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The tension in the Mephistopheles meeting room was thick enough to cut with a generic-brand E.G.O. weapon.
Outis was firing on all cylinders. Her posture was rigid, her hands gripped the edge of the table so tightly her knuckles were white, and her voice had reached that dangerous, quiet hiss that usually preceded someone losing a limb.
Opposite her stood Heathcliff, looking equally ready to throw down.
"You insolent, short-sighted cretin!" Outis snarled, leaning over the table. "Your complete lack of discipline isn't just an insult to the Manager; it’s a direct threat to the efficiency of this entire operation! If you compromise Executive Manager Dante’s safety with your reckless idiocy one more time, I will personally ensure your next resurrection is a miserable experience."
"Oh, bite me, you kiss-ass hag!" Heathcliff barked back, slamming his fist on the table. "You're just looking for an excuse to wave that damn sword around! Come on then, try it!"
Outis’ eyes narrowed into slits. Her hand dropped to the hilt of her sword. "With pleasure. I shall carve some respect into your-"
The loud, frantic ticking of a clock filled the room. Dante was standing at the head of the table, their clock-head spinning with pure anxiety. They could already see the paperwork, the blood, the agonizing headaches of resetting the clock for two Sinners instead of one.
Outis didn't even blink. "Manager, please step back. I am merely executing proper disciplinary measures for the good of-"
"Come on, then! Do it!" Heathcliff taunted.
Outis drew her blade a fraction of an inch, the steel catching the harsh fluorescent lights.
Dante didn't have time for this. They didn't have the patience for this.
Before Outis could take a step forward, Dante lunged. They wrapped their arms firmly around Outis’ waist from behind.
"M-Manager?!" Outis gasped, her rigid composure instantly shattering into utter confusion as she felt herself being hoisted right off her feet.
Dante buzzed, their internal gears grinding with sheer determination.
Despite being a seasoned, lethal military veteran, Outis was caught completely off guard. Dante, who usually stood back and let the Sinners do the heavy lifting, was currently using every ounce of managerial strength to haul her backward out of the room. Her boots scraped uselessly against the linoleum floor.
"Manager! Put me down! I can walk on my own!" Outis protested, her face flushing a deep, furious crimson. She kept her arms raised, trying not to accidentally strike Dante with her weapon, which made her look like a mildly angry, dangling cat. "I was merely defending your honor! Let me back in there, I'll teach that whelp-"
Dante ticked loudly, dragging her through the sliding doors of the meeting room and into the relatively quiet hallway of the bus.
"Oi! Get back here! We weren't done!" Heathcliff yelled from inside.
Meursault calmly stepped into the doorway, blocking Heathcliff's view. "The Manager has ordered a ceasefire. Sit down."
Out in the hallway, Dante finally set Outis back on her feet, letting out a long, exhausted hiss of steam from their clock-face. They leaned against the wall, their shoulders slumping.
Outis immediately spun around, frantically adjusting her uniform and checking her coat for wrinkles. She looked anywhere but at Dante’s glowing clock-face, her cheeks still burning with a mixture of embarrassment and adrenaline.
"Manager...that was...highly unnecessary," Outis muttered, her usual booming authority reduced to a stiff, defensive murmur. "I had the situation entirely under control. I am more than capable of handling that brute."
Dante replied, the text flashing gently in her mind.
Outis looked down, her fingers tightly interlaced. "I...I see. If it was your judgment that my actions were detrimental to the mission, then I apologize. My only desire was to ensure no one compromises your safety." She paused, her voice softening just a fraction. “Though...I did not expect you to resort to such physical measures.”
Dante’s clock tilted slightly, the second hand swept seamlessly across the face of the clock.
Outis’s eyes widened slightly, and she quickly coughed into her fist to hide her flustered expression. "A soldier must maintain an optimal weight for agility and combat efficiency, Manager."
She stepped a bit closer, her gaze softening as she looked at the glowing gears of Dante's head. The fierce, terrifying tactician from a moment ago was completely gone, replaced by something much quieter, much more fiercely loyal.
"However... if it pleases you, next time you wish for me to stand down," Outis murmured, her voice dropping to a low, private tone meant only for them, "you need only command it. You do not need to exert yourself on my account... though I cannot deny your decisiveness was...admirable."
Dante’s clock whirred a bit faster, a faint red glow emitting from their handles.
"As you command, Manager," Outis said, offering a crisp, perfect salute, a rare, genuine smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. "Your word is my absolute law."