Filler
The Surveillance Operation
Time: 8:00 PM
Location: Kavilson Executive Tower, Underground Garage
The office hours were officially over. Down in the cavernous, concrete underground parking garage of Kavilson Steel, Kniya and Malesh were preparing for absolute espionage.
Kniya walked up to his massive, custom-built, crimson-and-black armored luxury sedan. He slapped the reinforced hood.
"Alright," Kniya said, pulling his keys out. "We'll take the tank. We can tail them from a block away. The tinted windows are perfect for this."
Malesh stared at him, his deadpan face dropping into a scowl of pure disbelief.
"Are you fucking mad or what?" Malesh asked flatly. "Your car is literally so rich and so aggressively branded that even a blind man can spot that this car belongs to you. It is a massive red flag. If we roll up to the park in a R-12 armored dictator-mobile, we are going to instantly inform everyone that we are the guys spying on our own Vice President. No. We are not going to use this car."
Kniya frowned, crossing his arms. "Well, I only own expensive cars! What the fuck should we use? A bus?!"
Malesh walked past the sedan and pulled a heavy canvas tarp off a dark corner of the garage.
"No," Malesh said smoothly. "Now my bikes are going to come in handy. You always disrespected them, but now they are the superior tactical choice."
Under the tarp sat two sleek, pitch-black RX 500 street motorcycles. They were fast, completely unbranded, and perfectly untraceable.
"Fine," Kniya grumbled, throwing his car keys back into his pocket.
To ensure completely anonymous surveillance, they fully disguised themselves. They both pulled up black cloth face masks to cover their mouths and noses, and slid on heavy, dark aviator goggles to hide their eyes. Dressed in simple street clothes and fully masked, the two most powerful billionaires in the Republic of DI looked exactly like common, heavily armed street thugs.
They kicked the heavy engines into gear and roared out of the garage, speeding toward the Seistain Grand Park.
The Romantic Agony
They parked the RX 500s in a dark alley just outside the park and crept through the manicured hedges.
The evening was actually quite beautiful. The park was lit by soft, glowing gas lamps, and the moon was reflecting off the central lake.
Sitting on a quiet, isolated wooden bench right near the water were Filoska and Antues Doate.
Kniya and Malesh crouched behind a massive, incredibly thick row of rose bushes just ten feet away, perfectly hidden in the shadows.
Antues was actively trying to romance the Vice President of Kavilson Steel, and it was excruciating to listen to.
"Filoska," Antues said softly, leaning closer to her. "I know you said you don't like mixing business with pleasure... but I have to be honest. The moonlight reflecting off your face right now... it's mesmerizing. You are absolutely beautiful."
Filoska, who was wearing a sharp, dark evening coat, shifted awkwardly. "Thank you, Antues. The ambient lighting in this park is federally funded. It's highly efficient."
"It's not just the lighting," Antues insisted, reaching out and gently brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "It's you. Your aura. Since the moment I walked into your office, I haven't been able to think about anything else. Your eyes are so deep... I feel like I could just get lost in them forever. I want to know everything about you. I want to know what makes you smile when the ledgers are closed."
Behind the bushes, Kniya was violently biting his own fist to keep from laughing out loud.
Malesh, however, was not laughing. He was glaring through the leaves, his face twisting into absolute, unadulterated disgust.
"Ah, fuck," Malesh whispered harshly, rubbing his temples. "My ears are actively bleeding out of this shit. This is chemical-grade cringe. I am going to take an action."
Kniya looked at him, his eyes widening behind his dark goggles. "Wait, what? But this is a public park! Military actions can't take place here! We will cause a massive diplomatic incident!"
"Are you a fucking idiot?" Malesh whispered back, his cold eyes completely devoid of mercy. "No, no. I have already bribed everyone in this district. And you know what I learned from the TV news report on that day from the bridge? The fart cylinders?"
Kniya stared at him in sheer horror. "Malesh... no."
"Yes," Malesh confirmed. He reached deep into his trouser pocket and pulled out a small, heavy, custom-machined steel canister with a blinking red timer on the top. "I have federally funded the development of a tactical fart grenade. And I am going to use this thing right fucking now."
"What the actual fuck are you telling me?!" Kniya hissed, completely panicking and grabbing Malesh's wrist. "You built a biological weapon out of a fart?! Are you insane?!"
"It is highly concentrated," Malesh stated, twisting the timer cap. Click. Click. Click. Before Kniya could stop him, Malesh casually tossed the steel canister right over the rose bushes.
It landed directly under the wooden bench where Filoska and Antues were sitting.
Three seconds later, the grenade blasted open with a loud, aggressive PFFFFFT-POP! A thick, highly pressurized cloud of invisible, violently toxic gas immediately erupted from the canister, blanketing the entire lakeside area.
The smell hit the bushes two seconds later. Kniya instantly gagged, his eyes watering behind his goggles. It smelled like rotten eggs, sulfur, burning trash, and pure death.
"Oh my god!" Kniya choked, pulling his mask tighter against his face. "What the fuck?! Whose fart was that actually?!"
"It's a top secret," Malesh whispered, his voice completely deadpan, though he was also covering his nose. "I am not going to tell you."
"It's yours!" Kniya coughed. "I fucking know that!"
"It's not mine," Malesh denied smoothly. "I am definitely telling the truth."
Out on the bench, the romantic tension instantly shattered.
Antues stopped mid-sentence, his face turning completely pale. He covered his mouth, looking around in pure panic. Filoska jumped up from the bench, her eyes watering, absolutely furious and disgusted.
"Oh my god!" Filoska gagged, waving her hands frantically in front of her face. "What the fuck is happening?! Did something die in the lake?!"
"Let's move out of this park!" Antues choked, grabbing her hand and pulling her away from the bench. "This is so bad! I cannot even breathe right now! This is so bad! This is so bad!"
They completely abandoned the romantic lakeside, practically sprinting toward the park exit.
"Filoska, I am so sorry!" Antues coughed as they reached the street. "The park was a terrible idea. I think we should go to a restaurant! I know a really decent restaurant just two blocks from here. It has air conditioning!"
"Fine! Just get me away from this smell!" Filoska agreed, breathing heavily.
The Backup Arrives
Behind the bushes, Kniya and Malesh were desperately crawling away from the toxic cloud, gasping for fresh air.
"Okay," Kniya wheezed, adjusting his goggles. "Malesh, we are going to do that restaurant too. We need to follow them."
"Agreed," Malesh said, dusting off his knees.
They stood up and started walking down the street toward the high-end restaurant Antues had pointed out. But as they approached the glowing neon sign of Molvis Bunti Restaurant, Kniya suddenly stopped.
"Malesh," Kniya said. "Why didn't you bring any money? This place is highly exclusive. We can't sit at a table without cash."
"I thought you brought the money," Malesh replied flatly.
"I just forgot!" Kniya hissed. "I was busy putting on a tactical mask!"
Before they could argue further, the loud, aggressive roar of a third motorcycle echoed down the street.
A sleek street bike slammed to a halt right next to them on the curb. The rider killed the engine, pulled off his helmet, and revealed the smiling, chaotic face of Salesh.
Salesh reached into his jacket and pulled out a thick, heavy envelope completely stuffed with high-denomination credits. He pointed it toward Kniya.
"Okay, Salesh," Kniya groaned, staring at the President of his company. "I had asked you to manage the fucking company when I am not here, and you are here to deliver us the money?"
"Yeah," Salesh grinned, stepping off the bike. "I knew that you guys were onto some kind of mischievous activity, and so I am in. Sitting in the office was boring. So here is the money you need, and I am also part of this plan now. Give me a mask."
"Fine," Kniya sighed, snatching the envelope. "Put your goggles on. We are going inside the restaurant."
The Poor Assholes
Filoska and Antues were already seated at a nice, candlelit table near the back of the restaurant.
A minute later, the front doors swung open. Kniya, Malesh, and Salesh walked in. Because they were wearing cheap street clothes, black face masks, and dark aviator goggles, they looked absolutely terrifying—and completely out of place in the luxury dining room.
A highly arrogant, sharply dressed waiter immediately stepped in their path, holding up a hand. He looked them up and down with extreme prejudice.
"Hey," the waiter sneered, his voice dripping with elitist disgust. "Poor people. Poor shit holes. Assholes. You cannot be in here. The kitchen entrance for the garbage is out back."
The waiter smiled smugly, waiting for them to leave.
Under the cover of the host's wooden desk, Malesh and Salesh didn't say a single word. In perfect, terrifying synchronization, they both reached into their waistbands, pulled out heavy, black-steel revolvers, and pressed the barrels directly into the waiter's lower abdomen.
The waiter felt the cold steel through his uniform. He completely froze. The smug smile vanished from his face, replaced by absolute, soul-crushing terror.
"Just stop talking," Malesh whispered, his deadpan voice carrying the promise of extreme violence. "Or do you want to get sent to God right now?"
The waiter swallowed hard, shaking his head frantically.
"Good," Kniya stepped forward, getting right in the waiter's face. "I think we need to order something to stop this fucking waiter from blabbing. Hey, fucking waiter. We are going to order some fucking tea."
Kniya grabbed the waiter by the collar of his uniform, his voice dropping into a deadly growl.
"So don't mix any fucking shit, or your fucking saliva, into the fucking tea," Kniya threatened. "Because if I find one drop of spit in my cup... I am definitely going to kill you for sure, you fucking waiter. What did you call us? Poor? Say it one more time and I will kill you all and burn your fucking restaurant to the ground. Now get us a table."
The terrified waiter frantically pointed toward a small, dark booth in the corner of the room, completely out of sight but with a perfect vantage point of Filoska's table.
Kniya, Malesh, and Salesh slid into the booth. They kept their masks on, their dark goggles reflecting the candlelight as they immediately locked their sights onto Filoska and Antues, ready to sabotage the rest of the date.