"René... I need to go back in time. Can you help me?"

"René... I need to go back in time. Can you help me?"

The lieutenant flashes you a quick side-glance.

His posture tenses.

Damn it, not this again...

"What?!" The old soldier scowls at you, unamused.

He thinks you're playing a joke on him.

"Now, now..." His partner raises both hands in a calming gesture. "I'm sure the officer means it figuratively. Like a forensic technique or something, right?"

"No, I literally need to go back in time. For Revachol."

"Bon sang, son. You must have a loose screw up there or something." He taps on his temple. "Sounds like you really mean it."

"Alright, I will entertain this... fantasy, if you tell me, what interest does an RCM officer have in... 'time travel'?"

"Oh, you're in for a treat, officer. Seeing the playful side of old René is about as rare as a red rainbow."

Not actually that rare. It's just that red, or monochrome, rainbows usually occur at sunrise or sunset, when blue and green wavelengths are scattered before reaching water droplets. Fewer eyes to see them then.

"I'm not sure, to be honest. Just going with the flow."

"Exactly what history needs." He spits on the ground between the two of you. "More drifters, confused wanderers, weightless men..."

There's so much bitterness in his voice it barely even registers as sarcasm.

"I can't help you officer," he says coldly. "There are no second chances in life. We don't deserve them. This is the world we shaped -- a reflection of what we are. Wasted, ugly, and numb."

The lieutenant clears his throat. "I think we're done here unless you have questions not relating to 'time travel' for the gentlemen?"

Don't worry, he doesn't know anything useful, the man's almost expired. No fire in him. But you will carry on the flame. Semper fidelis, kingsman, anything is possible.

"Anything else you want or can we get back to our game?"

"You know, it's not actually that bad."

A heavy silence falls over the crater. The man in the checkered suit doesn't know where to look or what to do with his hands. Finally he speaks:

Only to break the silence.

"Officer, you must forgive Old René. Holding a conversation has always been... problematic with him." He flashes you a quick smile. "Try asking him something else."

Just nod.

"It is an ugly world..."

"Such a downer, I'm not even sure how to respond..."

"Men have lost their way. I want to guide them back. Like a beacon."

The old soldier nods. "Even after the Revolution, after the Beachhead, there was a chance. Had we just stayed true to our values..."

"It happened slowly, like a seedling growing into a tree. Tiny incremental steps. Imperceptible till the thicket was so thick you couldn't clear it with a flamethrower..."

You could definitely clear it with a flamethrower.

"I know I can get history back on the right track."

"The 'right track'? This is the right track! The only track." He gets visibly annoyed. "This is the world we shaped, a reflection of what we are: cowardly, ugly, and numb."

"And there are no second chances. We don't deserve them! You can't just go back and restart -- that would make everything MEANINGLESS!" A shadow of pain comes over his face.

There's something substantial moving in him, trying to get out.

He would sooner die than let it surface.

What is it?

Regret.

Regret about what?

Him.

"Him?"

There's tenderness in the carabineer's look. Tenderness that's curdled into pain or something darker.

Ex-love, ex-tenderness...

Even worse, a love aborted and smothered, stamped beneath his brilliant boot heel.

You catch the old carabineer's gaze slowly leaving his opponent's wrinkled face as his dark eyes meet yours -- whatever turmoil raged in him a moment ago is quelled for now.

Like the last rays of the evening sun gently kissing the day goodbye, before giving way to unfathomable darkness.

Willed back into the darkest unexplored depths of his mind -- never meant to be shared, seen or confronted.

A true master of his emotions.

Hopelessly alone behind the unbreakable walls he spent a lifetime erecting. No one will ever know him.

"Our lives are unique, and I have neither the means nor the will to help you change that." A polite nod. "But I will gladly assist you with police matters."

The carabineer is too old and feeble to be useful. But you will carry on. Movere tempore, kingsman. For the tenacious no road is impassable.

The old carabineer looks at you with wary expectation.

"Who?"

You know the answer, don't think -- just say it!

"Kim?"

"Meaningless is what I think this line of questioning is. Call me a sceptic, but I don't think time travel is going to solve our murder case."

"So... Is there anything else you want from these gentlemen, or can we get back to it?"

Shouldn't have brought him into this. He doesn't know pain like you do.

"War."

"W-war?" The word seems to derail his train of thought. "I mean yes. Yes... It changes men, changes lives and uh..."

"What the hell are we talking about here, officer?" He rubs the back of his head. "Look, we just want to play our game, so unless there's something else..."