Season 3 chapter 77
The Capitalist Pig
Salesh and Filoska, completely done with the rural chaos,
marched straight to their parked corporate sedan and drove back toward the
capital. Kniya and Malesh climbed back onto the heavy iron cruiser motorcycle,
with Malesh revving the engine and tearing back down the private asphalt road
toward Seistain.
As they drove into the grimy, heavily polluted industrial
outskirts of the city, Malesh slowed the bike down near an old, rusted
manufacturing factory.
Loud, aggressive shouting echoed from the loading docks.
Kniya and Malesh pulled over, watching the scene unfold. A
highly capitalistic factory owner, dripping with thick, obnoxious gold chains,
an unbuttoned silk shirt, and an incredibly punchable face, was aggressively
beating a soot-covered worker with a heavy leather belt.
WHACK! "Hey, you fucking idiot!" the owner
roared, his face red with greed as he struck the worker again. "I am
talking to you! Why the fuck are you not listening to me?! Get back to the
machines!"
The worker stumbled back, raising his arms to block the
leather strap. "Sir, I won't work! I am absolutely done!"
"Why are you not working?!" the owner shrieked,
swinging the belt. "I paid you the basic wages! It is your task to finish
the quota!"
"You are asking me to do five hours of overtime on
basic pay!" the worker yelled back, his voice raw with defiance.
"First provide me the extra pay for the overtime, and then I am going to
touch those machines! Not a second before!"
WHACK! "How do you dare to speak against me, you
absolute piece of shit?!" the capitalist owner spat ruthlessly, raising
the belt higher. "You fucking idiot! You are on my property! You do what I
say!"
"I am not going to work!" the worker roared,
taking a step forward despite the beating. "I don't give a fuck how much
you beat me! I am not going to touch that line! Either you have to pay the
extra wages, or fuck you, you greedy idiot! Fuck you!"
"You have to do the work! It is really, really
important for the margins!" the owner screamed, his voice cracking with
unhinged entitlement. "And for the overtime pay, I am entirely unable to
pay it! The country is in a massive turmoil! We literally just returned from a
fucking civil war! The economy is bleeding! That is why I cannot pay you extra!
So shut your mouth and work!"
"You fucking capitalist pig!" the worker shrieked
at the top of his lungs, completely dropping all respect. "You greedy
motherfucker! Look at the three pounds of solid gold hanging around your fat
fucking neck, and you are crying to me about the economy bleeding?! You
absolute piece of shit!"
"Do not insult my jewelry, you filthy peasant!"
the owner roared, violently cracking the belt against the concrete. "I am
providing you survival! Get on the floor and thank me!"
"Do you think I am going to do extra manual labor for
free while you beat us like dogs?!" the worker spat, his eyes blazing with
absolute hatred. "What the fuck do you think we are, huh?! Are we just
insects crawling around in front of you that you can crush whenever you want,
you arrogant motherfucker?! Shove your factory up your ass!"
The owner let out a shrieking curse, wildly raising the belt
to deliver another vicious strike, completely ignoring the massive black
motorcycle idling just a few yards away.
The Stone Justice
The heavy leather belt cracked through the air, aimed squarely at the exhausted worker's face.
But before the leather could strike flesh, a sharp, incredibly fast THWIP! cut through the grimy factory courtyard.
CRACK!
A heavy, perfectly spherical stone the size of a golf ball slammed directly into the factory owner's right shoulder with bone-bruising kinetic force.
"AGGHHH!" the owner shrieked at the top of his lungs, violently spinning around and collapsing face-first onto the dirty concrete. He clutched his shoulder, dropping his belt as he writhed in absolute agony.
"Who did this to me?!" the owner squealed, spitting out factory dust. "What the hell is happening?! Show yourself! I will fucking kill you!"
Stepping slowly out from the shadows of the rusted loading dock, Kniya blew a stray wisp of dust off the barrel of a highly primitive, custom-machined stone-firing pistol. Malesh walked right behind him, casually kicking the dropped leather belt out of the way.
"You know, you really shouldn't do that with your workers," Kniya lectured smoothly, twirling the heavy stone pistol around his finger. "You are literally forcing them into massive overtime and refusing to pay the extra wages. I think you have taken the term of capitalism to an entirely unhinged, degenerate level."
The owner looked up, his face twisted in pain and fury. "Who the fuck are you?!"
"We are also hardcore capitalists," Kniya stated coldly, stepping closer. "But we are absolutely not like you. If the country is currently bleeding in a civil turmoil, you don't use that as a cheap excuse to beat your staff with a belt while wearing three pounds of solid gold around your neck. You aren't in a financial turmoil, you are just a greedy piece of shit."
Kniya aggressively racked the heavy spring mechanism on his stone pistol. He aimed down at the owner and pulled the trigger twice in rapid succession.
THWIP! CRACK! THWIP! CRACK!
Two heavy stones launched at high velocity, slamming brutally into both of the owner's kneecaps.
"ARGHHH! MY LEGS! MY FUCKING LEGS!" the owner screamed, curling into a pathetic, sobbing ball on the concrete.
"Oh, shut the fuck up," Kniya scoffed, rolling his eyes in pure disgust. "It was just a stone pistol, you bloated, gold-plated sewer rat. Stop crying like a literal infant. You didn't seem to mind the pain when you were using the leather."
The Mechanical Critique
Behind them, the heavy tires of the corporate steam-sedan crunched over the gravel. Filoska and Salesh had finally caught up. They stepped out of the car and quickly walked over to the scene.
While Kniya and Malesh stood over the sobbing factory owner, Filoska immediately approached the bleeding, soot-covered worker. She pulled a clean white towel and a small bottle of military-grade antiseptic from her tailored coat pocket.
"Here," Filoska offered gently, handing the supplies to the worker. "Press this against the cuts on your face to stop the bleeding. Are you alright?"
The worker took the towel, wiping the blood from his cheek with a completely desensitized, hardened expression. "I'm fine. Thank you, ma'am."
He slowly turned his head, his sharp eyes locking onto the primitive weapon Kniya was still holding. He squinted through the factory dust, his face dropping into a look of pure, unfiltered engineering judgment.
"I think your pistol is absolutely garbage," the worker stated bluntly, entirely ignoring the fact that Kniya had just saved him. "It is honestly the worst design I have ever seen in my entire life. The spring tension is completely uneven, and the barrel alignment is totally fucked. I don't think it could perform much better than a glorified slingshot."
The Golden Threat
Kniya's jaw literally dropped. He looked at the stone pistol, then looked at the worker in sheer, unadulterated outrage.
"What the fuck did you just say?!" Kniya shrieked, deeply offended. "I literally just shot your boss in the knees to save you, and you are critiquing my mechanical design?!"
Before Kniya could start aggressively defending his craftsmanship, Malesh smoothly stepped forward. His deadpan mask was lethal. With lightning speed, Malesh drew Kniya's custom solid gold pistol, ANYTHING, and pressed the cold barrel directly against the center of the worker's forehead.
"I don't think you should speak about this shit, you ungrateful sucker," Malesh threatened flatly, his dark eyes entirely devoid of mercy. "Don't talk shit to us, or otherwise I will permanently open your head with this fucking gun right now."
The factory courtyard went dead silent. Salesh and Filoska froze, waiting for the worker to start begging for his life.
But the worker didn't even blink. He didn't raise his hands. He just stared point-blank down the barrel of the solid gold pistol with absolute, uncompromising chill.
"I need to tell you guys one basic fact," the worker replied smoothly, completely unfazed by the threat of immediate death. "I don't fear guns. If I was terrified of guns and pain, I absolutely would not have been able to withstand that heavy leather belt treatment for twenty minutes straight without breaking. You can pull the trigger if you want. But your friend's stone pistol is still a piece of shit."
The Masterpiece
Malesh's finger tightened slightly on the trigger. "You have a lot of nerve for a guy bleeding in the dirt."
The worker slowly wiped his bloody lip with the back of his hand.
"Let me show you what a perfect design actually looks like," the worker said calmly.
Malesh kept the gun raised, but the worker just casually turned his back on them and walked behind a massive, rusted iron generator near the edge of the loading dock.
A few seconds later, he stepped back out into the light.
Kniya, Malesh, Salesh, and Filoska all froze in their tracks.
The worker was holding a massive, flawlessly engineered, heavy-duty Stone Assault Rifle. It was a masterpiece of underground mechanics, fitted with heavy pressurized steam-cylinders, a high-capacity rotating stone magazine, and a perfectly aligned rifled barrel designed to shred targets at long range. It made Kniya's stone pistol look like a literal child's toy.
"What the actual fuck..." Salesh breathed out, his eyes wide with pure, unfiltered amazement as he stared at the heavy machinery. "How did you even manage to build this? This looks so fucking great!"
Kniya and Malesh slowly lowered their weapons, completely hypnotized by the sheer industrial beauty of the rifle.
"Okay, I don't believe this," Kniya muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. "It looks way better than our gear. But looks don't mean shit in the field. We need a reality check. You need to show us this thing firing right now."
"Yeah," Malesh agreed deadpan, crossing his arms. "Prove the ballistic capacity."
The worker casually racked the heavy charging handle on the side of the assault rifle. A satisfying, deeply mechanical CLACK-HISS echoed across the courtyard as a stone chambered perfectly. He brought the heavy stock up to his bruised shoulder, his eyes gleaming with absolute, hardened confidence.
"So," the worker smirked coldly, looking directly at the two corporate warlords. "Tell me exactly where to shoot. I am going to show this to you right now. It is a much better thing than yours."