistain traffic. You know I am a fan of motorbikes. A heavy-engine, diesel-powered motorcycle. It provides superior mobility, faster acceleration, and it sends a much more aggressive corporate message."
"A motorcycle?" Kniya laughed loudly. "For the Vice President? She wears pencil skirts and carries legal binders, you idiot! You think she wants to show up to a federal courthouse smelling like diesel exhaust on a bike?"
"It is a superior machine," Malesh stubbornly defended. "A car is just a couch on wheels."
"A car commands respect!" Kniya yelled back, pointing his pen at him. "A bike makes her look like a street courier!"
They glared at each other across the office. Neither of them was going to back down. They had just negotiated a trillion-credit treaty with a foreign superpower, but they were about to go to war over what kind of vehicle to buy their VP.
"Fine," Kniya smirked, standing up and taking off his suit jacket. "We aren't going to solve this with logic. Let's settle it like we always do. A simple game. Winner picks the gift."
Malesh adjusted his glasses, setting his ice pack down on the glass table. "Acceptable parameters. State the game."
The 100-Round War
"Rock, paper, scissors, shoot!" Kniya yelled.
Smack. Kniya threw Rock. Malesh threw Scissors.
"Point to me!" Kniya grinned, marking a thick red tally on the massive glass whiteboard in his office. "That's round forty-two. Score is twenty-two to twenty. You're losing your edge, logic-boy."
It had been exactly two hours and fifteen minutes since the game began.
What should have been a fast, six-minute game had turned into a grueling, high-stakes psychological marathon. They weren't just throwing hands; they were analyzing micro-expressions, taking tactical hydration breaks, and pacing around the executive suite like caged predators.
Malesh had completely taken off his suit jacket. His tie was loosened, his sleeves rolled up, and his glasses were slightly fogged. He was staring at Kniya's forearm muscles, trying to read the microscopic twitches of his tendons before the throw.
"Your throw patterns are becoming mathematically irrational, Kniya," Malesh stated, wiping sweat from his forehead with a monogrammed handkerchief. "You favor 'Rock' when your cortisol levels spike, but you threw 'Scissors' three consecutive times in rounds thirty through thirty-two to break the probability matrix. It is highly inefficient."
"It's called chaotic genius, bro," Kniya laughed, doing a quick stretch. "You can't calculate chaos. Round forty-three. Let's go."
By the third hour, the executive suite looked like a war room. Kniya was pacing in circles, trying to psych Malesh out by loudly listing the horsepower statistics of the steam-sedan he wanted. Malesh had filled half the whiteboard with complex algorithms, trying to map Kniya's subconscious decision-making tree.
"Round ninety-nine," Malesh breathed heavily, his eyes locked onto Kniya's. The score was forty-nine to forty-nine. There had been dozens of ties. The tension in the room was suffocating.
"This is for the heavy-diesel motorcycle," Malesh whispered.
"This is for the couch on wheels," Kniya sneered back.
"Rock, paper, scissors, shoot!"
For a fraction of a millisecond, Malesh's brain registered the slight flex in Kniya's wrist. He calculated a 94% probability of Scissors. Malesh threw Rock.
But Kniya, operating purely on street-instinct and blind arrogance, shifted his hand at the absolute last possible second.
Kniya threw Paper. It wrapped perfectly around Malesh's Rock.
The room was dead silent for two seconds.
"Fifty to forty-nine!" Kniya roared, his voice echoing off the floor-to-ceiling windows. He collapsed onto his leather couch, completely exhausted but laughing maniacally. "The car wins! The data is defeated!"
Malesh stared at his own fist, completely betrayed by his own calculations. He let out a long, deeply exhausted sigh and adjusted his glasses. "Fine. The data has been corrupted by your stupidity. Go buy your armored couch."
The Special Forces Extraction
An hour later, an ultra-luxury, custom-forged, armored steam-sedan—painted matte black with polished brass trim and a roaring V8 diesel engine—was sitting in the executive loading bay of the Antrious Hub.
Now, they just needed to deliver the gift to Filoska.
Standing outside the heavy brass doors of the Vice President's office, Kniya and Malesh were pressed flat against the wall, communicating entirely in aggressive, completely unnecessary military hand signals.
"Listen up, operator," Kniya whispered, his voice dropping into a harsh, tactical gravel. "We have a high-value target isolated in the command center. She is currently armed with a fountain pen and a mountain of legal paperwork. We breach on three. Maximum shock and awe. Do not give the hostile asset time to formulate a verbal defense."
"Copy that, Commander," Malesh deadpanned, pulling a pair of heavy iron police handcuffs from his coat pocket. "I will take the left flank and secure her wrists. You neutralize her desk space. If she reaches for the heavy stapler, use lethal force."
"Check your corners," Kniya nodded grimly. "Three. Two. One. BREACH! BREACH! BREACH!"
Kniya took a running start and completely drop-kicked Filoska's heavy brass office door with the force of a battering ram.
BANG!
The doors flew open, slamming violently against the walls. Kniya and Malesh flooded into the room, sweeping their fingers back and forth like they were holding submachine guns.
"Special Forces! Nobody move! Get your hands where I can see them!" Kniya screamed at the top of his lungs, kicking a trash can out of his way. "Perimeter compromised! Drop the pen and step away from the desk!"
Filoska, who had been in the middle of reviewing a highly sensitive steel export contract, jumped entirely out of her chair, her eyes wide with sheer, unadulterated shock.
"What the actual fuck are you doing?!" Filoska yelled, clutching a heavy legal binder to her chest like a shield.
"Hostile is resisting verbal commands!" Kniya barked to Malesh, marching around the desk. He pointed aggressively at Filoska. "You have no rights to talk! You are not a human at all right now! You are a compromised asset! Stand down, you fucking idiot, or we will escalate to physical extraction!"
"What are you talking about?! This is my office!" Filoska shrieked, backing into her bookshelf.
"Hostile asset secured. Commencing restraint protocol," Malesh announced in a flat, robotic tone. He stepped forward with terrifying speed, grabbed Filoska's wrists, and efficiently clicked the heavy iron handcuffs onto her before she could even process the absurdity of the situation. Click-clack.
"Are you two completely out of your goddamn minds?!" Filoska roared, struggling wildly as Kniya grabbed her left shoulder and Malesh grabbed her right. "Take these off me right now! I will have you both arrested! I will sue this entire company into the ground!"
"Negative! You are the company!" Kniya laughed, hauling her toward the door. "Move! Move! Extraction to the LZ is a go! Keep your head down, VIP!"
"I am going to murder both of you!" Filoska screamed, her heels dragging against the polished marble floor as the two billionaires physically hauled their handcuffed Vice President toward the executive elevator.
The Extinguisher Protocol
They dragged a furious, shouting Filoska down to the loading bay. Kniya pointed to the massive, gleaming twenty-million-credit steam-sedan.
"Get in the driver's seat," Kniya ordered, opening the heavy armored door.
Filoska looked at the car, looked at the handcuffs on her wrists, and then something inside her snapped. The exhaustion of running the company, combined with their absolute idiocy, triggered a terrifying physical response.
She didn't get in the car. She pivoted.
Using the handcuffs as a solid metal striking weapon, Filoska slammed both her wrists upward, catching Kniya right under the chin.
"Argh!" Kniya stumbled backward, seeing stars.
Before Malesh could react, Filoska dropped her center of gravity, swept her leg in a flawless, professional martial arts arc, and knocked Malesh's legs completely out from under him. Malesh hit the concrete floor hard.
"You think I'm just a secretary?!" Filoska roared, bringing her cuffed hands down like a hammer toward Kniya's chest.
"Malesh, do something!" Kniya yelled, barely dodging the strike. "She's actually trying to kill us!"
Malesh scrambled across the concrete floor. His eyes locked onto a bright red, heavy-duty chemical fire extinguisher mounted on the wall.
"Implementing Phase Two," Malesh gasped. He ripped the extinguisher off the wall, pulled the metal pin, and aimed the hose directly at their enraged Vice President.
FOOOOOOSH!
A massive, freezing cloud of thick, white chemical foam blasted Filoska right in the face.
She shrieked, coughing and waving her cuffed hands blindly as she was completely covered in a thick layer of white foam. She looked like an angry, coughing snowman.
"Target neutralized," Malesh coughed, wiping foam off his own glasses.
Kniya, laughing so hard he could barely breathe, grabbed the foaming, sputtering Vice President and gently shoved her into the driver's seat of the luxury car. He tossed the brass ignition key onto her lap.
"Drive us to the Grand Imperial Restaurant," Kniya ordered, climbing into the plush leather backseat next to Malesh. "And try not to get foam on the steering wheel!"