I’m part of the army, just another soldier in the ranks, but even here, there are moments that stand out. One of those moments happened in the hallway that day.

Red Leader leaned against the cold, metallic wall, his cigar smoldering between his fingers. The air was thick with smoke, curling around him as he stood, the crimson of his uniform cutting through the sterile light of the hall. His stance was relaxed, yet there was an air of authority that couldn’t be ignored.

Paul was talking to him, though the words were lost in the distance. His voice seemed eager, but whatever he was saying, Red Leader was locked in, his gaze never straying from the conversation. He seemed intrigued, his sharp eyes scanning Paul as though he were reading between every word.

I was there too standing at a distance, unsure of my place. Patryck was beside me, his posture just as stiff as mine. We didn’t belong in that conversation, or maybe we just didn’t know what to do.

And then, in a flash, Red Leader moved. His hand shot out, swift and certain. Before Paul could react, his cigarette was ripped from his mouth and replaced with a thick cigar. The smell of tobacco grew heavier as smoke began to fill the space between us.

“That’s the better version, Paul,” Red Leader growled, his voice low and steady. He grabbed Paul by the shoulders, his grip firm enough to make sure his point was clear.

I stood there, feeling every second tick by, unsure of how to react. Patryck was just as frozen, caught between confusion and uncertainty.