"Next"/Inspector & Calensk
I still believe in Calensk supremacy 🛐
Also this isn't proof read so my bad for any mistakes.
That was the only word that came to the Inspector's mind as he continued checking passports, stamping documents, and listening to the same tired excuses, threats, and desperate pleas.
Some begged, others got too personal, spilling their misfortunes to a stranger who had neither the power nor the will to help them. A few tried intimidation, but most just pleaded, hoping he’d ignore the discrepancies that would have them detained.
Startled, the Inspector looked up at the gruff voice.
Calensk stood at the booth’s entrance, his expression as hardened and indifferent as ever. A hastily rolled cigarette dangled between his fingers, but before stepping inside, he flicked it into the snow.
Before the Inspector could return the greeting, Calensk reached into his pocket and placed something on the counter.
"You detained five people. Well done," he said, nodding, his mouth curling up just slightly—almost impressed.
He promised 10 credits last time.
Calensk sighed, hesitating for a moment before continuing.
"My wife sick now. Neighbor spreads the flu." He gestured toward the note. "This is what is left after medicine."
"I give you rest next time. Maybe you detain more people to make it easier," he added with a listless shrug before stalking off back to his post.
The Inspector pocketed the note without a word.
The snow thickened as the Inspector trudged to work, his boots sinking with each step. The cold wasn’t just biting—it seeped into his bones.
Arstotzka was always cold, but today felt worse.
His house wasn't much warmer. Thin blankets barely helped, and his family huddled together at night for warmth, but it was never enough. With winter rolling in, they would have to turn the heat on soon, but they couldn't afford it. His son had already spent too many nights shivering.
That was why he forced himself out the door every morning.
That, and the man leaning against his booth.
"Morning," the Inspector muttered as he unlocked the door, stepping inside.
Calensk followed, closing the door behind them.
"You look tired," he observed as the Inspector slumped into his chair.
"Son was sick again. Kept us up during the night."
Calensk hummed in acknowledgment, eyes scanning the Inspector’s weary face. This wasn’t the first time he’d heard about the boy’s illness.
"The cold gets to him easy. The lack of food doesn’t help." The Inspector exhaled sharply, looking away. "My wife and her mother try to keep him warm, try to keep him from catching anything from the neighbors, but it hasn’t worked."
Calensk didn’t respond right away. He knew medicine was expensive. Too expensive. It was why he’d turned to certain… alternatives to make extra money. And he could see the toll it was taking on the Inspector, too.
Before he could say anything, the checkpoint alarm blared, signaling the start of the workday.
"You should get to your post," the Inspector said, voice lighter now. "Boss will have your head if he notices you're not."
Calensk scoffed, unbothered by the thinly veiled threat. Without another word, he stepped outside.
The Inspector pressed the buzzer.
"Entry is not guaranteed."
"Please have your papers ready."
More people came through. More were turned away. As usual, curses and insults were hurled his way.
Another buzzer press. Another hopeful face.
A rough-looking man strode in, his posture skittish but his steps confident.
Before the Inspector could ask for his documents, something was shoved into his hands.
The man bolted back into Kolechia.
The Inspector barely had time to process what had just happened.
His eyes snapped to the box on his desk. His breath caught in his throat.
Calensk’s voice cut through the moment.
The Inspector turned, panic barely concealed. Calensk followed his gaze—then scoffed.
"What is this amateur shit?"
He stepped closer, peering down at the bomb like it was an insult rather than a threat.
"Should we evacuate?" the Inspector asked.
"For that little thing? No, of course not."
"Just disable it. Open the cover."
The Inspector hesitated, but did as he was told. His hands trembled slightly as he removed the panel.
"Stupid fucking terrorists," Calensk muttered, unimpressed. "Could not even add a display."
The Inspector glanced at him. "How do you know so much about bombs?"
Calensk ignored the question.
"This is the poorest bomb I ever seen. A simple mind created this."
He pulled a pair of pliers from his coat and shoved them through the paper slot.
"Just cut the wires in order."
With unsteady hands, the Inspector followed his instructions. One by one, the wires snapped.
The Inspector let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
"Ok. All done—back to work."
"We should close the checkpoint."
"Bullshit. I need to earn money today."
The unspoken 'So do you' lingered between them.
The Inspector blinked. "What?"
"I sell materials and give you a cut."
A pause. Then, wordlessly, the Inspector slid the bomb forward. Calensk grabbed it, tucking it under his jacket.
"What a piece of shit," he muttered, mostly to himself. "Doubt it’s even worth much."
"Call the next immigrant."
Calensk always had a habit of appearing without warning.
The Inspector barely looked up from the disorganized stack of papers in front of him.
A brown paper bag landed on his desk.
The Inspector finally glanced up, eyes narrowing. "What is this?"
"Food. From my wife. Bread and lard. She made extra." Calensk hesitated, then added, "For your son. Good for colds."
The Inspector stared at the bag.
Gratitude felt foreign these days. Like a muscle he hadn’t used in years.
"Thank you." His voice was quiet. Sincere.
Calensk waved it off. "You look worse than usual."
The Inspector huffed a tired chuckle. "You’re full of advice today."
The radio crackled. A voice barked out orders: a Kolechian diplomat was expected soon.
Calensk scowled. "Diplomats. Pieces of shit. Always think they’re better than the rest of us."
The Inspector smirked faintly in agreement.
Calensk turned to leave, but the Inspector called after him.
"Be careful with that… thing you took earlier."
Calensk glanced back, smirking. "Don’t worry about me, Inspector. Worry about your lines."
Then he was gone, his boots crunching in the snow.
The Inspector shook his head, returning to his work.
As he pressed his stamp onto the next document, he realized something.
For the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel entirely alone.
I'm starting to get writer's block again and just losing motivation in general, but I might write a part 2 to this if anyone wants it before I fall off the face of the earth for another 3 months 💀
