Season 3 chapter
The Terrace Interruption
Before Kniya could launch into another massive conspiracy theory, the heavy glass doors leading out to the terrace forcefully pushed open.
Filoska and Salesh marched out onto the concrete. They were both carrying thick stacks of corporate dossiers, looking completely exhausted and thoroughly enraged.
"Why the hell are you two sleepy bastards out here relaxing on the terrace?!" Filoska yelled, her sharp, aristocratic voice cutting straight through the wind. "I have been buried under international export tariffs for three hours!"
Malesh smoothly turned around, his face instantly returning to its flawless, unyielding deadpan mask.
"We are not relaxing, Filoska," Malesh stated flatly. "We were actively discussing something highly critical. It was an incredibly important strategic meeting for our survival."
Salesh let out a loud, obnoxious scoff, tossing a manila folder onto a nearby patio table.
"Don't lie to us, you absolute liars!" Salesh accused, pointing aggressively at the two Managing Directors. "We know exactly what you are doing! You were just chilling out here, enjoying the breeze and talking about absolute shit, while you purposefully kept us locked inside doing all the actual corporate work!"
"No, no, it is absolutely not like that!" Kniya defended loudly, throwing his hands in the air. "Okay, let me tell you the truth! Let me explain what we were actually discussing! Because frankly, discussing highly classified existential threats is also a legitimate form of executive labor!"
"Don't lie to us, Kniya!" Salesh shouted back. "We are always the ones working! You guys are always free, and you don't even work for a single hour! You just stand around and talk shit!"
"Your accusation is factually incorrect," Malesh droned in perfect synchronization with Kniya's outrage. "Our discussions dictate the geopolitical trajectory of this entire company."
The Drug Accusation
Kniya, entirely fed up with being called lazy, aggressively marched over to the edge of the terrace railing and pointed a sharp finger down at the sprawling city streets eighty-six floors below.
"You think we are just talking shit?!" Kniya yelled, gesturing wildly for Filoska and Salesh to look down. "You want to know what we are discussing?! Look at that specific guy down there! Grid sector three, walking near the fountain!"
Filoska frowned, stepping up to the glass and squinting down at the tiny, ant-sized pedestrians moving across the plaza.
"Do you see his head?!" Kniya demanded, his voice cracking with pure, unfiltered paranoia. "We literally saw that exact guy die in the middle of the civil war! We were in that exact district! I literally saw him take a fucking bullet to the skull! But look at him! How the fuck is he alive right now and casually walking through the plaza?!"
Filoska stared down at the street. Then, she slowly turned her head and looked at Kniya with an expression of pure, unadulterated exhaustion.
"What the actual fuck are you even saying, Kniya?" Filoska sighed, aggressively rubbing her temples. "I was literally there with you during that skirmish. You don't even remember what happened! The soldiers shot him in the leg, not the head. He never died. He just collapsed."
Filoska crossed her arms, glaring at her two bosses with absolute, highly judgmental disgust.
"I seriously think you guys need to consume fewer drugs," Filoska scolded sharply. "Because your hallucinations are becoming a severe corporate liability. You are literally seeing ghosts."
Malesh immediately stiffened. His dark eyes locked onto the Vice President, pure, logical indignation flaring up in his chest.
"We absolutely do not consume drugs, Filoska," Malesh defended coldly, his deadpan voice dropping into a heavy, highly offended register. "What the fuck are you even talking about? Consuming narcotics is a massive biological inefficiency. And furthermore, I need to remind you that recreational drugs are strictly illegal in our country. We are hardcore capitalists, not illicit substance abusers. Our baseline reality is completely sober."
The Altered Reality
"Then explain why you are screaming about dead men walking!" Filoska snapped back, gripping her thick corporate dossiers. "He was shot in the leg! He collapsed, but he survived! You are literally inventing mass casualties in your own heads!"
Kniya's face flushed a violent shade of crimson. He opened his mouth, drawing in a massive breath to aggressively scream at her. He was fully prepared to yell about the sheer, undeniable reality of the point-blank headshot he had witnessed with his own two eyes. He was ready to list off the countless other examples of carnage they had seen during the civil war just to prove he wasn't crazy.
Before Kniya could unleash his fury, Malesh smoothly shifted his weight and delivered a slow, deliberate, and sharp kick directly to Kniya's shin.
"Ow! What the f—" Kniya yelped, stumbling sideways.
Malesh shot Kniya a single, intense glare that commanded him to instantly shut his mouth.
Malesh turned his gaze back to Filoska and Salesh. His mind raced, piecing together the terrifying discrepancy. He looked at the sheer, genuine frustration on Filoska's face and the utter confusion on Salesh's. They aren't lying to us, Malesh realized, a cold, heavy weight settling in his chest. From their perspective, the reality has been completely altered.
Malesh knew for an absolute fact that he and Kniya had watched that man die. They had executed the hits. They had lived through the bloodshed. But looking at his two friends, Malesh understood the chilling truth: Filoska and Salesh were experiencing a completely different timeline. Their memories of the war, the casualties, the very fabric of their reality had been fundamentally shifted.
If Kniya keeps arguing with them, they are never going to believe us, Malesh thought, his pragmatic nature taking over. They are entirely unable to understand what we are trying to convey because their reality dictates otherwise. Arguing is completely useless. The best thing we can do right now is to stop telling them anything and hide everything from them. We have to accept whatever facts they are presenting, or we will just be fighting in circles forever.
Malesh took a deep, quiet breath, forcefully burying the creeping existential dread deep down inside.
"You are right, Filoska," Malesh stated smoothly, perfectly faking a tone of reluctant concession. "We have been operating under extreme corporate stress lately. My visual memory must have failed me in the chaos of the district. I apologize for the outburst."
Kniya stared at Malesh, his jaw dropping in absolute betrayal. He rubbed his shin, gritting his teeth. But seeing the dark, uncompromising warning in Malesh's eyes, Kniya realized he had to swallow his pride and play along with the lie.
"Yeah. Fine," Kniya muttered bitterly, crossing his arms and looking away. "Whatever. We just need some sleep."
The Unexpected Gratitude
Salesh sighed, crossing his arms. "Good. Because we have actual work to do. The international shipping ledgers aren't going to balance themselves."
Before Salesh or Filoska could turn around to head back inside, Malesh stepped forward. The cold, robotic, highly desensitized mask he wore for the entire world seemed to crack, just for a fraction of a second.
"Filoska. Wait," Malesh said, his voice dropping the flat, sarcastic drone, becoming uncharacteristically heavy and genuine.
Filoska paused, looking back over her shoulder. "What now, Malesh?"
Malesh looked at her, and then at Salesh.
"There is one thing that I have wanted to ask you for a very long period of time," Malesh confessed quietly, the sheer emotional weight of the admission making him look visibly uncomfortable. "I was unable to ask you. My baseline behaviour is not built for emotional transparency. But I am finally asking it now."
Kniya stopped rubbing his shin, looking at his business partner in genuine surprise.
"Why did you support us?" Malesh asked, his dark eyes locking onto Filoska's. "Why did you help us and follow us throughout this entire, apocalyptic hardship we have gone through? We insulted you. We disgraced your family name at that royal party when we first met. We were absolute bastards to you. Why did you take on that immense liability for us?"
Filoska blinked, completely caught off guard by the sincerity.
"You even showed up at our apartment to formally apologize and thank us the very next day," Malesh continued softly. "Why was it like that? I am really, genuinely grateful for all the things you did. We will always be grateful to you. But I want to know the logical reason."
Kniya stepped up beside Malesh, dropping his arrogant smirk. For once, the billionaire CEO looked entirely serious.
"And look, we know about the shadows," Kniya admitted, his voice quiet. "When we were going on those suicide missions to execute the main heads of the royal family during the civil war... we know that you guys were secretly up on the rooftops. You were assassinating the royal assassins who were sent to kill us. You covered our blind spots. We know you guys really did a great job, and we didn't properly appreciate that at the time. Thank you."87