Yoram walks down the street, heading towards the business's parking lot, and stands beside one of the bikers—a young man holding a large and comical balloon that Gel raises high. The biker's helmet rests on the seat of his motorcycle. As the paramedic from the departing ambulance exits through the store's doorway, he waves his hand apologetically.
PARAMEDIC
Sorry, by the time we arrived, the man had already passed away.
YORAM (asks one of the bikers)
Who died?
BIKER (staring at him as if he's an alien)
Mickey, the landlord. He was a great man. Now this company might shut down for good. There's no one left here.
The biker turns away, puts on his helmet, starts the motorcycle with a loud roar, and speeds off, leaving behind the sound of screeching tires. Yoram stands there for a moment, lost in thought. Then he too walks away, turning around and heading up the street, while the incessant chirping of a cricket once again invades his mind.
CUT TO
EXT. DAY. PRISON CAMP
A brief snapshot of hundreds of captive soldiers returning with their hands on their heads. In the center, a prisoner's cell.
CUT TO