The hallway reeked of stale cigarette smoke and cheap air freshener. A thin film of grime coated the walls, and the carpet was threadbare, its once-vibrant patterns faded to a dull, indistinguishable mess. The only door on the floor was a dark, heavy wooden thing, its paint peeling like sunburnt skin.

  Olt knocked again, his knuckles rapping a sharp tattoo against the wood. Silence. He was about to give up when the door creaked open, revealing a figure that could have stepped straight out of a bad sitcom.

  Freddy, a man whose age was a mystery even to himself, stood in the doorway, clad only in a pair of faded underwear. His gray hair was a tangled mess, and a thick mustache drooped over his lips like a sleepy caterpillar. A cigar jutted from the corner of his mouth, its tip glowing like an angry ember.

  Freddy blew a cloud of smoke into Olt's face, a gap-toothed grin splitting his features. His voice was thick with sleep and the lingering taste of cheap whiskey.

  "Well, hello there, handsome, Come to join me for a couple drinks?"

  Olt, taken aback by the sight of his landlord in such a state of undress, managed a weak chuckle.

  "No, thank you, Freddy,"

  Olt’s eyes darted around the apartment's dimly lit interior.

  "I'm here on business."

  Freddy's grin widened, revealing a set of teeth that had seen better days.

  "Business, eh?"

  He wheezed, scratching his ample belly with one hand.

  "Can't it wait? It's five o'clock somewhere."

  Olt shifted uncomfortably, his gaze settling on a framed picture of a younger Freddy, clad in a garish Hawaiian shirt, posing with a marlin that was clearly half his size.

  "I'm afraid not. It's about the apartment."

  Freddy's smile faltered, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face.

  "The apartment? What about it?"

  Olt took a deep breath, steeling himself for the conversation ahead.

  "I'm not sure if you heard the news, but the government has closed down the Institute of Governance indefinitely, which means I'm out of a job."

  Freddy's frown deepened, his mustache drooping even lower.

  "Yeah, I heard about that."

  He mumbled, his eyes scanning the floor as if searching for a lost item.

  "Almost forgot you worked there."

  He gestured towards the apartment's interior, a wave of his cigar hand that encompassed the space.

  "Well, come on in."

  His voice was gruff but not unkind.

  "Don't just stand there like a door-to-door salesman."

  Olt hesitated, his gaze lingering on the overflowing ashtrays and the piles of what he hoped were dirty laundry scattered across the floor. He stepped inside, his shoes sinking into the plush carpet, its once-vibrant patterns now obscured by a layer of dust and grime.

  The penthouse was a bachelorhood gone wild. Empty liquor bottles littered the coffee table, their labels peeling like skin. A half-eaten pizza sat precariously on the arm of the sofa, its cheesy aroma mingling with the lingering scent of stale cigar smoke. The television's screen flickered with a daytime talk show, blaring out voices.

  Freddy shuffled towards the coffee table. His bare feet slapped against the worn carpet. He picked up a half-empty glass of what Olt assumed was whiskey, its surface coated with a thin film of dust. Freddy spoke, taking a long swig of the questionable concoction.

  "So, this about the rent?"

  Olt nodded with an expression of resignation and hope. His voice was firm but respectful.

  "I'll be paying this month and next month’s rent. But, I was wondering if you would allow me to break the lease early."

  Freddy’s brow furrowed, his lips twisting into a thoughtful frown. He took another sip from his glass, the ice clinking against the crystal.

  “A smart man like you should be able to find something else soon enough.”

  Olt’s gaze hardened.

  “It’s not that easy, Freddy. The job market is tough, especially after the new government took over.”

  Freddy shrugged, leaning back in his chair.

  “There’s always opportunities for those who know where to look.”

  Olt’s eyes narrowed, suspicion creeping into his voice.

  “What are you suggesting?”

  Freddy chuckled, a sly grin spreading across his face.

  “I’m not suggesting anything, just stating a fact.”

  He paused, taking another sip of his drink.

  “But if you’re looking for a little…assistance, I might be able to point you in the right direction.”

  Olt’s curiosity piqued, but he remained cautious.

  “What kind of assistance?”

  Freddy leaned forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

  “The kind that can make your financial troubles disappear.”

  Olt’s heart pounded in his chest, a mix of excitement and trepidation.

  “What are you talking about?”

  Freddy’s grin widened, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

  “I’m talking about a way to make a lot of money, quickly.”

  He paused, letting the offer hang in the air.

  “Are you interested?”

  Olt hesitated, his mind awhirl with possibilities.

  “Tell me more.”

  Freddy leaned closer.

  "I'm telling you this because I like you, Olt. You're a good tenant, always pay your rent on time, and you keep to yourself. Plus, you're a good drinking buddy from time to time."

  He paused, his eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief.

  "I could use a man like you on my side."

  Olt's brow creased, his curiosity ignited.

  "For what, exactly?"

  Freddy gestured around the penthouse, his hand sweeping across the space.

  "I own a lot of properties on the South Side. And it's a tough town, as you know."

  He leaned back, his expression hardening.

  "With the lack of law and order in these ghettos, I had to build my own group of enforcers to keep my business running smoothly."

  Olt nodded slowly, recalling the numerous times he'd seen suspicious activity in the building but had chosen to keep to himself.

  Freddy continued, his voice low and serious.

  "In this part of town, nothing gets done without approval from the Dasa Vech. So, I've had to make compromises to keep operating."

  He paused, his gaze fixed on Olt.

  "I get to run things my way in exchange for dealing their 'products' in the local region."

  Olt shifted uncomfortably, the implications of Freddy's words sinking in. Freddy noticed his unease and smiled reassuringly.

  "I know how it sounds. Believe me, I never thought I'd be part of this lifestyle either. My parents were professionals, and I grew up in a good home."

  He sighed, a hint of bitterness in his voice.

  "But I wasn't going to let all of my parents' hard work and investments go down the drain because the government couldn't get their shit straight."

  He leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with determination.

  "So, I made a compromise."

  He paused.

  "And I think you're the kind of man who would do well in this environment, Olt."

  Olt could feel the pounding in his chest.

  Freddy continued, his voice smooth and persuasive.

  "You're smart, you'd make a good administrator, you don't have any horrible vices, and you're quiet."

  He smiled, a sly grin that hinted at the power and wealth that awaited Olt.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  "What do you say? You in?"

  Olt remained silent. He noticed at this very moment the reasons why people make the choices they do, even if they seem so stupid in the moment. He was informed enough and lived in an area that kept him aware of the hardships life could bring. It was easy for him to say that he wouldn't fall into the wrong side of life. But now, he had a real offer and he was in a position where it all felt so tempting.

  Then, he thought of his family, of his grandpa and how hard he worked, of Jeffrey and how proud he was, of his grandmother and all her effort to make sure he was raised right. Olt realized he could tell himself that if he took Freddy's offer, he was doing it for his family. It was a reasonable justification. But he couldn't do it, at least not now.

  Olt thought he was desperate, but perhaps not desperate enough.

  The silence stretched, punctuated only by the wheezing of the air conditioner and the distant chatter of the television. Freddy, his eyes half-closed, seemed to sense Olt's hesitation. He took another sip of his drink, the ice clinking softly against the glass.

  Finally, Olt spoke, his voice firm but laced with a hint of regret.

  "Freddy, I appreciate the offer. I really do."

  He extended his hand, his grip firm and reassuring. Freddy, a flicker of surprise crossing his face, met Olt's gaze and shook his hand.

  "But I need some time to think about it."

  Freddy nodded slowly, his eyes narrowing slightly.

  "I understand.”

  Olt replied.

  "In the meantime, I'll make sure you receive your rent on time."

  Freddy smiled, a hint of approval in his eyes.

  "I appreciate that, Olt."

  He paused, his gaze lingering on Olt's face.

  "Just remember, the offer will be waiting for you if you decide to change your mind."

  Olt nodded once more, then turned and left the penthouse, the door clicking shut behind him. He stepped out into the hallway, the stale air a stark contrast to the oppressive atmosphere of Freddy's apartment. He took a deep breath, a sense of relief washing over him.

  As Olt stepped out of the apartment building, he heard the aggressive commotion of a woman screaming. She demanded they, whoever they were, would not kick her out of her own home. The struggle came from what seemed to be the first floor. The woman screamed and wailed. If he decided to accept Freddy’s offer, would the screams of people become his new reality? Olt shook his head and proceeded to walk into the noisy mess that was the neighborhood. The sun-drenched street was a scene of urban decay.

  The buildings, a mix of architectural styles, were a testament to the neighborhood's history. Balconies with metal railings jutted out from the upper floors, their once-bright paint now peeling and faded. Shutters and awnings, some hanging precariously, offered little respite from the oppressive heat. Air conditioning units protruded from walls like metal tumors, their monotonous drone a constant reminder of the struggle against the elements.

  The ground floor was a jumble of shops and businesses, their signs a riot of colors and fonts. Tropical rhythms blasted from open doorways, competing with the chatter of pedestrians and the rumble of passing cars. Outside a grocer shop, a group of men sat on plastic chairs, sharing a 40-ounce bottle of beer. Their laughter, fueled by cheap alcohol, echoed down the narrow street like the screech of dolphins.

  Olt walked past them, his gaze fixed on the uneven pavement. The street was a patchwork of cobblestones and asphalt, its surface scarred with cracks and potholes. Trash and debris littered the gutters, and an overflowing public trash bin stood like a monument to neglect. A lone, weathered gas pump, perhaps abandoned, added to the scene's sense of decay.

  Olt's mind was awhirl with thoughts of Freddy's offer. The temptation was strong. But his conscience gnawed at him, a nagging reminder of the cost. He thought of his family, of their struggles and sacrifices. Could he betray their trust, their values, for the sake of money?

  He paused, his gaze drawn to a group of young men huddled in a doorway. Their eyes were hollow and haunted. One of them held a small plastic baggie, its contents a blue powder that promised a temporary escape from reality.

  Olt's stomach churned. He knew the path these young men were on, the dead end that awaited them. He'd seen it countless times in this neighborhood, the cycle of poverty and addiction that seemed impossible to break.

  He thought of Freddy, of his casual acceptance of the drug trade, of his willingness to compromise with the Dasa Vech. Was this the kind of man he wanted to be? A man who profited from the misery of others?

  Olt's thoughts were interrupted by a commotion further down the street. A group of hoodlums were beating on a man, their fists raining down on his frail body. The man, his face bloodied and contorted in pain, offered no resistance. Olt watched, his heart pounding in his chest, as the attackers finally dispersed, leaving the man crumpled on the pavement.

  He'd seen such scenes countless times in this neighborhood. It was a rough part of town, a place where violence was a currency and desperation a constant companion. But it seemed to have gotten worse in the past year, the edges rougher, the shadows deeper.

  Olt continued walking, his gaze fixed on the ground. He was so lost in thought that he almost walked past the local parish. The building, a small, unassuming structure, stood in stark contrast to the surrounding decay. Its whitewashed walls and simple steeple offered a beacon of hope in the midst of despair.

  Olt hesitated, then turned and walked towards the parish. He wasn't a particularly spiritual man, but the events of the past few days had shaken him to his core. The world seemed to be spinning out of control, the lines between right and wrong blurring. He needed something to hold onto, something to believe in.

  He pushed open the heavy wooden door, its hinges creaking in protest. The interior was dim and cool, a welcome respite from the harsh sunlight outside. The air was thick with the scent of incense and old wood. A few flickering candles cast long shadows on the walls, illuminating the simple altar and the worn pews.

  Olt sat down on one of the benches. He settled onto the worn wooden pew, the silence of the chapel pressing against him like a comforting weight. He closed his eyes, the scent of honey, lavender and faint tobacco filling his senses. The cool air within the chapel offered a welcome respite from the oppressive heat.

  Suddenly, a door creaked open, shattering the stillness. Olt's eyes snapped open, his gaze darting towards the sound. He saw nothing but the dimly lit altar, the flickering candles casting long shadows on the walls. Then, footsteps echoed from behind the altar, slow and deliberate.

  A woman emerged, her figure shrouded in the dim light. She couldn't have been much older than Olt himself, her youthful face etched with a weariness that hinted at a life lived in the trenches of Synoro's harsh realities. She carried a bucket and a mop, their weight evident in her strained posture.

  "Damn it!”

  Her voice was a low rasp that echoed through the chapel.

  "Why do I have to lug this thing around? No one ever comes here anyway."

  She paused, her eyes falling upon Olt, who sat frozen on the pew, his eyes wide with surprise. An awkward silence hung in the air. Olt, unsure how to react, simply stared back at her, his mind awhirl with questions.

  Finally, the woman burst into laughter, a warm, genuine sound that shattered the tension. She leaned the mop against the wall, her laughter subsiding into a sheepish grin. She spoke, her voice was laced with a hint of embarrassment.

  "Sorry about that. Didn't expect to find anyone here."

  She walked towards Olt, her hand outstretched. She introduced herself, her grip firm and reassuring.

  "I'm Magistrate-Spiritus Phillipe. But you can call me Lyona."

  Olt shook her hand, his mind reeling. He hadn't expected her to be a magistrate, especially not dressed in such casual attire. Her simple blouse and worn jeans seemed more suited to a market vendor than a figure of authority.

  Olt mumbled, gesturing towards the cleaning supplies.

  "I'll just be going then. I wouldn't want to interrupt your work."

  Lyona smiled, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

  "Nonsense.”

  Her voice was warm and inviting.

  "This place can afford to have a few visitors, especially in this neighborhood."

  Olt hesitated, then nodded slowly.

  " Uh, sure."

  Lyona smiled and took a seat on the bench facing him, the bucket and mop momentarily forgotten.

  "Anything you want to talk about?"

  Olt shrugged, his view drifting towards the stained-glass window.

  "Just needed some fresh air. But it's so hot out there."

  Lyona chuckled, a warm, genuine sound that vibrated through the chapel.

  "It is.”

  Olt's eyes wandered, his mind riddled with the events of the past few days. The lay off, Freddy's offer, the looming threat of losing his family home – it all swirled together in a chaotic mess.

  Lyona noticed his troubled expression, her eyes narrowing slightly. She questioned Olt, a hint of amusement in her voice.

  "So, you came to the chapel to cool down?"

  Olt smiled sheepishly.

  "No."

  He admitted.

  "I just saw the parish and... I don't know, I guess I needed some peace."

  Lyona nodded slowly, as she focused on Olt's face. She could see the torment in his eyes, the weight of unspoken burdens. But she also sensed a quiet strength, a resilience.

  "I'll let you be then."

  Rising from the bench, she added.

  "But if you want to talk, I'll be here all day. I literally live here."

  As Lyona turned to retrieve her cleaning supplies, Olt spoke up, his voice barely above a whisper.

  "I used to teach The Letters.”

  His sight was fixed on the worn floorboards.

  "But I never really paid much attention to the spiritual part. It was always just... a matter of fact. I mean, we do have superhumans walking around, after all."

  Olt continued, his voice gaining a hint of confidence. Lyona paused, turned slowly back around to meet him and listened intently.

  "Humanity hasn’t had to question the existence of a god in centuries."

  He hesitated, his attention lifting to meet Lyona's.

  "But…knowing that doesn't always bring me peace of mind."

  Lyona settled back onto the bench.

  "That's why there are specialists. People like me focus on the spiritual side, while people like you focus on the social side."

  She paused, as a thought crossed her mind. If he taught The Letters, he must have worked for the Institute of Governance... which means he just lost his job. But she decided not to pry.

  Lyona continued, her voice taking on a hint of melancholy.

  "Knowing there's something greater out there doesn't change many things. Like the fact that we'll feel hunger when we haven't eaten, sweat when it’s hot, or even panic when we lose our home."

  Olt stared at her, his surprise evident. He couldn't believe she'd managed to piece together so much of his situation without him explicitly stating it. Olt mumbled, a sheepish grin spreading across his face.

  "I guess I gave myself away by mentioning The Letters."

  Lyona chuckled, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

  "I could've assumed you were just some passionate nerd ranting about metaphysics."

  Olt replied, his voice laced with a bitter tinge.

  "You've probably heard about the situation with the I.G.?"

  Lyona's face fell slightly, her lips forming a tight line. She nodded slowly, acknowledging the news.

  "I have some tough decisions to make," Olt confessed. "I could solve my situation, but it would mean doing something I don't believe in."

  "But if I don't..." he paused.

  The chapel's silence seemed to amplify his words, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows that danced on the walls.

  Lyona sighed deeply, her shoulders slumping slightly.

  "The last Messiah taught us that this life is nothing but a game of character. Choices exist to further this game. Right or wrong, they exist only to teach you about yourself."

  She paused, a thoughtful frown creasing her brow. Then, as if embarrassed, she blushed.

  "I suppose I sounded like a Magistrate there…sheesh, it’s just us here.”

  Lyona continued, her voice softening.

  "It's unfortunate, but sometimes shit just happens to us. Good or bad, shit happens, and it's all about how we react. It's a constant test."

  She leaned forward, her gaze piercing Olt's.

  "Struggle is written into our DNA, and It has confronted you with a crossroads. You have to choose. Or It will choose for you."

  Olt nodded slowly, absorbing her words.

  "Yeah, I wouldn’t expect much. This Creator of ours is a bit sadistic, after all."

  Lyona chuckled.

  "By now, we know enough to know It isn't simply good or bad. But on the bright side, unlike previous ages of man, It actually proved itself to us."

  She paused, then her mood lightened.

  "Follow your gut. Besides, being a young professor of The Letters means you must have a good head on your shoulders."

  Lyona stood up, her shoulders lifting in a nonchalant shrug. She added with a playful smirk.

  "Then again, I might be wrong. I don’t really get to preach much, as you can see.”

  Olt chuckled, shaking his head at Lyona's playful remark.

  "Uh, thank you, I guess."

  He stood up, extending his hand towards her.

  "This was-interesting. And thank you for your air conditioner."

  Lyona shook his hand, as she laughed. Her sincerity brightened Olt’s face with a smile.

  "It's our chapel's specialty.”

  Olt turned and walked towards the chapel door, the sunlight beckoning him back into the city's embrace.

  Lyona watched him go, a thoughtful smile playing on her lips. Curiosity consumed her thoughts, as she leaned against the doorframe.