Season 3 chapter 35
The Communist Orphan
Before Kniya could yell at the little girl, a boy near the front of the crowd stood up. He looked about twelve years old, covered in dust, but his eyes were burning with a fierce, defiant fire. He pointed a finger directly at Kniya.
"I know, Uncle," the boy declared loudly, his voice echoing in the quiet shelter. "You are a capitalist pig, and you exploit the people by selling goods to them at high prices and making profits out of their misery! You guys are really bad. You exploited various nations just for the sake of money! I know all about it!"
The entire shelter fell dead silent. Even the kids trading candy wrappers in the back stopped to stare.
Kniya's jaw tightened. He looked at the twelve-year-old communist, his street-instincts instantly clashing with his corporate ego.
"Kid, you are really, really smart," Kniya said, a dark, wicked grin spreading across his face. "And for this smartness, I am ordering Malesh to take this sack back."
Kniya leaned down, looking the boy dead in the eyes.
"Because I am the fucking rich who is feeding you off the money I got from the poor people," Kniya cackled, his laugh a harsh, villainous sound. "Hahaha! Let's see how your communist ideas taste when you're starving!"
Malesh immediately stepped between Kniya and the boy, looking at Kniya with pure disgust.
"Oh, you fucking rich bastard, you shouldn't do this to a little kid," Malesh snapped, shoving Kniya's shoulder back. "Don't act like a petty tyrant just because a child read a pamphlet. This kid is brilliant."
Malesh turned to look at the boy. His usual cold, pragmatic demeanor softened into a look of genuine, profound respect.
"I am proud of you, kid," Malesh said, his tone entirely sincere. "You really did this. You are so smart. Do you have any idea how rare it is to find someone your age who isn't a complete idiot? The other kids out there are totally illiterate. They only think about stupid fantasies, dragons, and magic. But you? You are living in the real world. You actually understand the brutal mechanics of the economy."
"Yeah, look at his brilliance!" Kniya yelled back, pointing at the boy. "He is pounding against us! He is battering against the exact people who are providing him supplies with his fucking communist ideas! It's highly ungrateful!"
"We cannot do anything about communist ideas, Kniya," Malesh argued smoothly, crossing his arms. "It is a natural ideological response to extreme poverty. But it is great that a kid like him exists in this world. He actually knows the difference between a capitalist society and a socialist society. That level of awareness is invaluable."
Malesh turned back to the boy, giving him a firm, no-nonsense look.
"However," Malesh advised, tapping his finger against his arm. "The betrayal thing is not smart right now. You should be aligned with us because we are providing you with the supplies, and in this specific environment, the supplier is God. The feeder is God. Do not bite the hand that drops the sugar."
Malesh looked back at Kniya, his eyes hardening into a strict glare.
"And Kniya, don't do this thing to these kids," Malesh ordered firmly. "They are little ones. They don't have so much intelligence yet that they can perfectly judge what is right or what is wrong. They are just repeating what they hear."
Malesh turned to the crowd of wide-eyed orphans.
"We are not taking the food away, kids," Malesh promised, his voice calm and steady. "It's really, really yours. We are not going to take this back. Don't worry."
Kniya let out a long, heavy sigh, completely deflating. The adrenaline of the warzone was wearing off, leaving him with nothing but sheer exhaustion and the headache of managing a hundred children.
"Okay, okay," Kniya grumbled, rubbing his face and waving his hand dismissively at the sack. "Yeah, we will provide you with the grocery. Just take your one piece of candy and stay quiet so we can figure out how to smuggle you out of this burning district."
The Orphanage Investment
The chaotic excitement inside the bamboo shelter slowly faded as the harsh, brutal reality of the military purge set back in.
In the corner of the dirt-floored room, a young boy—no older than eight—suddenly broke down. He dropped his candy into the dirt, burying his face in his hands, his small shoulders violently shaking.
"My parents died in this war," the boy sobbed, aggressively wiping his soot-stained tears with his torn sleeve. "I saw them. They literally died right in the street! I don't have anyone! What should I do?!"
The little girl, still sucking on her strawberry candy, immediately walked over to him. She awkwardly patted him on the back. "You shouldn't use the word 'literally' when it's obvious," she corrected him, though her voice was surprisingly soft. "But you shouldn't cry. Crying doesn't fix explosions."
Malesh stepped forward. He didn't use any complex terminology or robotic calculations. He simply knelt down in the dirt, ensuring he was at eye level with the weeping boy.
"Don't worry," Malesh said, his voice dropping into a rare, genuinely comforting tone. "We will definitely do something for you kids. We know that we cannot replace your parents. That is totally irreplaceable. But the best thing we can do for you is provide a future. We can build an orphanage for all of you. I think it is going to take a few million credits, but we are going to build that, definitely. So please, do not cry."
Kniya, who had been leaning against a bamboo pole, immediately scoffed and intervened.
"Only a few million credits, Malesh?" Kniya mocked, crossing his arms and looking down his nose. "Are you a fucking peasant? You are so poor. If you are going to build something, you should spend more. At least a billion credits. Don't cheap out on the trauma relief."
Malesh slowly closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose in pure exhaustion.
"Kniya, why do you always have to say that in between?" Malesh sighed, completely annoyed by the constant financial ego-battles. "Okay, okay, I understand. But not more than that. We are going to spend a billion credits developing the largest orphanage in the country. It will include top-tier education, private healthcare, and every single facility that you need."
Malesh stood up, turning to point at the exhausted, bruised billionaire sitting on a wooden crate. "And Salesh is also going to help me in this."
Salesh blinked, looking up in a daze. "Okay... yeah, yeah, I am going to help in this," he muttered, sounding completely exhausted and highly confused. Then his brain finally processed the amount. "Wait, what the fuck?! A billion credits?! I don't have that much liquid cash to just drop on a building! I just got beaten with hockey sticks!"
Salesh glared at Kniya. "And if you are so fucking eager to help, Kniya, you should do it first! You are sitting there dictating the budget, and you aren't spending a single penny on this!"
"I am providing the visionary leadership," Kniya grinned shamelessly. "That is priceless."
The kids in the shelter didn't care about the corporate bickering. Hearing that they were going to get a massive, billion-credit home, the entire crowd erupted into cheers.
"Yay! Finally!" the children screamed, jumping up and down.
Malesh looked back down at the crying boy. He reached out and, surprisingly, pulled the kid into a firm, reassuring hug.
"Don't worry," Malesh told the boy quietly over the cheering. "We are going to hire caretakers for you. We will find people who are going to treat you exactly like their own kids. You are secure now."
The Vice President's Burden
With the crisis somewhat stabilized, Malesh stood back up and dusted off his tailored trousers. He looked around the crowded bamboo shelter, suddenly noticing that one specific member of their executive team had been completely silent during the entire transaction.
"Okay, so yeah, guys, I think our duty is over here, and we should leave this place," Malesh stated, adjusting his tie. He turned his head. "Filoska, you are not stating anything in between. You have been completely quiet."
From the far, dimly lit corner of the shelter, Filoska Vinten let out a loud, borderline-homicidal groan.
"What do you expect me to say?!" Filoska yelled, her voice cracking with pure, unfiltered exasperation.
Kniya and Malesh walked over to the corner. Filoska was sitting on a crushed wooden crate, her expensive designer coat completely ruined. She was literally surrounded by four soot-covered toddlers, furiously trying to spoon-feed them some kind of mashed ration paste from a tin can.
"You guys are literally busy talking and arguing about billionaire budgets while I am literally feeding them!" Filoska snapped, wiping a smear of food off her cheek. "Some of these kids are really, really small! They cannot eat by themselves! They need our actual, physical help! So yeah, what exactly can we do other than feed them?!"
"Actually," Kniya interrupted, checking his gold watch, "we have to go. Because we have to continue with the plan."
"Yes," Malesh agreed, his face returning to its deadpan baseline. "The first phase of our plan is complete. We secured the civilians. Now we have to go on with the second phase. And now we have to leave this place."
Filoska stopped feeding the toddlers, staring up at her bosses in absolute horror. "You are leaving me here?!"
"So yeah, Salesh and Filoska, you two are going to manage this," Malesh ordered smoothly, already walking toward the bamboo exit. "I am sending a few more corporate employees down here so that they can help you with the toddlers. Good luck."