Season 3 chapter 39
The Geolocation of the Undergarment
Kniya stood by the hospital window, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the encrypted corporate phone. The telemarketer on the other end had somehow hijacked a secure line in the middle of a national crisis just to complain about the lack of corporate crotch support.
"Sir, listen to me," the salesman's voice suddenly shifted, dropping the aggressive pitch for just a fraction of a second. "I actually want you to do one thing for me. You need to come here."
Kniya's eye twitched. "I am not the fucking God that I would know where to come!"
From the hospital bed, the Yatsua priestess let out a loud, highly exasperated groan, covering her face with her hands at the sheer, unfiltered blasphemy.
Kniya glanced over his shoulder at her, waving his free hand dismissively. "Okay, okay, whatever. Sorry. But seriously, you absolute parasite," Kniya hissed back into the receiver. "I don't know about everything else in your twisted retail mind, so tell me where to come. Why the fuck do I have to come to you?"
"Sir, your injured employees are here, and they specifically want to meet with you," the agent replied, his tone weirdly calm. "For where to come, you have to travel to the Antovian desert in WDC."
Hearing the location through the receiver, Malesh, who was standing near the foot of the bed, let out a long, incredibly deep sigh of pure logistical despair.
"WDC?" Malesh muttered flatly, crossing his arms. "We are currently located in Central KDC. WDC is entirely on the other side of the regional grid. The fuel consumption to cross that distance immediately is highly inefficient."
Kniya ignored Malesh and focused his rage entirely on the phone.
"Why the fuck do I have to believe you?" Kniya demanded, his street-instincts flaring up. "My factories blew up in Sulwai! Sulwai! How in the absolute hell did my surviving employees wander out of a burning steel mill and casually stroll into the Antovian desert in WDC?!"
"Sir, I do not know about their personal travel arrangements," the salesman answered casually. "But you know, Sulwai is the northern state directly above WDC. So yeah, they probably just managed to walk south."
"Walk?!" Kniya shrieked, pacing furiously. "The capital of Sulwai is Antrious! That is hundreds of kilometers away from that desert! How did injured steel workers with third-degree burns hike across a continental border without dropping dead?!"
"Sir, I am just an insurance and underwear agent, not a geographer," the voice replied stubbornly. "If you don't want to believe me, then fine. Let your employees die here peacefully in the sand. Because I am absolutely not going to provide them with any more financial aid or medical bandages from now on. They are cutting into my inventory costs. I am simply asking you to take your employees back."
Kniya grit his teeth, his grip on the phone tight enough to crack the casing.
"And sir!" the salesman instantly bounced back to his infomercial tone. "If you do come to pick them up today, I can also show you some brand-new varieties I just got in stock! And I will personally authorize a thirty-five percent discount on all new undershirts and underwear! Just for you!"
"Oh, you fucking idiot!" Kniya roared at the ceiling. "Okay! Okay! Don't leave them in the middle of the desert! I am coming! Fuck! Fuck!"
Kniya violently slammed the end-call button and shoved the phone deep into his jacket pocket. He stood there, chest heaving, glaring out the hospital window.
The Intelligence Broker
The hospital room was dead silent.
Malesh adjusted his tailored cuffs, staring at Kniya with a look of pure, unadulterated skepticism.
"Okay, Kniya," Malesh stated, his voice a perfect, emotionless deadpan. "Are you actually going to believe this shit? A telemarketer holding our employees hostage in a wasteland? He is definitely lying flatly. It is a statistical absurdity."
Kniya spun around, pointing a sharp finger at his business partner. "Malesh, I need to visit that place. I am telling you right now, that guy was not a retail worker. He was definitely an intelligence agency agent because of the exact way he talked."
Salesh, who was leaning against the medical monitors in his ruined clothes, let out a loud, echoing laugh.
"Oh, absolutely," Salesh mocked, clapping his hands together. "A top-tier federal agency agent! Because that is exactly how the elite spies talk, right? 'Hello, sir, your industrial empire is burning to the ground, would you like a thirty-five percent discount on premium cotton briefs?' That is classic espionage!"
Filoska groaned, rubbing her temples as she leaned against the wall. "Yes, Kniya, it makes total sense. The Central Intelligence Network always secures its covert dead-drops by aggressively pushing a combo deal on undershirts. You just got scammed by a cold-caller."
"You guys are completely missing the subtext!" Kniya argued, stepping into the center of the room and waving his hands. "He knew about the conflict! He specifically mentioned that my assets were destroyed in this war! The media is only reporting it as an 'industrial accident' or 'terrorism.' But he knew it was a targeted conflict! He knew the internal details of the employee casualties!"
Kniya looked at Malesh, his eyes burning with chaotic, arrogant confidence.
"He was giving me slight indications," Kniya declared, pacing the floor. "He was wrapping the truth in absolute bullshit so the federal wiretaps wouldn't flag the call. He knows something about the factory bombings, and he wants to meet me off the grid. The Antovian desert is completely isolated. It's the perfect place for an intelligence handoff."
Malesh stared at him, logically weighing the probability of Kniya's insane theory.
"And what if it really is just an aggressive salesman who tracked your location to sell you fabric?" Malesh asked flatly.
"If we find nothing," Kniya smirked, pulling his coat tight and heading for the hospital room door, "then we will just explore the desert. A little sand never hurt anyone. There is nothing else we can do about this thing right now. We are flying to WDC."
The Quantum Desert
Malesh crossed his arms, his dark eyes analyzing Kniya with a look of pure, unadulterated skepticism.
"Okay, Kniya," Malesh stated flatly, his voice a perfect deadpan. "I have a simple question regarding your logistics. Do you think we are going to search the entire Antovian desert just to find this one man?"
Kniya froze. His arrogant smirk faltered for a split second. He slowly blinked.
"Ah. Fuck," Kniya muttered, aggressively rubbing his chin. "Yeah, I just forgot to ask him the exact coordinates of the location. That is a minor oversight."
"It is a catastrophic oversight," Malesh corrected coldly. "The Antovian desert spans thousands of square kilometers. He cannot be present in the entire desert at the exact same time. It is a fundamental idea of quantum theory, Kniya. Unless this salesman is existing in a state of quantum superposition, we are going to be driving blindly into the sand until we run out of gas."
"Okay, shut up! I'm calling him back!" Kniya yelled, hastily pulling his phone back out and hitting redial.
The line rang exactly once.
"Hello, sir! Welcome back!" the ridiculously cheerful voice blared through the speaker. "So, do you want to buy some new variants of our underwears? We just got a shipment of breathable mesh!"
"Okay, listen to me, you absolute idiot," Kniya growled, his voice dropping into a lethal register. "What is the main point? You didn't tell me the fucking coordinates! How am I supposed to find you in the entire desert?! Do you honestly think I would be looking after you by driving across every single dune like a lost tourist?!"
"Oh! My deepest apologies, sir!" the salesman cheerfully replied. "Please write this down. Sector 4, Grid 9-Alpha, right near the abandoned rusted water tower. I will be waiting with the premium fabric!"
"Just be there," Kniya snapped, immediately cutting the call. He looked at Malesh. "Grid 9-Alpha. We have a target."
The Departure Logistics
Filoska let out a long, exhausted sigh, stepping away from the hospital wall. She was already tapping rapidly on her heavy corporate communicator.
"Yeah, I have already contacted the regional terminal," Filoska reported, seamlessly slipping back into her role as Vice President. "I booked the flights to the city in WDC nearest to that desert. The planes are fueled and waiting on the tarmac. We will go on a flight within the hour."
"Excellent," Kniya nodded, adjusting his coat. He glanced over at the hospital bed. "Should we take the priestess with us?"
"No. It is not required," Malesh rejected instantly, his tone perfectly logical. "Taking a high-profile civilian into an unsecured desert rendezvous is a massive tactical liability. Furthermore, she can do her task without our help. She needs to remain here and mobilize her religious networks to burst the Royal Family's propaganda."
The priestess nodded firmly, clutching the edge of her blanket. "I will spread the truth. I won't let them march into a slaughterhouse."
"Good," Kniya smirked. "Let's move out."