“This will help you,” the old nomad rasped the next morning, placing a small, worn remote control in front of Soldier.

“You can use it to lower the drawbridges we’ve set up to secure our outposts. That way, you can make it through the night safely, even if we’re not there.”


Soldier picked up the remote and turned it over in his fingers, skeptical. He tried to switch it on, but the indicator lights stayed dark.


“It’s not working.”


The old man chuckled and leaned on the table, dragging a crooked finger along his bearded chin.


“Oh, it works,” he said calmly. “It just doesn’t have batteries. But that won’t be a problem for you, will it?”


Silence filled the room.


Soldier slowly turned his head toward Civilian, eyes narrowing into a look that clearly meant: Well? What now, genius?


“So what are the odds of getting those batteries back?” he asked dryly.


Civilian stretched his fingers and gave a crooked smile.

“Yeah, that’s not happening.”


“Of course not.”


Soldier rubbed his forehead wearily.

“So we’ve got the key to the bridges, but no key to the key?”


The old man let out a hoarse laugh. Dry, raspy. The kind of laugh someone makes who’s seen too much and stopped being surprised a long time ago.

“Exactly.”


Soldier stared at him. The old man didn’t flinch.


“Why are you giving this to us anyway?” he asked.


The man leaned back in his chair and studied Soldier’s face. Like he was searching for something familiar. Something he’d seen before.


“Because you’re all the same.”


Soldier tensed, barely.


“What’s that supposed to mean?”


The old man shrugged. He reached into the inside pocket of his coat and pulled out a wrinkled cigarette, placing it between his cracked lips. He didn’t light it. Just let it hang there.


“You’re not the first to come here thinking you’re going to save us. Fix everything.”


“I...” Soldier started, but the man raised a finger before he could finish.


“And I’m telling you. Others have already tried. Same gear. Same confidence. Same belief that they could turn it all around.”


He leaned forward, eyes sharp now, lit with a quiet curiosity.


“So tell me, soldier... Are you any different? Or will you end up just like the rest?”


Soldier didn’t move.


Meanwhile, Civilian picked up the remote, casually slipped it into his pocket, and stretched.


“So...no batteries, huh?”


The old man leaned back again, took a long drag from the unlit cigarette, and smiled.

“No.”


“Yeah. Thought so.”


Civilian stood, patted Soldier on the shoulder, and nodded toward the door.


“Let’s go. Maybe we’ll find some on the way.”


The old man watched them in silence until they disappeared beyond the threshold. Then he reached for his cup of tea, took a slow sip, and muttered to himself:

“Fools. They’ll end up just like the others. It’s already written.”