Season 3 chapter 37
The Cash Cow
The heavy, dramatic silence in the hospital room lingered for exactly five seconds before Malesh smoothly cleared his throat, entirely unimpressed by the emotional weight of the rebellion they were planning.
"Okay, Kniya," Malesh stated flatly, adjusting his dragon-themed tie. "We have the ideological motivation. But let's discuss the actual logistics. For an anti-propaganda campaign of this magnitude, we need to spend a massive amount of money. Information warfare is not cheap. You have to bribe newspaper editors, hijack radio frequencies, and print millions of pamphlets."
Filoska crossed her arms, nodding in agreement. "He is right. A grassroots movement requires serious financial backing to outpace the Crown's media control."
Malesh narrowed his dark eyes, staring directly at Kniya. "And how exactly are you going to fund that, Kniya? Your entire heavy manufacturing corporation is currently shut down. Kavilson Steel is bleeding revenue while the factories sit empty. Where is the capital coming from?"
Kniya smirked, an arrogant, immensely satisfied grin spreading across his face. He leaned back in his chair, totally unbothered by the frozen steel market.
"You know, Malesh," Kniya chuckled, popping his mint gum. "There is one thing that is providing me money like a massive, unstoppable cash cow right now. And that is my airline company."
Salesh perked up from the corner. "Oh, right! Thullibulli Airlines!"
"It's Kniya Airlines now, you idiot," Kniya corrected sharply. "And yes. While the ground operations are halted, the sky belongs entirely to me. The domestic flights are booked solid. It is generating more than enough liquid capital to burst this royal propaganda wide open. Whatever the means are required, I am going to spend that exact amount. I will buy every printing press in the Republic if I have to."
Before Kniya could continue his arrogant monologue about his aviation profits, a sharp, buzzing ringtone echoed from the inner pocket of his tailored jacket.
Kniya frowned. It was his highly encrypted, private corporate phone. Only top-tier executives and shadow brokers had this number.
"Hold on," Kniya said, pulling the heavy device from his coat. He gestured casually toward the rest of the team. "Malesh, Salesh... explain to the priestess how we are going to actually manage to spread the right information to the people in the outer districts. I need to take this. It might be our intelligence network."
Kniya stepped a few feet away toward the hospital window, expecting a grim, highly classified update on the military movements. He pressed the receiver to his ear.
"Kniya speaking," he answered with dark, terrifying authority. "Give me the report."
The Solves Proposition
"Hello, sir! A very fantastic and incredibly fresh morning to you!" a wildly enthusiastic, profoundly cheesy voice boomed through the encrypted speaker.
Kniya blinked. The voice didn't sound like a hardened corporate spy. It sounded like a guy smiling so hard his cheeks were bleeding.
"So, sir!" the salesman continued, practically shouting with joy. "Do you want underwear?! We have the original Solves underwear right under us! It is freshly made just for you, sir!"
Kniya froze, his brain completely failing to process the audio input. "...What?"
"It is the absolute best, sir! Totally fresh, and entirely crafted from one hundred percent premium cotton!" the telemarketer pitched aggressively, his voice taking on the profound, dramatic cadence of a commercial voiceover. "Engineered specifically to absorb all the heavy sweat in your underparts! We guarantee it will ensure that you live fresh, breathe fresh, and conquer your day without any chafing!"
Kniya pulled the phone away from his ear, staring at it in pure, unfiltered astonishment. He was in the middle of organizing a geopolitical revolution against an absolute monarchy, and a guy had somehow bypassed billion-credit encryption just to talk about his crotch.
"Fuck you," Kniya whispered into the receiver, completely bewildered. "What the actual fuck is happening right now? I don't need any undergarments right now! I am really, really busy at this moment!"
"Sir, no, sir! Please listen!" the salesman pleaded desperately, launching right back into the pitch. "We know for a fact that you wear local, unbranded ones! And you know, sir, what is the major problem with the local ones?"
"I don't wear local—"
"It is that they break easily at any time!" the salesman interrupted dramatically. "They snap! They tear during your important business meetings! But when you buy our Solves company products, it is really, really sophisticated! It is crafted with the absolute best fabric in the entire world! It lasts incredibly longer, and it comes with a full, iron-clad warranty and guarantee too! Your assets will be totally secured, sir!"
Kniya aggressively rubbed his temples, a vein throbbing in his forehead. The sheer absurdity of the pitch was driving him insane.
"Listen to me, you absolute parasite," Kniya growled, his voice dropping into a lethal, terrifying register. "I don't need any fucking underwear right now at this moment! I have something incredibly important to discuss regarding the fate of the nation! Please don't waste my time! I am going to cut this call right fucking now!"
"Sir! Stop, stop, stop, stop!" the salesman panicked, his voice suddenly dropping its cheery tone and becoming dead serious. "Sir, actually, I think so... I need to tell you the truth."
The Naked Truth
The truth? Kniya thought, his eyes narrowing. Wait. This has to be a coded message. It's one of our shadow operatives. They're using a ridiculous cover story because the federal government is wiretapping the lines.
"Okay," Kniya whispered back, shielding his mouth with his hand and leaning closer to the window. "Now we got to the point. Tell me the truth. What is the actual package?"
"Sir," the salesman breathed heavily into the microphone. "Actually... we also sell the undershirts along with the underwears."
Kniya stopped breathing.
"Yes, sir," the salesman confirmed proudly, completely ruining the suspense. "Our company undershirts are really, really great for anyone! So sir, you know, they are also made with the absolute greatest fabric to match the bottom wear! We can do a combo deal!"
"It is a revolutionary cross-stitch pattern, sir!" the salesman continued, entirely oblivious to the terrifying, homicidal silence on Kniya's end of the secure line. "Our undershirts feature a patented, thermo-regulating chest-mesh! It is explicitly designed to perfectly contour to your elite executive pectorals while maximizing aerodynamic airflow! If you are ever, hypothetically, running away from federal tax auditors or sprinting out of an exploding heavy-manufacturing steel facility, our undershirts will ensure your upper torso remains completely sweat-free and highly professional!"
Kniya's grip on the phone tightened so hard the expensive titanium casing actually began to creak under the pressure. He could literally hear the salesman flipping through a laminated retail catalog on the other end of the line.
"And if you authorize this transaction right now," the salesman pitched, his voice hitting a frantic, high-pitched frenzy of pure retail desperation, "we will throw in three pairs of breathable, ankle-supporting matching socks! Imagine the total corporate synergy, sir! Your feet, your chest, and your lower regions, all perfectly synchronized in premium, moisture-wicking harmony! You will be an unstoppable, fully-clothed force of hyper-capitalist comfort!"
Kniya stood entirely paralyzed by the sheer, unadulterated stupidity of the conversation. He slowly closed his eyes, visualizing himself throwing the encrypted phone directly into the sun.
"What the fuck is happening right now?" Kniya groaned, gripping his hair in absolute frustration. He lifted the phone back to his mouth. "Fuck you, you sick bastard. I hope your entire factory burns down."
Kniya violently slammed the end-call button and shoved the phone back into his pocket, his face flushed with pure irritation.
He turned around to rejoin the planning session, only to find the entire room staring at him.
Malesh, Salesh, and Filoska had stopped talking to the priestess entirely. Because Kniya had been yelling in a quiet hospital room, they had heard almost his entire half of the conversation.
Salesh was sitting on a medical stool, violently biting his own fist to suppress a massive fit of laughter, his shoulders shaking uncontrollably.
Filoska had her face buried in her hands, completely exasperated by the total lack of professionalism.
Malesh stood near the foot of the bed, his hands neatly folded in front of him. His expression remained a perfect, unreadable deadpan, but his dark eyes were gleaming with cynical amusement.
"So," Malesh stated flatly, breaking the silence. "Is your corporate encryption network so severely compromised that we are now relying on telemarketers for tactical support? Or were you simply negotiating a bulk discount for your unbranded undergarments?"
"Shut the fuck up, Malesh!" Kniya yelled, pointing a furious finger at him as Salesh finally lost it and burst into hysterical laughter. "It was a spam call! The telecom providers in this country are absolute garbage!"
"It was a highly sophisticated sales pitch," Malesh noted logically, refusing to let it go. "They identified a gap in your personal wardrobe logistics and offered a warranty. You should have heard him out."