There is a childish want, a far-fetched dream to many, to become a firefighter. Why wouldn’t we? People want to save others, preventing the casualties which might happen from others’ stupidity. Adorned in red and reflective, they are immediately recognizable as the emergency force called upon in the time of crisis. They fight the salamanders, the messengers of hell, trying to exchange their souls for others’. Their motto, “In igne vivimus – In fire, we live”, is one of the only chants you want to hear when you are in desperate need. In a building engulfed in inferno, out in the field of wildering swirls of flame lit atop the dry leaves, and even in a plant destined to failure by the sirens sounding so loud, the Red Knights are there to ensure your survival.


    Despite being government sanctioned soldiers, they are governed by their own authority. As so, they are some of the most flexible units of immediate response troops in the German Military Hierarchy. The are not picky when it comes to conditions and terrain – in the city center, out there in the fields of grain, deep inside the Moonflower and even to neighboring states, they are there where the screams of innocent resonate. But they are not pure. As they are the hounds of the herders, they also act out their dirty work. Political assassination, ethnic cleansing and even crowd control, they are not void of evil. An example could be seen on the day of Peace, where a radical tried to massacre a crowd but was shot down by a stray lightning in the middle of the Memorial Square. With the carcass of the perpetrator still lying on the ground, half burnt by the strike, a brigade of firefighters fully incinerates the corpse, on site. It would have smelled quite foul to an ordinary person but, they are not one – they are an anomaly. We would never know how it smelled either way, as they erected a barrier around the site, blocking any and all information output to the outside world.


    Lifting his helmet and flipping the phone he held in his chest pocket, “Yo, Leo, what’s up?”, says one of the firefighters who were disposing the body. “Oh, Johann! How can I help you, mate?”, he says after hearing something from the other side. “Ah~ I see. You know, I am quite close to Leo’s condo and I presume you are calling from there. Say, let us meet up somewhere and talk this out in person, okay?”, says Paul, lifting up the purification mask… At the Ferne Wiese, the three meet up, or Johann and Paul meet up. With San quickly going upstairs to check on Will, the baker and the Observer have a conversation about pulling some strings up top.


    “So, I have something to ask: How much would it take for you to persuade the German foreign minister and everyone who have a hand in foreign travels to pass my Artisan’s Pardon?”, says Johann. Raising his hand previously resting on top of his lap above the table and tilting the palm a little, “Let’s wait for the tea to come, no?”, says Paul, who us now in civilian clothes… The teas arrive. Taking a sip from his cup, “She really does remember my preference. Say, do you like your tea with or without sugar?”, asks Paul. “Without, of course. I have one very harsh condition which appears only when I eat unprocessed white sugar”, answers Johann, sipping from his cup as well. Smiling subtly, “That girl, Alex, she oversees the entire floor. More so, she memorizes the patterns. I like my tea really sweet so she added 4 cubes now. And she also deduced that you do not like sugar so she did not add any to yours. The only time when you actually sweeten your drink is the first time you come here, like of you yesterday”, explains Paul.


    “The bar-stand is the service centers; you order beer to commemorate or drown out some occasions, you can talk to the bartender to get some advice and, you can also post up some service requests there. The place where we are sitting, these are the offices – this is where important discussions are held. The front door is the border crossing, you may or may not be able to enter if you are a bit iffy. The pantry is the national reserves and the kitchen is the hell we call the parliament”, finishes his cup, “Likewise, the whole of this establishment is like the government. Only difference is in the smaller sects of the bureau – they are all centered on the owner of this building. Which is really funny to me; if you can persuade that one person, this country could turn into some arbitrary state… Say, Johann von Alstrom, 1^st rate chief from Danzig, why do you want to explore the unknown?”, he continues, going on to ask about some sensitive topics.


    The title of 1^st rate is a curse in disguise. With a cap of a couple of dozen persons, most of the titles are awarded to those who have authority to protect and embellish such high honor. But, if a poor bloke who rose from the rags came into possession of this title, then… you would have some people with various degree of envy and wrath hounding you. Sven von Alstrom, the former royal chief of the Swedish crown, the one who deserted the flush life he had in turn for a new start, was one of the first 1^st rate chiefs to exist in Germany. Migrated from Stockholm to Danzig, the Swed with his son had not have a great time first settling. Due to the discrimination and the competitive nature of then, Sven struggled for a while. But, after the Cold Storm of ’57, after his efforts in aid and moral boost, he found himself as one of the founding members of the Artisan’s district of Danzig. Previously, there was the Artisans Association and its branches, scattered throughout the city and the east, operating almost independent from one another. Now, after the replan following ’57, there was a head office, messenger stations and, further, 1/5^th of the city center under the banner of “East Needle and the Half Moon”.


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    Johann, following his father’s footsteps, became a registered baker at the age of 14 and started to contribute to the association. From his childhood, he did not find interest in anything but baking and cooking. Although his cooking was an absolute disaster, as he always overdid the salt, his baking of bread and pastry was much akin to his father’s, earning him the name “Egg tart”. Throughout his adolescence, he developed to be like his dad – prideful, capable and always reliable. Not a single day he thought that the life he had was too mundane or irrelevant. But, after his death, Johann started to shift his beliefs. Not only he had caught up but, surpassed his father in legacy and prominence yet he had not the chance to show it to him. The calm, caring and compassionate son of Sven had reached his life goal. After such point, there is nothing but a slope of despair. He first lost the passion for baking, turning to more abstract means of art. Then, he stopped caring for the community he helped so much to raise, abandoning it for fleeting ecstasy. And, finally, his calmness turned to lunacy, often going on a ramble of utter nonsense day in and day out. He had completed his life.


    Not a lot of people know what happened next but the prized chief of the artisans of Danzig left the city, never to be seen again in the vicinity. He was thought to have taken his life in a ditch – at the age of 21, the generational 1^st rate chief bloodline has ended with him being remembered as a lunatic. Then, there we are. In the capital, as an artisan, seeking to redeem an annual pardon of state sanctioned travel. Clearing his throat, “I want to acquire what I lack – I want to find what I had lost”, answers Johann. Smiling subtly, “Well then… I hope you know exactly what that is, mate. I have to go and sort some things out now”, stands up, “Good luck on the way to Japan”, says Paul, exiting through the front door…


    After the Observer left, Johann sat in the cubicle, processing what had just happened. What he had promised, what had Paul seen and, even, what his intentions meant for the group proper; everything that might be correlated to his swift decision had become an uncertainty. Suddenly, the room lights up in the same circle pattern as yesterday, the pitch of the howling becoming higher and higher. Realizing what is now happening, he quickly rushes upstairs. While he was sprinting up the stairs, Alex casually passed him. Reaching the 2^nd floor, the room where Will was kept, Sera and San are having a stand-off, both ready to off each other. With a bolt-action in hand, “Oye, Johann, get Will and go. Their methods are crude and contentious. Just have a taste of that soup – absolute garbage. I know a man who can heal him in an instant. Even so, if he is not there, you can tend to him far better than these crepes, no?”, says San…


    One moment, there was a stand-off with 2 bystanders. In the next, the bystanders increased to 3. Right after, there was a stand-off no more. With the Mosin set on a wall, Alex and Sera sat at the foot of the bed and San and Johann on a chair and table about the opposite wall, Alice stands in the middle of the room. “AND… go!”, she says, gesturing a sweeping motion, just like an announcement of the start of a battle. “Eh~? What now? You were this close to erupting into a gun vs. knives battle. Sera, you can easily crunch San right now; San you can just manifest another gun, even an auto, no?”, says Alice, charading around as if the two were fighting. “Are you, perhaps, scared?”, she adds, side half-bowing towards the two, like an adult talking to a child.


    “Of course not!”, they both exclaim in almost unison. Smiling, “Then why don’t you continue the quarrel for him? Maybe he could be woken up by the noise”, says Alice, the smile becoming larger and more sinister by the count of her words … “Birdcage!”, says Johann, trapping and suspending both San and Sera. With a pistol and a knife in her hand, confiscated just before they were put inside the birdcage, “Even if its force is not the first contact, any astray could become a big trouble, no?”, says Alice. Taking a sip from the bowl left on the bedside drawer, “Huh, this is… weird. A bit dull and it lacks salt… Sera, when was this bowl made and by whom, you?”, says Johann. In one very high pitch, “Eh?! A bit dull, you say? That is utter trash, isn’t it?”, says San. “I can ignore any recipe of my own for being called trash. his. You take those words back”, says Sera, from the other side of the room.


    While those two argue: “Ah~ Women…”, “Tell me about it…”, “Say, why are you here?”, the weapons were put on the drawer, “Well, I should be at my office except for Seraphina to dismantle this establishment for a man”, “That… is not what I was expecting to hear, to be honest”, “Eh, why?”, “I expected more Will could have died if I was not here and you ask me that”, a punch was thrown, “Okay, okay, sorry~ You punch like Will, though”, smirkingly, “Of course. I learnt it from him; who else I should have learned to fight? Yuki?”, “I also assumed you took characteristics of Yuki’s”, “Huh, how so?”, “Well~ That oh, no you don’t attitude, mostly”, “And who do you think she took that from?”, “Will?”, “Exactly. Will is our one and only parent. As so, Yuki is like our big sister, if you will”, “So it is incest?”, “Eh!? I can off you here and now if it was not for his patience and discipline. Don’t you say something like that, heretic”, “Yeah, no, so, I will be in the kitchen, then. Eh~ right about when they are done with this quarrel; then I will lower the border”.