"Where is Ioxya? Is it a city in Uzbekistan?" Gregor inquired with an air of curiosity.
"You uncultured baboon!" Klyn's scream reverberated through the room, the vibrations from his colossal vocal cords surging through Gregor like a pulsating electric current. In response to the visceral effect on Gregor, Sarr gently rested a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
"This is an extremely sensitive topic, please remain silent throughout the entire story of Ioxya. If you utter even a peep, I'll impale you and your entire family on a vertical axis," warned Sarr.
"Ioxya, a celestial body approximately 50 light-years beyond the realms of the Milky Way, nestled within the Mareslak galaxy. We Ioxyans, for centuries, embraced a tranquil existence. Our closest brush with war occurred when our 74th king crash-landed on the planet Urska—a gesture misconstrued as a declaration of war by its inhabitants. Through adept communication, we managed to avert conflict, until Dave, your father, made his arrival on Ioxya some 50 years ago."
"Dave, accompanied by a group of rebels, had a fateful encounter with a couple of Ioxyans..."
"Bro, shut the fuck up!" Gregor shouted with all his might. "Gyat gyat gyat rizzzzie." The ropes binding him instantly loosened as the magical words left Gregor' lips, and Gregor performed the default Fortnite dance in the middle of the room.
"You cursed fish cake connoisseur! I'm unveiling essential lore!" Klyn declared, his voice tinged with an undeniable erotic energy.
"I don't understand what you're babbling about," Gregor squealed like a stuck pig. "I don't know about any icocksa people or a retard named Daniel."
"Blud!" Klyn bellowed in Gregor's face, the proximity almost intimate. His deep voice resonated through the Stabeque hideout, causing the very ground beneath them to quake.
"Oops," Gregor appeared taken aback. "You're indeed quite a hothead."
"Do you know NOTHING about your father?!" Klyn screamed. His face was as red as a fresh tomato from Rema 4 dipped in red paint, then exposed to red marker, red pen, red Lyra Super Ferby colored pencils belonging to Øistein from Øistein's pencil (the popular and highly successful children's TV series that was particularly relevant to Generation Z's upbringing in Norway), painted red twice the night before, and now left in the sun on a windowsill in a west Oslo residence.
"Huh? No-uh... um," Gregor paused to reflect. "Ehh?"
As customary, Gregor embodied the archetype of an ignorant cod.
Klyn succumbed to gamer rage. Meanwhile, Sarr remained as serene as a stone, even his skin itself was as hard as stone (notwithstanding any allusions to private areas).
"Gregor, your learning curve is steep..." Sarr's resplendently bright voice, though a touch challenging for Gregor's organic auditory devices, carried an oddly comforting cadence. "Accompany us; we have an acquaintance who can offer enlightenment."
"Are you familiar with the illustrious author Dostoevsky?"