Civilization's Warning and the Beast's Fangs (Part Two)

"Thank you, Mr. Howard." K nodded. Howard bowed slightly, picked up his laptop, and calmly left the conference room, as if he had just dropped not bombs, but merely a dry data report.

The projector went off, and the screen returned to white. The conference room brightened up a bit, but the atmosphere was even more oppressive and tense than before. Everyone looked grim, especially the shareholders and executives who had been subtly mentioned in the report; their faces were ashen, and they were sweating profusely.

K leaned slightly forward, his hands clasped together on the table, his gaze calmly sweeping over every face in the room. His voice remained steady, devoid of any emotion. "You've all heard the audit team's initial findings. The data is clear, the logic is sound. Regarding the anomalies, huge losses, and potential illegal or irregular activities mentioned in the report..."

He paused deliberately, allowing the heavy pressure to fully permeate the air.

"... Anyone here, as shareholders or senior management of the company, do you have anything to explain, clarify, or add?"

Dead silence.

A few seconds of suffocating silence. Some people looked down at the table, some stared at their trembling hands, and some had unfocused eyes.

"Bang!"

With a muffled thud, Calvin Roth slammed his hand on the heavy mahogany table, his obese face flushed red with agitation and shame. He had finally recovered from his initial shock and fear, overwhelmed by the rage of having his cloak exposed in public.

"Absurd! This is utter slander! Taken out of context!" he roared hoarsely, pointing at the blank projection screen as if Howard were still standing there, "Purchase prices are affected by countless factors such as market fluctuations, long-term agreements, transportation costs, and payment terms!"

Comparing prices to a simple market average is an extremely unprofessional approach! Those suppliers have been working with us for over a decade; their quality, stability, and emergency response capabilities are unmatched by those in the spot market. This extra cost is a necessary expense to ensure supply chain security!

He was breathing heavily, trying to cover up his guilt with his loud voice.

Frank Miller seemed to be jolted awake by the slap and hurriedly followed up, his voice filled with grievance and indignation. "Those projects went over budget because the technology was iterating too quickly, and we encountered unforeseen geological problems during on-site construction! The changeover procedures were all carried out in accordance with company regulations!"

As for... as for certain expenses, Mr. K, you may not be familiar with the realities of our industry! Some client relationships and information channels need to be maintained in specific situations and in specific ways! These things simply cannot be written in a report! But they are related to the company's core competitiveness and long-term orders!

Sarah Jenkins chimed in sharply, her words rapid-fire. "Marketing fees and consulting fees even more so! Don't they need to grease the palms of those Wall Street vultures, those industry analysts, those key political connections?"

Without maintaining these relationships, could NLG have obtained so many policy benefits and industry information? These are hidden costs, the unspoken rules of the business world! Your auditing methods are disrupting the business ecosystem; you're cutting off your own limbs!

John Pittman stammered in agreement, "Yes... yes, some shareholders... some related-party transactions may have some procedural flaws, but the initial intention was all for the company's business development, for... for resource integration! It can't be categorized as a transfer of benefits!"

"Right! The audit team has only been here for a few days? What do they know?"

"This is using rigid numbers to negate living business practices!"

"The new management's approach will demoralize the company and lead to customer loss!"

"We must consider the company's stability and continuity!"

Several people started talking at once, their voices growing louder and their emotions more agitated. They stopped trying to defend the specific data and instead attacked the auditors as "outsiders" and "rigid," emphasizing the industry's "special characteristics" and "unspoken rules," accusing K and the new management of "not understanding business" and "disrupting stability." They reinforced each other's points, turning what should have been a serious inquiry meeting into a chaotic, argumentative squabble in a marketplace. The meeting room was filled with waving arms, flushed faces, raised voices, and a cacophony that tried to cover up the truth with chaos.

K sat quietly in the main seat, leaning back slightly, observing everything with a cold eye. His face remained expressionless, showing neither anger nor impatience, only a bottomless calm, as if he were observing a group of poorly performing clowns. He didn't even say anything to stop it, simply letting the farce continue for about two or three minutes.

Until Calvin Roth, overwhelmed with emotion, slammed his fist on the table again, stood up, pointed at K, spitting almost across the table, his voice cracking from the roar:

"... You're trying to ruin NLG! Let me tell you, without our support, without the understanding and cooperation of us long-time shareholders and employees, you, as CEO, can't accomplish anything!"

NLG is not something you outsiders can understand in a few pages! What we need is stability and continuity, not this kind of brutal purge and destruction! I suggest that Special Executive Committee be established immediately, and until a truly knowledgeable CEO who respects business rules is found, the committee should handle..."

He didn't finish his sentence.

Because K moved.

The moment Calvin Roth stood up, gesturing wildly, and the others clamored in agreement, the chaos in the meeting room reached its peak—

K's right hand, with a steady, almost slow motion, lifted the hem of his crisp navy blue suit jacket.

The movement was natural, as if he had just wanted to relax after sitting for a long time. However, the next second, he smoothly and steadily drew a black pistol with a cold, hard, matte finish from his lower back.

Glock 19. Compact, deadly.

All sounds and movements in the conference room seemed to freeze completely in that instant, as if a pause button had been pressed.

Calvin Roth's mouth was agape, his finger still pointing into the air, his anger and excitement instantly freezing, turning into utter astonishment and bewilderment. Frank Miller's half-open mouth remained unclosed.

Sarah Jenkins's hand, which was about to swing, froze halfway. John Pittman shuddered in fright. Everyone stared wide-eyed at the metal object in K's hand, a symbol of absolute violence that seemed out of place in the conference room.

Their minds couldn't even process the surreal scene.

Then they saw K grip the pistol with one hand, his thumb off the safety, and with the slide in his other hand, he pulled it back sharply!

"Snap!"

A crisp, cold click, imbued with a mechanical beauty and an aura of death, exploded in the deathly silent conference room! The sound wasn't loud, but it was more devastating than all the previous roars combined!

The bullet is loaded into the chamber, completing the final preparations before firing.

Immediately afterwards, K didn't even aim deliberately; he simply raised the muzzle of his gun casually, yet with an undeniable resolve, and pointed it diagonally at the corner of the beautifully decorated plaster ceiling in the conference room.

Bang--!!!!

A deafening gunshot erupted! The enormous sound echoed and amplified wildly in the enclosed conference room, assaulting everyone's eardrums and hearts! Hot gunpowder gases spewed from the muzzle, and the acrid smell of gunpowder instantly filled the air!

On the ceiling, the plaster decorative molding that was hit shattered with a crack, exploding into a hole the size of a bowl. White plaster fragments and dust fell "rustling" down, scattering onto the clean tabletop and onto the stiff shoulders of the people nearby.

Dead silence.

A deathly silence even more profound and suffocating than before.

All sound disappeared. Only the buzzing in my ears, the thunderous roar of my heart pounding so hard it felt like it was about to explode, and the nauseating smell of gunpowder permeating the air.

Everyone was completely stunned by the sudden and undisguised violence. Calvin Roth's obese body swayed, his face turned ashen, his legs gave way, and he slumped back into his chair with a thud, the chair groaning under its weight. Frank Miller covered his ears with both hands, his eyes wide with terror, and a dark stain quickly spread across his crotch.

Sarah Jenkins let out a short, sharp scream, then abruptly covered her mouth with her hand, trembling violently. John Pittman slid straight under the table. The others fared no better; some were frozen like puppets, others trembled, their faces etched with the most primal fear of death.

K slowly lowered his gun-wielding arm. A wisp of smoke seemed to still linger around the muzzle. His gaze, like the cold wind sweeping across the Siberia ice plains, slowly and methodically swept over each of the pale, terrified faces present.

His voice rang out. It wasn't loud, even calmer than before the shooting, but in the deathly silence, filled with the smoke and fear, every word was like an icicle, piercing deep into everyone's soul.

"Ladies and gentlemen," K's voice carried a strange, chilling politeness, "Please be quiet. Listen to me."

He paused, making sure everyone heard him clearly, and also making sure they were tired of hearing it.

"I know you have plenty of 'business needs'." He glanced at Calvin Roth.

"There are all sorts of 'difficulties'." His gaze swept over Frank Miller's soaked crotch.

"And there are all sorts of... self-righteous 'rules'." The image finally settled on Sarah Jenkins' pale face.

His tone remained calm, but the chill within it was enough to freeze one's blood.

"But you need to understand one thing." K tilted his head slightly, as if stating a perfectly simple fact, "You are gentlemen in suits and ties, playing with numbers and words. Your world is reports, board votes, gaps in legal texts, and arguments and compromises in the conference room."

He leaned forward slightly, and something was finally clearly reflected in his unfathomable eyes—not anger, not madness, but a pure, predatory coldness and hunger.

"And we—" His voice was low, like the scraping of glaciers, "Are ravenous wolves. Wolves that crawled out of mountains of corpses and seas of blood, their teeth and claws still stained with bits of flesh and blood."

"Wolves are meant to eat meat." He repeated, this time with even greater certainty, carrying an undeniable possessiveness. "We bought this company to eat the meat. To eat every single piece, every single cent of the meat it's supposed to produce."

His gaze swept over the crowd again, and he saw the utterly devastated fear in their eyes.

"If, because of these Rat holes you dug," he pointed towards the projector, even though the screen was dark, "Because of your ridiculous 'rules' and 'difficulties,' we can't get meat, or the meat we do get tastes bad, it rots..."

K's voice was even lower, almost Whisper, yet more terrifying than thunder:

"Then we'll just have to eat a different kind of meat."

He paused for a second, allowing the terrifying premonition to fully take shape in everyone's minds.

Then, he declared, word by word, with absolute clarity:

"We will drag you, and your whole family," his gaze, like a cold iron hook, across Calvin Roth, across Frank Miller, across Sarah Jenkins, across everyone, "One by one, from the villas where you hide your mistresses, from the gates of the private schools your children attend, from the pews in the church where you pray..."

"Then, it was hung on Seattle's tallest and most conspicuous lamppost."

He said the last four words almost with a smile, in the calmest tone:

"Wind, dry, show, public."

The words had barely left his mouth.

"Clatter."

A soft sound.

K loosened his grip, and the Glock 19 pistol, still warm from its recent firing, slipped from his hand and fell to the center of the gleaming mahogany conference table.

The pistol slid a short distance across the smooth tabletop, the metal scraping against the wood with a slight "creak," before finally stopping right in front of Calvin Roth, who was slumped in his chair, utterly terrified.

The black gun barrel reflected a cold, deathly luster in the sunlight streaming in from the window.

K stopped looking at the gun, and at anyone in the conference room who seemed to have had their souls ripped out, leaving only empty shells of fear. He acted as if he had simply tossed aside a used, insignificant tool.

He calmly stood up, raised his hand, and carefully straightened the slightly disheveled cuffs and lapel of his suit, smoothing out every wrinkle. His movements were slow and deliberate, with an almost ritualistic elegance, forming a cruel and ironic contrast to the violence he had just displayed.

Then he turned and strode toward the conference room door. His steps were as steady as when he came in, the dull thud of his heels hitting the carpet echoing rhythmically in the deathly silent conference room, like the tolling of a death knell.

Just as he pulled the doorknob and was about to leave, he slightly turned his head, not looking at anyone, but simply uttering his last words to the air. His tone had returned to its usual businesslike manner, even carrying a very faint, insincere smile:

"I need to see a detailed written explanation of the issues listed in the audit report, along with the related fund recovery plan, and proof of received payments within a week."

Have a nice day, everyone.

Meeting adjourned.

The door closed gently behind him, separating the two worlds.

A deathly silence lasted for a full minute in the conference room.

Then, with a loud "Wah--", someone broke down and cried uncontrollably, followed by gagging, chattering teeth, and the creaking of the chair as it shook violently.

Calvin Roth stared blankly at the pistol on the table in front of him, at his own pale, distorted face reflected in the gun barrel, then suddenly let out a whimper that sounded inhuman, clutched his head with both hands, curled up into a ball, and began to tremble violently.

The smell of gunpowder still lingers.

The sun was still shining brightly.

The old rules of the past, along with the arrogance, hypocrisy, and wishful thinking that some people relied on for survival, were utterly shattered at this moment by the bullet that pierced the ceiling and that chilling warning.

New rules have been introduced.

In the most primitive, violent, and unquestionable way.