The air in the poorer districts was heavier, thicker with the stench of decay and desperation.
The polished facades and orderly streets of the inner city were a distant memory here.
Buildings leaned precariously against one another, their surfaces mottled with grime.
The dim lights flickered above, barely illuminating the cracked pavement below.
Alexander moved through the maze-like streets with the same quiet confidence he'd carried on the battlefield.
People darted in and out of shadows, their movements furtive, their eyes wary.
Children with hollow faces huddled around makeshift fires.
Adults whispered in hushed tones, their gazes constantly scanning for unseen threats.
This part of the city was alive in a way that the inner sectors weren't.
There was tension here, but also a kind of freedom.
Alexander had pieced it together after a few conversations: the Overseers rarely came to these districts.
Resources here weren't worth controlling.
This was a dumping ground for the forgotten, the unwanted, and the ungovernable.
It was exactly the kind of place Alexander needed to understand.
He wandered aimlessly, his sharp eyes cataloging every detail.
The way people traded scraps of food, how they avoided certain alleys, the hierarchy that seemed to form even in chaos.
This wasn't order enforced by machines, it was survival dictated by human nature.
As he turned a corner, the faint glow of a cigarette caught his eye.
The beggar from before was slumped against a crumbling wall, one hand cupped around a lit stick of something that looked harsher than tobacco.
Alexander paused, studying the man.
His earlier frailty seemed less pronounced now.
The way he held the cigarette, the calm tilt of his head it was the posture of someone who had seen too much, endured too much.
Alexander approached without a word.
The beggar glanced at him, his expression unreadable, and then gestured wordlessly with the cigarette.
Alexander reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a crude stick he'd traded for earlier in the day.
The beggar lit it with a small flickering flame from his fingers an old, trembling but practiced hand.
For a long moment, they smoked in silence, the tendrils of harsh smoke curling upward and dissipating into the cold air.
"You ever fought a war?" the beggar asked suddenly, his voice rough and low.
Alexander exhaled slowly, watching the smoke drift. "Yes."
The beggar chuckled, a bitter sound that cracked at the edges. "You're young, too young to know what war is."
He glanced sideways at Alexander, his eyes narrowing. "But… you ain't lying, are you?"
Alexander met his gaze, unflinching. "No."
The beggar let out a short laugh, shaking his head. "Your age doesn't match your words, kid. But for some reason… I believe it."
He leaned back against the wall, his body settling like a deflated balloon. "What'd you fight for?"
Alexander didn't answer immediately. "People," he said eventually.
The beggar raised an eyebrow. "Not land? Not power? Just people?"
Alexander took another drag from his cigarette. "The other two don't matter without them."
The beggar chuckled again, softer this time. "I like you. You remind me of someone I used to be."
They sat in silence for a while longer before the beggar spoke again, his voice quieter now, more reflective. "You wanna know something funny? I fought too. Once. A long, long time ago."
Alexander turned to him, his expression impassive but his eyes sharp. "Tell me."
The beggar tapped the edge of his cigarette against the wall, ash falling like tiny flakes of grey snow. "Sixty years ago. Before the System. Back when we thought we controlled this rock. We had armies, governments, the whole damn thing. And then… they came."
"The Overseers," Alexander said.
The beggar nodded, his jaw tightening. "Yeah. First it was just a message broadcast across every screen, every radio, every damn channel we had. The System was coming. A perfect system. No hunger, no war, no crime. Just order. And people, idiots thought it sounded like a good deal."
Alexander's eyes narrowed. "And the ones who didn't?"
The beggar snorted, the sound dripping with disdain. "Didn't matter. A week later, the Overseers landed. It wasn't a war it was a massacre. We threw everything we had at them. Tanks, planes, missiles. Didn't even scratch 'em. They wiped out entire battalions like they were swatting flies. I remember watching my commanding officer get vaporized mid-sentence. One second he was shouting orders, the next… he was fucking gone."
The old man's voice cracked, and he took a long drag from his cigarette, as if trying to smother the memory. "We didn't stand a chance. They didn't just kill us they broke us. Took out the cities first, then the infrastructure. By the time they were done, there wasn't much left to fight for."
Alexander's grip on his cigarette tightened. "And the survivors?"
The beggar laughed bitterly. "We didn't survive. We just… existed. The Overseers let some of us live, but only if we agreed to follow the System. No rebellion, no resistance. Just obedience. Those of us who fought too hard?" He drew a line across his throat with his finger.
"Gone."
"And you?" Alexander asked. "What did you do?"
The beggar's gaze turned distant. "I ran. Watched my squad die one by one, and I ran like a coward. Ended up here, in this shithole, smoking my days away."
He glanced at Alexander, his expression hardening. "You want a lesson, kid? Here it is: don't fight the System. It'll chew you up and spit you out like everyone else."
Alexander exhaled a plume of smoke, his face unreadable. "You think running was your only option?"
The beggar's eyes flashed with anger. "You don't know shit about what I've seen."
"I know this," Alexander said calmly. "You're still alive. And that means you've still got a choice."
The beggar stared at him for a long moment before shaking his head. "You don't get it, do you? The System isn't just a machine. It's everything. It's the air we breathe, the ground we walk on. It doesn't care about people like us. We're nothing to it."
Alexander didn't respond immediately.
He took another drag from his cigarette, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "Every system has its flaws," he said finally. "Even this one."
The beggar barked a short, humorless laugh. "You're a damn fool if you believe that."
Alexander smiled faintly, the expression devoid of humor. "Maybe. But I'd rather be a fool than a coward."
The beggar's eyes narrowed, but he didn't respond.
They sat in silence for a while longer, the glow of their cigarettes the only light in the dark alley.
Finally, the beggar spoke, his voice softer this time. "You're gonna get yourself killed, kid."
"Maybe," Alexander said, rising to his feet. "But at least I'll die fighting."
He tossed his cigarette to the ground and crushed it under his boot before walking away, leaving the old man staring after him.
The war might've ended sixty years ago, but Alexander knew better than anyone: some battles never really end.