Season 1 chapter 17
The "Isekai" Moral Standard
Malesh stood in front of the glass cells, staring at the price tags. His hand hovered over the lock of Cell 402.
"We move on," Kniya whispered, checking his watch. "We don't have time to play hero for fifty people. We grab the VIP and go."
Malesh didn't move. His grip tightened on his rifle until his knuckles turned white.
"No," Malesh growled, a dark look crossing his face. "Open them. All of them."
Kniya looked at him like he had lost his mind. "What? Malesh, this is a stealth op. If we release fifty civilians, it's going to be a stampede. We are professionals, not saints."
"I am not a saint," Malesh snapped, turning to face Kniya with genuine anger. "But I am also not a fucking Isekai protagonist."
Kniya blinked. "What?"
"You heard me," Malesh hissed, gesturing violently at the terrified women. "I hate those stories you read. The 'hero' gets summoned to another world, sees slavery, and what does he do? Does he burn the system down? No. He buys one slave. Usually a girl with cat ears who proves 'useful' to him. And he leaves the rest to rot in their cages while he plays house."
Malesh spat on the floor. "It's disgusting. It's the height of hypocrisy. We are Democrats, Kniya. We believe in radicalization. We believe in tearing down the hierarchy. If we leave these people here while we cash our check, we are no better than those trash harem heroes you idolize."
Kniya rolled his eyes, but a small smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Hey, I read those for the world-building, okay? But fine. You want to be the 'Radical Democrat'? Let's crash the market."
The Look of Freedom
They moved fast. Malesh used the butt of his R52 to smash the electronic locks, sparking the mechanisms until they failed open. Kniya used a crowbar from his kit to pry open the heavy doors.
CLANG. CLANG. CLANG.
Cell after cell threw open. The women huddled inside didn't move at first. They were too conditioned to fear.
"Get out!" Malesh barked, his voice harsh but urgent. "Run for the ventilation shaft in the south wall. Go!"
One by one, they stepped out. And then, it happened.
A young woman from Cell 405 paused in front of Malesh. She didn't say thank you. She just looked at him. The terror in her eyes was gone, replaced by something raw and luminous—the sudden, violent return of humanity. It was the look of a soul that had been sold being returned to its owner.
Malesh felt a strange tightness in his chest. It wasn't greed. It wasn't adrenaline. It was the heavy, uncomfortable weight of doing something good.
He hated it.
"Don't look at me," Malesh muttered, brushing past her and shoving a map into her hands. "We are Democrats. We are just disrupting the local economy. Move!"
He turned away, refusing to acknowledge the feeling, but the image of those eyes burned into his brain. He wasn't just a thief anymore. He was a liberator.
The Guard and the Noise
They had cleared half the block when their luck ran out.
They turned a corner near the stairwell, leading the group of hostages, and ran face-first into a SUM heavy trooper holding a coffee mug and a sub-machine gun.
For a second, everyone froze. The trooper looked at the open cells. He looked at the women. He looked at the two armed teenagers.
"Fu—"
BANG.
Malesh didn't hesitate. He fired the R52 from the hip. The heavy caliber round caught the guard in the chest, throwing him backward into a stack of metal barrels.
CRASH-CLANG-BOOM.
The noise was deafening in the concrete hallway. The barrels toppled over, creating a cacophony that echoed through the entire facility.
Then, the siren started. A low, mechanical wail that screamed: INTRUDER ALERT.
"Well," Kniya sighed, pulling the bolt back on his rifle. "So much for the ghost approach."
The Split (Chaos Protocol)
The facility woke up instantly. Heavy boots thundered on the metal walkways above. Shouts echoed from the stairwells.
"They're blocking the exits!" Kniya shouted over the siren.
Malesh grabbed Kniya by the vest. "Change of plans! I'll hold the corridor. I'll draw their fire and clear a path for the hostages to the vents."
"And me?" Kniya yelled back.
"You find the girl!" Malesh ordered, shoving him toward the deeper levels of the base. "The Dean's daughter isn't in these cells. She's in the High-Value Wing. Go find her while I keep these bastards busy!"
"Don't die, you anti-Isekai trash!" Kniya shouted, turning and sprinting into the darkness of the lower levels.
Malesh turned back to the corridor. A squad of six terrorists appeared at the far end, weapons raised.
Malesh grinned. It wasn't a nice smile. It was the smile of a man who finally had an excuse to unleash the R52 Max-Miles.
"Alright, you slavers," Malesh muttered, raising the rifle scope to his eye. "Let's discuss your business model."
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
The R52 roared like a cannon, and the hallway turned into a slaughterhouse.
The Ruined Entrance
Kniya sprinted down the final stretch of the corridor. He could hear the muffled explosions behind him where Malesh was holding the line, but he pushed it out of his mind. This was his moment.
He reached the heavy steel door marked "VIP DETENTION - LEVEL 1."
He checked his hair in the reflection of the metal door. Perfect. He gripped his R52, prepared his "Hero Face," and rehearsed the line in his head: " fear not, for your freedom has arrived."
With a surge of adrenaline, Kniya kicked the door.
BAM.
The lock shattered. The door swung open violently, banging against the concrete wall. Kniya leaped into the room, weapon raised, chest puffed out, dramatic lighting hitting his silhouette.
"Fear not!" Kniya shouted, his voice echoing with authority. "I am here to—"
"Pass me the wire cutters," a bored voice said from inside the room.
Kniya froze. His hero pose faltered.
Malesh was already there.
He was standing next to a chair where a young woman—the Dean's daughter—was tied up. Malesh looked dusty, covered in pulverized concrete, and completely unimpressed by Kniya's entrance.
"Malesh?" Kniya lowered his gun, his face twitching. "How... how the hell are you here? I left you at the intersection to hold the line!"
"I got bored," Malesh muttered, snipping the zip-ties on the girl's wrists. "Also, I ran out of ammo for the suppression fire. So, I detonated a C4 charge on the ceiling support beam. The entire North Corridor has collapsed. The guards are stuck on the other side of a twenty-ton pile of rubble."
Kniya stared at him. "You blew up the hallway? That was my entrance route! You stole my moment, you absolute killjoy!"
"I bought us twenty minutes," Malesh corrected, helping the girl stand up. "Stop posing and check the perimeter."
The Language Barrier of Stupidity
The Dean's daughter, Alina, stood up shakily. She was bruised, terrified, and staring at these two bickering teenagers with wide, confused eyes. She opened her mouth to speak, but only a dry rasp came out.
Malesh looked at her, tilting his head.
"Do you..." Malesh paused, making slow hand gestures. "Do... you... understand... DI'an? Do you... speak... our... language?"
There was a silence in the room. A long, painful silence.
Kniya slowly turned his head to Malesh. He looked at the girl. Then he looked back at Malesh.
"Are you a fucking idiot?" Kniya asked, his voice calm but laced with venom.
Malesh blinked. "What? Standard protocol. Confirm communication."
"She is the Dean's Daughter!" Kniya shouted, throwing his hands in the air. "She is from Seistain! She grew up ten miles from where we live! What do you think she speaks? Ancient Elvish? Martian? She probably has a better vocabulary than you!"
Malesh looked at the girl again. "Oh. Right. That makes sense."
"Yeah, it makes sense!" Kniya groaned, rubbing his temples. "God, you are a genius at engineering and a potato at everything else."
Alina finally spoke, her voice trembling. "I... I understand you. Are you... here to kill me?"
"No," Malesh said flatly. "We are the best heroes in the world. We saved every hostage. Yay."
He said "Yay" with the same enthusiasm as someone reading a grocery list.
The Tactical Nightmare
Kniya ignored the sarcasm and looked out into the hallway. The fifty women from the upper levels were crowding into the secure wing, looking at them for instructions.
"We aren't heroes," Kniya muttered, doing a headcount. "We just acted realistically. A realistic soldier saves the civilians. It's basic logic."
"Correction," Malesh said, dusting off his vest. "A realistic soldier completes the mission. We have complicated the mission by five thousand percent."
Kniya looked at the blocked corridor (rubble), then at the fifty-one civilians, then at the only exit which was currently swarming with angry terrorists trying to dig through Malesh's wall.
"Fucking shit of a hell," Kniya cursed, kicking a metal bucket across the room. "Why is this so hard? We have fifty non-combatants, zero exit routes, and an army on the other side of that rubble."
"We need a plan," Malesh said, pulling out Mantouse's map again. "We need to blow this entire bunker to hell to cover our tracks, but we need a way out that doesn't turn these people into collateral damage."
"Think, Malesh," Kniya snapped. "You like explosions. How do we blow up the base after we leave, not while we are inside it?"
Malesh stared at the map. His eyes drifted to the symbols marking the Geothermal Vents that powered the base.
"The ventilation system," Malesh whispered, a dangerous grin forming on his face. "The same vents we crawled in through. They connect to the main turbine pressure valves. If I rig the pressure to overload..."
"It becomes a steam bomb," Kniya finished, understanding immediately. "A really big one."
"Exactly," Malesh nodded. "But we can't go back out the way we came. It's too high for the civilians to climb."
He pointed to a jagged blue line on the map labeled 'Waste Disposal Output.'
"We go out through the garbage chute," Malesh said grimly. "It empties into the river below the waterfall. It's gross, it's dangerous, and it smells like death."
"Perfect," Kniya racked the slide of his rifle. "Ladies! Listen up! If you want to live, you follow us to the garbage chute. Single file. No screaming. Let's move!"