A man must fortify himself and understand that a wise man who

Host: The wind rattled the metal shutters of the old warehouse, whispering through cracks like the breath of a forgotten god.
The moonlight crept in through high windows, slicing the dusty air into ribbons of pale silver. Below, among old machinery and shadowed corners, two figures sat at a long, rusted worktable.

Jack leaned back in his chair, a glass of whiskey in his hand, its amber light flickering like a small, defiant fire.
Jeeny stood near the window, her hands resting on the cold metal frame, watching the distant city lights blink like signals from another world.

The room smelled of oil, iron, and tired dreams.

It was a night made for confession — or warning.

Jeeny: “Apollonius of Tyana once said — ‘A man must fortify himself and understand that a wise man who yields to laziness or anger or passion or love of drink will probably find his fault condoned; but if he stoops to greed, he will not be pardoned, but render himself odious as a combination of all vices at once.’”

Her voice echoed softly through the space — clear, measured, almost ancient. “He believed greed wasn’t just a sin, Jack. It was a disease — one that consumes all other faults.”

Jack: half-smiling, his tone dry “Funny thing, Jeeny — every philosopher condemns greed until their stomach’s empty.”

Jeeny: “No. They condemn it because they’ve seen what it turns people into.”

Host: The wind moaned through the rafters. Jack’s shadow stretched across the wall — long, sharp, divided by the broken light.

Jack: “You make it sound like greed is some monster crawling out of the dark. It’s just survival, Jeeny. You can’t build anything in this world without wanting more.”

Jeeny: “There’s wanting more — and then there’s never having enough. That’s the difference. Greed isn’t hunger, Jack. It’s starvation of the soul.”

Jack: snorts “You think people in power got there by moderation? You think empires were built by restraint?”

Jeeny: “And you think they lasted?”

Host: Silence. Only the faint hum of distant city machinery, the heartbeat of civilization, steady but faint — like something dying slowly.

Jeeny: “Greed builds kingdoms that collapse under their own weight. Rome fell. Corporations rot. Families tear each other apart. It’s not strength that destroys — it’s appetite without end.”

Jack: his voice low, reflective “And what about ambition? You call that greed too?”

Jeeny: “Ambition has purpose. Greed has hunger. One builds. The other devours.”

Jack: “Tell that to the CEOs. Or to every man who’s worked his hands raw and still can’t feed his family. You talk about greed like it’s moral choice. Sometimes it’s the only way out.”

Jeeny: turning toward him, her eyes fierce under the half-light “And what if that ‘way out’ just traps you somewhere worse? Greed promises escape — but it builds the cage around you while you’re not looking.”

Host: The rain began, tapping the roof — soft at first, then heavier. Each drop sounded like a clock counting down.
Jack swirled the whiskey, watching the light bend through the glass.

Jack: “You know what I think? Greed’s honest. It doesn’t pretend. It’s the purest part of us — the part that admits we want more than life gives. The world runs on it.”

Jeeny: “And dies by it. You mistake honesty for virtue.”

Jack: leaning forward “You really believe people can live without wanting more? Without reaching for something they’re told they can’t have?”

Jeeny: “Reaching is human. Consuming everything in reach is greed.”

Host: Her voice trembled slightly — not from anger, but sorrow.
She moved closer, her silhouette framed by the moonlight, her hair glowing faintly like a halo made of smoke.

Jeeny: “You know what greed does, Jack? It takes something pure — like love, or work, or faith — and turns it into a transaction. It makes beauty a bargain. It makes people currency.”

Jack: quietly “And what if everything’s already a bargain?”

Jeeny: “Then that’s the tragedy of it. We stopped living — started trading.”

Host: The rain softened, but the sound lingered like memory.
Jack rose, walking toward the window, his reflection fractured in the glass — two halves of the same man.

Jack: “You talk like greed is a villain. But it’s in every one of us. The artist wants fame. The lover wants more time. The believer wants heaven. Maybe greed’s just another name for desire.”

Jeeny: “No. Desire creates — greed consumes. Desire builds bridges. Greed eats the planks.”

Jack: turning to her, voice sharper now “Easy to say when you’re not the one clawing for air, Jeeny. You’ve never had to fight the system just to stay afloat. You’ve never had to choose between being good and being alive.”

Jeeny: “Oh, Jack — don’t you see? That’s what greed wants you to believe — that it’s survival. But it’s not. It’s surrender. The moment you trade your soul for your security, you’ve already lost both.”

Host: Lightning flashed — a brief, violent bloom of white across their faces.
For an instant, both looked like statues carved out of the same stone — opposites bound by the same flaw: longing.

Jack: after a pause, softer now “So what’s the answer, then? You think the world can live on virtue alone?”

Jeeny: “No. But it can live on balance. Apollonius called greed the sum of all vices — because it feeds them all. Anger, envy, lust — they all bow to it. And once you let it in, it doesn’t stop at taking. It teaches you to justify the taking.”

Jack: “You make greed sound like faith gone wrong.”

Jeeny: nodding slowly “Exactly. It’s belief turned inward. Worship without devotion. You start to serve yourself as though you were god — and forget that gods are always lonely.”

Host: The rain drummed harder, drowning the silence that followed.
Jack’s face softened; his fingers trembled slightly as he set the glass down.

Jack: “You know… I used to think greed was strength. The hunger that kept me moving. But it’s exhausting. No matter what I get, it’s never enough.”

Jeeny: gently “That’s because greed doesn’t want the thing — it wants the wanting.”

Jack: smiling bitterly “So it’s an addiction.”

Jeeny: “No — it’s a mirror. And the reflection always asks for more.”

Host: The storm outside began to ease. The city beyond the window glimmered faintly, washed clean for a moment.
Jeeny moved closer, her voice soft, almost tender now.

Jeeny: “Apollonius was right. A man who yields to anger or passion might be forgiven — because those are human. But greed… it’s not just a flaw. It’s the death of empathy. Once you start measuring everything in gain, you stop seeing people at all.”

Jack: whispering “And yet, we all measure.”

Jeeny: “Yes. But wisdom isn’t in avoiding desire — it’s in knowing when to stop counting.”

Host: A shaft of moonlight broke through the clouds, falling on the table where Jack’s empty glass sat — glinting like an eye watching them both.

Jack: “You think it’s too late for people like me?”

Jeeny: “Only if you keep calling greed necessity.”

Jack: after a pause “Then maybe it’s time to start unlearning.”

Jeeny: “That’s where fortification begins — not in walls, but in restraint.”

Host: The storm passed. The air felt lighter, washed by its own honesty.
Jack looked at her — the way she stood still in the quiet, the rainlight haloing her face.
Something in him shifted, like a lock turning in an old door.

Jack: softly “Greed pretends to fill us. But it only teaches emptiness.”

Jeeny: “And in that emptiness, you find the space to begin again.”

Host: The wind quieted, the moon steadied. The warehouse returned to silence — not hollow, but earned.

Jack poured the last of the whiskey into the sink, watching it swirl down the drain — amber vanishing into black.

Then he turned to Jeeny, voice low, honest:

Jack: “You win.”

Jeeny: shaking her head, smiling faintly “No. We just remembered.”

Host: Outside, the city lights shimmered, their red and gold reflected in puddles — not symbols of greed, but of survival, beauty, balance.

And in that quiet moment, between the ruin and the rebirth, they understood Apollonius’s warning —

That a man’s greatest fortress is not what he builds around himself,
but what he refuses to worship within.

The rain stopped, the moonlight deepened, and the night — cleansed of its excess — finally rested.