《Macaroni's Adventures: Fire and Philosophy a novel of Mackenize "Macaroni" Waterson》


 First Day for Macaroni

    October 1st, 2009. I woke up in Claire¡¯s apartment, the alarm clock blaring at 7:00 AM. I sluggishly rolled over, silenced the alarm, and reluctantly got out of bed. I dressed in my usual attire: black pants secured with a black leather belt, a white t-shirt, and a black short-sleeve shirt over it.


    Claire was already up, heading towards the bedroom door. ¡°Morning, honey,¡± I greeted her. She turned around, a soft smile on her face. ¡°Morning, Macaroni. Sleep well?¡± she asked. I nodded, ¡°I slept well. We snuggled up all night, so I know you did too.¡±


    A question had been nagging at me. ¡°Even though we¡¯re dating. Even though we¡¯re not married, do I still get time off on holidays?¡± Claire shook her head, ¡°Not really. If we were married or if you had children, then yes.¡±


    I made my side of the bed as I continued our conversation. ¡°At least you don¡¯t have any boys, or then you would need to relocate your armory into our bedroom. Lily and Rose are going to be entering the sixth grade next year, and Margaret, Mabel, Bella, Chloe, and Charlotte are turning nine.¡±


    Claire explained, ¡°The only three ways you¡¯ll be able to take time off is that A. We get married, B. You become 100% responsible for their wellbeing if I get hurt, or C. You become a mother as well.¡±


    I had another question. ¡°Why can¡¯t I join you over on Squad 141?¡± We walked into the kitchen as she answered, ¡°Because the department has a no-tolerance policy for firefighters who are dating or married to work within the same house and within the same district. They think that it¡¯ll be a conflict of interest. Just be glad you¡¯re in a SOC company. You¡¯re on Squad 525.¡±


    That was true. I was on a Squad Company like Lusty, but I was in the heart of the city. After breakfast, Claire¡¯s kids had to go to school. We made scrambled eggs with bacon and sausage and coffee. The kids got orange juice. Some of Claire¡¯s children tried to fake an illness to avoid school, but Claire, like her mother, always pulled the ¡®Nice try¡¯ card and told them to get their stuff and start heading to school after they brushed their teeth.


    After breakfast, I ran a quick errand to the corner coffee store and got a large Americano coffee and a chocolate pastry before heading to Squad 525 firehouse.


    ***


    I stepped out of my car and gazed at the Squad Co 525 firehouse. It was a striking contrast to the Squad Company 141 firehouse, where my girlfriend worked. That one had majestic Romanesque Revival architecture, with arched windows and a towering clock tower. This one was a modest red brick and limestone building, with a single apparatus bay door and a blend of Romanesque Revival and Beaux-Arts styles. It looked old, but sturdy.


    I checked my badge, which had the number 198445. It reminded me of Claire, who has the number 197945. She was only five years ahead of me, but he had seen so much more. She had taught me everything I knew about firefighting, and he had encouraged me to apply for Squad 525. She said it was the best squad in the city, and that I had what it took to be part of it.


    I walked inside and noticed the recent renovations. The concrete floor had a fresh coat of white paint, and the doors looked new and shiny. But the history of Squad 525 was still evident in the spiral staircase and the hayloft, which used to house the horses and the wagons. The last major renovation was in 1922 when they installed electricity and replaced the steam-powered fire wagon with a motorized one. That was also the year when Engine Company 525 became Squad Company 525, on Christmas Day.


    "Um, hi," I said, as I saw a firefighter sitting on the bumper, reading a magazine. "I''m Mackenzie. I''m your new Probie on Squad 525."


    The firefighter looked up and smiled. "Oh, fantastic. That''s great. We''ve been waiting for a new Probie since our previous nozzleman retired."


    "Why did he retire?" I asked.


    "Old age. He was due for retirement. He joined back in 1961, the guy was born in ''42. We just kept him around longer because of the earthquake back in ''06, when he was supposed to retire at 65. And then the war. He was a legend, but he had to go. Well, let me show you around. You''re lucky, you get a new Probie and a new rig on the same day."


    "Must be a lucky day for this company then," I said, trying to sound friendly.


    He chuckled. "Yeah, well, we were all expecting a male, not a female, to joke and bullshit around with. You know, locker room talk and stuff. But hey, I''m not sexist. I have two sisters who are firefighters, and all of my brothers are firefighters too."


    "I can handle any jokes you throw at me," I said, confidently. "I''ve even gotten into fist fights with male members of my family. And I don''t mean pillow fights. I mean brass knuckles and blood."


    He raised his eyebrows. "Wow, you''re tough. I like that. Is one of them named Linda Keehezoni Richter-Waterson? She''s my sister. Name''s Richter. Steven Richter."


    He extended his hand and I shook it. He had a firm grip and a friendly face. He showed me around the firehouse and explained that the spiral staircase was installed to prevent the horses from going upstairs, where the firefighters cooked, ate, and slept. He introduced me to the other members of the squad, who seemed nice enough, but also curious about me.


    "So, why did you join the Fire Department?" Steven asked me.


    I smiled and thought of my girlfriend. "Because of her. She''s over on Squad Company 141. She''s cute, she''s smart, she''s a Lieutenant. She inspired me to become a firefighter. What about you?"


    "Family tradition," Steven said. "Brothers, sisters, father, grandfather, grandmother, all the way back to the year of 1710, when the city was founded. Firefighting is in our blood."


    I nodded. "That''s impressive. So, what kind of house is this? Is it a busy house? A peaceful house? Or somewhere in between? What are the majority of calls we run? Is it fires or EMS calls? I only ask because I was here once for my fire science class. I spent 24 hours in three different firehouses: Firehouse Sixteen, Firehouse Thirty-Three, and this one. I want to know what to expect because then I was only 22 and was mostly thinking about going out to party¡­"


    Steven then took me to the locker room and showed me the locker I''ll be using and I was given a strip of masking tape and a sharpie where I wrote in capital words I wrote ¡°MACARONI¡± on it.


    ¡°Macaroni?¡± Asked Steven.


    I replied, ¡°It''s a nickname my girlfriend gave me because I love macaroni.¡±


    I then opened the locker and put my duffle bag in it. I also put my shoes into the locker where I put on my turnout Trousers with suspenders and the trousers are black with yellow and white striping. But I took my turnout jacket which is also black with yellow and white reflective striping and black helmet onto my spot.


    Descending the station¡¯s steps, the mechanical hum and rhythmic beeping of equipment testing filled my ears. I followed the sound to its source - Lieutenant Valkyrie, meticulously checking her gear.


    ¡°Probie, check your gear too. Ensure it¡¯s all in working order,¡± Lieutenant Valkyrie instructed, her gaze never leaving her task. ¡°You don¡¯t want to respond to a call only to find your BA¡¯s respirator or gauge malfunctioning. You need to know if you¡¯re running out of air.¡±


    ¡°Understood, Lieutenant,¡± I responded, my voice steady despite the fluttering in my stomach. My two-year active duty enlistment in the Navy aboard a Ticonderoga class-guided missile cruiser in the Aegean Sea had prepared me for pressure, but this was a different beast. With a four-year active drilling navy reserve commitment looming, the pressure was only set to increase.


    ¡°Scared, Probie?¡± Lieutenant Valkyrie asked, finally looking up.


    ¡°Honestly? Yes,¡± I admitted. ¡°Every human instinct screams at us not to run into a burning building. It¡¯s madness, even with all this training. This isn¡¯t a video game where you learn from dying and respawning.¡±


    Lieutenant Valkyrie looked puzzled. ¡°What the hell is a video game?¡±


    I paused, struggling to explain a concept so foreign to someone living in a country where video games were still considered science fiction.


    ¡°Do you mean one of those arcade games with raster or vector graphics, standard resolution between 262.5 and 315 vertical lines, depending on the refresh rate usually between 50 and 60 Hz?¡± Lieutenant Valkyrie asked, her brow furrowed.


    I shook my head. ¡°No, not an arcade machine. A video game is an electronic game that involves interaction with a user interface or input device like a joystick, controller, keyboard, or motion-sensing device. It generates visual feedback on a display device, most commonly a television set, computer monitor, flat-panel display or touchscreen on handheld devices.¡±


    That¡¯s how I could describe a video game. But Lieutenant Valkyrie looked at me in confusion.


    ¡°I just know what an Arcade game is,¡± Lt Valkyrie said. ¡°That¡¯s how I put myself through advanced classes in the fire academy by taking a part-time job working nights to go into an arcade of them having an arcade game in a store that has people come in during business hours to play arcade games.¡±


    I then just tested my breathing apparatus.


    ¡°You¡¯re welcome that I was able to get you over here,¡± Lt Valkyrie said.


    I replied, ¡°Yes I know because I helped out after the Earthquake. You even came to my girlfriend¡¯s apartment and gave me an advanced copy of the 2009-2010 course schedule and told me that if I want to be a part of an elite unit then I want to take HAZMAT Tech A, Vertical Rescue and Building Collapse One. I went home back to the States then from ¡®07-early 09 I was in the Navy then came back and took the Spring of ¡®09 class.


    Then I met the Chauffeur-Engineer Schmit, and the other two Pengelle and Carter but Steven told me not to bother them because they always play cards just to pass the time. I was about to ask where the other one was but Steven told me that he called out sick so it¡¯ll be a six man company not seven as normal.


    ***


    We were in the midst of the organized chaos of a hardware store when Lieutenant Valkyrie announced our next stop. ¡°Alright, after this place, we¡¯re stopping by the grocery store,¡± she said, her eyes scanning the shelves.


    ¡°Why are we going to the grocery store after the hardware store?¡± I asked, curiosity piqued.


    Steven chimed in from behind a stack of paint cans, ¡°Do you like Barbecue?¡±


    ¡°Barbecue?¡± I echoed, a smile spreading across my face at the memory. ¡°A Waterson never turns down a BBQ, be it smoked or grilled. Every Spring and Summer break, my dad would take me to our extended family¡¯s bi-monthly BBQ. The mouthwatering, savory BBQ was a highlight, even though there were a few fistfights here and there for one reason or another. So yes, I like BBQs. And the only time we got away from my mother for a reason I¡¯m not going to talk about.¡±


    Steven chuckled, ¡°I¡¯m not even going to ask why your family would have fistfights at these BBQs.¡±


    ¡°Well, when adults drink and someone takes an unmarked beer can, it can lead to disagreements,¡± I explained. ¡°But in my family, we treat each other as siblings, even cousins. The fights are more like sibling squabbles, providing entertainment more than anything else. By the way, do false alarms count towards my first run? Over on Squad 141, they count false alarms as a first run.¡±


    Lieutenant Valkyrie shook her head. ¡°Nope. It depends on the house, but 90% of them don¡¯t count false alarms. Now, where¡¯s the 4FT 0-20 PSI Adjustable Propane Regulator?¡±


    I reached over and picked it up, ¡°Right in front of you, Lieutenant.¡±


    She laughed, ¡°Guess my eyesight is deteriorating from old age. But I¡¯ve been doing this job for 20 years.¡±


    ¡°You were a Probie when I entered Kindergarten,¡± I said, with a note of respect in my voice.


    With a nod, Lieutenant Valkyrie announced, ¡°Alright Squad, let¡¯s get out of here. This piece is already five bucks and we still have to hit the store. And Probie, you¡¯re buying the meat and BBQ sauce.¡±


    ***


    In the aisles of the grocery store, I maneuvered a cart through the aisle. The question slipped from my lips almost without thought, ¡°So, what was your first fire?¡±


    Steven, nonchalantly tossing a piece of cereal into the air and catching it in his mouth, responded, ¡°House fire. We were the second-due company. I managed to pull two little girls out of the inferno. A newspaper photographer captured the moment I emerged from the house, girls in tow. I remember that call vividly. Valkyrie was there too, it was the day she graduated from being a Candidate. Our then Lieutenant, listening to the radio, heard the words ¡®Fire extending, getting away.¡¯ I¡¯ve kept that newspaper clipping at my house.¡±


    Lt Valkyrie joined us, placing the BBQ meat into the shopping cart, ¡°The firehouse has a copy too,¡± she added, then looked around, ¡°Where¡¯s Carter?¡±


    I glanced towards the store entrance, ¡°He¡¯s outside, standing next to our apparatus. Didn¡¯t ask why, but I guess he just wanted some fresh air.¡±


    Steven disappeared for a moment, only to return with the announcement, ¡°We were out of ketchup and mustard.¡±


    We made our way to the checkout, the cart heavy with our purchases. As Lieutenant Valkyrie had instructed, I paid for the groceries. But when I turned around, they had vanished, leaving me to lug all the paper bags to the rescue engine alone. It was one of those pranks they pull on the newbies.


    A few hours later, we found ourselves on the roof of a mid rise mixed commercial-apartment building.


    ¡°Rope rescue,¡± I declared, my heart pounding in my chest. ¡°First time. I¡¯ll go because I¡¯m the lightest.¡±


    I strapped on the harness and attached the rope to a karabiner. Climbing over the railing, I couldn¡¯t shake the fear of being dropped. I wasn¡¯t afraid of heights, but the thought of the rope snapping or fraying and breaking apart was terrifying. I didn¡¯t want to end up like Humpty Dumpty.


    Somehow someone got stuck out on a balcony but we couldn¡¯t reach the person due to the floor on that level being torn up for renovations.


    ¡°Squad 525 to command, we got a man coming over the top,¡± Lieutenant Valkyrie relayed into her walkie-talkie advising dispatch to inform the cops that they¡¯re performing a rope rescue.


    ¡°Just don¡¯t look down,¡± Steven advised.


    ¡°Yeah, thanks¡­¡± I muttered, my mind wandering to my father¡¯s paratrooper training.


    As I was lowered down, I shouted instructions to the team above. Suddenly, the person I was rescuing fell onto me, causing us to plummet rapidly down two floors. We crashed into a window. Taking the initiative, I used my window-shattering tool to break the window, allowing both of us to enter the building. The rope slackened as they gave me some leeway to ensure I was fully inside.


    I soon then got off of the ropes but radioed to Lieutenant that I was inside and safe. My heart was racing but that was not fun but a lot scarier than I thought.


    ***


    Back at the firehouse, I shook my head in disbelief. ¡°I¡¯m not even going to try to figure out how someone managed to lock themselves out on a balcony of a floor that¡¯s closed for renovations,¡± I said, rubbing my forehead. ¡°Just thinking about it gives me a headache.¡±


    Steven shrugged, ¡°That¡¯s a mystery for the cops to solve.¡±


    Lieutenant Valkyrie nodded in agreement. ¡°Exactly. We¡¯ve done our job, now it¡¯s time for the Burglary Detectives to do theirs. Breaking and Entering falls under their jurisdiction.¡±


    Changing the subject, I pointed across the street. ¡°Hey, looks like a new bakery opened up. Anyone fancy an A-la-Carte?¡±


    Steven looked puzzled, ¡°What the hell is that?¡±


    I explained, ¡°It¡¯s when food can be ordered as separate items, rather than part of a set meal.¡±


    Lieutenant Valkyrie chimed in, ¡°Just go get a cake for dessert. But remember to keep your radio on and make sure the cake is fresh. We don¡¯t want one that¡¯s been sitting out for days.¡±


    I darted across the street to the bakery, selecting two freshly made cakes - a chocolate ice cream cake and a classic vanilla. After paying a mere five bucks, I returned to the firehouse, stowing the ice cream cake in the freezer and the vanilla cake in the fridge to keep them chilled and fresh.


    ¡°Hey Lieutenant, would you like me to prepare the Barbecue using my family recipe?¡± I offered with a hint of pride in my voice. ¡°It¡¯s more mouthwatering than you can imagine.¡±


    Lieutenant Valkyrie chuckled, ¡°Sure, but if it¡¯s terrible, we won¡¯t let you forget it. When I joined back in ''89, they always made sure to remember your culinary failures, even after you retire.¡±


    With her approval, I headed out back to the grill to start the Barbecue. As I worked, I found myself hoping that a call wouldn¡¯t interrupt lunch. My gaze drifted to the watch on my wrist, a graduation gift from my dad in 2007. He was proud of me for attending university, even though he had to foot the bill. He didn¡¯t want me to be so far away, but I found comfort in knowing I had family here. And of course, there was my girlfriend to talk to whenever I felt homesick.


    I left the Barbecue unattended for a moment, returning with a chair for a quick break. As I sat reading my ¡°Firefighter Officer Preparation Book.¡± Steven surprised me by snatching it up. He asked if I wanted to be an officer, to which I confirmed. He commended my ambition but advised patience, reminding me that I was also a new candidate and should wait until 2014 to take the officer exam. Five years before I could take the Captain¡¯s exam. It was strange to me that in Little Bird, the Captain was a lower rank than the Lieutenant, but I wasn¡¯t about to question it.


    Steven¡¯s advice on preparing for the officer¡¯s exam was straightforward - study, make flashcards, and quiz yourself. He suggested enlisting the help of a study partner, like a family member or a girlfriend, to test your knowledge and provide feedback. His brother Stephan, a Lieutenant at Engine Seventeen, had a unique approach - he would reward himself for getting a majority of the questions right, and if he didn¡¯t, he would hit the books even harder.


    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.The officer¡¯s exam, Steven explained, consisted of one hundred questions. To be considered for promotion to Captain, you needed to answer at least seventy-five correctly. With thirty-six fire companies in the city and a total of one hundred and eight captains and thirty-six lieutenants, competition was fierce. Almost two hundred firefighters typically took the exam, aiming for limited advancement opportunities. The highest scorers became officers, while the lower scorers were kept in reserve, ready to step up if an officer retired or fell in the line of duty.


    Steven admitted to having taken the officer¡¯s exam three times, failing on each attempt. He warned that the exam had a strict one-hour time limit, and any incomplete answers were counted as incorrect. He also cautioned against any attempts to cheat, as it resulted in an automatic fail and a ban from retaking the exam. His words served as a sobering reminder of the challenges that lay ahead on my journey to becoming an officer. But with hard work, dedication, and a little bit of luck, I was confident I could make it.


    ¡°Well I¡¯m going to go back to playing cards,¡± Steven said. ¡°But on the quiz or test some are multiple choice answers while others you have to write a sentence. And since your girlfriend is a Lieutenant she won¡¯t sit on the board to oversee your test because it¡¯s all random like the military draft lottery or the lottery. So even if you¡¯re on the name for the next class test and your girlfriend''s number gets drawn to oversee the test then they¡¯ll remove her number and draw another badge number.


    "It¡¯s done to prevent nepotism because before 1951 a lot of officers were easily promoted due to close ties with whoever''s in charge and a lot of them weren¡¯t ready to become officers. Since 1951 they made it required you needed at least a minimum of five years on the job before being eligible to take the test and made that lottery styled system to draw one random Lieutenant, two Captains, One Battalion and One Division Chief that oversees it with a few others from HQ and some will walk around the room to make sure there¡¯s no cheating is going on. Also when I went through the academy my instructor said that bravery is part of the job. But so is good sense. And bravery without good sense is a good recipe to die awfully young.¡±


    I replied, ¡°Ah okay then that¡¯s an interesting dynamic or system put in place. My girlfriend she told me that I¡¯ll miss a lot of important things like birthdays, holidays, and miss seeing kids grow up and that I¡¯ll live with doubt, frustration, and anxiety and also said that there¡¯s almost four thousand firefighters in this city who knows that being a firefighter is isn¡¯t a glamor job and a thankless or thankful job. My girlfriend every day wishes she could¡¯ve been there one second sooner to save her parents and her parents have been dead for thirteen years.¡±


    I then went back to make the barbecue but after the BBQ was done I made homemade mashed potatoes to go with it. I told them to put the cards away and had them dig it but I¡¯d saved my plate for last.


    I was feeling bored and curious, so I asked Lt Valkyrie, "Why do we have to have a BBQ on the first of October?"


    She looked at me with a serious expression and said, "This is not just any BBQ, Macaroni. This is a tradition that goes back to the very beginning of this Company. On October 1st, 1914, the first group of firefighters who formed this Company had their first meal together, and it was a barbecue. They didn''t care that BBQs were not a common thing back then, or that the BBQ grill was not even invented until 1952.


    "They just wanted to celebrate their camaraderie and courage with some grilled meat and sauce. And they got the idea from some old books they read about Jamaica and North America, where people used to barbecue their food as early as 1661. So ever since then, on every October 1st, we honor their legacy by having a barbecue for lunch, no matter what. And during the wars, we always had steak and eggs for breakfast, just like them."


    I was impressed by his history lesson, and I could tell she was passionate about this tradition. Steven, Schmit, Pengelle, and Carter nodded in agreement and praised me for my cooking skills. They said I was the best firehouse cook they ever had, and they were lucky to have me.


    Steven then turned to me and asked, "So Macaroni, you said you did two years in the Navy, right? Did you travel to any interesting places during that time?"


    I smiled and said, "Yeah, I did from 18 to 21. I went to Thailand, Mexico, Central America, Haiti, and Kenya for some missionary work with my church with a cousin. I''m not one of those annoying people who knock on your door and try to convert you, don''t worry. I just wanted to help out the people in need and spread some love and hope. In the Navy, I went to Germany when we were docked there for some repairs when a lighting hit us. Honestly, I was kinda bored in CIC on the Bunker Hill just staring at a screen of which way the 5in/62 caliber Mark 45 Mod 4 cannon was facing that¡¯s on the bow.¡±


    Lieutenant Valkyrie looked at me with a curious tilt of her head and asked, "You''re religious?"


    Drawing in a deep breath, I leaned back in my chair, my voice carrying a sense of conviction as I responded, "You see, Lieutenant, I''m not the kind of woman to knock on someone''s door and ask for a chunk of their precious time. I''m not there to preach about a God they may not believe in or perhaps reject entirely. My partner is an atheist, and I hold a deep respect for her beliefs, as she does mine. It''s about understanding, you know? I hail from the American South, a region famed for its genteel charm, courteous manners, and hospitality that''s as warm as the sunny skies above Little Bird. The climate here, with its generous sun and heat that hangs on into the night, reminds me of home."


    Another voice piped up, Pengelle''s, inquisitive and bright, "Where are you from originally?"


    I couldn''t help but smile, a sense of pride welling up inside me as I recounted, "I''m originally from Fort Liberty, North Carolina. Spent my early years there up until ''92 when I was eight, and then my family moved to Killen, Alabama. In ''05, I set out for Arcane University ¨C a chapter of my life filled with learning and growth. After I graduated in ''07, I found my way back to Alabama. But the pull of this place was strong, and come spring this year, I returned."


    Steven, who''d been quietly listening, chimed in with a note of admiration in his voice, "And she''s got her sights on becoming an officer one day," nodding towards a familiar figure in the yard. "There she was, multitasking like a pro ¨C flipping through the officer''s preparation book and tending to the barbecue out back. I told her to take it easy, today''s her first day, and there''s a whole lot to take in and not jump the gun and told her that it¡¯s good to be ambitious but."


    Pengelle couldn''t resist a playful jab, "That''s rich coming from the guy who couldn''t tell what a nozzle is made of."


    Steven laughed, a bit of embarrassment in his eyes, but he owned his story. "Hey, I admit, I was rattled during the test. When one of the overseers called time, my mind scrambled, and I scribbled down ''titanium'' instead of the right materials ¨C like aluminum, brass, or polycarbonate plastic. My dad and six other siblings didn''t let me live it down and called me an idiot. If I''d gotten it right, I would''ve scored high enough to cut Captain." His tone was light, but I could see the lesson had been learned, etched into his memory.


    Lt Valkyrie looked at me with interest as she bit into a juicy piece of the BBQ. "Do you have any other relatives in the fire department?"


    I nodded. "Yeah, I do. My cousin works at house sixteen. He''s been there for fourteen years now. And I had two grand uncles who served at Firehouse Five in Clearlake. They were both heroes, and saved a lot of lives. They died. And then there''s my great-granddad. He was a legend. He joined 24-Engine in the City of New York in 1921. He fought in World War 2, came back in 1945, and went right back to his old company. He left again in 1950 to fight in the Korean War, and returned in 1953. He stayed with 24-Engine until his retirement in 1966. He was a fireman for forty-five years, but I still have his medals and his helmet. He''s my inspiration." I paused, then added with a smile, "And what about my girlfriend?"


    Pengelle snorted. "She doesn''t count."


    Lt Valkyrie smiled back at me. "She counts."


    As we enjoyed our lunch, we watched a science fiction movie on the screen. It was an old classic from 1962, set in a dystopian future of 2004. The movie depicted a world ravaged by a war that had lasted for two hundred years, and the effects of hyperinflation on the economy and society.


    I was fascinated by the details of the movie, and I couldn''t help asking questions. "Why do the laser weapons in the movie look so bulky and clumsy? Why do they have such sharp edges on their plastic casings?"


    Steven, who saw the movie before, explained to me. "Well, the movie makers probably wanted to make the weapons look futuristic and advanced, but they didn''t have the technology or the budget to make them realistic. They used cheap materials and simple designs to create the props. They also added some sound effects and flashes of light to make them seem more powerful."


    I nodded, but I had more questions. "And what about the prices of everything? Why is everything so expensive in the movie? A beer costs $39, and a six-pack is almost $200. A coffee and a donut are $30, and a magazine is $39. And a motel room is over a hundred thousand dollars per night. How can anyone afford to live in this world?"


    Steven sighed. "That''s because of the hyperinflation, remember? The war has drained the resources of the world, and the governments have printed more and more money to pay for it. But the money has lost its value, and the prices have skyrocketed. The movie shows how the people struggle to survive in this harsh reality, and how they cope with the violence and the chaos."


    We finished our lunch and I cleaned up the dishes. I put them in the dishwasher and wrapped up the leftovers for dinner. I had made a lot of BBQ, and it smelled delicious.


    ¡°Oh to warn y¡¯all but my mouth runs more than my brain,¡± I said.


    Suddenly, I heard a hissing sound. It sounded like water leaking. I followed the noise and found the source. It was the water tank of Squad Co 525, our fire truck. It had a crack in it, and water was dripping from it.


    "Hey, Lieutenant, we have a problem!" I yelled.


    Lieutenant Valkyrie came running to me. She bent down and looked under the truck with me. She cursed under her breath.


    "Damn it," she said. "This is not good. This is not good at all."


    She got up and walked away. She took out her radio and called the station. She told them that Squad Co 525 was out of service and that we needed a replacement. She also told them that the truck needed to be repaired as soon as possible.


    She came back to me and said, "Well, the computer says it will take two weeks to fix this. Two freaking weeks. Can you believe that?"


    I wanted to say something, but I decided to keep quiet. I didn''t want to make things worse. I knew she was angry and frustrated.


    I changed the subject, "You know, I wish I had come here in 2003 to see my cousin get married. I was nineteen then, but I was too busy working and saving money. And hiding it from my mom."


    Steven, who was sitting nearby said, "I was there. It was a beautiful wedding. Linda was so happy. She thanked our dad for walking her down the aisle. She said it meant a lot to her. She said it was a symbol of our dad trusting Dave to take care of her. Our dad didn''t like the idea of firefighters from different houses dating, and he still doesn''t. But he likes Dave. He respects him. He gave him his blessing.


    "Dave earned our dad''s trust and our respect. He''s a good guy. The only one who didn''t like him was our mom. She just wanted them to give her lots of grandkids." He laughed. ¡°My mom doesn¡¯t know they have four kids already because if she found out she would want more grandchildren but I¡¯m content with having two nephews and two nieces from them."


    We just waited until the spare was brought but we left the spare outside where we just got out the mops and cleaned where the water was leaking at even though the station has a drain. After we cleaned the apparatus bay floor we then washed our spare rig and the Hazmat van then I went to take a nap because it was a peaceful day.


    ***


    I woke up from a short nap and headed downstairs to join the rest of the crew.


    ¡°Macaroni, come here!¡± Steven shouted from across the room.


    I walked over to see what was going on.


    ¡°We¡¯re going to practice a medical scenario and you¡¯re the victim. Lie down on the floor and act like you¡¯re unconscious,¡± Lt Valkyrie instructed.


    I obeyed and lay down on the cold concrete, closing my eyes. I tried to ignore the noise around me, but I soon felt a collar being wrapped around my neck. Then I was lifted slightly and placed on a hard board. I kept still, hoping they wouldn¡¯t tickle me or do something worse.


    I felt them carry me to a stokes basket and load me onto the hose bed. I heard Pengelle say, ¡°Hold her steady, don¡¯t drop her,¡± and Carter say, ¡°Don¡¯t roll her over.¡± They were talking to each other, but I didn¡¯t open my eyes. I wanted to see how realistic they would make it.


    After a few minutes, they took me off the hose bed and put me back on the floor.


    ¡°That was intense,¡± I said, opening my eyes. ¡°What kind of training was that?¡±


    Lt Valkyrie explained, ¡°It was a simulation of how to handle a patient with a possible spinal injury. It could happen in a motorcycle accident, a motocross race, or any other situation where the neck is at risk.¡±


    ¡°I see. That makes sense,¡± I said. ¡°But I have another question. Why is our crest a llama? Rescue Co 17 and Squad 141 have a Cerberus, and Thirty-Three has a camel.¡±


    Lt Valkyrie smiled and said, ¡°Engine Company 525¡¯s first fire was at a llama farm. We managed to save all the llamas from the blaze, which was caused by a lightning strike. The owner was so grateful that he gave them a llama as a mascot. They named him Sparky and adopted him as our symbol.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m going back to the movie, the sequel should be coming soon,¡± said Steven. ¡°Of course in the sequel, a news blurb mentions how the worldwide death toll numbers in the ¡®thousands.¡¯ Not hundreds of thousands, not tens of thousands, but ¡®thousands.¡¯ That number would barely take a dent out of a decently-sized city, and seems impossibly low given the large-scale destruction we saw in the first movie¡±


    I replied, ¡°It could be that in the movie the official news reports are deliberately under-reporting the number of casualties to prevent panic from rising. Also I remember when that quake hit a firefighter I know she was hoping a tidal wave wouldn¡¯t hit but she used the term tidal wave was once used interchangeably with tsunami.¡±


    The room buzzed with chatter, but a commanding female voice sliced through the din. ¡°Steven, I have some updates for you.¡± The voice belonged to a striking woman with raven-black hair and mesmerizing hazel-green eyes, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit and overcoat.


    As Steven approached her, I found myself captivated by a series of photos on the wall. I feigned interest in them, but my real focus was their conversation. It wasn¡¯t long before Steven waved me over.


    ¡°Meet Detective Aurora, my girlfriend,¡± Steven introduced, ¡°And Aurora, this is our fresh recruit, fondly known as Macaroni. And this is Det¡­¡±


    I replied, ¡°Zofia. I know I knocked her out once.¡±


    As we shook hands, I was surprised by the firmness of her grip, but I managed to match it.


    ¡°Five years with the 11th Special Operations Battalion, specializing in close-quarters combat,¡± she revealed. ¡°Now, I¡¯m a Burglary Detective. I was just updating Steven about a recent case involving a company under renovation.¡±


    Intrigued, I ventured, ¡°Let me guess, a disgruntled ex-employee returned to settle a score with his former boss?¡±


    ¡°Exactly,¡± Detective Aurora confirmed. ¡°But the puzzle is how he gained access to the floor. The doors require a key, which he should have surrendered upon his dismissal. I suspect that he made a copy before his termination. The building¡¯s doors are designed to lock automatically from the inside and can only be unlocked from the stairwell with a key.¡±


    I pondered, ¡°Could he have used a rope to scale a floor?¡±


    Detective Aurora dismissed the idea, ¡°That would have been too noticeable. The only reason why the 525 was called in was because there was no other way to reach him. The floors above and below were also locked and deserted due to the renovations.


    "The workers are on paid leave until the renovations are completed in two months. The alternative would be risking a lawsuit if a worker was injured by falling debris, like a paintbrush, a hammer, or even a piece of drywall. But I¡¯ll go back but the only thing I can do is charge him with trespassing and stealing a $40 azure blue typewriter and a $1 red ink balldot pen.¡±


    I was about to interject when Detective Aurora continued, ¡°Little Bird may be a police state, but we can¡¯t just slap random charges on people. I need evidence that he either kept private property or made a copy of the key. Otherwise, I can¡¯t charge him with having access to it without breaking and entering.¡±


    Steven chimed in, ¡°Well, our probie made some mouthwatering BBQ. How about I go and reheat a piece for you?¡±


    Detective Aurora refused, then she returned to her car and drove off.


    ¡°A cop and a firefighter dating,¡± I mused, ¡°I¡¯ve seen that before, but it ended differently.¡±


    Steven queried, ¡°What are you implying?¡±


    ¡°Oh, my girlfriend Claire. Her first girlfriend, Zofia, is a cop. They were dating when Zofia was in University, but they broke up because Zofia couldn¡¯t handle that Claire has a dangerous job,¡± I explained


    Steven retorted, ¡°That¡¯s hypocritical. Cry about having a girlfriend, being a firefighter then join the police department in the burglary division. I know the divisions the department has and it¡¯s Patrol, Traffic, Homicide, Vice, Arson, Bunco, and Burglary. But your girlfriend, her ex who was here, well she¡¯s hypocritical.¡±


    I went and decided just to walk around a bit until I asked if there was a gym but I was told that there wasn¡¯t because the rooms in the firehouse is just the kitchen-dining room, common room, showers, sleeping quarters, maintenance, and laundry room.


    ¡°Well I was planning on working on my cardio,¡± I said, ¡°I wish there was a gym here.¡±


    Carter replied, ¡°Why are you here?¡±


    ¡°I was assigned here,¡± I said, ¡°And you can stow your high and mighty attitude?¡±


    Carter replied, ¡°You can play it however you want it. It¡¯s going to take a lot more than just doing your job to impress me.¡±


    ¡°Well I¡¯m not going to do anything to impress you,¡± I said. ¡°My dad didn¡¯t raise me to be a people pleaser. If you won¡¯t ever trust me for being a coworker. Don¡¯t worry, the feeling is mutual.¡±


    Throughout the day I mostly worked on my cardio by going up and down the stairs. But hours went by but I had no idea if it was one of those days where it flew by or just the calls we would¡¯ve gone to were handled by Rescue 17 just half a district and two blocks away.


    ***


    As dawn broke, I found myself in the kitchen-dining area humming with life.


    Steven, with a grin that stretched from ear to ear, announced, ¡°I made the call yesterday at lunch. We¡¯ve found our new chef.¡±


    Lt Valkyrie, raising an eyebrow, asked, ¡°And who might have taught you your culinary skills?¡±


    Settling into my chair, I responded, ¡°My father was my mentor. Today¡¯s breakfast is a hearty dish of fourteen eggs whisked with milk. In a small bowl, combine three heaping scoops of pepper and a tablespoon of salt. Stir it into the eggs, adding a hint of garlic powder. Then, fold in some cheddar cheese. Use a small tab of butter or some cooking oil, let it heat up, and then pour in the egg mixture. While cooking add some more shredded cheese into the eggs until the eggs are done. My father and I always used a spoon to fluff them up.¡±


    Steven, puzzled, asked, ¡°Why did you save the bacon and sausage grease in a sealable aluminum can?¡±


    I explained, ¡°It¡¯s because of the ongoing war. We all have to contribute to the war effort in our own ways.¡±


    Carter chimed in, ¡°But the military already has a supply of grease. They get it from steaks, pot roasts, hamburgers, hams, bacon, sausages, pork lunchbox meat, corned beef hash, and Visese sausages.¡±


    I countered, ¡°I¡¯m skeptical that corned beef hash produces any grease. I¡¯ve never cooked it myself and frankly, I¡¯m not a fan. Another day I¡¯ll make y¡¯all homemade bacon cheese cheeseburger. It¡¯s a cheeseburger with cheese inside with bacon on it. My dad made them every other week. I got a whole list of my dad¡¯s recipes I want y¡¯all to try.


    "Also there¡¯s enough left over I put a sticky note that B shift can have the rest. Also no I¡¯m not giving y¡¯all every single recipe I got from my dad where the one for the eggs is on the house the rest is a family secret.¡±


    After we had done the dishes we left and let B shift take over. I went over to my car and noticed a slashed tire and a broken window.


    ¡°If Echelon Enterprises want a round two then I¡¯ll give them a round two,¡± I said as I went to the trunk and got a spare tire, jack and tire iron and changed the tire but I got the glass off of my seat but instead of going home I just went to a mechanic shop to get a new window, a new spare tire and to replace the flat tire that I kept to give to the shop so they could send it to a recycling place.

 Chapter two: Firestorm and History

    October 3rd, 2009


    I sat down at the table where I took a bite of my eggs and took a sip of coffee.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to be building a new deck so me and Aurora can do cookouts on it,¡± said Steven. ¡°But I¡¯m going to need to borrow some additional money to get the wood for the deck.¡±


    I replied, ¡°My dad always taught me not to borrow money from others because as the good book says ¡®The borrower is a slave to the lender¡¯ or to put it in simple terms. When one owes money, they become beholden to the creditor, often subject to terms and interest rates. For example, if you borrow fifty bucks from a money lender then they want their fifty bucks back then another fifty for interest.


    ¡°My family if you borrow money from someone then be prepared to pay them back or work to pay off the debt and when I say work I mean renovating an entire two-story house by myself, tearing up an old deck, putting down a new deck and paint the house with an iceberg blue color. Also, tear up the roof shingles and put down a new one. I was going to give my cousin once removed his fifty bucks back but he told me I had two months to return it. But every chance I tried to pay him back even writing a check but my mom always intercepted it for her drugs.


    "Any of you might say that my dad could¡¯ve paid it off but nope then I would¡¯ve needed to pay back my dad for bailing me out. Hey I read the fine print and it said that if I failed in any way to pay back my cousin once removed then I would¡¯ve had to work for him aka renovate his house. That was fun because after school I had my part-time job as a waitress and after working four hours my dad would take me to go and renovate the house.


    "But my dad did the rewiring because if not then I would¡¯ve either electrocuted the house or if a lightswitch was flipped then have the house blow up. My dad works five hours as a general laborer and another five as an electrician. But he couldn¡¯t rewire my mother¡¯s brain or lack thereof. It was not fun crossing the Alabama-Mississippi state border a lot. But Socrates said ¡®There is only one good knowledge and one evil, ignorance.¡¯He also said ¡®The unexamined life is not worth living¡¯ reflects Socrates¡¯ belief in the importance of self-reflection and critical inquiry for a meaningful existence.¡±


    I then took another bite of my breakfast.


    ¡°Hey if you don¡¯t mind me asking,¡± I said, ¡°But how did Little Bird survive the Second World war?¡±


    Steven replied, ¡°President Abigail Orange the second Little Bird female president she said to both Blister Canyon and Lava Falls in 1940 she said and I quote ¡®You should start paying attention to what''s happening around you. Believe me, way too many games are being played¡¯ because both Blister Canyon and Lava Falls were paying attention closely to what was happening in Europe, not Asia and the Pacific. They got a kick in the balls when the government officials and citizens were reading the newspapers and listening to the radio on December 7th when the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor in Hawaii.¡±


    The fire bell¡¯s clamor jolted me into action. I sprinted to my station, suiting up with practiced efficiency.


    ¡°First taste of the dragon, Probie,¡± Steven¡¯s voice echoed, a smirk in his tone, ¡°Ready to dance with the flames?¡±


    ¡°Absolutely,¡± I shot back, ¡°What¡¯s the situation, Lieutenant?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ve got a blaze at an oil drilling site, five miles out on Route 69, off Interisland 15,¡± the Lieutenant¡¯s voice was grave. ¡°This isn¡¯t your average fire. They¡¯re calling every city company. It¡¯s a Class B inferno. Empire Utilities has remotely shut down the pipeline. We can¡¯t afford this beast reaching Empire.¡±


    Steven chimed in, ¡°Buckle up, Probie. This one¡¯s a monster. What¡¯s the mick jiggy say?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a computer, Steven,¡± I corrected him.


    He scoffed, ¡°It¡¯s a typewriter with a screen.¡±


    Lieutenant Valkyrie cut in, ¡°This is a serious situation. The fire¡¯s spreading towards the storage buildings, offices, and warehouses. Temperatures are hitting 1500 degrees, hotter at the core.¡±


    I had to ask, ¡°What¡¯s an Interisland?¡±


    Steven explained, ¡°It¡¯s like the American Interstate system, but ours were designed for evacuation during nuclear war or enemy invasion. Our Pentomic army could mobilize and counter the invasion. Yes, I said Pentomic. We have Tactical Nuclear Weapons at the Regimental level, if needed.¡±


    As we entered the Interisland, the fire came into view. It was a molten field of lava, a bright red inferno. I strapped my BA onto my back.


    ¡°Macaroni, you¡¯re with Steven,¡± Lieutenant Valkyrie instructed, ¡°You two work well together.¡±


    ¡°But can¡¯t I just wait¡­¡± I started.


    ¡°Negative, Probie. We¡¯re not waiting for Squad 141 so you can work with your girlfriend,¡± Lieutenant Valkyrie cut me off. ¡°Carter and Pengelle are a team. Steven and Macaroni, you two handle the warehouse. Pengelle and Carter, you¡¯re on the storage building.¡±


    I remembered Carter¡¯s grumbling about Lieutenant Valkyrie letting me join the company without vetting me. But back in the 2006 Earthquake, my girlfriend had me dress as a firefighter. I was considered a civilian then, impersonating a firefighter. But they needed all the help they could get, including mine.


    We stopped briefly for Carter to wrap a 5-inch supply hose around a hydrant. Then we continued down the road to the oil field. My heart pounded in my chest, fear gnawing at my resolve.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go, kid,¡± Steven urged.


    We heard Lieutenant Valkyrie say, ¡°Section A and B you check out every floor. Needless to say, saving human lives takes priority. Just remember the longer the fire burns the greater the casualties.¡±


    Warehouse.


    ¡°Man, it¡¯s hot,¡± I muttered, gripping my ax tightly.


    Steven replied, ¡°If safety protocol violations caused this, the government will come down hard. Like a blacksmith forging a sword, or metal casting.¡±


    ¡°Metal casting is a process where a craftsman creates metal objects by pouring molten metal into a mold. It¡¯s an ancient technique, dating back to the third millennium BC. The craftsman creates a wax duplicate of the object, builds the mold around it, then melts the wax and replaces it with molten metal. Once the metal cools, the mold is opened and the object is removed,¡± I explained, ¡°Some of my ancestors were blacksmiths and craftsmen during the Holy Roman Empire of Germany.¡±


    I went over to a trapped worker who said ¡°What¡¯s going on? Talk to me.¡±


    I just said, ¡°Come on I¡¯ll get you out¡± I then helped the worker out before running back in. I soon then went over to get another worker who just said ¡°My throat¡­ It hurts¡± but when we got outside I took off my mask and put it on his face so he could breathe oxygen but I gave him over to an EMS Supervisor before putting my mask back on and running back in to catch up with Steven.


    ***


    The warehouse was a maze of metal and machinery. Steven and I descended a narrow staircase, hoping to find a way out.


    "What is this place?" Steven wondered aloud, shining his flashlight on a row of sleek devices.


    "It looks like some kind of hardware production facility. But why would they have that in an oil drilling site?" I said, puzzled.


    We walked around, avoiding the flames that licked the walls and ceiling. The air was thick with smoke and dust.


    If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    "This must be where they make those things," Steven pointed at the devices. "They look like they''re ready to ship them out."


    We heard a loud beeping sound coming from somewhere nearby.


    "Did you hear that?" I asked, alarmed.


    Before we could react, a massive explosion rocked the floor. We were thrown off our feet. Debris rained down on us.


    "Steven!" I shouted, looking for him.


    "I''m fine," he groaned, lying under a heavy steel beam.


    I ran to him and saw that his leg was crushed by the beam. Blood soaked his pants.


    "Stop lying, you''re hurt bad," I said, grabbing my radio. "Lieutenant Valkyrie, we have a situation. There was an explosion under the warehouse. Steven is trapped by a beam. We need backup."


    I tried to lift the beam with Steven''s help, but it was too heavy. It felt like it weighed a ton.


    "Go, get out of here," Steven said calmly. "Save yourself."


    I shook my head. "I''m not leaving you behind. You''re my partner. We''re in this together."


    I knew I was risking my career by disobeying an order from a higher rank, but I didn''t care. I wanted to keep Steven alive.


    I tried to distract him from the pain by making small talk.


    "So, what do you think of those disaster movies where they have the power to go out in a slow, sector-by-sector fashion?" I asked.


    Steven looked at me incredulously. "Are you kidding me? We''re trapped under a burning warehouse and you''re asking me about movies? This is not a movie, man. This is real life. We don''t have plot armor or a happy ending. We could die any second. And you''re wasting time on trivial questions?"


    He coughed and winced.


    "Sorry, I just thought it might help," I said, feeling stupid.


    I hoped that help would arrive soon. I didn''t want to lose Steven. He was more than a partner. He was a friend.


    After a few minutes.


    ¡°Squad 17 here,¡± said Linda, ¡°What do you need?¡±


    I replied, ¡°Something to free Steven from the steel beam.¡±


    Steven didn''t want to be rescued by his sister but beggars can''t be choosers.


    I then heard Linda order one of her firefighters to use his blowtorch to use his blowtorch to cut the steel beam.


    ¡°Can you feel your legs Steven?¡± asked Linda.


    Steven replied, ¡°Can¡¯t feel my legs.¡±


    ¡°Macaroni grab an arm,¡± said Linda.


    I grabbed Steven¡¯s right arm while Linda got Steven¡¯s left arm and put his arms around the back of our necks and carefully walked without trying to hurt his legs. But we had to change his position when we came to the stairs where we had to lay him down where I grabbed his legs while Linda grabbed his arms.


    ¡°I appreciate the irony of the reverse damsel-in-distress scenario,¡± said Steven.


    I could hear the irony of what Steven said because he wasn¡¯t expecting to be saved by his sister and me but to me, it¡¯s the opposite of the knight in shining armor but we were able to get him out. I then went back in but I was able to get the nozzle and just fought the fire inside of the warehouse.


    ¡°Man I wonder how they ever put out oil well fires,¡± I said thinking out loud.


    My girlfriend, Lieutenant Claire Johnson, scared me by saying ¡°Dousing with Water: Large amounts of water are sprayed at the base of the fire. In some cases, a gas turbine is used to blast a fine mist of water at the base of the fire. Use of Explosives: High explosives, such as dynamite, are used to create a shockwave that pushes the burning fuel and local atmospheric oxygen away from the well. This is similar to blowing out a candle. Dry Chemicals: Dry chemicals, mainly Purple K, can be used on small well fires.¡±


    Lusty stayed by me even though she had her own company to run but they¡¯re moving into the same warehouse as us where they¡¯re putting out other fires in the warehouse.


    Soon there was a loud explosion.


    ¡°I do not like the sound of that,¡± I muttered.


    Lusty replied, ¡°My guess is that it''s a fuel silo that finally blew from the heat, and said the silo or storage tank was probably outside of the reach of our hoses and deluge guns.¡±


    ¡°Good to see you again kid,¡± said Dynamite.


    I replied, ¡°You to Technical Sergeant.¡±


    From what I was told in the past that Madelinine ¡°Dynamite¡± Harmony was suppose to become a Technical Sergeant in the Marine Corps as a Combat Engineer but when her superior officer got a little handsy with her she punched him and he wrote her up leaving her as an Enlisted rather than a NCO. That was when she put in a request to have her side told with witnesses she was told that her request is approved but the Military Judicial system and the Little Bird Military Congress have bigger fish to fry and that they can soon have her tell her side of her story. It would take a minimum of twenty years and her then superior officer has a lot of clout so even with witnesses that the people who he knows will side with him unless they had hard concrete evidence to support her side and until then it¡¯s her word against his word.


    ¡°Hey, Lieutenant, what¡¯s the plan?¡± I, Mackenzie ¡°Macaroni¡± Waterson, asked.


    Lusty shot back, ¡°I¡¯m not your Lieutenant, Macaroni. Just stick to what Lt Valkyrie instructed.¡±


    Lusty was right. Ever since the late 1940s, when the Marines and G.I.''s returned from the war, many transitioned into careers with similar structures to the military. The hierarchy of Captains and Lieutenants was strictly adhered to, with each only commanding their own companies. This structure was put in place to maintain the chain of command and harmony, preventing officers from overstepping their boundaries and taking charge of companies they weren¡¯t assigned to. I learned this firsthand when Lusty had a run-in with a Deputy Division Chief who bypassed Marcus, and a firefighter who ignored Lusty until she lost her temper and kicked him out, telling him not to return.


    Even though I wasn¡¯t officially part of my girlfriend¡¯s company, I stuck with them. That was until Lusty asked Mariana ¡°Avalanche¡± Azure to join me in our search for survivors.


    In the quiet corners of my mind, I could hear Avalanche¡¯s whispers, a soft murmur of relief that her father¡¯s shadow hadn¡¯t yet found her in this new life she had painstakingly crafted. She had traversed hundreds of miles, shedding her old identity like a snake discards its skin, adopting a new name, a new ID, a new existence. She had severed all ties with her past, an act as cold and final as the closing of her old bank account and the opening of a new one, a fortress against her father¡¯s prying eyes.


    I felt a pang of sympathy for her, a mirror reflecting my own past. My mother, if I could even bestow that sacred title upon her, had never shown me the warmth of maternal love. Not even when I was a helpless infant, cradled in the arms of my father. When he was called away to serve in Operation Just Cause and the Gulf War, it was my uncles, grand uncles, and grand aunts who stepped in, molding me into a woman of strength, self-reliance, and independence. They saved me from becoming a Femme Fatale, a fatal woman like my mother, who turned on those who dared to care for her.


    My father, a man of wisdom and patience, had spent twenty-three years trapped in a loveless marriage with her. He had ignored the warnings of his ex-wife¡¯s family, only to realize the truth when it was too late. Yet, out of those twenty-three years of hardship, I was his silver lining, his beacon of hope.


    My mother, or rather the woman who gave birth to me, had inadvertently shaped my taste in women. I yearned for loyalty, a trait she lacked, and despised deceit and betrayal, traits she embodied. According to the Kinsey Scale, I¡¯m a five, predominantly attracted to the same sex with a slight interest in the opposite sex. My girlfriend, Claire ¡°Lusty¡± Johnson, is a three, equally attracted to both sexes.


    I seldom speak of my biological mother. She doesn¡¯t deserve the honor of being called ¡®mother.¡¯ My aunts and grand aunts, they were the true mothers in my life. They didn¡¯t see me as a niece, cousin, or grand niece. To them, I was their daughter. That¡¯s the Waterson way. We are a close-knit family, regardless of how far the branches of our family tree extend. I have older cousins, once or twice removed, but in my heart, and in theirs, we are siblings, not mere cousins.


    I was on the verge of breaking down a door when Avalanche intervened. She took the ax from my hands and led me back upstairs, above the room we were about to enter. The floor wasn¡¯t concrete, but reinforced wood. She started chopping holes into it, a technique we learned at the academy to prevent backdrafts.


    The instructors at the academy taught us that the goal is to remove as much heat and smoke from the structure as possible before introducing any new oxygen. This is usually done by cutting an opening in the roof and avoiding opening any windows or doors on or below the fire floor until conditions have improved. But in our case, we were too far beneath the roof, and the room was underground, so venting through the roof wasn¡¯t an option.


    Avalanche explained to me, ¡°Fire is always moving towards oxygen and upwards. If you light a branch on fire and hold it up, then move it down, you¡¯ll see how quickly the fire reaches for you. Fire is always seeking a consistent source of oxygen. Oxygen is an essential part of the ¡®fire triangle¡¯ that sustains a fire. With enough oxygen, the fire can continue to burn its fuel supply. Therefore, one of the best ways to extinguish a fire is to remove the oxygen supply.¡±


    We soon encountered a door marked with a Fire Diamond. The blue section had a number three, red had a number one, yellow had a number two, and the white had a W.


    Avalanche clarified, ¡°Red signifies flammability. A number one indicates materials that require considerable preheating before ignition can occur. Blue represents health hazards. A number three means short exposure could cause serious temporary or moderate residual injury. W in the white section means the substance reacts with water in an unusual or dangerous manner.


    "Yellow with a one means the substance undergoes violent chemical change at elevated temperatures and pressures, or may form explosive mixtures with water. Whatever is in that room is for HAZMAT, not us. Only Squads 141 and 525 respond to Level One HAZMAT incidents, which include Class One Explosives and Blasting Agents, Class 2 Gasses, and Class 3 Flammable Liquids. HAZMAT responds to Class One and beyond, which include Oxidizing Agents, Toxic and Infectious Substances, Radioactive Substances, Corrosive Substances, and Miscellaneous hazards.¡±


    I then followed the hose back out because I was taught in the academy that the firehose is a safety line because we can keep our hand on it and be on our hands and knees and follow it back outside where I swapped out my air tank for a full hour long one. To me a hour long one ain¡¯t long enough because while working our bodies are working harder and needing more oxygen so our air tanks is half the time because our standard half hour air tanks is about fifteen minutes because of our respiratory rate increases and last can be affected by physical fitness, how hard they are working and body size. When I stepped outside was when my air bottle gauge started to ring, letting me know that it¡¯s running low on air and has enough for me to get out of the building which I already have.


    I was able to get a new air bottle and went back in following the same attack line to return to Avalanche. When I returned any security door she ignored and any door made of wood she went to work with the ax to break it because from the logic that I know of Avalanche and Dynamite they would rather break a door to make it easier to force entry on but if it doesn¡¯t result in a backdraft then it works.


    I recalled a memory that¡¯s etched deep within me and out of the blue. I was just a seven-year-old, staying with my great-granddad while my dad was deployed during the Gulf War. My great-granddad, despite his age, was a pillar of strength and wisdom.


    When my dad returned from the war, I was about to utter something about my great-granddad¡¯s age. But before I could even open my mouth, my dad interjected, ¡°Yes, your great-granddad may be old, but he¡¯s braver than you¡¯ll ever be. He, along with millions of others, defended the world from the Central Powers and later the Axis Powers. They fought for the freedoms of millions and protected other countries from the greatest threats of their time.¡±


    His voice softened, ¡°He lost many friends and family in the process, including some of his sons in the Second World War. You¡¯re too young to understand the sacrifices millions made, but one day you¡¯ll learn about it in school or from a documentary. Don¡¯t be one of those who take everything they have for granted.¡±


    His words resonated with me, and I never again made a disrespectful remark about my great-granddad¡¯s

 Chapter Three: Accused

    It was my third day at work as soon I walked into the firehouse and heard Lieutenant Valkyrie and Carter tear each other apart. But they stopped when I entered.


    I just got my turnout gear from the side room and put it on the Rescue Engine behind the officer seat. But as I walked into the kitchen to get a cup of coffee the fire bell went off for a smoke investigation at the Little Bird Federal Reserve building in Downtown Empire. So we got to the Federal Reserve. It¡¯s an independent regional reserve bank but the building is a three story building with the main entrance being on the second floor due to the stairs but we went by the columns.


    But when we first got there Lieutenant Valkyrie ordered me to grab the two and one quarter inch high-rise pack. We checked in with a guard at the front desk and said that the fire alarm is tripped in the basement where they store money and destroy money that¡¯s been taken out of circulation.


    ¡°Could it be due to the flue not being cleaned?¡± I asked.


    The male guard replied, ¡°I don¡¯t think so. We switched over to Oil back in ¡®64 because it maintains a more consistent flame. But once a week we clean the flue to prevent the build up of soot so it doesn¡¯t clog up. But we evacuated the basement of a few guards.¡±


    As we were walking down the stairs we could hear some fire crackling.


    ¡°That ain¡¯t the incinerator we have,¡± the guard said.


    Lieutenant Valkyrie replied, ¡°Hook us up to a standpipe! Come on hustle!¡±


    I followed another guard in a white collared shirt, black tie, silver police badge, black trousers to a standpipe in the Federal Reserve.


    I tried to open it but it was stuck.


    ¡°How about it Probie!¡± I heard Lieutenant Valkyrie''s voice echoing.


    I shouted back, ¡°Coming!¡±


    I was able to get the standpipe to open and hooked up the hose and I ran back to the group but I shouted for the guard to turn open the standpipe so it could charge the attack line. We then entered the basement where I turned on the high-rise attack line in which I was able to contain the fire until a second Engine Company and a Truck Company got there to fully knock down the fire. But since we Squad 525 are a Special Operations Company we could leave after knocking down the fire and do a quick once over to make sure the fire was fully out and checked for any hotspots that we would douse with water.


    ***


    Back at the firehouse.


    ¡°What¡¯s for brunch Probie?¡± asked Carter.


    I replied, ¡°I plan on making my dad¡¯s cheeseburger recipe but just for you I¡¯ll cut off your dick and balls and fry them and make them for you while the rest of us will eat mouthwatering cheeseburgers with cheese inside them as well with bacon. So don¡¯t talk to me in a tone that has you think you¡¯re superior to me because of your gender because I¡¯ll gladly knock you down several pegs.¡±


    I then went into the kitchen and for brunch I made my dad¡¯s cheeseburger recipe that involves both cheese being inside of the burger and another slide of cheese on the outside and topped off each patty with two slices of hardwood bacon.


    After we got done with lunch we then went back out into the apparatus bay and that was when four police cars and three unmarked black Hornet Vigilante¡¯s and two Wasp Rural (1981-91 Chevy Suburban) came with a lot of police officers and Elite Operations Detachment Agents who came unannounced and started to tear the firehouse from top to bottom but separated us as well.


    ¡°Can I ask what this is about?¡± I asked.


    An EOD Agent replied, ¡°Missing money. This company went to a fire at the Federal Reserve this morning and money there is missing. Y¡¯all were the first ones there and the first ones to leave.¡±


    I was about to say something.


    ¡°We already searched Firehouse 23 and interrogated them but they came up empty,¡± the same agent said.


    ***


    In the briefing room of the firehouse.


    ¡°So tell us step by step what you did during the fire at the Federal Reserve?¡± an Agent asked.


    I replied, ¡°When we got there I was told by my Lieutenant to grab the high-rise pack and we made our way in. We walked in but I kept the high-rise pack over my shoulder and when we got to the stairwell we could hear fire crackling so my Lieutenant ordered me to find a standpipe so I ran to one while being led by a guard, hooked up the high rise attack line, and I ran back to the company I¡¯m in and yelled for the guard to turn it on. I was able to help contain the fire until a second due Engine company got on the scene to assist in fighting the fire and put it out.¡±


    What I said matched with what happened but soon another agent came in and pulled the other two out of the briefing room for a minute until they came back in. But while they were out talking to the other agent I opened a pack of gum I had and put in the bubblegum-flavored gum into my mouth.


    When they came in they told me that I was under arrest for robbery and robbing a government building even though I had nothing to do with it but I had a feeling that Carter gave them a fake motive and a fake reason to throw me under the bus for a crime I didn¡¯t do. But I couldn¡¯t prove that because I can¡¯t just say that he doesn¡¯t like me and I don¡¯t like him.


    ***


    EOD Empire HQ.


    Two Agents came into the interrogation room I was in. I looked at the walls and looked at the window behind me but it¡¯s a one way window where I couldn¡¯t see out of it.


    ¡°Can we get you something to drink?¡± asked one of the agents.


    I replied, ¡°Latte with extra whipped cream and chocolate shavings.¡±


    The other agent sat down across from me wearing black suit pants with a white collared shirt, a black sweater vest and a gold badge around his neck.


    ***


    (Special Agent in Charge Mackenzie Smith-Ryan POV)


    I investigated the Westlake Bank, a single-story structure equipped with heavy rear doors, roof access, and a security system managed from a locked room. The bank typically employs three to four security personnel, and tellers are trained to activate shutters during a robbery.


    Upon entering the bank, I navigated to the office area where several bankers were engaged in conversations with clients. I approached a female banker who had just finished assisting a couple.


    ¡°May I assist you, Ma¡¯am?¡± she inquired.


    I responded, ¡°I¡¯m investigating a robbery. I need information about your client, Ms. Waterson, Mackenzie.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Ma¡¯am, but I can¡¯t disclose personal client information without a court order or if they¡¯re implicated in a major crime,¡± she replied.


    ¡°She¡¯s been accused of robbing the Empire Branch of the Federal Reserve. I need to verify if she made any large cash deposits or withdrawals recently,¡± I explained.


    ¡°According to our records, she receives a monthly payment of $8909 from the Navy and an additional $480 from her job. She typically withdraws $1000 each month, donates $100 to charities, and takes out another $180. Her transactions are generally consistent. Last week, she withdrew $8 for reasons we didn¡¯t inquire about. The largest withdrawal she made was a few months ago when she insisted on withdrawing cash to purchase a car, despite our suggestion to use a cashier¡¯s check,¡± she detailed.


    ¡°Do you know where she spent the cash?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Yes, it was at a dealership located on Aurora and Valle Streets,¡± she answered.


    After thanking her for her assistance, I returned to my vehicle and radioed my team to search Waterson¡¯s car while I proceeded to the dealership. Upon arrival, I questioned the dealer about his interaction with Macaroni. He described her as fit, thin, hourglass-shaped, and attractive, matching the description in her mugshot.


    Next, my team and I proceeded to the apartment of Claire Johnson, Macaroni¡¯s girlfriend. We requested the assistance of a Special Weapons and Emergency Service Unit, suspecting that Macaroni might be using the apartment as a hideout. However, the apartment was unoccupied. We found no trace of the stolen money, so I dispatched two agents to interview Macaroni again. She provided them with the address and apartment number of her new residence.


    At the new location, I assigned one agent to interview the building owner while the rest of the team and I interviewed Macaroni¡¯s neighbors and searched her apartment. Despite a thorough search, we found no trace of the stolen money. We did, however, notice that Macaroni had recently purchased new furniture.


    The rest of my team reported back that Macaroni had moved in a few days ago and was generally quiet and respectful. The building owner confirmed that she had paid her rent in cash and signed a two-year lease. He also mentioned that he had received no complaints about her, which was unusual among his tenants. A few of Macaroni¡¯s neighbors expressed dislike for her tomboyish style, which included flannel shirts, tattered blue jeans, and black loafers.


    During the course of my investigation, one of my agents discovered that Mackenzie "Macaroni" Waterson is the registered owner of several firearms, all of which retained their original serial numbers. The firearms, consisting of two handguns and a shotgun, were secured by two of my agents for further examination. After approximately forty-five minutes, my team reported that the firearms had been purchased from a local gun store a few months prior.


    I proceeded to the gun store to gather additional information. The store clerk recognized Waterson from her mugshot and provided me access to the store''s ledger. The ledger, a rectangular book with columns for names, dates, orders, addresses, and signatures, confirmed Waterson''s purchases.


    The clerk informed me that Waterson had adhered to the mandatory waiting periods for the firearms - five days for the handguns and ten days for the shotgun. She had paid in cash for all the items: $122.99 for the first handgun, $149.99 for the second, and $399.99 for the shotgun. An additional $12 was spent on ammunition for all three weapons. When queried about her intended use for the firearms, Waterson had stated that she engaged in recreational shooting.


    Following this lead, I instructed my team to investigate all local shooting ranges, a task that would likely take several hours. It''s worth noting that the ammunition Waterson purchased is typically used for recreational shooting, not hunting.


    Upon returning to the Elite Operations Detachment building, I requested a comprehensive background check on Waterson from the U.S. Department of Justice via my mother''s proxy. The report revealed that Waterson''s only criminal record was a speeding violation from 2004, when she was 20 years old. She had been cited for driving twenty miles over the speed limit by an Alabama Highway Patrol Officer. Rather than contest the ticket in court, Waterson had chosen to pay the fine promptly.


    In the course of my investigation, I interviewed Macaroni and she told me where she goes recreational shooting.


    I went to  a downtown gun store equipped with an indoor range. The staff there confirmed that Waterson is a rule-abiding patron who ensures her firearms are unloaded before leaving the premises, in compliance with the range''s safety regulations.


    Macaroni declined any offer of firearms training, asserting her expertise in handling firearms. Upon further inquiry by one of my agents, Macaroni revealed that she has been practicing shooting since the age of four, initially under the guidance of her father in Fort Liberty, North Carolina. They continued this practice even after relocating to Killen, Alabama in 1992. Waterson expressed a particular fondness for her grand uncle''s United States Rifle, Caliber 7.62 mm, M14, a preference likely influenced by her father''s service as a Designated Marksman in the United States 82nd Airborne from 1981 to 1992. She also mentioned that her uncle owns a Springfield Armory M1A rifle and a sawed-off shotgun.


    A comprehensive background check conducted by the U.S. Department of Justice, the Little Bird Bureau of Law, and the Elite Operations Detachment revealed that Macaroni served one tour in the U.S. Navy aboard the USS Bunker Hill, a guided missile cruiser. The only criminal record associated with Waterson is a speeding violation from 2004, which she promptly resolved by paying the fine.


    After reviewing Mackenzie "Macaroni" Waterson''s background at the Elite Operations Detachment (EOD) building in downtown Empire, I discovered that she completed her elementary, middle, and high school education in Florence County, Alabama. She graduated from public school in 2001, moved to Empire in 2005, and completed two years at Arcane University. She also worked as a waitress, earning a substantial amount in tips.


    I dispatched two members of my team to Macaroni¡¯s old home in Alabama, to gather more information. They were required to surrender their firearms and badges to American Federal Agents, who conducted the interviews while my team members collected the information.


    During this time, I reflected on the lessons my mother taught me about the difficult choices a Federal Agent must make. She once faced a situation where she had to choose between saving a killer who was a victim or a grieving parent who was the perpetrator and didn''t want to be saved. She chose the latter.


    I had several interactions with Macaroni, during which she maintained eye contact. My mother''s teachings about interrogations came to mind. Truthful individuals are generally cooperative and knowledgeable, while those hiding something may hesitate or provide minimal detail. Liars often exhibit shifty eyes, smirks, scoffs, or laughter. More adept liars may show subtle signs like quick eye twitches or fidgeting. Macaroni, however, consistently repeated her story.


    According to Macaroni, that today before the fire at the Federal Reserve, she left her apartment at 7:10 AM, arrived at a nearby coffee shop at 7:15 AM, left the coffee shop at 7:20 AM, and arrived at Squad 525 Firehouse ten minutes later. The call for a smoke investigation at the Federal Reserve came in at 8:24 AM, Squad 525 arrived at 8:37 AM, and they left the Federal Reserve at 10:22 AM, returning to their firehouse at 10:35 AM. Her alibi fits her timeline, but it cannot be confirmed due to the lack of surveillance cameras along the route to the standpipe and the main stairwell, where they were supposed to descend into the basement to combat the small fire. The female Federal Reserve guard who led Waterson to the standpipe is missing and cannot be located. Despite efforts by my cousin-in-law, Captain Asyling Ryan of the 9th Precinct, to monitor the guard''s residence, there has been no sign of her, and her car remains parked at the Federal Reserve.


    Macaroni then ceased her cooperation, stating she would only continue if provided with lunch. She requested either a jumbo hot dog and a root beer or a cheeseburger with fries and a root beer float.


    ***


    Several hours later


    As the sun set in Empire, operating on Central Pacific Time, I found myself at my desk examining Mackenzie "Macaroni" Waterson''s American and Little Birden-issued Driver''s Licenses. One peculiar observation was her smiling face in the license photos, a rarity in such documents.


    My team members, who had been dispatched to Alabama, reported back. Waterson was well-liked in her hometown, particularly by male customers who found her attractive. They even likened her to the type of woman whose image would be painted on planes by World War II pilots. Waterson appeared to have no enemies, and her family, spread across New York State, Virginia, and North Carolina, was next on the interview list for the American Federal Agents.


    The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Despite these insights, the mystery of the missing 1.5 million dollars remained unsolved. The residences of the firehouse twenty-three personnel had been searched with their consent, their alibis verified, and all were cleared. This included all members of Squad 525. However, a firefighter named Carter accused Macaroni of taking the money, labeling her as a kleptomaniac.


    Macaroni, on the other hand, maintained her innocence. She provided receipts for her recent furniture and gun purchases. She even admitted to a minor theft from her past - a pencil stolen in fifth grade due to a dislike for her teacher, which she returned the next day. The investigation continues, with each piece of information painting a more detailed picture of Macaroni.


    ***


    (Macaroni¡¯s POV)


    I tapped my fingers on the stainless steel table in the interrogation room. I wish I could see out the one way plate glass window but soon Mackenzie came back with another jumbo hotdog and a glass soda bottle of ice cold root beer. And like before it was a nice and juicy hot dog which I ate.


    ¡°So while your story checks out we¡¯re still trying to confirm your side of what happened,¡± Mackenzie said. ¡°So we can¡¯t just kick you out until after 24 hours is up.¡±


    I replied, ¡°I¡¯m pretty sure Carter did it. Because for the past two days he has been a stick up my ass with his misogynistic views and remarks to me. There¡¯s been a few times I¡¯ve been ready to kick him in the nuts so he couldn¡¯t have children. Go knock on his door and break down his door with one of those armored machines with the battering ram. Give me a piece of paper so I give it to Carter.¡±


    Special Agent Mackenzie gave me a piece of paper so I wrote:


    To suffer woes which Hope thinks infinite to forgive wrongs darker than death or night. To defy power which seems omnipotent to love and bear to Hope creates from it own wreck the thing it contemplates neither to change nor falter nor repent this like thy glory Titan is to be Good, great and joyous, beautiful and free.This alone Life, Joy, Empire and Victory.


    ¡°What does it mean?¡± asked Mackenzie.


    I replied, ¡°Prometheus Unbound is a four-act lyrical drama by Percy Bysshe Shelley, first published in 1820. It is concerned with the torments of the Greek mythological figure Prometheus, who defies the gods and gives fire to humanity, for which he is subjected to eternal punishment and suffering at the hands of Zeus.¡±


    Then I wrote on the bottom half of the paper before tearing it in half.


    ¡°To suffer woes which Hope thinks infinite¡±: This refers to enduring hardships that seem endless and insurmountable.


    ¡°To forgive wrongs darker than death or night¡±: This speaks to the power of forgiveness, even in the face of the gravest injustices.


    ¡°To defy Power, which seems omnipotent¡±: This is about standing up to seemingly invincible authority or power.


    ¡°To love, and bear; to hope till Hope creates From its own wreck the thing it contemplates¡±: This suggests the transformative power of hope and love, even in the most dire circumstances.


    ¡°Neither to change, nor falter, nor repent¡±: This speaks to the idea of remaining steadfast and unyielding in one¡¯s convictions.


    ¡°This, like thy glory, Titan, is to be Good, great and joyous, beautiful and free¡±: Here, Shelley is drawing a parallel between the glory of the Titan (Prometheus) and the virtues of being good, great, joyous, beautiful, and free.


    ¡°This is alone Life, Joy, Empire, and Victory¡±: This line encapsulates the essence of life, joy, dominion, and triumph as perceived by Shelley.


    ¡°Your dad must¡¯ve forked out a lot of money for your intelligence,¡± Mackenzie said.


    I replied, ¡°It¡¯s either be smart or be a drug addict fiend living on my back and taking advantage of my girlfriend and guilt trip her children so she doesn¡¯t throw me out. I¡¯m speaking from experience because my mom is a drug addict fiend who used to guilt trip me as a child. Even though she should¡¯ve gotten the boot even said that she didn¡¯t even want me and I would starve but she would eat like a queen. So either become a well educated woman or be a freeloading drug addict bitch. So yes I paid attention in school, kept my nose clean, and worked hard. Okay from time to time I¡¯ll hit the bottle a few times because it¡¯s somewhat family of taking a shot or bottle of whiskey or scotch.¡±


    Special Agent Mackenzie noticed that whenever I talked to her or one of her agents I had constant eye contact, a lack of fidgeting, and had a straight facial expression. She even told me that I was either telling the truth or lying but she explained that she seen people lie but their facial expression and body expression was or would be nervousness, shifty glances around the room, avoiding direct eye contact, and unusual body gestures or have shifty eyes, possibly a smirk, or will be scoffing or laughing.


    Some more adept liars may show much more subtle signs, such as quick eye twitches or fidgeting. But Mackenzie had people who tried to lie to her but she just said ¡°The only people who can lie and keep a straight face are people born to be politicians¡± and how since the President, Military Congressmen/women, Congressmen/women, Mayors, Lieutenant Mayors, and City/Town Councilman/women only can be elected in office if they done military service and how since Little Bird has both a Professional Armed Forces and a Military that has conscription but men are required for the military service while women can join the military but they volunteer unless in times of war then women are like the men and can be drafted in the war.


    But since the 1930s a lot of women had to take over men¡¯s job so a lot of teenage and young adult women had to break traditional norms to take over their father¡¯s and older brother jobs because of their fathers or older brother¡¯s dying in World War One so they had to do jobs like technicians, mechanics, carpenters, electricians, electrical fitters, metal working, architects, aircraft pilots/flight engineers, cops, firefighters, and farmers to replace the men who once done them but didn¡¯t return due to dying in the First World War and it wasn¡¯t until 1937 when President Abigail Orange readvised the Little Bird 1910 Integration Act which allows women join male dominated careers but in a administrative role. While the 1937 readvised one prohibits the military from banning women from joining combative units in the military due to she argued how a lot of tomboy country gals could shoot better than a fully trained Little Bird Army Sharpshooters at the time and while yes the Army was skeptical at the time but she had a challenge for the Little Bird Military in 1937 that ten country girls armed with hunting rifles from the farms they¡¯re from compete against ten Army and Marine Corps Sharpshooters who were veterans from the First World War and said women beaten the Army and Marine Sharpshooters and Marksmen at the time.


    After a grueling day, I was finally released. My alibi had held up under scrutiny, and the folks at the reserve could vouch for my whereabouts. But there was a lingering question about a female guard I¡¯d mentioned - a certain ¡°Kelso C¡± Special Agent Mackenize¡¯s team scoured the records, only to find that the Empire Branch of the Federal Reserve had no ¡°Kelso C.¡± Instead, they found a ¡°Kelsey C,¡± who had mysteriously vanished after activating the wet standpipe and leaving the building.


    Once the 24-hour mark passed, Special Agent Mackenzie had no choice but to let me go. I hadn¡¯t committed any crime, but the open case meant I was still a person of interest. I was barred from returning to work until my name was cleared. They advised me not to leave the city, warning that it would look like I was fleeing to avoid prosecution or re-arrest.


    To top it all off, I heard Mackenzie had circulated my license plate number. I was free to drive around the city, but the moment I crossed the city lines, it would be grounds for arrest. So here I am, stuck in limbo, waiting for the day my name is finally cleared.


    But I decided to go back to my apartment and went over to my bookshelf and just read a book but turned on the TV to a music channel to listen to classic rock music while I read. But the few times I did go out which was for a bite to eat or go shopping I noticed a black car following me a few car lengths back but if I ate at a restaurant or diner then two people would¡¯ve given me slack to think I wasn¡¯t being followed but I noticed but didn¡¯t call them out on it.


    But I did buy a few clothes but I just mostly got size ten jeans due to my waist being 30.5¡¯¡¯ and my hips being 40.¡¯¡¯ I got a few undershirts in my size of ten as well even a few flannel shirts as well because it fits my tomboy personality. Like normal to have more different clothing I got a few C7 size sports bra for me for two reasons, the first being my tomboy personality and the second of them being better for physical activities which is a requirement for my job of it being physical.


    But while I was out shopping I stopped at a store and got some hair dye. I went back to my apartment and dyed my hair from dark brown to a bright cherry red to match bright cherry red colored fire but just on the news it¡¯s just repeat about how someone robbed the Empire branch of the Federal Reserve making off with one and a half million bucks but how it was done is still a mystery but after a few days while still at home but I decided to go to over to Squad Company 141 quarters.


    ***


    Squad 141 firehouse.


    ¡°That¡¯s high up,¡± I said, seeing Ladder Co 141 100 ft stainless steel ladder in the air fully extended.


    I walked through Squad 141 firehouse to the tower they have around back in which I found my girlfriend Lusty on the tower and demonstrated one way to open a door in a room that possibly has a backdraft. She took a 10ft pike pole and hid around the corner where she used the pike pole to open the door and a backdraft did come out and spread out but nothing caught on fire due to its reinforced steel with nothing flammable but didn¡¯t come out like a fireball but came out and spread out as well.


    I thought it was interesting that I saw Lusty, Dynamite, Avalanche and the rest of Squad 141 in their black turnout gear with yellow and white striping (FIRE DEPARTMENT EMPIRE lettering on the back) and a black helmet (numbered 141). The turnout gear includes a lantern, while the helmet features a flashlight and door chocks. Beside my girlfriend her helmet just has a flashlight not door chocks.


    I then heard my girlfriend order Dynamite, Avalanche, and  Edwards to knock down the fire inside of the tower with the 2 ? and 1 ? inch attack lines.


    But when Lusty saw me she started to descend the tower.


    ¡°Hey there Macaroni¡± said Lusty, ¡°What ya doing here?¡±


    I replied, ¡°I¡¯m fine just thinking about why I¡¯m being pinned for a scapegoat but I been accused of stealing the money from the Federal Reserve but I believe Carter was behind it and threw me under the bus blaming me because I¡¯m a woman and thinks I¡¯m a kleptomaniac. But I¡¯m playing my hand the right way.¡±


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t do that,¡± Lusty said, ¡°A misogynistic pig like him wants you to play your hand right into his trap. He could¡¯ve done it but threw you under the bus so it would be better to let the EOD handle it. How I see it is that you can play right into his hand which makes your case look bad to bring police attention back to you.


    "So just fly under the radar and don¡¯t do anything that¡¯ll bring the cops back to your door because the last thing you need is it being in the middle of the night and either the city Special Weapons And Emergency Service Unit or the EOD version of the SWAESU coming to your apartment and breaking down the door with a battering ram while you¡¯re asleep and be dragged down to the station.¡±


    I replied, ¡°Even though I¡¯ll be unable to work until the case gets solved or someone over at the EOD takes me off of the Person of Interest lists. Until then I¡¯m suspended until further notice and this can take weeks, months or years. Not a movie where a case is solved within the hour and minute runtime that takes over the course of one or two, maybe three or four days.¡±


    ¡°To change the subject I highly doubt that you joined the fire department to be like me,¡± Lusty said. ¡°So out of all of the jobs why join this job and come here?¡±


    I replied, ¡°I came back here to be with you. The main reason was when I was thirteen I went to my niece''s 5th birthday and we were at a restaurant at a hotel but an arsonist was trying to get a VIP staying there but the fire spread rapidly. My niece was very young but her parents and my dad were trying to get her to calm down but a fire broke out and the fire spread quickly and it was a matter of moments before my cousin disappeared where last time we saw her she had seen us and was trying to come to us¡­ but¡­we couldn¡¯t get to her where she was still far away and blocked by fire. But I promised that if I became a firefighter then I would try my hardest to save those and not let them become victims of fire.¡±


    Lusty didn¡¯t respond but if I had to guess then it was a good enough reason for what I said to join of it not being the original and not repeated of wanting to give back to the community. But from Lusty¡¯s eyes I could see that my reason was good enough to try to prevent people from going through what I went through and what she went through of losing someone. For me I lost my cousin and my girlfriend it was her parents.


    ¡°You know you have to not be imaginative because on my first and second day I was saying to myself that I could save everyone but that was not true because on my first day we were canceled from a pinned construction worker because Rescue 18 became available and took over but our next call on day one my second emergency was that missing members at a hardware store fire and over the radio was reporting of a explosion with a few members missing and the IC of the hardware store fire reported a few members missing and requesting a fourth alarm, a 3-10-66, and a 10-60. A 10-60 is a major emergency which will already bring in 5 Engine Companies, 5 Ladder Companies. All 3 Battalion Chiefs and the three Safety Battalion Chiefs,1 Deputy Chief, 1 FAST Unit, 1 Rescue Task Force - which includes 1 Rescue Co., 1 Collapse Rescue, 1 Squad Co, 1 SOC Support Ladder, 1 Haz-Tac Officer, 1 Rescue Paramedic Unit, 1 Additional Rescue Co., Rescue Battalion, Safety Battalion, 1 Tactical Support Unit, SOC Logistics Support Unit, SOC Compressor Unit,Haz-Mat Battalion, Haz-Mat Company #32 or #33, Haz-Mat Technician Engine Company, Communication Unit, Field Communications Unit, Recuperation and Care (RAC) Unit, Public Information Officer. But since it was a 10-60 Code 2 it was upgraded to bring in another: 5 Additional Engine companies,5 Additional Ladder Companies. 2 Additional Safety Battalion chiefs, 1 Additional Deputy Chief, 1 Additional Rescue Task Force, 1 Air Recon Chief, 1 Satellite Unit, 1 SOC Dewatering Unit


    Mobile Command Center, 1 EMS Division Chief, 1 EMS Deputy Chief, 2 EMS Conditions Officers, 1 Response Physician, 1 Haz-Tac Officer, 1 ALS Ambulance, 2 BLS Ambulances, 1 Rescue Paramedic Unit, 1 Major Emergency Response Vehicle, and 1 Mobile Respiratory Treatment Unit.¡±


    I replied, ¡°What¡¯s your second day like?¡±


    ¡°We went to a gas station to fill up our rig and over the radio heard that firehouse forty seven responded to a fire in the tenement building I lived in with my parents and radioed they needed special gear to cut through the steel bars on the windows to make it a big easier if members had to make an egress easier. Well Marcus radioed Dispatch saying that we would also take in the call but Dispatch canceled Squad 525 but I ran into the tenement building to get my parents out. I was able to get them out but it was all for nought because they died later that day in the hospital due to severe smoke inhalation. To me I wish I was there one second sooner, Of course this was when we were given steel toed ? boots, black rubber jacket with yellow stripes and an Aluminum helmet. It wasn¡¯t until 1997-98 when we started to get helmets made of composite helmets constructed of lightweight thermoplastic, polymers and other plastics. Before that it was Aluminum but we stopped using Aluminum because Aluminum being metal and metal conducts electricity. Also got Nomex and Kevlar trousers/w suspenders, and a jacket made of Kevlar and Nomex. Unless you''re Dave who still wears the obsolete turnout gear but uses the modern helmet or unless you''re some of the guys who have been on the job since the early half of the 1970s who wore the same boots and helmet but wore a canvas jacket.¡±


    I could see in Lusty¡¯s eyes that she¡¯s still beating herself up over losing her parents and wished she could¡¯ve gotten to her parents a second sooner so they could still be alive. Lusty wishes her parents could¡¯ve seen her children/her parents grandchildren and she¡¯s still blaming herself and beating herself up still over something that happened thirteen years ago. But I sympathize with her because trauma and stuff like that doesn¡¯t go away and how since she was there she tried to save them and thought she did but in the end it was all for nothing.


    We couldn¡¯t really stop to doubt ourselves of wanting to play what if scenarios in our heads of wishing if we could beat the clock because Lusty once worked with a few who wanted to beat the clock. Or thought they had more time than they really did and either gotten badly hurt or killed because they wanted to think they had more time than they really had.


    ¡°But that''s because of having better training and experience and to do technical rescues aka vehicle extrication, confined space rescue, rope rescue, trench rescue, structural collapse rescue, wilderness search and rescue, ice rescue, swift water rescue, underwater rescue and cave rescue. Well a Squad Company is a mix of a Engine, Ladder and Rescue Companies,¡± said Lusty. ¡°But all the training we got it¡¯s from all the previous generations because there''ve been thousands of guys who¡¯ve done this job and passed their knowledge to the next generation and so on and so forth. There¡¯s almost eight hundred guys and gals who died doing this job from either of trying to beat the clock, an act of God even though I¡¯m Agnostic and an Atheist or just something out of control because in my experience the moment you get comfortable or think you get a grasp on things the job throws a curveball. But this job is where everyone next to you really counts because of teamwork and no one in this job can¡¯t do the job without teamwork.¡±


    I replied, ¡°I can still see that y¡¯all still have the sign the citizens of this neighborhood gave y¡¯all the ¡®Riverview Firehouse¡¯ when they spent weeks protesting the city and said people gotten themselves educated to challenge city hall because the city government abhors well off educated people who can challenge them and call them out for their bullshit. Like how they closed your firehouse but the city approved multiple construction contracts that cost three times as much to keep every single firehouse opened but closed y¡¯alls to save money. Or my gut told me that the thing is a whole scam like normal of it being falsed up to keep foremen and the workers paid but having the entire thing all fake to keep people employed to get money for projects that¡¯ll go nowhere just to keep people employed so they can just sit at home to do nothing and earn a paycheck for nothing.¡±


    A few weeks had passed and I was finally cleared, removed from the Person of Interest list. This allowed me to return to work, although it happened during the week both A and B shifts had off. Still, it allowed me to keep myself busy. I found solace at the gun range, shooting at moving targets.


    Despite being followed by government agents, I understood they were just doing their job - ensuring I didn¡¯t leave the city or engage in any criminal activities. My frequent visits to the gun range were not just a pastime, but also an exercise of my rights. The Little Bird 7th Amendment clearly states that people have the right to bear arms. This right serves as an auxiliary support to the natural rights of self-defense and resistance to oppression, and the civic duty to act in defense of the state.


    The amendment, written in black ink, advocates for a well-armed group of citizens ready to take up arms in case of enemy invasion or to fight against a tyrannical government. It states, ¡°A well regulated Militia being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.¡±


    This was established by our Founding Fathers and Mothers out of concern for political corruption and governmental tyranny. Even the Federalists, who were accused of creating an oppressive regime, acknowledged the risks of tyranny. Against this backdrop, the personal right to bear arms was seen as a potential check against tyranny. It¡¯s a powerful reminder of the balance between individual rights and collective security.


    ***


    As the calendar flipped to Monday, October 26, I, Mackenzie Waterson, stepped back into the familiar territory of my workplace. The air was thick with tension, a palpable reminder of the accusations that had kept me away for three long weeks.


    Carter, ever the antagonist, was quick to break the silence. ¡°Oh look who¡¯s back,¡± he sneered, his tone dripping with passive-aggressiveness.


    I shot him a glare, my patience wearing thin. ¡°Carter, you¡¯re a hair¡¯s breadth away from being flipped over by a woman. I¡¯ve taken down men twice, even thrice my size, and no, I didn¡¯t resort to cheap shots. If you¡¯re itching for a trip to the ER courtesy of a woman, be my guest.¡±


    His retort was predictable. ¡°You should be behind bars for robbing the Federal Reserve,¡± he spat out.


    I couldn¡¯t help but laugh. ¡°Nice try, Carter. But I¡¯ve been cleared. Just last week, my name was removed from the Person of Interest list. You¡¯ll have to do better than that to get rid of me. Next time, don¡¯t give the feds a false motive and make sure my alibi isn¡¯t rock solid. My account of that day, from the moment I woke up to the fire, is as solid as a rock. It¡¯s all accounted for, confirmed, and won¡¯t be used to convict me in front of a grand jury. And if I did go to trial for a crime I didn¡¯t commit, who do you think they¡¯d believe? A misogynistic pig or someone with a solid story backed by a hundred witnesses? Yeah, the latter. Because if a hundred people can confirm my whereabouts, even with receipts and camera footage, you can shut up. If you want a fight, there¡¯s a forty-ton fire engine right next to us. I¡¯m sure its steel and aluminum chassis will rattle what little brains you have left.


    I ventured into the kitchen, where I found Steven, confined to a wheelchair, engrossed in a crossword puzzle.


    ¡°Ah, the prodigal returns,¡± he greeted, not lifting his eyes from the puzzle.


    ¡°Hey, Steven. How are the legs holding up?¡± I asked, trying to keep the conversation light.


    ¡°Well, I¡¯m stuck in this contraption until January. Then, it¡¯s off to rehab to relearn walking. Being cooped up at home with only 75% pay was driving me up the wall,¡± Steven confessed, his tone laced with frustration. ¡°But I wanted to thank you, Mackenzie. You stayed with me when I was trapped in that oil refinery fire. You were a far cry from Carter back in ''04, who left me high and dry at the first sign of trouble. I wasn¡¯t expecting the Feds to come knocking, but they seemed disappointed when I had nothing but praise for you. Heard about the Federal Reserve fire and the heist. I¡¯m relieved it wasn¡¯t you, kid. You saved my life by calling for help and keeping me calm until rescue arrived. Unlike Carter, who abandoned me and faced the music for leaving a man behind.¡±


    I smiled at Steven, his spirit unbroken despite the challenges he faced. ¡°You¡¯re a tough one, Steven,¡± I said, my voice filled with admiration. ¡°And don¡¯t worry about the Feds. They were just doing their job, even if they were barking up the wrong tree.¡±


    Steven chuckled, his eyes twinkling with mischief. ¡°Yeah, they seemed pretty disappointed when I had nothing but good things to say about you. Guess they were hoping for some juicy gossip.¡±


    I laughed, shaking my head. ¡°Well, they certainly won¡¯t find any of that here. And as for Carter¡­ well, we all know what he¡¯s like.¡±


    Steven nodded, his gaze turning serious. ¡°You know, Mackenzie, I¡¯ve been in this line of work for a long time. I¡¯ve seen people come and go, but you¡­ you¡¯re different. You¡¯ve got a heart of gold and nerves of steel. That day at the oil refinery, you didn¡¯t hesitate. You stayed with me, kept me calm. You saved my life.¡±


    I felt a lump in my throat, touched by his words. ¡°We¡¯re a team, Steven. We look out for each other. That¡¯s what we do.¡±


    He smiled, a genuine, heartfelt smile. ¡°That¡¯s right, kid. We¡¯re a team. And I¡¯m glad you¡¯re a part of it.¡±


    As I left the kitchen, I couldn¡¯t help but feel a sense of pride. Despite the accusations, the suspension, the whispers behind my back, I knew I had made the right choice. I was a firefighter, through and through. And I wouldn¡¯t have it any other way.


    I then crossed paths with Lieutenant Valkyrie. Her welcome was somewhat warm, but it was clear that what she missed most was my culinary skills. Among the seven of us, I was the undisputed master of the kitchen.


    Lieutenant Valkyrie let me in on a secret - Carter was banned from cooking. The one time he was allowed near the stove, he managed to set the kitchen on fire. Valkyrie had to radio a 10-75 to dispatch, calling for help to the quarters of Squad Company 525. The kitchen was out of commission for a month, undergoing renovations.


    During that time, we had to resort to ordering lunch and dinner. Our meals varied from beef chili, French Onion Soup, Chicken Noodle soup, Tomato soup, Vegetable Soup, Beans and Ham Soup, Buffalo Chicken Wings with Baked beans, Burger with fries, Macaroni and Cheese, Meatloaf with baked potatoes, to Lasagna. And no meal was complete without a slice of Cheesecake.


    But in 2005, Valkyrie put her foot down and banned Carter from cooking for good. We already faced fires in our line of work; we didn¡¯t need to risk our lives in our own firehouse. The fire commissioner didn¡¯t take the incident lightly and held Valkyrie accountable, pulling the ¡°buck stops with you¡± card on her. Since then, Carter was prohibited from going within ten feet of the stove in the kitchen.


    I sought out Pengelle, who shared with me the collective frustration of the team when Squad Co 525¡¯s firehouse caught fire. They had half a mind to toss Carter into the flames he¡¯d ignited in the kitchen-dining room. The incident had made headlines, splashed across papers and media outlets. This all happened before I moved to the city of Empire to attend Arcane University. By the time I arrived on August 15th, 2005, I started University on August 24th, it was three months post the fire Carter had caused.


    Schmit, on the other hand, could only shake his head at Carter¡¯s recklessness. He had to pull both Squad Co 525 and the Fire Department Homeland HAZMAT Response vehicles out of harm¡¯s way. The second vehicle, an all-white delivery step truck, bore the words ¡°FIRE DEPARTMENT CITY OF EMPIRE HOMELAND DEFENSE HAZMAT RESPONSE¡± on its side.


    With all the firehouses already at full capacity, relocation wasn¡¯t an option. The kitchen was declared out of service, and the team had to continue occupying the firehouse amidst ongoing renovations. Carter earned himself a collective slap on the back of his head for his blunder. The majority of the city¡¯s firehouses are located on two or four-lane city streets, making it impossible to park their rig outside without risking a collision with a reckless driver. So, they had to endure the construction and renovation noises from 7 AM to 3 PM, all while staying put in their original location.


    The headline "EPD VICE SCANDAL" caught my eye as I scanned the newspaper lying on the table. It was a stark reminder of the grim realities that the Empire Vice detectives grapple with daily. They delve into the city''s underbelly, exposing the sordid world of drugs, prostitution, and organized crime. Their work often brings them face-to-face with the worst aspects of humanity.


    Yet, it''s no secret that the Vice department itself is riddled with corruption. Many of its members are known to be ruthless, dishonest, and susceptible to bribes. Their power, stemming from the department''s glamorous status, grants them an unusual amount of leeway, unseen in other departments like the EPD or the District Attorney''s Office.


    This scandal, as the headline suggests, could implicate the highest echelons of the department, shedding light on the depth of corruption within. It''s a sobering thought, serving as a reminder that even those entrusted with upholding the law can sometimes be the ones who break it.

 Chapter four

    October 26th, my fourth day on the job, and I was still reeling from the shock. Carter, of all people, had set the firehouse kitchen ablaze. The irony wasn¡¯t lost on anyone - a firefighter starting a fire. The news had spread like wildfire, no pun intended, and the media had a field day.


    As I waited for the inevitable call to action, I busied myself with the equipment. The hoses - 1 ?, 2 ?, 3¡¯¡¯, and 4¡¯¡¯ - were neatly folded, nozzles within easy reach. The 3 or 4 inch supply hoses were also readily accessible, ready to be hooked up to a hydrant or another engine company at a moment¡¯s notice.


    Lieutenant Valkyrie approached me, ¡°Hey probie, your record says you¡¯re a firearms enthusiast.¡±


    I nodded, ¡°That¡¯s right. I¡¯ve even fired historical weapons like the Chicago Typewriter. I use the Chicken wing stance, elbow sticking out, just like the G.I¡¯s in the old photos. Nowadays, the Power point Stance is more common, with the dominant hand bowed out and the gunstock high next to the cheek. The non-dominant hand rests on the weapon¡¯s forehand or lower handguard. It¡¯s a stress reliever for me.¡±


    Valkyrie seemed intrigued, ¡°Well, we¡¯ve got something new for you. We¡¯ve got Squad Companies in several cities, each equipped with a Firefighter Shotgun. It¡¯s designed for fire suppression and rescue operations, using water vapor cartridges. It has a capacity of 15 shots before reloading. It¡¯s ideal for both close and narrow areas like cramped spaces, narrow hallways, and stairwells, as well as wide areas like open plazas, warehouses, and large rooms. I don¡¯t trust Carter with it, and I want someone with experience using a weapon to test it.¡±


    With that, she handed me the box. I loaded the water vapor cartridges, essentially filling it up with water, and set a trashcan on fire for a test run. The recoil knocked me off my feet, but the fire was out in one shot. Reading the manual, I discovered it had two modes - personal protection and range. The range mode produced a narrow angle cone blast, while the personal protection mode produced a wide angle cone. Both modes were designed to put out fires in a wider area and faster than a normal attack line. However, the Firefighting Shotgun had a flaw - it needed to be charged for two to four seconds before firing. This meant a firefighter couldn¡¯t just fire it without assessing the situation first, to prevent injuring a civilian, victim, or fellow firefighter. It was a powerful tool, but one that required careful handling.


    Fully suited up in my turnout gear, I prepared for the next test. I set another trashcan on fire, the flames dancing and crackling, a stark contrast to the cool, calm determination I felt. I positioned myself strategically, digging my heels into the ground, bracing for the impending force. Any firefighter could attest to the raw power of a high-pressure hose stream. If you weren¡¯t prepared, it could knock you off your feet, leaving you scrambling to regain your footing amidst the chaos. But I was ready. I had the Firefighting Shotgun in my hands, and I was ready to face the challenge head-on.


    I then used the Firefighting Shotgun which is called that because it more or less acts like a shotgun but instead of shotgun shells it¡¯s water vapor and meant to put out fires somewhat quicker but I was able not to be knocked down this time. I then removed the water and put my turnout gear back on Squad 525 and put the Fire Fighting Shotgun onto the apparatus but since I¡¯m the only one qualified to use it because of my extensive firearms training and extensive firearms training because Pengelle, Schmit, Steven even though he¡¯s off duty due to his leg injuries, Lieutenant Valkyrie, even Carter only have basic military firearms training but I don¡¯t trust Carter making a sandwich or stretching an attack or supply line.


    But I definitely won¡¯t trust him to use an $12000 piece of equipment meant to fight fires faster that supposed to be somewhat superior to an attack line because of hoses getting knotted up or getting stuck on things because with the Firefighting Shotgun is supposed to be held like an attack line nozzle or an firearm like a shotgun. But the manual says that it¡¯s actual name is actually Cascade Combater fitting how since the central boxy state/borough/country of Cascade of 246.75 miles wide and 324 miles long and is home to the Little Bird capital the city of Chocolate named for the nearby Cocoa fields but the manual even says that it was originally going to be called ¡°Chocolate Combater¡± but that ain¡¯t catchy and won¡¯t be fitting for the fire department not adding it was developed and researched by the Little Bird Cascade PyroShield Technologies.


    Soon a woman came in with a duffle bag.


    ¡°Can I help you?¡± I asked.


    She replied, ¡°Are you Lieutenant Valkyrie?¡±


    ¡°No I¡¯m not,¡± I replied, ¡°Second floor third door on the right.¡±


    To me it looks like we¡¯re getting another female candidate, something that¡¯ll make Carter blow his lid but I think that Lt Valkyrie had something to do with that as well.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± I asked the woman when I remet her when going upstairs


    She replied, ¡°Name Oijia. Yes, that''s Native Little Birden from the Falconese tribe. But no doubt you met my ex husband¡±


    ¡°Carter?¡± I asked just jumping the gun.


    Oijia replied, ¡°Yup. Oh how at first he was all picture perfect until I got a normal job then he all went off that his money was his. But my money was his but when I told him that my money was mine not his and he didn¡¯t like it but I told him that if my money was his then his money was mine but nope. But I¡¯m sure they told you not to let him cook.¡±


    ¡°Yeah they told me not to let Carter cook because he set the firehouse kitchen and dining room on fire,¡± I said, ¡°Name Mackenzie but you can call me Macaroni.¡±


    Oijia replied, ¡°Macaroni?¡±


    ¡°Because one of my favorite foods is Macaroni and Cheese or the shells in Lasagna,¡± I said. ¡°So what did you do before coming over here?¡±


    Oijia replied, ¡°Used to be a prosecutor who took insurance frauders to court and also took people to court who would steal cars and resell them with fake papers. Okay here on Little Bird you can buy a used car from the previous owner or a dealership but who buys the car can modify said car and at a later date they can resell the car because that¡¯s it¡¯s selling from owner to buyee with the original pink slips. But I''ve dealt with people who take said cars and just resell them with fraudulent pinkslips where it would¡¯ve been impossible if they made ownership papers. I got bored and joined to prove my ex wrong.¡±


    Soon the fire bell went off.


    ***


    Mid-Rise office building.


    ¡°Mac and Oijia West Wing Second Floor,¡± ordered Lt Valkyrie.


    I grabbed the Cascade Combater while Oijia gotten an 1 ? high rise pack hose.


    ¡°This mid rise has a center staircase in the center so pay attention to airflow,¡± said Lieutenant Valkyrie,


    Oijia replied, ¡°Why do we have to pay attention to the air flow?¡±


    ¡°Fire is in a constant hunt for oxygen and for the Ventilation teams they have to cut vent points away from entry points because if not then the fire is going to come where we enter which is the entrance point. So if we enter without a vent to drive the fire away from our entrance point so we don¡¯t enter and get fried. The same thing with an backdraft but a backdraft is where a fire uses up all of its oxygen but a backdraft is the abrupt burning of superheated gasses in a fire caused when oxygen rapidly enters a hot, oxygen-depleted environment; for example, when a window or door to an enclosed space is opened or broken. Backdrafts are typically seen as a blast of smoke and/or flame out of an opening of a building.¡±


    ***


    Second Floor, West Wing in a room that has some boxes.


    ¡°Hey a standpipe,¡± I said.


    Oijia went over and hooked up the high rise pack hose but I took it with one hand and stretched it around and told her to charge it where she came and got it. We moved into a hallway to fight the fire where we opened another door and opened a big work area with desks and computers.


    Oijia turned on the hose and started to spray at the fire while I used the Cascade Combater where the first blast was so powerful that the table a few feet away from us everything got knocked off of it breaking the computers and keyboards because of how powerful the blast was. But I did station myself up against a wall but it gave me a powerful pleasure of joy and happiness of how powerful and strong it is.


    ¡°You alright?¡± asked Oijia.


    I replied, ¡°Just gotten a fantastic arousal.¡±


    ____________________________________________________________________________


    Fifth Floor East Wing


    There was a cracking sound and we heard Lieutenant Valkyrie over the radio say ¡°Pay attention to the ceiling, it looks weak!¡±


    I kept one reason why I came back and that I was missing the old world and was suffering from Old World Blues which I was longing for the glories of the past and this place is it. But soon something fell trapping Oijia but I soon was able to free her but Oijia insisted she would walk it off.


    ¡°So what do you think of Carter?¡± asked Oijia.


    I replied, ¡°He is the type my dad warned me about when I was first working getting my first paycheck. My dad warned me by saying ¡®People you think are your friends will happily sell you out or abandon you if you get in the way of something they want. You''ll only find out who your real friends are when you''re down.¡¯ and the moment Carter said about Lt Valkyrie not vetting me and what not I knew right away that he¡¯s one of the people that my dad warned me about.¡±


    I then talked about how when I was a kid in the late 80s and early 90s I talked about how I liked Glam metal/hair metal fell out of fashion in the early 1990s before I switched to listen to classic rock, rock and roll and country music.


    ¡°Yeah, what do you expect in this city,¡± said Oijia. ¡°Everyone in the city is corrupt: The police, the unions, even the church. Like it says in the book. We¡¯re both blessed and cursed.¡±


    I replied, ¡°What fuckin¡¯ book?¡±


    I opened a door where we entered another office area but saw Cater come into the same office space. We decided to leave so we wouldn¡¯t have to hear something from him that would cause us to punch him or wanting me to summersault him into the inferno because I knew that our uniforms don¡¯t protect us from fire but it protected us from heat because after some time fire will burn through our turnout gear.


    We moved like a well oiled team without Carter. While we¡¯re a team we exclude Carter from the team while Carter does the same with women because he doesn¡¯t view us and Lt Valkyrie as equals but he treats us as inferiors and believes we shouldn¡¯t do this job. He just focuses on the cons of women firefighters than the pros like us fitting into areas that a male cannot.


    I know the type that Carter is. Even if we do something that everyone else would give us praise for, he''ll still treat us like shit but I¡¯ve made my peace. When I first met him I did not care how he felt about me that even if I saved his life he wouldn¡¯t thank me but just insult me but I already proved myself to everyone else in this company.


    Oijia and I went outside to swap out our near empty oxygen tanks for full ones from the Air Mask Service but as we were putting our air bottles onto our backs where we got to see my girlfriend¡¯s company arriving. The officer door swung opened as 141 apparatus was slowing down but unlike the company I¡¯m on my girlfriend her company is more of an well oiled machine where before we went back in we saw Avalanche and Dynamite just grab the high rise attack lines and head right in, their chauffeur-engineer already hooking up a supply line to an hydrant and everyone else grabbing axes or pike poles and going right in.


    ____________________________________________________________________________


    The Eighth Floor, the pinnacle of corporate power, loomed before us¡ªan expanse of polished marble and hushed secrets. As a firefighter, my boots echoed off the pristine tiles, a stark contrast to the chaos that awaited. My education in ancient philosophy seemed an unlikely companion in this modern inferno, but life has a way of weaving disparate threads into a tapestry of survival.


    The offices and conference rooms sprawled like a maze, each door a potential escape or entrapment. Oijia, my partner, and I moved with purpose, our senses attuned to the subtlest shifts¡ªthe creak of a hinge, the flicker of emergency lights. The doors to the conference rooms were jammed, stubborn sentinels guarding their secrets. But I was never one to yield to obstacles.


    I kicked the glass panels, shattering the illusion of invulnerability. The walls, paradoxically, were transparent¡ªa cruel joke played by architects who valued aesthetics over practicality. Privacy blinds hung limply, their strings frayed. Luck, it seemed, had abandoned us; the blinds were raised, exposing our movements to unseen eyes.


    Oijia hesitated, firehose in hand. Glass shards threatened its integrity, yet she clung to it like a lifeline. We were trained to trust that hose¡ªthe pulsing artery connecting us to life beyond the smoke. If our vision failed, we could trace its path, hand over hand, back to safety. But now, the glass walls mocked our reliance on the tangible.


    In the heart of the executive floor, disaster unfurled. A chandelier, once a symbol of opulence, plummeted¡ªa fiery comet. Flames danced across woolen carpets, hungry tongues licking at our boots. The air thickened with heat and panic.


    ¡°Death Pyre!¡± I shouted, my voice swallowed by the roar. I glimpsed a figure on the other side, a silhouette framed by infernal glow. Oijia turned, her eyes questioning.


    ¡°A what?¡± she asked, her grip on the hose unyielding.


    ¡°A pyre,¡± I replied, my mind bridging epochs. ¡°Ancient Greeks understood it well¡ªa vessel for transformation. A body, placed upon or beneath the wood, consumed by fire. Funeral rites or executions¡ªthe boundary blurred. And here, in this modern crucible, we face our own pyre. Sacrifices made for survival.¡±


    Oijia nodded, her resolve unwavering. We stepped forward, into the blaze. The glass walls trembled, revealing both vulnerability and strength. Philosophy met firefighting¡ªa union forged in chaos, tempered by courage.


    As flames danced, I wondered, Would our sacrifice be remembered? Or would we become mere embers, lost in the annals of time?


    Oijia backed away and fought the fire from range where I had to be at medium range to use the Cascade Combater to combat it but this was a lot more tougher than a small fire but fires that I¡¯ve fought using the Cascade Combater went out in one blast from both close and mid range. This fire is not but I kinda wonder if it had to do with the fact that the chandelier is metal so Class D but the Candle wax in my guess would be a mix of Class A and B.


    I then grabbed my walkie talkie and said into it, ¡°Squad 525-7 to Squad 141-2 come in over.¡±


    Lusty replied, ¡°Squad 141-2 here, what do you need, Squad 525-7?¡±


    ¡°Got a massive chancelier fire up here on the 8th floor. What''s y¡¯all 10-20?¡± I said.


    Lusty replied, ¡°Seventh floor. That what that sound was? Thought it was a minor earthquake. I¡¯ll send Avalanche and Dynamite up to your 10-20.¡±


    ¡°10-4 Over and out,¡± I replied, ¡°Yes I know what Over and Out means. ¡®Over¡¯ means, "I''m finished talking, respond," while ¡®out¡¯ indicates the transmission is over with no response necessary.¡±


    When the Cascade Combater would run out of water to shoot I would have Oijia fill it up and rinse and repeat until Avalanche and Dynamite came with their 1 ? and 2 ? inch high rise attack lines and they came to assist us into fighting the fire and the chandelier fire.


    It took a lot longer than we could imagine but before we could put it out my girlfriend Lusty came and she just said ¡°Unbelievable¡± because this was the first time she ever saw a chandelier on fire with a near inextinguishable blaze. Even when hitting it from all sides but a few minutes after my girlfriend showed up, Lieutenant Valkyrie showed up. She scratched the back of her head in confusion because she never seen a unquenchable fire but she went over to a wall and bused open a fire extinguisher case and grabbed an ABC fire extinguisher and joined in on the group but it was a lot harder than we imagined but after a few more minutes we were able to put it out.


    I went over to the person and got him up. I put my left arm around him and walked out with him.


    ____________________________________________________________________________


    After the fire outside while packing up our gear we all saw Carter walk with a painful limp.


    ¡°You alright Carter?¡± asked Pengelle.


    Carter replied in pain, ¡°Far from it.¡±


    ¡°What happened?¡± asked Pengelle.


    Carter replied, ¡°Her gal pal kicked me in the balls.¡±


    Me and Oijia started to giggle from it.


    ____________________________________________________________________________


    Twenty-one minutes ago,


    (Lieutenant Claire ¡°Lusty¡± Johnson POV)


    I strode into the expansive workshop room, the clatter of computers. I was busy assisting Avalanche in maneuvering the unwieldy high-rise 2 ? hose into position. However, the tranquility of the moment was shattered by Carter''s unwelcome intrusion.


    "I have both rank and seniority," I asserted firmly, meeting Carter''s gaze head-on. "In this scenario, it''s me who calls the shots. We may not belong to the same company, but that doesn''t give you the right to dictate my actions."


    Carter''s retort was laden with misplaced confidence. "Eight years on the job make me more experienced than you," he boasted, his tone dripping with arrogance.


    A surge of indignation coursed through me. "Fourteen years of dedication have earned me the title of Lieutenant," I shot back, my voice unwavering in its resolve. The tension in the room crackled, a storm brewing on the horizon.


    As Carter advanced, his voice raised in a crescendo of confrontation, I knew it was time to take a stand. With a swift, calculated movement, my steel-toed boot connected with its target, sending Carter reeling in agony. The room fell into a stunned silence, punctuated only by Carter''s pained groans.


    This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Hovering over him, I delivered my final salvo, my words laced with defiance. "Never underestimate a woman molded by adversity," I declared, my voice cutting through the tension like a blade.


    _______________________________________________________________________


    After the fire


    (Mackenzie ¡°Macaroni¡± Waterson POV)


    ¡°That¡¯s what happens when you mess with a woman who grew up with the expectation of either defending and standing your ground or being a doormat and like her momma and pa my gal pal is extremely powerful and comes from a neighborhood that is full of tomboys and women who can defend themselves from any threat. Hell, I believe she¡¯ll become the Princess of Hell in the afterlife. Oh go after her then her entire neighborhood will kick your ass so hard that you¡¯ll be regretting it and don¡¯t even bother hiding behind the cops because her old neighbors don¡¯t care.¡±


    We packed up our gear and headed back to quarters with other companies doing the salvage and overhaul.


    ¡°It¡¯s nice to see that the city actually did what they were forced to do by opening up 136, 137 and 138 and established another Squad Co 541,¡± I said.


    Pengelle replied, ¡°Yeah they finally got off their asses and made new companies so a lot of floaters can actually work and still have people in the floater pool. But the city is still divided up into two battalions since pre-1850s of when the city only needed said battalions instead of just you know just create more battalion chiefs and Safety Battalions don¡¯t count because they just make sure large operations go with safety and hope no one gets hurt and give advice to either the 18th or 19th Battalion. But the city just redrew the battalion¡¯s response area.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, they should have more, especially since Empire is an Economic hotspot, Tourist hotspot, and industrial hotspot." I said


    ____________________________________________________________________________


    Back at the Firehouse.


    Pengelle showed me a map of every single city across Little Bird of how many battalions there were and I was taken aback from what I said because the Fire Department maps has with Battalions:


    Battalions:


    City of Chocolate:


    1st Battalion- Stellara District (1st, 2nd, 3rd, 4th, 7th, 8th, 9th, Rescue 1, Squad 140)


    2nd Battalion- Aurora Heights (10th, 11th, 12th, 21st, 22nd, 24th, 25th, Rescue 2, Squad 142)


    3rd Battalion- Embergate (27th, 28th, 29th, 30th, 31st, 32nd, 34th, Rescue 3, Squad 143)


    4th Battalion- Serenity Springs (35th, 36th, 37th, 38th, 39th, 40th, 41st, Rescue 4)


    5th Battalion- Neon Nexus (42nd, 43rd, 44th, 45th, 46th, 48th, 49th, Rescue 5, Squad 146)


    7th Battalion- Harborview Haven (50th, 51st, 52nd, 54th, 55th, 57th, 58th, Rescue 6)


    8th Battalion- Whispering Pines (60th, 61st, 62nd, 63rd, 64th, 65th, 67th, 75th, Rescue 7)


    9th Battalion- Silvershade Square (76th, 77th, 78th, 79th, 80th, 83rd, 84th, Rescue 8)


    10th Battalion- Crystal Cascade (86th, 89th, 97th, 98th, 99th, 100th, 101st, Rescue 9)


    11th Battalion- Elysian Echoes (102nd, 103rd, 104th, 105th, 106th, 107th, 108th, Rescue 10)


    12th Battalion Mystic Meadows (109th, 110th, 111th, 112th, 114th, 115th, 117th, Rescue 11)


    14th Battalion-Sunset Ridge (118th, 119th, 120th, 121st, 122nd, 123rd, 124th, Rescue 12)


    Fort Suction:


    15th- Lakeview (125th, 127th, 128th, 129th, 130th, 131st, 132nd, Rescue 14, Squad 250)


    17th- Downtown (133rd, 134th, 135th, 142nd, 143rd, 144th, 145th, Rescue 15, Squad 251)


    20th- Harbor (147th, 148th, 149th, 150th, 151st, 152nd 153rd, Rescue 16, Squad 253)


    21st- Greenwood (154th, 155th, 156th, 157th, 158th, 159th, 160th, Rescue 26, Squad 259)


    22nd- Uptown (161st, 162nd, 163rd, 164th, 165th, 167th, 168th, Rescue 27)


    23rd- Airport (AARF 1, AARF 2, AARF 3)


    Fort Flurry:


    24th- Downtown (169th, 170th, 171st, 172nd, 173rd, 174th, 175th, Rescue 19)


    27th- Uptown (177th, 178th, 179th, 180th, 181st, 182nd, Rescue 20)


    28th- Southtown (183rd, 184th, 185th, 187th, 189th, 190th, Rescue 21)


    29th- Flurry (191st, 192nd, 193rd, 194th, 195th, 196th, 197th, Rescue 22)


    30th- Liberty (198th, 198th, 199th, 200th, 201st, 202nd, 203rd, Rescue 23)


    Fort Bluejay:


    31st- Blueberry Ridge (204th, 205th, 206th, 207th, 208th, 209th, 210th, Rescue 24, Squad 230)


    32nd- Downtown (211th, 212th, 213th, 214th, 215th, 217th, 218th, Rescue 25)


    33rd- Strawberry (219th, 220th, 221st, 222nd, 223rd, 224th, 225th, Rescue 27, Squad 233)


    34th- Idlewood (227th, 228th, 229th, 230th, 231th, 232th, 233rd, Rescue 28)


    35th- Eastridge (234th, 235th, 237th, 238th, 239th, 240th, Rescue 29, Squad 243)


    Las Adventure:


    37th- Poker District (236th, 186th, 241st, 242nd, 243rd, 244th, 245th, Rescue 30, Squad 201)


    38th- Blackjack District (246th, 247th, 248th, 249th, 250th, 251st, Rescue 31, Squad 204)


    39th- Roulette District (252nd, 253rd, 254th, 255th, 256th, 257th, 258th, Rescue 32, Squad 216)


    40th- Ace District (259th, 260th, 261st, 262nd, 263rd, 264th, 265th, Rescue 33)


    41st- Jackpot District (266th, 267th, 268th, 269th, 270th, 271st, 272nd, Rescue 34)


    Empire:


    18th Battalion- Southern half of the city (14th, 16th, 17th, 18th, 19th, 68, 69, 71, Rescue 17, Rescue 53, Squad 525, Squad 541, 136th, 137th)


    19th Battalion- Northern half of the city (23rd, 33rd, 52nd, 59th, Rescue 18, Foam Engine 32, HAZMAT 33, 138th)


    25th Battalion- The ports (15th, HAZMAT 32, Foam Engine 33)


    Fort Carson:


    42nd- Glenn Park (273rd, 274th, 275th, 276th, 277th, 278th, 279th, Rescue 35, Squad 220)


    43rd- Aurora (280th, 281st, 282nd, 283rd, 284th, 285th, 287th, Rescue 36, Squad 225)


    44th- Downtown (289th, 290th, 291st, 292nd, 293rd, 294th, 295th, Rescue 37, 227)


    45th- Doherty (296th, 297th, 298th, 299th, 300th, 301st, Rescue 38)


    Not adding that unlike Empire the other cities each district has seven houses per district where the city of Empire I don¡¯t even know where to begin of how different and whatnot because every other city that ain¡¯t Empire has its houses per district and each district is a battalion unlike Empire which keeps its chart like that since the 1850s without adding new battalions to alleviate the 18th and 19th Battalions because from time to time there¡¯s been emergencies that require a battalion chief and one would respond and the other would respond to another emergency but once the three go to those three emergencies and if a fourth one needs a battalion chief then said emergency would need to wait until one of the three is available.


    We then saw Carter sit down on the tailboard where he just put an icepack where his nuts are but he had it coming. He messed with Lusty who doesn¡¯t take shit from anyone and she¡¯ll fight back when need be. But I think Lieutenant Valkyrie didn''t care that my girlfriend harmed one of her teammates. I think that she knew that Carter had it coming with his sexist remarks being a sexist prick but got what it¡¯s worth.


    We then heard him say, ¡°First my ex-wife joins the company and then I get kicked!¡±


    I then went into the kitchen and I started to make lunch where I just made both T-Bone and Ribeye steak but when Pengelle told me that he likes his steak medium rare I looked at him whenever I would go to a family barbecue or my dad would host it whenever I asked if someone likes their steak anything else besides well done well everyone in my family always say ¡°We ask them firmly but fairly to leave¡± but I never made a medium rare steak before but I just threw his onto the grill half way through ours were well-done.


    ¡°What you thinking about Mac?¡± asked Oijia.


    I replied, ¡°How my girlfriend''s first day was different, how her first call was different from mine.¡±


    ¡°How so?¡± she replied.


    I replied, ¡°My girlfriend¡¯s first call was to a construction worker pinned but her company was canceled due to Rescue 18 becoming available so Squad 141 was canceled and told to return back to Quarters. But was called to a hardware store or as Lusty puts it ¡®In one day had every single city company and every single volunteer company in the city there¡¯ but they needed a lot of manpower for a few missing members during a routine fire in the basement of the hardware store.¡±


    I soon made sure all of the steaks were done and made homemade Mac and Cheese to go alongside with it.


    After lunch we decided to do a firefighter down drill with me being a downed firefighter in the basement of the firehouse with Pengelle and Oijia supposed to be the members of the RIT Rescue but to make it more believable in a smoke filled environment the lights in the basement were shut off. They were told they have to rely on their sense of touch to simulate dense smoke that their flashlights cannot cut through the dense smoke.


    But the three of us all got dressed up fully dressed up in our turnout gear but I just lied down on my torso but had my head turned and I laid still for twenty seconds but I didn¡¯t stay still until the lights went out. I hate how loud the PASS alarm that went off but I know why it was loud through,


    After what felt like two almost three minutes went by was when I was shaken but I played into my role of being unconvinced real well but heard Pengelle just radio into his walkie talkie ¡°Mayday mayday firefighter down¡± and hear Lt Valkyrie just say ¡°Get¡¯em out of there.¡±


    I was picked up with one grabbing my back and the other getting my legs and carrying me like that and brought me back into the apparatus bay. When I was told to stop acting when I got up I banged my head on the tailgate of our Rescue Engine.


    ¡°Thanks Carter,¡± I said sarcastically.


    Carter replied, ¡°You¡¯re welcome.¡±


    ____________________________________________________________________________


    The Next Day


    Back at my apartment.


    I laid down on my couch. I¡¯m exhausted and I just dropped my bag.


    ¡°Is my baby girl tired?¡± asked my dad.


    I replied, ¡°In others terms yes.¡±


    ¡°How was work?¡± he asked.


    I replied, ¡°Exhausting but the icing on the cake is that my sexist coworker got knocked around by my girlfriend. Well he tried to assert seniority even though he has eight years on the job while my girlfriend has fourteen years on the job. To knock him down a couple of pegs she took her steel toed boot and knocked him down a few pegs.¡±


    ¡°I can feel that pain,¡± my dad said.


    I replied, ¡°Shouldn¡¯t you be back in the States?¡±


    ¡°I would but¡­¡± my dad said.


    I replied, ¡°What happened? Did mom come back and take the house from you?¡±


    ¡°Heaven forbid that happens,¡± my dad said. ¡°Honestly, what''s that syndrome?¡±


    I replied, ¡°Empty nest syndrome. Just find another woman to be with and find someone who is loyal and not a narcissistic drug addict who took advantage of you. Find someone who you¡¯ll love and can support each other. Like me and my girlfriend for example we¡¯re both loyal, and have clear communications even though no relationship is perfect even if we have disagreements but we¡¯re in a happy relationship where we are honest with each other and we¡¯re both affectionate and appreciative of each other.


    "We make an effort to work through any problems we have, we see each other for who we are and don¡¯t see each other for each other potential, we always do not have to have an identical view of the world, but we do is sharing opinions on important global topics, we communicate with honestly and logically and we stay vigilant because people change. You say that you like women who are handy like me who can repair and fix things themselves like mechanics so find someone who you¡¯ll want to be with. And how since who were with ¡®mom¡¯ for twenty three years so you know what to look out for.¡±


    ¡°Ah I should but don¡¯t know,¡± my dad said, ¡°Also when you and your girlfriend get married don¡¯t forget to send me an invite or an RSVP. Since you¡¯re my only child and it would be a once and done deal not adding that you and your girlfriend have something unique and I want to see you happy. From my point of view I see a relationship that me and your mother could¡¯ve had but didn¡¯t but honestly I don¡¯t know if I can move on to find another lover after being stuck in 23 years of a loveless marriage.¡±


    I replied, ¡°It wasn¡¯t completely loveless.¡±


    ¡°Yeah that¡¯s true because we loved each other with our father-daughter bond,¡± my dad said. ¡°Can I get you something?¡±


    I replied, ¡°Whiskey.¡±


    My dad soon came over with a bottle of whiskey in hand and a shot glass in hand.


    ¡°I meant the bottle not the shot glass,¡± I said before snatching the bottle out of my dad¡¯s hand and put the bottle into my mouth.


    My dad replied, ¡°I haven¡¯t seen anyone chug whiskey like that since my nephew Stephan¡¯s wedding back in 1973. I really think your girlfriend loves her work.¡±


    ¡°Yes. Yes she does,¡± I confirmed.


    My dad replied, ¡°I mean when I was in Downtown yesterday I saw her company. I saw her open the door of her company for her to get out but without hearing her mutter a word saw her company get what they needed and go.¡±


    ¡°That or she could¡¯ve told them what they needed while en route but Lusty she has her company do drills a lot not adding the other day when I visited her firehouse I heard her tell a firefighter who has fear of heights I heard her say ¡®Look up not straight down because looking down changes your perspective of the ground.¡¯ Of course that¡¯s from when I was suspended for a crime I didn¡¯t commit. So some time I would just go to her firehouse and spend time there where last time I was there she was demonstrating a backdraft of safely opening a door by hiding behind a wall and opened said door with an ten foot long pike pole.


    "To me my girlfriend should¡¯ve become a pinup model. Even though she¡¯s 30 she looks like she¡¯s 8-11 years younger due to her physical fitness and maintaining a healthy diet and other stuff to keep herself looking young. But Lusty has her crew do drills a lot ranging from fire attack to HAZMAT drills, to firefighter down drills, to firefighter down in a HAZMAT area to vertical rescue drills, Search and Rescue including RIT Rescue drills, Ventilation, High-Rise, Vehicle extrication, Forcible Entry drills, and compartmental drills. So far I¡¯ve only done the Compartmental drill.¡±


    My father looked at me, his eyes filled with curiosity, and asked, ¡°Alrighty cool. But why do you guys break windows?¡±


    I took a deep breath, preparing to explain the intricacies of our job. ¡°Dad, we don¡¯t just go in and start breaking things. We break windows to create an outlet for the heat and smoke. The intense heat can quickly drain our strength, making our job even more challenging. That¡¯s why we have specialized ventilation teams.


    "They cut vents in the roof, allowing the heat and smoke to escape from our entry point. My girlfriend and Dave always say there¡¯s no sweeter sound than the roar of a rescue saw. It¡¯s a signal, a promise that the smoke and heat will soon have somewhere else to go. With an open vent, the heat, fire, and smoke are drawn away from our entry point, ensuring it doesn¡¯t come rushing at us when we make entry.¡±


    My dad nodded, taking in the information. ¡°You plan on going over to one of those big boxy ones?¡±


    ¡°You mean a Rescue Squad?¡± I clarified.


    ¡°Sure, why not,¡± he replied with a shrug.


    I smiled, thinking about the future. ¡°Yeah, once I get some seniority under my belt and more expertise, around 2013-14, I plan to apply to Special Operations and go to Rescue school. It¡¯ll be a roll of the dice which of the city¡¯s three Heavy Rescue Squads - 17, 18, or 53 - I¡¯ll join. I¡¯ll have to be retrained and requalified twice a year. According to Captain Linda Richter-Waterson and Captain Constintine Richter, it¡¯s usually at the beginning of the year, around mid to late January to early February, and then again around mid to late September to early October.¡±


    ¡°But I understand why they have to go through this rigorous process. Their apparatus are nicknamed ¡®Toolboxes on wheels¡¯ because they¡¯re tasked with responding to and dealing with specialized fire and rescue incidents that are beyond the scope and duties of a standard engine company or ladder company. They carry a wide variety of specialized tools and equipment to aid in operations at technical rescue situations, such as rope rescues, building collapse rescues, confined space rescues, trench/excavation rescues, machinery and vehicle extrication/rescues, water rescues, and a variety of other technical rescue situations.¡±


    ¡°They respond to all structure fires within their response area, which is divided up into the Northern Half and Southern half of the city. Rescue 17 responds to any emergency in the Southern half, Rescue 18 responds to any emergency in the Northern half, and Rescue 53 can respond to either. But if Rescue 17 is ou


    t in an emergency, Rescue 18 will take over their response area, and vice versa.¡± I concluded, hoping I had given my father a better understanding of what we do.


    My dad then turned on the TV so we could watch TV together like we used to and it was a national television talk show in which I really don¡¯t care for talk shows. I''m more of an action show.


    After I chugged the bottle I told my dad I was going to go and visit my girlfriend but he tagged along wanting to remeet my lovely girlfriend.


    ____________________________________________________________________________


    At Lusty¡¯s penthouse we got out of the elevator and climbed one flight of stairs. We went to her penthouse and I knocked on the door and my girlfriend let us in.


    ¡°Kinda wish I gotten a phone call or I would¡¯ve cleaned up my kitchen table,¡± said Lusty.


    I replied, ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡±


    ¡°Paperwork aka forms to sign,¡± Lusty said, ¡°Lily wants to join softball, Rose wants to enroll in ballet. Margaret is enrolling into Scouting aka Girl scouts, Mabel is joining soccer, Bella is enrolling in arts and crafts, Chloe is enrolling in the chess club, and Charlotte wants to do golf but how since that¡¯s high school so she¡¯s enrolling in the drama club because Charlotte says that she either wants to be a professional golfer or a performer when she¡¯s older. Already suffered from a hand cramp from signing the paperwork and almost spilled coffee all over the paperwork too.¡±


    I replied, ¡°Ah okay then. Remember years back from your hospital business?¡±


    Lusty still remembers when she got discharged from the hospital years back. When Lusty asked if her brain and head would heal, she was told that her head would heal, but brain cells don¡¯t regenerate, so her brain won¡¯t heal. Lusty even asked if she could go to work. She was told that she could, but it would be idealistic and better if she found a safer job. But she hasn¡¯t.


    Lusty then went back over to the table and went to sign the forms.


    ¡°If you want coffee there¡¯s some in the pot,¡± Lusty says


    I saw my dad go over to the coffee pot to get a cup of coffee.


    ¡°Wanna go see a horror movie in theaters later?¡± Lusty asked.


    I replied, ¡°I like horror movies but I¡¯m not fazed by them anymore because the cliches in horror movies have been done too many times, overused and become too predictable.¡±


    ¡°Yet twelve years ago when you saw that horror movie that kills people in their dreams gave you nightmares,¡± my dad said. ¡°Or when you saw that horror movie series about a tall guy with a hockey mask with a machete killing people. Remember July and August back in 1997 when you were thirteen?¡±


    I gave my dad a glare that says that he shouldn¡¯t have said it. But I sat next to my girlfriend.


    ¡°Heartbreaking as it is,¡± Lusty said, ¡°But I¡¯ve told them that my work would interfere with their activities so I¡¯ll try to show up when I can but I¡¯ll have to miss a majority of their games or plays or whatnot. But I told them that other family members will show up in my place even though it wouldn¡¯t be like me being there. I did tell them that how my work would have me interfere with my family life but I promised that their extensive family will show up in my abstinence¡±


    ____________________________________________________________________________


    28th of October


    ¡°Welcome to sunny Empire,¡± I muttered to myself, stepping out of my car into the rain. It wasn¡¯t a downpour, but it wasn¡¯t a drizzle either. It was somewhere in-between, a steady rhythm of drops that seemed to echo my own internal turmoil. The thunder cracked overhead, a stark reminder of the storm that was brewing both outside and within me.


    I made my way into the kitchen. ¡°What¡¯s the situation?¡± I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.


    Lt Valkyrie looked up, her face grim. ¡°Strip mall fire last night. Started when the thunderstorm hit. Some are speculating it was caused by a lightning strike. But there¡¯s something else - they found the number 198445 spray-painted on a brick wall. Probably just a coincidence, some street gang tagging random numbers.¡±


    A chill ran down my spine. ¡°198445¡­ that¡¯s my serial number,¡± I said, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice. ¡°But yeah, it¡¯s probably just a coincidence. Unless Carter did it and marked my serial number¡­ then he¡¯s going to have a serious problem.¡±


    Valkyrie sighed, ¡°Can you drop the tough girl act for once?¡±


    I turned to the rest of the team. ¡°Have any of you ever been vulnerable?¡± I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.


    Oijia was the only one who responded. ¡°I was¡­ for years.¡±


    The room fell silent. I took a deep breath, ¡°So, have any of you had to stay home with a mother who prioritized drugs over family? Ever gone to bed hungry because your dad had to work overtime and couldn¡¯t make dinner? Ever had your toys taken away because your mother sold them to fuel her addiction?¡±


    Tears welled up in my eyes as I spoke, the words bringing back memories I had tried so hard to forget. I left the kitchen quickly, seeking the privacy I needed to let my tears fall. The wounds of my past had been reopened, the pain as fresh as the day it was inflicted. The woman I was supposed to call ¡®mother¡¯ had never cared for me. My aunts, grand aunts, older female cousins, and older nieces had been more of a mother to me than she ever was. And that¡­ that was a sentence I never thought I¡¯d have to say.


    I stay secluded in private for an hour ignoring my social needs wanting to be left alone and not be around someone. But when I got better or something like that I decided to ask Lieutenant Valkyrie if I could run a quick errand but told her that I would have my radio on so if they get a call then she¡¯ll meet them at the scene so she allowed it.


    I put on my bunker gear trousers/w suspenders but I put my shoes in my car with the rest of my turnout gear but my destination was two blocks away anyway.


    ____________________________________________________________________________


    Rescue Company 17 quarters.


    ¡°Hey Captain, you got one minute?¡± I asked.


    Linda replied, ¡°Sure. What do you want Macaroni?¡±


    ¡°Is there a way for me to come over to the rescue squad?¡± I asked.


    Linda replied, ¡°Well you can apply anytime but they want people with experience. Like for example all of us are trained in both blackwater and deepwater diving but it¡¯ll be better for you to do a year so you can earn your trade. No really starts here where all of us here are experienced. Or as I told your girlfriend, the first members of this company were experienced in their trade of electrician, bricklaying, metal work, and other construction trades.¡±


    Lina then pulled a magazine out of her desk and put a sticky note on it and wrote a number down.


    ¡°Call Captain O¡¯Hara and tell him I want you in his next class,¡± Linda said, ¡°But also take note that there¡¯s a chance and I mean a 50/50 chance you¡¯ll be rejected and would have to retake said classes to try and become a member of the rescue company. Tell me what kind of diving we do?¡±


    I picked up a pen and began to jot down my thoughts on a crisp piece of paper.


    ¡°Open water,¡± I wrote, ¡°it¡¯s the unrestricted expanse of water that reaches directly up to the surface, kissing the atmosphere.¡±


    Next, I penned down, ¡°Blue-water diving. It¡¯s an adventure into the heart of the ocean, where the sea bed is a mystery, hidden from sight and beyond the reach of divers.¡±


    I continued, ¡°Then there¡¯s Black-water diving, a thrilling plunge into the open ocean at night, where the darkness envelops you.¡±


    I moved on to describe more challenging environments. ¡°Penetration diving,¡± I noted, ¡°is when you dive under a physical barrier, cutting off a direct vertical ascent to the surface.¡±


    I wrote about Cave diving, the exploration of water-filled caves, and Cavern diving, where you stay within sight of the cave¡¯s exit, bathed in natural light.


    I detailed structures like Culverts, designed to channel water past obstacles, and Intakes, openings that admit fluid into a space or machine. I mentioned Penstocks, which control water flow to turbines or sewerage systems.


    I described the Overhang, a rocky feature protruding from a cliff, open on one side but obstructed overhead, deep enough for a diver to be under it. I explained Restrictions, spaces that challenge divers with their limited size, sometimes even requiring equipment removal for passage.


    Swim-through ¨C Short underwater tunnel with adequate clearance and obvious exit ¨C Arch, or short, clear tunnel that has sufficient space to allow a diver to swim through and where the light of the opening at the far end is visible through the hole.


    I ended with Sewerage, the infrastructure that conveys sewage or surface runoff using sewers.


    Just then, Linda shared her experience, ¡°I¡¯ve been ice rescue diving once. The ice was so sharp, it cut through my dive suit. And this was up in the mountains.¡± Her words added a chilling reality to my notes.


    I responded, ¡°I would have thought that up in the mountains, the mountain patrol or avalanche specialists would have people trained for ice water rescue.¡±


    Linda explained, ¡°They do, but the guy who usually does it was on his honeymoon, and the other guy was in the hospital. They didn¡¯t have anyone to replace them, so they had to call the fire department. But Rescue Co 18 was busy, and Rescue Co 53 was still on the drawing board, not to be finalized until December of 2008 after the city hall increased the city¡¯s fire department budget to accommodate more classes for the Special Operations Command. Despite being a Captain, I went in.¡±


    She continued, ¡°It¡¯s interesting that back in the 1860s, the Little Bird government divided the country into five Commonwealths. Most people just call them States, Boroughs, Counties because even official maps aren¡¯t set in stone. Some maps refer to the five as either States, Boroughs, Counties, or Commonwealths.¡±


    I replied, ¡°That reminds me of a few games I¡¯ve played. They¡¯re set in a post-apocalyptic and retro-futuristic world, decades after a global nuclear war between the United States and China. In 1969, the US Government restructured the US into thirteen Commonwealths, creating another layer of bureaucracy between the federal and state governments.¡±


    Linda simply said, ¡°Okay then, right.¡±


    I concluded, ¡°Thanks, Capt. See you around.¡±


    I then left but as I got back into my car and put the key into my car¡¯s ignition. Over the radio I had on me went off reporting a structure collapse but instead of taking my car I just went back inside and asked Linda if I could tag along in which she just told me to hop aboard because they¡¯re going to the same place as the company I¡¯m on.


    I just sat on the seat behind Linda.


    ¡°First building collapse?¡± I asked.


    Linda replied, ¡°Fourteenth.¡±


    To me that was a lot.


    ¡°Primarily gas leaks that go unchecked and when someone ignites a lighter to light a cigarette or cigar then boom,¡± Linda said, ¡°Some residential buildings don¡¯t install proper alarms to warn the owners of buildings until it¡¯s either too late or days go by and when there¡¯s no one there then they¡¯ll call the cops for a welfare check. And when said cops smell the gas then they call for the utility company for a gas leak which also calls out a fire department company to be on standby also to do a quick search if the gas is in the Lower Flammability Limit because if it¡¯s Higher where it¡¯s too rich to burn we avoid doing searches because air leaking in can bring the mixture into combustibility range. But besides that I¡¯ve been through other building collapses from weather decay.¡±


    I replied, ¡°All okay then thanks for telling me.¡±


    After a couple of minutes we got there. We started to move the rubble into another pile to search for survivors but after a few minutes we heard Oijia shout ¡°I got someone!¡± I then saw Pengelle and Carter went over to Oijia¡¯s location to help her.


    ***


    Back at the firehouse


    Carter cornered me, his voice echoing with a tone of superiority. His words, laced with sexism and misogyny, were a stark contrast to the values I held dear as a Waterson. We Watersons have three simple rules: respect for authority and experience, loyalty to friends, and a stern warning for enemies. Carter, however, seemed oblivious to the old Italian proverb, ¡°Quando il gioco ¨¨ finito, il re e il pedone vanno nella stessa scatola¡± - when the game is over, the king and pawn go into the same box. He saw himself as a king and me as a mere pawn, but in this firehouse, we were equals.


    His attitude wore me down, and before I knew it, I had him in a headlock, his knees buckling under him.


    ¡°I can end it right here, right now,¡± I warned, my voice steady. He struggled, his desperate kicks against the rescue engine drawing the attention of the entire crew. I could see a glint of satisfaction in Oijia¡¯s eyes as she watched her ex-husband gasp for air, but it took the combined strength of Lieutenant Valkyrie, Schmit, Pengelle, and Oijia to pry my arm away from Carter¡¯s neck.


    Minutes later, in Lieutenant Valkyrie''s office, she reminded me, ¡°You know you cannot attack someone because they have a different mindset than you. This is going on your record of assault.¡±


    ¡°Because I stood up to a sexist, misogynistic jerk who had it coming?¡± I retorted.


    ¡°Well, until your mindset is correct, you¡¯re suspended until further notice,¡± she said, her voice stern. ¡°And see the department therapist for the next two months until the therapist determines that you¡¯re cleared to return for duty.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll find an unbiased third-party therapist,¡± I shot back. ¡°Someone who won¡¯t use my words against me. And don¡¯t worry, I¡¯ll be sure to let them know how you run your firehouse, defending a sexist while punishing those who stand up to them. I¡¯m sure that will send quite a message.¡±


    Lieutenant Valkyrie extended her hand, expecting my badge. I unclipped it from my uniform, but before I handed it over, I let my frustration spill.


    ¡°Many of my ancestors who sacrificed their lives in the World Wars would be turning in their graves knowing that people like you and Carter are allowed to roam free,¡± I retorted, my voice laced with bitterness. ¡°You both have your opinions, but they align more with the ideologies of the Central Powers or the Axis than with those who fought against tyranny. Their sacrifices seem in vain.¡±


    Before Lieutenant Valkyrie could respond, I placed my badge in her outstretched hand and made my way to the locker room.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on with you?¡± she asked, her voice echoing in the empty room.


    I responded, echoing the words of my great-grandfather, a veteran of both World Wars and the Korean War, ¡°Meine Ehre hei?t Treue, Eliten der Heer - My honor is loyalty, elites of the army. My loyalty isn¡¯t with this army anymore. If you were hoping for it, that train has long since departed.¡±


    With that, I closed my locker, grabbed my duffle bag, and left. Lieutenant Valkyrie tried to say something, but I tuned her out, focusing on returning to Rescue Squad 17 to retrieve my car.


    Twenty-two minutes later, I was back in my apartment, my phone in hand. I decided to text my father back in the States, explaining my suspension and the mandated therapy sessions. I expressed my concerns about the department therapist, fearing they would be biased and use my words against me. I told him about my plan to find a third-party therapist, someone unbiased who would listen to my grievances about Carter without judgment.


    I also informed Lieutenant Valkyrie of my decision, making it clear that I would rather speak to a therapist who wouldn¡¯t twist my words. I voiced my concerns about Carter¡¯s behavior, but I knew they would likely be dismissed. Despite this, I decided to document everything, creating a paper trail of complaints about Carter. I knew they might try to contradict my claims, but I was prepared to fight.


    My apartment lights flickered and soon there were sounds of explosions so I went over to my window and saw fire but soon my apartment lights went out.

 Chapter five

    What the fuck is happening? I asked myself.


    I left my apartment but as I was running down the hallway part of the floor collapsed but I was able to pull myself up. I continued to run but I slid down the stairwell handle to go around what part collapsed. Even though I was able to make it outside, I couldn¡¯t help anyone just yet. I ran to my firehouse but my company was long gone but that didn¡¯t stop me from suiting up.


    There were some more explosions and I don¡¯t know what it was but I know it wasn¡¯t an earthquake but maybe it was just old infrastructure that hasn¡¯t been updated within a century or whatnot finally breaking.


    As I started to step outside there was an explosion that knocked me down onto my back. I then got up but before I got up I saw a few parked cars get flipped over with their tires on fire. So I grabbed an ABC fire extinguisher and started to put the tires that were on fire out.


    I then took what rescue tools I could have carried and went on my way. But I ran down the street and soon I ran into a firefight. I hid behind a piece of concrete slab and I moved cover to cover when bullets hit.


    I soon entered a ruined building but I heard some banging so I ran over to an elevator and I was able to pry open the elevator doors. People came running out but the heat inside of the elevator felt like an oven.


    After a few minutes, I got a text message from my dad who asked me where I was. So I sent him a message saying where I was but I told him I was going to meet him back at my apartment well outside of the building.


    ___________________________________________________________________________


    I was able to make my way back to my apartment and found my dad helping someone.


    I called my dad and after he finished helping someone he followed me outside because we were going to help as many people as we could. But we both knew that we couldn¡¯t save everyone.


    ¡°Ah damn it,¡± my dad said.


    I looked over to my dad and replied, ¡°It¡¯s going to be alright Dad. I¡¯m going to go get you some help.¡±


    ¡°Just go baby girl,¡± my dad said. ¡°Just go other people deserve your help.¡±


    I replied, ¡°No Dad I¡¯m not going to leave you.¡±


    ¡°Just go Mackenzie,¡± my dad said. ¡°Just go other people need your help.¡±


    I ignored my dad and I just picked him up after putting gauze on it.


    I carried him in my arms and just ran to the hospital on foot. But before we got to the hospital we stumbled across Squad 525 while everybody was busy fighting a fire in a restaurant caused by an underground gas main explosion. Schmit was too busy keeping up the pressure which gave me the window to open the EMS compartment to get the medical bag and helped my dad before picking him back up to run to the hospital but I kept the jump bag on me.


    Of course, I gave my dad to the hospital staff though when we came in but soon I came across my cousin Franklin who¡¯s a soldier but he came with me.


    ____________________________________________________________________________


    I then returned the medical bag.


    Carter couldn¡¯t resist making another derogatory remark. His words were cut short by a loud thud as my cousin Franklin pinned him against the Squad 525 Rescue Engine, a serrated combat knife pressed threateningly against Carter¡¯s throat.


    ¡°Go ahead, make another sexist remark about my cousin,¡± Franklin dared, his voice icy. ¡°I double dog dare you. No, I triple-dog dare you. Lieutenant may turn a blind eye, but if you dare to disrespect Macaroni again, I¡¯ll cut you from ear to ear!¡±


    Lieutenant Valkery intervened, ¡°Hey, you can¡¯t treat one of my firefighters like that!¡±


    Franklin turned to her, his expression unyielding. ¡°No, Lieutenant, this is your problem. You¡¯ve been aware of Carter¡¯s harassment and have done nothing. You¡¯ve allowed him to target my cousin because of her gender. The buck stops with you. Your silence encourages his behavior because he knows you won¡¯t do anything unless someone stands up for themselves. You¡¯re just like a school teacher who ignores bullying until the victim fights back, then suddenly they¡¯re the bad guy.¡±


    Carter said, ¡°I got friends who will come after you!¡±


    ¡°And I¡¯ll be sending them to hell as well if you come after my cousin again!¡± said Franklin in a threatening Carter with his grip getting tighter on the handle, ¡°Consider it a warning.¡±


    Franklin isn¡¯t my cousin by blood, but he¡¯s every bit a part of our family. His parents tragically passed away when he was just a child, and we took him in. We didn¡¯t just adopt him; we embraced him as one of our own, nurturing him in an environment filled with love and warmth. We¡¯re his family, the only one he¡¯s got, and we¡¯ve been there for him every step of the way since he joined our clan.


    I found myself musing aloud, ¡°If carriers can evolve, what¡¯s to say that battleships can¡¯t also evolve?¡± Franklin, ever the naval enthusiast, had a ready response.


    He said, ¡°Our country has seen the evolution of battleships from the Dreadnoughts of the Pre and First World War era to Fast Superheavy Battleships at the dawn of the Second World War. We then moved to Guided Missile Fast Nuclear-powered Attack Battleships and Guided Missile Battleships in the late 1950s and early 1960s. By the late 1960s, we had Nuclear-powered Guided missile fast battleships. Unlike other countries that phased out their Battleships in the latter half of the 20th Century due to advancing technology, we incorporated that very tech. Our Naval financial planners even found it cheaper to retrofit existing battleships than to construct new ones. The cost to retrofit the battleships to be guided missile battleships was $56,000,000, with an additional $12,000,000 to retrofit them with nuclear-powered engines. The ships that would¡¯ve replaced the battleships would¡¯ve cost $100,000,000 each. If carriers could evolve from carrying biplanes to monoplanes to jet aircraft, so can other ships.¡±


    In high school, there were gossips and whispers about me being a cute tomboy with a gung-ho attitude. I won¡¯t deny the tomboy part, but I¡¯m not your typical ¡®cute¡¯. I¡¯d describe myself more as a charming country gal than a pinup model. I¡¯m happy with my appearance, and I don¡¯t pay heed to those who suggest I should change it. When people tell me I should get plastic surgery to be ¡®cuter¡¯ and attract attention, I firmly tell them to back off. I¡¯m happy being who I am, not someone else¡¯s idea of who I should be. I¡¯m true to myself, and I wouldn¡¯t have it any other way.


    ¡°Your father is going too¡­¡± Franklin said.


    I cut him off, ¡°Don¡¯t say it because I fear that I¡¯m jinked, or to me if you say one thing the opposite will happen and vice versa.¡±


    I¡¯m somewhat superstitious of believing that saying one thing will have the opposite effect. I believed that if Franklin said that my dad would get better then to me he wouldn¡¯t and vice versa so I would rather have him not say it so God could work his magic and not jink anything.


    Some streets were inaccessible due to rubble so we had to cut through buildings but what was knawling at me repeatedly in my stomach was my gut saying ¡°We¡¯re here to save as many civilians as we can but there¡¯s no way we can save them all¡± but it was something I knew all too well. The instructor I had at the academy he was a pessimistic and kept telling us that we would have to come to terms that not everyone can or could be saved even with more advanced tech they could use to save but in some situations like a train derailment, aircraft crash or an act of God then a lot of people would and will die and that they cannot push themselves to unbelievable levels but at least they know that they can save a lot of people who can return to their families even know deep down a lot of people won¡¯t be returning back to their families.


    At sunset, my cousin and I were able to meet up with Lusty and her company who were fighting a fire at a gas station. We joined them to help them Lusty told me to join her company how since I was not with 525 now due to being suspended even though she didn¡¯t know that.


    ____________________________________________________________________________


    Days passed what happened was some of the old underground infrastructure finally blew. A lot of old gas lines finally blew, and I found myself, nestled comfortably into my couch, engrossed in a spine-chilling horror novel. The eerie silence of my home was abruptly shattered by the shrill ring of the house phone. I reluctantly tore myself away from the gripping tale and answered the call. The voice on the other end instructed me to report to HQ in my service dress uniform. With a sense of foreboding, I changed into my fire department service dress attire and made my way to the headquarters.


    Upon arrival, I approached a woman stationed behind a desk, intending to inquire about my summons. However, before I could even complete my sentence, she curtly directed me to conference room 504 on the fifth floor. I ascended to the designated floor and waited until my name echoed through the hallway before entering the room.


    The room was filled with higher-ups, their stern faces forming an intimidating panel. Among them was Lieutenant Valkery, her presence did nothing to ease my anxiety. I knew, deep down, that none of them were on my side. As expected, they berated me for breaking my suspension by helping others.


    In my defense, I cited the 1942 Little Bird Duty to Rescue Act and the 1941, later revised in 1947, Good Samaritan Law. But my words seemed to fall on deaf ears. Just as they were about to launch into another tirade, a knock on the door interrupted them. The door swung open to reveal Lusty, who promptly took a seat next to me.


    The room fell silent as I was ordered to hand over my badge. Lieutenant Valkery¡¯s words echoed in the room, ¡°You¡¯re not suspended, you¡¯re not on temporary leave or administrative leave. You¡¯re fired.¡±


    Before I could utter a word, Lusty interjected, ¡°Yeah, and now every newspaper, radio, and news station in this city, hell, across Little Bird, would love the story about how the fire department is going to shield a sexist but fire someone who did her job while suspended in an emergency that had the fire department radio a level 4 mobilization of calling in all off-duty, suspended, and those on leave or on vacation to come back. I¡¯m pretty sure that¡¯ll be in the headlines for weeks if not months, especially how Lieutenant Valkery here turns a blind eye to Carter¡¯s sexist remarks to Probationary Firefighter Waterson, whom Lieutenant Valkery is a woman. That¡¯ll send a message about how a woman will turn a blind eye to a sexist who¡¯s targeting another woman in the same firehouse but firing her for doing her job.¡±


    With a heavy heart, I unclipped my badge and slid it across the table towards them. I stood up, my girlfriend following suit, and we left the room together. As we stepped into the elevator, the weight of the situation began to sink in.


    Lusty broke the silence, ¡°So what are you going to do now?¡±


    I looked at her, a determined glint in my eyes, ¡°I¡¯m going to do exactly what you suggested in there. If this is going to stir up a hornet¡¯s nest, then so be it. But first, I need to clear out my locker.¡±


    We left the Fire Department HQ and made our way to Squad 525 firehouse. Walking in together, I carried a cardboard box with me. I opened my locker, its emptiness echoing the void I felt inside. I cleared out the remnants of my time there, closed the locker for the last time, and peeled off the tape bearing my nickname. I affixed the tape onto the cardboard box, a symbolic gesture of my departure.


    As I was walking out, Steven called out, ¡°Hey Macaroni, where are you going with that box?¡±


    I turned around, a bitter smile on my face, ¡°Got fired for coming in to help the other day. But hey, Carter wins and he can go fuck himself.¡±


    Just then, Oijia approached us, ¡°Hey Mac, I overheard that you got fired. That¡¯s unacceptable,¡± she said, her voice filled with concern, ¡°I¡¯m going to go and talk to Lieutenant Valkery.¡±


    I shook my head, ¡°I wouldn¡¯t bother. She was one-sided. Even when I brought up the Duty to Help and Good Samaritan Laws, it didn¡¯t make a difference. It¡¯s funny how a level four mobilization that calls in even those suspended didn¡¯t seem to matter to them.¡±


    After leaving the firehouse, Lusty and I parted ways. She returned to her station, while I embarked on a mission to share my side of the story. My journey took me to various media outlets across the city, each with its unique identity and audience.


    The Empire Tribune, the city¡¯s leading newspaper, is known for its in-depth investigative reporting, local news, and captivating features. Radio Pulse 88.9 FM, is the go-to station for music, talk shows, and community updates, offering everything from jazz to indie rock. Empire Echo News Radio 103.7 FM, always on top of the latest stories, providing breaking news, traffic updates, and interviews with city leaders.


    Channel 7 Empire News, a trusted TV news source, ddelivers morning headlines to investigative specials. Empire Vision News Network (EVNN), a 24-hour news channel covering global events, local happenings, and thought-provoking documentaries. Skyline News 24/7, broadcasting from the tallest building in Empire, bringing news from every angle.


    Radio Nebula 106.3 FM, broadcasting from the heart of Empire, offering a cosmic mix of music, interviews with stargazers, and celestial updates. Empire Whispers, a gossip-focused tabloid that spills secrets, scandals, and juicy tidbits about the city¡¯s elite. Channel 12 Sunrise, a morning TV station delivering the latest headlines, weather, and buzz.


    At each outlet, I shared my story. Many reporters pointed out the retaliatory and illegal nature of my dismissal, something I hadn¡¯t fully realized. I had a hunch that Empire Whispers, being an independent media outlet with no oversight, might handle my story differently than the major newspapers, which have some level of oversight on what stories get published.


    Despite the Commonwealth/Borough/County/State funding the media, they maintain full journalistic freedom. The government cannot bias everything unless in times of war, where press censorship comes into play. This gave me hope that my story would be heard and justice would be served.


    After sharing my story with the media, I decided to grab some lunch. To my surprise, I bumped into Oijila. Curious, I asked her what she was doing there. She revealed that upon Lieutenant Valkery¡¯s return to the firehouse, she had handed in her resignation and badge. She refused to work for someone who willingly ignored what was wrong.


    ____________________________________________________________________________


    As Lusty savored and cut her well-done T-bone steak, she asked, ¡°So what you going to do now?¡±


    ¡°Have you thought about just hiring a lawyer and sue?¡± my dad asked.


    Lusty replied, ¡°The only thing they¡¯re going to do is just rather settle it out of court rather than admit what¡¯s wrong and attempt to fix it like every other career so they rather just take the low road and dish out some money and they never have to deal with Macaroni again. Even if Macaroni refused to take the out-of-court settlement they¡¯ll just move Carter somewhere instead of firing him. So it won¡¯t really be worth the trouble but in my experience, the department don¡¯t have smoke eaters who want the best for their fellow fire breathers but they hire bureaucrats who look out for the best for the department with politics not each other.


    "At least the police department has officers at HQ who look out for their officers. Hell in the Fire Department if you¡¯re in trouble they¡¯re hoping you don¡¯t have a Union Rep who don¡¯t know laws entirely which is why Dave ain¡¯t entirely popular because he knows who he represents he pulls the card that if he cannot be with those whom he represents will be millionaires by the end of the day.¡±


    We just ate dinner in peace after that but I decided not to go through with it. But while eating I brought up,


    ¡°I might visit Mitzy and his wife Visiala in Moonlight Cove one day,¡± I said out loud.


    ____________________________________________________________________________


    The next day


    Stepping out of the familiar confines of my apartment building, I found Lieutenant Valkery perched outside, her presence an unexpected interruption to my day.


    ¡°Well, if it isn¡¯t Macaroni,¡± she greeted, a hint of amusement in her voice. ¡°I¡¯ve got something to discuss with you¡­¡±


    Cutting her off mid-sentence, I shot back, ¡°What¡¯s the matter, Lieutenant?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m here to extend an offer for you to rejoin us,¡± she stated, her tone matter-of-fact.


    I responded, my voice laced with a hint of passive-aggression, ¡°I¡¯ll consider it, but only under one condition.¡±


    ¡°And what might that be?¡± she inquired, her curiosity piqued.


    ¡°Carter. If he stays, he¡¯s on a tight leash. Any misstep, no matter how minor, goes straight onto his record,¡± I declared, my tone leaving no room for negotiation.


    I could see it in her eyes, the realization that she had little choice but to acquiesce to my terms. After a pause, I decided to drop another bombshell. ¡°I won¡¯t be staying a full year at Squad 525,¡± I informed her. When she asked why, I directed her to Captain Richter-Waterson for the details, but added, ¡°Once my probationary period is over, I¡¯m moving on to advanced classes, eyeing a shift to another company.¡±


    I then informed her that I wouldn¡¯t be returning to the firehouse for work that day. ¡°I¡¯ve volunteered to chaperone Chloe¡¯s field trip to an observatory,¡± I explained. ¡°I¡¯m not particularly fond of observatories, but this one¡¯s on a mountain, and I do have a soft spot for mountains.¡± The paperwork for the chaperoning had been a bit confusing, given my relationship with Chloe - dating her mother Lusty but also being Dave¡¯s cousin who¡¯s Chloe¡¯s biological father due to sperm donation - but that was easy barely an inconvenience.


    I went on the field trip but like in the past I had to fight myself due to wanting to fall asleep because to me observatories have always been boring and sleepy for me. But this was the only time I didn¡¯t fall asleep. I got Chloe something from the gift shop for three bucks but told her not to lose it or break it because I¡¯m not going to buy it again and if she loses it then it¡¯s going to be lost forever.


    After the field trip, I decided to go and visit Capt. Linda.


    ____________________________________________________________________________


    The field trip had ended, and I found myself straying from the crowd, my path leading me toward Linda. She was engrossed in a face-to-face conversation with Captain Asyling Ryan. I decided to wait, standing at a respectful distance until their conversation concluded. However, an unexpected visitor disrupted my plans. A man came in, his intentions clear as he grabbed me. Instinctively, I kicked at the door, but it was too late. I was his hostage.


    Captain Ryan reacted swiftly, her hand reaching for her .41 Magnum revolver. She drew it, her aim steady, her face unreadable. I knew of her past, the trauma she had endured in the Navy. The disbelief she faced when she reported an attack on the Nuclear Attack Guided Missile Battleship, BB-01 Aurora Borealis. The Masters at Arms, the Shore Patrol officers, none of them believed her. The attackers continued to serve on the same ship, and she left, unable to finish her enlistment. She took her papers and followed her family tradition, becoming a cop in the city of Empire, a city with a historical trend of Irish-Little Birdens serving in law enforcement.


    The silence was deafening as Captain Ryan held her aim. The man¡¯s knife grazed my neck, and then, a gunshot echoed. The man holding me hostage crumpled to the ground, his knife clattering against the concrete floor.


    ¡°You could¡¯ve tried to negotiate with him to let me go,¡± I managed to say, my voice shaky.


    Captain Ryan looked at me, her expression stern. ¡°Thought you Waterson¡¯s were supposed to have a backbone and not complain? Either way, it¡¯s over now.¡±


    Before I could even reply, she was speaking on her radio. ¡°9-Lincoln-100 to dispatch requesting a Coroner to 1925 Garmancy Street at the quarters of Rescue Squad 17,¡± she said, her voice steady and authoritative.


    The conversation continued.


    ¡°What brings you here?¡± Captain Linda inquired.


    ¡°I just wanted to chat,¡± I responded.


    ¡°If you¡¯re here to discuss how to keep your mother from discovering your desire for a child, that¡¯s simple. Just avoid your mother, and if you¡¯re at home, don¡¯t answer the door if she knocks,¡± Captain Linda advised. ¡°The same trick worked during my first, second, and third pregnancies, and she doesn¡¯t even know that I have two sons and two daughters.¡±


    ¡°If I ever have a child, I¡¯ll never tell my mother. If my mom died, I wouldn¡¯t go back to Alabama for her funeral. After all, if I did, I¡¯d have to be dragged out by the police for disturbing the peace and for abusing a corpse because I¡¯d be hitting my dead mother¡¯s body with my fists or with a knife. I can¡¯t even eat chili with crackers because it reminds me of the drugs my mom was addicted to when I was a kid and a teenager. My dad tried to get her into drug management classes twice. The first time she lasted five minutes, and the second and final time she lasted two seconds,¡± I confessed.


    Captain Asyling empathized with my situation. She explained that she and her twin sister, Mackenzie, had a similar experience with their mother. Their mother was both an alcoholic and a drug addict who was married to a cop. Asyling and Mackenzie had to fend for themselves when their father wasn¡¯t around. They couldn¡¯t rely on their cousins, Darick and Sonata, who had loving parents. Things worsened when Asyling and Mackenzie¡¯s father died in the line of duty when they were in the 11th grade. Mackenzie managed to graduate high school, while Asyling dropped out after being held back and joined the Navy. However, she left the Navy to become a cop.


    ¡°Hey Linda, what¡¯s it like being married to my cousin?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Dave is the type of man that a woman wants. He pays attention to the little things. For Valentine¡¯s Day, he always gets me a bouquet of mixed roses and lilies, light milk chocolate, something nice, a romantic card, and a romantic dinner. He¡¯s confident, trustworthy, has integrity, shows compassion, and is emotionally available. If we didn¡¯t like each other, we wouldn¡¯t have gotten married back in 2003, had four children, and stayed together for eleven years. The last time we fought was back in 1998 when my brother Donnie died in a high-rise fire. I snapped at him, saying he hadn¡¯t lost anyone important until he told me that he had lost his mother and stepmother, and out of his four siblings, he was the third child out of five and was the only one alive because the rest died in an arson with their mother or his mother or stepmother. But I love him because he¡¯s truthful, and at least he loves me for who I am,¡± Linda replied.


    I voiced my curiosity, ¡°I don¡¯t know how you can wear a gray uniform.¡±


    ¡°Since 2003, Supervisors, Captains, and Lieutenants have been required to wear a white undershirt, gray overshirt, gray pants, and black dress shoes. It¡¯s supposed to help us stand out from the average rank-and-file patrol officers and watch commanders. Yeah, it does make it easier for cop killers to target officers with seniority,¡± she explained. ¡°Of course, unlike the rest of the world, here on Little Bird, if there¡¯s a police scandal, it¡¯s in the media for one day before acting like nothing happened. The last scandal that hurt the police department was back in 1951. It involved an Administrative Vice Detective Captain and the adult daughter of a Mafia don. In return, the Ad Vice squad would look the other way, allowing the drugs the mafia was selling to stay out on the streets. A small amount was brought in to make the department look good and to put the Ad Vice squad in the papers for good publicity.


    "The Ad Vice Squad had the papers give out a fake number to have people believe they were taking more drugs off the streets than reality and to gain public support to combat prostitution, narcotics, lewdness, lust, and obscenity. Christmas of 1951 shined a light on what really was happening and exposed the Captain who turned a blind eye. The officers who weren¡¯t threatened were given fake dispatch calls in which the Mafia would have a hitman to ambush and kill the responding officer or officers. This backfired when other precincts started to send multiple officers to any call, from a child with a scraped knee to a false alarm or anything in between. The few Mafia hitmen were charged with the murder of on-duty police officers for those they killed. Here in Little Bird, killing an on-duty police officer is capital punishment, aka death row.¡± She finished her explanation with a grim tone.


    Captain Asyling cleared her throat, ready to share more about her precinct¡¯s operations. ¡°In my precinct, the 9th Precinct, I¡¯ve trained my officers to discern between a fake and a real call. For instance, if a child reports a monster in their house, it¡¯s likely just a harmless animal. If a small child claims that ¡®they¡¯ are preventing him from leaving the house, it¡¯s probably a case of parents grounding their child. If an elderly woman hears suspicious noises from the neighboring apartment, it¡¯s most likely just a loud television.


    "If an old man reports an army breaking in on the ground floor, it¡¯s probably dogs scratching at the wall trying to get inside. However, we usually dispatch a Lincoln unit, which is a patrol car with one officer, to check out calls if they sound like they could be genuine,¡± she explained. Her voice was firm, reflecting her years of experience and dedication to maintaining order and safety in her precinct.


    I asked Captain Asyling about the most bizarre call she had ever been on. Her response was a collection of stories that left me speechless.


    ¡°One time, we responded to a call a woman had tied her pre-teen daughter to a tree and was shocking her with a cattle prod. She believed that by doing so, fertility goddesses would enter her daughter and make her able to have children, even though the girl was only eleven,¡± she recounted, her voice steady despite the disturbing content.


    ¡°Another time, a fast-food joint reported a man who was both high and drunk. He was completely naked and had climbed on top of their restaurant. He had locked the ladder, preventing employees or the police from climbing up after him. We had to call the Fire Department, and they sent out Ladder Company Fourteen. I told the guy to get off voluntarily, or I would have a fire hose knock him onto his backside. Two officers would then carry him down, and one officer would put him in a headlock,¡± she continued.


    She then shared another incident. ¡°We once had a woman who demanded to get her food for free. When she tried to attack me, my twin sister hit her across the head with her twenty-three-inch wooden baton. My sister and I ended up having that woman¡¯s lunch while she sat in the back of a police car.¡±


    Each story was more unbelievable than the last, painting a vivid picture of the unpredictable and often dangerous situations Captain Asyling had to handle in her line of duty.


    Before I could ask another question, Captain Asyling launched into another story. ¡°The most entertaining call I went on was a brawl at a gentleman¡¯s club, or as some might call it, a strip club, between patrons and management,¡± she began. ¡°It was far from amusing. In fact, half of my precinct ended up in the hospital with injuries. All of my officers were decked out in armored uniforms with riot helmets. Out of 236 officers, 118 had to be taken to a hospital, and the remaining 118 had to patrol alone. There were no patrol cars with two officers, known as ¡®Adam¡¯ units. All were just single officers riding around.¡±


    She continued, ¡°Our police force uses Mid-Century tactics. In simpler terms, we use water cannons, mounted police, and dogs, and we just wear helmets and batons. Even in the 1980s we borrowed from the military, using body armor, armored cars, and grenade launchers that could carry multiple tear gas grenades. Back then, we just used a Grenade launcher that¡¯s a shoulder-fired standalone breech-loading 40mm launcher developed during the Vietnam War.¡±


    She concluded her story with a hint of satisfaction in her voice, ¡°But at that gentleman¡¯s club, it was quite an experience to have my officers writing almost three hundred arrest and booking reports.¡±


    She then left.


    Linda shared her experiences from when she joined the Fire Department back in 1995. ¡°At the age of 18, I noticed that the Police Department was still stuck in the 1960s. They didn¡¯t use pepper spray or less lethal shotgun shells. They even used a ¡®hot sheet,¡¯ a small metallic table in the patrol car displaying tags of stolen cars. The white sheet would turn yellow when the light was on at night time,¡± she explained.


    I was about to interject, but Linda continued, ¡°Here on Little Bird, nobody cares about police misconduct. If you¡¯re going to riot about it, then you¡¯re going to get hit in the head by either a twenty-three-inch wooden baton or a twenty-four-inch polycarbonate side-handle nightstick. The police riot training commonly uses the police baton to strike a suspect¡¯s head with a full-force overhand motion in order to stun them or knock them unconscious by cerebral concussion.¡±


    She went on, ¡°It¡¯s not because Little Bird is a police state, but the police still use riot tactics of the 1960s to show that they¡¯re not going to hide behind a shield. Our force is trained to do a baton charge as a scare tactic, and those who refuse to move get hit. In other parts of the world, what they would call excessive force or police brutality is the opposite here. In riots, every third officer has a shotgun with two out of three having bean bag shells while the third has either buckshot or slug shells for arsonists and looters. Unlike the rest of the world, who¡¯ll just hide behind shields and let businesses be ransacked and burnt down.¡±


    Her words painted a vivid picture of the stark differences in law enforcement tactics and public sentiment in Little Bird compared to other places.


    Linda shifted the conversation, ¡°Since you plan on jumping ship one day, let me show you the tools we have.¡±


    I followed her to the vehicle, intrigued. She began opening and closing the compartments on the Driver/Chauffeur side, revealing an array of equipment. The driver-side compartments housed hydraulic rescue tools, often referred to as the ¡®jaws of life¡¯, air bags, specialized rescue saws, cutting torches, rope rescue equipment, and electric and air-powered cutting, breaching, and breaking equipment, along with emergency medical services equipment.


    The officer-side compartments were filled with forcible entry tools, flathead axes, lifting tools, and Search and Rescue tools. The inside compartments were stocked with water rescue and HAZMAT equipment, including dive suits, Level A and B HAZMAT suits, a plethora of first aid supplies, and antidotes. They even had a stokes basket inside.


    Lastly, she pointed to the roof where an inflatable boat was secured. The sheer amount of equipment was impressive, each tool serving a specific purpose in their line of duty. It was a stark reminder of the diverse situations they had to be prepared for.


    ¡°You can see why the Rescue Companies are nicknamed ¡®Toolboxes on wheels¡¯ due to all of our equipment we have,¡± said Linda, ¡°And for almost a century we¡¯ve always used a walk-in rescue squad. A walk-in rescue fire truck features a walk-in open space in the body devoted to personnel. In its simplest form, a walk-in rescue truck features an aisle down the center of the body, providing ample space for firefighters to sit and replenish at the scene of an emergency. We have every tool for any emergency your mind can think of that we would respond to. From MVAs with Entrapment to fires, to HAZMAT to building collapses, to Aircraft emergencies to anything your mind can think of we have a tool for it.¡±


    After bidding Linda farewell, I made my way to the gun range. Like the rest of my family, I practiced tactical reloading, always leaving the last bullet in the chamber. This method, I learned from my family members in the Little Bird Armed Forces, allows you to get back into the fight sooner rather than having to chamber a new round.


    An hour of focused practice later, I headed to get my hair cut. I¡¯ve always preferred a tousled and short style, a far cry from the ponytails I wore when I was younger. Despite being a tomboy, I¡¯ve never shied away from embracing my feminine side. I enjoy cooking and indulging in traditionally feminine activities, unlike my girlfriend¡¯s ex-girlfriend who refuses to even cook for herself, still relying on her mother to do so.


    My girlfriend, while also a tomboy, enjoys wearing feminine clothing. Her upbringing in an impoverished family and neighborhood meant she often had to wear hand-me-downs from her mother. Any new clothing she received was from Santa Claus on Christmas - just socks, a pink sundress with a red ribbon belt, and red high heels. But at least my girlfriend, affectionately known as Clarebear, is more relatable than her ex-girlfriend.


    She¡¯s a testament to the fact that circumstances don¡¯t define you, but how you rise above them does. She may be a tomboy but she had to wear what she had and adapt to the realism she had to live through as a child, pre-teen, and teenager, and even as an adult she still embraced her feminine side and didn''t act like somebody she isn¡¯t. She¡¯s a lovable woman who¡¯s a tomboy who wears dresses when not working because that¡¯s what she grew up with the only time she wore men''s clothing is when she¡¯s at work over at Squad 141.


    Returning to my apartment, I felt the familiar creak of the stairs beneath my feet. The mail was waiting for me, a stack of envelopes and packages, each holding a piece of someone else¡¯s story. But it was the newspaper that caught my eye¡ªthe Empire Gazette, its pages crinkling as I unfolded it.


    There it was, nestled among the headlines about politics and weather: a promise. The city vowed to break ground for the Empire Police Department Ninth Precinct. A century-old building, weathered and worn, would give way to something new. Something modern.


    The other precincts in the city had already shed their old skins. They stood tall, sleek structures born in the 1980s and 1990s. Their glass facades reflected the sun, inviting citizens inside. But the Ninth Precinct? It clung to the past like ivy on a crumbling wall. Concrete, imposing, and unwelcoming.


    I imagined the architects and engineers, their blueprints spread across drafting tables. They envisioned a precinct that would blend seamlessly with the city¡¯s pulse¡ªa place where officers could serve and protect without feeling trapped in time. So, they designed it to be welcoming and modern. The walls would no longer whisper the echoes of the 1800s; instead, they¡¯d hum with the hum of computers and radios.


    Ah, the radios. The paper hinted at their imminent replacement. The old ones, relics from the late 1990s and early 2000s, crackled with static. Soon, they¡¯d be replaced by sleek devices, their buttons responsive under officers¡¯ fingertips. Clear communication, a lifeline in the chaos of duty.


    The cars¡ªthe fleet that patrolled Empire¡¯s streets. The paper spoke of new vehicles, shiny and efficient. But skepticism lingered. The police department had seen its share of promises. The only ¡°new¡± things they truly possessed were the military-grade assault rifles¡ªa relic from the late 1960s and early ''70s¡ªand those sturdy cars from the 1980s. The same cars that still prowled the streets, their engines growling like old lions.


    ____________________________________________________________________________


    The day after.


    I¡¯ve got a knack for stirring up trouble. You see, returning to work after a forced hiatus wasn¡¯t exactly met with open arms by my colleague, Carter. The guy¡¯s got a permanent scowl etched into his face, and I¡¯m pretty sure he¡¯d rather share an elevator with a swarm of bees than with me.


    So there I was, striding back into the station like a phoenix rising from the ashes. Carter, with his clenched jaw and disapproving glare, couldn¡¯t resist opening his big mouth. But before he could unleash whatever snarky comment was brewing in that pea-sized brain of his, I leaned in close. My voice dropped to a dangerous whisper, the kind that makes even the toughest guys rethink their life choices.


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    ¡°Listen up, Carter,¡± I said, my fingers tapping rhythmically on the edge of the kitchen table. ¡°I¡¯ve got a secret weapon. A trump card. A wild card, if you will.¡± His eyes narrowed, and I could practically smell the curiosity mixed with annoyance. ¡°Her name? Well, let¡¯s just say she¡¯s my lovable, loyal tomboy girlfriend. And she¡¯s got a mean right hook.¡±


    Carter¡¯s Adam¡¯s apple bobbed as he swallowed. Maybe he was imagining my girlfriend¡ªcharging through the apparatus bay, fists flying. Or maybe he was just wondering how he¡¯d ended up in this bizarre showdown with me. Either way, I had his attention.


    ¡°But that¡¯s not all,¡± I continued, leaning even closer. ¡°You know why I didn¡¯t panic when they canned me last month? Because Lieutenant Valkery¡¯s got me back. She¡¯s like a mother bear protecting her cub. Fired? Pfft. She¡¯d rehire me in a heartbeat. But here¡¯s the kicker: I could¡¯ve taken the easy route. I could¡¯ve strolled over to the Empire Police Department HQ, filled out an application, and become a beat cop. No sweat.¡±


    Carter¡¯s eyes widened. Maybe he was realizing that I wasn¡¯t just a pretty face with a badge. ¡°But,¡± I said, drawing out the word, ¡°if I¡¯d done that, I¡¯d have missed out on the sweet satisfaction of dealing with you personally.¡± I tapped my hip. ¡°See, Carter, I¡¯ve got a vivid imagination. If you¡¯d pushed me too far, I¡¯d have pulled you over, all official-like. And then¡ªbam!¡ªI¡¯d unload my sidearm into you.¡±


    His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. ¡°And the best part?¡± I grinned. ¡°I¡¯d write up a juicy report, claiming you tried to grab my gun. Self-defense, of course. Lethal force justified.¡±


    Carter¡¯s face turned a shade of pale that clashed horribly with his uniform. He mumbled something about needing to file paperwork and scurried away. As he disappeared down the hallway, I leaned back in my chair, feeling like a chess master who¡¯d just checkmated her opponent.


    Sliding my phone out from the snug confines of my jeans, the screen¡¯s glow bathed my face in a soft light as I launched the radio app. The heartbeat of Empire City thrummed in my ears, a familiar cadence that soothed and enlightened me simultaneously. Suddenly, the broadcast sparked to life, the opening notes crackling with an electric fervor that set the airwaves ablaze.


    ¡°Breaking News,¡± the radio host¡¯s voice cut sharply through the static, ¡°The Empire Council has greenlit a venture that¡¯s whipping up a storm fiercer than any tempest. Brace yourselves, faithful listeners. Our city¡¯s ancient church, a bastion of history since the 1720s, is on the cusp of transformation. And we¡¯re not talking about a mere touch-up. Imagine, if you will, a strip mall replacing our hallowed sanctuary.¡±


    My grip on the phone intensified, my knuckles blanching. This church, with its time-honored stones and the vibrant dance of light through its stained glass, had been the silent confidant to generations of whispered secrets and unspoken sins. It was more than a building; it was the soul of our community, a silent sentinel of our shared past. And now, they sought to strip it of its dignity, to replace the solemn silence with the crass cacophony of commerce.


    ¡°The city is at a boiling point,¡± the host continued, his voice swelling with urgency. ¡°The citizens of Empire aren¡¯t just concerned; they¡¯re mobilizing, armed with the spirit of resistance. This isn¡¯t just any church. It¡¯s a historical landmark, a veteran of countless societal skirmishes, wearing the patina of time like a badge of honor. It stands defiant, a monument that seems to cry out, ¡®Beware, ye who seek to profane these grounds!¡¯¡±


    Images of the protesters filled my thoughts, their voices rising in a chorus of defiance. ¡°Protect our sanctuary!¡± they cried. ¡°Preserve our legacy!¡±


    ¡°But wait,¡± the host whispered, his tone now laced with intrigue, ¡°Rumors snake through the city¡¯s underbelly. Hushed voices hint at mysteries hidden within the church¡¯s ancient walls. Secret passages, lost artifacts, and ghostly figures haunt the sacristy after dark. Maybe it¡¯s these secrets that beckon the developers, this thirst to unearth the riddles locked within the venerable foundation.¡±


    I was spellbound by the broadcast as it pivoted to the pandemonium erupting on the city¡¯s main artery¡ªthe freeway. A produce truck had overturned, its harvest splayed across the tarmac like a spilled cornucopia. Officials had clamped down on the westbound lanes during the peak of the morning rush, funneling the flow of traffic off an exit only to merge back onto the elevated road further down.


    I continued to listen, the historical segment of the news transporting me back in time to the day¡¯s anniversary of the Irish-Italian riots. Back then, the Irish and Italians had clashed fiercely, vying for jobs and housing. With the majority of the Irish serving as police officers, they had the upper hand in securing better living conditions, while the Italians, many laboring in mines or low-wage jobs, were relegated to crumbling tenements. The police force, overwhelmingly Irish, showed blatant favoritism, targeting Italians, while the few African Little Birden officers found themselves caught between both sides. It was a stark reminder of the city¡¯s turbulent past, a past that still echoes in the streets of Empire today.


    As I listened to the historical segment, it dawned on me why so many of Empire City¡¯s buildings seem frozen in time, their facades a testament to the 1930s. It was in the ''60s or ''70s that these structures were bestowed with historical status, a protective shield decreeing they could not be demolished, altered, or shuttered. They were architectural time capsules, crafted from materials that spoke of an era¡¯s craftsmanship¡ªterra-cotta tiled floors, dark wood beams, and doors, wrought-iron grilles, gates, and banisters, arched window casements, and scrollwork embellishments. Even some commercial edifices, like the local taverns, stood stoically in limestone.


    These buildings were born out of necessity during the Great Depression, a time when the world¡¯s economy was on its knees. Yet, under President Little Birden¡¯s ambitious vision, millions were put to work through public projects¡ªconstructing new roads, erecting new buildings, and undertaking various other endeavors. It was a movement that not only preserved the dignity of the working class but also left a lasting legacy in the form of these historical landmarks.


    The 1950s brought change, with buildings being constructed in a markedly different fashion. Factories became the birthplaces of these new structures, their components manufactured en masse before being transported to building sites. This shift reflected the evolving industrial landscape of the time, a period of post-war reconstruction and innovation that would pave the way for the modern cityscape of Empire. Yet, despite the march of progress, the soul of the city remained etched in the very stones of its oldest guardians, standing proudly as monuments to a bygone era.


    On this day, December 18th, I¡¯m reminded of the pivotal year of 1937, when the president enacted crucial legislation to establish safety barriers between residential and commercial areas and industrial centers. This was a response to the devastating accidents that had occurred in industrial zones, which often left nearby homes, businesses, churches, and schools severely damaged or destroyed. By 1938, regulations mandated that non-industrial buildings maintain a minimum distance of two miles from hazardous sites to ensure public safety.


    As the president¡¯s term neared its end in 1954, she initiated the formation of specialized Hazardous Material companies within fire departments across the nation of Little Bird, a task her successor would continue. These units, originally known as Radiological Companies from 1955 to 1984, were rebranded as HAZMAT Companies in 1985. Their trucks were equipped to handle severe industrial fires caused by hazardous materials, a testament to the evolving need for fire safety and response.


    Parallel to the Fire Department Rescue Companies, staffed by firefighters skilled in various trades such as metalwork, leather crafting, and construction, the HAZMAT Companies exclusively recruited individuals with expertise in handling chemicals and other dangerous goods. This expertise was often gained through service in the Little Bird Armed Forces Chemical Corps, which was later expanded and renamed the Little Bird Armed Forces Chemical, Biological, Radiological, Nuclear Warfare and Defense Corps (LBAFCBRNWD) in 1950.


    On this day in history, the cities of Fort Bluejay, Fort Carson, Fort Flurry, and Las Adventure embarked on a significant reorganization of their fire departments. Fort Bluejay led the way on December 18th, 1948, followed by Fort Carson in 1952, Fort Flurry in 1955, and Las Adventure in 1960. These reorganizations introduced task forces equipped with two Class 1 Type 1 Fire Engines and the choice of either one tractor-drawn tiller ladder or a rear-mount aerial ladder, enhancing their firefighting capabilities.


    Further advancements were made on December 18th, 1958, and again in 1968, when the fire departments of Fort Carson, Fort BlueJay, Fort Flurry, Fort Sunction, Las Adventure, Empire, and the City of Chocolate adopted one or two Fire truck Snorkels. These Snorkels represented a significant innovation over traditional fire trucks. Unlike a standard 100ft aluminum or stainless steel ladder, which may require repositioning the entire truck to reach certain areas, the Snorkel¡¯s ladder with a bucket could maneuver into positions and deliver water from vantage points previously inaccessible. Moreover, the Snorkels boasted the ability to discharge twice the volume of water compared to a deluge gun on an engine company, providing a formidable tool against fires, especially in challenging locations.


    Reflecting on the radio segment from today, I recall how on December 18th, 1951, the Empire Police Department embraced what would later be termed ¡°Mid-Century Tactics¡± for managing riots. This approach involved the strategic use of water cannons, fire hoses, mounted units, and canine patrols. The officers were equipped with straightforward yet effective gear: helmets for protection and batons for defense.


    Fast forward to today, in 1981, and the police department has significantly upgraded its equipment. They¡¯ve begun incorporating military-grade armored vehicles and body armor, enhancing their capacity to respond to civil unrest. Additionally, they¡¯ve adopted advanced military grenade launchers capable of firing tear gas. These launchers hold a significant advantage over the previous models, which were single-shot devices. The new launchers have a chambered round ready to fire and an additional seven rounds in reserve, allowing for a more sustained response before needing to reload. This evolution in police tactics and equipment marks a substantial shift in riot control methodology, reflecting the ongoing changes in law enforcement practices.


    The historical account of the city¡¯s public safety services is a tale of resilience in the face of adversity. The proposed budget cuts on December 18th, 1982, threatened to dismantle the very fabric of the community¡¯s protection, potentially leaving twelve thousand individuals jobless. Despite the expansion of the city from 42 to 77 square miles post-World War II, the Police and Fire Departments were stretched thin, their resources and stations not updated since the 1940s.


    The Alderman for Public Safety¡¯s allocation of funds barely covered payroll, forcing Fire Department members to personally finance the replacement of outdated gear in the 1970s. The relocation of Firehouse 47 from Eastside to Highwood in the early 1980s was a controversial move that stripped a vulnerable neighborhood of vital fire protection services, leading to a significant loss of residents and forcing those remaining to fend for themselves against fires in deteriorating buildings.


    The community¡¯s outcry and the ironic turn of some firefighters and police officers resorting to arson and crime to draw attention to their plight eventually prevented the budget cuts. The return of Engine and Tiller Ladder 47 to Eastside on December 18th, 1988, was a momentous occasion, celebrated with the traditional smashing of a champagne bottle for good luck¡ªa gesture of hope and a nod to the enduring spirit of the neighborhood.


    Similarly, Westside faced the same challenges when Firehouse Seventeen was relocated, prompting questions about the city¡¯s priorities and the apparent disregard for low-income families who relied on these essential services. The political decisions of the time seemed to echo a sentiment of abandonment, leaving the most vulnerable to defend themselves.


    The social fabric of Eastside and Westside has been woven through a complex history of struggle and community resilience. The redlining policies of the 1950s, which systematically denied residents access to loans and insurance, have left a lasting impact on these neighborhoods. Despite the adversity, the communities found unity and entertainment in simple pleasures, such as the collective experience of watching firefighters in action or the camaraderie of Friday night gatherings.


    The demographic makeup of Eastside and Westside reflects a diverse tapestry of cultures, predominantly white settlers from various European backgrounds, including Ukrainian, Russian, German, Irish, Italian, French, English, Swiss, Austrian, Portuguese, Spanish, and Luxembourgian. This majority contrasts with the 46% of the population comprising African, Jamaican, and Latino heritage. The historical contributions of these communities during the Colonial era are notable, with each group bringing their unique skills and labor to different sectors, from vineyards and industry to law enforcement and mining.


    The legacy of these neighborhoods is not just in the cultural diversity but also in the historical structures that house them. Buildings dating back to 1914, with their original wiring, stand as silent witnesses to the passage of time and the endurance of the communities they serve.


    The construction of the freeway, which commenced on December 18, 1934, and concluded on December 18, 1938, represented a significant investment for the city, totaling one million dollars¡ªa substantial sum in the 1930s. The project demanded an impressive 35,000 hours of labor. Initially, the elevated freeway seemed superfluous; the city¡¯s design was a grid pattern with all necessities within walking distance. At that time, the city¡¯s population was one million, yet only a tenth owned automobiles. The majority preferred to walk or relied on horse-drawn carriages for transportation.


    It wasn¡¯t until the 1940s, during the war years, that the presence of military vehicles became commonplace on the city¡¯s roads. Personnel from the Marine Naval Airbase frequently traveled into the city while on leave, introducing military cars and trucks to the urban landscape. This period marked the beginning of a transition, but it was not until 1949/1950 that civilian cars proliferated on the streets, signaling a new era of mobility and the dawn of the automotive age in the city.


    The shrill cry of the fire bell cut through the air like a knife, its urgent tolling a harbinger of the flood alert.


    I found myself musing about the city¡¯s infrastructure, a hodgepodge of the old and new that seemed as ancient as the Stone Age. The city¡¯s underbelly was a maze of subway tunnels, relics from the 1800s, standing as silent witnesses to the passage of time. These tunnels, once pulsating with life as they carried hand-pushed freight cars, were a living chronicle of the city¡¯s layered history.


    As the 19th century gave way to the 20th, these subterranean arteries were forsaken, their role usurped by the more efficient rail freight trains that ran above ground. The city authorities sealed the old freight tunnels, their silence a poignant reminder of an era long past.


    Yet, not all tunnels were consigned to oblivion. The subway tunnels, designed to transport the city¡¯s denizens, have remained operational since 1903, their efficiency mirroring that of the German U-Bahn.


    Now, however, a crisis was unfolding. The basements of buildings in both Downtown and Uptown, usually humming with activity, were under siege by relentless floodwaters. The city¡¯s past and present were colliding in a challenge that none had anticipated, and it was our duty to steer the city through this tumultuous time.


    I knew that City Hall was in chaos, with everyone scrambling to protect the records that traced the city¡¯s lineage back to its formation in 1710 and incorporation in 1810. The high-rises and skyscrapers, their basements housing emergency and backup generators, were vulnerable to the invading waters. The floodwaters were causing short circuits, immobilizing the elevators and trapping people inside. The stairwells were choked with people trying to descend, making it difficult for us to ascend and rescue those trapped in the elevators.


    The same scenario was playing out in Riverview and Emerald Pastors, although these areas were predominantly residential, with low-rise commercial buildings, apartments, and single-family homes.


    Lieutenant Valkery explained to me that the city was crisscrossed with old freight subway tunnels. In the past, the city¡¯s narrow streets would have been choked with horse-drawn buggies delivering goods, causing delays and traffic congestion. The solution was an underground railroad that crisscrossed the city, delivering goods and freight to businesses that had set up depots for this purpose, all without interfering with the horse and buggy traffic above ground.


    Both Downtown and Uptown had seen little change since the 1970s, and before that, the early 20th century. The low-rise buildings of yesteryears had given way to high-rises, and then skyscrapers, as the cityscape evolved. The city was a living, breathing entity, its past and present intertwined in a dance as old as time itself. And now, we were all part of its story, navigating through a crisis that would become yet another layer in its rich tapestry of history.


    But we weren¡¯t going to pump out the water in the basements our job is just to rescue people stuck in elevators and help those who are disabled and bound to wheelchairs and crutches. The pumping out of the basements falls under both the Fire Department USAR aka Urban Search and Rescue company that¡¯s housed in Firehouse sixteen with my cousin Dave who¡¯s over on Ladder Co Sixteen.


    But the Little Bird Technical Services the Empire Branch has the job of pumping out the water of the basements because they have the equipment and pumps that can drain the water out of the basements. The fire department had hard suction hoses that were used to draw water from a portable water tank, pool, or other static water source.


    The company I¡¯m in we saved thousands of people who were trapped in elevators. But this will cost the city money because the city of Empire is an economic hub and with businesses shut down not adding a lot of the buildings will be shut down until their basements will become drained and dried but all that concrete will be replaced or whatnot because all of that water is going to make that concrete get mold.


    A majority of the elevators were on the lower floors but some of the buildings have a problem with a lot of them having older elevator doors meaning they have elevator keyholes on the first and top floors. While a lot of them have elevator keyholes on every elevator door on every floor but the buildings with elevator doors that only have keyholes on the first and last floor and in those buildings we had to break holes into walls to reach said elevators because a lot of those older ones are more secure or tighter which won¡¯t allow our forceable entry tools to enter so we had to break holes into walls.


    Indeed, some companies did voice their concerns before we could start breaking holes into their walls. While we understood their apprehensions, they also recognized the gravity of the situation and allowed us to carry out our duties. They were aware that any attempt to hinder our rescue operations could be perceived as trapping their employees in elevators, which would not reflect well on them.


    Even if they were to engage their legal teams and sue the fire department for property damage, no judge would rule in their favor. This was especially true considering that some of the individuals trapped in the elevators were experiencing medical emergencies, such as shortness of breath or asthma attacks. This prevented us from rescuing these individuals would not only be morally reprehensible but also a violation of several labor laws.


    For instance, it would contravene the 1953 Little Bird Health Act, which prohibits employers from preventing their workers from leaving work due to medical emergencies. It would also violate the 1917 and 1942 Little Bird Fair Work Act, which provides workers with a safety net consisting of national employment standards, national minimum wage orders, and compliance and enforcement. This act also protects workers from discrimination, including age, disability, race, or sex, and safeguards their rights to engage in industrial activities, such as strike actions or campaigning for better conditions, and to take temporary absences from work due to illness or accidents.


    Furthermore, it would breach the 1969 Family Health Act, which prohibits employers from firing their workers who need to leave work due to family emergencies. This act also protects workers who need to take more time off than what their work allows, mandating employers to provide their employees with fourteen weeks of paid time off during such instances.


    In essence, while the companies had their interests to protect, they also understood the importance of prioritizing the safety and well-being of their employees, especially during such a crisis.


    Any obstruction to our rescue operations would also be a violation of the Little Bird Workers Union Act of 1937. This act, implemented by President Abigail Orange in 1937, was a landmark legislation that banned exploitative practices such as unpaid overtime and introduced a livable minimum wage. It also led to the creation of the Little Bird Union Representation Act and the Little Bird Labor Bureau, addressing the mismatch between people and the jobs offered.


    President Orange was a visionary leader who was ahead of her time. She introduced the Little Bird First Act, embodying the principle that ¡®Charity begins at home.¡¯ This act prioritized the well-being of the citizens, ensuring stable employment, good health, and a conducive environment for starting a family.


    Furthermore, she championed equality by fully desegregating the armed forces and allowing women to join combat units. She also ensured financial security for the elderly during their retirement. Her contributions culminated in the Little Bird Labor-Management Relations Act of 1937.


    But Downtown and Uptown are home to big businesses, money, commerce, high-rises, and backhanders. But I knew that from the 1930s to the 70s Downtown and Uptown were ruled by the Mafia. The Mafia owned the construction companies and decided on what was going to get built and how fast or slow but urban legends says that during the construction the mafia families would¡¯ve put their rivals into the wet concrete and then poured it so it could harden with the body inside.


    But after hours we did what we were trained to do even if it meant breaking holes into walls to rescue the people and carrying those who were either crutch or wheelchair-bound.


    But we¡¯ve mostly heard people talking about speculations of water in the foundation of the buildings, are the buildings going to collapse or going to have weakening foundations.


    ¡°They should just every now and again maintain the old freight tunnels to prevent this from happening again,¡± said Lieutenant Valkery, ¡°The last time the old freight tunnels were maintained was back in 1900 right before they closed and sealed away letting time and nature wear down the concrete.


    ____________________________________________________________________________


    I prepared a traditional Italian dish, Braciole, for dinner. The process was almost therapeutic. I started with a beautiful flank steak, laying it out on the plastic cutting board on the kitchen counter. I then spread a layer of pesto, followed by a generous sprinkle of parmesan and mozzarella. The final touch was a dusting of panko breadcrumbs, adding a delightful crunch to the mix. Carefully, I rolled up the steak, securing it with twine like a culinary present waiting to be unwrapped.


    The sizzle of the steak as it hit the hot pan to sear was music to my ears. Once it was beautifully browned, I bathed it in a rich red sauce, letting it simmer and soak up all the flavors. Finally, it was time for the oven. I set the temperature to 350 degrees and let the magic happen for three hours.


    While the Braciole was transforming in the oven, I decided to put a spin on Chicken Cacciatore and Ciambotta, two other classic Italian dishes. As I was engrossed in my culinary adventure, a thought struck me.


    Turning to Lieutenant Valkyrie, I asked, ¡°Hey Lieutenant, since it¡¯s tradition for us to have a meal of our company¡¯s first meal when they were formed, do the other companies do it too?¡±


    Lieutenant Valkery, always a wealth of knowledge, began to recount the history of the firehouses and their inaugural meals. From Firehouse 14¡¯s Alamode Beef to Engine 525¡¯s Ribs, each company had a unique story to tell, each meal a testament to its rich history. As she spoke, I couldn¡¯t help but feel a sense of pride and camaraderie.


    Lieutenant Valkery replied, ¡°Firehouse 14 formed back on January 1st, 1810 their first meal was Alamode Beef. Fifteen was formed back on January 1st as well in the same year but their first meal was Prairie Chicken. Sixteen was formed on January 16th, 1810 and their first meal was Prime rib. Seventeen their first meal was Fried Catfish, Eighteen their First meal was Peach Cobbler. Nineteen their first meal was Chilli, Twenty-Three their first meal was Roast beef. Fourty-Seven their first meal was boiled bacon and cabbage when they were first formed back on November 12th, 1814, Fifty-Three their first meal when they were established on October 17th, 1822 was Spaghetto, Fifty-Nine Pasta con i peperoni cruschi, Sixty-Eight their first meal was Cottage pie, Sixty-Nine was Irish Stew, Eighty-Two their first meal was smoked salmon back when they were formed back on December 25th, 1816, Ninety-Two was formed also on Christmas Day back in 1816 and their first meal was ham, Engine 525 as you know was Ribs back on October 1st, 1914, Engine 141 first meal was cheeseburgers back when they were formed on August 4th, 1943, Rescue Company Seventeen their first meal was steaks when they were first formed back on November 12th, 1919, Rescue Squad Eighteen first meal was potato soup when they were formed on the same day but in 1918, HAZMAT Company 32 first meal was Turnip soup when they were first formed as Radiological Company 32 back in September 10th, 1955, HAZMAT 33 aka Radiological Company 33 when they were first formed on October 2nd, 1955 their first meal was a large apple pie and a steak, Eighty-Six, when they were first formed back on July 1st, 1854 their first meal, was cracked wheat and milk, Ninety-Three when first formed on July 4th, 1907 first meal was Spaghetti and meatballs, Ninety-Four, Ninety-Five, and Ninety-Seven which was all formed on the same day on July 7th, 1910 had Roast, Steak, and Chicken thighs for each company.¡±


    I then decided to make a quick run across the street and put in an order for a Red Velvet cake and a Black Forest gateau but the order I had them made fresh. But I knew how to make a Black Forest gateau because it being a German cake and I¡¯m part German and my family is of German ancestors not adding a lot of my aunts and grand aunts made or make Black Forest gateau every Friday and for every holiday like Easter and Thanksgiving back in the States and it¡¯s their way to home their heritage.


    While I waited for the Braciole to get done I read a newspaper.


    ¡°Funny how a gang with the goal of unarmed crime prevention is doing better than the cops,¡± I said out loud, ¡°They¡¯re doing more than the Cops. Unlike other gangs in which were formed to establish a semblance of stability in their neighborhoods, as soon as the money, the drugs, and the perks come in the gangsters are simply in it for power. The gang in my girlfriend¡¯s old neighborhood while yes they wear colors to stand out. They¡¯re still the same as they were original way of keeping the neighborhood safe and doing what the cops won¡¯t do in Eastside of keeping it safe from crime of course Clairebear she told me how once there was an robbery in Eastside that it took the cops two hours to respond. The criminal was far gone because the responding officers said and I quote ¡®Didn¡¯t feel like showing up¡¯ yeah so much for the EPD Motto of ¡®We serve to protect¡¯ and Eastside is full of tenement buildings, and housing projects containing several apartment towers of four-pointed towers on the western blocks and two four-pointed towers and a five-pointed tower on the eastern blocks.¡±


    Lieutenant Valkery replied, ¡°Why don¡¯t you watch this live news broadcast with us?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve already seen my fair share of police chases on live TV,¡± I said.


    Over the TV ¡°All units 11-Adam-4 have reported that the suspect car is armed and dangerous and the Commissoner has authorized the use of deadly force repeat the Commissoner has authorized the use of deadly force is authorized in stopping the suspect vehicle.¡±


    That caught my attention for about two seconds before going back to reading.


    I found myself waiting for my dinner to cook in the firehouse kitchen. My eyes wandered over to the apparatus bay, where a large map of the city hung. It was a paper map, a stark contrast to the electronic one at my girlfriend¡¯s firehouse, Squad 141 quarters. Theirs was simple - green for a company in quarters, red for a company out.


    This map, however, was a vibrant tapestry of colors, each representing a different aspect of our city¡¯s fire defense. Firehouses were divided vertically in half, one side painted in Fire Engine red, the other in blue. Firehouses 14, 16, 17, 19, 47, 53, 59, 85, 87, 92, 93, 136, 137, and 138 were both red and blue, indicating they housed a Type One Class One Engine Company and either a 100ft Rear mount or tractor-drawn tiller ladder. But they also housed an Ambulance, be it Basic Life Support, Advanced Life Support, HAZ-MAT TEC/HAZ-TEC, or Rescue Medic Ambulances. Squad Co 141 quarters were unique, housing an ambulance bus, and a Mass Cass Unit. Firehouses 14, 19, 59, and 87 also housed both an EMS Response Physician and an EMS Supervisor. Both HAZMAT Companies, for obvious reasons, had Haz-Tec Ambulances.


    Firehouses 15, 18, 23, 68, 69, 71, 72, Rescue Co 17, Rescue Co 18, and Squad 525 were just red, indicating they housed only fire apparatus. My company, where I served, housed a single company - our Rescue Engine. It was a 1968 semi-closed cab with a ¡°riot roof¡± Rescue engine. These half-closed cabs were called ¡°Riot Roof Rigs¡±, a nod to the 1960s riots, where rioters would drop items like ash, bricks, and rocks onto firefighters. Many of these firefighters were tank crew members during the Second World War. They took their experience welding armor skirts onto their tanks for additional protection and applied the same principle here, welding steel together to make a roof. But the roof only protected the Chauffer/Engineer, Company officer, and two who sat down. The other three still rode on the tailboard, exposed to the elements and any potential dangers. Even though my firehouse houses a HAZMAT Response Van it¡¯s more or less just for show because the last time it responded to a HAZMAT emergency was eleven years ago far before I joined the department.


    In the early 1800s, I didn¡¯t question the decisions made by the Little Bird Bureau of Fire Protection, known to the citizens of Little Bird as the Fire Department of Little Bird. This organization oversees all the fire departments in Little Bird. One of their decisions was that the number of a firehouse would correspond to the number of the fire apparatus housed within it. I assumed this was to simplify logistics.


    Take, for example, the firehouse where my cousin Dave works, known as Sixteen House. From the 1810s to 1947, it housed just Hose Wagon Sixteen, which was renamed Engine 16 in 1897, and Ladder Sixteen. Even though many other companies aren¡¯t numbered sixteen, they came later down the road. USAR was established in 1947, Field Communications in 1974, Super Pumper 12 in 1963, BLS 5 in 1987, and ALS 10 in 1995.


    In 1812, the Bureau of Fire passed an Act requiring all cities and towns to have their fire departments named ¡°Fire Department of¡± followed by the name of the town or city. This naming convention is still in use today.


    During my time at the academy, I learned the unique classifications of fire engines here in Little Bird. A Class 1 fire engine holds water, while a Class 2 carries foam. This is different from the rest of the world, a Class 1 is typically an urban fire engine, and a Class 2 is commonly found in the suburbs. However, from Type 3 to Type 7, we align with the global standards.


    Initially, I assumed that fire engines in towns would be smaller due to fewer fire calls. But to my surprise, they¡¯re built to the same configuration as their city counterparts, equipped with a 1000/500 - a one thousand gallon tank with a capacity to pump 500 gallons per minute.


    Across Little Bird, we share the same turnout gear. It¡¯s black with yellow and white striping, and the back is emblazoned with the FD/town or city initial. Our helmets are black and come equipped with a flashlight and some have door chocks. The turnout gear also includes a lantern, a vital tool in our line of work.


    I then went to do the crossword puzzle in the independent newspaper.


    ¡°Why do you read an independent newspaper?¡± asked Pengelle


    I replied, ¡°No biases and no oversight. Not adding you always hear everything one sided oh an officer-involved shooting it¡¯s always the police department''s view not everyone else''s point of view. But it¡¯s a newspaper''s duty to print the news and raise hell. But I read the independent newspaper because of once the German propaganda minster said and I quote ¡®If you tell a lie big enough and keep repeating it people will eventually believe it¡¯. So I don¡¯t read anything biased or one-sided. Like in here It¡¯s talking about just the pros and cons of private funded prisons vs government prisons like in here it says private prisons help reliefiate government controlled prisons but there¡¯s no government oversight and that private prisons don¡¯t hire experienced CO¡¯s but inexperienced people with little to no training. Not adding private driven prisons here are mostly discomfort while government run prisons have to give basic human needs of comfort, water, food, and rest.¡±


    I then saw Cater leave. I didn¡¯t care but I think he doesn¡¯t want to be in a room with his ex-wife Oijia but that¡¯s his problem not mine.


    Part of the independent newspaper there was a segment talking about the Uptown-Downtown blaze of 1899 in which back then the department only had 185 men in a population of a quarter million it was caused by a lightning bolt but the wooden buildings went up like nothing because it was a very hot summer and didn¡¯t rain for all summer. But all of Uptown and Downtown became ash literally with only thing that was damaged but the same were concrete sidewalks and the backroads but in Uptown, and Downtown buildings, the 9th and 10th Police Precincts, 14th, 17th, 19th, 23rd Fire Houses, the marketplace, City Hall, Police and Fire HQ and homes were gone but nearly thirty-two years later in 1931 Fire Department City of Empire built their fire academy right on the spot where the fire was. But the segment also says that for eight years it was overshadowed by the 1907 Empire Earthquake which did twenty times the damage than what the 1899 Empire Fire done.


    When I got done with the independent newspaper I just threw it into the recycling bin.


    ¡°What¡¯s the closest call this company ever been on?¡± I asked.


    Pengelle replied, ¡°Right behind our quarters of an unmarked police car being followed, someone shot at them, they fired back and the attackers were DOA.¡±


    After three hours I got the Braciole out of the oven but as I put it onto the stove we were called to a Medical Run when we got there EMS beat us and we were just used for crowd control and keep traffic moving to prevent rubberneckers. But when the ambulance transported the victim we followed with our siren on where in 2007 it was readvised for the Fire Department to have an Engine or Ladder Company go with the ambulance to the hospital and once the patient is given over to the hospital care then we could be called back into service even though a lot of companies are still the same way of once the ambulance picks up their patient then the company will go back into service and return to quarters.


    When we returned to our quarters I got our Braciole out of the oven again because I left it in the oven but turned it off so the heat could keep it nice and hot.


    ¡°I know y¡¯all eat meat so don¡¯t act like y¡¯all don¡¯t like it.¡± i said, ¡°NIr Chicken.¡±


    Even though our lunch became dinner due to of the flood call and later while going to the medical call. But while eating Lieutenant Valkery talked about how Battalion Chief Richter retired but did mention that he was on the job from when he was seventeen years old back in 1956, left once in 1966 and done one tour in the Marines during Vietnam, came back in 1967 and stayed until 2008 and done his fifty-two years of service out of the same firehouse on the same two companies of Ladder Co Eighteen from ¡®56 to ¡®82 and Battalion 18 from ¡®82 to ¡®08. But tried to keep his daughter Linda safe by not having her sweep across the floor from Engine to Ladder Eighteen in ¡®98-99 even tried to convince her not to go to take academy classes to learn the workings of a ladder company and told her that on a ladder company she won¡¯t have the luxury of not using a firehose to find her way out where she would have to use her sense of touch to find her way out but that didn¡¯t stop Linda from going over onto a ladder company anyway because she said that she wanted a challenge before again in ¡®99 taking classes before going over to a Rescue Company in 2000.


    Of course, Carter didn¡¯t say anything but I think he knows that if he did then I would¡¯ve punched him straight in the mouth without hesitation.


    Schmit¡¯s question caught me off guard, ¡°How do you plan these meals?¡± It was simple, yet it opened a floodgate of memories. I looked down at the frugal spread before us, each dish a testament to my father¡¯s wisdom and my mother¡¯s shadow that loomed over our past.


    ¡°I learned from the best,¡± I began, my voice barely above a whisper. ¡°My dad, he was the king of thriftiness, a maestro of coupons. He¡¯d say, ¡®Mackenzie, watch the sales like a hawk. Track the prices, know when to strike.¡¯ He made a game out of frugality, and I was his eager student. But there was more to it than just saving a few dimes.¡±


    I paused, the weight of the unspoken truth heavy on my tongue. ¡°You see, when your mother is more fiend than a parent, devouring resources like a plague of locusts, you learn to stretch every penny till it screams. Dad, he was my rock, my fortress. He never let friends come over, not because he was unkind, but because home was our battlefield, and he was determined to shield us from judgmental eyes.¡±


    A bitter laugh escaped me as I continued, ¡°I used to fantasize, you know? Wished that the day I was born, Dad would¡¯ve just walked away from it all¡ªleft the Army, divorced Mom, and spared us both from her toxic embrace. I remember the day I crashed my BMX, fifteen and brash, leg broken and pride shattered. There she was, my mother, looming over me not with concern, but with outstretched hand, asking for money while Dad patched me up, his hands gentle yet firm.¡±


    I shook my head, the image of my father working tirelessly to mend more than just my bike, to fix a life frayed by my mother¡¯s chaos. ¡°He worked fifty hours a week, you know? And still found the time to be the parent I needed. It took him twenty-three years to sever the ties with her, twenty-three years of hoping she¡¯d change, despite everyone¡¯s warnings. They said she was the devil¡¯s ride, and he was just a young fool in love, blind to the truth until it was too late.¡±


    Taking another bite, I felt the sting of old wounds as I recounted, ¡°At fourteen, I was a waitress, my earnings my Mom siphoned until Dad stepped in. He opened a bank account for me, a sanctuary for my hard-earned money. I told him, ¡®If you ever find love again, choose someone who can be the mother I never had.¡¯ Our homes, whether in North Carolina or Alabama, were trapped in time, relics of the ''70s and ''80s, because Mom drained us of more than just money.¡±


    I sighed, a mix of hope and resignation in my voice. ¡°People romanticize the ''80s with neon lights, but for me, it was dimmed by struggle. All I want is for Dad to find someone who¡¯ll cherish him, not for what he can give, but for the incredible man he is. Someone the polar opposite of the woman I refuse to acknowledge as ¡®Mom.¡¯ because she wasn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Get to the point,¡± said Lieutenant Valkery.


    I replied, ¡°I read the newspaper because it helps people find a job or a profession, people can check Weekly Events (Chess tournaments, eating contests, Festfestivals etc.)Read random events such as a nearby family moving away, news of a baby being born, and the death of a person. People can ¡®Clip Coupons¡¯ which offer discounts at the local shops for a limited time. the paper will show hotspots. People can ¡®Read the Baking Report¡¯, which features supposed stock market-esque trends on ingredients and baked goods. People can check for neighborhood adoptions or adopt a pet from the shelter. Horses are also able to eat newspapers. can check the weather forecast though the forecast is somewhat less accurate than the one in the weather channel.


    "Not adding that both independent and company newspapers always have a section in the paper about the supermarkets in stores that has discounts and what¡¯s lower than normal like sales or for the holidays. My dad always taught me to capitalize on it and to capitalize on grabbing a copy of the supermarket paper which shows what¡¯s on sale. He learned it from his mom in the late 1960s and throughout the 1970s whom his mother or my grandmother had a eagle eye for prices and made sure she stayed underbudget and got more for her buck and my dad taught me. And maybe one day I¡¯ll teach my children if I have children or teach my girlfriend¡¯s children to do the same and don¡¯t be like the type of shopper who just goes in and buys on impulse.¡±


    Carter replied, ¡°You calling me out?!¡±


    ¡°Well you¡¯re not alone,¡± I said, ¡°But what I have to say won¡¯t go to your brain but what helps is starting a list of what you want and need not just grab whatever. I was always taught to see what¡¯s on sale and make a list. With a list, you go in and out with everything you need a lot of people just go in and look up and down the aisles and just grab what they think they need or just grab the stuff on the shelves and when they return home and find out they don¡¯t have the space for it. I know I have some family members who are like that just buying what they want. But you¡¯re not going to change your ways either way but everyone is different.¡±


    ________________________________________________


    At night we were asleep peacefully until the fire bell went off where I checked my watch and I wore my watch backwards like how soldiers wear.


    The mile-long stretch of road on the east side, lined with art-deco hotels and commercial buildings, is named ¡°Aurora Strand.¡± This name evokes the image of a place where the early morning light meets the seaside, reflecting the art-deco style¡¯s association with luxury and elegance. The ¡°Strand¡± part of the name suggests a beachside walk, fitting for its location next to the beach. Aurora Strand a destination that stands out for its architectural beauty and scenic location, drawing visitors and locals alike to experience its unique charm. But it has a low population density, with restaurants in its smaller urban part and houses for the workers.


    But that¡¯s stretch of the Interstate is why the city of Empire is nicknamed ¡°Tourist Trap¡± because it¡¯s a beach with hotels, nightclubs, bars, and the beach not adding other stuff to attract millions of tourists each year. But it also has trouble at night for obvious reasons of partpartygoers night owls wanting an extra kick to party all night and sleep all day.


    When we got there it was a car inside a jewelry store while Carter was helping Schmit hooking up the five-inch supply line I heard him mutter about how I have the accent and mannerisms of a stereotypical southern lady but that¡¯s not true while I may be from the American south, but I don¡¯t have the mannerism of a southern belle lady but honestly I don¡¯t care about him. But I just got the hydraulic rescue tool the spreader one we have but as I lined it up to separate the door from the frame when the tires started to spin up squealing I took the initiative. I threw myself into the car and turned off the car by turning the key and removing the key from the ignition.


    I then used the hydraulic rescue tool and was able to pop open the driver-side door. SomeSomehow car was at an angle where we couldn¡¯t just chop to peel the windshield then cut the roof off that way.


    ___________________________________________


    Fire Department Academy Library


    I looked down the aisles of books and old documents where I found a booklet about both Squad 141 and 525 which was dated January of 1966 says:


    By direction of the Fire Commissioner, Squad Co. No. 141 is organized effective at 9:00 AM, August 23rd, 1953. Its composition shall be as follows:


    Location: 1400 Starfish Street (Quarters of Engine Co 141)


    Apparatus: Squad


    Assigned: 19th Battalion-16th Division


    3 Captains


    1 Lieutenant


    24 Firemen


    EQUIPMENT:


    7 Air-Pak Masks with Cylinders


    7 Compressed Air Cylinders (Extra)


    7 All-Service Filter Masks


    3 Claw tools


    2 Lock breakers


    1 Crow Bar


    5 6¡¯ hooks


    3 5 lbs flathead axes


    3 8 lbs flathead axes


    1 ? Soda and Acid Extinguisher


    RADIO: 2-way Empire Frequency


    RESPONSE: Squad Co. No. 141 shall respond to alarms of fire as herein assigned:


    NORTHERN EMPIRE FIRST ALARM:


    730, 731, 732, 733, 734, 735, 736, 737, 738, 739, 740, 740, 742, 743, 744, 745, 746, 747, 748, 749, 750, 751, 752, 753, 754,755,756, 757, 758, 759, 760, 761, 762, 763, 764, 765, 766, 767, 768, 769, 770, 771, 772, 773, 774, 775, 776, 777, 778, 779, 780, 781, 782, 783, 784, 785, 786, 787, 788, 789, 790, 791, 792, 793, 794, 795, 796, 797, 798, 799, 800, 801, 802, 803, 804, 805, 806, 807, 808, 809, 810, 811, 812, 813, 814, 815, 816, 817, 818, 819, 820.


    It also has on the previous page that says:


    By direction of the Fire Commissioner, Squad Co. No. 525 is organized effective at 9:00 AM, October 1st, 1914. Its composition shall be as follows:


    Location: 834 Aroura Street (Quarters of Engine Co 525)


    Apparatus: Engine


    Assigned: 18th Battalion-17th Division


    3 Captains


    1 Lieutenant


    24 Firemen


    EQUIPMENT:


    2 2 ? inch attack hoses


    1 3 inch supply hose


    3 Claw tools


    2 Lock breakers


    1 Crow Bar


    5 6¡¯ hooks


    3 5 lbs flathead axes


    3 8 lbs flathead axes


    1 ? Soda and Acid Extinguisher


    The third page says:


    By direction of the Fire Commissioner, Squad Co. No. 525 is organized effective at 9:00 AM, January 1st, 1966. Its composition shall be as follows:


    Location: 834 Aroura Street (Quarters of Engine Co 525)


    Apparatus: Squad


    Assigned: 18th Battalion-17th Division


    3 Captains


    1 Lieutenant


    24 Firemen


    EQUIPMENT:


    7 Air-Pak Cylinders with masks


    7 Compressed Air Cylinders (Extra)


    7 Special filters


    7 NBC (nuclear, biological, chemical) suits


    1 1 ? inch attack hose


    1 2 ? inch attack hose


    1 3 inch supply hose


    1 5 inch supply hose


    3 Claw tools


    2 Lock breakers


    1 Crow Bar


    5 6¡¯ hooks


    3 5 lbs flathead axes


    3 8 lbs flathead axes


    1 ? Soda and Acid Extinguisher


    1 Exothermic Torch


    1 Cutting Torch


    2 Partner Saws


    1 Hydraulic tool


    2 sets of chains


    1 Air gun


    Cribbing


    But as I just skimmed through it, it mentions more equipment that were slowly adopted in the 1980s or 90s like Thermal cameras and in the 90s the NBC suits were replaced with HAZMAT suits. But I kept reading it and it says that in 1997-2000 they had the ¡°Squad Expandanary¡± in which was to create new Squad Companies and to expand the role of the current Squad Companies but it failed due to they couldn¡¯t find the place to put the newer Squad Companies but they thought about just taking Engine Companies 14, 16, 18, 23, 59, and 93 and just turn them into said Squad Companies but that fell through because they still would¡¯ve just been still Engine Companies because said firehouses they¡¯re quartered with has a ladder company in which a Squad Company goes to are require the tools of a ladder company so in both First or Second due response areas then the newly formed Squad Companies would¡¯ve still stay as a Engine Company so the decision just not to convert them into Squad Companies was made and keep them as their same configuration of an Engine Company but the plan was somewhat controversal as well because the people just see the Squad Companies as nothing but another version of a Engine Company and I understood where there coming from because some photographs taken in the 1920s and 30s with a few in the 40s into the 50s some photos of Squad Co 525 their apparatus don¡¯t say Engine 525 or Squad 525 but says ¡°Enchanced Pumper 525¡± or ¡°Enchanced Engine 525¡± and back then Squad Companies were just men who were given exempted from the military draft in both World Wars and didn¡¯t get reorganized into Special Operations until the 1950s.


    I kept reading that one Captain on Squad 525 from 1933-1940, 1945-1982 due to his military experience as an Officer at the Company and later Battalion level he with a few other officials and high-ranking police officials decided to create a ¡°Command Center¡± which was later renamed to ¡°Emergency Operations Center¡± sometime in the 1960s but he started to list possible scenarios that while haven¡¯t happened until 2006-2007 but a lot of scenarios he threw were wildfires, floods, dam failure, chemical accidents, droughts, earthquakes, fires, flu, food safety, heat waves, hurricanes, landslides, nuclear incidents, poisonings, power outages, thunderstorms, tornadoes, tsunamis, volcanos, water safety, and later added in 1972 Munich Massacre after the which is terrorism.was added to the list. But he helped created it because of the saying ¡°Rather be prepared for the unknown than be caught off guard¡± but in 2007 after a Earthquake which caused fires, power outage, dam break, and flood.


    But as I kept reading I discovered that a majority of the men who made up the Squad Company members were both Engineers and Combat Engineers in the Army, Navy, Marines, and Air Force where the Combat Engineers in the Army and Marines were tall and strong guys whom were firefighters before their pre-war days and to me that it¡¯s quite ironic that men who were trained to fight fires that when they were in the Army or Marines they were trained to be flamethrower operators because the Little Bird Military decided to choose firemen for flamethrower operator duties due to them already being around fire. But to me that¡¯s ironic of men trained to fight fires trained to use a fire spewing weapon.


    I put it back and left.

 Chapter Six

    December 28th


    I sat in the rolling leather chair in the kitchen of the firehouse.


    ¡°What are you doing here?¡± asked Carter.


    I replied, ¡°Oh the people you know couldn¡¯t keep me trapped. I was out in three days. You''d be surprised how predictable those profit-driven prisons are. The same routes and some parts aren¡¯t like government-run. You¡¯d be surprised how pretending to be sick to have a guard come in only to be knocked out and keys taken¡­¡±


    ____________________________________________________________________________


    December 19th


    As I was walking down the street getting my cardio exercise when a car came next to me where I was soon jumped and put into said car.


    _________________________________________________________________


    Same day in an unknown area I had to put on an orange jumpsuit.


    This will be fun, I murmured to myself.


    I was then put into a line where I was taken to a building in which I saw cells on three floors and lined up in which it was reminiscent of old school prisons with either iron or steel bars instead of a steel door. I was then put into a cell which besides concrete but has an old cot hanging from the wall and a half broken sink.


    By the uniforms I¡¯ve seen it was a profit driven prison but I started to think of how to get out but after a day I lied down in the cot. I decided to pretend that I was getting sick or hurt. Soon enough a guard came and fell for my ruse. I was able to quickly overpower the guard, knock him out where I took his keys, security card and keys.


    My first stop was to the administrative wing where I went to a computer. I deleted my fake sheet as if it never existed and I made my way outside using either keys or the keycard to open them. But when I went outside I timed my runs to avoid the searchlights but I had to go back in but I made my way to the visitor area and I was able to walk out of the front door to the parking lot where I just hotwired a car and left.


    ____________________________________________________________


    Present day/December 28


    ¡°My dad always said,¡± I said, ¡°That out of the Seven heavenly virtues I¡¯m temperance, charity, diligence, patience, kindness, and humility. Also if anyone is going to ask, I had a loving Christmas with my dad and my girlfriend and my girlfriend¡¯s children.¡±


    Oijia replied, ¡°How did you burn your hand?¡±


    ¡°Hot grease while making sausage on Christmas Day for breakfast,¡± I said. ¡°First time I wore a dress in a very long time too, whereas the last time I wore a dress was for my senior picture back in 2001. Jesus eight years since I last wore a dress but back in 1998 when my mom wanted me to wear a dress I refused but when my dad told me to wear a dress for picture day then I did in a heartbeat. Funny, my dad got a yearbook with me in it from 1988 to 2001 for every grade from first to twelve grade but had to send said yearbooks to a relative so my so called mother wouldn¡¯t sell them for money. But at you didn¡¯t have to deal with a mother like that.¡±


    I then picked up the independent newspaper and started to read it until the bell went off.


    _________________________________________________________________


    At a house, I just grabbed a pike pole and a water fire extinguisher off of our rig and that¡¯s because I was assigned to the Can position for today instead of being on the nozzle position.


    I went into the house and I took the pike pole and started to pull down parts of the ceiling in the living room that something else that fell down where more of it fell down.


    ¡°What the hell is that?¡± I asked before picking it up to see that it¡¯s money.


    I then grabbed my radio, ¡°Lieutenant better get PD in here. Got money which looks unmarked.¡±


    I used my boot to stomp the fire out on the dollar bills when Lieutenant Valkyrie came in with Carter and Pengelle on a 1 ? inch attack line. Carter just turned the hose on which the force knocked me down and Carter gave a little chuckle.


    _____________________________________________________________


    Back at the firehouse.


    I watched the TV in which was documentary in which it was called ¡°Lawless Empire¡± which the city was from 1970 to the late 90s and it mentioned how maintaining law and order was not really there and how the district my girlfriend is from Eastside and the district of Westside was plagued by fire.


    Also they mentioned how back in 1979 the city approved the construction of a nuclear plant but it wasn¡¯t approved until the Three Mile Island incident happened and while it got done being built in 2002 but didn¡¯t begin until 1995. But people were told that it was safe and nuclear power was harmless but in 1999 a nuclear meltdown in the Little Bird city of Fort Carson in which people around the plant got sick from the nuclear radiation but the officials in Fort Carson said that it was safe and the radiation levels were safe during the meltdown. But when asked again they would give another answer which people across Little Bird concluded that they were either being lied to or the officials who are trying to reverse the nuclear meltdown had no idea what they were doing.


    As I was watching it Carter started to chew me out for some reason and called me a parasite on the city. However, I punched him and told him that I came to Little Bird in a legal way where I still have my entry permanent. The Little Bird Extended Learning Visia has then gotten a work permit to get a part-time job. When I started to date my girlfriend Claire then I took the citizenship test to become a dual citizen of Little Bird and the United States. Still, if he doesn¡¯t like it then that¡¯s his problem not mine but according to the Little Bird government, I¡¯m a citizen of Little Bird and the United States since the meaning of dual citizenship.


    I even somewhat mentioned that it¡¯s not the first time that I¡¯ve been on Little Bird about how I had a cousin who watched me for a bit if no one in my family back in the States couldn¡¯t watch me and how my dad would¡¯ve liked to have my great granddad to keep watching me. But since he¡¯s 109 years old he doesn¡¯t want to take that chance of him passing away when I was a kid unable to do anything.


    Carter just kept running his mouth and started to say more hostile things but I tuned him out. He just got so bad about it that Pengelle, Schmit, Oijia and Lieutenant Valkyrie called him out and told him to shut up. But when Carter said something bad about my father that was when everyone besides him left the room.


    ¡°What did you say about my father?¡± I said in a threatening tone.


    Since my tone changed from a Southern United States accent to a more threatening one Carter now he was nervous or scared.


    ¡°You know what I¡¯ll just have Lieutenant Valkyrie fire me again so I can just go and apply to be a cop and when that happens I¡¯ll pull you over and act like it¡¯s a normal traffic stop. But instead of asking for your license and registration I¡¯ll just pull out my handgun and unload the entire magazine into you. Then I¡¯ll write it up as self defense because well according to my girlfriend the cops won¡¯t see if it¡¯s true or not but honestly since I first arrived you have been a thorn in my side. Also don¡¯t worry if that does happen then I¡¯ll sue you and the department for gender discrimination and I¡¯ll sue you personally! Then I¡¯ll kick your ass personally as well!¡±


    When Carter opened his mouth again and started to talk well, I just punched him hard enough to knock him down.


    __________________________________________________________


    In the apparatus bay.


    Lieutenant Valkyrie, Schmit, Pengelle, and Oijia were watching what was going on when my father arrived asking. My dad asked where I was when Lieutenant Valkyrie pointed into the dining room-kitchen.


    When he saw Carter knock me down he muttered, ¡°Oh shit.¡±  I just got back up on my feet and I knocked Carter down and out in one very heavy punch.


    I then came to them.


    ¡°He¡¯ll live but he¡¯ll have a huge headache later,¡± I said. ¡°Hey Dad.¡±


    My dad replied, ¡°Not going to ask what happened but I came to see if you want to spend the day tomorrow?¡±


    ¡°Sure,¡± I replied, ¡°We can do that.¡±


    My dad replied, ¡°Hey Lieutenant, is it okay if I can hang around my daughter for a bit today and not get in y¡¯all way?¡±


    Lieutenant Valkyrie replied, ¡°Sure you can.¡±


    Retreating from the bustling energy of the day, we found ourselves back in the comforting embrace of our dining room-kitchen. The television hummed softly in the background, its flickering light casting dancing shadows on the walls. The documentary I had been engrossed in had shifted to the news, a stark contrast to the historical tales I had been following.


    The news was abuzz with a heated debate that had gripped Little Bird - the question of crime and punishment. Some advocated for leniency, arguing that the current punitive measures were too harsh. Interestingly, many of these voices belonged to the entitled affluent elite, individuals who had been fortunate enough to live lives untouched by the harsh realities of crime.


    On the other side of the spectrum were those who staunchly defended the strict laws. Among them were local business owners, who feared that any relaxation of the laws would be akin to rolling out a red carpet for potential criminals. They argued that it would send a dangerous message - that crime was not met with serious consequences.


    Little Bird had a reputation for its firm stance on law and order. The last significant change in our laws dated back to the 1910s, when child labor was prohibited and the minimum working age was established. It was a testament to the country¡¯s commitment to protecting its citizens, especially the young and vulnerable. The laws had stood the test of time, remaining largely unchanged even in the face of pressure from powerful entities like cartels and mafia families.


    One of the most controversial laws on the books was the automatic death penalty for cop killers. It was a clear message from Little Bird - we value and protect those who protect us.


    The news segment then shifted to another contentious issue - the 1937 Little Bird First Act. This act, which prioritized the welfare of Little Bird and its citizens above all else, had its fair share of detractors. Some of the country''s wealthier residents were calling for its repeal, arguing that it was time for Little Bird to extend its generosity beyond its borders.


    As I sat there, absorbing the complexities of these debates, I couldn¡¯t help but feel a sense of pride. Little Bird, for all its quirks and idiosyncrasies, is a country that cares deeply about its people. It was a place where every voice mattered, where every opinion was heard. And as the night deepened, I knew that no matter what changes the future brought, Little Bird would always remain a country that put its people first.


    The news segment then shifted to a topic that was close to my heart - the Empire Police Department (EPD). The EPD was planning a significant expansion, aiming to deploy an additional ten thousand officers onto our city streets. This was a considerable increase, considering the current strength of our force:


    <ul>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Patrol: 3,780 officers</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Detective: 756 officers</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Traffic: 151 officers</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Homicide: 113 officers</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Burglary: 113 officers</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Bunco: 113 officers</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Ad Vice: 113 officers</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Arson: 76 officers</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Other: 76 officers</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Highway Patrol: 315 officers</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Auxiliary: 189 officers</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Housing Police: 126 officers</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">School Safety: 126 officers</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Other: 1,008 officers</li>


    </ul>


    The EPD was also revamping its recruitment strategy, a move that was long overdue. The news report highlighted the stark contrast between the recruitment processes of the EPD and the Fire Department of Empire (FDE). The FDE has a system where they conduct classes and select a random number of people for training at a given time. The EPD, on the other hand, allowed applicants to sign up and attend the police academy for a month before being assigned to a beat.


    The news segment took a turn, focusing on the crime rates in our city. It was a rollercoaster of a story, with peaks and valleys that traced the ebb and flow of crime over the years. From 1970 to 1995, crime rates had soared to an all-time high. Every year, the numbers climbed, painting a grim picture of our city¡¯s safety. The murder rate was 3 out of 10, arson was at a staggering 9 out of 10, drug-related crimes were at 8 out of 10, and other felonies were at a worrying 9 out of 10.


    Then, in 1996, there was a dramatic shift. Crime rates plummeted, offering a much-needed respite. However, this period of calm was short-lived. By 2003, crime rates had spiked again, reaching levels that rivaled those of the previous peak. The city was even forced to grapple with a paramilitary group known as the Night Prowler, which was involved in activities labeled as terrorism.


    Fast forward to 2009, and the landscape had changed once again. Crime rates had dropped to an all-time low, a stark contrast to the turbulent past. It was a testament to the tireless efforts of our law enforcement agencies and the resilience of our community. The streets were safer, and the sense of fear that once loomed over us had dissipated. It was a reminder that even in the face of adversity, our city could rise above and create a safer environment for all its residents. It was a victory, not just for the police department, but for every single citizen who called this city home.


    The news segment then transitioned to a fascinating update about the Empire Police Department¡¯s (EPD) fleet of police interceptors. These sleek, supercharged vehicles were being revamped to become the fastest law enforcement cars on the streets. The upgrades included a state-of-the-art touchscreen dashboard that provided officers with four tactical options: roadblock, spike strip, helicopter support, and a new innovation called EMP. This EMP feature, an advanced version of the kill switch used in bait cars, could fire an electromagnetic pulse at a suspect¡¯s vehicle, effectively disabling it.


    Despite these technological advancements, the EPD had no plans to phase out their current ammunition. The Full Metal Jacket, Hollow Point, Frangible, Armor Piercing, Overpressured, and High Velocity rounds would continue to be the standard issue for patrol officers. But keep doing it¡¯s two different policing styles of both community and problem oriented styles of policing


    The news segment concluded with a story about the planned renovation of Empire Metro Central. This iconic structure, built in the 1920s, was set to undergo a massive transformation. The original construction, approved in 1913, had been delayed due to the outbreak of World War I and didn¡¯t commence until January 1, 1919. It was finally completed in 1923, connecting all of the city¡¯s underground subway railroad lines to one centralized location. The original cost was $100,000 in 1913, equivalent to $300,000 in 1920s money. However, the proposed remake was estimated to cost a staggering $1 billion. Despite the hefty price tag, the renovation promised to breathe new life into this historic landmark, ensuring it continued to serve as the heart of the city¡¯s transportation network.


    The moment the fire bell shattered the silence, I knew it wasn''t just another call. Pengelle and Oijia were quick to speculate a single vehicle accident, but Lieutenant Valkyrie and I sensed something more sinister¡ªa fire. Our instincts didn''t fail us; a fuel tanker had collided with a gas station, igniting a blaze that roared with fury.


    Lieutenant Valkyrie''s voice was calm but urgent over the radio, "525 to Command, we have a fuel tanker crashed into a gas station. We''re transmitting an HAZMAT Level 2, requesting Foam Level 2, and a Second Alarm assignment. Also, dispatch a Still and Box alarm."


    Claire, my girlfriend, had once explained the unique lingo of the Fire Department City of Empire. While many officers stuck to the 10 codes, others, like Lieutenant Valkyrie, preferred plain language for clarity during multi-alarm fires.


    I reached for the 1 ? inch attack line on our Rescue Engine. It''s built like any fire engine but boasts a 1000-gallon water tank, a 25-gallon foam tank, and a pump capacity of 500 GPM. In contrast, a foam engine carries 1000 gallons of specialized foam, either High Expansion or Alcohol Resistant, and is designed for specific fire scenarios. The Foam Task Forces, a trio of engines, are equipped differently¡ªthe first and third are standard fire engines with foam capabilities no water, while the second is a behemoth with eight wheels, a front-mounted hose, and compartments brimming with firefighting tools but made for rough terrain as well and can be fitted with either two bulldozer blades or hedgerow cutters the same kind that were mounted on Allied tanks in the Normandy campaign in World War 2.


    As I deployed the hose, Lieutenant Valkery''s voice cut through again, instructing the police to secure the perimeter of two blocks and evacuate nearby buildings. If the tanker exploded, the aftermath would be catastrophic.


    There was some popping sounds now which wasn¡¯t good in which Lieutenant Valkery was already on it where she radioed dispatch to have Empire Utilities to shut off the power where the fire is burning on the wires but soon there was an explosion of a gas pump exploding so Lieutenant Valkery told Schmit to back it up because their twenty-five-gallon foam tank won¡¯t last long because while the foam is used to cover fire but the area is too big for the 25 gallons so they¡¯re going to need more.


    I just used the foam to cover the area around and on the fuel tanker but as the moment our 25-gallon tank ran out was when Foam Task Force 33 came where the second foam engine used its monster deluge gun and covered the entire area of the gas station with foam that smothered the fire in which the foam cool the fire and to coat the fuel, preventing its contact with oxygen, thus achieving suppression of the combustion but once the fire was out we used water to put the fire out on the utility pole but we used our deluge gun to put the fire out on the wires.


    We left and let the Foam Task Force to clean up the foam but we did a quick overhaul of the inside of the convenience store which a majority of the store wasn¡¯t damaged by the fire but a majority of the glass shattered due to the heat but a majority of the goods were far enough not to catch fire.


    ________________________________________________________


    At a store.


    I picked up a copy of the store paper.


    ¡°We¡¯re going to shop smarter,¡± I said while looking at store paper.


    led them through the aisles, pointing out sale items and explaining the benefits of buying in bulk.


    ¡°See this?¡± I asked, holding up a large pack of toilet paper. ¡°It¡¯s cheaper per roll than the smaller packs. And we all know how quickly we go through this at the firehouse.¡±


    Next, I showed them how to use coupons. ¡°These little pieces of paper are like gold,¡± she said. ¡°They can save us a lot of money if we use them right.¡±


    The team watched in awe as I navigated the store like a pro, filling their carts with sale items and bulk goods.


    ¡°My dad taught me all these tricks back in Alabama,¡± I said, my voice filled with pride. ¡°He taught me how to keep track of prices on common items because they fluctuate. He showed me how to use coupons, the importance of always having a list, and other ways of being a strategic shopper.¡±


    I paused, a nostalgic smile playing on my lips. ¡°When I moved to Empire for education at the age of 22, I had to put all those lessons into practice. I found this small grocery store, a bargain shop that specialized in sales and cheap prices. It had eight aisles labeled ¡®Frozen Foods¡¯, ¡®Produce¡¯, ¡®Bakery¡¯, and ¡®Beverages¡¯. There were signs both inside and outside the store, promoting sales on dog food, cola six packs, milk, eggs, bread, and beer.¡±


    The team listened, captivated by my story. ¡°But the best part,¡± I continued, ¡°was when I was at Arcane University. I lived off of noodles. Macaroni and chicken-flavored instant noodles, to be precise. That¡¯s how I got my nickname.¡±


    I also shared her personal experience of her first independent grocery shopping run back in Killen, Alabama. My father had given me some valuable advice: set a budget, buy what they need not what I want, buy what''s on sale, choose quality over quantity, know the market price, shop during a sale, do research, bring coupons, and make a list of what they needed. This made her shopping trip quicker and more efficient.


    Despite my strategic shopping and budgeting, I confessed that I couldn''t resist buying a box of mint girl scout cookies. But even with that indulgence, I managed to stay within her budget of 200 bucks. After strategic shopping, I had spent 160 bucks and had 40 bucks remaining. This was a testament to my smart shopping skills and the valuable lessons I learned from my father. My story served as an inspiration to the rest of Squad Company 525. They realized that with a little planning and strategy, they too could become savvy shoppers.


    My frugality was not just about saving money, but also about making the most of what she had. I admitted that being frugal was a good thing because it allowed her to keep a few extra bucks in her pocket. However, I also acknowledged that not everyone was as disciplined. Some of my friends back in Alabama would set a budget but would often go over it because they didn''t bring coupons or make a list, and would end up buying things they wanted rather than what they needed.


    I then shared a story from the summer of 2002. Using a list, coupons, and my dad''s loyalty card, I was able to prepare a meal of BBQ Chicken with green beans and mashed potatoes for just five dollars because everything was on sale. Over the next two nights, I prepared Spanish Chicken with Rice and Sausage and Red Beans.


    - The BBQ Chicken with green beans originally cost $8.22, but with the loyalty card and coupons, it was reduced to $4.21.


    - The Spanish Chicken with Rice was priced at $6.59, but after applying the loyalty card and coupons, it cost only $4.39.


    - The Red Beans and Sausage dinner was priced at $4.18, but the loyalty card and coupons brought it down to $3.98. She also added a cake to the meal, bringing the total to $5.01.


    Despite sticking to a budget, I didn''t mind going over by a penny. In total, I managed to prepare three dinners that would have cost almost twenty dollars at retail price, but I got it all for fifteen dollars.


    ________________________________________


    Back at the firehouse.


    ¡°Hey dad help us go and bring our groceries in?¡± I asked with two paper bags on my arms.


    My Dad replied, ¡°Sure. Y¡¯all went on a huge grocery run¡­¡±


    ¡°Yes I showed them how to be more strategic shoppers,¡± I said. ¡°Your ways that you taught me so I showed them.¡±


    My dad replied, ¡°That¡¯s great. Also Carter came too. Also watched the news in which the city¡¯s lawmakers for whatever reason wanted to see what soft on crime would look like so they¡¯re going to implement and relax the laws for a month and they say that it¡¯ll be better than stricter laws.¡±


    Lieutenant Valkery then came and said that they had to go on another run to get another pen because he''s just dried up so we went to an office supply store to get some more.


    ____________________________________________________________________


    At the office supply store.


    Lieutenant Valkery reached for a pack of pens priced at a dollar fifty. Macaroni stopped her and pointed out another pack of pens on clearance for ninety cents. I also showed them that the binders, originally priced at three dollars and fifty cents, were on clearance for ninety five cents.


    I also shared some advice about printers. I explained that while cheap, low-end printers might seem like a good deal, they actually use a lot more ink than more expensive printers. So, in the long run, it¡¯s more cost-effective to invest in a higher-quality printer.


    I also encouraged the team to look under the tables in the store. Often, items under the table are at least 75% off. Spending a few extra minutes to look through these boxes could lead to significant savings.


    Finally, I reminded them that while it¡¯s good to make a list and plan ahead, it¡¯s also important to keep their eyes peeled for in-store sales. With these tips, I was not only teaching her team how to shop smart, but also how to be more mindful and strategic in their spending habits.


    On their way back to the firehouse, I shared another shopping strategy with the team - stacking savings. I explained that some stores would allow customers to make a profit while shopping. If a customer had a lot of coupons for a particular item and the overall total went into the negative, it meant the store owed the customer money. However, most stores wouldn''t give money back but would allow customers to add more items to balance it out and bring the total back into a positive number on the register.


    I also shared my shopping habits from her time at Arcane University. I would go shopping once a month and mostly stocked up on instant noodles. I would buy pallets of them, not individual ones, especially when they were on sale for as low as twenty-five cents per pallet. Once, I bought so many pallets of noodles that she had to remove some from her car trunk and put the rest in the backseat and front seat of her car. I ended up with nothing but instant chicken-flavored noodles with corn, carrots, and green beans in the cup. I had enough noodles to last her for a whole month and a half, and it was all worth the five bucks she spent.


    ____________________________________________________________________________


    Back at the firehouse.


    ¡°Thanks for the tips,¡± said Oijia. ¡°Better than having Carter do the shopping. Carter does the shopping, he just throws what he wants into the cart and I know that for a fact because I was married to him for almost two years. So thanks for the tip.¡±


    I elbowed her, ¡°Did y¡¯all¡­ You know wink, wink, nudge, nudge?¡±


    Oijia was taken aback, ¡°Heavens no. We don¡¯t have a child nor ever made love. Carter at first was Prince Charming until it was too late to realize that he wasn¡¯t Prince Charming but the troll under the bridge.¡±


    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°Well my dad thought he was married to a princess even though his family and my so called ¡®mom¡¯ family warned him he was walking into a trap but he didn¡¯t need it,¡± I said. ¡°But my so-called mom was just an addict but she hasn¡¯t done anything warranted to be called mom. But if my ¡®mom¡¯ asked me to do something I always fought her because she may have given birth to me but that¡¯s all she has done to me whereas my dad has done more work than her. I swear if my mom comes here I¡¯m gunning her down. But go, you can talk to my dad, he''ll confirm what I just said.¡±


    My dad put everything away while we were out. But Oijia went to go talk to him while I just got a pot and filled it up with warm water where I boiled the water where I put Chicken breasts into the boiling water. I put Barbecue Sauce on the side was Barbecue Sauce and once I was done boiling the chicken I then drained the water, put the barbecue sauce onto each piece of chicken and went to put it into the oven while I made fresh green beans and sweet peas.


    Once we got done with lunch which my dad in which he said that the city starting to relax on crime will be disaster and the city will become a lawless place by saying:


    ¡°The Bible teaches that when a society breaks God''s laws, nature will rise up as an enemy and make it impossible to live in the land. The inhabitants will be uprooted and thrust out, and many will die in famine, war, and natural disasters,¡± my dad said. ¡°Of course in this case remove natural disasters and famine.¡±


    I replied, ¡°Dad this ain¡¯t church but sure why not. I already predict a 37% increase of crime at a minimum and a 90% increase of crime at a maximum and one of those will be arson. Hey Lieutenant if you don¡¯t mind¡­¡±


    Lieutenant Valkery interrupted, ¡°Empire was voted while yes voted to be an Tourist hotspot  but it was voted for the most dangerous city in the world with gun violence, police brutality, knife violence, buried alive. You name it.¡±


    Pengelle replied, ¡°When I was over on Twenty-Three Engine in the mid eighties when I was a probie we responded to a rubbish fire between 2:20 and 3 AM and here comes a pimp or some guy wearing what people would describe what a pimp wears and he comes strolling down the street wielding a butterfly knife and walked by us as if we weren¡¯t there.¡±


    ¡°Y¡¯all allow switchblades or butterfly knives?¡± my dad asked.


    Oijia replied, ¡°According to the Little Bird Statue Code 69, Section 44. Legal ¨C Only Bowie knives or knives of "like kind or description" are restricted from carry in a vehicle or concealed about the person or outside of one''s own property without good reason. Knives are prohibited in certain locations (schools, airports, hydroelectric facilities, nuclear facilities, utility facilities, polling places, and on the grounds of organized public events and gatherings. Persons under 21 may not carry a switchblade or any kind of knife definable as a deadly weapon concealed on their person.¡±


    Oijia pulled out and put it on the table where Carter has a Boot knife, Pengelle has a Smatchet knife, Lieutenant Valkery has a hunting knife, and I had an SOG Knife. Lieutenant Valkery says that Steven Richter has a folding pocket knife. But we just use the knives as makeshift cutting tools or to cut through things that an ax can''t without hurting someone like through a seatbelt.


    I then read a book in which Carter took the book and held it sideways only to say, ¡°How can people read books? It¡¯s just gibberish words.¡±


    I replied, ¡°A lot of people read books to escape reality and a lot of people like me use their imagination. What reading and writing level are you? I was to say first grade if you cannot read a book and I was taught to read and I got a 12th grade reading level.¡±


    Soon the fire bell went off and the dispatcher gave us the address of the old high school that had been shut down due to a newer one being built. But the dispatcher used simple words of saying it¡¯s a still and box alarm which is just four engine companies, four ladder companies, 1 Squad, 1 Rescue Squad, one Battalion Chief, one Deputy District Chief, one Command Van, 1 Ambulance, one fire investigation Car, and one EMS Field Officer.


    While Lieutenant Valkery was donning her bunker gear she also looked at the map which also has the dangerous buildings list and the shutdown school is on the map and is marked with a red x.


    We then left but as I was facing backwards I saw my dad walk into the firehouse watch house which is known for members who want to be left alone.


    _______________________________________________


    At the abandoned school.


    Lieutenant Valkery grabbed her radio and she told dispatch that to upgrade the alarm to a fifth alarm but I just ran around the abandoned school but I reported back after giving my three-hundred-and-sixty-degree size up.


    ¡°Lieutenant, the second floor is fully involved,¡± I said. ¡°Some glass shattered on the back and got heavy thick smoke in the back.¡±


    Since the abandoned school is marked with a red x it means it¡¯s unsafe for people to be inside so Lieutenant Valkery just ordered that we¡¯re going to surround and drown it. She said that if someone was inside then it wouldn¡¯t be a rescue but a recovery because with the shattered windows and shattered glass means the fire is hot enough to shatter them which is hot enough to kill someone.


    It took several hours but we weren¡¯t allowed to go inside. That was a good thing because about half an hour into the call the hardwood floors on the floor started to collapse down onto the first floor then the interior wall fell then finally the outer wall started to give way after the roof caved in.


    The old school in Eastside was more than just an eyesore. It was a haunting reminder of a tragic past. My girlfriend Lusty, who attended the school in the 90s, often referred to it as a death trap. She wasn''t wrong. The school, which was closed a few years ago, bore the scars of a history marred by fire and loss.


    From 1992 to 1996, the school was engulfed in flames seven times. Overcrowding was a significant issue. The school was designed to accommodate 1800 students, but it housed a staggering nine thousand. During those four years, five thousand students lost their lives in those fires. The firefighters, many of whom were veterans of the Vietnam War, the Gulf War, World War 2, and the Korean War, did their best to save as many students as they could. But the scale of the tragedy was overwhelming.


    In 2008, the old school was finally shut down for good, replaced by a new, modern building. The new school was spacious, designed to house ten thousand students, and complied with every fire code to prevent such tragedies from happening again. But for many parents, it was too little, too late. The city council had repeatedly ignored the fire department''s warnings about the old school''s dangers, reopening it time and again without any significant renovations. Each fire was a preventable tragedy, a repeated cycle of loss and grief.


    The former mayor, Ms. Abigail Marteniez, tried multiple times to get approval to build a new school. She had a vision for the city of Empire, a vision of progress and improvement. She wanted to tear down dilapidated housing and build affordable apartments for the impoverished. She dreamed of transforming Empire into a glass and steel utopia. But the city council rejected her ideas, dismissing them because they favored the poor and unfortunate. The new school stands as a testament to her efforts, a beacon of hope for a brighter future. But the memory of the old school, and the tragedies it witnessed, remains a stark reminder of the past we must never forget.


    The citizens of Eastside held the city council accountable for their reckless actions. The old school, built in 1959, was a ticking time bomb, lacking the modern fire codes that became standardized in the 70s and 80s. Despite the fire department''s repeated warnings and shutdowns, the city council would recklessly reopen it, claiming it was safe.


    When the city council members ran for re-election, the residents of Eastside made their voices heard. They voted for change, electing new representatives who truly cared about their district. The previous Alderman for Eastside, who showed little concern for the district''s issues, was replaced.


    Eastside has its share of challenges. There''s only one firehouse, Engine Co 47 and Ladder Co 47, and the police from the 9th Precinct have a vast patrol area, leaving Eastside often unpatrolled. Response times are long, and while Engine and Ladder Company 47 do their best, their response time in Eastside is still between three to five minutes.


    The district is plagued with dilapidated buildings, a legacy of the arson rages from the late 60s to the early 90s. School dropouts are at an all-time high, surpassing rates from the early 1900s. Teenage pregnancies and motherhood are on the rise. But the people of Eastside are resilient. They''re not mindless. They may be poor and unfortunate, but they''re educated and ready to challenge the city council''s lies.


    In the early 1980s, the city decided to relocate Engine and Ladder Co 47 to Highwood, the affluent district of the city. But the people of Eastside didn''t sit idle. They educated themselves, noting down the fire alarm box numbers, and timing the fire department''s response, which was usually around 12-15 minutes. They taught their children that education is the best weapon against a system that doesn''t serve them.


    ¡°About time this place goes up in smoke!¡± Lusty said with gratefulness and happiness in her voice, ¡°Damn place was a death trap and is finally going to go!¡±


    It was interesting to hear my girlfriend talk in a tone that she¡¯s grateful seeing the high school she went to go up in flames but how dilapidated it was and how much of an eyesore it was. I could understand her happiness because I wanted to see the house I was raised in. I want to see that go up in fire with my so-called mother inside.


    Every inch of the old abandoned school was flooded with water where every window was hit with water by either a fire hose or a deluge gun. The citizens of the district also came and watched it burn down as well in which they¡¯re grateful that it¡¯s finally going up and going to be torn down this time.


    It took a few hours but we were able to put the fire out but a majority of the abandoned and closed school was going to be torn down but after the fire we packed up and went back to our quarters.


    ________________________________________________________________________


    Back at our firehouse


    ¡°Hey Mac,¡± said Lieutenant Valkery, ¡°You and your dad are¡­¡±


    My dad replied, ¡°Yes we¡¯re very close because she had me to look up to and one reason we¡¯re close is not because of our father-daughter bond. But it¡¯s Loyalty. She knows that I can come to her for any problem I have and if she has any problem then she can come to me and ask for any help. I¡¯m really enjoying these Empire Dogs.¡±


    It gave me a chuckle. Empire Dogs is a unique hotdog of Italian Sausage on a Chicago Bun with either onions or Sauerkraut.


    ¡°So Macky,¡± my dad said, ¡°Tell me more about your girlfriend. In your own words.¡±


    I replied, ¡°Besides being from Eastside. Lusty, she¡¯s my Clairebear. She¡¯s a tough but relatable woman. She¡¯s born from resistance and adversary. She abhors every single politician in this damn city. Despite every single Alderman/Alderwoman is a District Representative where there are eleven Aldermen. But Every District Rep from Eastside always promised to deliver but once their Alderman ends up in office they always sing another tune. Claire remembers how the 7th District, which is Eastside, their Aldermen always promised to build a youth center, to increase police presence, to increase fire protection and the list is endless. But once their Aldermen get into office they forget where they come from and they ignore their constituents and help other districts. Oh, Eastside needs increased police protection? Yeah increase the budget of the PD but increase police protection in wealthy neighborhoods.


    "How long do you think police response time is for Eastside? That¡¯s right longer than it should be where in middle-class and rich neighborhoods the police response time is almost an instant. Claire remembers how her district Alderman promised to build a youth center and park but nope that money went to Highwood to renovate their country club. Each district is allocated an amount of money where Eastside where Claire is from and the mirrored district of Westside are both allocated $250,000 each and that¡¯s for maintenance of Utilities, Police, Fire, Sanitation, Education, Health, Environmental and Transportation.


    "I guess the main reason she became a firefighter is because of her past where the abandoned school caught fire. In the past from 1992 to 1996 the high school she went to caught fire seven times and overcrowding was the main cause of many students'' deaths because a lot couldn¡¯t get out in time. According to her a lot of parents just watched but a lot of parents knew that their son or daughter didn''t make it because a lot of firefighters would have carried the dead out on those military stretchers with a white sheet over the body but many parents at first would¡¯ve checked the clinic or the nearby hospitals to see if their sons or daughters were there but once they found out that their son or daughter wasn¡¯t there. So they had to make the unholy visit to the city morgue but some parents couldn¡¯t identify who their child was without getting dental records to confirm who they were. Or according to Claire that all schools have an AFA or an Automatic Fire Alarm that¡¯s suppose to automatically summon the fire department even if it¡¯s smoke investigation but the second fire it didn¡¯t send out the AFA because some of the old wires were burnt away so it burnt for three minutes until someone walking by the school pulled the street alarm box. School alarm is¡­¡±


    Lieutenant Valkery interrupted, ¡°A 4-11 or in simple terms a four-alarm fire.¡±


    ¡°Now it¡¯s a fourth alarm assignment with four additional Engine Companies,¡± I said. ¡°Even has a list.¡±


    I then took my dad to the old box alarm assignment list which is on the apparatus bay in which it says:


    Still alarm: 2 Engines, 2 Trucks, 1 Battalion Chief


    Box alarm: 4 Engines, 4 Trucks, 1 Battalion Chief


    Pin-In-Accident: 1 Engine, 1 Truck, 1 Rescue Company, 1 Squad, 1 Ambulance, 1 EMS Field Officer


    Expressway Car Fire:  2 Engines, 2 Truck, 1 Battalion Chief (one engine stays off the expressway to tag a hydrant if needed)


    Water Rescue: 1 Engine, 1 Truck, 1 Squad, 1 Battalion Chief, 1 Ambulance, 1 Dive Rescue or Swift Water Rescue Unit, 1 helicopter, 1 Rescue Squad


    Specialty Rescue: 1 Engine, 1 Truck, 1 Rescue Squad, 1 Squad, 1 Battalion Chief, 1 Ambulance, 1 EMS Field Officer


    Building Collapse: same as normal STILL & BOX response, with Collapse Rescue, Engine 14, and Truck 14


    High Rise Still alarm: 4 Engines, 4 Trucks, 1 Battalion Chief, 1 Rescue Squad, 1 Squad, 1 ALS Ambulance, 1 EMS Field Officer


    Still & Box alarm: 4 Engines, 4 Trucks, 1 Rescue Squad , 1 Squad, 1 Battalion Chiefs, 1 Deputy District Chief, 1 Command Van, 1 Ambulance, 1 OFI Car, 1 EMS Field Officer


    2nd Extra alarm: Additional 4 Engines, 4 Trucks, 2 Battalion Chiefs, 1 District Chief, 1 Air Mask Truck, Media Affairs


    3rd alarm: Additional 4 Engines, Assistant Deputy Fire Commissioner/Deputy Fire Commissioner


    4th alarm: Additional 4 Engines, Fire Commissioner


    5th alarm: Additional 4 Engines, additional 3 ladder companies


    R.I.T. Response: 1 Truck, 1 Squad, 1 ALS Ambulance, 1 Battalion Chief, 1 EMS Field Officer


    EMS Plan 1: 5 Ambulances, 1 Engine, 1 Truck, 1 Battalion Chief, 1 EMS Field Officer, 1 Assistant Deputy Chief Paramedic


    EMS Plan 2: Additional 5 Ambulances, 1 EMS Field Officer, 1 Deputy Chief Paramedic, 1 Triage Van, 1 Command Van, 1 Deputy District Chief, Media Affairs


    EMS Plan 3: Additional 5 Ambulances, 1 District Chief, Chief Paramedic, On Call Physician


    Level 1 HazMat: 1 Engine, 1 Truck, 1 Rescue Squad, 1 Squad, 1 Battalion Chief, HAZMAT Company, 1 HAZ-TAC Ambulance


    Level 2 HazMat: Additional 1  Engine, 1  Truck, Deputy District Chief, Safety Officer, EMS Field Officer, Air Mask Truck, Mobile Command Van


    Level 3 HazMat: 2 HAZMAT Company, Haz-mat Deputy Chief, Special-called companies


    School Fire: 8 Engine Companies, 4 Ladder Companies, 2 Squad Companies, 1 Rescue Company, 2 Battalion Chiefs, 1 Division Chief, 1 Deputy Division Chief, 1 Deputy Chief, 1 Command Van, 1 Field Communications Unit, 1 Air Mask Truck, 1 Water Tender


    1st Alarm: 1 Engine or Squad, 1 Ladder


    2nd Alarm: 2 Engines, 2 Ladder Companies or 1 Engine Company and 1 Squad Company


    I educated my father where there¡¯s a desk in the apparatus bay and he saw the list.


    ¡°I still wonder how those old call boxes work?¡± my dad said.


    I replied, ¡°That¡¯s interesting but they work by sending a code to the nearest firehouse where the guy or gal who sat at the desk would bring out these punch cards. Like here for Box 333 on Flurry Street in Eastside. For Box 333 on Flurry Street it¡¯s Engine 47, Engine 525, Ladder 47 Rescue Co 17, and the Chief from the 18th Battalion goes. Of course these punch cards were made back in 1918 before the Squad Companies were made but 525, and 141 when they were made it more or less said ¡®Hey how since these two companies have more manpower but all these thirsty-so guys are exempted from military service¡¯ no wait here¡¯s the cards that were made in the 1990s but it says the same but it replaces Engine 525 with Squad 525. Well according to the old book says Squad Companies were nicknamed ¡®Manpower Companies¡¯ because back then they were used to supplement manpower to understaffed companies throughout both World Wars to assist companies with men who were drafted to fight in the Wars leaving a lot of companies understaffed.¡±


    Before my dad could respond.


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t until the 1950s when Squad Companies were reorganized to be in Special Operations and one rare nickname for the Squad Companies was ¡®Mini toolbox on wheels¡¯ because of responding to any emergency a Rescue Squad could go to but with the chassis of an Engine Company but just carried tools not found on an Engine or a Ladder Company,¡± I said. ¡°But in the late 90s into the early 2000s they wanted to expand the Squad Companies to form more of them but they proposed to transform several Engine Companies into said Squad Companies but the plan was controversial because the people would just see them as nothing but as a normal engine company because many of the calls they would¡¯ve gone too would¡¯ve been done with just a single ladder company. Not adding look at some of the photographs of the 1920s into the 40s which well look.¡±


    My dad then looked where some of the photographs have the rescue engine either say ¡°Engine¡±, ¡°Enhanced Engine¡± or ¡°Squad¡± but primarily throughout the 20s into the 40s it mostly says ¡°Enhanced Engine¡± on the side.


    ¡°So what¡¯s the city like?¡± my dad asked.


    I replied, ¡°Well back in the 90¡¯s when Ms. Abigail Marteniez became mayor after an emergency mayoral election she proposed to spend 4.4 billion dollars on the city of Empire to turn the city from a wretched hive where from 1970 to 1995 the city was a dysfunctional, crime-plagued, vermin-infested, polluted, grimy, sleazy, seedy, corrupt, racially-divided, poverty-ridden, morally-and-financially-bankrupt Wretched Hive filled with Apathetic Citizens, hostile jackasses, violent psychotics, violent psychotics with badges, drug addicts, deviants, a crumbling infrastructure, and not enough parking spots. But Ms. Martinez proposed to turn the city into a glass and steel utopia with glass towers, clean streets and nobody at the poverty line. While the citizens of Empire loved the idea but the rich, and the other politicians didn¡¯t like the idea because it would benefit the many than the few. Well as they say ¡®The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few¡¯ but some property owners purposefully made their properties'' rent sky high to squeeze out blue-collar, skilled and unskilled workers out the more desirable regions of the city into crime-ridden slums. But that didn¡¯t happen because it was illegal and it would be forcing families to uproot from their residence. But the program called ¡®Empire Reimagined¡¯ was dead on arrival because the program was estimated to cost a minimum of 4.4 billion dollars to a maximum of 11 billion dollars.¡±


    I then took my dad to a map of the city that was called ¡°Proposed Better Empire¡± in which the proposed model of the map that the city had four new police precincts the 94th, 95th, 99th, and 100th Precincts, the Fire Department with three new stations with the 136th, 137th and 138th stations, a few new hospitals, updated infrastructure, and new roads and a few new elevated highways to help alleviate city traffic.


    I told my dad that while the program was called the ¡°Empire Envisioned¡± Project but the public dubbed it as the ¡°Martinez Program¡± because she was the brainchild of it but the City Council and the Aldermen of the city. In which the city¡¯s Aldermen they¡¯re voted in to be their district representatives as well the Empire City Council and the city¡¯s eleven Aldermen they all voted in rejection for her project because she wanted to turn the city into a glass and steel utopia with clean streets and to move people out of the poverty level. After all, Abigail Marteniz she¡¯s from Eastside like Claire so she knows what it¡¯s like to grow up poor and know what it¡¯s like to live from paycheck to paycheck.


    Not adding that she had more of a better dream of the city where she wanted to capitalize on the city being a financial, tourist, and industrial hub where the city of Empire''s GDP is Eight Billion Dollars from the city from being a Financial hub, and industrial hub not add that each year that millions of tourists come each year. Not adding that when Ms. Abigail was elected in an emergency mayoral election due to the previous mayor dying in a mysterious way and the Lieutenant Mayor who took over as Mayor he disbanded the Police Department because he abhorred the police department for killing his father who was trying to kill his wife with a homemade flamethrower. But when the Empire Police Department was reestablished in 1990 there was huge understaffing where in 1988 before the Mayor disbanded the EPD the city had five thousand cops and split into two shifts but when the EPD was reestablished in 1990 the city only had fifty cops so once again the Marines and Paratroopers from the Third Marine Division and Twenty-First Airborne Division had to ¡°police¡± the city again then I told him that unlike the United States that has the Under the Posse Comitatus Act, the US military personnel are not legally allowed to operate on US domestic territory where on Little Bird there is no rule or act that prevents the military operating domestically even though when ordered to police it means they¡¯re authorized to use lethal force on any criminal either it was a misdemeanor or felony.


    I even told him that from what Claire and a few others said that the people who hate the cops and have been wanting the city to either defund or to abolish the police department. They rethought their stance because when the military patrolled the streets because the military have a shoot first ask questions later mentality not adding some people really got tired of hearing the sound of marching boots on the sidewalks and the sound of military 4x4 jeeps, 6x6 trucks even APCs, IFVs and tanks patrolling the streets. But the Commonwealth of Mountain invoked the 1914, 1939, 1941, and 1956 Insurrection and Homeland Defense Act which allows the Commonwealth of Mountain to use the military as a police force if need be if either the police or home guard later changed to militia fails so each battalion of the Marines and Paratroopers were assigned to a district of the city to patrol on foot or by car, truck, or APC and that any fire in the city they would¡¯ve responded along side with the fire department to keep people moving. But people weren¡¯t going to fight the military because as said that they have to shoot first and ask questions later way and that if getting close enough well the main fighting knife and bayonet for the Little Bird Military is a 16¡¯¡¯ steel blade with a few having a 12¡¯¡¯ or 10¡¯¡¯ one.


    I even told him that unlike the United States that replaced the .45 with 9x19 rounds. While Little Bird is in a military alliance with Blister Canyon and Lava Falls, which formed the BCLBLFDF or Blister Canyon Little Bird Lava Falls Defense Force, they really don¡¯t have any standardization. The Little Bird Military still uses the .45 for it¡¯s sidearms, while BC uses 9mm and LF uses 10mm.


    ¡°Can I get a picture of you in your gear?¡± my dad asked.


    I allowed it so I put on my turnout gear where my dad was able to take a photograph. He even noticed the two patches with the one on the right sleeve being the city patch of a six sided patch with a red-orange phoenix with its wing spread opened rising out of the fire with the city name above the phoenix.


    After my dad was able to get a few photographs from his phone. I showed him around but when I showed him our rig I told him that Squad Co 525 their rig is customly built because of how the firehouse was built back in the early 1800s for Volunteer Company 330 back when everyone rode on a horse or on horse and buggy and to make sure our apparatus can get out it¡¯s customly built 2-door open-air flat half roof, and everything else but it¡¯s still 23 ft long, 12 ft tall, and 7 ft wide because the apparatus bay door is 8 ft wide and 14 ft tall while every other engine company is 23 ft long, 8 ft tall, and 8.5 ft wide. I went on saying how it''s smaller than what we¡¯re used to seeing back in the states of them being closer to 35 feet long, 9 feet wide, and 9 feet tall.


    ¡°What are all of these photos for?¡± asked my dad.


    I replied, ¡°History. The first photograph was when the company was first formed on October 1st, 1914 but every ten years they took a photo to look back on the guys who came and gone which they started doing that in 1920 but a lot of the photographs are from memorable jobs in the past.¡±


    I then even showed him a sign on the desk for the fire alarm box which the sign says:


    BELL SYSTEM


    1 LONG RING- EVERYONE


    2 RINGS- CHIEF


    3 RINGS- ENGINE


    4 RINGS- TRUCK


    5 RINGS- AMBULANCE


    Before my dad could even say it I told him that I¡¯m also a certified diver as well and mentioned that the swimming pool that they trained us in is very deep of it being 200 ft deep and that there¡¯s no lights in the swimming pool and told that it¡¯s suppose to simulate blackwater and deep water diving. But they have Rescue Squad and Water Rescue Team Instructors because for a Squad Company we¡¯re allowed to go down to ninety feet, rescue companies are allowed to dive down to one hundred and eighty feet while the Water Rescue and Swift Water Rescue companies are trained to dive down to two hundred feet. But for a rescue in the Mesopelagic Zone, Bathypelagic Zone, Abyssopelagic Zone and the Hadal Zone are off limits because of the increase of water pressure and that it won¡¯t be a rescue but a recovery but thirty three feet of water pressure will start to slowly crush the bone and each thirty-three feet down the pressure gets more intense even both Rescue and the Water Rescue Teams will hesitate to keep going down for how far they¡¯re trained to dive down too.


    But I also told him that the sign on the desk was stupid because if someone at the desk receives three rings it¡¯ll send us how since they¡¯re the only Engine company but before he could say anything I told him it¡¯s a Rescue Engine.


    Soon the fire bell went off calling a Level 2 HazMat at a subway station several blocks away so we went. When we got there we just put on our Level A HAZMAT suits which I dubbed Silver Suits because they¡¯re silver but we grabbed every meter and thermal cameras we could carry but we went in as Engine and Ladder Co 47 arrived. In which they¡¯re not HAZMAT certified but they¡¯re job is to provide some minor first aid and to block off the street with tape.


    ***


    Inside is the tunnel.


    ¡°Hey Lieutenant I highly doubt this can be in here!¡± I said into my radio.


    I was staring at a dangerous goods symbol on the side of the train which was of a white diamond with a skull and crossbones with the words ¡°INHALATION HAZARD.¡±


    When Lieutenant Valkery came over and saw it she grabbed her radio and said into it that to cancel the HAZMAT Level 2 but to upgrade it to a level 3 because inhalation hazards are outside of a Squad Company jurisdiction coming to HAZMAT situations and now the other HAZMAT Company is coming. But one thing I never understood was why for HAZMAT Company 32 it says on the driver side HAZARDOUS MATERIALS COMPANY 32 while the Officer side says HAZARDOUS INCIDENT TEAM while HAZMAT Co 33 says HAZARDOUS RESPONSE TEAM on the driver side while the officer side says NBCRNA (Nuclear Biological, Chemical, Radiological, Nerve Agent) TEAM. But both have the word Specialists on them though.


    Lieutenant Valkery then mumbled that whoever at the Empire Transit Authority allowed a train carrying dangerous goods through a civilian subway system is going to be given Hell because of dangerous goods being carried through civilian subway systems been prohibited for a century but some companies are willing to bribe those to look the other way but Little Bird has people and organizations in place to prevent that to prevent corporate executives from getting off from a slap on the wrist and to prevent businesses that are incredibly shady, corrupt, criminally negligent or downright murderous and to prevent corrupt politicians.


    But that¡¯s what I like about Little Bird is that this country has a police force that investigates any reported corruption going on and has it so that victims of corruption can report abuses of power, such as bribery and nepotism. If it happens then they can take those individuals to court where they have publicly viewable Corruption trials to allow civilians and the media to view efforts to bring corrupt individuals to justice and that the organization can Immediately freeze the assets and accounts of key individuals suspected or involved in major corruption offenses and prosecute them. However, according to Lusty, there have been times when the corrupt individuals tried to bribe the judge into favoring in them but there have been times when Judges even cops have been arrested for corruption even in the middle of trials.


    We just saved as many as we could but whenever we found someone we brought them up to the HAZ-TEC ambulances where Hazmat Emergency Medical Technicians or Hazmat Paramedics took over. But many people were too late in which many of the Hazmat Paramedics would just radio that many of the patients are DOA but would transport for safety.


    I don¡¯t think it was an accident, I thought, But it¡¯s for Lieutenant Valkery to chew out that person who allowed it to happen but first off how in the Hell did it get down there?


    Battalion Chief Reuben took over Chief Richter¡¯s job due to the latter¡¯s retirement. But he had PD evacuate a two block radius, blocked off the streets, and had the entire perimeter labeled as not safe for people but also had the orange line shut down for an unspecified amount of time. Even when the MTA director asked what he was going to do for the people who ride the orange line he told the MTA director to put out extra buses because the Kenzie Street Station was shut down until PD could find how in the hell the container got down there to be transported by rail.


    We then got decontaminated. We had to stay in a pool with cold water and got scrubbed down with our HAZMAT suits on and then had to remove the HAZMAT suits and then got scrubbed down again with our turnout gear on minus the helmets and for a precaution. Then we had to do it again in our underwear just in case and before leaving we each had to get checked out by a Hazmat Tech EMT or Hazmat Tech Paramedic.


    ____________________________________________________________________________


    Several hours later.


    Lieutenant Valkery came into the kitchen where Pengelle and Schmit, like normal, are playing cards. My father and I were talking, and Carter was watching the TV where Oijia headed upstairs to get some rest.


    ¡°Alright listen up,¡± Lieutenant Valkery said after cracking her knuckles, ¡°Just got three different faxes from the PD Lab, FD Lab and the LBCONBCRNAD (Little Bird Corps, Nuclear, Biological, Chemical, Radiological, Nerve Agent Defense) saying that at the Kenize Street Subway station was Tabun. Before anyone says it the answer is yes that Its production is strictly controlled and stockpiling outlawed by the Chemical Weapons Convention of 1993.¡±


    Lieutenant Valkery then left the kitchen to return to her office which I assumed she was going to go and tear the EMTA a new one but I just know that if we weren¡¯t HAZMAT Certified then a lot more people would¡¯ve died. But at the same time whoever allowed it to come into the subway system is going to be given hell for it as it was one of those things that could¡¯ve been avoided.


    But Lieutenant Valkery has all of our reports that we wrote down from what we did and saw while we were down there. I took my time to fill out my report where I actually had to ask for a second form to continue from what I saw and what I did but Carter was the first one done while he did it in cursive but he just wrote a paragraph and turned it in to Lieutenant Valkery.


    ____________________________________________________________________________


    In the morning.


    I returned to my apartment where I found my father asleep on the couch where usually he¡¯s up by 5:30-6 AM but since it¡¯s 7:50 AM he¡¯s still asleep. He is sleeping in never happened.


    I then just went into the kitchen where after a few minutes the sound of sizzling bacon and sausage awakened him.


    ¡°Rise and shine sleepy head,¡± I said to my dad, ¡°I¡¯m making your breakfast of a coffee with no cream or sugar, lightly toasted bread with fried egg with sausage and bacon on top and another slice of lightly toasted bread on top cut in half to be a rectangle. Guess you don¡¯t like it when a sandwich is a triangle due to it somewhat resembles a folded up flag and by God this family got a lot of triangle flags from the military.¡±


    When I was younger and when I would sleep in my dad would¡¯ve said the same thing of calling me a sleepy head. But I just made him a cup of coffee but how he can drink it between 155 degrees to 185 degrees Fahrenheit. He always said that he has been drinking coffee since he was conceived and gotten used to how hot it can be and how his parents always gave him coffee and always said that he doesn¡¯t like cold coffee. I agree with him for that but I don¡¯t like coffee that¡¯s hot enough to burn the hide off of my tongue or throat. But my dad likes it like that.


    When I was making it soon the phone rang so I answered it. It was Lieutenant Valkery. Several anonymous complaints have been filed against the company and they¡¯re so severe that out of the six out of seven will be temporarily moved to new companies across the city. Before I could even ask I was told that I¡¯m not going to Squad 141 due to Claire being there but I was told that for some time I¡¯m going to move over to Squad Co 769 a new Squad Company that was recently put into service in Upper Eastside and recently means yesterday.


    But Lieutenant Valkery and I have a feeling that it was Carter who did it. But we really can¡¯t call him out but we really can¡¯t call him out due to they were filed anonymously. According to the Fire Department City of Empire and the Little Bird National Fire Prevention Bureau that there¡¯s an unwritten rule that you don¡¯t snitch or call out others unless if it¡¯s a good reason like if a member was doing something shady on the job but how since that wasn¡¯t happening then it¡¯s not really there.


    After eating breakfast I then went over to HQ and demanded to see the complaints in which I was told no. I told the person I wasn¡¯t going to leave until I saw it but us Watersons while we don¡¯t throw temper tantrums. But I was going to go and see it one way or another in which the people at HQ Lusty warned me about them.


    Instead of getting people who do the job into administrative positions but they hire what Lusty calls sycophant bureaucrats or as Lusty says ¡°They rather put sycophant bureaucrats into positions of jobs they never done so they can do all politics and look out for their employers best interests not the employees that they serve¡± not adding how my cousin Dave is a Union Represenative there¡¯s been times where Dave been prevented from representing those facing any disciplinary action but he always told them that if he¡¯s prevented from seeing those whom he was selected to represent. Then that would open up a lawsuit against both the department and the city of Empire in which would violate the 1977 Civil Servant Legal Act which allows all types of Civil Servants to have access to legal representation or to seek out legal help if need be.


    The Act more or less is expanded from the 1969 Legal Service Act which allows people accused of crimes to get legal representation until it was modified in 1983 after a riot in the city of Empire after a criminal got off free even though all of the evidence said that he was guilty but somehow he got off on a technicality. But after the riot it made a lot of lawyers refuse to take on cases that are that severe but they only reject cases that involve children who were the victims because that¡¯s usually a lot of negative press.


    It took a few hours but as said I didn¡¯t leave until I left after seeing the complaints which was all fake anyway but the person who showed me the false complaints told me that me, Lieutenant Johnson, Captain Jones, Captain Richter, Captain Richter-Waterson, Chief Marcus, Captain Waterson are apart of a dying breed called ¡°Old Guards¡± even though I¡¯m not an officer but my girlfriend, my cousin once removed, and the rest have the nickname of ¡°Old Guard¡± because they don¡¯t give a damn about politics but they¡¯ll defend the firefighters under their command come Hell or high water.


    I then spent the rest of the day with my dad at both the shooting range and a golf course. Then I took him for a tour of the city starting with Eastside since that¡¯s where my girlfriend is from. We saw people working hard still rebuilding after the arson for profit scam several years ago by Echelon Enterprises.


    Many people while losing memories they cannot regain due to photographs they couldn¡¯t save but many are just rebuilding their old brick tenement buildings that were built between 1899/1900-1914. While many others were just being new glass and steel mid-rise and high-rise apartments, part of the new highway/freeway is being built in which they¡¯re digging down and pouring concrete at a 50 degree angle while putting up soundproof walls for the future traffic.


    I then told my dad that the people in Eastside it¡¯s fill of hope and pride but underneath it is fear and anger but the people never back down. The people are well educated that they don¡¯t need the system and have proven time and time again that people can fight city hall and win. The people have been fighting the city government since 1966 but didn¡¯t increase until 1968 when the city of Empire started to blame the residents of Eastside for the increase. But it wasn¡¯t their fault because the wirings in the tenements were outdated and their then new appliances would overload the obsolete wires causing fires. Then in the 80s when the city relocated Engine and Ladder Co 47 then all hell broke loose where the people spent four years fighting city hall to regain their fire company but lost many people and that Eastside uses the abandoned lots as community gardens. Which city hall destroyed to put in bars and other places that would benefit the city not them so the residences boycotted said businesses until they went out of business then reclaimed the lot and restarted their community gardens that grows organic healthy food but in retaliation the city shut off all water in Eastside which backfired horribility. Many people died and many fire companies had to go to Eastside and stretch their supply lines for blocks almost a couple of miles to use the hydrants in Downtown or Uptown and that normal one alarm fires would¡¯ve been radioed as two or three alarms that a simple kitchen fire would just be a second alarm fire.


    ¡°What did great grandmom do in the war?¡± I asked.


    My dad replied, ¡°Secretary for the war department. Her job was to type letters of condolences to families across the United States and said letters of condolences she typed mostly just said that someone''s son or husband, brother, cousin, nephew died to rid the world from the three Axis powers. Also the answer is yes she even received some of the notifications saying that one of her brothers or cousins died in the war because sometimes the military couldn¡¯t find their mother so she was their next of kin to be notified. Or as she told me that her first day was after the Battle of Kasserine Pass in which her distant cousin who is your great granddad was in the battle. But she always told me that she had no idea how she could¡¯ve done the job to send the military to someone saying that someone seventeen to twenty-seven years old died. But the men in the family at the time fought in the war but they treated the enemy as inhumane and unfeeling but in reality on both sides of war no one isn¡¯t an unfeeling warrior - but humans. Mortal, terrified men. In the end who we call enemies are still people fighting for different ideologies and beliefs. Except for you.¡±


    ¡°Hey this job we¡¯re fighting a war that been raging since the dawn of humanity when humans since the Ancient Rome where Roman Emperor Nero formed a group of slaves, Vigiles, in AD 60 to combat fires using bucket brigades and pumps, as well as poles, hooks and even ballistae to tear down buildings in advance of the flames. The Corps Vigiles patrolled the streets of Rome to watch for fires and served as a police force. The later brigades consisted of hundreds of volunteers, all ready for action. When there was a fire, the men would line up to the nearest water source and pass buckets hand in hand to the fire. Rome suffered a number of serious fires, most notably the fire on 19 July AD 64 which eventually destroyed two thirds of Rome.


    "Later In Europe, firefighting was quite rudimentary until the 17th century. In 1254, a royal decree of King Saint Louis of France created the so-called guet bourgeois ¡®burgess watch,¡¯ allowing the residents of Paris to establish their own night watches, separate from the king''s night watches, to prevent and stop crimes and fires. After the Hundred Years'' War, the population of Paris expanded again, and the city, much larger than any other city in Europe at the time, was the scene of several great fires in the 16th century. As a consequence, King Charles IX disbanded the residents'' night watches and left the king''s watches as the only one responsible for checking crimes and fires,¡± I said, giving my dad a history check.


    My dad was about to say something but didn¡¯t say anything. But when he did say something he talked about how he visited a museum the other day. But he said that he mumbled that he overheard someone say that they couldn¡¯t believe that they keep live weapons in a public place but my dad said that he mumbled that museums have weapons but they take the precaution to make them being unable to fire because they disarm them beforehand.


    ¡°Now Goddammit,¡± I said, ¡°I asked for this yesterday and here it is today. A day late and a dollar short.¡±


    My dad was about to say something until I told him that I insulted Carter¡¯s intelligence about how I could read a book but he took it and looked at it by holding it sideways and asked how someone could read a book with nothing but text with no illustrations. I told my dad that it was a criminal fiction book that I paid three bucks for to keep from Arcane University because it¡¯s one of those books that¡¯s so fascinating that someone could read it a million times and still be fascinated about it.


    I  told him that while Arcane University looks great on the outside but on the inside it is the total opposite. The Campus Police have a policy of ¡°Don¡¯t tell, don''t report¡± meaning certain crimes go unnoticed because of a lot of the sororities and fraternities. Their former members are alumni so that¡¯s why I said that even when the school said I had to live on campus for one year but that didn¡¯t stop me from living off campus in my great-great-granduncle Jimmy ¡°James¡± Richard Waterson the 1st Villa and never went to the dormitory I was assigned to live in because the moment I got there I¡¯ve done my research before deciding to move into my great-great-great uncle''s villa that he got as a summer home back in 1951 for his wife and kids.


    After that I then took my dad on a tour of the city while pointing out monuments, and landmarks. I even told him about how the people are raised and taught to respect other people¡¯s opinions and not always be one sided because each of us is entitled to our opinions like how Claire and I have different opinions on things but instead of arguing about it they rather not talk about what opinions they have because to them that avoids conflict because there¡¯s been time. We almost argued over our opinions but we rather just calmed the air and just put it behind us and not talk about our opinions on things if it¡¯s just going to cause chaos.

 Chapter Seven: New Company

    January 1st, 2010


    The streets hummed with the aftermath of the party. New Year¡¯s Day had dawned, and the city was still shaking off its champagne-induced daze. As I steered my car toward the fire station, I couldn¡¯t help but notice the bars, taverns, and restaurants packed with patrons. Their laughter and clinking glasses echoed through the frosty air, a testament to the night¡¯s excesses.


    My new workplace stood in stark contrast to the rowdy scenes outside. Forget grandiose structures¡ªthis was a modest, unassuming brick building. A single story, it nestled inconspicuously among its taller neighbors. The apparatus bay housed the fire trucks, their red exteriors gleaming under the fluorescent lights. Lockers lined one wall, each bearing the weight of seasoned firefighters¡¯ gear.


    Adjacent to the bay, two side rooms held secrets of their own. The first, a narrow space, served as our sleeping quarters. Rows of bunk beds stood like silent sentinels, their occupants catching precious rest between emergencies. The second room, tucked away discreetly, was our makeshift kitchen. Here, camaraderie brewed alongside coffee, and late-night meals were shared over stories.


    But this place had a history¡ªa past that clung to its walls like smoke residue. Once, it had been a grungy mechanic¡¯s shop, grease-stained floors and all. The two side rooms? Mere offices back then, housing paperwork, and mundane tasks. Now, they bore witness to our lives¡ªtheir transformation a testament to adaptability.


    As I stepped into the station, my academy instructor¡¯s voice echoed in my mind, ¡°If you¡¯re not thinking about the consequences; you¡¯re not paying attention to the situation.¡± His words had been etched into our brains during training. Here in Eastside, they took on a new gravity. Firefighters swapped tales of danger¡ªthe kind that didn¡¯t make headlines. Homemade security systems rigged with gasoline-filled balloons and tripwires¡ªingenious yet lethal.


    Then there were the apartments¡ªthe shiny new ones rising like steel-and-glass sentinels. But my instructor had warned us: steel could warp, melt, twist, and lose its strength. These buildings, he said, would be semi-combustible¡ªa paradoxical blend of safety and vulnerability.


    But there was more to this place than architecture and fire drills. Claire, my girlfriend, had whispered about the Fire Department City of Empire¡¯s unwritten code. Complaints¡ªwhether legitimate or false¡ªrippled through our ranks. We were a brotherhood, a sisterhood, bound by duty and loyalty. Snitches? They were met with suspicion, like Aesop¡¯s fabled boy who cried wolf. Trust was fragile, and secrets held the power to ignite more than just flames.


    When the Company Captain posed the question, ¡°Why do you want to be a firefighter?¡± I found myself reflecting on the selfless nature of the job. It¡¯s about a group of individuals who band together to protect and serve people they¡¯ve never met. This sense of duty was what drew me to the fire service, and it was also how I met Lusty. The closure of Squad Co 141 by the city led to a fire at the Riverview Rec Center, where Lusty and I crossed paths for the first time. The irony wasn¡¯t lost on me when city hall claimed they weren¡¯t ordered to respond because their company was shut down, while the community argued that the Rec Center would have stood if their Rescue Engine hadn¡¯t been disbanded.


    At the table, conversations often turned to the weather, particularly tornadoes. In Little Bird, tornadoes are a common occurrence, forming mostly from late winter to early summer. It¡¯s said that tornadoes can happen anywhere on Earth, except for Antarctica. Despite this knowledge, I confessed to my colleagues that tornadoes instilled in me a mix of fear and respect. Having lived through numerous tornado outbreaks, including the ones on November 21¨C23, 1992, Palm Sunday in 1994, the Thanksgiving Weekend outbreak in 1994, the extensive sequence from May 5 27, 1995, the Selma, Alabama tornado on March 6, 1996, the outbreak of January 23-24, 1997, the April 6¨C9, 1998 outbreak, the December 16th, 2000 outbreak, and the November 14, 2006 outbreak, I¡¯ve witnessed firsthand the devastating power of Mother Nature.


    The conversation at the station turned to the tornado of July 5th, 1996¡ªa day etched in the collective memory of Empire. The guys were debunking the old myths: opening windows to lessen tornado damage, the supposed safety of fleeing in a vehicle, and the urban legend that large cities are immune to tornado strikes. I chimed in, dispelling these misconceptions with the truth¡ªthey''re just myths, nothing more. We all knew the reality; tornadoes in Empire were infrequent and intermittent, but not impossible.


    Before I could voice my thoughts further, a seasoned member interjected with a tale from his rookie days in ''76. His first call? A scene straight out of a movie¡ªa first-generation fighter jet had crashed into an ice cream parlor. By some miracle, the timing was such that the parlor had just emptied, the children from a birthday party having left merely half an hour prior. The jet had torn through the spot where families would have enjoyed their desserts. Thankfully, the staff was unharmed, having been on the opposite side of the building.


    Before I could say something he just said that it was one of those kinds of aircraft where the nose cannot be raised too quickly or it¡¯ll cause the engine to stall and that what caused it to crash was that the pilot raised the nose too quickly and it caused the engine to stall and that¡¯s what the Little Bird Aviation Committee came to the same conclusion of the engine stalling.


    They talked about how commonly in Little Bird the months vary between January and February there¡¯s a total of 83 tornados, from March to April it¡¯s 269 tornadoes, May has the highest usually 270, June it¡¯s 200, July and August it¡¯s around 180, September to October it¡¯s 112, and November and December it¡¯s 93 but a few times it varies of it either being more or less. But I said that I¡¯m from the region of the United States called Dixie Alley which is next to Tornado Alley in which in Dixie Alley it¡¯s Arkansas, Louisiana, Mississippi, Georgia, Tennessee and Alabama.


    They talked about how once on Little Bird the word Tornado was outdated for a while. The term ¡°Hellcats¡± was once synonymous with the fury of tornadoes, a name that perhaps drew inspiration from the formidable American F6F Hellcat fighter aircraft. The moniker captured the raw power and unpredictability of these natural phenomena that swept through our town between 1943 and 1960.


    As conversations often do, ours meandered to the subject of leisure and personal lives. I shared my fondness for spending time with my dad, my girlfriend, and the simple pleasure of shooting guns. Each of us had our own ways to unwind, our unique escapes from the demands of our profession.


    My father¡¯s story, however, was tinged with the somber hues of the 2007-08 financial crisis. It was a time that tested him, costing him his jobs and leaving him with few options but to seek refuge in the company of me. He owned a house, a structure he had managed to pay off just before the economic storm hit. Yet, it was more than bricks and mortar; it was a vessel of memories, some cherished, others painful. The house stood as a reminder of a marriage devoid of affection, a union that, despite its coldness, gave him the greatest gift¡ªme.


    Growing up, I was thrust into maturity far sooner than my peers. While they lived carefree and youthful, I navigated a world where my father worked tirelessly, and my mother¡¯s presence was more of an absence. My childhood was a sacrifice, a price paid for the realities of life. Yet, it shaped me, and molded me into someone capable of facing life head-on, even as a teenager.


    Our family history is rich with tales of dual citizenship, a legacy carried forward by my great-granduncles Clark and Bobby. They bore the ambition to serve in the military, to fight in Vietnam, but fate had other plans. Labeled as 4F, they were deemed unfit for service due to Bobby¡¯s shaky hands and Clark¡¯s hypertropia. Now, after forty-four years, I carry the torch of dual citizenship, labeled as 4C¡ªan alien or dual national. It¡¯s a stark contrast to the rest of my family, who have always been deemed 1A, ready and able for unrestricted military service.


    ¡°Has the Marine Naval Air Station ever been hit by Mother Nature before?¡± I asked.


    That was somewhat of a topic that almost everyone knew where the first time it was back in the 1730s when it was destroyed by a lava flow then the volcano had been dormant for the past almost three hundred years and still is dormant. Then later in 1942 a bolt of lightning struck the ammo dump with another bolt of lightning striking a fuel silo where the fuel silos contained the fuel for the Little Bird Marine Corps, Third Marine Division Marine Air Corps for their then fighter-bombers and again in 1952 during the Korean War that a Tornado struck the Marine-Naval Air Base completely flattening it but it happened at night the only people there were the Marine¡¯s MP guarding the base while the Marines and Navy were over in Korea during the Korean war. The Air part was built in 1919 but wasn¡¯t expanded until 1941 because those heavy long-range bombers didn¡¯t have the runway range for take-off and would keep crashing through the chain link fence so they expanded the runway for the bombers.


    When they talked about why they had different reasons for joining the department I told them that a combat soldier should always be ready to drop everything and fight, and just because it''s raining doesn''t mean a soldier should get complacent and assume everything is postponed. War isn''t like a baseball game that gets called off due to weather. That¡¯s how I see the department about us being soldiers that have to drop everything when the call comes in, then we have to go out in any kind of weather and just can¡¯t say no if it¡¯s raining or not.


    The company then went on to talk about their favorite holiday which mine is Christmas. But I have some family members who don¡¯t like Holidays. My great-granduncle Stanley, a stoic veteran of the 101st Airborne, bears the weight of memories from ''42 to ''45, particularly those haunting days in Bastogne during the Battle of the Bulge. The echoes of that time cast a long shadow over his holiday season, darkening the days from the 16th to the 27th. Charlie, too, who served with the 82nd Airborne, shares a similar aversion, the toll of war leaving a bitter taste where sweetness once resided. Despite this, the Waterson family never let their personal battles overshadow the gatherings. My father, who missed the merriment of Christmas during Operation Just Cause and the Gulf War, found the strength to celebrate for the sake of me.


    In the quiet of the kitchen, as the aroma of sizzling sausages and bacon filled the air, I stood with my phone in hand, delving into the annals of history. The crackling of the pan was a comforting soundtrack to tales of yesteryear, but as I stepped away to rejoin my companions, a question lingered on my lips, one that would cast a shadow over the room.


    ¡°What was the deadliest tornado in Little Bird¡¯s history?¡± I asked, my curiosity piquing their interest. Their gazes met mine, wide-eyed and somber, as if I had conjured spirits from the past. The silence spoke volumes; it was a dark day, both literally and metaphorically, etched into the collective memory of our town.


    The tale began with a journey, a stretch of 520 miles from Empire to Clearlake, with Pine Valley nestled 487 miles from Clearlake or a daunting 1007 miles from Empire. It was on Black Friday, October 18th, 1929, a date overshadowed by the infamous Stock Market Crash that would follow just six days later. On that fateful day, a massive thunderstorm brewed, unleashing a tornado that emerged from the outskirts of Pine Valley.


    The small town, a quaint rural haven with a few hundred souls, a local factory, the only church downtown, a radio station, and a general store, was ravaged. The tornado showed no mercy, erasing the town from the map, and leaving nothing but memories in its wake.


    The tempest¡¯s fury then descended upon Las Adventure, sparing only half of the city, yet the Residential District of Blackjack was not so fortunate. Las Adventure, known for its districts named with gambling puns, bore the brunt of nature¡¯s gamble.


    The tornado¡¯s wrath continued, obliterating the town of Crystal, the administrative heart of the State/Borough/County/Commonwealth of Mountain. Clearlake, too, felt the storm¡¯s touch, suffering immense damage before the tornado marched on to Cozy, Moonlight Cove, Sunset Vale, and finally, the city of Empire.


    When the skies cleared, the toll was harrowing: 1,344 lives lost, a path of destruction spanning 1244 miles. Experts pondered whether it was the work of a single tornado or a series of them¡ªa mystery that lingers to this day. But one thing was certain: Black Friday was aptly named, a day of darkness amidst the storms of history.


    In my mind, I was thinking about the past men and women in my family who were squad leaders or officers in the past and present. They were and are a model leader who are calm and unflappable, care about their men, can hold their own in combat, excellent tacticians, and all-around good people even if they¡¯re considered overly straight-laced by some.


    In the heart of Little Bird, military training is known for its rigor, a crucible that forges warriors in the fires of discipline. My family, seasoned by this very system, speaks of it with a blend of respect and trepidation. They recount tales of grueling drills that pushed them to their limits, shaping them into a cohesive, formidable unit capable of surviving the harshest of wars.


    Yet, there¡¯s a line, they say, between forging strength and inflicting harm¡ªa line that, at times, was crossed. The harshness sometimes veered into excess, the strictness into cruelty, transforming what was meant to be toughening into a form of mistreatment, even bullying.


    But the ethos of the Little Bird Military is clear: War is unforgiving. It¡¯s a brutal teacher who doesn¡¯t coddle or comfort. Recruits are trained with this stark reality in mind, prepared to face adversaries who are swift, skilled in seeking cover, and sharpshooters with deadly aim. They learn to lob grenades with chilling precision, to blind fire with an efficiency that outmatches their foes, and to lay down suppressing fire that supports their comrades-in-arms.


    This is no place for the stationary soldier, the one who doesn¡¯t adapt or seek better protection. Here, in Little Bird, soldiers are molded to be dynamic, to be warriors who understand that survival means moving, adapting, and outmaneuvering an enemy who will do the same. It¡¯s a tough lesson, but one that is essential for those who must face the unforgiving theater of war.


    But that¡¯s how the Little Bird Military trains all of its soldiers but I¡¯m from the United States in the Navy.


    In the kitchen, breakfast unfolds with a comforting rhythm. The pan, once sizzling with sausage and bacon, now rests to the side, its contents still simmering under the snug lid. Another pan takes its place, and eggs crackle as they meet the heat, flipped to over-well perfection. Toast pops up, golden and crisp, made the old-fashioned way.


    As I lay the feast before my coworkers, I declare, ¡°If you wish for your sandwich to be halved, the knife is yours to wield.¡±


    As they contemplated their preferred cut, my thoughts drifted to the valor of my great-granduncles, Charlie and Stanley. They were men of the 502nd and 504th Parachute Infantry Regiments, respectively, their bravery etched into history through battles like Operation Husky, Operation Avalanche, and the Western Allied invasion of Germany. Their father, too, stood tall in the 16th Regiment, 1st Infantry Division, facing the tumult of war from Algeria-French Morocco to the Battle of Remagen.


    The Company Chauffeur¡¯s question hung in the air, heavy with the weight of war. ¡°Do you have any family who¡¯s fighting?¡± he inquired, his eyes searching mine for a glimpse into my world.


    I met his gaze, the image of my family vivid in my mind. ¡°Yes,¡± I began, my voice steady, "but they¡¯re carved from resilience. The veterans in my family have seen the face of conflict and remain unshaken by its brutality. There¡¯s a story they tell, you know¡ªabout the time they encountered enemy soldiers on the roadside. As they carried out the grim task, I heard some were struck with horror, their souls recoiling at the act. Yet, when they turned to their comrades, seeking solace or perhaps shared dismay, they were met with nothing more than indifferent shrugs, as if to say, ¡®Such is war.¡¯


    But my cousin Midnight, she¡¯s different. Amidst the chaos, she finds solace in the simple things¡ªa baseball tossed from hand to hand, the click of a flip lighter. It¡¯s her way of holding onto a piece of home, a flicker of normalcy in a world turned upside down."


    I paused, the words of Shakespeare whispering through the silence, a testament to our bond. ¡°We few, we happy few, we band of brothers; for he today that sheds his blood with me shall be my brother.¡± The quote lingered, a solemn vow of unity and courage in the face of adversity.


    After breakfast, I put the dishes into the dishwasher and went over to a photograph on the wall next the photograph was black and white. It was dated June 6, 1946, and I noticed all of the people in the photograph were women and wearing an olive drab military uniform with a beret.


    The photograph says that they¡¯re ¡°Sapphire Commandos¡± and they got that nickname because their berets are a Sapphire blue hence their nickname. But the 120 women were posing with captured German, and Italian weapons; they were just sent into combat at night to capture enemy weapons.


    I remember a history lesson with my loving girlfriend that Little Bird in the 1930s was faced with a dilemma because of the Japanese invasion of Manchuria and many veterans of the First World War. The Little Bird Military was severely understaffed due to the First World War and a lot of men left the military to readjust to civilian life but Little Bird¡¯s population had women who outnumbered the men in a ratio of two to one aka two women to one man so the government and the military had to either stay understaffed or start to accept women.


    They started to do the latte,g that in 1936 the Little Bird Army did a series of trials to compare battle hardened soldiers against women whom the Army was disappointed that their sharpshooters and snipers who were the best shots at the Company level were beaten by a 19-2424-year-old boy women who grew up on farms hunting for food like wild turkeys, deers, and bears for meat. So in the same year as the readvised 1910 Little Bird Integration Act the 1937 readvised version allowed women to join combative units and did not restrict them to administrative, medical, communications, and horseback messengers. But in 1937 it allowed women to join combative units like tank crews, snipers, sharpshooters, machine gun crews, artillery crews, mortar crews, Anti-tank gunners, Anti-Air Gunners, Mechanics, Military Police, Logistical Officers, and as Intelligence Specialists.


    However, the Little Bird Marine Corps were still hesitant to allow women into Combatant roles but kept them in Administrative, Communications, and Medical roles until 1941 when they allowed women to join their ranks. The 21st Airborne Division had two nicknames which were ¡°Sapphire Commandos¡± because of their berets were Sapphire blue but their other nickname was ¡°All Female Division¡± because 89% of the volunteers were females ranging from 18-to 23 females from the countryside some have gone on record saying that one reason they volunteered was that the Average Little Birden soldier was paid $50 a month, the Marines were paid $75 a month while the newly formed Airborne would be paid $100 a month.


    But as I continued to stare at the photograph. I remember what my cousin Midnight said about how back in the 1930s the Little Bird Army¡¯s officers were putting it lightly that they were incompetent unlike the Rangers, Airborne and Marines who had a Centralized Fire Control, Forward Observers, Tactical Control, trained in Branch Inter-operations that increased coordination between different branches of the military to work better in combined arms operations, Central Planning that allows Officers to contribute to the planning of a given operation, and have Effective staff officers ensure the flow of Command, Control, Communications & Intelligence between a commanding officer and the units they control.


    The Army had to adapt the Rangers, Marines, Airborne, and Air Forces officer''s way. Not adding that every company in the Rangers, Marines, and Airborne was organized the same of having Three Rifle platoons (3 Lieutenants, 9 Sergeants, 78 Semiautomatic Riflemen), 1 LMG Squad (1 Machine gunner, 2 Semiautomatic Riflemen), 2 Assault Teams (2 Sergeants, 18 Automatic Riflemen and Submachine Gunners), 1 Sniper, 3 Radiotelephone Operators.


    The shrill ring of the fire bell sliced through the casual hum of the bar, a stark reminder of duty amidst the clatter of billiard balls and the murmur of patrons. We sprang into action, our boots thudding against the worn floor as we navigated through the crowd. The scene at the bar was all too familiar¡ªa patron nursing a head wound, the result of an unfortunate encounter with the unforgiving edge of the counter.


    With practiced hands, we cleaned the cut with peroxide, the fizzing bubbles a small spectacle for the onlookers who tore their gaze away from the televised sports. A gauze pad was neatly taped, and our job was done. The man insisted on staying, his pride perhaps more bruised than his head, refusing to go to the hospital.


    As the crowd returned to their distractions, I couldn¡¯t help but reminisce about my academy days. This very bar had been a refuge of sorts, a place where I could unwind with a game of pool, a cold drink, and the comforting greasiness of mozzarella sticks. It was a bargain at a buck fifty a game, a small price for a slice of normalcy in life often punctuated by alarms and urgency.


    The bartender, a guardian in his own right, would sometimes call my girlfriend to escort me home. He knew the city¡¯s darker corners all too well and understood that after the buses halted their routes at half-past eight, the streets became a stage for the less savory characters. It was a gesture of camaraderie, a silent acknowledgment that even those who rush into danger need a guiding hand now and then.


    For some reason, I remember I was with Madeleine ¡°Dynamite¡± Harmony, a female firefighter on Squad Co 141 with my girlfriend Lieutenant Claire ¡°Lusty¡± Johnson. Dynamite told me that when she was in the Marines for the Little Bird 1st Marine Division Christmas Dinner was the total opposite of a normal Christmas dinner in which the 1st Marine Division had 20,000 pounds of pizza and 20,000 gallons of soda and she said that the 1st Division had made every single pizza made homemade and made every single kind of pizza known to man both thick and thin slices, all types of toppings, both thick, thin and stuff crusted and so on. But on New Year''s Eve and New Year''s Day that the 1st Marine Division had Ham, Turkey, Macaroni and Cheese, homemade mashed potatoes, Roasts, and all kinds of Chicken for said days but she did say that just a Regiment of 5500 Soldiers/Marines go through 590 pounds of hash browns, 380 pounds of eggs, 100 pounds of bacon, 155 gallons of milk, 30 cases of cereal, 369 pounds of fruits and veggies, and  20,000 gallons of coffee per day just for breakfast alone


    But to me, I think Mariana "Avalanche" Azure and Madeleine "Dynamite" Harmon would make a cute couple, the former being a Marine Combat Engineer and the latter she was a Military Mountaineer.


    When we returned back to our firehouse I overheard the guys talk about how Carter over on 525 fits the stereotype that men cannot keep places clean and cannot cook. Carter fits those stereotypes to a capital T. I then told them that the males in my family are the total opposite. I said that the men who dress properly, care for their small families, don''t vote for no commie beatniks, and don''t take kindly to strangers using bad language where the kids can hear. But I first came to the city of Empire that Carter caught the Kitchen and Dining room of Squad 525 on fire with his cooking with said company prohibiting him from cooking again.


    Before they could say something about it soon the fire bell went off again for a fire at Squad Co 525 so we went.


    ***


    Squad Co 525 Firehouse


    ¡°Probably a meat fire,¡± said the Company Captain.


    I replied, ¡°Meat fire?¡±


    ¡°A kitchen fire,¡± said the Company Captain, ¡°At least it¡¯s not a Prairie fire aka a Brush fire.¡±


    It was a boilover but I turned off the stove and moved the pot outside and we used a 1 ? inch attack line to put out the fire on the ceiling while using a baking soda fire extinguisher to put out the fire on the stove.


    We then heard the 18th Battalion Chief tell 525 that he was going to go and talk to the City¡¯s Fire Commissioner and the Director of the Little Bird Fire Bureau before they called him and went on and say that it was not as interesting thing that happened in the city of Empire. The last interesting thing in the city was the 1989 Little Bird National Baseball Series which was a fight. Some people thought the Las Adventure Cannons cheated against the Empire Sharks before they changed their name to the Empire Bazookas in 1992 to commemorate the 50th year of the invention of the Bazooka.


    ____________________________________________________


    Back at the firehouse, The TV, which we usually keep on for background noise, suddenly grabbed our attention. The Anchor Woman¡¯s solemn face fills the screen, her voice cutting through the hum of the station with an urgent bulletin. ¡°We interrupt your regular programming with a critical alert from the Little Bird National Weather Service,¡± she announces. A PDS¡ªParticularly Dangerous Situation Watch¡ªhas been declared across all of Emerald Vale. Tornadoes, howling winds, severe thunderstorms, and the threat of flash floods.


    Emerald Vale, stretches from the southeast to the east of Little Bird. It¡¯s a tapestry of small towns and expansive, wild beauty. Each town is a unique jewel in this crown of nature:


    <ul>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Clearlake: Its lake mirrors the sky, a canvas of ever-changing blues.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Cozy: Where every face is a friend and every handshake, a promise.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Crystal: Its river, a liquid diamond, and the mines, Earth¡¯s buried treasure.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Moonlight Cove: Where the sea whispers secrets under a silver-glowing sky.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Sunset Vale: Its hills, an artist¡¯s palette at dusk, aflame with colors.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Wheatstone: Golden fields sway like waves in an ocean of grain.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Angel Pines: A forest sanctuary, where peace is the language of the pines.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Starlight Haven: A stargazer¡¯s dream, where the universe feels within reach.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Emerald Hollow: Enveloped in forests that breathe life into the air.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Whispering Pines: Where the wind tells tales in hushed tones.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Moonbeam Meadows: Its meadows dance with moonlight, a nocturnal ballet.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Crystal Cove: Its waters are as clear as the name suggests, a window to the deep.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Harmony Heights: A symphony of community at the base of majestic hills.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Sapphire Springs: Springs that rival the gemstone¡¯s brilliance.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Golden Grove: Where autumn whispers through leaves of gold.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Twilight Terrace: Bathed in a lingering twilight, a town caught between day and night.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Empire: The pulsing heart of commerce, culture, and the promise of tomorrow.</li>


    </ul>


    I open my mouth to speak, to share my awe of this place, but I hold back. My new colleagues, seasoned by the whims of nature¡ªEl Ni?o, La Ni?a, cyclones, monsoons, earthquakes, wildfires¡ªthey¡¯ve seen it all.


    Squad 769 just split up. They all had a job to do like shutting off public utilities like gas and power while my job was that I went over to the far back of the firehouse. I opened up two cellar doors which led down to a deep underground fallout shelter meant to hold 1500 people.


    We then closed our apparatus bay door where the Captain soon gave us booklets that said ¡°LITTLE BIRD BUREAU OF HUMAN SAFETY, LITTLE BIRD BUREAU OF FIRE, LITTLE BIRD CIVIL DEFENSE ADMINISTRATION¡± The first booklet had an F2-looking twister on it, the second booklet has a bolt of lightning and a raindrop and a drop of hail, the third booklet has flowing water, and the final one just had wind blows representing strong winds.


    Soon some people ran into the far back left of the firehouse in which those few lockers had a dark blue circle with a white triangle with a red ¡°CD¡± on them. But the people grabbed their black trenchcoats, WW2-era helmets painted all dark olive drab with the blue circle, white triangle, and red ¡°CD¡± on the center of the helmet. The Little Bird Civil Defense Administration is like the Fire Department Cities of Empire, Las Adventure, Chocolate, Fort Sunction, Fort Carson and Fort Flurry are all Combination departments meaning they have both trained professionals and volunteers. The Volunteers have their own companies but said volunteers have normal jobs that they do and when their pager singles them of an emergency then they drop what they¡¯re doing and race to their volunteer company.


    But according to my girlfriend Claire and my cousin Dave, they say that the Little Bird Civil Defense Administration has trained volunteers but said volunteers are just normal people who are trained in Nuclear, Biological, Chemical, Radiological, Nerve Agent, Man-made, and Natural Disasters but they¡¯re just normal people just bakers, candy store workers, office workers, road workers, general laborers who just drop what they¡¯re doing and go to a fire station, police station, hospital or shelter to get their belongings and go out after whatever hits passes over. But their paid workers are just administrative workers who do the paperwork and monitor things.


    The winds outside howled like ancient spirits, but beneath the earth, in our subterranean haven, there was a hush. I found solace in the calm, my heartbeat steady against the storm¡¯s crescendo. In my hands, the worn pages of a Bible whispered wisdom from ages past. As I read, my mind silently offered gratitude to the science and research that granted us these precious minutes of warning¡ªfifteen, sometimes even an hour when the conditions are just right.


    It¡¯s New Year¡¯s Day, a time of celebration, yet I know many will be oblivious to the danger, the TV and radio mere background to their festivities. My thoughts drift to my family back in the States, in the heart of Tornado Alley. The elders often reminisce, preferring the clarity of war to the capriciousness of nature. Those who served in World War II used their GI Bills to forge new paths¡ªeducation, vocational schools, or farms while they got married and started families of their own. But my great-granddad took his GI Bill money and bought land for a farm in Upstate New York and when he retired from the New York City Fire Department in 1966 he moved to the farm to get out of the city so he could have a patch of heaven to live on.


    Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    Out loud, I found myself reciting, ¡°Oh, that I had wings like a dove! I would fly away and be at rest. Behold, I would wander far away, I would lodge in the wilderness. Selah. I would hasten to my place of refuge from the stormy wind and tempest.¡±


    The Captain¡¯s voice broke through my reverie. ¡°What are you reading?¡±


    ¡°The Bible,¡± I answered. ¡°My dad took me to church every Sunday. On Wednesdays, there was a study group. None of the other kids wanted to be there, but I did. It was an escape, a respite from my mother. The longer I was away, the better I felt.¡±


    The winds grew louder and louder but after a few hours soon the winds died down after a few minutes I was the one who opened the door. The weather was calm now but my experience says that it could be moving on or breaking up. But I just told my Captain that people have been killed thinking a storm has passed only for it to come back because they think that the main threat is over but the storm is still there and never knew if it¡¯ll spawn a tornado again while the winds are still blowing hard.


    When I reentered the shelter I saw some people helping their children with Arithmetic because the Little Bird Bureau of Education has it mandatory to teach kids and teenagers basic math so they can move into adulthood with a grasp of math and get along in life so they can pay bills and count money. But to me how since I was taught Algebra I say that Math stands for ¡°Mental Abuse To Humans¡± because that is what Algebra is.


    After an hour passed I then got out of the shelter again with the storm still there but it was breaking up with the winds dying down.


    After an hour I then checked the weather was dying down and safe for people to start coming out.


    We then got dressed up and headed out and we just went to work right away. I just used a grappling hook so I swung it up to a balcony to a railing where I then climbed it to the top floor of the apartment building. According to the Fire Department City of Empire, I¡¯m a ¡°Scout¡± and on Little Bird ¡°Scouts¡± are light enough firefighters who can use grappling hooks to climb to reach places if a ladder company isn¡¯t on the scene or if a ladder company is too busy that they can¡¯t spare someone so the ¡°Scout¡± would perform Search and Rescue on the inside.


    But this building was a U-shaped brick apartment building with ten floors with each floor having twelve apartments on each floor or one hundred and twenty apartments altogether. But I saw them go down a one-way street to a parking lot for the building. The chauffeur got out with one of the members getting on the deck gun while the Captain ran around the parking lot where he went to an underground thing.


    I just went to check every apartment where I would try the door knob first while if it was unlocked it was easy. If not I would have to find a way to force it open like kicking it open. For each apartment, I would check underneath beds, in the cabinets, and in the closets and I¡¯ve done that for every apartment working my way down but a majority of the apartment building was deserted. I guessed that a majority of the people were gone and were with family elsewhere celebrating New Year''s Day. But many of the people in Eastside weren¡¯t home where they had gone either they took shelter or weren¡¯t in the city.


    Squad 769 battled the blaze outside while I scoured the apartments. They were deserted, a ghostly silence filling the spaces where life once thrived. The windows on the south and west sides were shattered, testament to the storm¡¯s fury.


    After an exhaustive search, the call came. We were to leave Empire behind and make for Moonlight Cove.


    <hr>


    Moonlight Cove, is a picturesque town where life revolves around the Central Park. Here, laughter mingled with the sounds of nature as people picnicked, fished, or simply enjoyed a leisurely walk. The town boasted a cinema, a gym, eateries, boutiques, pools, and more, all blending futuristic designs with a touch of ''50s nostalgia.


    But today, Moonlight Cove was eerily quiet. The storm had struck with little warning, and now, much of the town lay in ruins. Only a few structures stood defiantly against the chaos: some homes, the fire and police stations, a research lab, and the distant Fort Cadenza Military Depot, nestled safely in the mountains.


    Even though my cousin Lieutenant Mitchell ¡°Mitzy¡± Waterson and his wife Visala live in the town. Knowing them they were long gone because they left to go for a winter camping trip but that¡¯s the one thing about Little Bird is that the country has Spring, and Summer weather all year round.


    The roar of the Little Bird UH-80 ¡°Hawk¡± sliced through the air, heralding the arrival of a platoon from the 39th Airborne ¡°Thunderbolt¡± Regiment. Their name, a legacy of stealth and might, was born from a night in 1943 when the Third Platoon of Baker Company used the cover of thunder to mask their assault on an enemy encampment.


    Amidst the chaos, I found myself at a collapsed house, where an elderly woman lay trapped, her walker a makeshift shield against the crushing weight of debris. Carefully, I began to lift the rubble, piece by piece, freeing her from her concrete prison.


    Sergeant Mitchell, my cousin, joined me in the rescue. As we worked, he mused on the irony of Mother Nature¡¯s wrath, likening it to a breach of the Geneva Convention¡¯s protection of medical facilities. His words, though spoken in jest, underscored the indiscriminate fury of the storm that had torn through the town, sparing no one, not even the places of healing.


    ¡°So what was the war like?¡± I asked.


    Mitchell replied, ¡°If it wasn¡¯t for the winterized combat armor then we would¡¯ve frozen our butts off. But when the Reds were here on Little Bird I think our War Department and all of the higher-ups drew inspiration of what not to do so they wouldn¡¯t follow in the same mistakes as Nepolian and the Third Reich led by The F¨¹hrer. But in September of 05 was when the Combat Armor appeared and in October the first week was when the Winter Combat Armor appeared. It kept the warmth inside which kept the wearer warm throughout the Soviet Winter. We somehow kept the Engines warmed in our vehicles so the cold weather couldn¡¯t freeze the oil or the Gas-Diesel-Electric engines. But here¡¯s an Interesting battle I was in back in January of 2006.¡±


    _______________________________________________________________


    January 1st, 2006 (Sgt Mitchell Waterson POV)


    In a barn, I walked up to a table with a map on it with Lieutenant Luna next to me. The Company Commander told us that four Soviet long-range artillery had been causing problems and could not call down an air strike due to the amount of SAM sites in the area preventing the Little Bird Air Force and the Little Bird Army Air Forces from just using their rockets or Air to Ground missiles to destroy them.


    The Battalion Commander said they needed to take out the guns so the 39/5 aka the 39th Airborne 5th Airborne Artillery Company. For some reason the Little Bird Military each Division and Regiment has an Artillery Company but each Division their artillery company is labeled with the Division or Regiment number and a number but there¡¯s no 6th or 13th.


    Lieutenant Luna, said that her Platoon would get it done either way. So they just set out on foot but my job as a mix of a TACOM (Tactical Command), Forward Observer, and Forward Air Controller my job was a mix of keeping the radio protected to keep in contact with the Company Level, and be an observer for both the Artillery and Aircraft.


    I switched my X16 from Safety to Semiautomatic while everyone else in the platoon had it set to full automatic even though a majority of Third Platoon fire in three-four round bursts but we just kept walking before getting close.


    When we got close Lieutenant Luna ordered the platoon to break up into their individual squads of course each squad is different with First Squad having a Heavy Machine Gun team of four Paratroopers and an Anti-Armor team of four Paratroopers with an Anti-Armor launcher. But Third Squad aka the Squad I¡¯m in we¡¯re a Base of Fire team which means our job is just to fix the enemy with suppressive fire so Second Squad aka the Assault Squad which is armed with Submachine Guns, Shotguns, and Assault Carbines they flank the suppressed enemy and kill them.


    We were able to secure the first gun very rapidly and destroyed it where I heard Lieutenant Luna order Squad 2 to go for the second artillery gun while the First Squad and the Third Squad which I¡¯m to lay down enough suppressive fire for them.


    Soon a squad of Army Rangers showed up. It was my cousin Lieutenant-Colonel Midnight who said, ¡°Thought y¡¯all might need some additional ammo?¡±


    First Squad the two Machine Gunner assistants grabbed the box ammo for the machine gun and grabbed a few magazines of ammo for their assault rifles.


    ¡°Mind if my company takes the next gun?¡± asked Lt-Col Midnight.


    Luna replied, ¡°Go for it. Third Squad give the Rangers some suppressive fire!¡±


    Soon Midnight said, ¡°Let¡¯s go Rangers!¡± before jumping over the legs for the artillery gun with another Army Ranger saying ¡°Let¡¯s get into the fight Rangers!¡±


    The Rangers ran through the trench to the third artillery gun where I somewhat saw my cousin throw in a stick of TNT with a lit fuse and it blew up. So we just concentrated fire on the final artillery gun but I just put a 40mm high explosive grenade into my underbarrel grenade launcher and fired the grenade which dislodged several enemy soldiers but the final gun was destroyed as well.


    For me whenever I had to reload my X16 rifle I would just fire the 29 out of 30 rounds but I taped my magazines together by having them taped. The mags come in pairs with one taped or fixed to another. But it allows for faster reloads and carries double the ammo than the standard soldier.


    ______________________________________________________________________


    (Mackenzie ¡®Macaroni¡¯ Waterson POV), January 1st, 2010


    We saved the elderly woman but just went to another destroyed house to help. Some of the houses were emptied and many people were either over at friends'' or relatives'' houses or just not home. But my company just went to fight a few fires as well.


    ¡°So what do you do Mitchell?¡± I asked.


    Mitchell replied, ¡°Also a cop well a rookie cop. But also married my childhood sweetheart and while I know that you didn¡¯t come to our wedding due to you being in the Navy but you were there in spirit even though you¡¯re alive, not dead.¡±


    My cousin and I found ourselves amidst the chaos, extending a helping hand to those caught in the storm¡¯s merciless path. As we moved through the wreckage, my cousin, with a steadiness born from a childhood by loss, affixed triage tags to the injured. His voice was firm as he explained the grim code of colors: green for the lightly wounded, yellow for those in pain, red for the critically injured, and black for the people beyond our help or those tragically lost.


    To some, his candor may have seemed harsh, but life had stripped him of the luxury of sugarcoating truths. Orphaned on his sixth birthday, he and his siblings were thrust into the care of Aunt and Uncle Orange, whose cold authoritarianism left little room for warmth. They imposed a harsh ¡®sink or swim¡¯ philosophy, expecting him to navigate life¡¯s turbulent waters alone, while his sisters were subjected to a dismissive yet equally strict upbringing.


    Despite the odds, he emerged with a resilience that saw him master crafts not meant for a child¡¯s hands. By junior high, he was adept in leatherwork, metalwork, and woodworking, skills that predated any formal education in shop class. By ninth grade, he was already versed in the intricacies of bike and car mechanics.


    In Little Bird, where the Department of Education still champions vocational training, he stands as a living example of their success. The statistics speak: eight in ten pursue careers in the trades, while a mere fraction advance to college.


    But now I¡¯m thinking about why his sister Twilight was named after a TV show that was an American fantasy science fiction horror anthology television series and ran from 1959 to 1964 said show asked about unintended consequences and the loss of control that people were willing to accept in the name of progress.


    But Mitchell my cousin is a product of said TV show as well because while he¡¯s not a Luddite he likes technology like TV and radio. But he finds himself more often in books, carpentry, and sports like baseball where to him people don¡¯t have conversations but watch talk shows, they don¡¯t play games but watch game shows, people don¡¯t play sports they watch sports shows where many people on Little Bird of those in the middle class are drawn time and time again to television and radios to escape reality.


    But my cousin Mitchell likes to say "Even if you are a good and decent man, you can still have horrible things continually happen to you and end up with no hope at all" he has some friends who are the most wonderful of people. He has one friend named Samual Hartstock or Sam for short he¡¯s the friendliest person in the town but that didn¡¯t stop his parents from divorcing because his mother just got tired around him and his dad. But that didn¡¯t stop Sam from running off and joining the Marines. Sam always worked in his dad¡¯s restaurant but Sam found his peace with a loving special someone. But that¡¯s according to Mitchell.


    In the heart of Moonlight Cove, amidst the tornado''s aftermath, my cousin and I navigated the debris-strewn streets with a singular focus: to rescue those we could. As we worked, the idyllic image of Moonlight Cove lingered in my thoughts¡ªa town seemingly plucked from the pages of a storybook, where neighbors greeted each other by name, and children¡¯s laughter echoed freely without the watchful eyes of parents.


    It was a place where life revolved around the verdant park at the town¡¯s center, a hub of activity for jobs and jubilation alike. The houses, spaced with neighborly precision, stood as silent sentinels around this communal heart. Here, every holiday brought the community together, be it Christmas, Halloween, or Valentine¡¯s Day, each celebration a vibrant testament to the town¡¯s spirit.


    Moonlight Cove, with its singular educational institution bearing the town¡¯s name, embodied the quintessence of small-town charm. Its main street, lined with family-owned shops and the town square, was the stage for simple daily pleasures. The scent of hot dogs, hamburgers, and apple pie wafted through the air, as the townsfolk, united in their love for these classic comforts, navigated the streets in their trusty four-door sedans.


    Yet, beneath this picturesque veneer, the reality of nature¡¯s fury had imposed a stark contrast. But even as we faced the harrowing task at hand, the essence of Moonlight Cove¡ªa place of enduring community and shared values.


    Empire, once a quaint shopping town teeming with sailors and the whispers of smugglers, has undergone a metamorphosis. The Aurora Strand, its solitary beach, lies against a modest stretch of the Pacific, a silent witness to the city¡¯s transformation. As the film industry¡¯s bright lights and the hum of factories took root, Empire¡¯s skyline reached for the stars, morphing into a forest of high-rises.


    The city¡¯s pulse now beats to the rhythm of nightlife; its veins are the bars, clubs, lounges, and penthouses that glow with the promise of escape. Yet, beneath the allure lies a relentless cycle: the grind of day jobs followed by nocturnal revelries, a pattern of sleepless nights and fleeting rest, repeated ad infinitum. Empire, a tapestry of ambition and indulgence, continues to dance long after the sun has set.


    Moonlight Cove, with its quaint curfews of 9:00 PM for children and 10:00 PM for teenagers, paints a picture of a community that values safety and tradition. The town''s police gently enforce these rules, ensuring that the young are either safely home or under the watchful eye of a guardian after dark.


    The town''s charm is further enriched by its residents'' penchant for cultivating their own gardens, where herbs like peppermint, licorice, ginseng, chamomile, and lavender flourish. These fragrant plots are more than just a source of seasoning; they''re a symbol of the town''s connection to the earth and to each other.


    Mitchell''s perspective on Little Bird starkly contrasts the bustling cities. He speaks of a place where integrity and camaraderie are the fabric of society, a stark departure from the cutthroat dynamics he perceives in urban environments. In Little Bird, success is often a communal effort, celebrated and shared, rather than a solitary climb marked by betrayal.


    The recent end of a prolonged conflict with the USSR has left its mark on Little Bird, fostering a collective mindset reminiscent of the anti-communist sentiments that once permeated American politics.


    The homes we encountered in our relief efforts were a testament to post-war ingenuity and the American dream. Designed for the modern family, these 1,140-square-foot dwellings were built to stand the test of time with minimal upkeep. Each house boasted separate living and dining areas, a master bedroom with a built-in vanity, and a bathroom echoing the same practical elegance. The living room¡¯s bay window invited the outside in, while some homes featured a convenient China pass-through from kitchen to dining room and windows in tripartite design. The floors varied, some laid with hardwood, others with ceramic, checkered, or porcelain tiles, each reflecting the homeowner¡¯s personal taste.


    Mitchell shared that these houses were constructed for the heroes returning from the Second World War¡ªG.I.s, Rangers, Marines, Sailors, and Pilots¡ªwho sought refuge from city life in the burgeoning suburbs. They were drawn to towns like Moonlight Cove, Sunset Vale, and Clearlake, where the Little Bird Armed Forces Compensation Act, akin to the 1944 G.I. Bill, provided them with the means to start anew. Here, they could live quietly among those who valued privacy and the unspoken respect for one¡¯s past.


    Mitchell himself resides in Clearlake with his wife Cadence, in a two-story farmhouse nestled among an orchard that yields citrus, bananas, and apples. Despite the self-sufficiency of their homestead, Cadence, like the women of the Waterson lineage, enjoys the freedom to shop and engage with the community, embodying her husband¡¯s family¡¯s belief in equality and partnership, regardless of societal norms or religious doctrines. In the Waterson family, relationships are built on mutual respect and autonomy.


    Mitchell¡¯s response was simple and heartfelt. ¡°Cadence? She¡¯s the heart of our home,¡± he said with a gentle smile. ¡°She tends to our farm and keeps our house a home. Her mind may not be measured by conventional standards, but her spirit is immeasurable. She finds joy in the rhythm of daily tasks, the kind that keeps her engaged without overwhelming her. And yes, she loves to shop¡ªit¡¯s her way of connecting with the world beyond our fields. Some might label her a ¡®housewife,¡¯ but to Cadence, titles don¡¯t define her contentment. She chose this life, and I respect her for it. We¡¯re partners in every sense, and her happiness is my own.¡±


    To me, it¡¯s a different story. Mitchell and Cadence love each other and in the past, there was a Waterson whom she was married to a guy who was the love of her life until he showed his true colors. Once her brother saw her have a black eye and to make a long story short well the police found her husband¡¯s body fifteen years later submerged in a car trunk with his bones broken so many times that there was hardly any bone left.


    But to me, some of my friends parents always taught me to turn the other cheek but my dad taught me that the world doesn¡¯t work like that and how we treat each other. Compassion is a sign of weakness, but greed is a virtue. The poor are considered morally corrupt, while every excess of the powerful is celebrated. We sent kids off to die, for what? So someone can make a few bucks? My dad was right. He was always right. There ain''t never gonna be another Dr. King or Bobby Kennedy but there¡¯s always going to be someone that the history books will write as evil like Stalin. We are a cruel and wicked people


    It¡¯s somewhat like what my great-granduncle Charlie said about the war in Vietnam he said that US draftees are sent to fight a hopeless conflict in Vietnam and that if Vietnam falls to the communists, no one will care while the soldiers return home only to suffer from PTSD or watch their life change for the worse and the people they are fighting are impoverished farmers and most don''t even have shoes. Charlie fought in the Second World War and the Korean War.


    Pops always had a way with words, a sort of fire-and-brimstone charm. "The Lord will keep His own, but all the Wicked He will destroy," he''d say with a thunderous voice that could shake the heavens. I reckon he''s talking about the divine sorting hat, where the good folks get a pass and the baddies get the boot.


    But us Watersons we all have nicknames to help standout especially when there¡¯s multiple with the same first name so nicknames kinda help standout with some are based on occupation, some are based on embarrassment or something random. Like how there¡¯s me and thirteen other Mackenzie¡¯s where there¡¯s Mackenzie "Sturmgewehr" Waterson. She''s a spitfire, that one, clutching her Assault Rifle 1944 like it''s her firstborn. It''s a relic, sure, but in her hands, it''s poetry in motion. The Little Birden''s answer to the German StG44, and boy, does she make it sing.


    But that''s the Waterson way ¨C we''re a motley crew, each with a moniker more colorful than the last. There''s me, Macaroni, and a baker''s dozen of kin, all with names that tell a tale. Like "Pastry," with a sweet tooth that could outlast a nuclear winter, or "Ruby," who''s got a ring that means business and ain''t keen on chitchat.


    Then there''s "Sausage," who''s never met a link she didn''t like, and "Cola," the soda-swigging champ of the clan. "Blackjack" is a gambler at heart, while "Rampage" is a walking, talking force of nature and the living embodiment of hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.


    Don''t get me started on "Reaper," who''s as deadly as they come, or "Lightningfeet," the fleetest runner this side of the world. "BFG" is our heavy hitter, with an autocannon that''s as precise as it is terrifying. And "Hellbringer"? She''s got a way with fire that''ll clear out any thicket or threat.


    Lastly, there''s "Bread," she¡¯s always turning flour, yeast, water, and other ingredients into bread every morning and evening, with rolls so divine they''d make the angels weep, especially when slathered with her fresh strawberry jam.


    Almost forgot about Nighthawk she got her nickname because she used to be Nocturnal in her youth so Night and she¡¯s a pilot for the Little Bird Army so there¡¯s Hawk but she got the nickname and callsign of Nighthawk. But she got Hawk because she will fly her helicopter into dangerous areas that would be too dangerous to fly a military helicopter to either bring reinforcements or supplies to allied forces behind enemy lines or to go and bring said soldiers behind enemy lines back to the frontlines or back to base. While not popular with higher ups she¡¯s popular with the average soldier/marine though because no matter what the odds even stacked against her one million to one she¡¯s still going to come in even if it¡¯s a suicide run. But like many military officers in the Little Bird Military, Nighthawk is called a ¡°FILO¡± or First in Last Out


    Mitchell and I just went house to house checking for survivors. Some of the remaining houses that survived we didn¡¯t know if they were safe or not to enter but we took caution as we entered to make sure if they were structurally sound or not. We made sure we treaded where we were walking but a majority of the houses still standing the people weren¡¯t there. I said that they could¡¯ve been out running errands when the tornado hit but Mitchell said something but when I opened my mouth he finished his sentence that a majority of people could¡¯ve been over at friends houses or out of town visiting distant family or distant friends who live in other towns or cities.


    I know he wanted to say what was on his mind but I guess he wants to be positive rather than be negative or pessimistic. But when I was at the academy I was told that I would see a lot of things that not everybody gets to see but I was also told that I would need to have a poor imagination because if I could start to imagine all the things I could see then I couldn¡¯t be able to do this job so I usually try not to imagine all of the things that I would see on the job well the academy instructor said ¡°Firefighters need to have poor imaginations but fast reactions¡± and I somewhat agree because if you can just imagine every negative thing that can or would happen then you¡¯re not going to be able to do the job.  But according to my cousin Dave that he laid off a few members of his company due to the ones that he fired they started to think about what could happen and couldn¡¯t focus on the job because they were thinking about what could happen that they couldn¡¯t focus on the job. Of course, he and his wife been firefighters for fifteen years and never know what they¡¯re going into because according to Linda she says ¡°Once you start to get confident in doing your job then you¡¯re throw a curveball¡± or Dave says ¡°You can have the most experienced guys on the scene but there are situations that are outside of their control¡±


    But we just searched for those whom we thought we could find even though we know that we wouldn¡¯t find some people alive but it¡¯s something I know from experience from dealing with tornados back in Alabama.


    But according to Mitchell a lot of towns are the same but each have a setting of the 40s, 50s or 60s but that¡¯s Little Bird in a nutshell because of the fashion, music, prices, and cars are from the 1940s, 50s and 60s but everyone lives equally without segregation but that¡¯s because it was a demand from the Natives in the Government at the time who had to say that everyone is created equal and can¡¯t shame or separate others based on race, gender, or religious views because the Natives knew that when they decided to unite into a single country than just being five warning tribes against each other well four warning tribes because they left the Blueberry Tribe alone because of them being able to grow plenty of food to feed their people ten times over in a single harvest.


    My cousin and I just went and made sure to double check where he would use a marker he has and write on the door or I would use a piece of cloth to tie it around the porch or mailbox to signal that the house had already been checked and to move on to the next.


    ¡°In this entire family the only one I would be afraid to fight is Midnight,¡± I said.


    Mitchell replied, ¡°You don¡¯t become a Ranger by playing patty cake. The LBAR don¡¯t accept draftees nor greenhorn recruits. Midnight survived the 1990-92 Korean War by going above and beyond and when the war ended she took the Indroductionary Ranger training of fourteen weeks of hell or as she puts it ¡®You only get twenty-eight hours of sleep per week¡¯ and while the Indroductionary training was a nightmare she said that it was hard but the other 14 weeks of training after the introductory training was a lot rougher than that. Well, the answer is no and no they don¡¯t use teenagers shooting blanks where they have Rangers fire live rounds above you not adding having hot bullet casing fall on you. But when you¡¯re the second oldest special forces whos job is to clear out objectives before the main army arrives you have to be better than the best of the best. While us Paras, the Marines, and Special Forces Group including the Marine Commandos and Silent Serpents/Golden Talons/Operations Department Specialized Troopers are considered Special Forces but the Rangers are trained to be more elite than us.¡±


    ¡°Well yeah, I mean¡­¡± I said, ¡°No wait, that was the US Army Rangers for D-Day, not the Little Bird Army Rangers. But hey there¡¯s only been one other Waterson who was a Ranger and that was Terrence Charlie Waterson Jr who landed on the Dog Green Sector of Omaha while his father landed at the Fox Green sector of the same beach. But the only thing I¡¯m confused about is that if my great granddad was a Squad leader in the 1st Infantry Division why did he have a B.A.R that you have while his second eldest son or first legit son who was also a Squad leader had an M1A1 Thompson? That¡¯s what I¡¯m trying to wrap my head around.¡±


    Mitchell replied, ¡°Don¡¯t know. Maybe he was originally a machine gunner before being promoted to a Squad leader and refused to surrender the BAR for a Tommy gun. Or he just liked the BAR after all he did fight in both World Wars and the Korean War. But honestly, I don¡¯t know why but I wouldn¡¯t ask you to go back to the United States to ask him in which my guess too many painful memories for him so he probably wouldn¡¯t say after all he was in his early 40s in World War 2 and tasked with ordering kids you know 18-20 year olds to their deaths. But he was in the British Army in World War 1 before emigrating to the US in 1919 because his teenage hood was taken away from the horrors of the First World War. He was in the First and Second Battle of Ypres.¡±


    I then slipped on a pile of wet leaves. Mitchell didn¡¯t laugh because he really doesn¡¯t have a sense of humor. But that¡¯s because of his strict environment that makes him unable to laugh because he doesn¡¯t find comedy or anything funny to be funny.


    Not even when he was a kid he didn¡¯t find cartoons to be funny because his Aunt and Uncle Orange forced his youthfulness and laughter out of him making him grow up too fast and miss the luxury of childhood. I know a lot of people who would¡¯ve laughed at someone slipping and falling on wet leaves or just falling in general. While average children were out playing with their friends Mitchell was inside of a garage learning woodcrafting, metal crafting, leathercrafting than having a normal childhood where the only time he could be his age was when his friends would come over.


    He wished they came over everyday but they had lives so they couldn¡¯t but he cherished the times that his friends came over to get him so they could play baseball or football but according to him that even his friends parents felt sorry for him. But I guess is that he doesn¡¯t want to have kids because out of fear of being how his aunt and uncle raised him he probably fears he¡¯ll be like them because his Aunt and Uncle were and are the Authoritarian type of parents while I have a feeling that if he was a father he would be Authoritative of setting rules, and explain why there are rules instead of being like his Aunt and Uncle who just said ¡°Do what I say because I said so¡± and that even minor things that kids do like being annoying that was good enough reason for his Aunt and Uncle to get the belt or paddle while his Aunt and Uncle were Authoritarian with his sister and baby half sisters where they were still too young so they could¡¯ve molded them into how they should be even though with his sister Twilight it backfired and she gained a rebellious streak a bit.


    _________________________________________________


    The next day.


    In the quiet sanctuary of my apartment, I was reading the pages of a rustic bread-making cookbook. As I went into the kitchen I reached for the refrigerator, a sharp rap at the door jolted me from my culinary reverie. I laid the butcher knife down on the cutting board with a clatter and made my way to the door.


    Swinging it open, I was met with a sight I hadn¡¯t prepared for¡ªmy so-called mother, standing there with that all-too-familiar look of expectancy.


    ¡°Mackenzie, it¡¯s you,¡± she exclaimed, peering past me as if searching for someone else. ¡°Where are your children at?¡±


    My words curled into a snarl as they left my lips, ¡°What are you doing here?¡±


    ¡°Is that any way to treat your mother?¡± she retorted, her voice laced with feigned hurt.


    ¡°You¡¯re not my mother,¡± I shot back, the words sharp as a knife and unyielding. ¡°You¡¯re the woman who gave birth to me, and that¡¯s where your role ended. My aunts, grandaunts, and female cousins¡ªthey showed me what it means to stand on my own two feet. They taught me the value of a dollar, the art of cooking, the skill of cleaning, and the knack for fixing what¡¯s broken. My father¡ªhe taught me the discipline of living within means, of distinguishing need from want. And you? You¡¯ve been nothing but a shadow, lounging on the couch, consumed by your vices. So I suggest you leave before I call the cops.¡±


    But she stepped in, uninvited, her presence an intrusion in my space.


    ¡°So when can I expect to have grandchildren from you?¡± she prodded, ignoring the tension.


    ¡°When I decide it¡¯s time,¡± I declared firmly. ¡°And if that day comes, know this¡ªyou won¡¯t hear of it. There won¡¯t be any announcements or signs. I won¡¯t let you near them, to guilt-trip or manipulate them. They won¡¯t even know you exist. If they ever ask about their grandmother, they¡¯ll hear that she passed long ago.¡± My voice was ironclad, my boundaries non-negotiable. This was my life, and I would live it on my terms, without her shadow looming over me.


    Her question hung in the air, a challenge to the authority I knew all too well. ¡°And what are the cops going to do?¡± she sneered.


    I fixed her with a steely gaze, the kind that had seen the worst of humanity and the best of valor on Little Bird. ¡°You might recall the clashes during the Vietnam War,¡± I began, my voice low and even. ¡°Well, here on Little Bird, our officers make those days seem tame. They¡¯re a force to be reckoned with, and they don¡¯t take kindly to disturbances.¡±


    I paused, letting the gravity of my words sink in. ¡°Their methods are¡­ old school, to put it mildly. Baton meets flesh, water cannons like tempests, and the dogs¡­ well, let¡¯s just say they¡¯re not here to play fetch unless you count the dogs getting ahold of your arm or leg.¡±


    With a firm grip, I escorted her out, my movements deliberate and authoritative, ensuring the door closed silently behind her. I wasn¡¯t about to make a scene; the neighbors didn¡¯t need to be part of this drama. They had their own lives, their own realities to contend with. I, Mackenzie ¡°Macaroni¡± Waterson, had my peace to keep.


    Back in the solace of my kitchen, I set about crafting a salad as vibrant as the organic farms they came from. It was a ritual taught by my father, a balance to life''s indulgences¡ªa medley of fresh fruits and crisp vegetables to accompany the evening''s meal. His lessons were always practical, a counterweight to the excesses of life.


    The television droned on, a low hum of nostalgia from the Little Bird airwaves. The stringent regulations of our island''s film industry meant a steady diet of operas, sitcoms, and family-centric shows that echoed the sensibilities of the ''50s and ''60s. They were a tableau of innocence and simplicity, married couples slept in separate beds and kisses were but a chaste peck on the cheek. Yet, amidst this backdrop of bygone eras, the Saturday morning cartoons brought a dash of color and laughter with their slapstick antics¡ªa reminder that, even in the most disciplined of worlds, there is a place for joy and silliness.


    But I like Little Bird. It''s a nice country where its edicts are Universal Health care for the impoverished, Right to Arms, a festival like Mardi Gras, agricultural subsidies, a Literacy Program, Vaccination, and Organic farming. Of course, each one has its pros and cons but I¡¯m a supporter of the Agricultural Subsidies because it helps farmers to get supplies or equipment for the farms they run to grow healthy and organic food that aren¡¯t filled with chemicals.  But for all of them, the Nationalists like Universal Healthcare, Agricultural, and Organic farming while the Militarists like the Right to Arms for both groups. The reasons are there.


    But I just went and made a salad and went back to the task of making a loaf of homemade bread. But there¡¯s a first time for everything. But while making the homemade bread and homemade salad I thought for a minute about hosting a Waterson get-together like a family reunion but the ones who usually host it usually have a house so they have the land for it while my apartment ain¡¯t the size of my girlfriend¡¯s penthouse but it¡¯s big enough for a small family, not twenty or thirty people or more.


    But I then left to run a quick errand but I stopped at a street vendor and got an Original Empire Dog of it being an Italian sausage on a Chicago-style bun with mustard, onion, and bacon.


    But when I returned to my apartment I just got the mail and went into the kitchen. I just wrote a check for my energy bill of 130 bucks because having an electrical stove costs more to use. Of course, after I did write a check I then called the power company saying I¡¯m sending in a check so it doesn¡¯t show up unsurprised and that they don¡¯t unintentionally throw it away. But I just wrote checks for my other bills as well and called those companies to tell them I¡¯m sending a check even though it would¡¯ve been better if I just went and paid in cash by going to the company but I have other stuff to do.


    But the moment I got done writing checks and putting them into the envelopes I was about to head out to put them in the corner mail dropbox but the moment I opened my apartment door to find Carter and my mom standing there.


    ¡°Hey Mackenzie I found someone for you,¡± my mom said.


    I replied, ¡°A shotgun it is.¡±


    I closed my apartment door and got my Baker 380 Marine Combat Shotgun from my bedroom where I performed a brass check by sliding the pump back a little bit to see if there was a shell in it with a twelve gauge magnum buckshot in it.


    I then opened the apartment door.


    ¡°This is a shotgun and has a twelve gauge buckshot shell in it,¡± I said, ¡°I¡¯m giving you the count of three for you ma¡¯am and Mr. Dick to fuck off or I¡¯ll shoot first and let the cops figure it out later!¡±


    Before I could even count Carter tried to get my shotgun but I pulled the trigger sending a barrage of shells into his left leg making him fall.


    ¡°I did warn you two to fuck off!¡± I said, ¡°Now you need to go to the hospital!¡±


    Mom replied, ¡°Mackenzie I brought him here so he can give you a child so I can be a grandmother!¡±


    ¡°I know who he is!¡± I snapped back, ¡°He¡¯s a misogynist patriarch pig! Listen to me you crazy old coot when I¡¯m ready I¡¯ll have a kid. But you¡¯re never going to meet the child that I have and I¡¯ll choose who I want to have a child by or if I just adopt a child when I¡¯m ready! Now leave me alone and fuck off! Sometimes you make me wish that the Axis powers won the Second World War while I¡¯m thankful that they didn¡¯t and lost but you¡­ you¡¯re just straight-up annoying.¡±


    I then shut the door again and went back to making dinner. But after some time there was another knock on my apartment door so I answered it. I thought it was going to be my mom again but it was a Girl Scout selling cookies so I bought eight boxes of cookies and one box of brownies for twenty bucks. Well the total was eleven bucks but hey to me the scouts always made delicious cookies.


    After that, I just went and put the boxes onto the granite countertop and went back to making dinner. I just decided to use the cookies and brownies I just bought as dessert instead. But soon there was another knock. It was Lusty and her children who came over because it¡¯s somewhat like a date, well a family date or something like that but I even told Lusty what happened with my mom showing up unexpectedly and returned with Carter and how I shot Carter with a shotgun because he deserved it.


    But when Lusty asked me how the new company was, I lied and said that we were like cheetahs but she told me that I¡¯m a terrible liar. She looked me right in the eyes and I told her the truth about how it feels like it¡¯s a clubhouse and she did say that Squad 769 quarters used to be like a mechanic shop in the past and that it closed down. So the city bought it and renovated it into a single story firehouse even though the common room is right behind Squad 769 apparatus by a few feet but they weren¡¯t going to argue because they would make do with what they got.

 Chapter Eight

    January 3rd, 2010. The cold morning air was a stark contrast to the heat of the emotions that lingered from the night before. As I meticulously checked my gear, the weight of my mother¡¯s unexpected visit¡ªand her abrupt departure with Carter, whose acquaintance with her remains a mystery¡ªpressed heavily on my mind. The absurdity of mistaking her return for a Girl Scout selling cookies did little to lighten my mood. Yet, I refused to let the incident disrupt my sleep; instead, I fortified my apartment with locks and deadbolts to keep my mother¡¯s unwanted intrusions at bay while I was vulnerable or away at work.


    The station¡¯s PA system droned on, a grim reminder of the city¡¯s baffling decision to ease penalties for crime. Arson, particularly, had seen a disturbing rise, with flames devouring both deserted and inhabited structures, fueled by neglect, accelerants, and the detritus of abandonment. The dangers of entanglement and entrapment loomed large in these infernos, a perilous dance with death for any who dared to confront them.


    Linda¡¯s insights from the other day echoed in my thoughts. Her perspective on the hierarchy of emergency response was clear: Engine Companies lead the charge, followed by Ladder, Squad, and finally, Rescue Companies if all else fails. In Little Bird, the numbers were staggering 302 Engines, 302 Ladders, 53 Rescues, and 17 HAZMAT companies.


    A conversation with a fellow firefighter on Squad 769 snapped me back to the present. ¡°Hey, I heard what happened to Carter is karma coming full circle for that prick,¡± he remarked.


    My response was unapologetically blunt. ¡°The Bible may preach peace, but I¡¯m not one for sermons. If I could, I¡¯d play the role of a Medieval Inquisitor, brand Carter a heretic, and watch him burn at the stake.¡±


    Amidst these turbulent thoughts, my gaze settled on the emblem of Squad 769. Each company¡¯s insignia tells a story, like Squad 141 and Rescue Squad 17¡¯s Cerberus, the three-headed hound guarding Hell¡¯s gates. But it was our symbol that held my attention¡ªa nod to the Knights Templar, the White mantle emblazoned with a red cross patt¨¦e.


    The station¡¯s hum was a backdrop to my musings when I voiced a thought that had been nagging at me. ¡°I¡¯m somewhat intrigued to find out what Carter¡¯s family did when the world was tearing itself apart during two world wars,¡± I said aloud, more to myself than anyone else.


    The same firefighter from Squad 769, who had overheard me, chimed in with a tone of disdain. ¡°Nothing. They didn¡¯t serve in the wars nor helped on the homefront. Claims to the contrary, but the truth is they shirked their duties, even went as far as injuring themselves to avoid military service. They hoarded materials like steel and aluminum, which could¡¯ve aided the war effort, and squandered fats and grease needed for artillery. While the country of Little Bird was split on the eve of the Second World War, it was spared the Great Depression¡¯s worst, thanks to President Willianson¡¯s national work programs and President Abigail Orange¡¯s expansions. Yet, Carter¡¯s family remained uninvolved, content to bask in unearned glory while true heroes fought and died. Not adding Carter doesn¡¯t even know the beaches that the Allies landed on, on D-Day saying it was near the French-Netherland¡¯s border.¡±


    I couldn¡¯t help but interrupt, the pride and respect for my own lineage fueling my words. ¡°Americans for Utah and Omaha, British for Gold and Sword, Canadians for Juno. My granduncle Stanley, part of the 501st PIR, was scattered from his main DZ but joined forces with the 505th PIR to capture Sainte-M¨¨re-¨¦glise. His twin, Charlie, served with the 504th PIR. Their father stormed Fox Green, and their second eldest brother, Dog Green Sector. They were young, naive, and eager to serve in the airborne forces. To them, heroism was embodied by their comrades, not themselves. ¡®I wasn¡¯t a hero,¡¯ they¡¯d say, ¡®but the men I served with, they were the real heroes. I was just one tiny cog in a whole army.¡¯ Their humility remains, never seeing themselves as heroes, despite their valorous deeds. But honestly I can see why they don¡¯t feel like they¡¯re heroes because how can they feel like heroes if many young men died who left loved ones behind or never met an unborn child that they and their loved ones conceived.¡±


    The Captain¡¯s arrival broke through the routine of the morning. ¡°So Mackenzie, how is Little Bird treating you? I know you¡¯re from the United States,¡± he inquired, a hint of curiosity in his tone.


    I couldn¡¯t help but smile at the question. ¡°It¡¯s been a breath of fresh air, honestly. It¡¯s like stepping back into the era my grandparents described¡ªthe 50s and 60s¡ªwhen owning a home in your early twenties was the norm, not the exception. Life here isn¡¯t choked by inflation; even the mom-and-pop shops have prices reminiscent of my father¡¯s childhood tales from the 60s. But tell me, how did you identify me as an American?¡±


    His response was tinged with a sense of pride. ¡°Here in Eastside, we don¡¯t set a man up for failure. This district is a family¡ªa motley crew of misfits, outcasts, and badasses. But unlike what happened in your homeland, we don¡¯t betray our returning vets.¡±


    I nodded, acknowledging the bitter history. ¡°I was born long after Vietnam, but the stories from my uncles and cousins paint a grim picture of broken promises. Here in Little Bird, my family speaks of a warm welcome akin to the heroes¡¯ return after the Second World War. It¡¯s the stark difference between a Stratocracy and a Democracy that¡¯s had the same congressional faces for six decades.¡±


    With a brief nod, the Captain departed, and I turned back to my equipment. A slight cut in the air tube caught my eye¡ªa reminder of the ever-present need for vigilance. I promptly called the Air Mask Department; they¡¯d bring a spare and take mine for repairs, promising a return by January 8th at the latest.


    My thoughts drifted to Mitchell¡¯s upcoming twentieth birthday on the 17th. The guy was a wildcard; perhaps a cake would suffice, though I suspected his wife might have similar plans. Then there was the lingering question of my mother¡¯s unexpected appearance. I shook my head, hoping she¡¯d finally gotten the message to stay away.


    Double-checking my gear, I ran diagnostics on the automatic tools like the hydraulic rescue tools. It¡¯s a ritual at the start of every shift¡ªto ensure everything is operational because the time to discover a malfunction is not when a life hangs in the balance. A few tools were flagged for repairs, and maintenance swapped them with older models. My father¡¯s words echoed in my mind, ¡°I¡¯d rather have something obsolete that still works than not have it at all.¡± And in that sentiment, I found a simple truth that resonated deeply with me¡ªif it works, it¡¯s valuable, regardless of its age.


    But the guys just talked about their past emergencies in which they had been to emergencies that I couldn¡¯t imagine like an entire apartment building gone up in fire and rubble before the first bell. Or as mentioned before a first generation fighter jet crashed into an ice cream parlor after a birthday party but a few stood out like the 1964 Empire Blackout that well to the Chauffeur he thinks it¡¯s funny that the rich take pride that they think they¡¯re better than everyone else.


    But in 1964 when he was a eighteen year old new candidate on 59 Truck over in Tallwood a middle class neighborhood, well on his first day the black out happened and Highwood was hit relentlessly by looters and arsonists like a wave against a rock. Back then the city only had 23 Engine and Ladder Companies that the arson spree got out of control where that B, C and D shifts were called in and given obsolete apparatus dating back to the 1930s and that even with 92 fire apparatus not adding the six volunteer companies that fires were starting faster than the fire department could put them out.


    The Captain talked about the Empire Grand Opera House built in the 1840s and burnt down in 1972 that due to it was built differently before fire codes and its historical status it was exempted from adopting modern fire codes where the only fire code it needed was another exit. But it was labeled the ¡°96 hour fire¡± because of how long it burned for where the first due company met a solid wall of flame accompanied by dense smoke and intense heat so they had to shoot water from the outside into the fire but it took four days and a total of 343 firefighters to fight it.


    A seasoned FF/EMT recounted his first major call¡ªa tire warehouse ablaze under the wrath of a severe thunderstorm. The lighting, usually content to dance from cloud to cloud, had other plans that night. A rogue bolt struck precisely, sending two of Ladder Company seventeen¡¯s bravest tumbling from the roof. Despite the presence of lightning rods on the surrounding high rises, he couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that some divine or infernal force had marked them. Miraculously, though battered, they survived.


    He also spoke of the city of Empire, a hub of industry with its Metal Craft and Iron Workshops, Pottery and Textile Craft, and factories of all kinds¡ªCigar, Cigarette, Vehicle, Furniture, Electronics, Creamery, Cannery, Steel Mill, Rum and Alcohol Distilleries, and even Synthetic Rubber. His second fire was a testament to the dangers within¡ªan Iron Workshop. The flames, fed by metal, were impervious to water. They waited, helpless, for a unit equipped with a dry powder extinguisher to arrive.


    Another peer shared a tale of a high-rise inferno that defied logic, leaping floors and devouring everything not built to withstand the searing heat of 2000 degrees. The standpipe system failed them, the water refusing to reach the desperate firefighters.


    The most unique story, however, came from the man I¡¯d been speaking with earlier. He described a fire at the Paprika Memorial, named for the fields of paprika that grew where the Little Bird 1st Marine Regiment once clashed with the Blister Canyon 22nd Infantry Regiment. The battle tactics of the Marines were unconventional¡ªlines of musket fire followed by strategic retreats, a deadly dance of advance and fallback. Even with reinforcements from the 1st Rangers and the 24th Foot Infantry Regiment, the fight was chaotic. The 24th broke ranks, while the Rangers formed an infantry square, later aided by the musket-armed Little Bird 1st Cavalry.


    Fighting the fire at the memorial was a battle in itself, underground and fueled by a sea of trash and debris. It was a blaze that nearly defied extinguishing, relenting only when it had consumed all its fuel. He imparted a lesson from the academy: the fire triangle¡ªfuel, heat, oxygen. Remove one, and the fire dies. As simple as covering a flame with a fire blanket to snuff out its life. It was a reminder that sometimes, the most basic tactics are the most effective in the face of danger.


    The sudden ringing of the fire bell sliced through the air, a call that had us scrambling into our gear with practiced urgency. We were out the door in a heartbeat, the engine roaring to life as we navigated the familiar streets. But this rush was cut short by the 18th Battalion¡¯s command to halt¡ªthis was a drill, a test of our readiness.


    Our Battalion Chief¡¯s voice crackled over the radio, a note of approval in his tone. ¡°Squad 769, your response time was 41 seconds. That¡¯s commendable¡ªfaster than Firehouse fifteen¡¯s 143 seconds. Remember, the gold standard is to be out the door within 60 seconds.¡±


    It was a reminder of the relentless pursuit of excellence that defined us. The 18th, 19th, and 25th Battalions, along with the 16th and 17th Divisions, were known for their surprise drills, testing each firehouse at random times to ensure that when the call came, we would be ready. In those moments, every second counted.


    Back at the firehouse, the conversation took a turn when I brought up Carter. The room¡¯s atmosphere shifted palpably; it was clear that Carter was not held in high regard. The Captain minced no words, stating plainly that Carter tarnished the reputation of men and firefighters alike. His continued presence in the department, despite his antics, seemed to be a byproduct of his connections within HQ.


    Lieutenant Claire ¡°Lusty¡± Johnson, my girlfriend, had her own take on the situation. She described HQ as a nest of political players, quick to label her and others like my cousin Dave and his wife as the ¡°Old Guard.¡± They were seen as relics of a bygone era¡ªofficers who led with compassion and were always accessible, whose offices were sanctuaries of trust where the worries of their crew remained confidential. Their style of leadership earned them the respect and affectionate title of ¡°A firefighter¡¯s firefighter¡± from their companies. This stood in stark contrast to some department counselors and therapists, who, according to Claire, lacked the same level of confidentiality, making firefighters wary of speaking freely.


    The discussion was a stark reminder of the complex dynamics within the fire department, politics could sometimes overshadow the core values of camaraderie and trust.


    In the firehouse, there¡¯s a palpable sense of family that extends beyond the walls of the station. It¡¯s a place where the lines between duty and life blur. The heartbeat of the crew syncs with the rhythm of the community they serve. Dave, Linda, and Claire embody this ethos¡ªthey understand that sometimes life¡¯s urgencies don¡¯t align with the shift schedule.


    They lead with empathy, recognizing that a crew member¡¯s child waiting at school or fighting a battle in the hospital is a priority that can¡¯t be sidelined. Their leadership style is a stark contrast to the rigid adherence to protocol that a lot of officers demand, insisting on a full seven-member team at all costs.


    But here, amid sirens and smoke, humanity takes precedence. ¡°What are you still doing here? Just go,¡± they¡¯d say, cutting through the red tape with a swift command. It¡¯s a reminder that in the grand scheme of things, family comes first, always. In those moments when life¡¯s weight bears down on one of their own, they don¡¯t just offer words¡ªthey offer action, ensuring that no one stands alone. It¡¯s this spirit that makes them not just leaders, but guardians of their crew¡¯s well-being.


    But they also talked about Carter about how he is called Stolen Valor and say that he either fought in the military or had a family fight in the Little Bird military in the past. But in reality they¡¯re just taking credit for the ones that actually did fight but on Little Bird it¡¯s actually a felony for doing Stolen Valor. Doing so has a minimum sentence is 15 years in a federal prison or executed by hanging or a firing squad even though from 1705-1914 just a week before the outbreak of the First World War that those who done stolen valor were tried for a capital punishment and were executed by either firing squad or by handing while in towns those charged with stolen valor were burned at the stake.


    Over the PA system, I heard that my cousin Dave and his wife''s respective companies had called for someone underneath a train in which Squad 769 Captain just said, ¡°Been doing this for thirty-eight years and you¡¯ll know right away if you¡¯re cut out for it or not. First time you go to something like that dismemberment or something like that you¡¯ll know if you¡¯re cut out for it or not.¡±


    I replied, ¡°Linda my cousin in law because she¡¯s married to Dave over on Sixteen truck. But Linda she¡¯s Captain over Rescue Co 17. She just says that normally Engine and Ladder Companies can do a majority of the work but they¡¯re there that they can take care of what needs to be done but they¡¯re there in case but a lot of times a rescue company gets called and used due to things being a lot more complicated and intense.¡±


    The drill¡¯s second alarm was a jolt back to reality, a reminder of the constant vigilance required in our line of work. As we assembled in the high-rise lobby, the routine was familiar yet never devoid of tension. Claire passed by with her company, a silent exchange of acknowledgment between us amidst the orchestrated chaos.


    Stationed as a RIT Rescue Company, Squad 769 stood ready. Yet, the murmurs of a sharply dressed onlooker cut through the hum of activity¡ªa critique of our speed, or the perceived lack thereof. His words, suggesting negligence and threats of litigation, were a bitter pill, igniting a flash of anger within me.


    It¡¯s a common misconception¡ªthe belief that firefighters and other civil servants possess some superhuman ability to transcend the limits of time and space. But we are, undeniably, human. We carry the same burdens, face the same struggles, and cherish the same bonds as anyone else. We are not miracle workers; we are dedicated individuals doing our utmost within the constraints we¡¯re given.


    His comments laid bare a deeper societal ailment¡ªthe tendency to place undue blame on civil servants for systemic failures. It¡¯s a frustrating reality where those on the front lines are often scapegoated for the shortcomings of broader societal structures, and criticized for not achieving the impossible with inadequate resources. It¡¯s a narrative that needs changing, one where recognition and support replace unrealistic expectations and unwarranted blame.


    Not adding that Little Bird is slowly coming out of it¡¯s war economy and back into a civilian economy not adding during the Allied-Soviet War of 2005-09/10 everything on Little Bird was rationed food, spices, luxury goods, fuel, everything was rationed where on the first of every month everyone received a booklet of ration coupons. Every family even people who are single gotten ration books and each vehicle gotten a sticker that says how much fuel said the vehicle should get per week depending on family size or what role they play but everything got rationed on the homefront while yeah they may have grown tired of being rationed but the Police and Fire Departments have the right to complain about the rationing because during the war because the police department lost its connection to weapon manufacturers because said manufactures were switched to wartime equipment to make weapons, ammo, grenades, knives, and other military equipment for the military so whatever ammo they used up during the war the police department wouldn¡¯t be getting another batch of it until later. Not adding the Fire Department with its pike poles, saws, axes, and other equipment that uses metal well the maintenance shop used what they could following the Little Bird Marine Corps, 1st Marine Division Maintenance Company motto says ¡°Do more with less¡± and used less to make do what they had.


    But after thirty minutes of standing around, we were told that the response drill was over and that we can go back to quarters. So we did.


    But when we got back to our firehouse on the TV there was an ad on TV about a place on the outskirts of the city called ¡°Medieval Land¡± where it didn¡¯t have a catchy name but it gets its point across of what kind of place it is in which it¡¯s a one to one recreation of Fort Empire from the Colonial era complete with buildings from the era of both the Medieval and Colonial era but primarily Medieval era.


    ¡°Ah yes, the country of Little Bird that still has Chivalry of the Medieval era,¡± I said. ¡°Soldiers, Marines, and other members of the Little Bird Armed Forces are trained to have morals, social and religious codes if they¡¯re religious but according to my girlfriend and cousin Dave that men in schools are indoctrinated like Knights of the Medieval era to have a Moral and Social Codes and taught to be gentlemanly to women. I don¡¯t entirely approve but I¡¯m not running the country but I do approve on the style of teaching men to be chivalrous but at the same time I do so they can separate themselves from people like killers, serial killers, those kinds of people who are euthanized for crimes against the youth, and sexist pigs like Carter.¡±


    Squad 769 chauffeur just randomly said, ¡°Everyone gets out of the way but the only people who don¡¯t get out of the way are pedestrians. They see us coming and they run and try to beat you and can¡¯t wait three seconds. The closest I¡¯ve almost been to hitting someone while responding was when I was over on 59 Engine back in the 80s a woman ran in front of us pushing her baby stroller. One and a half seconds of hitting her.¡±


    That completely came out of left field and wasn¡¯t expecting that. But since it¡¯s my second day at this company, the station has a little memorial for the 2823 fallen Firefighters that died back in 2003 in a building collapse and had both the Little Bird Capital and other cities like Empire and its fire departments had to restructure. Previous high-rise operations just had set up a command post four to ten floors below the fire, the first four Engine companies, and a Squad Company go up to the fire floor to fight the fire while the first three ladder companies, and Rescue Company perform search and rescue while the 4th ladder company stands by in the command post as a Rapid Intervention Team. Not adding that according to my cousin Dave, his wife Linda, and my girlfriend Claire they say that some of the firehouses in the city of Chocolate including in the town of Aurora and Crystal for the guys and gals who died that they left the loafer shoes the exact spot and position they left them while many didn¡¯t have anyone return.


    The Eastside district¡¯s black granite memorial stands as a solemn tribute to the firefighters who died in the line of duty. Since 1989, the names of those who have fallen in the line of duty are etched into its surface¡ªa poignant reminder of their bravery and the community¡¯s gratitude. The memorial, akin to those honoring military service, reflects the deep respect the people of Little Bird hold for their emergency responders.


    The story of the memorial¡¯s existence is a testament to the community¡¯s will; it was almost lost to political maneuvering, but the collective voice of the people and the firefighters¡¯ own standing in the community preserved this sacred space. It¡¯s a powerful statement about the values of Little Bird.


    In the wake of the tragedy in the city of Chocolate, the memorial took on an even more profound role. Each firefighter found was honored individually, their service recorded for posterity. Their ranks, names, companies, and the exact moments they were discovered are all there, a chronicle of loss and remembrance. Even though three out of seven were from the City of Empire from Rescue Co 17 who were in the city to go through requalification training but they went to the scene where they were broken up with four staying in the lobby while three going up to mix with Rescue Company Seven but according to Linda to her she really can¡¯t sleep at night due to the amount of Pass alarms going off after the tragedy but the other 2819 who died weren¡¯t even from the city of Empire but from the City of Chocolate or the towns of Aurora, Crystal, or Clearlake even though for Aurora, Clearlake, and Crystal they have twenty eight names and a lot of City of Chocolate fire companies have twenty eight names meaning they lost everyone from their respective companies.


    Not adding that the people of Eastside are smart, and smarter and educated which they use against politicians because they¡¯re the type of people who can and will call out politicians for making false promises not adding that back on August 1st, 1995 when the Fire Department City of Empire celebrated it¡¯s one hundred and eighty-five years from transforming from an volunteer department to a professional combination department, Ms. Martinez her speech for it was that she said ¡°Firefighters are brave human beings because they see things that we don¡¯t see but we have to see what they see. For example, we always believe fire is nice and homey of keeping us warm, providing heat and letting us see in the dark. But in reality when a firefighter goes into a fire knowing what he is going to face he know it¡¯s total black and can¡¯t see anything due to all of the dense smoke where he can¡¯t see his hand in front of his face but he knows that if he stands up he knows that the heat will either kill him or be hot enough to melt the rubber around the mask to stick to his face.¡±


    But not adding she tried to increase the fire department''s manpower and response capability as step one of her glass and steel utopia but that was blocked by her political opponents and political allies not adding the city was leaving what the Fire Department labeled as the ¡°War Decades¡± because from 1967/68 to 1995 they fought between 30-50 fires per day where on bad days they would fight between 60-150 fires or on good days it¡¯ll be 10-15 fires but it got so bad that some companies would take themselves out of service due to the amount of stress even though many of them were Veterans of World War 2, Korean War, and the Vietnam war battle harden in combat. Not adding that in the city of Chocolate that the firefighters who survived the catastrophe that the ones who survived the catastrophe gained a sense of dark humor as a coping mechanism not to add that a lot of them saw the new candidates that came many of the experienced firefighters and officers saw the new candidates as replacing the guys that died not adding those who did survive they were all promoted to Captain to fill in the empty spots of deceased Captains in which for some reason Captain is under Lieutenant not adding that the Captains did survive had to fill in empty spots of the Lieutenants who died, and the Lieutenants who survived had to take over the fill the empty spots of the deceased Battalion Chiefs, and Battalion Chiefs had to take the spot of Division Chiefs but many had huge shoes to fill even though many of them didn¡¯t want to be a higher rank but had to fill it anyway.


    Post-lunch, our crew set out to conduct building inspections in Eastside¡¯s northern sector. It¡¯s a duty we¡¯ve inherited from the Little Bird Bureau of Fire Prevention, a tradition dating back to 1904. These BISP¡ªBuilding InSPections¡ªare crucial for ensuring adherence to the evolving Fire Safety Codes, from the initial 1901 version to the more recent 1988 iteration.


    The older tenements, grandfathered in and exempt from modern codes, always pose a challenge. It¡¯s a risky loophole, but our newer structures undergo rigorous scrutiny. Our role extends beyond mere inspection; we educate residents on fire prevention, advising them on what to keep, discard, or distance to mitigate fire risks.


    In districts like Emerald Pastors, Riverview, and Highwood, kitchen fires are a common menace. Often sparked by innocuous items like paper towels left too close to a stove, these blazes can escalate quickly. The Fire Department City of Empire has an old term for these¡ª¡°meat fires¡±¡ªa throwback to the days when volunteer firefighters frequently battled kitchen fires caused by neglected ashes.


    But many people were or are one step ahead of us by keeping anything flammable away from a heat source not adding many of these people are veterans that survived the 1967/68-1995 ¡°War Decades¡± who been through countless fires so they know what to do like throwing away trash, getting rid of worn out electrical cords, not to hang drying clothes inside, and not to put coins inside a electrical meter to save a few bucks off the next electrical bill at the cost of the coins conducting electricity and causes preventable electrical fires.


    But for residential modern apartment buildings we didn¡¯t show no mercy to them as well where while they were built with both fireproof and fire resistant materials and have self closing doors not adding that every floor hallway has a sprinkler system in which according the panels are independently activated and says they go off around 155 degrees fahrenheit. It¡¯s a lot different than commercial buildings that have it where someone has to use the sprinkler panel to active them on the fire floor in which is stupid but the fire codes don¡¯t say if they have to be manually activated or activate automatically when it reaches a certain temperature


    As we conducted our building inspections, the conversations I overheard painted a stark picture of the community¡¯s trust in their services. It¡¯s a common thread here in Eastside and Westside¡ªdisappointment in the police juxtaposed with deep respect for the fire department. One man recounted how Ladder Co 47 was there for him, providing critical medical aid within two minutes, while the police were nowhere to be found.


    Another story came from a shop owner, a victim of a robbery and shooting, who was saved by the swift response of Ladder Co 47, while the police took an unfathomable two years just to begin their investigation.


    ________________________________________________________________


    The stillness of the night was shattered by the urgent ring of the bell, propelling us into action. We moved swiftly, suiting up and rolling out the apparatus bay door, our siren muted out of respect for the sleeping city. The fire we were called to was anything but ordinary¡ªa freeway fire at a construction site, where the new road cut deep into the earth, flanked by steep concrete walls.


    As we approached, the ominous glow of an orange haze against the night sky signaled the severity of the situation. The Captain, with seasoned decisiveness, immediately escalated the response, calling in a third alarm before we even arrived on scene. The billowing smoke and the breadth of the fire¡¯s reach left no room for doubt; we were heading into a fierce battle against the flames.


    A fellow firefighter from Squad 769 inquired about the materials used in road construction, a crucial factor in understanding the fire¡¯s potential behavior. I listed them: soil for foundational support, aggregate for stability, asphalt and bitumen as binding agents, and tar for creating durable, though brittle, road surfaces. Each material presents its own challenges in a fire, and knowing their properties could be the key to tackling this blaze effectively.


    But the Captain also radioed for Foam Task Force 32 and HAZMAT Company 33 as well due to the chemicals including paints that are used in road construction are either on fire, about to be on fire or in the path of being burned. But this is something that the Little Bird Bureau of Transportation will have to solve once we put it out.


    I just stretched the two-and-a-half-inch line as the five-inch supply line was being hooked up to a hydrant to get water for us to fight the fire. But we just sprayed the water around the fire to keep everything around it cooled until backup arrived but it was a very intense fire that even from half a football field away we could feel the heat. We also used the deluge gun on our apparatus to spray twice as much water onto the fire, but it was away from the fire like me and the other guy.


    But the fire was so intense that the water turned to steam before the water could hit the fire. Still, we just kept using our defensive operations of containing the fire and preventing it from spreading. Still, whatever thought I had I got rid of because I had to focus on the task at hand and not let my mind wander for future events like my cousin Mitchell''s birthday coming up. For some reason, he and his wife are going to celebrate their birthdays together. For a while I thought it might be that their birthdays are close but that¡¯s my guess.


    After some time my cousin Dave arrived and he stuck out like a sore thumb due to he still weaning the obsolete rubber turnout gear that was considered obsolete in 1995 and replaced with the modern Kevlar/Nomex made turnout gear that came into service in late 1995 early 1996 but to Dave it has sentimental value to him because his father Lieutenant Bobby Waterson over on Ladder Company 5 and uncle Clark a Lieutenant on Engine Company 5 both died on that tragedy back in 2003. Even though Dave has been a firefighter for the city of Empire since October 2nd, 1995 even though he has his modern turnout gear at home stored in the closet but according to him he lets his and his wife eldest son a eleven year-old named Bobby wear it from time to time. Not adding that Dave more or less grew up in a firehouse back in Clearlake from 1981 at the age of four to 1995 before taking the civil servant exam to become a firefighter so to him knowing all of the tools on both Engine and Ladder Company is just second nature to him.


    In the aftermath of a fire like this, the stories that emerge become part of the fabric of the firehouse. They¡¯re shared and retold, becoming a piece of the collective memory that defines the crew. For the cadets, this blaze will be a defining moment in their early careers, a trial by fire that initiates them into the brotherhood and sisterhood of firefighters.


    Nicknames are a tradition in this line of work, a badge of honor that speaks to one¡¯s character, skills, or memorable deeds. ¡°Macaroni¡± may be your personal tag, but it¡¯s a sign of acceptance and camaraderie within the company. Claire¡¯s moniker ¡°Lusty,¡± evolving to ¡°Captain¡± and ¡°Lieutenant Empire,¡± reflects her deep knowledge of the city and her adaptability. It¡¯s a testament to her ability to navigate not just the streets but also the complexities of life in Eastside.


    Dave¡¯s nickname ¡°Demolitions¡± speaks to a unique skill set within the department, highlighting the specialized roles that some firefighters take on. His expertise with explosives is a rare but crucial asset in certain situations, and his moniker is a nod to this rarefied knowledge.


    These nicknames, whether light-hearted or earnest, are more than just labels¡ªthey¡¯re a recognition of each member¡¯s unique contribution to the team.


    But we still have a long road ahead of us of putting out a fire like this. But there was soon an explosion, probably a road construction vehicle, exploded but I just kept spraying it around the fire but we just contained the fire to the best of our ability but that didn¡¯t stop the fire from spreading though. But there were some more popping sounds. But the fire spread but it also started to threaten the elevated freeway so the Captain radioed PD to close down the section of elevated freeway and the last thing we didn¡¯t need was the fire and heat getting close to the support barriers and support beams of the freeway and have apart of it come crashing down onto the new freeway that¡¯s being dug into the ground after the earth gets dug up then the asphalt gets laid down and the rest of the road work begins.


    But the captain would rather be safe than sorry and would rather close the freeway than having it stay open and have cars go by then have the heat and fire weaken it to have it collapse and fall apart and have someone get killed or crushed or crushed and killed.


    This was one of the few fires that could be used as a landmark to see where it is but that¡¯s the problem with the city of Empire like many other cities especially in Downtown and Uptown where the problem is with the high-rises and skyscrapers making the exact location difficult.


    But since this is at a construction site for a freeway under construction it could be seen for blocks but for the FDE or depending who you asked how it¡¯s spelled but to us this is our big one of a major fire at a construction site.


    But after a while Squad 769 Chauffeur-Engineer came over the radio saying that the pump discharge is losing pressure but he¡¯s going to try to max out what he can but that didn¡¯t stop the Captain radioing in a major emergency. But after a few minutes the Captain was told that most of the responding companies from the Major Emergency alarm were being redirected to a high-rise fire but companies from 134, 135, 136, and 137 would take up the alarm instead due to 23, 53,59, 71, and 82 were redirected to a high-rise fire.


    Before the additional companies arrived our tank and pump stopped working and couldn¡¯t use water anymore but other companies are experiencing the same thing of a dramatic loss in water pressure. It¡¯s not the Engine Companies on scene that are the problem but the water in the mains but that¡¯s the problem in the city of Empire that a lot of the times that the Department of Water and Power from Empire Utilities will shut off water in a district to do maintenance at night and why they do maintenance at night for the water lines is anyone¡¯s guess but my guess is that due to 95% of the city is asleep so water usage is dropped twenty-fold even though the city gets it¡¯s water from the city¡¯s Reservoir that supplies the city with fresh water year round and mainly gets filled by the Admiral Culver River and the rain storm from June 1 to June 21st.


    But now I wish that rain storm was here to douse the fire we were fighting. Even though the Fire Department City of Empire is a urban fire department not a wildland one but at the academy they¡¯re taught that rainstorms are helpful in either containing fires by keeping them smaller until firefighters arrive or putting fires out before the first due companies arrive. But we¡¯re in winter and on Little Bird that¡¯s in the tropic pacific so it¡¯s warm and hot due to the tropics of the pacific year round. Throughout the so called ¡°War Decades'''' of 1967/68 to 1995 the rainstorms helped the firefighters in both Eastside and Westside which were notorious to fires due to both districts were plagued with fires and that both districts were filled with both wood frame and tenement buildings that required a ton of lumber which made them giant tinderboxes even though said districts still have those old wood frame and tenement buildings. But since the city¡¯s arson scandal with Echelon Enterprises that burned through 89% of the wood frame and tenement buildings both Echelon Enterprises and the city of Empire were forced to pay for the labor and materials with government oversight to make sure they don¡¯t buy ¡°green lumber¡± and ¡°green materials.¡± Meaning inferior wood and inferior materials that won¡¯t support the weight of buildings and would collapse so they have to buy everything that was made for it not adding that it was both a court order and a Supreme Court order for both the City and the Corporation to pay for it to undo what they did of an arson for profit scam.


    That didn¡¯t stop me from taking a hard suction hose and a 3 inch supply line. I opened a cistern which has fifty thousand to seventy five thousand gallons of water. They were created when the city didn¡¯t have any fire hydrants and are still used in lieu of losing water pressure in hydrants or if a disaster destroys a underground water main but i¡¯m thankful for my girlfriend showing me around her old neighborhood and the people are friendly, and showed me around and the district of Eastside has three Cisterns one at the bottom, one in the center and the third one at the top of the district.


    But our Rescue Engine just backed up to be closer so I just assisted the chauffeur to hook up the hard suction hose to the tank. I started to draft water from the cistern to use to fight the fire but as I turned around I noticed a sticker on the inside of the chauffeur¡¯s door for an event that happened back in 2003. But I just ignored it for now because I would rather focus on the task rather than get sidetracked.


    Some manual construction tools down there were in danger of catching on fire like shovels, stampers, and pavers not adding other tools and chemicals used in road construction but even with a defensive operation that didn¡¯t stop the heat and fire from spreading to it creating a big conflagration but the fire even spread to other construction vehicles like bulldozer, loader, grader, paver, roller, and paint truck as well. But to me, I¡¯m just lucky that we had the cistern we could use while the main hydrant system is down for maintenance at the wrong time but the hydrants some are painted different colors like red meaning 1,500 gallons per minute (95 L/s), and connected to a Municipal System even though the city can redirect water away from either a certain hydrant or a district for whatever reason like maintenance.


    The history of Eastside is a tapestry woven with resilience and rebellion. In the 1980s, the city of Empire, in a controversial move, bulldozed the district¡¯s community gardens and sharecropper farms¡ªsanctuaries that had flourished for two centuries. In their place rose bars, taverns, and gentlemen¡¯s clubs, establishments that stood in stark contrast to the verdant plots they replaced. The community¡¯s response was swift and decisive; a boycott ensued, and soon, the unwanted businesses shuttered their doors. The people of Eastside reclaimed their land, sowing seeds of defiance where drinks once poured.


    But the city¡¯s retribution was cruel; they cut off the water supply to Eastside, leaving the district parched and vulnerable. Fires broke out, unquenchable and deadly, claiming lives as they raged beyond the reach of the cisterns¡¯ life-giving waters. The residents, undeterred, drew water from the cisterns or caught rain water, boiling it to purify it and survive. The toll of the tragedy was too great to ignore, and the city, chastened by the loss of life, restored the water to Eastside.


    In those days, a one-alarm fire was no mere call to action; it was a clarion call that escalated rapidly to a third alarm, demanding a response that tested the mettle of every firefighter. The third due Engine Company would deploy their hard suction hose, drawing from the cisterns¡¯ depths to feed the 4 to 5-inch supply lines that connected the engines in a daisy chain of solidarity. Engine Co 47, often too distant from the cisterns, relied on the second and third due companies to ferry the water to their location.


    The ¡°War Decades¡± of Empire were a tumultuous era, marked by the dual blazes of social unrest and literal fires. The late 60s and early 70s saw flames stoked by protests against the Vietnam War, but also by the city¡¯s aging infrastructure¡ªobsolete wiring that couldn¡¯t handle the demands of modern appliances.


    Claire, my girlfriend, is a seasoned veteran of those fiery years. She joined the fire department in 96, driven by a desire to serve and protect, especially after witnessing the loss of friends to the flames. The city¡¯s decision to relocate Engine and Ladder Co 47 from Eastside to Highwood was a blow to the community. Response times increased from a mere 3-5 minutes to a staggering 7-12 minutes, a delay that cost precious lives.


    But the spirit of Eastside was not easily quenched. When residents uncovered the city¡¯s ¡°Planned Shrinkage¡± strategy¡ªa cold calculation to let the district burn, only to rebuild it for profit¡ªthey rallied. The community forged their own makeshift fire brigade, armed with garden hoses and buckets, a defiant stand against the conflagration.


    Their resolve didn¡¯t end there. The people of Eastside educated themselves on the inner workings of the fire department, using this knowledge as a shield against City Hall¡¯s machinations. They stood united, challenging the powers that be, safeguarding their homes and heritage from the flames of greed and neglect.


    The inferno we face now is a different beast from the wildfires that sweep through the forests of Little Bird. There, backburning¡ªa tactic where firefighters intentionally set fires to reduce the available fuel¡ªcan be effective, as the two fires consume each other, leaving nothing but ash. But in the urban heart of Empire, concrete and steel replace brush and trees, such strategies are not an option.


    The ecological wildfires of Little Bird, some natural and others man-made, play a role in the life cycle of the forest, allowing fire-adapted plants to thrive and creating grazing grounds for wildlife. It¡¯s a delicate balance, one that the 1963 Little Bird Wildland Act seeks to protect by establishing a buffer zone between nature and civilization.


    The history of fire in Empire is a stark reminder of the importance of such measures. The devastating Wildland-Urban interface fire of 1962, which ravaged the district of Highwood, underscored the need for separation. The fire claimed 480 homes and scorched over 6,090 acres (24.6 km2), injuring at least 200 firefighters, mostly from smoke and flying embers.


    Back then, the Fire Department City of Empire fought valiantly from the ground, without the aid of aircraft. It wasn¡¯t until 1972 that aerial firefighting became a part of their arsenal, with repurposed World War II-era planes like the sea-faring PBY Catalina and strategic bombers taking to the skies to battle the blazes.


    Fast forward to January 3rd, 2010, and the department boasts a fleet of 14 utility helicopters, 4 transport helicopters, and 10 fixed-wing aircraft. Yet, these mechanical birds are grounded in urban firefighting scenarios, their wings clipped unless the Mayor of the city or the Governor of the State/County/Borough/Commonwealth of Mountain authorizes their use. It¡¯s a policy born from necessity.


    The fire¡¯s ferocity escalated a relentless force that seemed to defy our efforts. The underbelly of the freeway, a skeleton of steel and concrete, was now ensnared in the blaze¡¯s embrace. We fought back with a deluge of water and foam, attacking from all angles, yet the flames danced on, as if possessed by a will of their own.


    Relief washed over us as the original companies, initially diverted by a false alarm at a high-rise, returned to the fray. The fire remained stubbornly alive, resisting our every move.


    The heat was a tangible enemy, its oppressive waves forcing us into a relentless dance of advance and retreat. Firefighters, overwhelmed by the scorching air, withdrew to recover, while their refreshed comrades took their place at the hose lines. The intensity was such that even the sturdy engines and ladders bore the scars of battle, their paint peeling away under the intense heat.


    I, Macaroni Waterson, felt the heat¡¯s sting, retreating time and again to stave off the threat of heatstroke. The surrounding buildings, once bystanders, now bore the brunt of the inferno¡¯s wrath, their windows cracking and shattering under the relentless heat.


    The day¡¯s routine inspections, a stark contrast to the night¡¯s chaos, were a reminder of the ever-present danger lurking within the city¡¯s veins. We, the vigilant crew of Squad 769, had traversed the urban landscape, extracting the seeds of potential disaster from the homes and businesses of Empire. The removal of excessive plugs from outlets, the warnings against the silent threat of overworked circuits¡ªthese were our preemptive strikes against the invisible enemy of electrical fires.


    Yet, despite our diligence, the evening brought with it the grim reality of our fears materialized. The elevated freeway, a symbol of progress, now stood compromised. The heat, an unrelenting force, had sapped the strength from concrete and steel alike. The fireproofing, a defense designed for hours, not eternity, had met its match in the inferno¡¯s heat.


    Engine Co 23, perched precariously atop the freeway, was a mere stone¡¯s throw from the crumbling edge. It was my cousin, Captain David ¡°Dave¡± Mitchell Waterson of Ladder Co 16, who shed light on the hidden hydrants of the freeway¡ªprotected standpipes, akin to hydrants, strategically placed to withstand the chaos of accidents and provide a vital resource for firefighting efforts.


    His revelation was a double-edged sword, a design both ingenious and flawed. The standpipes, while safeguarding water access, could also fall victim to the very accidents they were meant to endure, their accessibility blocked by the unpredictable colliding vehicles. This paradox underscored the importance of the second due engine company, whose role in extending a supply line from the ground hydrants became all the more critical, their hoses stretched to their limits. After all, the alarm code for a fire on the expressway/freeway is 2 Engines (or 1 Engine, 1 Squad), 1 Truck, 1 Battalion Chief (one engine or one squad stays off the expressway to tag a hydrant if needed).


    But Engine Co 23 did back up to get away from the danger of the crumbling part of the freeway, Even though I believe that the Captain or Lieutenant of Engine Co 23 will get scolded by putting their company and their apparatus in that close to danger but it was smart enough to spray water down onto the fire literally.


    But after a few more minutes the Municipality system came back with water reflowing through the hydrants where the city utility company, Empire Utilities got done with their maintenance but there was a problem. The fire spread some more but i turned off the nozzle i had and smelled fuel in which from a short study I done at Arcane University back in the past that the Empire Utility the department that responsible for the maintenance of the water mains that in the past they would use flammable fuels to burn any weeds that start to burn. Any foliage that might be growing not adding that they do it because they believe that the heat might help loosen up any blockage that water pressure can¡¯t do even though i believe it might be easier if they just remove parts of pipes that are clogged and replace them until they unclog the clogged up pipe but that¡¯s just me.


    At least I¡¯ve paid very close attention to my training and studies. The fire seems to be a complex amalgamation of different classes:


    Class A: Ordinary combustibles are definitely present, given the construction materials involved.


    Class B: Flammable liquids and gasses could be fueling the fire, especially if construction vehicles and chemical agents are involved.


    Class D: Metallic fires are a possibility, considering the construction tools and materials that may contain reactive metals.


    Class K: While this class typically involves kitchen fires, the chemicals present at the construction site might behave similarly when ignited.


    The absence of live electrical wires rules out a Class C fire, which is a relief as it removes the risk of electrocution during firefighting efforts.


    The Captain¡¯s decision to strike additional alarms and call in the city¡¯s remaining Special Operations Command Companies is a testament to the severity of the situation. The involvement of units like Rescue Co 17, Rescue Co 18, Rescue 53, Squad 141, and Squad 541, despite some being relatively new to service, underscores the need for a robust and coordinated response to this multifaceted emergency.


    Under the watchful eye of Captain Harris, I along with my partner from Squad 769, were tasked with a critical mission. Our objective was clear: to don the specialized Fire Proximity Suit, a privilege reserved for a select few companies within the city. Among them, Squads 525, 141, 541, and 769, as well as Rescue Companies 17 and 18, were equipped with the coveted Entry Suit variant, while Engine and Ladder Companies 18 and 68 boasted the Proximity version.


    As the Captain¡¯s orders echoed in my ears, I felt the weight of responsibility settle on my shoulders. The Entry Suits enveloped us, transforming us into figures of safety amidst the chaos. Our mission was to safeguard the construction equipment from the encroaching flames, a task that demanded precision and urgency.


    My partner, a seasoned firefighter, swiftly gathered the manual and automatic tools scattered across the road construction site, his movements a dance of efficiency as he secured them away from danger. Meanwhile, I faced a daunting challenge: to maneuver the heavy construction vehicles to safety. Despite my lack of experience with such machinery, the urgency of the situation left no room for hesitation. Some vehicles were mercifully left with keys in the ignition, while others required a deft hand to hotwire, a skill I never imagined I¡¯d employ outside the training academy.


    Our training at the academy had prepared us for moments like this. We were the Special Operations firefighters, equipped with knowledge to shut off electricity, repair damaged structures, and handle plumbing emergencies¡ªall without the need for an engineer¡¯s intervention. This multifaceted expertise traced its roots back to the early 1920s when the concept of Rescue Companies was still in its infancy. Back then, the men who formed these companies were not just firefighters; they were skilled craftsmen, adept in construction, bricklaying, and electrical work, often honed through hobbies or second jobs.


    Sometimes, I found myself longing for the structure of the Little Birden city of Las Adventure, where their fire companies operated as task forces, combining two engine companies with a ladder company¡ªa unique arrangement compared to the rest of Little Bird. In contrast, the City of Empire, my home, followed the traditional setup of one engine and one ladder company.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.The operation was grueling, but we persevered. As I backed the construction vehicles away from the inferno, the heat seared through the protective layers of the Fire Proximity Suit, a stark reminder of the peril we faced. Yet, it was the fulfillment of our duty that fueled my resolve, and I drove each vehicle with a determination that matched the intensity of the flames we battled against. The leather seats, heated by the blaze but without the fire proximity suits it sure would have gone through the turnout gear but we were wearing the silver suits.


    As the night¡¯s adrenaline began to ebb, I watched my cousin Dave, a stalwart of Ladder Co 16, slump against the fire truck, his forehead meeting the cool metal with a soft thud. Concern etched into my features, I approached him, inquiring about the storm cloud clearly hovering over his head.


    Dave¡¯s voice, tinged with a mix of sorrow and pride, broke the silence. He confessed that despite being a grown man of nearly 33, the absence of his father Bobby and Uncle Clark weighed heavily on him. Both had been exemplary firemen, serving from March 1967 until that fateful day in September 2003. They possessed an uncanny intuition for firefighting, as if a computer chip had been implanted in their brains, guiding them through flames and crises with unparalleled precision.


    Throughout the 1970s, Bobby and Clark foresaw the evolving landscape of emergency services, immersing themselves in counter-terrorism training. They anticipated a future where firefighters and police officers would stand on the frontlines against terror. Their foresight was rewarded with promotions to Captain in 1975 and later to Lieutenant in 1985.


    Dave¡¯s lineage was steeped in bravery and service. His grandfather, too, had been a firefighter with Engine Company 24 in Manhattan, serving the Fire Department City of New York from 1921 until his retirement in 1966, with pauses only to serve in World War II and the Korean War.


    With a voice swelling with pride, Dave spoke of his father and uncle¡¯s legacy¡ªnot just as firefighters but as pioneers who advocated for safety, advanced training, and technological advancements to enhance firefighting capabilities. They hailed from an era when Airpaks were becoming standard issue, yet in towns like Clearlake, where Dave was raised, such equipment remained a luxury until the early 1970s.


    Lieutenant Claire Johnson of Squad 141 had a term for the likes of Bobby and Clark: ¡°Fire Breathers.¡± It was a nod to those who battled blazes without the aid of breathing masks, who faced the inferno with nothing but their courage and wits.


    In Dave¡¯s eyes, had his father and uncle still been with us, the fire at the road construction site would have been extinguished before it could escalate to a third alarm. Their legacy was not just in the fires they fought but in the wisdom they imparted, the lives they saved, and the indelible mark they left on the hearts of those who followed in their footsteps.


    Dave Waterson leaned against the sturdy frame of Ladder Co 16. As I approached, the lines of fatigue and loss etched into his face became apparent. Dave was a man forged in the fires of legacy, carrying the Waterson name¡ªa name synonymous with bravery and sacrifice.


    He spoke of his father, Bobby, and Uncle Clark, with a bittersweet smile. They were men who lived for the thrill of the call, the rush of the flames, and the camaraderie of the firehouse. Retirement was a foreign concept to them, an unwelcome guest in a life dedicated to service.


    Dave¡¯s journey to the fire service was a path paved by admiration and expectation. Bobby had always assured him that pride was not tied to the uniform, yet for Dave, the firehouse was a second home, a place where childhood memories intertwined with dreams of heroism. It was there, among the tools of the trade and the laughter of his father and uncle, that his future was shaped.


    His marriage to Capt. Linda Richter, a woman whose lineage was steeped in firefighting history, was a testament to the bond that only those who dance with danger can truly understand. Together, they represented centuries of dedication, a living history of the fire service.


    The visit to the vehicle yard, a graveyard of twisted metal and charred remains, was a pilgrimage for Dave. It was there, in the silent rows of fire engines and ladders, that he confronted the ghosts of his past. The sight of Fire Station Five¡¯s fleet, reduced to unrecognizable husks, was a stark reminder of the fragility of life and the cruel hand of fate.


    In that moment of reflection, a piece of Dave¡¯s heart was left among the ruins. Yet, from the ashes of sorrow, he drew inspiration. He adopted a practice from a battalion chief in the city of Chocolate, a tradition of writing letters to be read in the event of a firefighter¡¯s death. It was a poignant embrace of mortality and a promise to honor the fallen by living fully in their stead.


    From the gritty heart of Empire, I stand as a testament to the unyielding spirit of our fire service¡ªa fraternity steeped in valor, unity, and an unwavering commitment to one another. Yet, within these hallowed halls, the winds of change stir restlessly, challenging the entrenched norms of gender roles. As a woman among the ranks, where 32% of Little Bird¡¯s bravest are female, I¡¯ve borne the heft of silent scrutiny, the unspoken inquiry of my capability to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with my brothers in arms.


    But let me tell you, our legacy is woven deeply into the fabric of this city¡¯s history. Cast your mind back to the 1890s, to an Empire barely more than a fledgling settlement, when a merciless bacterial plague struck down the menfolk. It was then that the women of Empire rose, not as mere surrogates but as rightful guardians of the flame. They clad themselves in the gear of their ailing kin and stood firm against the inferno, their resolve unshaken through the bleakest epoch of the 1853-1919 Recession. In those shadowed times, they etched an indelible truth into our story: bravery is not bound by gender.


    This narrative is not just historical lore; it¡¯s etched in my bloodline. Take, for instance, my cousin-in-law Linda¡ªher lineage is steeped in firefighting lore, tracing back two centuries. Like her forebears, Linda¡¯s kin¡ªfrom her father to her siblings¡ªare encyclopedias of firefighting wisdom. Yet, I¡¯ve observed a stark contrast in our ranks. In Empire, some of us are pigeonholed into blue-collar trades, while others navigate the white-collar realms, a division more pronounced in the urban sprawl than in the towns of Little Bird. Here, amidst the towering office monoliths, many of us are versed in the cerebral rather than the mechanical, a reflection of the city¡¯s architectural giants.


    Then there¡¯s Captain Linda Richter-Waterson, a scion of a storied lineage. When I look into her eyes, I see the flicker of recognition, a silent homage to her great-great-great-great-grandaunt, Empire¡¯s first female fire commissioner from 1888-1892. A pioneer who, despite her rank, would rush headlong into the fray. Her legacy was sealed in an act of ultimate sacrifice¡ªa daring rescue in a gunpowder-laden industrial plant that claimed her life and those of her fellow firefighters. I believe, were she here today, she¡¯d don her gear without a moment¡¯s hesitation and lead the charge, for she was, and forever will be, a leader from the front lines.


    But in my opinion, Captain Linda and her company of Rescue Squad 17, including Rescue Squads 18 and 53 are kinda useless at this nighttime road construction site fire where while they¡¯re the most experienced members but their job is to save lives not fighting fires so they¡¯re just standing by their respective apparatus where their job falls anything for technical rescues or anything that a Engine or Ladder Company can¡¯t handle. And how since it¡¯s nighttime there¡¯s no road worker in harm''s way and that the raging inferno is in one area being hit by water from Engine Companies 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 23, 47, 53, 59, 68, 71, Ladder Companies 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 23, 47, 53, 59, 68, 71 Foam Companies 23, 33, and HAZMAT Companies 23, 33 where we¡¯re just hitting the fire from all around with water, foam, dry chemical, and dry powder.


    I had to watch where I walked due to the hoses that crisscrossed the area we were at where the concrete ground was crisscrossed with both four inch and five inch supply lines that are connected to various hydrants or standpipes and that the ground was also crisscrossed with the 1 ? and 2 ? inch attack lines and 1 ? and 2 ? inch high rise attack lines with the latter being hooked up to the standpipes in the modern as of 1950s/60s.


    Soon there was an explosion which made us all run but not all of us could run away in time. Some got caught in the fireball and that their screams would haunt us for the rest of our lives where we were able to put them out and sent them off to the hospital intensive care unit burn center for their fourth degree burns but some of them their backs were so burned that they had to be put on the stretcher while laying on their stomachs than their backs but in my opinion is that the eight that got caught in the fireball won¡¯t survive where their lifespan is just a few minutes maybe a day or two.


    I then overheard the 18th Battalion Chief just say, ¡°Get on the line to get Ret. Battalion Chief Kai Richter down here.¡±


    Now that some old blood is going to come down to the scene and one of the few firefighters who is specially trained in more or less everything not adding he came on at a time when many of the firemen back then were veterans of World War 2 and the Korean War. Back then many of them back in the 1930s worked in many public projects that put millions of men to hard work but the problem is that 98% of the older members are either retired, lost their memory and went senile or are dead.


    After sometime after moving the destroyed hoseline and moving in a new hoseline to replace the destroyed ones but at the same time i got to see the destruction of the fireball. Several different fire engines and trucks were scorched and the windows, lights shattered even a lot of the windows in the apartment building. The heat was hot enough to shatter a majority of the windows in the apartment building.


    Soon retired Battalion Chief Kai Richter came wearing his obsolete steel toed hip boots, black canvas jacket and helmet. He started to bark orders like having the Rescue Squads and non other firefighting apparatus to be relocated out of the area of operation so only the Engines, Trucks, and Squad Companies can be in the AO without the fire department¡¯s non firefighting apparatus being in the area. After all with the presence of the Rescue Operations Logistics, Special Operations Command Support Unit, Utility Support, and Rebreather companies on scene because there¡¯s a few Engine and Ladder companies that cannot be  close to the scene to shoot water onto the fire


    By sunrise, I went back to Squad 769¡¯s position. I saw it destroyed with the right half burnt beyond recognition with the left half still red even though the seal burnt but the officer door window some part of it was cracked with a piece of the window gone.


    Once the fire was out we just kept spraying water onto the still smoldering construction equipment then we went down there to start to do salvage and overhaul of just clearing debris, and tearing out walls and ceilings in the construction trailers to make sure there was no fire hiding within and removing filthy asked-choked water also finding and saving any items not destroyed by the fire. While it¡¯s not shown in media of firefighters doing salvage and overhaul but it¡¯s important for ¡®em to make sure there¡¯s no hidden fire so they can leave and not come back because sometimes there¡¯s been times where all of the companies would go back to their respective quarters only for the fire to reignite and cause another fire.


    ¡°Hey Dave,¡± I said, ¡°Have you ever put out a fire then it reignited and caused another fire in the same building that you just fought a fire in?¡±


    Dave replied, ¡°Several even if we do Overhaul and Salvage there¡¯s a few times that happened. July 1st, 96 almost one year on the job was a two alarm fire in one of those buildings that¡¯s a restaurant on the first floor and apartments on the upper floors where the fire got up to the cockloft and we didn¡¯t even know so we just done salvage and overhaul on the Chinese restaurant and the apartments right above the restaurant and I can say that the company that I was then on which was Engine Co 16 we just turned onto the street that Firehouse Sixteen is on but over the radio we were called back. That was the best ham I made that day too. Oh there was another time seven almost eight years ago back when Lusty was first pregnant in her 2nd trimester. God I hated that CFR class back in ¡®95. But yeah fire at a bank we put it out and well the floors and ceiling are made of tiles you know marble floor tiles with masonry even though to me that''s an hazard but the fire got into the vault and burnt up all the money and got in between the first floor and second floor mezzanine.Long story short that bank was out of business for several days due to fire, smoke, and water damage. Final time that it happened  because I remember it like yesterday.¡±


    ¡°You do?¡± I asked.


    Dave replied, ¡°Yup it was the day that LIly and Rose were born. It was apart of an agreement that if I donated my sperm so she could have a child well apart of the agreement was that every other week that Lily and Rose and later  Margaret, Mabel, Bella, Chloe, and Charlotte that every other week that they have to spend time with me and Linda so they can be with their biological father. Don¡¯t believe me then you can ask your girlfriend yourself or ask her to look up the agreement that she and I signed. Where was I? Oh yeah it was at a strip mall the buildings were Trend Threads: Was the go-to clothing store for the latest fashion at affordable prices. Whether you¡¯re looking for casual wear or something for a night out, Trend Threads has it all. Smoke & Roll Emporium: Was haven for tobacco enthusiasts, this shop offers a wide selection of cigarettes, cigars, and smoking accessories. It¡¯s a place where connoisseurs can find rare blends and share their passion for the leaf. Grill & Chill Bar: The heart of the strip mall, this bar and grill is where friends gather to enjoy hearty meals, watch sports, and unwind after a long day. With a menu that¡¯s a mix of classic and innovative, there¡¯s something for everyone. Burger Blitz: Fast food doesn¡¯t mean low quality at Burger Blitz. Here, you¡¯ll find gourmet burgers made with fresh, locally-sourced ingredients, served up quick and with a smile. Lux Couture: For those with a taste for the finer things, Lux Couture offers high-end fashion from renowned designers. It¡¯s an upscale boutique for the discerning shopper looking for that perfect outfit for special occasions. Tech Haven: Your one-stop electronic shop, Tech Haven is where the latest gadgets and gizmos live. From vinyls to recording consoles, if it¡¯s cutting-edge technology you¡¯re after, you¡¯ll find it here. Green Relief: As the name suggests, Green Relief is a medical cannabis store providing a variety of strains for medicinal use. Knowledgeable staff are on hand to assist customers in finding the right product for their needs. Well there was a fire and spread out across the entire strip mall and quickly went to fourth alarm but after the fire went out well we went 10-09 because of Lusty going into labor where we just took her to the hospital instead of radioing and waiting for an ambulance but hey it was my decision for it and while yes I did get scolded by HQ but I stand by my action that any situation could¡¯ve happened. But yeah when the strip mall caught fire again the four engine companies and three ladder companies returned while we were off the air meaning unavailable.¡±


    As the dawn broke, painting the sky with streaks of orange and pink, we, the weary but vigilant firefighters of Squad 769, began the meticulous process of scavenging and overhaul. The eight-alarm blaze that had engulfed the road construction site was now a smoldering memory, and it was our duty to ensure every ember was extinguished.


    Curiosity piqued as I surveyed the charred remains, I turned to my cousin Dave, who was inspecting a charred bulldozer. ¡°Dave, how often do these apparatus get replaced?¡± I inquired.


    He paused, a reflective look crossing his face illuminated by the rising sun. ¡°Well, Macaroni,¡± he began, using the nickname that always brought a smirk to my face, ¡°it really hinges on the company¡¯s call volume. You see, the officers from each company, the three captains and one lieutenant convene like a council of architects, sketching out designs on paper, tailoring each rig to specific needs. That happens every eight to ten years.¡±


    I listened intently as Dave continued, ¡°The department¡¯s analysts are like our strategists; they study the fire map, dissecting data from annual responses, even those pesky false alarms. They prioritize the busiest companies for replacements, with the slowest companies getting the newer apparatus last.¡±


    He motioned me over to the side doors of our truck, pointing out the serial numbers etched into the metal. ¡°These last four digits,¡± he explained, ¡°they tell a story¡ªthe year this steel truck joined our house. Take Sixteen Truck here; ¡®2004¡¯ marks the year it became part of our legacy, a far cry from the rig my dad rode¡ª¡®1967¡¯ was its badge of honor.¡±


    Dave¡¯s tale took a whimsical turn as he recounted a mishap from before the digital age, a time when human error led to fire trucks being delivered to the wrong towns. ¡°Imagine Clearlake expecting ¡®24¡¯ and getting ¡®5¡¯ instead, a truck fit for the urban sprawl ending up in a rural haven, and vice versa,¡± he chuckled. ¡°It wasn¡¯t until computers entered the scene in ''77¡ªthe year Linda and I came into this world¡ªthat such mix-ups became a tale of the past.¡±


    _____________________________________________________________________


    January 17th, a day like any other in Clearlake, Little Bird. To me, this town is a slice of heaven, reminiscent of Moonlight Cove and Sunset Vale. It''s where the heart of our community beats strongest in the park. Here, families spread out their picnic blankets, anglers cast their lines hoping for a catch, and it''s not uncommon to bump into a new face during an evening stroll. Our town is a charming blend of the old and the new, where futuristic buildings stand shoulder to shoulder with structures straight out of the 1950s American suburbs.


    Cadence, Mitchell''s better half, suggested I drop by this quaint restaurant on Main Street. The name ¡°The Vintage Vineyard¡±, but it''s the one with a cozy table tucked away in the back. That''s where I found Mitchell, Cadence, his sister Twilight, and their half-sisters Mackenzie, Aurora, and Lavender. Jack and Sam were there too, decked out in their Army Service Dress. Odd, considering they''d never served in the Little Bird Army, but the Little Bird Marines instead.


    I couldn''t help but overhear Sam and Jack. They were deep in conversation with Twilight, who was recounting her time in the military. Many Little Birdens, like her, fibbed about their age to serve in the war. She was part of the 2/7/5/B ¨C the Second Infantry Division, 7th Regiment, 5th Battalion, Baker Company. They saw some of the fiercest battles in the Allied-Soviet war, with the division enduring 47,534 casualties and 22,321 wounded. Despite the odds, Twilight survived, joining a company that had grown wary of greenhorns. "Three week wonders," they''d call them, skeptical of their survival on the battlefield.


    I then sat down adjoining from Mitchell.


    Curiosity got the better of me, and I turned to Mitchell. "So, what''s your role in the military? Covert operations?"


    Mitchell leaned in, his voice a low murmur. "Macaroni, in our line of work, plausible deniability is everything."


    He wasn''t wrong. In Little Bird, agencies like the Office of Intelligence Strategic Services and Actions, and the various Special Forces Groups, including the Silent Serpents and Golden Talons, operate under a veil of secrecy. Their mission is clear yet shrouded: "Conduct effective covert action as directed by the war department and the president." That''s all Mitchell could disclose, bound by the law and the shadows of his profession. Whatever he did never happened, where he went he was never there.


    ¡°So the patch on your uniform,¡± I said.


    Mitchell replied before I could finish, ¡°Airborne, 39th Regiment. The regiment I¡¯m assigned to because it¡¯s a normal Airborne unit.¡±


    Soon Nighthawk came in and sat down.


    ¡°Wonder if this place serves any hot chocolate,¡± Nighthawk said.


    Sam replies, ¡°Yeah this place serves homemade hot chocolate. I¡¯ll be back.¡±


    Sam then got up from the table and went into the kitchen.


    ¡°How much did this place cost to rent out for this birthday?¡± I asked.


    Cadence replied, ¡°When I asked Mr. Skybolt of how much he just told me to have Sam come and that we can stay for the entire day as long as we ordered stuff every other hour.¡±


    I then looked at the menu which is not a lot in which I get that because if there was a lot of things on the menu then the costs for food would be a lot higher but two sides on the inside has everything and oh look specials on the back,¡± I said while looking at the menu.


    Soon Carter came in.


    ¡°Oh great this guy¡¯s back¡± I mumbled.


    Mitchell replied, ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡±


    ¡°Oh Carter, my former co-worker, he''s a sexist, misogynistic pig,¡± I said, ¡°Since day one he''s been trying to crawl into my pants. Last time I saw him he was with my mother who wants me to have a child to give her a grandchild so I took a shotgun to his leg in response.¡±


    Not entirely surprising that Carter didn¡¯t go for me this time  he went for Nighthawk which was a huge mistake.


    ¡°Hey there baby doll,¡± said Carter.


    Nighthawk replied coldly, ¡°Beat it punk. You¡¯re not worth the time nor effort.¡±


    Carter then put his hand on Nighthawk¡¯s shoulder.


    ¡°Touch me one more Goddamn time then you¡¯ll be regretting it,¡± snarled Nighthawk.


    Nighthawk isn¡¯t mixing words where she may be an Asexual lesbian but she wasn¡¯t no push over either. Not adding she didn¡¯t get the rank of Captain in the 22nd Helicopter Transportation Wing by sucking up to her Commanding Officer but she done it by putting her nose to the grindstone and by doing things that would be called a daredevil move but she done the hard work and put in the work to be promoted. But she was and still is going to be willing to go above and beyond but what made her Captain in the first place was on December 25th, 1999 at 0130 hours due to the amount of Soviet Anti-Aircraft weapons but she knew that while it was dangerous even told that it was a suicidal run but to her she wasn¡¯t going to leave those special forces soldiers behind where even though her helicopter was filled up with lead but she made two trips and rescued twenty special forces soldiers but she got scolded for it though but what she did deserved her being scolded but at the same time she was praised for rescuing elite special forces soldiers that takes a very long time to train.


    As I stood there, the weight of my firefighter gear suddenly felt lighter when Carter boasted about his military service. I couldn¡¯t help but squint skeptically.


    ¡°Really, Carter? The Army?¡± Sam¡¯s voice cut through the tension, his disbelief mirroring my own. ¡°Which unit claimed the misfortune of having you?¡±


    Carter¡¯s eyes darted around before he stammered, ¡°Uh, the 77th infantry regiment.¡±


    Sam¡¯s retort was swift and factual, ¡°The 77th Infantry Regiment disbanded in ''42, Carter. It split into the 37th and 38th Armored Battalions within the 18th Mechanized-Motorized Infantry Division. Try again.¡±


    Carter¡¯s face reddened as he scrambled, ¡°I meant the 77th Marine Regiment.¡±


    Jack joined in, his tone laced with sarcasm, ¡°And I¡¯m the Queen of England. There¡¯s no 77th Marine Regiment, Carter.¡±


    I watched as Sam and Jack dismantled Carter¡¯s facade with precision. In the Little Bird Army, the Mechanized-Motorized Infantry Division might have five regiments each, but the 77th along with several others were reformed into Armored Regiments before WWII. Those not assigned to tanks joined the elite Airborne Divisions.


    Then, with a smirk, Sam delivered the coup de grace, claiming his place in the 2nd Marine Division, while Jack declared his service in the Seventh Marine Division. They spun their tales with the ease of veterans, leaving Carter speechless and exposed.


    I couldn¡¯t help but feel a twinge of satisfaction as Carter¡¯s deceit unraveled. In our line of work, trust and truth are as vital as the water we use to douse the flames. And just like a fire, lies have a way of consuming everything¡ªespecially when you¡¯re caught in them.


    When Carter said that both the 2nd and 7th Marine Divisions don¡¯t exist Jack told him to fuck off and tell him to read a history book because the Little Bird 7th Marine Division suffered heavy casualties in the Italian Campaign and later suffered heavily casualties in the Vietnam War. Not adding Sam said that the Little Bird 2nd Marine Division was the vanguard for the Little Bird Marine Corps in World War 2 by always volunteering for the dangerous islands even at a 100% casualty rate among the twenty thousand Marines they still would¡¯ve done so but in Nam most of the 2nd Marine Division played a similar role to the American Military Assistance Command, Vietnam ¨C Studies and Observations Group aka  MACV-SOG.


    Sam and Jack were asked what Battles they took part in. Sam in the 2nd Marine Division was ordered well tasked with guarding the 2nd Infantry Division northern guard but took part in Operation: Cauliflower where the 2nd Marine Division was tasked with going west and securing the western side of Rostov-On-Don and go north to Volgograd


    But like many Divisions in the Little Bird Armed Forces, many of its soldiers and marines, many of these men and women are in their twenties, and some of them aren''t even out of their teens. And like the 2nd Infantry Division where the 1st, 2nd, 4th, 5th, 7th Marine Divisions also suffered heavy casualties. But they were taught that death comes two ways which is fast and peaceful or slow and painful but during Operation Cauliflower many of the Little Birden soldiers and Marines got killed in a graphic way they were just labeled as ¡°A Soldier of the Third Great War¡± or ¡°A Marine of the Third Great War¡± not adding throughout the war they saw soldiers on both sides sitting in cover with their hands on their heads or over their ears because they cannot take the fighting, gunfire or shelling anymore while some walked around in a daze confusion due to shell shock. But Jack, Sam, Twilight, and Mitchell say the same thing of ¡°You don''t need to understand a word. Pain and suffering is the same in every language." not adding that they were told that ¡°You are not expected to survive¡± when they were deployed too.


    Sam gave Nighthawk her hot chocolate. Sam just threatened Carter to hit the road or he¡¯s going to be rolled out on a stretcher but when Carter refused Sam slid over the table like in a 1980s Action Cop Film. Carter knew it was time to turn tail and run because not one but two Marines were about to kick his ass but Carter then fled.


    When Carter did flee he ran into another Waterson outside walking alongside his wife in which Carter saw how the woman had dark mascara on.


    ¡°What you hit yourself in the eyes?¡± Carter said all smug like.


    The Waterson male replied, ¡°"If you even implied that I hit my wife then you''re going to get a beating that your father never gave you because a real man doesn''t hit a woman and the last man that hit my sister the police found his body fifteen years after his disappearance where my ex brother-in-law was beaten so badly that there was hardly any bone left!"


    Carter didn''t know that all of the Waterson males keep their wives happy and treat them as human beings. But if someone hurts their lover, spouse or significant other then they take the gloves off to fight dirty because many of the male Watersons work in the military doing unconventional warfare including fighting dirty. Not adding that Carter took a quick look and saw that the Waterson that was about to kick his ass that he has two Medal of Honors and three Distinguished Service Crosses in his thirty four years in the military.


    Sam just said, ¡°Pull that stolen valor act in front of seven vets. I spotted that a mile away. Dumbass tried to pull that Stolen Valor in a place that had been owned by a Marine Veteran since 1975.¡±


    I replied, ¡°A vet owns this place?¡±


    ¡°My dad,¡± said Sam, ¡°2nd Marine Division 1967-68 got injured in the Tet Offensive. But don¡¯t you love it when they pull the ¡®war hero¡¯ excuse?¡±


    Jack then went on to say how on Little Bird stolen valor isn¡¯t protected by free speech and is a federal offense where in Clearlake the last time someone did that was back in 1919 and was sentenced to death by burning at the stake.


    Sam then took me to a plaque on a wall that¡¯s dedicated to the men of the 2nd Marine Division, 8th Regiment, 2nd Battalion, C Company. There was also another plaque on the wall also dedicated to the 2823 firefighters who died, twenty-eight of them were from Clearlake in where for almost two months members from the Port Sarnia Fire Department occupied the Clearlake Fire House until twenty-eight were trained for both shifts.


    After that, we returned to the table.


    ¡°Carter is the type who will be those when Revelation 9:6 comes,¡± I said.


    Cadence replied, ¡°What¡¯s that?¡±


    ¡°Revelation 9:6 says ¡®During those days people will seek death but will not find it; they will long to die but death will elude them,¡¯ That''s what it says,¡± I said.


    As I stood in the Vintage Vineyard, my gaze fell upon the plaque commemorating the 28 firefighters lost in 2003. It was a solemn reminder of the sacrifice and bravery that runs deep in the veins of this town. Jack¡¯s voice broke through the silence, carrying a weight of history and pride. He spoke of his family¡¯s legacy, one marked by courage and tragedy. As the sixth brother out of ten, he recounted the harrowing day when his four eldest brothers answered the call of duty, knowing full well the risks that lay ahead in the towering inferno.


    The eldest, burdened with survivor¡¯s guilt, had hoped against hope to find his siblings alive amidst the chaos. The second brother, after reporting back that the elevators were non-operational, had to climb up to the 99th floor to fight the fires. The third and fourth brothers, on the 65th and 44th floors, stood their climbed, determined to save every last soul before considering their own escape.


    For two weeks, hope flickered like a flame in the wind, as Jack¡¯s eldest brother clung to the possibility of a miracle. But as the third week dawned, reality set in with the crushing finality of steel and concrete. The aftermath revealed the devastating power of the disaster, with emergency vehicles mangled beyond recognition, and even the sturdy ladders of the fire companies torn from their mounts.


    Yet, in Jack¡¯s eyes, his brothers were heroes of the highest order. They were the kind of men who didn¡¯t ask when it was time to leave; they simply knew it wasn¡¯t time until everyone was safe. They were selfless, always putting others'' safety before theirs, and to Jack, even at the age of thirteen, they were nothing short of superheroes. Their legacy is not just etched on a plaque, but in the hearts of all who remember their valor.


    But Jack talked about his 2nd, 3rd and 4th brothers with pride in his voice knowing that his brothers would¡¯ve been there where he knew that his 2nd, 3rd, and 4th brothers would¡¯ve rather died on the job than at home. But Jack also says that his first four brothers, while adults, they were also like children where the first four lived for fires and emergencies and just were bubbly even though the eldest brother lost that.


    But the revelation that Jack and his 5th brother were met with indifference from their parents over the loss of their siblings was a bitter pill to swallow. It¡¯s a kind of pain that doesn¡¯t just scar the heart; it carves out a hollow space that can never be filled. The younger brothers, untouched by the memories of the ones they never knew, carried a different kind of silence within them. But for Jack, the absence of his 2nd, 3rd, and 4th brothers was a void that echoed with the ¡®what-ifs¡¯ and the ¡®if-onlys¡¯.


    Yet, life has a way of marching on, and we found ourselves back at the celebration of Mitchell¡¯s birthday. The menu was an adventure in itself, with my choice of spicy boneless chicken wings adding a kick to the festivities. Time seemed to slow down as we waited for the cake, a decadent chocolate affair crowned with strawberry frosting¡ªa silent serenade to Mitchell¡¯s taste buds.


    The traditional song of ¡®Happy Birthday¡¯ was absent, a collective decision born from Mitchell¡¯s aversion to the tune¡ªa sentiment forged from the relentless repetition of school days past. Mitchell¡¯s presence was a reluctant one, his mind wandering to the gym or any other activity than being the center of attention. Yet, he showed gratitude instead of being ungrateful because his wife threw it for him.


    In the end, it wasn¡¯t about the cake or the song; it was about the people gathered around the table, each with their own stories, coming together to mark another year in the life of someone they cared about. It was about the unspoken bonds, the shared glances, and the quiet understanding that, despite everything, we were there for each other.


    After the party.


    ¡°Hey Mitchell if you don¡¯t mind me asking,¡± I said, ¡°But if you don¡¯t mind me asking but how much do you pay for rent?¡±


    Mitchell replied, ¡°You don¡¯t know the saying Macaroni. The saying of you never ask a woman her age nor a man his salary. But it¡¯s $71 a month.¡±


    ____________________________________________________________________________


    Back in the city of Empire on the following Tuesday.


    I got a tool box and went over to Squad 769 rig where I was able to lift the cab up and I started to work on the engine.


    ¡°What are you doing Macaroni?¡± asked Captain Harris.


    I replied, ¡°Preventive maintenance. Following my cousin Dave¡¯s style of maintenance of doing it a minimum of biweekly after all in a scenario would you rather prevent something from breaking down or would you rather wait until something important breaks like the transmission. Would you want to be called to a fire with a worn out transmission that said transmission breaks leaving us on the side of the road unable to move so dispatch would have to dispatch another Squad Company or another Engine company to take up our spot and leave someone unable to be rescued.¡±


    ¡°Never mind go back to it,¡± said Captain Harris.


    I did one of the first things I did was turn the Rescue Engine on to get an accurate level of transmission fluid. I decided to put some more transmission fluid into it where on Little Bird the fire apparatus all of their engines have those truck engines for tractor trailers well those big rig trucks but I just put a few gallions into the transmission because the manual says that we should have it topped off and the stick says that it¡¯s at half full so that¡¯s what I did. Even for the sake of it I even checked the oil level in which that was fine.


    Soon a white shirt came in where he told us that we all have to report to HQ for ¡°sensitivity¡± training in which was the first time I¡¯ve heard of an career on Little Bird is having it¡¯s employees go through ¡°sensitivity training¡± because on Little Bird that people are told to have thick skin because when I was back in University that when I was assigned for a ride along for Firehouses Sixteen, Thirty-Three and Squad Company 525 that the men and women of firehouses Sixteen and Thirty-Three and the men of Squad Company 525 that in the kitchen that the men and women they just sit in the kitchen just messing around just and do something call ¡°ball busting¡± where they just joke around where everyone gets joked about and talked about and it¡¯s a place that many firefighters I know that they would rather be in the kitchen making jokes and not being offended.


    _________________________________________________________________


    Headquarters in a classroom looking room.


    As we entered the classroom I saw Carter sitting up front and center sitting like a good boy for his first day of school.


    Oh thank you Lord above for this day to have Carter¡¯s sexist ass to partake in this sensitivity training, I thought, Now Lord please send a bolt of lighting to fry his ass or send a group of people to beat the shit out of him. Please and thank you Lord. Amen.


    I sat in the farthest spot which was by a window where I wasn¡¯t interested in being here and I would rather be at work.


    ¡°Alright, listen up, this class takes ten hours,¡± said the same guy who came and got us. ¡°I can safely say that this class beats than risking your life in a fire.¡±


    I interrupted, ¡°I''d rather die in a fire than take this horseshit class because I refuse to sleep with a microcystic pig.¡±


    Carter then looked back at me.


    ¡°Keep your eyes facing forward or I¡¯ll come up there and give you a beating that your dad never gave you,¡± I said.


    Soon a man in a suit came.


    ¡°Hey I got a question and that is if we¡¯re here then who¡¯s going to cover our shift if we¡¯re here to take this damn course for the next ten hours?¡± I asked.


    The man replied, ¡°Your house has been temporarily closed for the next ten hours.¡±


    ¡°I bet if Eastside was a rich neighborhood they would probably move ten firehouses into the neighborhood but since it¡¯s a poor neighborhood, so be it. After all it¡¯s just a bunch of poor impoverished people that have to suffer,¡± I mumbled.


    The man then asked if any of us were prejudiced. I raised my hand in a heartbeat.


    ¡°Who do you feel prejudice against?¡± asked the man.


    I replied, ¡°My family, misogynistic pigs, and people with soft skin.¡±


    ¡°You have?¡± asked the man.


    I replied, ¡°I¡¯ve been called Bosche, Kraut, Jerry, Hun, Fritz, Heinie, even a Goddamn Nazi so many times I can write so many books to fill up a library shelf. Last person who called a Nazi was my cousin Natalie who called me a Nazi because she took my root beer that I had and I was just getting out of the swimming pool and when she called me a Nazi I bitch slapped her into next week.¡±


    ¡°You think that was the most okay thing to do?¡± he asked.


    I replied, ¡°Slamming her face into the wooden table or dragging her up stairs to throw her out of a window into the pool hoping her feet or legs hit the concrete so her legs could be broken would be a better alternative?¡±


    "Well that''s the reason why we''re here," said the guy.


    I replied, "No the reason that''s 100% accurate is that there''s a sexist misogystic here that got hurt when a woman told him to fuck off because said woman aka me refused to sleep with a sexist. Don¡¯t believe me ask Carter¡¯s ex-wife about how Carter is around women just go over to 136 Engine and the main reason we¡¯re here because he¡¯s all sore all over that I told him to fuck off when he couldn¡¯t take the hint that I¡¯m not interested in him and it ended with him getting a 12 gauge magnum buckshot to the leg."


    ¡°Okay I got a video that I want you all to watch,¡± said the guy before going to a tv on wheels.


    I just closed my left eye, and leaned my head against the window and pretended not to watch the film as I just watched cars and pedestrians go about down below. But after some time after the video ended.


    ¡°What did the video demonstrate?¡± asked the guy .


    I replied, ¡°This is bullshit the only reason we¡¯re here is because a sexist misogynistic pig got all sore because he was rejected. All this is good for ass covering purposes. Where are we here? It''s because the one sitting up front and center has friends. We came a long way from duals to settle scores. Next time I run into a burning building or respond to a car accident and refuse to save someone that¡¯s a sexist misogynistic pig or someone who ain¡¯t the same color as me then you can drag me back here.¡±


    I then got up, went to the door and left.


    I just got a cheeseburger and fries for brunch and just went over to firehouse sixteen to spend the day there but when I got there I saw the men and women of Engine and Ladder Company Sixteen sit at a table in the kitchen where they¡¯re just joking around.


    ¡°Can I help you?¡± asked a female voice.


    I replied, ¡°Yeah I just came over here to be with my cousin. He¡¯s the Captain for Sixteen Truck.¡±


    ¡°Well Engine 16, Super Pumper 12, Ladder 16, Field Comm Unit 47, Swift Water Rescue, Urban Search and Rescue 3, and both Ambulances are full.¡± said the lady, ¡°But since the company secretary is out so you can fill her shoes for the day.¡±


    I replied, ¡°As long I don¡¯t have to go back to sensitivity training.¡±


    ¡°What the Hell is sensitivity training?¡± asked the same woman


    I replied, ¡°Nice try,¡±


    She looked at me.


    ¡°Sensitivity training is a technique that uses group discussion and interaction to increase individual awareness of self and others, especially those of different gender, culture and abilities,¡± I said.


    She replied, ¡°What happened to the days of doing something good then you get called something good and insulted? I made a lot of mistakes and I got called every female derogatory term in the book. I got tired of hearing that my former crew made up new terms to call me. Who¡¯s making your crew go through that sissy training?¡±


    ¡°Carter over on 525,¡± I replied.


    She replied, ¡°Jesus might as well have Satan himself drag your crew there himself.¡±


    ¡°You have a history with him?¡± I asked.


    She replied, ¡°History? I wrote the original definition of ¡®blueballed¡¯ because he slapped me on my ass and this was back when we were wearing rubber boots, and rubber jacket not this kevlar nomex gear. Doesn¡¯t help that he was engaged and proudly wore his engagement ring before getting wed. A man who cheats on his fiancee later turned wife for almost two years is not a man I want to be friends with.¡±


    She then left and got her crew of Engine Company 16 went and left. I settled into the chair beside Dave, the clinking of chess pieces a subtle backdrop to our conversation.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t expect to see you here. Aren¡¯t you with Squad 769?¡± Dave inquired, his gaze not leaving the board.


    ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m with 769,¡± I began, my voice steady, ¡°but we¡¯re benched. Carter¡¯s tantrum over my refusal to entertain his sexist remarks has the whole squad on timeout. I¡¯d rather dodge traffic than give him the time of day. And frankly, I¡¯d prefer the company of like-minded women over a conversation with him any day.¡±


    The fire bell¡¯s urgent ring cut through the station, and I rose, ready to face whatever awaited us.


    Amidst the haze of a smoke-engulfed midrise, Dave¡¯s voice found me.


    ¡°You thinking of getting Carter handled?¡± he asked, a hint of mischief in his tone.


    I shook my head, ¡°No, I¡¯ve got my own plans for him.¡±


    Dave laughed, ¡°The low road, huh?¡±


    I countered, ¡°Low road? Please. You¡¯ve been skirting the middle path since you were in first grade honesty laced with cunning. Like that time in ''92 when you lied to your dad about his ''58 Chevy. He taught you a lesson with his belt so well, you couldn¡¯t sit for a year.¡±


    Dave nodded, ¡°Yeah, that stick he used wasn¡¯t just any branch. It was the perfect switch, and it left its mark.¡±


    I recalled a memory from my Alabama days, ¡°I remember a couple at the diner where I worked. They believed in old-school discipline¡ªswitches and birching. But Carter? I¡¯ll handle him my way.¡±


    ¡°If you want to go solo, that¡¯s your call,¡± Dave conceded. ¡°But a little backup never hurts. You sure you don¡¯t want me to make a call?¡±


    I was resolute, ¡°Carter¡¯s just a thorn in our side. Besides, there¡¯s wisdom in the Good Book about dealing with his kind.¡±


    Dave raised an eyebrow, ¡°The Bible talks about fistfights with misogynists?¡±


    ¡°Not exactly,¡± I replied, ¡°But it does talk about justice¡ª¡®an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.¡¯ I know the scriptures that serve me.¡±


    Dave chuckled, ¡°Just remember, ¡®you reap what you sow.¡¯ Be careful. Ever thought about taking a break?¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± I asked.


    Dave leaned in, ¡°The department¡¯s shrink. Spin a tale, make it convincing, and you could get a breather. Linda did it¡ªturned her nightmares into extra leave.¡±


    I pondered Dave¡¯s words, weighing my options. ¡°I¡¯ll think about it. But for now, I¡¯ll deal with Carter in my own way. So Linda has nightmares?¡±


    ¡°Several,¡± said Dave, ¡°On September 17th of 2000 fire over at the Eastside Mall her adoptive brother Kevin was a firefighter over on 33 Engine well we were fighting a mall fire and for whatever reason the mall had corrosive acids and when he jumped off a second story pedestrian pass to get to Linda. And I on the first floor he landed in the corrosive acid where I had to pull Linda out where the moment Kevin landed in that acid he was already dead but we got permission to use explosives to implode the mall. Later that day/night well Rescue Company 17 responded to a turned over gas truck on the bridge and Engine 69 was on its side for whatever reason how that happened is a mystery but the crew of six out of seven were scattered across the road so Linda and five others rescued the six firefighters from Engine 69 but the Rescue Squad Captain went inside to rescue the chauffeur of Engine 69 but a spark lit the gasoline that was spreading and it was all around Engine 69 but the Engineer told the Captain of Rescue Squad 17 to save himself and to her she can still hear their loud and agonizing screams.


    "And finally in 2003 on that fateful day that Linda¡¯s company was in the city of Chocolate going back to Technical Rescue School for requalification when that day happened where she and her company responded to the emergency even though outside of their jurisdiction but she entered with a crew of six not adding herself or adding her it makes seven but out of her crew four never returned home because they were killed but for weeks after the attack. The only thing you could hear around the scene were nothing but the PASS Devices from the firefighters going off. But to Linda she just said that one week after our wedding which was on October 3rd of 2003 one month after the event Linda just said ¡®Our job in the rescue squad is to rescue trapped firefighters but they just recovered 141 of them within one month of the event and there¡¯s 2628 still missing¡¯. Well all 2823 have been found and given funerals but I just do what my dad would¡¯ve said and that is that you can cry when you¡¯re off shift because when you¡¯re on shift there are still a lot of people that need help.¡±


    I glanced at Dave, the weight of the question in my eyes. "Has she found peace, knowing not everyone can be saved?"


    Dave nodded towards the door. "Let''s get this open."


    I wedged the Halligan bar into the frame, and Dave swung his ax, the metal clanging with each strike. But the door wouldn''t budge under my force. With a grunt, Dave took over and with a skilled twist, the door gave way.


    I stepped back, frustration simmering. "I couldn''t even open a solid oak door."


    Dave''s voice was reassuring. "Oak doors are heavy, Mac. They can weigh between 50 to 100 pounds¡±


    I shook my head, the fire of determination in my voice. "We trained just as hard as the men at the academy. If they''ve lightened our load, they''ve underestimated us. We didn''t ask for concessions. We wanted to prove we could do the job just as well, without any special treatment."


    Dave''s nod was solemn, an unspoken agreement between warriors of the same battle. "You''ve proved it time and again, Mac. No door''s weight can measure your strength."


    ¡°You don¡¯t mind me asking?¡± I asked


    Dave cut me off, ¡°Back in ¡®95 the fire academy the dummies we had to drag and carry weighed around 140 pounds. The forcible entry training we done was done with a piece of wood blocking the door and not adding that one part of the training is a firefighter down training of that a trainee has to rescue an unconscious firefighter in a smoke filled tower so that was backbreaking of having to carrying a 140-180 pound male with 75-100 pound gear on.¡±


    ¡°Same for us,¡± I said.


    We then searched the apartment thoroughly but we didn¡¯t find anyone in it.


    ¡°I¡¯m just saying that I¡¯ll be pissed if they lowered the standards for us in certain fields during training at the academy,¡± I said, ¡°Many of the women including myself reject any form of accommodation or special treatment, in part because they wish to prove themselves in the same way as their male counterparts, and in part because we fear it will make them a target for harassment. Some women in my class couldn¡¯t pass the entire training but that didn¡¯t stop them from trying over and over before the final test of doing the entire test within the allotted time of seven minutes. My time was six minutes and forty nine seconds.¡±


    Dave replied, ¡°Linda and Chloe were the same in their days at the academy. But I think that is because of them coming from a family of generations of firefighters not adding that her father was a highly decorated battalion chief before retirement and some of her brothers are Captains and Lieutenants respectively. Hell her brother Kenny who¡¯s a Captain on 82 Engine he put off to attend Linda and mine''s wedding but the chief that approves or denies time off request denied Kenny¡¯s time off request but Kenny just told the guy that it¡¯s not his problem that if 82 Engine would be without an officer for two hours.¡±


    ¡°Honestly I can believe that Carter had us go to that sissy training,¡± I said. ¡°He¡¯s all sore all over because I¡¯m not whoring myself out to him. If he wants to get laid then there are prostitutes out there that he can have sex with and probably every sex disease there is in humanity. Well if he does I hope he gets Aids, HIV, and STD and every other disease that people get from having sex.¡±


    Dave replied, ¡°I still suggest having someone to back you up though.¡±


    ¡°Carter is the type that probably jerks off into a gym sock when things don¡¯t go his way,¡± I said.


    ________________________________________________________________


    Back at the firehouse.


    ¡°Hey, can I run a quick-ish errand real quick?¡± I asked.


    Dave replied, ¡°Yeah go for it.¡±


    I then left and got into my car where I went to a Cafe where I waited outside where I saw Carter come out with a coffee and something to eat in his hands. He went to a table to sit down to eat.


    I got out of my car and went over to him. I slammed his face into the table a few times before grabbing his coffee and throwing the hot coffee onto his crotch.


    ¡°See you in cell block six asshole,¡± I said to Carter before leaving.


    ______________________________________________________


    In another smoke filled building.


    The cluttered room was a menagerie of the neglected and the bizarre. "How many animals does one person need?" I muttered, eyeing a slinky creature in the corner. "Is that a ferret?"


    Dave glanced over, "That''s no ferret. That''s a rat. A big one."


    I reached down, fingers grazing something hard and cold. "And what''s this?"


    "A dead turtle," Dave said flatly.


    I recoiled, dropping the lifeless shell. "This place gives me the creeps. Let''s get out of here."


    Dave''s next words stopped me cold. "You good with snakes?"


    I felt a shiver run down my spine. "Hate them. Why?"


    "Don''t look down," he warned.


    But I did. A Black-headed python, its scales a glossy tapestry of dark hues, was coiling around my ankles. I screamed, a primal sound of fear, and bolted. The snake, perhaps as startled as I was, released its grip, and I didn''t stop running until I was sure it was far behind me.


    Black-headed pythons, I later learned, are non-venomous and generally not aggressive unless hunting. They''re more likely to hiss or strike with a closed mouth when disturbed12. But in that moment, all I knew was terror¡ªand the overwhelming urge to escape.


    Stepping into the daylight, Captain Nova¡¯s eyes widened at Dave¡¯s recount.


    ¡°A snake? You mean an actual snake?¡± she asked, incredulous.


    Dave nodded, ¡°Yep, a Black-headed python, to be precise.¡±


    Captain Nova let out a low whistle. ¡°That¡¯s something you don¡¯t see every day.¡±


    Dave leaned against the truck, a smirk playing on his lips. ¡°In my time here, I¡¯ve rescued all sorts¡ªdogs, cats, birds, even ferrets and snapping turtles. But spiders, snakes, and the like? They¡¯re where I draw the line.¡±


    He paused, a distant look in his eyes. ¡°There was this one fire over on Flurry Street, right at the corner with Mackenzie Street. An iguana was part of that day¡¯s rescue roster. But rats and spiders? No, thank you.¡±


    As we were about to debrief, another firefighter jogged over, urgency in his step. ¡°Captain, you might want to get Animal Control on the line. We¡¯ve got an alligator situation in the bathtub.¡±


    The crew exchanged glances, a mix of disbelief and resignation in their eyes. Just another day in the life of a firefighter¡ªunpredictable.


    ¡°My guess is that it¡¯s probably an illegal animal shelter of someone going to different countries and bringing back pets and creatures from different countries.¡± said Dave, ¡°You know bringing back non native but invasive creatures.¡±


    I replied, ¡°Oh Jesus this is just a nightmare. I¡¯m not going back up there until every single damn animal both deadly or not, is removed by animal control!¡±


    _________________________________________________________


    The following night.


    I was at a bar having a few drinks where I just put $2.55 onto the bar because I had three shots of whiskey and one cup of coffee.


    As I walked out of the bar I checked my phone where I got a lot of messages from an unknown number so I checked and they were all from my mother so I just decided to block that number because my so called mother got a new phone or a new number.


    ¡°You Mackenzie Waterson?¡± asked a guy.


    I replied, ¡°Who wants to know?¡± then turned around where three guys came out of the bar that I was in.


    ¡°We¡¯re Carter¡¯s friends,¡± the same guy said.


    I replied, ¡°That¡¯s your problem not mine.¡±


    The three guys caught me off guard and they beat the living hell out of me until I was down where they then kicked me for a few moments.


    But when they left was when I got up and just decided to go to my cousin Dave and his wife Linda¡¯s apartment when I arrived at apartment 1418  knocked on the door which opened.


    ¡°Nice to finally meet you off shift Captain,¡± I said to Linda before walking in and falling over face first.

 Chapter Nine

    in the hushed stillness of the hospital room, the clock¡¯s hands crept past midnight, casting a soft glow over the sterile walls. It was 12:05 AM, and the world outside seemed to hold its breath. I lay there, my mind a whirlwind of thoughts, when a mundane plastic bag caught my eye. It sat, unassuming, on a nearby chair, but to me, it was a lifeline back to normalcy.


    With a strength I didn¡¯t know I had, I rose and approached the bag, my movements tentative yet determined. Inside, nestled among the impersonal hospital belongings, was my phone, a beacon in the dim light. Clutching it, I returned to the sanctuary of my bed, the screen illuminated 104 messages clamoring for attention. Among them, a single message from my dad stood out, his words a simple invitation to reconnect over drinks, a semblance of normalcy in the chaos.


    The remaining 103 messages were an onslaught from an unknown number, but the truth wasn¡¯t long hidden from me. They were from the woman who brought me into this world, the one I hesitantly call ¡®mother.¡¯ Her first and the other one hundred and two messages, an inquiry about my plans for children, were met with the same resolve as always¡ªI blocked the number without a second thought.


    Sinking back into the bed, I let my gaze drift upwards, pondering the complexity of family ties. How could the woman who gave me life be the same one who refuses to accept me? She denies my bisexuality, dismisses my relationship with another woman as a mere phase, and clings to the belief that I¡¯m merely straying from a straight path.


    I then looked at my phone again and found out that today¡¯s date was Valentine¡¯s Day, the most busiest day in the year for every single restaurant in the world. I just stared up at the ceiling after fully laying back and with my head on the pillow.


    Lying in the hospital bed, my fingers flew across the screen, informing my dad of the altercation with the ¡°white collars¡±¡ªour family¡¯s tongue-in-cheek term for the office-bound bureaucrats. As I hit send, my thoughts couldn¡¯t help but drift to my father¡¯s past choices, particularly the woman he chose to marry. The Waterson clan, known for their fiery spirit and unyielding intuition, had forewarned him. They said he¡¯d be ¡°riding with the Devil¡± if he went through with it, even his future in-laws warned him, yet he tied the knot with her in ''84, a union that lasted nearly a quarter of a century.


    But that chapter is closed now, and I can¡¯t help but feel a surge of relief. My dad¡¯s divorce was a liberation, not just for him but for all of us who knew the marriage was a mismatch from the start. He¡¯s moved on, and I respect him all the more for it.


    When his reply buzzed in, I was about to question his late hours before it dawned on me¡ªthe time difference. Here I am, in the Central Pacific, where night still reigns, while back in Alabama, the day has already begun to stir. It¡¯s probably the wee hours of the morning there, yet here he is, responding to his daughter, a testament to our unbreakable bond, no matter the distance or the hour.


    The memories of high school still linger like shadows, moments of joy overshadowed by the harsh reality of a secret love. I recall the girl who once held my heart, our relationship hidden from the world due to her parents¡¯ narrow views. But the walls have ears, and the secret spilled into the open, reaching the one person whose acceptance I craved yet never received¡ªmy mother.


    Her reaction was a tempest, a violent storm that left scars deeper than the skin. She couldn¡¯t fathom the love between two women, her words like daggers insisting it was wrong, unnatural, a dead end to lineage. Her fury didn¡¯t stop there; she stripped me of my passion for lacrosse, echoing the archaic sentiment that sports were not a woman¡¯s pursuit. My father¡¯s support was a distant beacon, but her will prevailed, and I was forced to abandon the field.


    In her relentless quest to mold me into her version of ¡®right,¡¯ she paraded a series of suitors before me. Each date felt like an orchestrated farce, the men often embodying the worst stereotypes¡ªmessy, unhygienic, a stark contrast to the genuine connection I once knew. It was clear that her intentions were not for my happiness, but rather a twisted game to assert control, to make my life unbearable even as I juggled the demands of work and a turbulent home life.


    The constant battle over my wardrobe felt like a tug-of-war between the past and present. My mother, ever the traditionalist, seemed determined to dress me in skirts and dresses, as if willing me back to an era long gone. But my father understood me better; he knew my preference for jeans and a t-shirt wasn¡¯t just a style choice¡ªit was an expression of my identity, my tomboy spirit that only donned dresses for those rare, special occasions.


    His voice, firm yet caring, would often clash with her demands, reminding her that times had changed, that I should be free to choose. In those moments, I felt seen by him, understood in a way that only a parent¡¯s love can convey.


    But it wasn¡¯t just clothes. My mother¡¯s disregard for my interests extended to my cherished gaming consoles¡ªthe PlayStation 1 and 2, and later my Xbox. Gifts from my dad that marked the Christmases of 1995, 2000 and 2001, each one a treasure trove of memories, sold off without a second thought. She never touched the home computer, a fortress safeguarded by a password she didn¡¯t know, but that small mercy did little to ease the sting of loss.


    My dad, though unfamiliar with the intricacies of modern gaming, shared in my indignation. He saw it as a violation, not just of my possessions, but of the very principles of parenting. He had been there, supporting and raising me, while she had been absent, lost in her own world. To him, her actions were unforgivable, a betrayal of the trust and responsibility that come with being a parent. In his eyes, I saw my own feelings reflected¡ªa mix of sorrow, anger, and a deep-seated resolve to keep moving forward, beyond the reach of her shadow.


    In the tapestry of my life, the threads of my parents¡¯ beliefs weave a stark contrast. Born merely a year apart¡ªmy father in ''66 and the woman I hesitantly call mother in ''67¡ªthey might as well hail from different eras. My father, ever the visionary, recognized the winds of change that swept through the decades. He saw the evolution of fashion, the shifting tides of culture from the vibrant ''80s, through the transformative ''90s, and into the dawn of the new millennium. He granted me the freedom to express myself, whether it be in jeans and a t-shirt or shorts in the summer heat.


    My mother, however, seemed anchored in a time that no longer existed, insisting on skirts and dresses, an antiquated role she believed I was destined to fill. Her world was one of confinement, where fun was a foreign concept, and my future was preordained to be that of a housewife¡ªunknown, unseen, unfulfilled.


    But I chose a different path. I declared my independence not with a shout, but with a silent rebellion, leaving for Little Bird to attend Arcane University. It was there that I found love once again, a relationship that blossomed despite my mother¡¯s disapproval. My father¡¯s blessing, though, was all the affirmation I needed. His support didn¡¯t stem from understanding; it was born of unconditional love¡ªa love that saw beyond labels and embraced me for who I am, in all my complexity. And in that acceptance, I found the strength to be unapologetically Mackenzie Waterson.


    The Waterson name carries with it a legacy of unyielding resolve and an unapologetic stance in the face of adversity. It¡¯s a trait I hold dear, a beacon that guides my actions when the situation demands it. Reflecting on my upbringing, it¡¯s clear that the women in my family¡ªthe cousins, aunts, and grand aunts¡ªwere the true matriarchs who shaped my character. They stepped in during my father¡¯s absence, as he served with the 504th Airborne Infantry Regiment during Operation: Just Cause and Desert Storm, teaching me the virtues of self-reliance and courage.


    Those early years, when I was five to seven years old, were a tapestry of lessons learned amidst the backdrop of military life. My mother¡¯s presence was a shadow, her reasons for staying at Fort Liberty a mystery given her history. Yet, it was my great grandfather, a veteran of three wars, who saw through the facade. His blunt words about my father¡¯s choice in partner were a testament to his protective nature and the fierce loyalty that ran through our family¡¯s veins.


    My grandfather, too, a fellow member of the 504th Airborne, didn¡¯t mince words when it came to my mother. He saw her true colors early on and didn¡¯t hesitate to voice his disapproval. His stern warning to her, invoking his M1A1 Carbine, was as much a promise of protection as it was a reflection of his own values.


    Now, miles away from my American roots, I find myself longing for the stories of valor and camaraderie shared by my extended family. Their tales of service in World War II, the Korean War, Vietnam, and the Gulf War are more than just narratives; they are the threads that connect us, a shared experience that binds the Waterson family together, each story a piece of the legacy I carry with me. Their voices, though distant, continue to resonate, reminding me of where I come from and the unbreakable spirit that defines what it means to be a Waterson.


    The anticipation for the next Waterson BBQ is electric in the air, a gathering where the bonds of family are as fiery as the grill itself. It¡¯s a known fact that a Waterson event isn¡¯t complete without the spirited clash of fists¡ªa tradition, really, a testament to our unbridled spirit. For us, a scuffle is just another form of camaraderie, a dance as old as the family name itself. And when one of us is targeted, it¡¯s not just an individual under siege¡ªit¡¯s an affront to the entire clan.


    Those three men who thought it wise to challenge me have indeed unleashed a storm. They¡¯ve stirred the Waterson hornet¡¯s nest, and there¡¯s no calming the swarm now. We stand united, a family whose creed is etched into our very essence: ¡°The Watersons never back down, even when the odds are against us.¡± It¡¯s a sentiment that echoes through generations, a rallying cry that binds us.


    But this isn¡¯t just about family pride or upholding traditions. It¡¯s about justice, about standing up for one¡¯s own when they¡¯ve been wronged. My family, steeped in the teachings of the Bible, knows the weight of the words ¡°an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.¡± It¡¯s a principle they¡¯re prepared to uphold, a balance they¡¯re ready to restore. Though the proverb warns that those who live by the sword shall die by it, it¡¯s a risk the Watersons are willing to take, for the family¡¯s honor is a sacred thing, worth defending to the very end.


    I just then used my phone to watch a documentary that recently came out and the hour-long documentary about how on July 21st, 2005 when the Soviets invaded Little Bird well the Little Bird Air Force responded clearly by sending wave after wave it¡¯s Nighteagle Stealth Bombers to eastern Soviet Russia where military installations, military airbases, and radar bases were struck first but with the radar dishes down it allowed the C15 long-range, subsonic, jet-powered strategic bomber in which the Nighteagles they only can carry a small payload of 5 to 15 250 pound bombs while the C-15S can carry 110 500 Pound bombs or 55 1000 pound bombs.


    But as I watched the documentary on my phone the narrator somewhat mocked Operation Rolling Thunder with the military having bombing halts while this time the Little Bird Air Force across Eastern Russia were bombed relentlessly with the only restriction being civilian areas and religious areas but the rest like airbases, SAM Sites, and other military targets were bombed relentless not adding that the C-15s and Nighteagles were broken up in twelve waves with the first six waves being the Nighteagles going in with a thirty minute gap in between the waves but once the first six waves were done was when the six C-15 Bomber waves came in with also thirty-minute gaps in them. But the rotation was that when the final wave of bombers got done dropping their payload and started to head home was when the first wave would be returning for their strategic bombing run again.


    But within the first month that from July 21st, 2005 to August 21st of the same year the Little Bird Air Force dropped almost twice as much bombs as those were dropped in World War 2 but the Air Force had a problem of not having any escort fighters or penetration fighters because of the range because before they even got half way to their targets the fighters would¡¯ve have to return to base even with external fuel tanks to give them additional fuel the range still would¡¯ve been too great for them. So the air force brought back the concept of parasite fighters where the air force just took navy multirole fighter jets and attacked them to the bombers in which the bombers that were assigned to carry the parasite fighters lost the ability to strategic bombing but the parasite fighters would¡¯ve stayed with the waves and could attach or unattached from the bombers that were refitted to carry said parasite fighters. But the naval multirole fighters were chosen because they were already half the length of the air force fighters.


    Settling into the stiff hospital bed, my attention was captured by a documentary detailing "Project: H.A.R.P," also known as High Altitude Range Penetrator. It was a visionary project from the 1950s, aiming to develop a fleet of long-range, high-altitude penetrator fighters for the Little Bird Air Force. The ambition was staggering¡ªthese fighters were said to have the range to traverse from San Diego, California, to Madawaska, Maine, a whopping four and a half times without the need for a landing or aerial refueling?.


    As I watched, the parallels between Project: H.A.R.P and the American XF-108 Rapier and XF-90 became apparent. These were aircraft ahead of their time, ultimately shelved due to budget cuts or rendered obsolete by the relentless march of missile technology. The documentary didn''t shy away from these comparisons, adding a layer of depth to the narrative.


    However, comfort was elusive as I shifted on the unyielding pillows, trying to find a position that eased the discomfort. The documentary, while informative, sometimes felt like it was stretching its content thin. Yet, it deserved praise for its spotlight on the Operations Department''s Specialized Troopers¡ªknown as Golden Talons or Silent Serpents. These elite units, trained in deep ground surveillance (DGS) and long-range reconnaissance, operate in small, stealthy groups, often deep within enemy territory. Their mission is to observe and direct, not engage¡ªunless it''s a matter of survival.


    The documentary highlighted their crucial role in equipping our bombers with precision. Armed with laser designators, these troopers enabled both stealth and conventional bombers to deploy laser-guided bombs and bunker busters with pinpoint accuracy, devastating even the most fortified targets. It was a testament to the strategic evolution of Little Bird''s Air Force, adapting and overcoming in a world where conventional warfare tactics were rapidly becoming obsolete.


    In the chaos of war, even the most meticulously crafted strategies can unravel. The crews saw it firsthand¡ªwaves of bombers, meticulously timed and ordered, sometimes getting jumbled. Stealth bombers meant to be third in line would find themselves amidst the actual bombers, or vice versa. Weather, that unpredictable force, could scatter our formations, diverting us to secondary targets not originally on today¡¯s agenda.


    Despite these hiccups, the resilience of the Little Bird Air Force¡¯s bombers is legendary. They¡¯re built tough, able to withstand a barrage of enemy fire. Even a manually fired SAM missile or a well-aimed cannon shot from a MiG jet has to be extraordinarily lucky to take one down before it completes its mission. The bombers¡¯ durability is a source of pride¡ªand a constant challenge for any adversary daring enough to take us on.


    Their advantage isn¡¯t just in our armor; it¡¯s in our altitude. The bombers can soar to a staggering 278,870 feet, with a cruising altitude of 170,000 feet. The bombardiers are trained sharpshooters, calculating their drops far ahead of the target to account for the jet stream winds that could carry the bombs off course.


    The attire of our pilots and crews is a blend of practicality and tradition¡ªan all dark olive drab flight suit, paired with a brown or black padded leather jacket, combat helmet, body armor, and black padded combat jump boots. They forgo the electrically insulated heating suits, wary of the risk of electrocution from even minor damage. Instead, they rely on grit and their gear to keep them alive.


    Each bomber is equipped with a tracking beacon, a lifeline for search and rescue to pinpoint their location should the worst happen. They carry two inflatable life rafts, each capable of holding six people, and enough parachutes for every crew member. And for those unexpected stays in the wilderness, they have a supply cache with a week¡¯s worth of supplies.


    But they were not just survivors¡ªthey were fighters. Each crew member is armed with a basic sidearm, typically a .45 pistol, and we have access to submachine guns or carbine rifles. In the skies or on the ground, they¡¯re always ready to defend ourselves, our mission, and Little Bird.


    In the thick of conflict, the Little Bird Military was well-prepared for the grim reality of downed bomber crews behind enemy lines. The Silent Serpents and Golden Talons, our elite units, included specialists trained in Personnel and Special Equipment Recovery/Capture. These operatives were adept at rescuing and providing medical treatment to our comrades in hostile territories, as well as capturing high-value targets and securing sensitive equipment. They also had the grim task of obliterating the wreckage of downed bombers to prevent enemy exploitation.


    During the initial month of the war, our Air Force''s need for a long-range fighter was dire. In secrecy, we developed a craft that could soar into the thermosphere and exosphere, launched akin to a spacecraft. Originally designed for reconnaissance, many of these aircraft were later retrofitted with a Radar Intercept Officer to transition into a fighter role. These recon variants were transformed from long-range, high-altitude, Mach 3+ strategic reconnaissance aircraft into formidable multirole fighter aircraft. However, their production was costly and limited; from 1984 to 2005, only 150 were built, with 98% initially intended for reconnaissance, not combat.


    The challenge was not just in manufacturing but also in manning these advanced machines. Finding pilots and radar intercept officers capable of navigating such sophisticated technology was daunting. They were expected to perform high-altitude maneuvers, diving from the edge of space back into the lower layers of the atmosphere.


    These cutting-edge aircraft were christened with names befitting their prowess. The reconnaissance variant was dubbed "Sky Spy," a nod to its surveillance capabilities, while the multirole fighter variant was named "Saber," reminiscent of the popular sword carried by Army and Marine Officers in Little Bird''s colonial era. The name "Saber" symbolized the sharpness and precision of this new breed of aircraft, while "Sky Spy" captured the essence of its original mission¡ªto observe from the heavens.


    The documentary didn¡¯t gloss over the personal sacrifices made by the bomber crews and the pilots and RIOs of the long-range, high-altitude, Mach 3+ strategic reconnaissance aircraft and their multirole counterparts. It was a stark reality that many of these brave individuals were single, unattached to any romantic partner or family. The rationale was as pragmatic as it was poignant¡ªthose with significant others or families often found themselves grappling with heightened anxiety and worry, which could lead to hesitation or panic during critical moments.


    Training simulations revealed this psychological pattern; recruits with loved ones were more prone to panic. In contrast, those who were single, though not immune to fear, displayed a more controlled response under pressure. It¡¯s a somber reflection on the demands of such a high-stakes profession, where emotional ties can weigh heavily on the mind and heart of even the most disciplined soldier.


    In the end, the documentary painted a picture of sacrifice and stoicism, where personal lives are often set aside for the greater mission. It¡¯s a testament to the courage and commitment of those who serve, knowing the risks and the emotional toll it may take.


    As the documentary neared its end, it shed light on a significant shift in the Little Bird Air Force¡¯s protocol. Traditionally, a bomber or fighter crew would be rotated out after completing 25 sorties or if they exhibited signs of a mental breakdown. However, at the onset of the war, the rules were amended for the well-being of the crews. Now, after just three sorties, crews were mandated to take a week off, a respite for their mental health, allowing them to decompress and regain their composure.


    The documentary also delved into the daring, perhaps reckless, courage of the bomber crews. In the face of engine failure or fire, they would don specialized boots and gloves, tethered by a rope held by a fellow crew member, to venture onto the wing mid-flight for repairs. This was no routine maintenance; it was a last-resort measure, taken when the emergency firefighting systems were compromised and the situation dire.


    The risks were monumental. Out on the wing, wearing a parachute was not an option¡ªit would hinder their movements or could be ripped away by the ferocious winds at such altitudes. A snapped rope or a lost grip meant certain death, with the crew member vanishing into the sky, never to be seen again. It was a stark reminder of the perilous heights at which they operated and the unforgiving nature of their mission.


    This poignant detail in the documentary underscored the gravity of service in the Little Bird Air Force. It was a testament to the bravery and the fine line between valor and folly that these men and women walked every time they took to the skies.


    It was a good documentary and with that, I turned my phone off leaving it on to vibrate and i just nodded off to go to bed where in the morning I learned that I could check out of the hospital so I had my girlfriend come and check me out before she went to work


    __________________________


    Two weeks later


    Stepping into the local caf¨¦, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods was a welcome respite from the early morning chill. As I waited for my usual ¨C a rich chocolate pastry and a steaming latte ¨C my eyes caught the bold headline on the front page of the newspaper by the counter: ¡°FIRE DEPT CREATES A PREDICTIVE ANALYTIC MACHINE.¡± My curiosity piqued instantly.


    You see, in our line of work, any edge we can get is not just a matter of efficiency; it¡¯s a matter of life and death. The article detailed how not only my department in Empire but also those in Chocolate, Fort Carson, Fort Bluejay, Fort Flurry, and Fort Suction had implemented this groundbreaking technology. This Predictive Analytic Machine is designed to digest heaps of data and spit out predictions that could potentially save lives.


    What¡¯s more, it¡¯s not just about raw data; these machines are fed additional variables by the analysts ¨C factors like weather patterns. For instance, from June 1st to 21st, when it rains non-stop, these considerations are crucial. And the analysts? They¡¯re not just crunching numbers; they¡¯re receiving real-time data, enabling us to be proactive rather than reactive.


    As a firefighter, I know the value of seconds. This machine could mean the difference between a close call and a catastrophe. It¡¯s a game-changer, and I¡¯m all in for anything that gives us an upper hand against the unpredictable fury of fires.


    The Predictive Analytic Machine isn''t just a fancy tool; it''s our crystal ball into the chaos of nature and human folly. It''s not limited to predicting fires; it''s an oracle for avalanches, floods, earthquakes, wildfires, heat waves, droughts, cyclones, landslides, severe thunderstorms, tsunamis, Limnic eruptions, volcanic activity, and even the unpredictable outcomes of civil disorder, terrorism, war, industrial accidents, oil spills, nuclear meltdowns, radiation, and power outages.


    Our analysts are like modern-day weather gods, taking into account the wrath of Global Warming and those rare, inexplicable Acts of God. They''re not just looking at data; they''re interpreting the whispers of the earth and the cries of civilization.


    With Spring on the horizon, they''re already running simulations, painting pictures of potential wildfires. They input scenarios with dried vegetation, trees, and other foliage that have never kissed flames, alongside gusting winds that could fan the smallest spark into a raging inferno. Then, they flip the script, imagining a landscape where trees and plants have been molded by fire over centuries, adapting and surviving. Each scenario is meticulously crafted, considering every variable.


    I then got my latte and chocolate pastry and went to my firehouse. In which why the city of Empire bought an old worn out auto body garage with room with a single Rescue Engine in which the former staff room was transformed into our sleeping quarters and the former storage room was transformed into a kitchen but in my opinion it¡¯s stupid that the dining room-living room is right behind our apparatus and not a lot of space but I¡¯m not going to complain.


    As I glanced around the firehouse, I noticed the crew engrossed in the morning¡¯s paper, their expressions a mix of skepticism and intrigue. The headline about the new Predictive Analytic Machine had caught everyone¡¯s attention, including mine. It¡¯s a familiar scene ¨C the introduction of new technology in the fire service often brings a wave of mixed emotions. There¡¯s excitement for the potential to save more lives, but also a deep-seated fear of relying on something unproven.


    I couldn¡¯t help but reflect on a documentary I watched just last night, detailing the fire service¡¯s transition from horse-drawn steam engines to those powered by internal combustion. From August 2nd, 1710, to December 25th, 1922, the City of Empire relied on the strength and reliability of Morgans, Percherons, and Thoroughbreds. Then, on Christmas Day 1922, a new era began as the last steam-powered wagons were retired, making way for gas-powered engines. The skepticism back then mirrored what I saw in the eyes of my crew today.


    Yet, another section of the newspaper offered a different perspective, highlighting how the Predictive Analytic Machine could revolutionize the Little Bird Bureau of Fire ¨C affectionately known as the ¡°Fire Department Nation of Little Bird¡± by the public. With our 8,456 firefighters, 1,481 elite Rescue Squad members, 476 HAZMAT specialists, 100 Battalion Chiefs, 68 Divisional Chiefs, 60 Safety Battalion Chiefs, and 448 Squad Company firefighters, the stakes are high. And that¡¯s not even counting the fire inspectors, fleet maintenance, cerimonial, maintenance, air operations personnel, and civilian workers who double our numbers.


    Reading the fine print in the newspaper, I couldn¡¯t ignore the disclaimer about the Predictive Analytic Machine¡¯s accuracy. It stated there¡¯s a 20-40% chance that the machine might not provide an answer, or worse, it could crash due to the unpredictable nature of human behavior and rogue variables that throw off its calculations. It¡¯s a sobering reminder that technology, no matter how advanced, has its limits.


    The name ¡°Operation Firenado¡± brought a smirk to my face amidst the serious talk of predictive analytics. It¡¯s a name with history in Little Bird, used for ten different military operations through the World Wars and the Cold War. It even headlined the siege of Moscow during the Allied-Soviet War in 2005. The name carries a certain audacity, a flair that¡¯s almost too cinematic for the gritty reality of our work.


    But there¡¯s comfort in the honesty of these admissions. The acknowledgment that the system isn¡¯t infallible, that it can succumb to the same chaos it seeks to predict, is oddly reassuring. It¡¯s a reminder that at the heart of all this technology, the human element remains irreplaceable. We bring intuition, experience, and adaptability to the table ¨C qualities no machine can replicate.


    So, while I appreciate the forward-thinking approach of the Fire Department City of Empire, I¡¯m grounded by the knowledge that it¡¯s the courage and quick thinking of my crew that truly makes the difference. We¡¯re the ones who interpret the machine¡¯s data, who make the calls when the system fails, who face the flames when predictions fall short. And that¡¯s something to be proud of.


    The legacy of fire on Little Bird is etched into the very landscape, a testament to the ancient practices of land management by fire, employed by Natives and European settlers alike. This historical relationship with fire has sculpted a resilient ecosystem where the flora thrives and regenerates through the flames. The terrain itself, reminiscent of Vietnam''s diverse topography, from subtropical lowlands to densely forested highlands, offers a natural bulwark against the spread of wildfires.


    During the "Operation Firestorm" press conference, the Analyst specialist''s fingers danced across the keyboard, inputting scenarios into the Predictive Analytic Machine: a wildfire amidst foliage unaccustomed to fire, high winds grounding aircraft, and an urban-wildland interface under the sweltering heat of summer. The machine''s queries about population and the cause of the fire were met with a nonchalant "surprise me," a stark contrast to the meticulous detail required for the simulation''s settings, like the wind direction and town location.


    The animated model displayed on the screen was a digital twin of a typical town, home to 5,500 people, complete with educational institutions and a bustling town square. It was a strategic map brought to life, a virtual sandbox for disaster scenarios.


    Little Bird''s relative immunity to the devastating wildfires that plague other regions can be traced back to decisive legislative action in 1962, which prohibited construction encroaching upon forests and wildlands. This foresight was further solidified in 1968 when President Bill Waterson, guided by environmentalists armed with irrefutable evidence, reinforced the ban on such developments and mandated natural fire breaks around urban areas. These gaps act as a safeguard, starving potential wildfires of fuel and ensuring that any embers reaching urban spaces are rendered harmless.


    The live news report painted a grim picture, though. Despite these preventative measures, the simulation showed a rapid spread of fire, propelled by high winds, decimating the model town. Only a third of the population managed to evacuate before the virtual flames engulfed their homes. The second run of the simulation, viewed from the perspective of a military recon aircraft, only heightened the sense of urgency and danger, illustrating the fire''s spread at an inconceivable rate of one football field per nanosecond.


    The Analyst specialist recalibrated the simulation, adding new elements like a power substation and a gas station, further complicating the emergency response. It was a stark reminder that even with the most advanced predictive tools and stringent environmental policies, the unpredictable nature of disasters demands constant vigilance and readiness to adapt. As a firefighter, this is the reality we train for, the challenge we rise to meet, and the duty we fulfill to protect our community against the capriciousness of nature and fate.


    When the news reporter asked the Analyst if a situation like that can happen in an urban area in which the Analyst said that high probability is not happen but how since the city of Empire and many other cities in Little Bird since 1972 have planted trees in cities, white roofs and light-colored concrete, green infrastructure (including green roofs), passive daytime radiative cooling. But at the same time it¡¯s not impossible due to the concrete urban jungle the fire won¡¯t entirely spread as a normal wildfire because of all of the high-rises and skyscrapers so by the time the embers reach to other parks or other trees even though there are trees on the avenues and boulevards.but just in case that happens that the city fire department is trained of the Engine Companies fighting the fire while the ladder companies use their axes and chainsaws to cut down the trees that are in the path of the fire.


    The computer screen that¡¯s being shown life displays a realistic one-to-one detail of the park in downtown Empire with the buildings being ideally realistic to the same ones in Downtown. But since it¡¯s a real city not a made-up one so the Predictive Machine took the existing fire companies and sorted from the longest to shortest response time  But soon there was a box on the computer screen that said ¡°BRUSH FIRE ASSIGNMENT: 1st Due: Engine 23, Ladder 23, Squad 769, 2nd Due: Engine 14, Engine 17, Engine 19, Engine 47, Ladder 14, Ladder 17, Ladder 19, Ladder 47, Brush Patrol 12, Brush Patrol 14.¡±


    We just kept watching the live news coverage where the news reporter asked about any other scenario where one was of a possible nuclear detonation of a 15 mt nuclear bomb airburst detonation in which the machine has an estimate of the screen saying ¡°ESTIMATED FATALITIES: 1,523,910 ESTIMATED INJURIES: 1,867,000¡± while the same possible scenario of a surface detonated nuclear bomb of the same magnitude the computer screen said ¡°ESTIMATED FATALITIES: 1,258,250 ESTIMATED INJURIES 1,045,810¡± where it even showed the radioactive fallout cloud of where the wind would blow the nuclear radioactive fallout in which the computer also put an estimated of half a million and rising in where the nuclear fallout would land and estimated how many people would be sick from the nuclear fallout by itself.


    The news reporter even asked the analyst of the grayed-out police, fire, medical, and technical symbols on the city map means in which the analyst guy didn¡¯t throw any light punches nor reflect the question. But he said that the machine being realistic took in factors after a nuclear detonation and the machine removed firehouses 14, 15, 17, 18, Rescue Squad 17, Rescue Squad, 18,  53, HAZMAT 32, Foam Company 33, Firehouse 53, 59, 71, Squad 525, sQUAD 541, Squad 769, the Police Department¡¯s 9th, 10th, 12th Precincts, and the three hospitals in the city.


    The clang of the fire bell shattered the routine hum of the station, signaling the urgency of a new blaze. As the team and I suited up, the analyst on TV was already speculating about the job ahead. But it was the Fire Dispatch Office¡¯s blunt declaration that cut through the noise: ¡°Abandoned six-story warehouse.¡± That¡¯s all we had until we arrived on the scene.


    Inside, I led the primary search, methodically checking each room. The air was thick with the smell of char and decay, a testament to the building¡¯s age and the many fires it had endured. Suddenly, the floor beneath me betrayed its fragility, giving way. I plunged into the void, sliding uncontrollably, until, by some miracle, I was ejected from the inferno¡¯s grasp.


    Landing with a thud, my senses were overwhelmed by an unexpected softness. ¡°What the hell?¡± I muttered, bewildered by the sea of stuffed animals cushioning my fall. It must have been a collection of hundreds, their plush bodies a stark contrast to the peril I had just escaped.


    Regaining my footing, I removed my air mask, taking in the surreal sight. I didn¡¯t linger long, though. Instinct urged me to move, and just in time. A filing cabinet, once a silent fixture in the office above, now lay where I had been mere moments ago. I had walked away, twenty-five feet from death¡¯s doorstep.


    My heart was a drumbeat in my chest, pounding from the adrenaline and the shock of the floor¡¯s collapse. Once it settled, I radioed in the incident, my mind racing with thoughts of the building¡¯s treacherous history. These century-old structures in Eastside, they¡¯re time capsules of resilience and ruin. Before 2005, they stood as neglected relics, bearing the scars of fires that raged from 1967 to 1995. Then, in 2005, the flames returned with a vengeance, stoked by a land development scam that preyed on those who refused to leave their homes. The culprits? They received their due: lengthy prison sentences and a debt to society that their company continues to pay by constructing new, safer buildings.


    That¡¯s the ethos of Little Bird¡ªactions have consequences, regardless of wealth or status. If you break the law, you face the music. No amount of bribery can cleanse the guilt, especially when the crime results in the loss of thousands of lives. These weren¡¯t just individuals; they were families, hardworking people who kept society turning, performing the jobs that go unnoticed. Media and public outcry fueled the judicial system¡¯s crackdown. The extended families of the victims teetered on the edge of revolt, declaring that even the maximum sentences weren¡¯t enough. They believed that anything less than death row was a miscarriage of justice for the atrocities committed.


    In Little Bird, we understand that the fabric of society is woven by these very threads¡ªjustice, accountability, and the unspoken heroes who form its backbone. As I stood there amidst the remnants of a dark and resilient past, I knew that this was the world I was sworn to protect, one where every choice, every action, carries the weight of consequence.


    I then walked out of the alleyway where I looked to my left towards the end of the street. I stared at an apartment building in which in the past my girlfriend Claire was raised in well she was raised in a rundown tenement building. She told me about the memories she had when she came out as bisexual that her parents were taken aback and shocked in which her parents had two routes: the left road of alienating their only child and not loving her or taking the right road of supporting their only daughter by giving her unconditionally love. Her parents did the latter but I know many people back in the United States who did the same but their parents had a different view where instead of supporting and loving their child they turned their back on them.


    Not adding that the tenement building she was raised in had so many fires that she remembers it like yesterday of her being a little girl when the building would be filled with thick enough smoke then out of the blue here comes a big guy wearing steel-toed rubber hip boots, a black leather jacket with yellow stripes, and a helmet come and carry her downstairs and in which she had no idea while people could do a job that put them in life or death situations to save people they don¡¯t even know.


    The fire was quickly knocked down because it was a small fire caused by a hotplate being on next to some throw pillows. But we just turned off the hotplate and moved it where it wouldn¡¯t catch anything on fire.


    As I was putting my Airpak away I felt a vibration in my phone so I checked it in which it was another unknown number but the message was from my so called mother. Which she says she wants to talk to me face to face in which I texted back more or less telling her to fuck off. She told me that she¡¯s my mother and that I needed to respect her and that her title is mom if i liked it or not but I just texted back saying ¡°Nope you can kiss my ass¡± in which summarizes how much I despise her but I wish she got the hint to leave me alone.


    If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    I just went back to the pile of stuffed animals and I just decided to take a few and put them on the inside of my turnout coat. When we got back to the firehouse I just put the stuffed animals into the trunk of my car in which when I get home I¡¯ll throw them into the washer and dryer to clean them.


    As I was closing my car¡¯s trunk I got startled.


    ¡°Jesus Mitchell almost kicked you in your balls,¡± I said.


    Mitchell replied, ¡°Well my mother-in-law is a spook she¡¯ll come and get you then. Oh I¡¯m here to talk about those three guys who ambushed you outside of the bar two weeks ago.¡±


    ¡°Listen Mitchell, I can take care of myself,¡± I said. ¡°I¡¯m hatching a plan of getting payback on them.¡±


    Mitchell replied, ¡°Does it involve locking them in their cars and throwing a Molotov Cocktail into said car?¡±


    ¡°Along the lines of that,¡± I said. ¡°You had something else planned?¡±


    Mitchell replied, ¡°Yup. As said my mother-in-law is a spook so she probably can help you find where the three frequent and get payback then and there.¡±


    ¡°Tempting¡­ Tempting,¡± I said.


    Mitchell replied, ¡°This family always retaliates by doing the same damage as they did to you not to take a M60 to them.¡±


    ¡°An M60 is tempting though,¡± I said. ¡°What is your idea?¡±


    Mitchell replied, ¡°We get seven more Waterson¡¯s to make it a total of nine and all nine of us ambush them like how they ambushed you. You know the saying ¡®An eye for an eye a tooth for a tooth¡¯ they ambushed you and beat you up badly and I say we return the favor.¡±


    I couldn¡¯t help agree in which my plan would just go right to escalate tensions and probably make it worse. If Carter has friends to make us attend sensitivity training in which is the first in the history of Little Bird then he probably has friends over at City Hall who probably get the cops after me. But hey he should learn that I¡¯m not sleeping with anyone. I entirely don¡¯t sleep with my girlfriend. In the few times she was over I took the couch while she and her kids took the bed. We could¡¯ve shared a bed or I could¡¯ve gotten a few army cots from a military surplus store for her kids to sleep on but nope but I have no problem taking the couch.


    ¡°Well I¡¯ll see you later Macaroni,¡± said Mitchell before leaving.


    I went inside of the firehouse and put my bunker gear up where it belongs.


    I went over to the bulletin board. There was a flier for an up and coming festival thing for the fire department that been happening since 1951 in which it talks about how it has food, beverages, and music in which I was going to go even if I have to work I¡¯m still going for a few hours of course it says that people need to wear casual clothing not formal but to enter it you¡¯ll need a raffle ticket in which they¡¯re for purchase at Firehouses 18, 33, 82, 69, 71, and 59 because firehouses 18 and 82 house the 18th and 19th Battalions, 71 and 59 house the 16th and 17th Divisions while HAZMAT Company 33 houses both the 25th Battalion and 14th Safety  Battalion and firehouse 69 houses the 12th Safety Battalion.


    ¡°Hey guys, what do you think about this festival?¡± I asked .


    They all had mixed receptions about it but Captain Harris and the other three just put it bluntly that even though we¡¯re going to be off when the festival arrives they already put in time for overtime to cover other member¡¯s shifts because the three that they¡¯ll be covering when the festival arrives they planned it in advanced so the three members they¡¯re covering for that day can go to the festival with their families. But I was going to go but the flier also says that if it storms like rain or thunderstorm then they¡¯ll postpone it until the following week but those who get a raffle ticket would be excused to attend and the ones who don¡¯t go will work or cover for the ones who are at the festival.


    My cell phone vibrated again in which I answered it in which I thought it was my so called mother again. But it wasn¡¯t. It was one of extended family members who told me that their seventeen-year-old daughter named Ashlen came out to the city of Empire in which she left a note. The city she was running away to already called the cops. But since it hasn¡¯t been 24 hours yet they can¡¯t report her as a runaway even though the cop that they talked to sounded like he doesn¡¯t care about his job. So he rather just lie even though in some cases the cop is right that a child or teen would run away from home but show back up a few hours later but I told them that I¡¯ll keep my eye out for her and if I find her I¡¯ll tell them.


    ____________________________________________________________________


    At night, 1:30 AM


    In the quiet of the night the bell rang again for another fire in the same abandoned warehouse as earlier that I found the stuffed animals.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know who want to live in abandoned warehouses just to kick back and have their vices take control of them,¡± I said, ¡°I mean just on the southern half of the city you have The Sapphire Lounge, Neon Flight, Eclipse Beats, Velvet Underground, Bassline Bunker, Starfire Lounge, Rusty Anchor, Sidewinder, Last Call Saloon, The Broken Bottle, Whiskey¡¯s Shadow, Rhythm Republic, Pulse Point, Twilight Tange, Harmony Hall, Bounce Brigade, The Velvet Room, Lunar Lounge, The Sapphire Suite which is owned by the owners of the Sapphire Lounge, Mirage Oasis, Zen Den, The Alchemist¡¯s Bar, The Crow¡¯s Nest, Frost Bar, The Docks, Goblin¡¯s Grog, Empire History Museum, Museum of Modern Marvels, The War Room, The Time Capsule, The Science Sphere, The observatory and the Enigma Parlor. And that¡¯s just the southern half of the city where the northern half of the city has Cosmic Pulse, The Diamond Grid, Rave Cave, The Prism, Oasis of Sound, The Frosted Mug, The Golden Barrel, The Nautical Mile, The Red Lantern, The Iron Horse, The Gilded Lily, The Blue Phoenix, The Whispering Willow, The Crystal Cove, The Ember Heart, The Vortex, The Groove Galaxy, The Electrical Lotus, The Beat Bazaar, The Rhythm Rails, The Shanty Shack, The Alley Cat, The Rusty Nail, The Pint Pot, The Howling Wolf, The Lighthouse, The Secret Garden, The Time Traveler¡¯s Tavern, The Jazz Joint, The Speakeasy, The Mirage, The Alibi, and The Northern Lights. And that¡¯s not adding the BB01 Aurora a Northern Light class dreadnought or CV-04 Apple Pie and CV-05 Blueberry Pie in which they were decommissioned in the late 1950s and became museum ships. But speaking for myself i rather be on a museum ship than convert an abandoned warehouse for people to kickback and do drugs''.''


    Of course I was speaking for myself because a lot of people weren¡¯t raised in a household like I was but yet again a lot of people were,


    Captain Harris talked about how some people just remember the 1988-1990 Little Bird Military occupation of Empire from when in 1988 the Lieutenant Mayor took over as Mayor and disbanded the Empire Police Department so the 3rd Marine Division and 21st Airborne Division quote-unquote ¡°policed¡± the city aka meaning they just shot and killed criminals and criminals who survived well the Airborne and Marines would just toy the criminals by shooting their arms as a way for them to pass the time. And that the Airborne and Marines carried the X16, Semiautomat Service Garand, Automat Service Garand, Marine Tactical Shotgun, and a few other weapons like squad automatic weapons and that¡¯s not adding vehicle mounted weapons like the .50 Cal.


    The fire was quickly knocked down in which it was from the same hotplate again but I found my cousin Ashlen so I went over to her.


    ¡°Come on home,¡± I said, ¡°Your parents are worried about you.¡±


    My cousin replied, ¡°Nope and honestly you can go fuck yourself and kiss my ass.¡±


    ¡°I already got two Goddamn people up my ass already!¡± I snapped, ¡°And I swear to fucking God that if you¡¯re chosing the hardway then I¡¯ll beat the living shit out of you that not even God will reconize you!¡±


    My cousin replied, ¡°Go to hell and fuck you Mackenzie,¡±


    ¡°Alright you bitch you asked for it,¡± I said. ¡°If we come back because you or your junkie friends OD then I¡¯m not saving you and if you have a cardiac arrest. Let¡¯s just say you¡¯re going to see me hold the defibrillators and not shock you with them but just hold them in the air so  you can just lay there and watch you get your comeuppance.¡±


    I then turned around to help the company pack up our gear before heading back to quarters. But I was hatching a secret evil plan in my thick skull.


    ___________________________________________


    The following morning


    In the firehouse apparatus bay. I just grabbed my bunker gear when my dad came in.


    ¡°Hey there Mac,¡± My dad said, ¡°So do you want to go get a drink?¡±


    I replied, ¡°Not now I gotta go get Ashlen.¡±


    My dad tagged along. I just put on my bunker gear as he drove and I told him where to go by giving him directions.


    When my dad stopped the car I got out but soon he took the key out of the ignition.


    ¡°So what¡¯s the plan?¡± My dad asked.


    I replied, ¡°Going to make her piss herself and make her scared.¡±


    I then got out of the car with my dad following me.


    There was a guy in there dressed like a stereotypical gang member he told us to fuck off after I said that why I¡¯m here. But he then drew his gun and pointed it at me. I just grabbed his arm and twisted so many ways until he dropped the weapon. But that didn¡¯t stop me from breaking his neck and windpipe.


    I then just started to look in each room until I checked the final room on top. I went in and found Ashlen.


    ¡°I told you to fuck off,¡± said Ashlen.


    I picked up a whiskey bottle that says it¡¯s 100% proof. I poured it around the room and I took a match and lit it.


    ¡°I gave you a chance to come home the easy way, Okay asshole?¡± I said before dropping the match. ¡°See you in hell.¡±


    I then walked out.


    ¡°What are you doing Mac?¡± My dad asked.


    I replied, ¡°Teaching her a lesson.¡±


    ¡°This is crazy just let her out,¡± my dad said.


    I replied, ¡°No way.¡±


    After a few minutes there was a thud. I opened the door and dragged Ashlen¡¯s body out where she started to cough.


    ¡°Now are you going to go home or will I have to throw your fucking ass right back in there?¡± I asked.


    Ashlen coughed and replied, ¡°What the fucking hell?¡±


    ¡°Go pull the fire box,¡± I said.


    My dad went to go and pulled a fire alarm box and I went to go and ran into the room and opened a window and ran back out.


    My dad and I took Ashlen to the hospital to get treated for minor smoke inhalation. But I decided to call my cousin once removed to tell him that I got his daughter and is at the hospital but she acted like a spoiled brat so I put her in her place.


    _______________________________________________________________


    At night again I followed Ashlen in which she went to another abandoned warehouse where I just waited.


    When the sun started to rise.


    I found Ashlen sleeping on a leather couch where I just walked around it with a can of lighter fluid where I just poured the liquid around the couch and table full of narcotics. But I also poured some onto her leg but what got her attention when I sprayed some onto her face.


    ¡°What the hell Mac?¡± exclaimed Ashlen.


    I replied after lighting a match, ¡°I gave you a chance to wait for your dad to take you home. but once I told your dad he said that you¡¯re no longer his daughter nor a Waterson and that I have executed authority you worthless piece of shit.¡±


    ¡°Wait, don''t do this Mac,¡± Ashlen said.


    I then dropped the match which put itself out so I just lit another match and dropped it onto the lighter fluid.


    ¡°Burn in Hell. I¡¯m sure Satan will wish you a happy 18th birthday,¡± I said before leaving to go to work.


    _____________________________________________________________


    20 minutes later


    I walked into Squad Co 769¡¯s firehouse eating a scrambled egg and sausage patty breakfast sandwich.


    Soon the fire bell rang for the report of a fire in an abandoned warehouse. The guys coming into the firehouse to start their shift just dropped their bags to race to the turnout gear room to get their bunker gear.


    As we were responding.


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you worried about getting a stomach ache?¡± a firefighter asked.


    I replied, ¡°I can eat fourteen cheeseburgers, an extra large pizza and 20 all beef hotdogs and run right into a fire.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not a superhero,¡± said the same firefighter. ¡°But at least it ain¡¯t a Water Rescue then you would get a stomach ache.¡±


    Another firefighter chimed in about how he wants to get married to a woman he¡¯s dating in which I said, ¡°Get two takes on asking someone who is happily married and ask someone who was married.¡±


    ¡°You were married?¡± he asked.


    I replied, ¡°Nope but my dad was for almost 25 years. To a little dirty, filthy, blood-sucking whore.¡±


    __________________________-


    In the thick of the smoke and chaos, I clutched the Halligan bar with a firm grip, the weight of it grounding me as I suited up in my breathing apparatus. The abandoned warehouse loomed before me, a labyrinth of makeshift dwellings carved out of desperation and poverty. It was a place where the forgotten sought refuge, away from the prying eyes of society, and where the law was just a distant echo.


    With each step, the mask sealed over my face, I plunged into the belly of the beast. The air was thick, heavy with the scent of decay and the sharp tang of fear. This wasn''t just a building; it was a living, breathing entity, its walls pulsating with the lives of those who had claimed it as their own. They were the invisible ones, the ones who had slipped through the cracks, finding solace in the shadows.


    My heart hammered against my ribs as I pounded on the doors, my voice a commanding boom amidst the crackling flames. "Fire Department! Evacuate immediately!" But my calls were met with silence or muffled curses. They didn''t want to leave; this was their sanctuary, their home, even as it threatened to consume them.


    There''s a part of me, a silent observer, that knows my team sees me as a ticking time bomb. There are lines you don''t cross with me¡ªmocking military service, trivializing tragedy, profiting from pain. Those are the triggers that ignite my fury, the red flags that warn of an impending storm.


    I swept through each room with military precision, my eyes scanning for signs of life. There was Ashlen''s room, the door now a barrier between her and the world. I radioed in the all-clear, my voice steady, betraying none of the turmoil within. "Primary search complete, no one found." The lie tasted bitter on my tongue, but it was a necessary evil. Ashlen was gone, her spirit a mere whisper in the charred remains.


    I retraced my steps, the building groaning and shuddering around me. Then, freedom¡ªa burst of fresh air as I emerged from the inferno. But the respite was short-lived. An explosion rocked the foundation, sending shards of glass dancing like deadly rain around us.


    Captain Harris''s voice crackled over the radio, calling for a third alarm. "Defensive operations," he declared. We were no longer rescuers; we were defenders, battling an enemy that showed no mercy.


    As the flames licked the sky, a crowd gathered, the residents of Eastside watching with a mix of awe and despair. Claire was right; for them, this was a spectacle, a break from the monotony of their struggles. No televisions to distract, no cars to escape in. Their lives were a tapestry of small joys and hard knocks, woven together by the threads of community and survival.


    They lived on the edge, $3,000 a year was a fortune, and the poverty line was a tightrope walked daily. For them, entertainment was found in the simple things¡ªa radio drama, a local game, or the raw energy of a Friday night brawl. It was a world apart, a stark contrast to the blaze before us, yet somehow, it was all connected in the dance of life and fire.


    In America, they say the standard of living is a rising tide, lifting all boats. But here on Little Bird, the waters have been still since ''63. The prices are relics, frozen in time like the cars and clothes of the 50s and 60s. There''s no need for wages to climb when the cost of bread hasn''t budged in decades. Inflation is a foreign word here, spoken only in the hushed tones of wartime, when the economy bows to the demands of conflict and the machinery of life turns to the machinery of war.


    But there''s a shadow that trails me, a memory that clings like the scent of jasmine on a humid Alabama night. My mother, bless her heart in Hell, had dreams of grandchildren filling her arms, so she set me on a conveyor belt of suitors¡ª1825 dates with men, a parade of strangers. Each one, a hope; each one, a disappointment. I was a prize in a lottery where no one won, least of all me.


    The urge to flee, to shed the skin of expectation, was a fire in my belly. Once, I bolted, found sanctuary in Virginia with an extended family who knew the taste of my mother''s brand of love. But they sent me back, saying I was running from shadows that would only grow longer in my absence. They said I was leaving my father to bear the brunt of her storm alone.


    So I stayed, tethered to my father, to Alabama, until I couldn''t. I begged him, pleaded to be sent to Little Bird, a speck on the map nearly 4000 miles from Killen. I yearned for the anonymity of distance, for a place where the echoes of my mother''s matchmaking wouldn''t reach. Little Bird was my escape, my new beginning, a chance to redefine what home meant to me.


    But while we were fighting the fire defensively we were soon given two additional companies including Squad 525 and I had a hidden ace card up the sleeve. Well in my opinion it¡¯s an ace card for me but I¡¯ll give it to Carter soon.


    I went inside with a one and three-quarter hose to knock down the fire but a part of the ceiling came down trapping me.


    ___________________________


    After the fire after two and a half hours.


    ¡°Hey Carter I got something for you,¡± I said.


    Carter turned around and replied, ¡°And what is it dollface?¡±


    ¡°Well that term is usually a compliment but it¡¯s an insult in this case but here,¡± I said to Carter before giving him a folded-up piece of white construction paper and I started to walk away.


    ¡°Are you kidding me?¡± exclaimed Carter, ¡°Did you do this?¡±


    I turned around, ¡°Yup consider it payback.¡±


    ¡°So you¡¯re raising my rent to more or less break my bank account,¡± Carter said.


    I replied, ¡°What¡¯s the problem dollface? Thought you men like challenges? What is shelling out an additional $200 bucks a month for rent gonna be a problem for you? Because I¡¯m willing to start the eviction process for you.¡±


    ¡°Fuck!¡± said Carter angrily before kicking Squad 525 apparatus and hurting his foot through a steel towed boot, ¡°Fuck my foot.¡±


    I had a big old grin on my face where I¡¯m getting my payback a different way than I imagined but it¡¯s a lot different than what was going through my mind but monetarily ruining Carter was a better solution than blowing his leg off with a shotgun. But the shotgun idea is still tempting.


    I then heard Carter then talk about how he would get close to me via family in which he¡¯s gotten how the Fire Department City of Empire has another unwritten rule of cannot be with a guy''s or gals ex-husband, ex-boyfriend, ex-girlfriend, ex-wife, sister, cousin, niece, nephew, brother, half brother or half sister, without his or her explicit - crystal clear - permission.


    ¡°Try and date any woman in the Waterson family then they¡¯ll do a lot worse to you than what the Romans did to Jesus,¡± I said with a smirk before climbing onto the hose bed of Squad 769 to assist in folding the hoses back into their original position.


    ¡°Who in the hell trained you? Because it wasn¡¯t sure as shit wasn¡¯t this department!¡± snapped Captain Linda, ¡°Because in this department we¡¯re trained to rescue our trapped members, not leave them to die.¡±


    I found it amusing that Carter was getting chewed out by a woman but I also watched. Linda quickly turned around and punched Carter hard enough to knock him down but I couldn¡¯t help but chuckle. But after the fire we knew another fire would start even though I caused the fire but how close the hot plate was they just suspected it was from the hotplate again.


    As I was getting done helping the company I''m with of folding up the lines, Carter came over.


    The rest of Squad Co 769 walked away as they knew something was about to go down.But he then got onto the hose bed of Squad Co 769.


    ¡°Hey there Mac,¡± Carter said, ¡°How about this, how about you and me¡­¡±


    I interrupted, ¡°Carter, never in a million years would I sleep with you even if you and I were the last two people in the world. I''ll quickly learn how to fly to get the hell away from you. Never in a billion years would I go behind my girlfriend¡¯s back to sleep with you. Also if I did and if i got pregnant by it well guess what you¡¯re keeping the child. But I¡¯m not and not even sleep with you so you can get that out of our mind because I¡¯m the one woman that will never in a billion or a trillion years would I ever sleep with you. So you can hit the road.¡±


    ¡°I got friends in places where they can make your life a living hell,¡± Carter said.


    I replied, ¡°I got friends and family in places who can have your friends rounded up and executed by firing squad with incendiary rounds.¡±


    Carter thought I was calling a bluff but at the same time when I looked at him right in the eyes he thought I was bluffing. At the same time he didn¡¯t call my bluff because he didn¡¯t know if I actually was bluffing or if I did have family members who were higher rank officials that outrank his friends at the city level. But I have a feeling that if his friends do go after my relatives in high places then his friends would be labeled as treasoners. Which here in Little Bird is a federal offense in which a week or two of jail time until being executed by firing squad, executed by hanging or executed via electric chair. But I don¡¯t think he wanted to test it or find out if I¡¯m bluffing or if it would be real. Not adding how my granduncle is the president of Little Bird and he¡¯s probably thinking how my granduncle probably would send a Spec Ops team to make Carter piss himself.


    Carter then left me alone which was great for me but they removed Ashlen¡¯s body with a white cloth over the body. I entirely didn¡¯t feel bad for her. She was told to go home peacefully in which she kept running off. I was told that I could¡¯ve got rid of her if need be and I did but I wasn¡¯t going to say something.


    We just moved the furniture and whatnot around even broke some stuff up and dosed it with some water before heading back to our quarters.


    _____________________


    Leaning against the cool metal of the firetruck, I couldn''t help but reflect on the peculiarities of public perception. "You know what baffles me?" I mused aloud to my fellow firefighters, the scent of smoke still lingering on our gear. "Back in 2003, the EPD actually let a journalist tag along, right? And what does she do? She paints everything with such a dreary brush. Even the commendable acts, the moments of genuine heroism during her ride-along, were twisted into something... out of proportion."


    I shook my head, the disbelief still fresh after all these years. But before I could delve deeper into that memory, the 18th Battalion burst through the doors, his presence as commanding as a multi-alarm blaze. "Who''s hitting up the festival next week?" one of them boomed, his voice echoing off the firehouse walls. I couldn''t resist the pull of community spirit; I handed him a quarter, and in exchange, he slipped me a paper admission ticket, its edges slightly frayed but promising a day of escape.


    As two more of my crew traded coins for tickets, my thoughts drifted, as they often did, to Project Phoenix. It was a testament to human resilience, a program that had evolved dramatically since its inception in late 1944. Initially, it was a haphazard assembly of Marines and Army Rangers, each one specially selected and trained to embody the very essence of tenacity, to stand as the vanguard against the Axis powers'' most formidable soldiers.


    These men, the venerated Little Bird Armed Forces, were sculpted into warriors of superior speed, reflexes, and tactical acumen. They were the shadows in urban combat, lobbing grenades with deadly accuracy to dislodge the enemy from their hiding spots, their blindfire more effective than any adversary could anticipate.


    The blueprint for this elite force was drafted in the waning days of December 1944 but didn''t come to fruition until January of the following year. Eighty souls, split evenly between Marines and Rangers, underwent rigorous training for urban warfare. They were primed for deployment to Japan and the heart of Germany, but by the time they were battle-ready, it was October 1945¡ªjust a month after the Second World War had drawn to a close. So, they waited, their potential simmering on the backburner, until conflicts in Korea and later Vietnam called them to action.


    It wasn''t until 1995, however, that a breakthrough occurred. Reverse-engineered alien technology gave rise to powered assault armor, complete with shielding, propelling Project Phoenix into a new era. These troops, now akin to an advanced shock force, were somewhat of an entity unto themselves, yet still under the watchful eyes of the Army, Marines, and the Office of Intelligence and Strategic Actions.


    I then forgot what I was talking about. The only thing was about a journalist but entirely forgot what I was talking about.


    ________________________________________


    Next Saturday.


    Bathed in the golden glow of a cloudless Saturday, the Firefighter Festival buzzed with life. I sat at a sun-dappled table, the hum of conversation around us blending with the distant sizzle of grills. My father, a man whose life lessons were etched into the lines of his face, shared stories that wove the fabric of our family¡¯s history.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be back,¡± I promised, pushing back from the table with a sense of purpose.


    Striding over to the beverage stand, the scent of summer in the air, I scanned the vendor¡¯s offerings. The menu boasted an array of drinks, but I settled on a classic root beer for myself and a crisp beer for Dad. Carter, the last person I wanted to see, loomed nearby. I ignored him, focusing instead on the simple pleasure of a cold drink on a warm day.


    Returning to our table, I found my father gazing out at the festival, a soft smile playing on his lips. ¡°It¡¯s a nice day out,¡± he remarked, a statement so obvious it bordered on profound.


    ¡°It is,¡± I agreed, my eyes catching a familiar figure in the crowd. ¡°Carter¡¯s here, just like I mentioned earlier.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll handle it,¡± Dad said, his voice steady as Carter approached.


    Carter wasted no time. ¡°Mr. Waterson, I seek your blessing to marry Mackenzie,¡± he declared, his voice carrying a note of challenge.


    Dad¡¯s response was immediate and unwavering. ¡°Not a chance, Carter. You¡¯re not the one for her, and that¡¯s final.¡±


    Carter bristled. ¡°And what will you do to stop me?¡±


    Without a word, Dad placed his M9 pistol on the table. ¡°Pistol, semi automatic, 9mm, standard issue for the US Armed Forces,¡± he began, his tone clinical as he listed off the specifications. ¡°But this isn¡¯t the time or place for such discussions.¡±


    ¡°Why? Too many witnesses?¡± I interjected, half-joking.


    ¡°No,¡± Dad replied, his gaze sweeping over the families enjoying the festival. ¡°These people came here for a good time, not a showdown. I won¡¯t spoil their day.¡±


    Carter, sensing the finality in Dad¡¯s tone, retreated. As he left, I headed back to the food vendors, my appetite undeterred by the confrontation. I returned with a basket of chicken tenders and fries for Dad and an all-beef hot dog topped with macaroni and cheese and bacon for myself. My tastes might be unique, but that¡¯s what makes life interesting.


    ¡°So, your girlfriend didn¡¯t make it?¡± Dad asked casually.


    I shook my head. ¡°She¡¯s tied up with work. There are only 36 lieutenants in the Fire Department City of Empire Bureau of Operations, and duty calls.¡±


    Dave arrived soon after, his kids in tow, but Linda was conspicuously absent.


    ¡°She¡¯s covering shifts today,¡± Dave explained. ¡°She¡¯s thinking of those growing up without parents. It¡¯s tough, but we always say, ¡®Money is replaceable, but time lost with family is irreplaceable.¡¯¡±


    I nodded, a pang of sadness hitting me as I thought of my own mother¡¯s absence throughout my life. ¡°If only she understood that,¡± I mused aloud.


    As the children scampered off to play, I reflected on Dave¡¯s parenting style¡ªfirm yet loving, setting boundaries while fostering independence. It was a balance of authority and support, something I admired deeply.


    The festival continued around us, a tapestry of laughter, music, and shared moments¡ªa reminder that life¡¯s true richness lies in the connections we forge and the memories we create.


    The festival¡¯s laughter was punctuated by the excited chatter of Dave¡¯s kids as they bounded back to us, their eyes alight with the thrill of carnival games. Dave handed each child a five bucks in one dollar bills, reminding Bobby, the eldest, to be vigilant against the sly tactics of some vendors.


    ¡°You¡¯re the big brother,¡± he said, ¡°it¡¯s your job to make sure no one pulls a fast one on you guys.¡±


    I listened, impressed by Dave¡¯s proactive approach to teaching his kids about money. It reminded him of a lesson he learned the hard way from an ice cream vendor back in Clearlake, who¡¯d swindled me out of his rightful change.


    ¡°It¡¯s a valuable skill,¡± I mused, ¡°knowing how to handle money and not get taken advantage of.¡±


    My father nodded, his expression turning somber. ¡°It¡¯s all about being involved in your kids¡¯ lives, unlike your mother,¡± he said, his voice tinged with regret. ¡°She missed out on so much of your childhood, Mackenzie. I tried to fill that gap, but it¡¯s tough balancing authority with letting you find your own way.¡±


    I could hear the unspoken apology in his words, the weight of past decisions heavy between us.


    ¡°You did the best you could, Dad,¡± I reassured him, ¡°and I turned out alright, didn¡¯t I?¡±


    He smiled, the lines around his eyes softening. ¡°You turned out more than alright, Mac. You¡¯re strong, independent, and you¡¯ve got a good head on your shoulders.¡±


    As the kids scampered off with their money clutched tightly in their hands, I watched them go, a sense of pride swelling in my chest. They were growing up with the right mix of freedom and guidance, something I¡¯d always valued.


    Leaning against the backdrop of the bustling Firefighter Festival, my father¡¯s question cut through the air, ¡°So where do all the proceeds go?¡±


    Dave, ever the fountain of knowledge, explained, ¡°Half of the proceeds are earmarked for cancer research, a beacon of hope in the fight against cancer. The other half? It¡¯s invested right back into the fire department, ensuring our firefighters have the latest gear to keep carcinogens at bay.¡±


    My dad¡¯s brow furrowed.


    ¡°Sounds like the city¡¯s coffers are running dry,¡± he observed.


    I chimed in, frustration lacing my words, ¡°There¡¯s an Alderman of Public Safety, sure. He¡¯s supposed to safeguard the budget for Fire, Police, and Medical services, but¡­¡±


    Dave jumped in, his tone tinged with exasperation, ¡°He might as well be a sieve the way the budget drains away. Fleet maintenance is often left high and dry, unable to perform their essential duties.¡±


    I nodded in agreement. ¡°Take Engine 136, for instance. It¡¯s been languishing in fleet maintenance for nearly two years, awaiting repairs. Meanwhile, other apparatuses jump the queue with Form 1342, which might as well be a golden ticket for immediate service.¡±


    Dave¡¯s voice grew louder, ¡°That engine¡¯s been out of commission since November ''08, and they¡¯ve been making do with a relic from 1941. It¡¯s got character, sure, with its narrow body and clanging bell instead of an airhorn, but it¡¯s not ideal. After all it¡¯s Ex-E2.3¡±


    He continued, a hint of pride in his voice, ¡°But we¡¯re resourceful. We¡¯ve got reserves on standby¡ª27 Engine Companies, 27 Ladder Companies, 9 Rescues, 7 HAZMAT units, 18 Foam Engines, and a fleet of other fire apparatuses. They¡¯re all waiting for their turn, ready to spring into action when called upon.¡±


    My father opened his mouth to speak, but Dave was on a roll, detailing the craftsmanship of each apparatus, ¡°They¡¯re forged from reinforced steel and aluminum, tailored to the department¡¯s exacting standards. Like Engine Co 47 in Claire¡¯s old Eastside neighborhood¡ªit¡¯s a rare 3000/800 model, a testament to the area¡¯s fiery history while some of the inner city¡¯s companies are the semi-common 2000/750 due to all of the high-rises and skyscrapers.¡±


    Wandering back to our table, pager in hand, I caught the tail end of Dave¡¯s musings. ¡°They¡¯re not entirely doing this for free,¡± he noted, a hint of realism in his voice.


    I couldn¡¯t help but agree. ¡°Of course, businesses need to turn a profit. Giving away products doesn¡¯t exactly pay the bills or the employees,¡± I said, thinking about the economic dance of supply and demand.


    Dave¡¯s guess about my order brought a smile to my face. ¡°Chicken strips? You know the kids too well. They devour them like there¡¯s no tomorrow. And my homemade version must be something special, straight from my mother¡¯s family cookbook,¡± he said


    ¡°Have you ever been to a restaurant because they have kids menus and that tendies are usually on their,¡± I said.


    Dave replied, ¡°I don¡¯t know we really don¡¯t go out to restaurants a lot and when I was a kid every other Friday when my dad was off of work he just got three cheeseburgers, and two sides of fries, one cheeseburger for him and two for me. Now when he was married three different times then he would go get his wife a box of chicken gizzards. I take that back because in 1983 he got three chicken dinner boxes which came with two chicken thighs, two chicken legs, two chicken breasts, and potato wedges. One box for my mom, one box for him and one box for me. Those were the days.''''


    His question about the kids¡¯ menus had me chuckling. ¡°Every family-friendly restaurant has that go-to option. It¡¯s a classic,¡± I said, recalling countless menus dotted with pictures of chicken tenders and fries.


    Dave¡¯s trip down memory lane was a cozy detour. ¡°Those simple family meals are the ones that stick with you, aren¡¯t they?¡± I mused, thinking of my own childhood favorites.


    ¡°When my dad was deployed for Just Cause, Desert Shield and Desert Storm the family members. I had to stay with the usual chicken tenders of course. Part of that so-called deal was that I had to eat what they made though,¡± I said.


    My dad replied, ¡°You could¡¯ve just said the Gulf War and save like five seconds. Also I remember coming to get you from great-granddad in Upstate New York. You were going to say something but I shut your pie hole by saying that he has been through more Hell than you ever would go through in your life.¡±


    The conversation flowed easily, filled with laughter and light-hearted banter, until the pager¡¯s beep signaled it was time to gather our feast. Dad and I teamed up to collect the bounty of food, while Dave fetched his drink. Our timing was impeccable, converging at the table in a symphony of motion.


    ¡°What¡¯s that you¡¯ve got?¡± I asked Dave, eyeing the fizzy drink in his hand.


    ¡°A cream soda,¡± he replied, the bubbles catching the light.


    I laid out the spread, upgrading the orders to full meals. Handing over the cardboard containers to Dave for the kids, I watched him dash off to find them. Dad¡¯s meal¡ªa hearty footlong with chili and fries¡ªwas next, followed by a box for Dave, packed with a double cheeseburger and curly fries. My own feast was a mix of favorites: chicken tenders with fries, another hot dog, and a cheeseburger.


    I attacked the hot dog without mercy, savoring each bite before moving on to the cheeseburger. Then, with a flourish, I drenched the chicken tenders and fries in honey mustard, the tangy sauce a perfect complement to the crispy, golden treats.


    As we ate, the festival continued around us, a backdrop of joy and community spirit. It was moments like these¡ªshared meals, shared stories, and shared laughter¡ªthat made life rich and full.


    As the festival¡¯s energy swirled around us, I watched Dave¡¯s kids, their faces sticky with satisfaction, dash off to conquer more carnival games. Their return was swift, their eyes wide with the universal language of children¡¯s desires: snow cones.


    ¡°Snow Cones?¡± Dave echoed, his surprise evident. ¡°You¡¯ve just eaten, but alright, how much?¡±


    ¡°A quarter,¡± Bobby piped up, the eldest and now appointed treasurer of this sugary venture. Dave handed over a dollar with a trusting nod, and off they scampered, a colorful quartet on a mission for icy treats.


    The mention of Linda cast a shadow over the conversation. ¡°Sad that Linda couldn¡¯t make it,¡± I remarked, the weight of her absence palpable.


    Dave¡¯s response was tinged with a deep-seated sorrow. ¡°She¡¯s haunted by the memories of 2003¡ªthe day that left thousands of children orphaned. Her company was there, in the heart of the chaos, fighting a battle that would scar the city forever. She hears the echoes of those lost, the PASS alarms that still ring in her dreams. She¡¯s a fighter, though, relentless in the face of despair. But today, she chose to honor the memory of those who can¡¯t be here.¡±


    Dave¡¯s narrative shifted, painting a picture of Little Bird¡¯s spirit through the lens of its animal motifs. ¡°If we were represented by animals, we¡¯d be wolves¡ªpatient, cunning, united. Or perhaps falcons, for our swiftness and precision,¡± he mused, recalling a childhood encounter that left him with a respect for the avian hunters.


    With our meal concluded, I felt the pull of the games. Strike Out beckoned, a test of skill and timing. I took my stance, the weight of the baseballs familiar in my hand. The targets moved, taunting, but I was undeterred. Ball after ball, I aimed for the catchers, the bonus glove tempting me with the promise of extra throws.


    Victory was sweet, and I claimed my prize¡ªan oversized teddy bear, a soft trophy of my triumph. The festival was alive with the laughter of children, each one vying for tickets, for the chance to claim their own piece of joy. Unlike some fairs on Little Bird, where tickets fade with the carnival lights, these tickets held the promise of future fun, a currency of happiness without an expiration date.


    As the day waned, the festival¡¯s heartbeat was a symphony of playful shouts and the clinking of coins, a reminder that some things¡ªlike the joy of a community coming together¡ªare timeless.


    But as I looked around some of the people there aren¡¯t family members of the fire department in which while it¡¯s a festival for the fire department but members of the fire department gets first dibs for tickets. But the few business days before the festival begins then random people can enter their closest firehouse and buy a ticket but the people there who aren¡¯t apart of the fire department nor are relatives to the firefighters there but the people there are the city¡¯s hardworking blue class workers who work in dangerous or labor intensive careers in which they came out to support the local first responders who are always there for them 24/7 in which many of the blue collared workers who are there to come out for the day they¡¯re just showing up to give their support because the fire department was always there for them while the police department more or less is a no-show.


    The EPD respond more quickly and harsher in middle class and richer neighborhoods while taking their time in predominantly poorer neighborhoods so the fire department had a better reputation in neighborhoods that are poor than the police department because well many of the impoverished people have a saying that they say, ¡°The police department may show up or not and that an ambulance may take 20 minutes but the fire department will respond when the alarm call box is pulled regardless of your wealth, skin color, nationality, religious or gender that they¡¯re going to come when the fire box is pulled.¡±


    Standing beside my dad as he took aim at the dunk tank, the anticipation in the air was almost tangible. The festival¡¯s energy seemed to converge on this point of playful challenge.


    ¡°So you like being a firefighter?¡± he asked, his voice carrying over the sound of splashes and cheers.


    I nodded, leaning against the railing. ¡°I love it, despite the unexpected calls that come our way. It¡¯s not just about fighting fires; it¡¯s about being there for the community in any capacity needed. Sure, we get the odd landlord-tenant dispute, which really isn¡¯t in our wheelhouse, but it shows the trust people have in us. The fire department is a pillar of support, no matter the situation.¡±


    I watched as he wound up for another throw. ¡°We¡¯re the first responders to just about everything¡ªfights, childbirth, you name it. And while most of us are CFRs, we¡¯ve got our FF/EMTs and FF/Paramedics making up the ranks too. Just last week, we were called to a bar brawl. We let them sort it out before stepping in¡ªno need to get in the middle of flying fists. But we¡¯re always ready to offer aid or get a refusal waiver signed. It¡¯s all part of the job.¡±


    The ball left his hand, flying straight and true. ¡°And then there¡¯s the fires in places like abandoned warehouses, where sometimes all you can do is contain it. Our captain says it¡¯s about accepting the limits of what we can do.¡±


    I sighed, thinking of Dave¡¯s kids. ¡°I feel for them, with their mom not here. Claire and the other firefighters, Avalanche and Dynamite, understand those limits too. They know that no matter how skilled you are, there¡¯s only so much you can do.¡±


    The splash signaled a hit, and laughter erupted around us. ¡°The academy drills it into us¡ªwe¡¯re racing against time, from the moment the call comes in to the second we¡¯re dispatched. Every second counts.¡±


    As I spoke, I could see the pride in my dad¡¯s eyes, a reflection of the respect he had for the service and the sacrifices made by those who serve. It was a moment of connection, a shared understanding of the commitment to help others, no matter the cost.


    As the festival¡¯s din swirled around us, my dad¡¯s curiosity about my colleagues piqued. ¡°So, Avalanche and Dynamite? Tell me about them?¡± he inquired, his gaze following the pair in the distance.


    ¡°Mariana ¡®Avalanche¡¯ Harmony and Madeleine ¡®Dynamite¡¯ Azure,¡± I began, ¡°Avalanche is a former military mountaineer, and Dynamite, well, she¡¯s a former marine combat engineer. They¡¯re as tough as they come¡ªDynamite especially. She¡¯s the epitome of marine strength.¡±


    My dad chuckled, a glint of humor in his eyes. ¡°I wasn¡¯t planning on asking either of them out. After what I went through with your mother, I¡¯m not keen on jumping back into the dating pool. But it¡¯s good to know they¡¯re friendly allies, not easily ruffled.¡±


    As we spoke, Avalanche and Dynamite were making their way through the crowd, prizes in tow, a testament to their day¡¯s victories. Their camaraderie was evident, a bond that had once been romantic but had evolved into a steadfast friendship.


    Approaching them, I greeted my formidable friends. Avalanche¡¯s arms were laden with winnings, too full for a handshake, but her smile was a warm welcome. They shared tales of their day¡ªstarting with a hearty bacon breakfast and powering through with coffee, their energy devoted to the games and the sheer joy of a day spent outside, away from the confines of routine.


    ¡°They¡¯ve been here since the opening, fully immersed in the festival spirit,¡± I told my dad, watching as they recounted their adventures with animated gestures. ¡°It¡¯s days like today that remind us to step out and live a little, even if it means splurging on games and food. It¡¯s about the fun, the memories.¡±


    As Avalanche and Dynamite continued to share their stories, their laughter mingling with the festival¡¯s lively hum, I felt a sense of contentment. Here, among friends and family, with the backdrop of a community united in celebration, was were simple moments became cherished memories.


    ___________________________________________________


    At night in Downtown


    The same three guys who beat the hell out of me came out of a bar.


    ¡°That¡¯s them,¡± I said.


    Some of my family members including my father attacked them the same way they attacked me. I could¡¯ve attacked them but one against three wasn¡¯t a fair fight neither is twelve against three but to me the three that attacked me really didn¡¯t do that much damage to me. While the beating they gave me felt like it was on par with a papercut but now they¡¯re getting beaten by twelve members who are heavily trained in hand to hand combat and gave them a much more of an beating than what the three gave me. But when the three got beaten up a lot worse than me I just ran and kicked them in the nuts while they were down to add an extra layer of pain for them.


    Soon Carter came out of the bar. I tapped him on his shoulder. He turned around which had my foot meet his nuts bringing him down very quickly he just said, ¡°I needed them.¡±


    I replied, ¡°No you do not anymore. Come on, let''s go to a bar. I¡¯m buying the first round.¡±


    We all then left to go to another bar.

 Chapter Ten

    On January 18th, as I was preparing breakfast, I heard a knock on my door. I quickly turned off the stove and moved the pan to a different burner. When I opened the door, I was met by a police officer from the Island Patrol.


    "Are you Mackenzie Waterson?" the officer inquired.


    "Yes, I am. What''s this about?" I responded.


    "It''s about your mother," the officer explained. "We were contacted by the U.S. Embassy to inform you that your mother is in the hospital and she wants you to come and visit her."


    After the officers left, I couldn''t contain my excitement and threw my fists up in celebration. But I then went back to making breakfast in which I ate a bacon and scrambled egg sandwich. But after I got done eating and doing the dishes I just called the airport to book a flight back to the United States in a couple of days and even called HQ to request time off due to a so-called family emergency before going to work.


    But I couldn¡¯t believe I said that it was a family emergency because I and my so-called mother aren¡¯t close and I don¡¯t call her ¡°mother¡± but rather call her ¡°The woman who gave birth to me¡± because we don''t have a loving mother-daughter relationship.


    _______________


    At the Squad 769 firehouse, the team convened around a table to participate in a question-and-answer session led by Captain Harris. An example query pertained to the nature of the emergency that would ensue in the event of a fire at the port. Responses were documented on small whiteboards.


    Amidst contemplation regarding my forthcoming visit to my biological mother in the United States, Captain Harris posed the question, "In the event of a fire at the port, what type of emergency would it be?"


    Upon reviewing the responses, Captain Harris conveyed that, except for my own, the answers provided by Squad 769 needed to be corrected. I had accurately inscribed "HAZMAT Level 1/2," considering the presence of hazardous materials within the port. But he did give them points for saying that it would be treated as a fire though.


    ¡°The fact that you five are getting beaten by a Probie,¡± said Captain Harris. ¡°It¡¯s well in my 38 years in the Fire Department I''ve never seen anything like it. It¡¯s usually the ones who aren¡¯t probationary firefighters who have more knowledge.¡±


    I replied, ¡°Well my girlfriend is the Lieutenant over on Squad Company 141 and when I was over at the Academy my girlfriend she quizzed me regardless of when she wasn¡¯t working or if we were preoccupied with something like showering or bathing. But cooking, cleaning, driving or anytime else she would ask me and I would answer. But she would let me have an hour to study in the books they give you at the Academy to study in the classrooms and off hours.¡±


    Captain Harris chuckled when I said about having books to study when not training off hours because he and a lot of the veterans of the department came on at a time when they were assigned books. But they only could read them when in the classroom and had to leave them there, not keep them, only give them back when the training was over. Not adding that they had to pay for the books and supplies and pay for their uniforms and bunker gear. Since 1995 the city provides the books, notebooks, pencils/pens, uniform, and bunker gear but from 1710 to 1994 that those who signed up had to pay out of pocket not adding that they spend 80% of their training out doing physical training and put into a trailer that¡¯s a maze with no light so they can get a taste of being in a dark environment, crawling only relying on their sense of touch or being put in a specialized building that¡¯s filled with smoke and fire. But I just told them that the instructor I had just complained about how the city hasn¡¯t had a ¡°real firefighter¡± since the 1960s and 70s due to the advancement of technology like thermal imaging cameras. He also talked about how we¡¯re going to have to suppress a lot of things because the last thing we need to do is go home and tell our families what we see.


    Captain Harris then had us go find a fake bomb that his friend over in the police department bomb squad rig up. As a SOC Company in the fire department we¡¯re trained in that field as well but Captain Harris told us to go find it and report it.


    I searched the lockers and the rest of the company started to search while Captain Harris just had a clipboard and stopwatch.


    Another member used his radio to radio it into the rest of us but there was an explosion in which when we got to his location he was covered in a white powder.


    ¡°And you¡¯re dead,¡± I said. ¡°Some explosives can be triggered by radio frequency energy or by static energy.¡±


    When he looked at Captain Harris.


    ¡°Don¡¯t look at me, she''s right,¡± said Captain Harris. ¡°Training 101 of not to do something that would cause it to go off like using something that has static energy or a radio frequency.¡±


    We used a booster hose to spray him down outside to get the baby powder off of him. He had to go change.


    The moment he stepped through the door, a chill ran down my spine. Not him, I thought, my heart sinking like a stone in a deep, dark well.


    There he was, Jack, the man who couldn¡¯t grasp the word ¡®no¡¯ if it were spelled out in neon lights. My gaze must have betrayed a flicker of recognition, for I knew him all too well. After graduating and returning to Alabama, my mother, bless her misguided heart, had set us up on a date. Unlike the respectful gentlemen I¡¯d encountered before, Jack was persistent to a fault. He¡¯d even managed to get himself into a car accident en route to see me while I was in basic training.


    His obsession didn¡¯t end there. Whenever the USS Bunker Hill docked for repairs or a port visit, Jack would find his way there, boarding a plane as if drawn by some twisted sense of destiny. It was my nightmare. Although military protocol often barred him from setting foot on base, the times I ventured off base were haunted by his unwelcome shadow.


    ¡°Hello Mackenzie,¡± he greeted, a smirk playing on his lips as if we shared some private joke.


    I rolled my eyes, exasperation boiling over. ¡°Jack hit the road. I¡¯ve turned you down more times than I care to count. For nearly four years, my answer has been a resounding no. I¡¯m not marrying you. It¡¯s time you got that through your thick skull. And you know what? I¡¯ll do exactly what I did back in Hamburg in ''09¡ªI¡¯ll file a police report for stalking and harassment.¡±


    With swift determination, I reached for my phone. Instead of dialing the local equivalent of 911, I called directly to the 9th Precinct. Eastside was their territory, and I knew they¡¯d send an officer posthaste. But as Jack lunged for my phone in a desperate attempt to silence me, I acted on instinct. My training kicked in, and before I knew it, his arm was bent at an unnatural angle, a clear snap echoing in the tense air.


    His arm, momentarily caught in my firm grip, must have throbbed with the onset of pain. Yet, within moments, I released him, and he staggered back, just out of reach. There was a brief pause, a silent standoff before he did something utterly unexpected¡ªyet predictably Jack. He knelt on one knee, his gesture grandiose, as if we were actors on a stage rather than two people in a stark reality.


    Before me was the 77th ring, each more elaborate than the last, a crescendo of diamonds and promises that I had no intention of accepting. It was as if with each rejection, the rings grew in grandeur, as though he believed that a fancier band could sway my steadfast heart.


    But I am not a woman swayed by the sparkle of gemstones or the weight of gold. My resolve is not for sale, not for all the jewels in the world. So, with a sigh that carried the weight of all our history, I looked into his hopeful eyes and said, ¡°Jack, this isn¡¯t about the rings or the grand gestures. It¡¯s about respect, understanding, and accepting a person¡¯s choice. For the seventy-seventh time, my answer is no. It has always been no.¡± With that, I turned away, leaving the ring¡ªand Jack¡¯s unyielding proposal¡ªbehind me.


    Jack¡¯s inability to accept a ¡®no¡¯ was not just stubbornness; it was a refusal to acknowledge my autonomy. His belief that ¡®no¡¯ simply meant ¡®not now, but later¡¯ was a dangerous misconception, one that I could no longer tolerate. The police arrived after some time, and I filed a report detailing the harassment and stalking, a necessary step to reclaim my peace.


    The officer informed me that to obtain a restraining order, I would need to visit either the precinct or the courthouse. However, the only available option was a Domestic Abuse Restraining Order (DARO), a consequence of a 1942 bill passed in Little Bird under the Violence Against Women Act. This act facilitated the investigation and prosecution of violent crimes against women, mandated restitution for those convicted, and provided civil redress in cases the District Attorney opted not to pursue.


    I resolved to handle the paperwork after work, determined to put an end to this ordeal. Yet, when I inquired about the specificity of the restraining order, the officer explained that in Little Bird, stalking and harassment were categorized under domestic abuse, regardless of the relationship status between the involved parties. This classification, they claimed, simplified the legal process, though I remained skeptical of its efficacy.


    In a world where ¡®no¡¯ should be respected unequivocally, I found myself navigating a system that seemed to blur the lines, but I was resolute. I would walk into that precinct, fill out the forms, and stand firm against the tide, for my ¡®no¡¯ was not a whisper in the wind¡ªit was a declaration, loud and clear.


    Of course, the officer also said that if I do go for a restraining order then if Jack violates it even once it¡¯s a felony. I know that if Jack does violate it just once then he can be charged with a felony. But I know that when my shift ends I¡¯m heading down to the police precinct to get one. But I just know that the moment that Jack breaks it, she then has him arrested and charged with a felony.


    My father is loving and caring, but he was tough on me because he wanted me to grow up strong and resilient. The Waterson family is not known for being smooth-talking charmers or cold-blooded manipulators; we just get right to the point and don''t manipulate others. As for Jack, he will never become a part of this family through marriage or any other means because the women in the Waterson family aren''t easily won over by smooth charmers and manipulators. The last man who tried to manipulate or charm his way into a Waterson woman''s life ended up in the hospital with broken legs and a broken arm. I have a strong feeling that my girlfriend wants to join my family through marriage. However, if we get married, she will be more inclined to accept a courthouse wedding instead of a traditional wedding at a church or venue due to her being Agnostic and Atheist.


    It wasn¡¯t long until the fire bell rang for a fire investigation so we went. and checked it out even though it was within Firehouse 23¡¯s district but they were preoccupied with a car fire call. But we had done our investigation while it was put out before we got there we had to double-check check the owner of the restaurant was abusing his son for it which was a breaking point for me so without hesitation, I went at him but it took the entire company to get me off of the guy but we left after that.


    When we arrived at the station, Captain Harris confronted me aggressively. I told him that he should have reviewed my file to understand my background and the reasons behind my actions. I explained that officers should be familiar with their members'' backgrounds to better understand their behavior. I also shared with him that my so-called mother had similarly treated me and that it was a sensitive issue for me. I conveyed to him that I felt unfairly punished by my mother for things that were beyond my control. She used to burden me with her chores on top of my responsibilities, including school, personal life, and later, when I had a part-time job. But that was only if my dad wasn¡¯t there. If he was, then she had to do her own chores while I did mine. However, if he wasn¡¯t there, then she would throw all of her chores onto mine.


    But for some reason, I decided to go back to the United States to help my so-called mother but if she needs help I might just throw her into an assisted living home or a place that would treat her as badly as she treated me. But if she has to come and live with me then I¡¯ll make her life a living hell like she has done to me.


    If fate decrees that she must reside under my roof, I am torn between the desire for retribution and the hope that perhaps, in this autumn of her life, we might find a semblance of peace.


    In a bid to protect what little I have carved out for myself, I resolve to take a pragmatic approach. Tomorrow, before my departure, I will have the local police meticulously catalog my possessions. Each item will be assigned a number and recorded in the police database. This way, should my mother succumb to the temptation of selling or pawning my belongings, the authorities will have a clear trail to recover them.


    Captain Harris went on blast for an hour in which I just tuned him out because I¡¯m used to being yelled at by my mother but I¡¯m just used to being yelled at so I just ignored it. But I didn¡¯t care that he was giving me both barrels of his argument. That I¡¯m in my probationary period that I can be fired for any reason. But he was just going to write me up for it but I don¡¯t care how he feels about me nor what kind of write-up he will give me.


    But we just waited for the next call to come in but I just kept an eye on my car but the day went by fast.


    ______________________________________________________


    The next day


    I went to the 9th Precinct and got a few officers to come out and register everything in my house to see if it gets stolen or pawned then they can easily recover it.


    But after that I went to the airport. At first I got a bite to eat before boarding my plane back to the United States.


    _______________________________


    At a rehab center


    The doctor asked, "So you''re going to be the one taking your mother to come and live with you?"


    I replied confidently, "Yes, I will. My mother and I have a lot of catching up to do."


    The doctor commented, "Well, she''s been a pain in the neck for us."


    I responded firmly, "Yes, my mom has been known to be a little wild."


    What I just said was an understatement. The doctor then led me to his office and gave me the release forms I signed. One important notice was that my mother has to check in with her rehab doctor at 8 AM Central Time until her rehab is complete. However, she won''t like that it¡¯s 6 AM Central Pacific Time. If my mom fails to check in once, then she has to come back until they deem that she can be either released back into the general public or into a housing project with other members in rehab. This was not how I was planning on spending my day in Kansas City, but I chose to do this because my dad changed his phone number.


    ¡°Can she get a part-time job?¡± I asked.


    The doctor replied, ¡°She can but if she gets paid in cash keep a close eye on it. Oh, she also has to do a bimonthly drug test but if she fails once she has to come back. Alright Ms. Waterson, your mother is now in your hands.¡±


    I then met my mother in the lobby of the rehab place. The doctor then left to let me and my so-called mother alone for a quick moment.


    ¡°Get up without my permission, I¡¯ll blast your ass so far through your head it¡¯ll turn the moon well technically the sun into nothing but red,¡± I explicitly informed my mother that I will be setting up specific ground rules for her. Any violation will result in her return to the United States, either to the hospital or an assisted living facility. The first rule mandates mandatory drug tests, with failure or refusal leading to eviction. Second, my job as a firefighter is off-limits for personal interruptions. Third, she must accompany me on shopping days to select her items. No alcohol or unapproved drugs are permitted. While she may work part-time, 18% of her paycheck will go towards rent. Furthermore, she must adhere to a daily schedule, allowing her out between 9 AM and 5 PM, with mandatory doctor check-ins at 8 AM. Missing a check-in will result in her departure.


    I soon decided to walk down the hallway. I called my mother and told her to gather her things and leave. Before she could respond, I informed her that I had already taken care of everything for her to be allowed to leave the U.S. and come to Little Bird to live with me.


    I made it clear to my mother that my life was "Fine," choosing not to divulge details about my happy relationship with another woman or the return of James, whom I consider to be a stalking parasite. I only discuss the men with whom I went on single dates and who respected my decision not to pursue a romantic relationship. I emphasize their open-mindedness. I don''t waste time discussing men like James, who I find to be misogynistic and chauvinistic, living in an outdated world where they believe women should only work during times of war, like the World Wars. The men I don''t talk about, like James, hold the belief that women should confine themselves to homemaking, with responsibilities limited to shopping, cooking, cleaning, child-rearing, and serving their husbands.


    I also informed my mom that the country I''m living in, Little Bird, has extradition laws. This means that if she fails her drug test or misses a check-in, the Little Bird National Police or the Little Bird Island Patrol (similar to the State Police) can arrest her and extradite her back to the United States. If her rehab doctor suspects that she''s using drugs or not following the treatment plan, the doctor can request her to come back as well.


    I made it clear to my mother that we would only be purchasing non-GMO food in the future. Our focus will be on obtaining healthy foods grown on a farm. The only modified food permitted will be items with preservatives, such as strawberry jam. I explained to her that this decision is final due to the limited availability of fast food options in the country of Little Bird. Unlike the United States, where there are 210,692 fast food places, fast food in Little Bird is considered a luxury, not an everyday occurrence. It is viewed as a rare treat, to be indulged in occasionally, akin to a blue moon or during road trips. Additionally, I clarified that the limited fast food joints in Little Bird predominantly sell hamburgers, cheeseburgers, fries, sodas, water, coffee, and milkshakes, with only a few offering other items like chicken. However, meals involving chicken in Little Bird are deemed as restaurant meals, not fast food.


    I made it clear to my mom that hot dogs are considered children¡¯s food and are also a staple at baseball games. At baseball games, hot dogs sell rapidly and are commonly referred to as "Nickel root beer." This name stems from the tradition of people purchasing food like hot dogs and root beer for nickel during the long break in the 7th inning. Furthermore, hot dogs are frequently consumed by children at parties.


    While on the flight, my mother asked if it was okay for her to get something from the cart that was being pushed up and down the aisle. I told her to help herself, and I got some spaghetti and meatballs, a chocolate brownie, a mixed green salad, and a lemon-lime soda (like Sprite). My mother got pasta, ice cream, and hot tea. She commented that it was better than just packaged peanuts. I told her that I rather eat nothing but packaged peanuts for an entire flight than starve.


    After a couple more hours, we arrived at Empire International Airport. The airport consists of three terminals. The standard blocky terminal is located at the north, with below-ground entrances. The passenger terminal to the south is more distinctive, with its woven roof and a massive glass wall facing the airport''s southern side. The third terminal is the Freight and Cargo Terminal, situated southeast of both passenger terminals.


    "They don¡¯t take security lightly here," my mother said, observing the cops in their dark blue uniforms. The city police wore ties, police badges, hats, and body armor, while the national police wore short-sleeve navy blue uniforms with body armor.


    "Well, they''re the first line of defense to prevent terrorism," I replied, stating the obvious.


    _________________________


    Stepping into my apartment, the air is thick with the tension of new beginnings and old grudges. I cast a wary eye over the sparse furnishings, each piece cataloged in my mind and marked by the Empire Police Department.


    ¡°Don¡¯t get any ideas,¡± I warned my estranged mother, her eyes scanning the room like a hawk. ¡°Everything here is accounted for. Take something, and it¡¯s not just me you¡¯ll answer to¡ªthe EPD will have you in cuffs before you can pawn a single item.¡±


    The knock at the door slices through the unease, and there stands Claire, my rock, her presence a balm to my frayed nerves. She steps in, her gaze questioning the chaos without a word. I¡¯m grateful she¡¯s left her kids out of this mess.


    I said, "You may not be concerned about matters of faith, but this is a case where faith and practicality coincide."


    As I checked my pistol, I mentioned, "This type of gun, the .45 Automatic pistol, was created by a religious man a century ago," referring to John Browning and the M1911 Pistol.


    During our discussion, I emphasized to my girlfriend Claire the importance of preserving the past and the dangers of forgetting history. I also made it clear to her that she should not bring her children around because of my mother''s potential to guilt-trip her into helping.


    After putting my gun away my girlfriend and I then started to baby-proof my apartment so my mother doesn¡¯t get hurt where she may be an adult but I don¡¯t trust her entirely not to find a way to hurt herself. But I also told my mom that she has to go get a part-time job as well so she decided to go get a part-time job.


    ¡°So why are you helping your mother?¡± Lusty asked.


    I replied, ¡°The Holy Bible may preach peace and forgiveness. Screw that an eye for an eye tooth for a tooth is what¡¯s going to happen. She took my money when I was younger including birthday money so an eye for an eye a tooth for a tooth.¡±


    Lusty said that what my mother did by taking my money even my birthday money was messed up. Her parents even poor living on the line of poverty and almost being homeless but every birthday they would give Lusty a few bucks but even when Lusty got a job while she was in high school but they just said ¡°It¡¯s your money Claire you spend it how you want to¡± instead of taking their only daughter¡¯s money to help pay bills. But Lusty was grateful that her parents let her keep her money while my mother took mine from either birthday money or from my part-time job. Sometimes I wish I had parents like the kind my girlfriend had of a loving and caring kind not have parents who argued a lot and a mother who took my money for her drug addiction and a father who worked 50 or more hours a week to earn extra money to pay the bills and groceries while my mother stayed at home just taking a majority of my dad¡¯s money to do her narcotics.


    Soon my mother joined us at the dining room table.


    ¡°So Claire, can you tell Mackenzie the wonderful things about having children?¡± my mother asked the moment she sat down


    Lusty just did the opposite instead of talking about how good it can be and all the wonders she just talked about the bad side like how her kids always fight over toys or throw temper tantrums when they don¡¯t get what they want. Lusty tells her children not to get their clothing dirty or that holding their breath is a good lung exercise whenever they throw their temper tantrums. But she has it whenever her children say they don¡¯t want to work for their allowance meaning they don¡¯t want to do their chores she just tells them ¡°No work no allowance¡± and that whenever they raise their voice to her well she tells them not to raise their voice at her because she¡¯ll pop them in the mouth if they raise their voice or back talk her.


    The words hang in the air, a stark delineation of parenting styles. My mother, quick to label, calls it "Authoritarian," her tone dismissive, as if the concept is foreign and distasteful.


    Claire''s response is swift, her voice steady, "It''s Authoritative. There''s a difference. It''s about being firm yet supportive, setting clear boundaries while keeping the lines of communication of having rules and expectations but giving reason by them. Authoritarian? It¡¯s more or less my way or the highway."


    I can''t help but interject, the comparison between Claire''s methods and my mother''s¡ªor lack thereof¡ªtoo glaring to ignore.


    "It''s a lot different than you, Mom," I say, the words tasting of bitter truth. "You were neglectful, uninvolved, indifferent. You provided no guidance, no attention. It was a hands-off approach that left me to fend for myself when dad wasn¡¯t around."


    In this exchange, the contrast between past and present couldn''t be clearer. Claire''s approach, rooted in structure and support, offers a glimpse of what could have been, while my mother''s neglect serves as a reminder of what was. It''s a lesson in the impact of our actions, or inactions, on those we claim to love.


    Claire¡¯s narrative unfolds, a tapestry of teenage years caught between the steady hands of Authoritative guidance and the liberating breeze of Permissive freedom. Her parents, understanding the delicate part of life of growing up, loosened the reins as she stepped into the responsibilities of adolescence.


    ¡°They knew I was no longer just a kid,¡± Claire explains, her voice tinged with nostalgia. ¡°With a part-time job at the local fast-food joint, juggling cash registers and customer service, I was learning the ropes of adulthood. They adjusted, you know? Set boundaries that made sense for a teenager with a paycheck.¡±


    It¡¯s a balance, a harmony of trust and expectation, that Claire¡¯s parents mastered¡ªa stark contrast to my own upbringing. They recognized her growth, and rewarded her maturity with autonomy, while still providing a safety net of rules and love. It¡¯s a parenting philosophy that acknowledges the evolving needs of a child becoming an adult, one that I can¡¯t help but admire and wish for in my own past.


    Lusty, as she¡¯s known to those close to her, shared with me the stark realities of her upbringing, a testament to resilience in the face of adversity. Her parents, caught in the relentless gears of a system that favored the rich, would leave before dawn¡¯s light graced the sky, entrusting her with the morning¡¯s silence and the weight of independence.


    She¡¯d rise with the sun, solitude her only companion, as she prepared for school. The afternoons often greeted her with an empty home, where she¡¯d dutifully complete her chores, transforming the space into a welcoming haven for her weary parents. Dinner simmered on the stove, a simple act of love and reciprocation for their tireless efforts.


    Their labor was a Sisyphean task¡ªendless hours for meager pay, serving faceless corporations whose executives reaped fortunes. Bonuses were a rarity, a slice of pizza the only luxury amidst the struggle, except for the sparse cash rewards on Little Bird Unification Day and Christmas.


    Claire¡¯s mother, once a therapist, was dispatched by a temp agency to the far corners of the city, earning less than those with permanent positions. Her father, a janitor, had shelved his dreams alongside his wife¡¯s therapist license, a casualty of a fake lawsuit born from a patient¡¯s deluded affection.


    Their lives, once comfortably middle-class, were upended, forcing them into a tenement¡¯s cramped quarters¡ªa stark contrast to the suburban home they had known. Yet, in this upheaval, they found a rhythm, a balance that ensured one of them was always there for Lusty. It was a sacrifice, and of unspoken love that shaped the woman she became¡ªa woman of strength, forged in the fires of hardship and hope.


    Lusty often reflected on the fabric of her upbringing, woven from the threads of scarcity and self-reliance. To her, the middle-class, rich with the conveniences of instant gratification¡ªtelevisions flickering with endless shows, phones ringing with distant voices, cars waiting to whisk away their owners¡ªseems a stark contrast to the values she cherishes. She sees a world where many never touch the soil of hard work, their hands unblemished by the toil that forges character.


    She earned her driver''s license at sixteen, a rite of passage delayed in its consummation until the cusp of her twenty-second year. The underground metro''s rhythmic lull was her companion, its carriages bearing witness to her perseverance, each journey a step closer to the independence she craved¡ªa home of her own, a car to call hers.


    Lusty''s mother, a matriarch of tradition, shunned the allure of convenience. Their meals were labors of love, simmering on the stove, not zapped into existence by microwaves. Conversations weren''t digitized exchanges but face-to-face encounters, each word a currency of connection.


    Her reputation blossomed early in the neighborhood where Lusty''s roots dug deep. As a teenager, she was lauded for her altruism and courage to place others'' safety above hers. Yet, when she embraced her bisexuality, the winds of perception shifted. Some whispered of wildness, of caprice, while others saw a demon where there was none. But through the tumult, a core of support remained, those who recognized her as an ally, a beacon of authenticity.


    When I stepped out of the closet, declaring my bisexuality, the reactions were a mosaic of acceptance and denial. My father''s love never wavered, his support a steadfast beacon. My mother, however, saw it as a mere phase, a cloud passing over the sun of her expectations. But like Lusty, I stand firm in my identity, unyielding to the ebb and flow of others'' understanding. In this unwavering stance, we find our truest selves, not as reflections of others'' desires, but as architects of our own destiny.


    In the world Lusty hails from, microwaves are akin to artifacts of a distant, affluent future. She discovered their existence amidst the counters of Home Economics class, a stark contrast to the antiquated wiring of her childhood tenement, which whispered tales of a bygone era, predating even the Great War. Her family¡¯s pockets, weighed down by the gravity of necessity, couldn¡¯t spare the money for such luxuries as microwaves or cars. Their lives were a tapestry of footsteps and bus tickets, a humble existence far removed from the convenience of instant mobility.


    My father, on the other hand, was my chariot driver, ferrying me to destinations far and wide at my behest. That is, until I took the wheel of my own rickety ride, a lemon of a car that carried me to work and school, its groans and sputters a symphony of independence.


    As for my mother, she¡¯s slowly peeling back the layers of my life, getting to know Lusty, my girlfriend. Despite her stubborn belief that our bisexuality is but a fleeting phase, Lusty stands firm in her identity. She embodies a Kinsey 3, her affections not tethered to gender, but free to alight where they may. I am a Kinsey 4, my heart leaning more towards women, though not confined by it.


    My mother¡¯s views on marriage are as outdated as her opinions on my relationship with Lusty. She clings to the idea that weddings belong in churches or lavish venues, not understanding that a courthouse can be just as meaningful for those who seek simplicity or don¡¯t adhere to religious traditions. Lusty and I are pragmatic¡ªwe see the beauty in the straightforward, no-frills commitment of a courthouse ceremony, followed by a communal celebration at a buffet. It¡¯s honest, it¡¯s us.


    While my mother may balk at the idea, my father understands the significance of the gesture, the symbolism of walking me down the aisle, even if that aisle is the marbled floor of a government building. He gets that it¡¯s not about the location, but the act of giving away his daughter to a future of her choosing.


    As for the guest list, it¡¯s true, the Watersons are a prolific bunch; they breed like rabbits, but Lusty¡¯s family tree is more sparse, with branches that have long since stopped reaching out. Her estranged uncle, her disconnected father¡¯s side¡ªnone of them will bear witness to our union. But that¡¯s alright because family isn¡¯t just blood; it¡¯s the people who stand by you, who¡¯ve watched you grow from the stoops and windows of a tight-knit neighborhood. They¡¯re the ones we¡¯ll invite, the ones who matter most.


    In the end, it¡¯s not about changing my mother¡¯s mind or conforming to her expectations. It¡¯s about Lusty and me, our love, and the life we¡¯re building together. That¡¯s the heart of it, and no matter where we say our vows, that heart beats strong and true.


    Lusty¡¯s recount of Dave and Linda¡¯s wedding is a narrative steeped in tradition and the subtle shifts of familial acceptance. Linda¡¯s father, harboring reservations about Dave¡¯s profession as a firefighter¡ªa role deeply entrenched in their family¡¯s history¡ªnonetheless escorted her down the cathedral aisle. It was an act transcending personal doubts, a silent vow of trust in Linda¡¯s choice, a relinquishment of his protective mantle to the man she chose as her partner.


    Their union, now a decade strong, is a testament to their shared strength, a bond forged in the fires they both battle. Despite the initial reluctance, Linda¡¯s decision to marry a fellow firefighter was a declaration of equality and mutual respect, countering her mother¡¯s outdated hopes of domesticity.


    In the tapestry of our lives, Lusty and I are weaving a pattern that¡¯s uniquely ours, one that doesn¡¯t necessarily align with my mother¡¯s vision of tradition. She pictures a wedding steeped in the grandeur of a church or cathedral, but for us, it¡¯s not about the backdrop; it¡¯s about the bond we¡¯re affirming. We¡¯re crafting a compromise that honors both our beliefs and desires¡ªwhether it¡¯s Lusty picking the venue and me choosing the post-ceremony feast, or vice versa.


    Our plan to maintain separate residences even after marriage might raise eyebrows, but we see it as a way to nurture our love, to keep it vibrant and strong, not dulled by the routine of constant proximity. My mother may not understand, calling it foolish, but for us, it¡¯s a thoughtful choice to preserve the spark that brought us together.


    Lusty¡¯s recent call to the cathedral, where she and her team performed a daring rooftop rescue, is a stark reminder of the ever-evolving nature of our professions. The outdated safety nets of the past have given way to modern techniques and equipment, like the inflatable airbags that now cushion the perilous descent of those in danger.


    Our names, once united in marriage, will reflect our partnership¡ªJohnson-Waterson and Waterson-Johnson¡ªa blending of identities that stands as a testament to our commitment. While the future may hold many unknowns, one thing is certain: we¡¯ll face it together, with the same courage and determination that defines our work and our love.


    My mother¡¯s curiosity about my choice of career sparked a conversation that delved into the heart of my passion.


    ¡°Why firefighting?¡± she pondered aloud, her question hanging between us like smoke in the air.


    Lusty  looked at her, memories flooding back. ¡°Eastside was a crucible of flames from ''67 to ''95,¡± she began, her voice steady. ¡°As a kid, I was plucked from the jaws of fire by heroes clad in steel-toed boots and rubber jackets, their helmets reflecting the inferno. They were the ¡®Fire breathers,¡¯ as I called them, a nod to my mother¡¯s heritage. They braved the blaze unmasked, long before air masks became the norm.¡±


    Lusty paused, the image of her childhood saviors etched in her mind. ¡°Music was my first love, but the industry¡¯s greed soured the dream. Newspapers were filled with tales of artists robbed by record labels. So, I chose a different path¡ªa path of service, unpredictability, and adrenaline. Firefighting isn¡¯t just a job; it¡¯s a calling.¡±


    My mother, ever the pragmatist, voiced her skepticism. ¡°Breaking windows seems foolish,¡± she remarked.


    I couldn¡¯t help but smile at her simplicity. ¡°We shatter glass not in play, but with purpose. It¡¯s a calculated move to let the beast of heat and smoke escape, to prevent it from overpowering us. This job, is akin to a rollercoaster. The climb instills fear, but at the peak, you embrace it, hands in the air, screaming defiance on the descent. It¡¯s about facing fear, embracing it, and doing what needs to be done.¡±


    My response to my mother¡¯s question about why I chose to become a firefighter was rooted in a deep desire to serve and make a difference. ¡°Public service is more than a job; it¡¯s a commitment to helping others. Sure, it¡¯s dangerous, and the pay¡ª$120 a week here in Empire¡ªisn¡¯t much. But it¡¯s not about the money. It¡¯s about being there for people on their worst days, about doing things that most can¡¯t or won¡¯t.¡±


    I shared with her the breadth of emergencies we handle, far beyond the usual calls. ¡°Lusty and I are part of the Special Operations Command. We tackle tough situations¡ªtrain accidents, water rescues, hazardous materials, and more. It requires specialized training and gear, and a mindset ready for anything.¡±


    Then, there¡¯s the legacy. ¡°Lusty¡¯s uncle, a man she barely knew, was a firefighter too, post-World War II until 1982. She¡¯s walking in his footsteps without even knowing it, as the lieutenant of the very company he served in. It¡¯s a connection discovered through old photos, a lineage of bravery and service.¡±


    In this profession, it¡¯s about the impact you make, the lives you touch, and the legacy you continue. It¡¯s a calling that demands everything and promises nothing but the satisfaction of knowing you¡¯ve made a difference. That¡¯s why I¡¯m a firefighter, and that¡¯s why Lusty and I wear our badges with pride.


    When my mother asked Lusty about her experience as a mother, she shared the complexities and joys with a candid openness.


    ¡°It¡¯s a rollercoaster,¡± Lusty admitted, ¡°especially with seven daughters. The twins are in sixth grade, while the quintuplets are just a step behind in fifth. Sure, they bicker and squabble; it''s part of growing up, part of being siblings.¡±


    Lusty¡¯s approach to motherhood is pragmatic yet nurturing. ¡°I let them argue, let them fight their little battles. It teaches them about life, about resolving their own conflicts.¡± But when it comes to mealtime, Lusty¡¯s stance is firm, mirroring the lessons from her own mother. ¡°They eat what¡¯s on the table. It¡¯s a rule I grew up with and one I¡¯m passing down. My mother used to say, ¡®There¡¯s starving people in the world who would gladly take it,¡¯ and that¡¯s stayed with me. It¡¯s about gratitude, about understanding the value of what we have.¡±


    In these moments, Lusty¡¯s love for her children shines through, a beacon of guidance in the tumultuous sea of raising a large family. It¡¯s a testament to the enduring power of the values instilled in us by our parents, and the legacy we hope to leave for our own children.


    Lusty''s gaze met my mother''s, a silent exchange heavy with expectation. It''s a look I''ve come to know well, one that''s always hovered over my life like a storm cloud. But Lusty, my rock, faced it head-on with the kind of grace that''s become her signature.


    "Mackenzie isn''t on anyone''s schedule but her own," Lusty declared, her voice a fortress against the unspoken demands. "Having children is her choice, and she¡¯ll make it if and when she¡¯s ready."


    She gets it, the weight of tradition in Little Bird, where whispers of ''old maid'' chase after women like shadows. But we''re not ones to chase after milestones just because they''re there.


    Her words were a balm, soothing the sting of expectation. Together, we''re a united front against the push of the past. Marriage, parenthood¡ªthese aren''t boxes to check off. They''re chapters we''ll write in our own story, at our own pace.


    Here in Little Bird, life''s tapestry is woven with threads of complexity. War, service, careers that consume¡ªthese are all valid reasons to pause or not go through with the narrative of marriage. And for some, it''s about honoring the sanctity of such commitments, not just succumbing to societal pressure.


    With Lusty by my side, I''m charting a course that''s true to us. Whether our journey includes kids or a tapestry of other adventures, it''ll be a life of our choosing¡ªa life rich with love, respect, and shared understanding.


    Lusty''s own history is a saga of resilience and enduring love. Her parents, from their separate beginnings¡ªher father, a Marine radio commander in Vietnam, and her mother, a therapist¡ªfused their lives together against all odds. Their love story, a testament to the power of love over difference, was symbolized by their simple steel home.


    Even when Lusty''s mother lost her license, their family''s bond didn''t waver. They embraced the honor in hard work, instilling in Lusty a pride in self-reliance.


    Lusty''s father''s tales, like the one about the car he earned through sheer determination, are more than just stories. They''re the bedrock of our shared values¡ªhard work, perseverance, and the courage to forge our own path.


    As for my mother''s question, "Did he?" about Lusty''s dad and his wartime experiences, Lusty''s answer was raw and real. "Yes, he did," she said. "He lived with the echoes of those calls¡ª''Cease Fire! You''re shelling Marines!''¡ªhaunting his nights. But he never let it break him. He chose us, his family, as his solace."


    When my mother confessed her confusion over the term ''blue on blue,'' I explained, "It means friendly fire."


    Lusty added, "And it wasn''t just metaphorical fire. The artillery used White Phosphorus and Incendiary shells that day."


    My mother doesn''t know the full extent of Lusty''s loss¡ªhow fire claimed her parents and shaped her into the firefighter she is today. Lusty''s strength, born from tragedy, taught her the harsh truth of our limits. We save lives, but sometimes, despite our best efforts, we face the unbearable task of recovery instead of rescue.


    Lusty shared her story with me when she was ready, and in her courage, I found a reflection of my own resolve. Together, we face the flames of life, saving what we can and accepting what we cannot change. Whether or not children are part of our future, the legacy of Lusty''s family and the lessons they''ve taught us will guide us through whatever challenges and opportunities lie ahead.


    Lusty stood up, ready to leave after one of her regular check-ins. She¡¯s always been vigilant about us, about me. Before she walked out, she turned to my mother with a resolve that¡¯s as much a part of her as the badge she wears.


    ¡°You can try all the scare tactics you want,¡± she said, her voice steady, ¡°but I¡¯m not going anywhere. We¡¯ve been through this before, Mackenzie and I. We¡¯re strong, and we¡¯re together.¡±


    She¡¯s right. My mother¡¯s attempts to intimidate, to set me on a path she deems ¡®correct,¡¯ won¡¯t work. Not anymore. The days when she could chase away someone I cared for, label my feelings as a ¡®phase,¡¯ are long gone. Lusty isn¡¯t like anyone I¡¯ve ever known; she¡¯s unshakeable, a force unto herself.


    I can almost predict the next move in my mother¡¯s playbook¡ªrandom dates with men I don¡¯t know, like some twisted game of matchmaking. It happened once, leading to a stalker named James who couldn¡¯t grasp the meaning of ¡®no.¡¯ Despite the restraining order, I wouldn¡¯t put it past him to show up again. He¡¯s just that predictable.


    After Lusty left, I took my mother out to help her with job applications. It¡¯s part of the deal, part of the rules I¡¯ve set since she moved in. I made sure the applications had my apartment¡¯s landline for contact. It¡¯s a small measure of control, but it¡¯s mine, and in this life I¡¯ve built, that means everything.


    In this dance with my mother, with the world, I¡¯m leading now. With Lusty by my side, I¡¯m not just strong¡ªI¡¯m invincible.


    We had barely settled back into my apartment when a knock rattled the door. I knew before I opened it¡ªit was James. Without hesitation, I dialed the Empire Police Department on my cell phone. They arrived swiftly, arresting James for violating the restraining order. I stood firm, telling the officer I wanted to press charges for harassment and stalking.


    As they took statements, it came to light that James¡¯s obsession wasn¡¯t new; he had followed me from Alabama to across Europe¡ªGermany, Belgium, France, Italy, and the United Kingdom. The Empire Police Department officers seemed baffled, unsure how to categorize such a persistent pursuit. In the end, they labeled James as an Incompetent suitor, Intimacy seeker, a Rejected Stalker, and a Predatory stalker.


    It was a small victory, but it was mine. It reaffirmed to live life on my terms, to protect the peace I¡¯ve built with Lusty, and to never let anyone¡ªJames, my mother, or society¡ªdictate my path.


    ¡°Hope you¡¯re happy mom that a man who can¡¯t take no for an answer is being arrested because you decided to play matchmaker,¡± I said. ¡°Because of you, a guy probably a nice guy before you set us up on an unwanted date four years ago back in 2006. Well now he¡¯s going to jail and probably a prison here if successfully convicted. Well on our first and only date he told me how I¡¯ll be a wonderful mother to an unknown amount of children and how I¡¯ll be a wonderful housewife but I told him to kiss my butt.¡±


    My mother replied, ¡°I wasn¡¯t expecting him to get arrested.¡±


    I couldn¡¯t hide the frustration in my voice as I turned to my mother. ¡°I hope you¡¯re satisfied,¡± I said sharply. ¡°Because of your meddling, a man who can¡¯t understand the word ¡®no¡¯ is now in handcuffs. He might have been decent once, but after that setup four years ago, in 2006, he¡¯s spiraled down. Now, he¡¯s facing jail time, maybe even prison if the conviction sticks. On our one and only date, he had the nerve to fantasize about me as some subservient mother and housewife. I made it clear that wasn¡¯t my future when I told him exactly where he could go.¡±


    My mother¡¯s response was feeble, almost naive. ¡°I wasn¡¯t expecting him to get arrested,¡± she murmured.


    ¡°I¡¯m craving some pizza,¡± I announced, reaching for the landline. The familiar jingle of the nearby pizza joint greeted me as I ordered my favorite: a sausage-stuffed crust pizza.


    Handing over a crisp ten-dollar bill to my mother, I laid down the law. ¡°This is for the pizza pickup. And listen, if you even think about trading this for narcotics, you¡¯re on the first flight back to that rehab center in Kansas City. They¡¯re giving you a shot at freedom here, not round-the-clock babysitting. Remember, you¡¯ve got mandatory meetings back there, and if you mess this up, I¡¯m out. You¡¯ll have to find another Waterson or another family member of yours to put up with you.¡±


    She grumbled about my refusal to drive her, or worse, let her behind the wheel of my prized ''60s Muscle car license or no license. But when she returned, both pizzas in hand, it was a small step. A very tiny crack in the wall I¡¯ve built around my trust. She¡¯s got a long road ahead before she earns it back, but it¡¯s a start. Right now, that¡¯s enough.


    The phone¡¯s ring cut through the quiet of our dinner, a call from the supermarket about my mother¡¯s job application. They wanted her for an interview, and I didn¡¯t hesitate to secure the earliest slot for her¡ªtomorrow at 11 AM. I couldn¡¯t be there to take her due to my shift, but I made it clear she¡¯d be there by 10:50 AM.


    After hanging up, I turned to my mother. ¡°You¡¯ve got an interview tomorrow at the supermarket,¡± I informed her. Her eyes flickered with anxiety as she asked about transportation. I laid out the facts: ¡°Half a million people in Empire take the bus. It¡¯s 25 cents one-way, 50 cents round-trip, and fifteen bucks for a monthly pass.¡± I offered to cover her fare for now, but if she landed the job, she¡¯d be on her own. Rent wasn¡¯t negotiable¡ª18% of her paycheck, even if it was just an entry-level wage.


    She agreed to the bus, despite her complaints about taxis and their inflated fares. It was non-negotiable; she could take the bus or miss her chance. The job paid $1.25 an hour, totaling $50 a week. I expected $39.06 next month for rent, half the median house cost in Empire. It was tough love, but necessary. She had to learn to stand on her own, and I wasn¡¯t about to let her mooch off me. It was time for her to take steps towards independence, and this job interview was just the beginning.


    ¡°Supermarkets, like many places, are willing to give people a second chance,¡± I explained to my mother. ¡°They often hire those who¡¯ve had run-ins with the law because these jobs are about starting fresh, about proving you can stand on your own two feet again.¡±


    I laid it out for her, clear as day. ¡°In a way, I¡¯m like your parole officer. I signed off on your supervised release, and that means you¡¯re still in rehab under my roof. You step out of line, break any rule, and it¡¯s straight back to the center for you.¡±


    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.The list of conditions was long, but necessary. Good behavior, no offenses, regular check-ins with her doctor, visits from specialists, and living under my watchful eye¡ªthese were the non-negotiable terms of her staying out of rehab.


    ¡°And yes, every Monday, you¡¯re back to Kansas City for your meetings. Miss one, and you know the consequences.¡± It was strict, but it was the structure she needed.


    My phone buzzed with a message from my dad, questioning why I¡¯d take in someone who¡¯d caused so much turmoil. I replied with a truth that was as much for me as it was for him, ¡°There¡¯s bad blood, sure. But this¡ªwhat I¡¯m doing¡ªit¡¯s not about changing the past. It¡¯s about the possibility of a better tomorrow.¡± It was a hope, a faint glimmer, but it was there, and I was holding onto it even though I usually call my mother ¡°the woman who gave birth to me.¡±


    My mother¡¯s question hung in the air, a fragile hope that was long past its time.


    ¡°Do you think your father and I can get back together?¡± she asked, her voice tinged with a nostalgia for what could have been.


    I had to be honest, firm in the reality we lived in. ¡°No, the divorce was finalized back in 2006, and it was clear-cut because of the narcotics. Dad kept the house, and you¡­ you started a new chapter elsewhere. He¡¯s moving on, looking for someone who can be there for him, someone his age.¡±


    She sighed, a soft sound of resignation. ¡°Well, that¡¯s a shame."


    I couldn¡¯t help but reflect on the dreams of my younger self, the wishful thinking that we could be like those picture-perfect families on TV¡ª the Taylors, the Wilders, the Ingalls, the Cleavers, or the Petries.


    ¡°I used to imagine us as a normal family, like the ones from those old shows,¡± I confessed. ¡°But our reality was far from those idealized scenes.¡±


    After the quiet dinner, I traded my usual jeans and shirt for a dress, embracing the softer side of me that often stays hidden beneath the tomboy exterior. I nudged my mom to shower too, setting an early bedtime to ensure we¡¯d both be ready for the day ahead.


    Morning light spilled into the kitchen as I crafted breakfast from what little we had¡ªtwo hash browns, two fried eggs, and bacon. I improvised, slicing and stacking them into makeshift sandwiches on hot dog buns, the only bread in the pantry. It was a simple meal, seasoned with black pepper.


    I laid it out for my mom, clear as the morning itself. ¡°This isn¡¯t a diner,¡± I said, ¡°You¡¯ll eat what¡¯s made, or wait to cook for yourself.¡±


    But more pressing was the job interview. I briefed her on the Orange line bus schedule, stressing the importance of punctuality and handed her a dollar in quarters for the fare.


    As I prepared to leave for work, I reiterated the house rules. They were non-negotiable¡ªa framework to keep us both on track. Mandatory drug tests, no personal interruptions at my job, shopping together, no alcohol or unapproved drugs, and 18% of her paycheck for rent. Her daily schedule was set, with a strict 9 AM to 5 PM window and doctor check-ins at 8 AM. Any slip-up, and she¡¯d be on her way back to the rehab center. It was tough love, but it was the only way I knew how to help her¡ªand maybe, just maybe, it would lead us to a better place.


    _________________________


    As the dawn light filtered through the firehouse, I found myself reflecting on the lessons my father instilled in me. He taught me that presence isn¡¯t just physical¡ªit¡¯s about provision, care, and setting a sterling example. His teachings were the bedrock of my strength and independence.


    Our morning routine at the station was methodical, checking every tool and equipment, ensuring our readiness. But today¡¯s tranquility was shattered by the urgent crackle of the radio: a person was stranded atop the city¡¯s lone cathedral, a towering structure of faith now a beacon of distress.


    The police had already cordoned off the area when we arrived. The sky, a brooding canvas, began to rain with a fine drizzle, complicating the rescue ahead. Captain Harris¡¯s voice was steady over the radio, requesting Ladder Co 71 for its bucket, a valuable asset in such a precarious situation. But fate wasn¡¯t on our side; they were already fighting with another fire elsewhere.


    With no platform truck coming, the team deployed the rapid air cushion, a safety net against the unforgiving concrete. Weighing the options, Captain Harris¡¯s gaze landed on me. I was the lightest, the most agile. My heart raced as I ascended the cathedral¡¯s ancient tower, the stone cold and slick beneath my gloves.


    Captain Harris put in a request for a 105ft or 110 ft ladder company, but hope was distant, the nearest one too far to make a difference. It was down to me, tethered to both a rope and a safety line, to traverse the expanse between salvation and peril.


    Rain slicked the tiles beneath my boots, each step a precarious dance with gravity.


    "Oh Shoot," I whispered, a futile attempt to steady my nerves as I clung to the rope, my lifeline against the yawning abyss below.


    Captain Harris''s voice crackled through the radio, a distant anchor in the storm. "Come on Mackenzie. Today let''s go." His words, meant to spur me on, only tightened the knot in my stomach.


    "Mother of God," I breathed, the prayer a silent chant in rhythm with my heartbeat. "Pray for us sinners and in the hour of our death. Amen." It was a plea for divine intervention, a hope that the saints might guide my hands.


    The urge to lash out at Captain Harris bubbled within me. He couldn''t see the treacherous path I trod, the twin ropes that were all that stood between me and a 100ft plunge from the cathedral''s Gothic spires to the unforgiving concrete. I wanted to scream into the radio, to make him understand the delicate balance I was forced to maintain.


    But instead, I turned off the radio, cutting off his urgent calls. I needed focus, not haste. Each movement was measured, and deliberate. The rain was a relentless adversary, but I would not be rushed. I would not become a cautionary tale whispered among the pews below. Today, I would not fall.


    Amid the rain storm, as the cathedral¡¯s roof threatened to claim me, my body pitched at a 45-degree angle, a force beyond my reckoning intervened. My hand was seized, my fall arrested, and yet, when I scanned the rain-drenched expanse, no savior stood in sight. Was it a celestial being, an angel of the faith this grand edifice represented? Or perhaps my own guardian angel, manifesting in the direst of moments? I''m not a full believer and I¡¯m skeptical of archangels¡¯ intercessions, yet I couldn¡¯t shake the feeling of a divine presence.


    Once my boots found solid ground again, the rhythm of the rescue resumed. That¡¯s when the cavalry arrived¡ªnot the tower ladder the city of Empire lacked, but a 110¡¯ tractor-drawn aerial ladder, a rare sight towering over the common 100-footers. It reminded me of a conversation with my cousin Dave, a veritable encyclopedia of firefighting lore. He¡¯d argued for more diverse ladder companies, and as I watched the ladder extend skyward, I knew he was right.


    Dave, like his late father, possessed a breadth of knowledge that even our superiors sought. In Empire, we firefighters are versed in crafts from wood to metal, engines to electricity¡ªskills honed since middle school. Yet, only a select few, like Dave, delve into the arcane realms of explosive ordnance disposal or intricate mechanical and electrical systems.


    With the ladder in place, I secured the victim, passing them to the safety of my fellow firefighter. As I navigated the spire¡¯s descent, my heart thundered against my ribs, not just from the brush with mortality, but from the profound gratitude for my unseen protector¡ªmy guardian angel, who, on this day, chose to guard two lives on the precipice.


    The air cushion and ropes were barely stowed when the radio crackled to life again, pulling us into the chaos of another emergency. Arriving at the scene, a patrol officer painted a picture of domestic fury turned violent¡ªa man¡¯s car shoved down an embankment by his wife¡¯s vehicle. I could only shake my head; such scenarios were not in the textbooks, yet here it was, unfolding before us.


    In the company, seasoned veterans with decades of service moved with a well-oiled precision that I, still green as a probationary firefighter, watched with a mix of awe and determination. For them, this dance with danger was second nature; for me, it was a rapid education in the unpredictable nature of our calling.


    The team divided, a practiced maneuver, as the company chauffeur readied the attack line¡ªa precaution against the threat of fire. I descended the embankment, heart racing, as my comrades expertly removed the windshield. With hydraulic tools in hand, I sliced through the car¡¯s beams, peeling back the roof like the lid of a sardine can.


    We worked in concert, allowing the paramedics to stabilize the man before we carefully extricated him, securing his battered form onto a stretcher. As the ambulance lights faded into the distance, I stood there, the weight of the rescue heavy on my shoulders, yet bolstered by the knowledge that today, we were the difference between life and despair.


    The weight of my dual burdens¡ªthe struggle of being a woman in the fire service and the sole caretaker of a mother who¡¯s as much a fire to manage as any blaze¡ªnever leaves my shoulders. Yet, as we crested the embankment, the scene before us was already transforming back to normalcy, the remnants of chaos being swept away.


    Hollywood might romanticize our work, showing doors being flung open with a flick of a Halligan bar, but reality is far more stubborn. Those doors are made to safety standards, not to be trifled with, and our hydraulic tools are worth their weight in gold for the lives they help us pry from the jaws of steel.


    My crew, each bearing scars from battles past, moves with a resilience born of their trials. The academy drilled into us a singular focus: the job, the community, our duty above all else. We were taught to never tempt fate with idle words of a quiet shift¡ªsuperstition or not, the jinx is real. I¡¯ve seen it happen, the bell tolling its mocking call in the final minutes, as if waiting for the proclamation of peace to shatter it.


    As the tow trucks hauled away the twisted metal remnants of the day¡¯s calamity, we made our way back to the station, the engine¡¯s hum a familiar comfort. I couldn¡¯t help but vent my frustrations about the misconceptions bred by the silver screen. ¡°You know what I hate about the Hollywood machine?¡± I began, my words echoing the weariness I felt. ¡°It¡¯s how they always glorify us firefighters as miracle workers, not as people who have problems, backaches, bills, and families of our own.¡±


    The crew listened, their faces a mirror of understanding. I spoke of the societal ills that plague the United States¡ªobesity, unequal opportunity, homelessness, unemployment, crime, and the inaccessibility of healthcare. These were not just headlines; they were the stark realities that contrasted sharply with the utopia of Little Bird, a place where even felons found a second chance, and healthcare is a right, not a privilege.


    As I listed the progressive policies of Little Bird, from the Right to Bear Arms to the Housing for All Decree, I saw nods of recognition. They were well-versed in the Festival of Feathers, the Wealth Contribution Tax, and the Universal Healthcare Act. They knew of the Agricultural Support Initiative and the Social Security Covenant, the Nationwide Literacy Mission, and the Immunization for All Drive. They understood the importance of the Organic First Policy, the Equality in Marriage Proclamation, and the Green Commute Plan. They appreciated the Pure Food Mandate, the Wi-Fi for All Decree, and the Nestling Program. They respected the HomeFirst Initiative, the Community Reintegration Project, and the Emergency Shelter Network. They valued the Affordable Housing Construction Act, the Rent Control Regulation, and the Youth Empowerment Scheme. They honored the Veterans¡¯ Housing Guarantee and the Landlord-Tenant Mediation Board.


    Our conversation was interrupted as we passed a monolithic structure.


    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± I inquired, curiosity piqued.


    ¡°A large Emergency Shelter,¡± another firefighter replied. ¡°The city has 30 of them, each holding 10,000 people. We¡¯ve also got tall radio masts for emergency broadcasts, a weather radar station, a disaster response unit, and an air base. There are earthquake sensors and a Deep Space Radar too. The Disaster Response Unit is similar to your American Civil Defense.¡±


    I shared that the country of Little Bird had a Civil Defense Administration, to which he nodded in acknowledgment. It was clear that Little Bird was not just a place, but a vision brought to life¡ªa testament to what society could achieve when it prioritized the well-being of its citizens over all else.


    The dispatch call was a familiar tune, a prelude to the unknown challenges that lay ahead. As we headed to Twin Rivers, I couldn¡¯t help but ponder the town¡¯s unique division¡ªhalf in Blister Canyon, half in Little Bird¡ªeach side a mirror reflecting the political contrasts of their respective nations.


    In Blister Canyon, the leaders, though well-intentioned, often fall prey to corruption and incompetence, placing unqualified individuals in positions of power for personal gain. In stark contrast, Little Bird¡¯s governance is a disciplined affair, with military leaders elected to serve, held accountable by a populace that does not forget or forgive political missteps.


    The presence of the Little Bird Army Rangers, especially the Veteran Rangers, is a testament to the country¡¯s military prowess. They are the shield and sword, capable of overwhelming odds, a force that commands respect and fear. Blister Canyon, on the other hand, seems to treat warfare as a distant concern, their best forces guarding the heartland or pursuing elusive threats.


    Arriving at the firehouse in Twin River, the disparity in technological advancements between the two nations was evident. Passersby marveled at what seemed mundane to me¡ªa mere 2 GB of RAM¡ªwhile my own device boasts double that capacity. It¡¯s a reminder of Little Bird¡¯s selective embrace of technology, reserving such modern luxuries for those in the echelons of power, leaving the public with glimpses of the future through the windows of luxury vehicles.


    Standing in the apparatus bay, the conversation of the pedestrians lingered in my mind, a stark reminder of the different worlds that coexist within the borders of Twin Rivers, where technology and governance dance to the tune of necessity and ideology.


    Watching the rain cascade down, each droplet a shimmering echo of the past, I shared with the nozzleman tales of Midnight, my cousin with the spirit of a warrior and the mind of a tactician. Her ''57 Bel Air, more than just a car, was a symbol of defiance against the slow crawl of time and the ever-changing tides of society.


    I recounted the stark differences between Blister Canyon and Little Bird, how one sought to assimilate and erase, while the other embraced diversity and coexistence. The history of these lands, marked by conflict and resolution, was etched into the very identity of its people, from the Nightingale Tribe¡¯s fierce resistance to the settlers¡¯ diplomatic approach to avoid war.


    Midnight, part Aurora, embodies the intellectual prowess and strategic aggression of her heritage. She¡¯s a force of nature, unyielding in her convictions, a reflection of the tumultuous history that shaped her beliefs. Her ¡°shoot first, ask questions never¡± philosophy, while extreme, is a testament to the survival instincts honed over centuries of cultural clashes and reconciliations.


    As the conversation shifted to the 2008 recession, I admitted my detachment from the economic turmoil during my service in the Navy. Yet, the aftermath was clear¡ªthe fall of the ¡°bling¡± culture, the predatory lending, and the reckless financial gambles that led to the collapse. It was a storm of a different kind, one that uprooted lives and reshaped the economic landscape, leaving behind a cautionary tale of excess and the fragility of prosperity.


    In the quiet moments between lightning strikes, I pondered the cyclical nature of history and economy, how each generation faces its own battles and recessions, and how, like the rain, these events wash over us, shaping who we become and how every generation before and after had to find new ways to combat challenges of their time like how in the past people use rafts to go down rivers until the invention of steam paddle boats or messengers to the telegraph to the radio.


    Just being in the town it was quiet in which we had one fire we responded too in which it was just a small fire caused by a lightning strike on our side of town.


    _______________________________________________


    January 21st, 2010.


    In my apartment the next day.


    ¡°So I assume you got the job,¡± I said, seeing my mother in a uniform.


    My mother was about to say something but I said. ¡°Don¡¯t complain because it¡¯s not that hard to stock produce.¡±


    My mother replied, ¡°I was going to ask why the store is closed on Sundays.¡±


    "Little Bird, like some places, still honors Blue laws," I began, locking the door behind us. "They''re old regulations, initially rooted in religion, meant to encourage rest and reflection, especially for those who aren''t religious. On Sundays, these laws limit a lot of activities¡ªbusiness operations, certain sales, and even some forms of entertainment."


    I watched her process this, the gears turning as she considered the implications. "It''s about balance," I continued. "Stores close so people can have a day with family or just to unwind. It''s part of the secular fabric here, respecting all beliefs by providing a common day of rest."


    It was a simple explanation, but it seemed to satisfy her curiosity. As she hung up her uniform, ready for her new routine, I felt a twinge of pride. Maybe, just maybe, we were both starting to find our footing in this new chapter.


    ¡°Mom, stacking produce is straightforward,¡± I said, cutting off any brewing complaints. ¡°It¡¯s just a couple of pounds of fruits and veggies. It¡¯s not just about the task¡ªit¡¯s about the work ethic here in Little Bird. People value their jobs, they¡¯re proud of their earnings and the bonuses that come with hard work.¡±


    I wanted her to understand the bigger picture. ¡°You¡¯re American, sure, but here, even the entry-level jobs are respected. They¡¯re stepping stones for students and anyone starting anew. The pay starts at $1.25 after taxes, or $1.50 before taxes, but it adds up. With dedication, after a year, you could afford a car, or even make a down payment on a house.¡±


    I laid out the numbers for her, hoping to inspire some motivation. ¡°An average vehicle here costs $2,600. A house? You¡¯re looking at around $7,354. And if you¡¯re eyeing a smaller place, a two-bedroom house goes for about $5,515. It¡¯s all within reach if you¡¯re willing to put in the effort.¡±


    It was a pep talk, a reality check, and a lesson in independence all rolled into one. I hoped it would resonate with her, spark that drive to rebuild her life here, on her own terms, in Little Bird.


    ¡°Little Bird is different from what you¡¯re used to,¡± I explained to my mother, emphasizing the community¡¯s ethos. ¡°Here, corporations don¡¯t dictate our lives. Housing and living costs are fair because people believe in hard work, not handouts. If you want something, you earn it¡ªlike everyone else.¡±


    I continued, outlining the local housing market. ¡°Corporate landlords exist, but they¡¯re transparent about rent, which is usually around $100 to $125 a month. Private landlords, like myself, might charge $70 to $80. It¡¯s affordable because we value community over profit.¡±


    I own an apartment building, thanks to my savings and hard work, where I charged a modest $80 per month. But I lived elsewhere, and despite owning property, I couldn¡¯t offer her a unit. ¡°I signed a supervised release for you,¡± I reminded her. ¡°That means you live with me, under my watch. Renting you a separate place would breach that agreement.¡±


    She needed to understand the gravity of the situation. ¡°You¡¯re here because I agreed to supervise your recovery. My address is on the release forms, not an apartment in my building. And yes, you still need to return to rehab weekly. It¡¯s all part of the process, part of your journey back to independence.¡± It was a firm stance, but necessary for both her recovery and my peace of mind.


    I''ve always been clear with my mother about the rules of staying with me. She knew the stakes: one misstep, and she''d be on the next flight back to rehab in Kansas City, with her doctor and the Empire PD on speed dial. She promised to stay clean, and a sweep of my apartment confirmed it¡ªeverything was untouched, just as I left it.


    After escorting her to the bus stop and watching the Orange Line disappear around the corner, I turned back, only to be ambushed. Rough hands shoved me into an armored truck, strapping me down as if I were some kind of high-value cargo. Panic didn''t have a chance to set in before chaos erupted inside the truck. A guard turned rogue, neutralizing the others with a shock baton and precise shots. Moments later, I was free, tumbling out onto the pavement, the back doors of the truck swinging closed behind me.


    The ''guard'' shed their disguise, revealing my cousin Midnight Waterson. Thirteen years my senior, Midnight''s military record was as impressive as it was intimidating. From the Marines to the Army Rangers, she''d been serving since ''87, a testament to her iron will and lethal skills.


    "You''re welcome, Mac," she quipped, a smirk playing on her lips.


    "Thanks," I shot back, dusting myself off. "But you can dial down the Ranger attitude. How''d you even know I was in trouble?"


    Midnight''s grin told me everything. The Watersons have eyes and ears everywhere; we''re never in the dark, especially when danger lurks.


    "I know who''s behind this," she said, her tone turning serious. "We''ve got a rendezvous with two more of our own."


    We met up with our cousins, who were already in the loop about Carter''s shady dealings. They briefed us on his meeting with high-profile cronies at a local hotel. Midnight had a plan to take them down before they even knew what hit them. No, there would be no disguises or cliched mustaches¡ªespecially not for us Waterson women. We play it smart, not silly.


    Midnight''s reputation precedes her; she''s a war hawk through and through, fiercely advocating for the generals'' campaign to conquer warzones. Her unwavering support has earned her considerable clout, and she''s a firm believer that decisive action is the key to maintaining Little Bird''s supremacy in conflict zones. She''s relentless in her pursuit to undermine any opposition to the BCLBLFDF, driven by both strategic interests and personal vendettas.


    "You''ve shown remarkable prowess, and I''m in dire need of someone with your skills," Midnight addressed me with a tone that brokered no argument. "Politicians are tasked with trivial missions¡ªthe ones nobody else wants. But when there''s a critical task at hand, they come knocking on my door. I typically send out rangers for such assignments, but our ranks are thin right now. Are you ready to take on a genuine challenge?"


    Without hesitation, I responded, "A Waterson never shies away from a battle. Count me in."


    "Spoken like a true Waterson," she affirmed, a hint of pride in her voice.


    Midnight is the epitome of toughness, a true force to be reckoned with. The Little Bird Army Rangers, with their primary mission to tackle threats beyond the capabilities of regular forces, are the guardians of our borders. Their elite training, advanced weaponry, and cutting-edge technology give them the edge in any conflict, even when outnumbered. They''re not just soldiers; they''re the embodiment of bravery and skill, a volunteer force that''s as adept in reconnaissance as they are in combat.


    Originally formed as an independent group committed to eradicating slavery, the Rangers have evolved into a multifaceted organization. They''re scouts, commandos, and law enforcers rolled into one. Their track record is nearly flawless, with successful missions being the norm rather than the exception.


    To others, especially rival nations, the sight of a Little Bird Ranger in their signature black armor is a signal to flee. Our military adversaries respect and fear the Rangers above all else, regarding them as the most formidable component of the BCLBLFDF. They''re the stuff of legends, said to "chew nails and spit napalm." As elite commandos and infantry, their role is to secure objectives and conduct specialist operations, paving the way for the main army. Their versatility and reliability are unmatched, and they come heavily armed to take on both infantry and vehicles with ease. The Rangers are the pride of the BCLBLFDF, the silent heroes who ensure our safety and freedom.


    ¡°Do we have any eyes and ears inside of the hotel?¡± I asked.


    Midnight replied, ¡°Midnight Junior is in there she''s on the eighteenth floor. She''s undercover and she kept telling me how much she wants to be like her mama and be a ranger like her so I told her what she needs to do and I''ll let her take the ranger introductory training.¡±


    I was about to say something but both Midnight Junior and her Fraternal twin sister Aurora they''re both nineteen. But Aurora is a military courier due to Little Bird Army Rangers bases are small, remote and don''t have radios or anything that can be tracked or traced so Aurora does her job as a Courier for the military. She brings supplies like food, water, ammo, and mail to any of the 26 Ranger outposts which are encamped at in hard to reach places that provides a defense for the defenders but makes it impossible to attack and that she delivers basic supplies that can''t be air dropped without the supplies being hung up in the tall trees.


    ¡°You think your daughter Midnight Junior is up for the task?¡± I asked.


    Midnight replied, ¡°She convinced me she was ready and wanted to prove herself that she''s Ranger material. I told her that anytime she feels threatened then she should leave but here''s a detailed map from what she told us and the blueprint from the eighteenth floor.¡±


    The hotel was and still is famous for hosting glamorous balls attended by movie stars, business moguls, and politicians. It burned to the ground in 1942, 1952 and 1966, and was later rebuilt as a million-dollar development. The hotel has 22 floors, a large underground parking lot, and a conference room. The details that are written down says In the elevators of the hotel there is no button for the 13th floor, referring to people''s suspicions of the unlucky number. This would mean that the hotel actually has 21 floors instead of 22, as what is numbered the 14th floor is actually the 13th.


    The Blueprints says:


    Construction started: October 1938


    Opened: April 29, 1941


    Height:307 ft (94 m)


    Architecture: International Style (rectangular footprint with Windows running in broken horizontal rows forming a grid)


    Midnight briefed me on the layout of the 18th floor¡ªmostly hotel suites, but with a lounge area marked by those distinctive square glass blocks and double wooden doors. Beyond that lounge was the conference room, where Carter and his cronies would be conspiring. Junior had done her homework; she reported that the lounge stocked the kind of top-shelf liquor that could bankrupt a small fortune¡ªa hundred bucks a shot, or a grand for a bottle. The sort of extravagance reserved for the rarest of celebrations, like Champagne.


    ¡°It¡¯s Champagne, not Champaign,¡± I corrected her gently.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t a region in France,¡± she retorted, a hint of defensiveness in her voice.


    ¡°No, not the region. Champagne¡ªthe drink,¡± I clarified. ¡°It¡¯s a sparkling wine from the Champagne region of France, produced under strict appellation guidelines.¡±


    Midnight¡¯s military mindset was always front and center, her education level notwithstanding. She was more accustomed to issuing orders than pronouncing French wines, and I could tell this was her first attempt at the word. But that was alright; we had bigger fish to fry.


    The elevator was going up, its steel walls a silent witness to the tension between us. Midnight and I exchanged a glance as we ascended, both aware of the guards stationed at the lounge entrance¡ªstern, imposing figures armed with the Little Bird licensed version of the American M1 Rifle. Unlike the original eight-round capacity, these were modified to boast a sixteen-round magazine, a formidable upgrade for in-game scenarios.


    ¡°Kinda wish for a Luger,¡± I whispered, half to myself.


    ¡°Yeah, because it¡¯s the marksman¡¯s pistol of choice,¡± Midnight responded, her voice low but firm.


    She wasn¡¯t wrong. The Luger was renowned for its precision, a weapon that had earned its place in history. But the Little Bird Army Rangers had our own trusted sidearm¡ªthe American M1911A1, slightly altered for their needs. Our version came with double-stack magazines, capable of housing both subsonic and match-grade .45 ACP rounds. The Little Bird Armed Forces had an arsenal at their disposal: AP, FMJ, match-grade, soft-point, subsonic, and even non-lethal rubber ammunition. We were prepared for any eventuality, our weapons a silent promise of protection and strength.


    I checked my own Phoenix pistol, feeling the familiar weight of it against my side. It was more than a tool.


    In Little Bird, there''s no equivalent to the Posse Comitatus Act that we have back home in the States. Here, the military''s got free rein to police the streets if need be, a thought that sends shivers down my spine. It''s a stark contrast to the strict boundaries we''re used to, where the military''s role is clearly defined and limited.


    Midnight''s words cut through the nostalgia of those Saturday morning cartoons with Dad.


    "These aren''t cartoon villains, Mac," she said, her voice a low growl. "They don''t care that you''re a woman. They''re trigger-happy or worse, hardened criminals. They won''t hesitate to pull the trigger." I''m 28, not a kid anymore, but her words hit hard, grounding me in the grim reality of our situation.


    This country might romanticize chivalry, teaching boys to be knights in shining armor, but it''s all a facade. Beneath the surface, there''s no shortage of men who think gallantry gives them a license to patronize, to see women as less than equal.


    Slipping into the janitorial closet, Midnight and I donned our jumpsuits in silence, a mutual respect for privacy in the cramped space.


    "Watch out for Carter," I warned her as we geared up. "He''s the type to give us trouble just because we''re women."


    "I''ve dealt with his kind before," Midnight shot back, her voice hard as the steel-toed boots she mentioned. "And I''ve never been one to back down."


    The guards waved us through to the conference room, oblivious to the ruse. I couldn''t help but hope our simple janitorial disguises would hold up. To them, we were invisible, just part of the scenery. But Midnight, she''s something else¡ªa Veteran Ranger since 2000, fearless and formidable. To cross paths with a Ranger is to meet a legend, and even the toughest Little Bird soldiers whisper about their prowess.


    Midnight keeps the Ranger talk to a minimum, but everyone knows the stats¡ª80% washout rate in the introductory phase alone. It''s a brutal selection process designed to weed out all but the most resilient.


    Inside the conference room, I avoided eye contact with Carter, who was deep in conversation with a young man. I focused on cleaning, trying to blend in, while Midnight''s calm exterior belied the storm brewing within. Carter''s misogynistic ramblings about men''s roles and women''s places grated on us both. Midnight was a hair''s breadth from confronting him, her patience worn thin by his ignorance.


    Our mission was clear, but the danger was ever-present. In this game of espionage and survival, we had to keep our wits about us and stay one step ahead.


    As I swept the floor, my eyes never left Midnight. The tension in the air was palpable, a silent prelude to the chaos that was about to erupt. Carter, with his misplaced bravado, swung at Midnight and missed by a mile. In one fluid motion, Midnight seized his shoulder and with a deft twist, it popped out of its socket. He howled, but his pain was just beginning.


    Carter¡¯s attempts at retaliation were pathetic; his heavy punches sliced nothing but air. Midnight, on the other hand, was a force of nature. Her fists were precise, each blow landing with a thud against Carter¡¯s face. He stumbled, dazed, and that¡¯s when she delivered the coup de grace¡ªtwo solid punches followed by a knee that sent him crumpling to the ground.


    ¡°Time to move, Mac,¡± Midnight barked, her voice slicing through the tension. She pulled out her handgun, unscrewing the silencer with a sense of finality. As we stepped back into the lounge, she didn¡¯t hesitate. Two shots rang out, and two bodies hit the floor, victims of her deadly aim.


    She then scooped up the Little Bird-issued M1 Garand I pronounced it as ¡®Garand¡¯ with a hard ¡®d,¡¯ just like the inventor¡¯s name, though Midnight always called it ¡®Grand.¡¯ Meanwhile, Midnight Junior emerged from behind the bar, shotgun in hand, ready to join the fray.


    Suddenly, an assailant lunged at Midnight from behind, hoping to catch her off guard. But Midnight was unshakeable. With a grunt, she hurled him through the window, his body sailing through the glass.


    ¡°That¡¯s a short way down,¡± she quipped, a grim humor in her tone, not realizing we were eighteen stories high. It was a dark reminder of the stakes we were playing for¡ªthis was no game, and every move could be lethal. But in this dance of danger, Midnight led, and I followed, ready to face whatever came next.


    The plan was two fold-ish: Midnight and her daughter would take the right hallway, and I¡¯d cover the left. But life, or rather, our enemies, had other plans. A Molotov Cocktail arced through the air, shattering against the wall and igniting a fiery barrier. The sprinklers burst to life, dousing the flames and eliciting an obvious observation from Midnight Junior.


    ¡°The sprinklers are going off,¡± she noted, to which I couldn¡¯t help but reply with a heavy dose of sarcasm, ¡°No, I thought it was raining.¡±


    Who brings a Molotov to a hotel? That¡¯s a question for later. For now, we had to move. We reached the elevators, weapons drawn, ready for anything. As one car arrived, the doors slid open to reveal a squad of armed goons. No hesitation¡ªour bullets sang as we cut them down. We piled into the elevator, hit the button for the underground garage, and descended away from the chaos.


    The sedan was our escape, our ticket out of this madness. What we did to Carter, it was necessary¡ªsurvival isn¡¯t pretty. The gunfighting, the thugs¡ªit was all part of the backup plan. They chose the hard way, so we fought hard. Now, as the hotel faded behind us, I couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that this was just the beginning of an escalating war. But with Midnight and her daughter by my side, I knew we could face whatever came next.


    I was then dropped off at my apartment but had to give the pistol back because it¡¯s the GOV MOD (Government Model) used by the military not the one on the civilian market but Midnight and her daughter with the other two who were with us to safeguard out exit they left to go and do whatever they want.


    _______________________________________________


    (Carter POV)


    Standing there, my pride bruised and my body aching, I replayed the scene over in my mind. There I was, a man who had faced down countless dangers, left utterly humiliated by a woman. Not just any woman¡ªa Veteran Ranger of the LBAR. My son had witnessed the entire debacle, his eyes wide with disbelief.


    ¡°I want her gone,¡± I seethed, the words tasting like venom on my tongue. ¡°That woman who bested me, she can¡¯t be allowed to live.¡±


    The man before me, a loyal ally, hesitated. ¡°Carter, you must understand, she¡¯s no ordinary Ranger. She¡¯s a Veteran, one of the elite. The LBARVR¡ªLittle Bird Army Veteran Rangers¡ªepitomizes honor and skill. They don their distinctive black armor as a badge of their unwavering service and valor.¡±


    I clenched my fists, feeling the sting of defeat anew. ¡°Her valor will be her downfall. I don¡¯t care about her reputation; she will pay for this insult.¡±


    He warned me, his voice low, ¡°If we send twenty men after her, not one will return.¡±


    But my resolve was ironclad. The sting of her blows, the shock of defeat¡ªI would not let these go unanswered. ¡°Then so be it. She will face retribution, one way or another.¡±


    He left, only to return shortly with precise intelligence. ¡°She¡¯s stationed at a Ranger outpost, strategically positioned between the rugged terrain of Mt. Doornink Mines to the southwest. The station is a fortress of sorts, with a sandbagged overlook, a sturdy shack, and a weather-beaten tent. A towering radio mast breaks the skyline, a silent sentinel atop the cliff. Approach is possible only from the west; all other routes are sheer drops or impassable terrain.¡±


    With this knowledge, I began to plot. The Ranger had won the battle, but the war was far from over. I would have my vengeance, and the Veteran Ranger would soon learn that Carter never forgets a slight.


    He looked at me, his eyes reflecting a mix of concern and disbelief. "Carter, let''s be rational for a moment. The Little Bird Army Rangers, especially the Veteran Rangers, they''ve turned conflicts that dwarf Operation Overlord, the Battle of the Bulge, and even the Battle of Stalingrad into mere child''s play."


    I cut him off, my voice unwavering. "I don''t care. They may be battle-hardened volunteers, willing to lay down their lives for Little Bird, but that doesn''t deter me. The woman I''m after is more than just a Ranger; she''s a Veteran Ranger and a Lieutenant-Colonel."


    He continued, undeterred, "What you''re proposing is treason. Attacking a military outpost, one that''s vigilant against traffickers and rescues captives with their stealth tactics, is a serious crime."


    But I was resolute. "Tell me about the other Ranger Station, the one north of Mt. Doornink."


    "It''s secluded, nestled at the base of a radio mast in a mountainous dead-end gulch. Accessible only via Cascade State Route 157. Despite its isolation and the monotony that plagues the rangers there, it''s a well-run station."


    I nodded, absorbing every detail. This was more than a personal vendetta; it was a strategic move. If the Veteran Ranger was as formidable as they said, then I needed every advantage I could get. The battle lines were drawn, and I was ready to cross them.


    The man''s words were a stark reminder of the firepower we were up against. "You do realize," he began, his tone grave, "that their automatic weapons pack a punch far beyond our civilian-grade arms. The Rangers likely have .50 Cal machine guns spitting out Tracers, Incendiary, and Explosive rounds, not to mention Automatic rifles loaded with 7.62x51mm Armor Piercing, Match-grade, Soft-point, Full Metal Jacket, and Subsonic bullets. Our .308s will hardly compare."


    He painted a grim picture of the tactical disadvantage we''d face. "If we strike one station, the Rangers from the other could easily flank us, trapping us on an incline with no escape. Or if we hit the station nestled in the dead-end mountainous area, we''d be sitting ducks in a killzone, with the other station''s Rangers, led by that Lieutenant Colonel you''re after, pinning us down from above."


    I listened intently as he described the Rangers'' elite status¡ªcommandos and infantry trained for clearing objectives and executing specialist operations ahead of the main army. "They''re versatile, reliable, and heavily armed. If even half of what I''ve heard is true, those Rangers are formidable."


    He showed me a photo of the Rangers, clad in their signature armor paired with a black overcoat adorned with green shoulder pads and yellow gauntlets. An ammo belt encircled their torso, topped with a haphazard leather belt.


    "Their helmets," he continued, "are designed to withstand gunfire, with lamps for illumination and IR capabilities. The masks, when paired with the helmets, offer enhanced hearing protection, air filtration, and communication systems."


    Yet, despite his detailed account of their previous war exploits¡ªhow they remained unscathed by Full Metal Jacket, Armor Piercing, and Incendiary rounds, how Molotov Cocktails failed to ignite their armor¡ªI remained unimpressed.


    "These Veteran Rangers," he concluded, "are known to take on groups four to seven times their size and emerge victorious. Their historical feats are nothing short of legendary."


    I pondered his words, weighing the risks. The challenge was daunting, but my determination was unwavering. If a single Ranger could defy such odds, then so could I. This was more than a mission; it was a test of wills, and I was ready to rise to the occasion. The Veteran Rangers may be legends, but even legends can fall.


    As he laid out the structure of the Little Bird Army Rangers, I couldn''t help but feel a grudging respect. "The First Ranger Regiment," he explained, "comprises the 1st through 7th Battalions, save for the sixth. The Second Regiment fields the 8th through 15th, excluding the thirteenth. They''re the shock troops, the first to breach, the last to retreat. And each battalion is commanded by a Lieutenant-Colonel."


    I absorbed every word, my mind racing. "The woman I''m hunting, she leads a Battalion. She sees diplomacy as nothing but a delay, a hindrance to the inevitable clash of war."


    He nodded solemnly. "They''re the elite, the backbone of Little Bird''s military might. You''ll hear soldiers say they''ve seen Rangers chew nails and spit napalm."


    I leaned in, intrigued despite myself. "Their roots are tribal, their tactics guerilla. They infiltrate, bypassing the front lines to strike at the heart of the enemy. They''re autonomous, choosing when and where to fight, making them unpredictable and deadly."


    He continued, "The Rangers, especially the Veterans, they''re not just trained to seize objectives¡ªthey''re trained to hold them. While the main army moves on, the Rangers dig in, turning every captured position into a fortress."


    I stood there, processing the daunting task ahead. To take on the Rangers was to challenge a legend. But I was determined. If they were the storm, I was the immovable rock. The battle would be fierce, but I was ready. For in this game of war, it''s not just the strong who survive, but the cunning. I had a plan.


    His story unfolded like the pages of a history book, each word painting a vivid picture of the past. ¡°Have you heard of the Raid on Twin Rivers?¡± he asked. I shook my head, prompting him to delve into the tale.


    ¡°It was 1704, during the Little Bird-Blister Canyon War,¡± he began. ¡°A covert group of Rangers landed in Blister Canyon under the veil of night. Their mission was clear: sabotage. They struck at the heart of the enemy, destroying ammunition caches and crippling vital resources.¡±


    He paused, a shadow crossing his face. ¡°Blister Canyon had ambitions, grandiose and twisted. They sought to forge an empire akin to Rome¡¯s, but in the Pacific¡ªa dominion where cultures were erased, and a singular, oppressive identity reigned.¡±


    I listened, captivated by the narrative. ¡°The founder of the Little Bird Rangers, before they were known as the Army Rangers, had a fateful encounter with a Blister Canyon General. He warned him, ¡®If you conquer Little Bird, logistics will be your downfall. Your empire will crumble under the weight of attrition warfare.¡¯¡±


    The man¡¯s voice grew somber. ¡°But Blister Canyon¡¯s hunger for conquest was insatiable. They didn¡¯t just want land; they wanted to obliterate identities, to mold the world in their sinister image. Women, seen as less than human, were confined to domesticity¡ªsave for the priestesses.¡±


    He continued, his tone shifting to one of pride. ¡°Yet, the Little Bird Rangers stood in defiance. A quarter of them were women, many from native tribes. They fought valiantly in major battles, spearheading nocturnal raids to free slaves and empower tribes to rise against their oppressors.¡±


    I could almost hear the chains breaking as he spoke. ¡°When the Rangers liberated those enslaved, the founder proclaimed, ¡®From this day forth, you shall be free.¡¯ And it was this spirit of liberation that tipped the scales in Little Bird¡¯s favor during the war from 1699 to 1705.¡±


    He looked at me, his eyes alight with the fire of history. ¡°The Native Little Birdens, with their voices in government, abolished slavery. And they championed equality, for their tribes knew the value of women in war¡ªover half of the Army were women, alongside a diverse tapestry of cultures.¡±


    As he finished, I felt a surge of understanding. This wasn¡¯t just a history lesson; it was a testament to the indomitable will to fight for freedom and equality. The Little Bird Rangers, past and present, were more than soldiers¡ªthey were guardians of liberty.


    "Unlike an average trooper, a Ranger is always ready to fight regardless of the circumstance he/she finds themself in." Said the man


    The man also told me how a lot of the Rangers and Veteran Rangers have different helmet models like the:


    Up-Armored Helmet


    - The Up-Armored helmet is a rugged variant designed for frontline combat. It features reinforced plating to protect against shrapnel, debris, and glancing blows. The additional armor ensures that Rangers can withstand close encounters and explosive blasts.


    Hardened Uplink Helmet


    - The Hardened Uplink helmet integrates advanced communication technology. It serves as a hub for real-time data exchange, allowing Rangers to receive mission updates, coordinate with teammates, and access tactical maps. The uplink is encrypted and resistant to electronic interference.


    CBRN Helmet


    - The CBRN (Chemical, Biological, Radiological, Nuclear) helmet is essential for hazardous environments. It provides a sealed, airtight fit to protect against chemical agents, biological contaminants, and radiation. The visor incorporates filters and sensors to detect airborne threats.


    Command Model Helmet


    - The Command Model helmet is reserved for high-ranking officers and field commanders. It features an integrated heads-up display (HUD) that overlays critical information onto the Ranger''s field of view. The HUD displays mission objectives, troop positions, and vital statistics.


    Command Network Module Helmet:


    - The Command Network Module helmet goes beyond communication. It acts as a mobile command center, allowing the wearer to coordinate operations, analyze data, and issue orders. The helmet interfaces with Little Bird''s central command network, providing unparalleled situational awareness.


    Hardened Uplink/Remote Sensor Package Helmet:


    - The Hardened Uplink/Remote Sensor Package combines communication capabilities with advanced sensors. Rangers can deploy remote drones, access surveillance feeds, and gather intelligence. Whether infiltrating enemy territory or conducting reconnaissance, this helmet is indispensable.


    But I was going to be immovable even though when he called me a moron because what I want to do is a suicide mission. The Rangers are entrenched and they''re in a non defensible position with no way to retreat but at the same time they¡¯re in an area where they can defend against an attack and that there¡¯s no cover for the attackers so they have a home field advantage. Not adding the Rangers are highly trained to survive in hard to reach areas and that they have the home field advantage because they¡¯re accustomed to the area where they are at in which the Rangers fight like Guerrilla fighters who know their home region terrain and environment and can outmaneuver any kind of attackers.. But the woman that I¡¯m after wasn''t a Ranger but a Veteran Ranger who is universally feared by their enemies and respected by their comrades. Not adding that the Rangers have both Strategy and Tactics where their command structure and intelligence allow them to perform impressive strategic maneuvers and their excellent training and equipment also gives them an edge in any battle.


    But I wasn¡¯t listening to any of it. I would get my revenge no matter how many hired thugs I would have to send to get my revenge no matter how many hired thugs I needed to hire or how much money it cost I was going to get my revenge.


    As the man walked away, his parting words echoed in my ears, a solemn reminder of the warpath I had chosen.


    ¡°This will be a war, Carter,¡± he said, ¡°and one you cannot win.¡± But his words fell on deaf ears; my mind was a fortress, impervious to his counsel.


    I turned to my son, the fire of my resolve reflected in his young eyes. ¡°Son, life¡¯s greatest lessons are often learned in the pursuit of justice,¡± I told him. ¡°Revenge is not just a desire; it¡¯s a right. The strong carve their path in this world, and might, indeed, make right.¡±


    His gaze never wavered as he absorbed my words. ¡°Never question the necessity of action,¡± I continued, ¡°for it is through our actions that we shape our destiny and assert our place in this unforgiving world.¡±


    With that, I steeled myself for the battles ahead, ready to face whatever consequences my quest for vengeance might bring. For in my heart, I knew that some slights demand retribution, and I would stop at nothing to see justice served in the name of honor.


    As I stood before Junior, my voice was firm, the message clear and unwavering.


    ¡°Remember, son, in this world, there are times when seeking justice means standing up for oneself, regardless of the adversary¡¯s strength or status,¡± I said, ensuring the lesson was etched into his young mind.


    ¡°Revenge is a path fraught with peril, and it¡¯s not a journey to be taken lightly. It¡¯s not about gender, background, or wealth; it¡¯s about the balance of right and wrong,¡± I continued, hoping to instill in him a sense of discernment.


    Junior remained silent, his thoughts inscrutable, but I believed he understood. Yet, in the quiet of his gaze, I saw the reflection of countless others who might disagree with my teachings, who might see this as a dangerous precedent, a lesson in hubris rather than justice.


    I knew that many would argue that I was teaching my son to ignite wars that could be avoided, to walk through life with a sense of invincibility, to believe he could act without consequence. But as his father, it was my duty to prepare him for the harsh realities of our world, to ensure he knew that sometimes, one must stand firm, even if it means standing alone.


    So, I repeated the lesson, not as a mantra of vengeance, but as a declaration of our right to fight for what we believe in, for our dignity, and for our place in this world.


    Soon another man came in and told me that the woman I¡¯m after well she earned the nickname of ¡°Monster of Little Bird¡± during the Allied-Soviet War of 1999-2000 and again in 2005-2008/09 and she got that nickname the first time due to fighting a company of Soviet Spetsnaz soldiers by herself and she won that she took on 30 Spetsnaz soldiers single handedly in hand-to-hand combat and again between 2005-08 she took on Spetsnaz Commandos not 30 but 150 with a six shot .44 Magnum Revolver and a trench knife and that the woman I¡¯m after she considers war to be the entire point of living and she¡¯s not dumb because she gained promotions all the way up to Lieutenant-Colonel by being an excellent fighter and a tactician.


    But she has a few fatal flaws in which she cannot afford to look weak and the other fatal flaw is her wrath but at the same time she has hidden depths like that she may be brutal and violent but she¡¯s also intelligent, perceptive, and has a personal code of honor. Not adding the same guy told me that the last guy pointed a gun at Lieutenant-Colonel Midnight Waterson she just said to that guy was "Make your first shot count because you won''t get a second" but at the same time the guy told me that she''s a hypocrite by saying that she doesn''t enjoy killing others but at the same time she''ll contradict herself by saying that she views killing as a chore as any other if need be. Not adding that the last person who threatened her Rangers well Midnight told that person was "You hurt any of my Rangers. Make no mistake I will find you" and that report says that she will read direct quotes from the Bible.


    The man¡¯s insistence on the prowess of the Little Bird Army Rangers was relentless, a drumbeat that sought to impress upon me the gravity of what I was up against. ¡°They¡¯ve turned the most harrowing battles in history¡ªOperation Overlord, the Battle of the Bulge, even the Battle of Stalingrad¡ªinto mere child¡¯s play,¡± he said, his voice a mix of awe and warning.


    He painted a picture of an independent force, the Rangers, who fiercely protect their own and stand unyielding against any foe. ¡°There are three tiers,¡± he explained. ¡°Civilian Rangers, who serve in a sentry-like capacity in safe zones; the Rangers, better equipped and tasked with the protection of government dignitaries; and the Veteran Rangers, the elite, the best of the best.¡±


    He detailed their arsenal with the precision of an expert. ¡°They wield .44 Magnum lever-action rifles, 7.62x51mm sniper rifles, Assault Rifle Carbines, .357 Magnum revolvers, .44 Magnum revolvers, and a variety of high-caliber semi-automatic pistols. Their firepower is unmatched.¡±


    Then, he recounted a tale of resilience and might, where three Rangers, clad in armor that shrugged off bullets, dismantled a gun trafficking ring of 40 criminals single-handedly. It was a story meant to inspire respect, perhaps even fear.


    But my focus was singular, my purpose unwavering. ¡°I hear your tales, I acknowledge their strength, but my path remains unchanged,¡± I said, my voice steady. ¡°I seek not to challenge the Rangers as a whole, but to settle a score with one¡ªLieutenant-Colonel Midnight Waterson, the ¡®Monster of Little Bird.¡¯ My resolve is not shaken by their legends, for even legends bleed.¡±


    With that, I dismissed the man¡¯s warnings, turning instead to the preparations for my inevitable confrontation with the Veteran Ranger who had become my nemesis. In my heart, I knew that this was a path from which there was no turning back, a vendetta that would be settled, for better or worse.


    I watched Junior ascend to the 19th floor, his small hand clutching the money I¡¯d given him. It was better this way; the business at hand was no place for a child, even one as precocious as him. As he disappeared from view, I turned back to the matter at hand.


    The man before me was cautious, his words laced with an unspoken warning. ¡°The boss has taken a Marker from you,¡± he said, implying that my next move was backed by the higher-ups, a favor granted without cost. It was a rare gesture, one that spoke of my standing within the organization.


    His next words, however, carried a weight of foreboding. ¡°Hope this ain¡¯t a mistake,¡± he muttered.


    I raised an eyebrow. ¡°Why¡¯s that?¡± I inquired, a sense of unease beginning to take hold.


    He leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper. ¡°Midnight Waterson, the one you¡¯re after, her grand uncle is Jimmy ¡®James¡¯ Richard Waterson the 1st.¡±


    The name didn¡¯t register at first, so I scratched my head, prompting him to elaborate.


    ¡°Founder and the don of the Waterson Mafia Family,¡± he continued. ¡°They¡¯re unique, only dealing in legal rackets. And let¡¯s not forget the 1968-1972 Waterson-Falcon Mafia War right here in Empire. It was a bloodbath, all because the Falcon Don''s son was rejected by Jimmy¡¯s eldest daughter. The Watersons fought, like the Viet Cong, while the Falcons¡­ Well, they were less than strategic.¡±


    I felt a chill run down my spine as he finished his tale. ¡°So, since you¡¯re targeting a Waterson, just watch your back. An attack on one is an attack on all of them.¡±


    The room seemed to grow colder, the gravity of the situation settling in. I was not just challenging a formidable individual; I was potentially igniting a conflict with a family known for their unity and strategic prowess. It was a sobering thought, one that would require careful consideration and perhaps a reassessment of my approach. For in this game of power and revenge, one must always be aware of the hidden players and the unseen hands that move the pieces.


    ¡°So what are men in three piece suits and Tommy guns going to do?¡± I asked.


    The same guy told me that while the Tommy Gun is iconic with Gangsters and the Mafia of the 1920s and 30s but the Waterson Mafia Family don¡¯t use obsolete weapons and will use any weapon they can get their hands on and how all of the adult even the elderly Watersons have military training so he told me this would be an unwinnable one.


    I then left and joined my son on the 19th floor and I sat down next to my son and ordered a hamburger that¡¯s one quarter of a pound. I also talked to my son about school in which he told me that it''s been going well and has his eyes on a fellow classmate whom he wants to ask out but I gave him advice that others would call wrong but I told him to go for it.


    I won¡¯t let ¡°Macaorni¡± know that I have a son also to me Macaroni is a dumb nickname. If remembering someone or to help them stand out then maybe her family should have it where there¡¯s only one so and so in the family so they won¡¯t have to come up with nicknames to separate members with the same first name.


    I¡¯ve heard how the hotel, the Empire Grandeur Hotel, caught fire several times in 1942, 1952, and 1966 but each time it was rebuilt and like in the past it¡¯ll be rebuilt again. It¡¯ll cost a lot of money for those glass block windows to be fixed and well everything will be fixed but how the 18th floor will now be inaccessible for an indefinite amount of time until they can get someone to come in to fix it all up and what not. But how a guy threw a Molotov to block someone¡¯s advance when Macaroni, Midnight and a third woman advance well one of the three women dealt with him because of him causing a fire that would¡¯ve spread rapidly if it wasn¡¯t for the sprinklers to put it out before the first due Engine company arrived.


    I¡¯ve just kept overhearing people in the lounge talking about how the hotel had to upgrade the people who were staying on the 18th floor had to move to another floor and how the gala that was host for tonight was postponed for an indefinite amount of time until the 18th floor is fully fixed, damage repaired, and so on. They were going to have many A list movie stars with some new up and comers in the film industry.

 Chapter Eleven

    As the morning light filtered through the blinds, I was in a familiar position: flat on the floor, feet anchored beneath the dresser, ready to tackle my daily sit-up challenge. The record? A formidable 122 in a single session. Yet, as I lifted my torso, each rise was met not just with the strain of exertion but also with the taste of scrambled eggs and sausage, courtesy of the fork I wielded with unwavering determination.


    This peculiar ritual of mine, a blend of breakfast and burn, might raise eyebrows. It wasn''t the first time, nor would it be the last, that I''d multitask in such a manner. The Watersons, known for our stubborn streak, often defy conventional wisdom. So, despite the well-known fact that digestion takes a backseat during physical activity, I persisted, driven by sheer will.


    The sound of my mother''s voice broke through my focus. "Alright Mackenzie, I''m off to work," she called out from the living room, her tone carrying the weight of our strained relationship.


    "Alright, see ya," I responded, my reply brief yet laden with unspoken words.


    Post workout, and with breakfast still settling, I retrieved the newspaper, a bi-daily ritual that connected me to the world beyond our doorstep. But today, the headlines bore the weight of sorrow. My grand-uncle, President Bill Waterson of Little Bird, had passed away. His tenure, stretching back to 1968, was marked by a legacy of benevolence and progress, earning him the moniker "the male version of Abigail Orange."


    Uncle Bill''s presidency was a testament to his dedication to the people. He championed initiatives that bolstered mental, sexual, and nutritional health education. His support for trade and vocational schools, along with enhanced training and apprenticeship programs, opened doors for countless individuals, equipping them with skills for a diverse job market. His efforts didn''t stop there; he modernized agriculture, empowered entrepreneurs with financial resources, and ensured that even the most isolated communities weren''t left behind.


    Under his guidance, Little Bird''s telecommunications infrastructure flourished, providing reliable internet access to all. He expanded upon President Orange''s anti-corruption measures, establishing teams of special agents dedicated to upholding integrity within the government.


    President Waterson was a man of the people, advocating for lower taxes and a balanced economy that combined expert planning with free-market principles. He valued media independence, fostering a landscape where state-funded and independent outlets could coexist. Alongside President Orange, he championed an open society, recognizing the right to privacy and advocating for labor laws that protected workers'' rights.


    As I sat there, absorbing the news of his passing, I couldn''t help but feel the loss of a leader who had shaped Little Bird into a nation that cared for its citizens, a true Workers'' Paradise. His legacy, like the resolve of the Watersons, would undoubtedly endure.


    He just expanded on what the government already had where since its founding the Country of Little Bird¡¯s Voting Rights are: All Citizens Vote where all citizens regardless of wealth or gender can participate in elections, Religion is a Secular State where the country of Little Bird allows all expressions of religion without endorsing one, Armed Forces is a mix of a Professional Army, Conscription and Militia with the Little Bird Armed Forces that are composed of legally recognized career soldiers, who are more effective in battle but also are composed of citizens randomly selected for service, making it so soldiers don''t need an education and that the nation''s armed forces are composed of both official soldiers and reserves of armed civilians, who will form into additional military squads during an coup or invasion. But Little Bird has always been a Guarded Heaven where the country¡¯s borders even though in the ocean the borders are closed off and regulated making it hard for illegal immigration but President Bill implemented a program to attract skilled workers, making it so only people with at least high school education.


    Not adding that he made it where Little Bird it¡¯s internet is free for all even though computers are used in offices not residential for Globalization, President Abigail Orange had it as a Strategic Sector. The nation has laws to protect its strongest and most vital industry, raising the price of the island''s top export by 20% while Bill he created where the country of Little Bird is under protectionism to protect it from inflation so with trade with other countries he more or less said that they have to pay this much amount including tax and Little Bird will pay this much amount including tax and if they don¡¯t like it well they¡¯ll find someone else to trade with instead.


    The day had dawned with a somber air over Little Bird, a day many had hoped would remain confined to the realm of distant possibilities. Yet, reality has a way of catching up with even the most remote of fears. The nation stood at a crossroads, the Vice Presidency now a seat of power, as the mantle of leadership passed in the wake of President Bill Waterson''s departure.


    In Little Bird, the selection of a Vice President was never a popularity contest; it was a decision grounded in the potential for leadership and the capacity to steer the nation forward. However, history still whispers of the year 1963, when a Vice President, intelligent and honorable yet unyieldingly brutal, ascended to the presidency. His near-authoritarian rule had teetered on the brink of igniting an uprising. A time when even the most loyal of Veteran Rangers, Marines, Airborne, and Army soldiers found their allegiances tested to the core.


    For eleven tumultuous months, the nation grappled with the prospect of betrayal from within its ranks, until a new leader was sought to bridge the gap to the next full election. It was then that Bill Waterson emerged, championed by the Little Bird Militarist party¡ªa party known for its unwavering support of military interests, despite its members'' deep-rooted connections to the armed forces.


    The newspapers of the time were merciless in their portrayal of the interim President, a man who, in his arrogance, had nearly fractured the nation. His lack of Loyalists, a faction typically easy to rally yet challenging to appease, was a testament to his divisive leadership. Unlike his predecessors and successors, he stood alone, without the support of those who valued honor and service above all else.


    Now, as Little Bird navigates this new chapter, the people look to their Vice President with cautious optimism, hoping for a leader who will honor the legacy of President Waterson¡ªa leader who understands the delicate balance between strength and compassion, between the needs of the many and the duties of the few.


    The newspaper and the media on the TV talked about how the country of Little Bird has to wait until the year of 2012 for an election unless if the Vice President dies or gets elected out of office then the Little Bird Civilian Congress will have to declare an emergency election to elect a new president until the next primary election. Unless the Little Bird Military Congress can declare a Military Junta or Martial law in place of an election until election season. But the news talked about how Mrs. Abigail Orange was the first president to run for a long time in which she was President for twenty years from 1935-1955 while Bill Waterson was President from 1968-2010.


    I settled into my favorite armchair, the day¡¯s newspaper already perused and set aside. My gaze fell upon the spine of a well-worn tome, its pages steeped in the military history of Little Bird¡ªa nation whose very existence hinged on the extraordinary feats of the Rangers.


    It was on Able¡¯s day off, a rare respite from the relentless march of time, that I delved into the annals of these fabled warriors. The Rangers, once mere shadows flitting through the wilderness, had risen to prominence through their unparalleled scouting and raiding missions. Their ranks swelled with frontiersmen and women, their spirits forged in the crucible of the wild, and natives whose skills were honed by a lifetime amidst nature¡¯s untamed beauty.


    The narrative unfolded, revealing the Rangers as both the Thesis and the Antithesis in the tapestry of Little Bird¡¯s history. As the fledgling nation teetered on the brink of defeat in the war against Blister Canyon, the formation of the Rangers and Marines marked a turning point. These guerrilla fighters, adept in the art of unconventional warfare, became the unsolvable enigma for Blister Canyon¡¯s rigid military hierarchy.


    Blister Canyon, in its hubris, sought to emulate the grandeur of Julius Caesar¡¯s Rome, yet failed to grasp the subtleties that had cemented Rome¡¯s legacy. Where Caesar had woven the threads of conquered peoples into the fabric of his empire, allowing them to retain their identities while contributing to Rome¡¯s prosperity, Blister Canyon sought to erase the very essence of those they subdued. This iron-fisted approach sowed seeds of resentment that would inevitably sprout into rebellion, should their military dominance ever falter.


    The book spared no detail in chronicling Blister Canyon¡¯s shortcomings: their agricultural practices were lackluster at best, their medical knowledge virtually non-existent. Their architectural endeavors amounted to little more than rudimentary fortifications, a stark contrast to the grand constructions of antiquity. Lacking diplomacy and commerce, they relied solely on the whims of independent traders for resources, stripping conquered lands bare without thought for sustainability.


    In its pursuit of military supremacy, Blister Canyon had become a stratocracy, where anti-intellectualism festered, misogyny was rife, and depravity ran rampant. It was a society teetering on the precipice, its foundations eroded by its own corrosive ideologies.


    They thrived under the cloak of night, executing raids that struck fear into the hearts of our adversaries. They were not just soldiers; they were the avenging spirits of the night, liberating those shackled by Blister Canyon¡¯s oppressive regime. Their empire, blinded by arrogance, treated all as subordinates, from the slaves they captured to the women they relegated to mere domestic existence¡ªsave for the priestesses who alone held a semblance of status.


    Blister Canyon¡¯s military, a mirror to their society, was rigid and inflexible. Their musketmen, lined up like tin soldiers, would fire only in succession, a tactic as outdated as their beliefs. In contrast, the Little Bird Army, were fluid like the river, our musketeers firing in a continuous volley, that allowed no respite for the enemy.


    Our strategies were manifold; sometimes we encircled them, other times we faced them head-on only to flank them from behind, cutting off any hope of retreat. Our Marines and Rangers, under the shroud of darkness, would set their armories and food stores ablaze, sowing chaos and crippling their war efforts. We struck not just at their bodies but at their morale, their very will to fight.


    And in those silent hours, we also struck a blow for freedom, releasing the slaves from their chains, an act that would sow the seeds of Blister Canyon¡¯s downfall. Their leaders, ever so conspicuous in their attire, became easy targets, and their cavalry, armed only with swords, were no match for our carbine-wielding horsemen.


    Not adding that one reason why Little Bird won the war was because of the Natives teaching the European settlers how to farm and live off of their land. But the most important one was that they respected and still respect and still love mother earth because to the Native Little Birdens they say that humans are guests of planet earth. So they shouldn¡¯t destroy the soil nor anything else of the planet not adding they also have their own Gods/Goddesses for Agriculture, Fertility and Earth and so on and so fourth but they treat the planet as if it¡¯s their own and they take great respect of their land and believe that Natural Disasters are ways of Planet Earth to get back at humans who ravages the planet and plaques earth with war and fightings and destruction.


    So to them whenever there¡¯s a hurricane/cyclone/typhoon, earthquake, tsunamis and other natural disasters it¡¯s Earth getting back at those who take the planet for granted and don¡¯t respect their home planet. That¡¯s why on the country of Little Bird the towns are small and cities aren¡¯t really that big where the biggest city on Little Bird is the city of Empire of it being overall 77 miles with the smallest city on Little Bird being 42 miles overall but that the country has enough farmlands but the rest of the country is all natural land with no human inhabitants.


    But another part of the history book noted how Blister Canyon fought the war and remembered how not to fight a war of overextension, supply lines being spread very thin, and overextended that they couldn¡¯t have troops protect their own land. Whenever the Little Bird Marines, elite Marines who specializes in amphibious warfare and beach landings and the Little Bird Rangers of performing nighttime raids of search and destroy missions and freeing both slaves and prisoners of war that it was so bad that Blister Canyon had to issue a direct command to all Army officers and their so called ¡°Legate¡± of not to take any Little Bird Rangers or Marines as prisoners but if captured the Rangers and Marines should be summarily executed without trial, even if in proper uniforms or if they attempted to surrender. But since this was very long before the Geneva Convention a lot of Little Bird Rangers or Marines would capture Blister Canyon soldiers and take their uniforms and confuse the frontlines for Blister Canyon to redirect their troops back behind the frontlines even though the same thing happened in World War 2 with Operation: Grief when SS Commandos tried to do the same but failed.


    It is my strong opinion that a country cannot win a war if it is unable to defend its own homeland without withdrawing troops from the war. This situation would indicate that the country is overextended, has limited supply lines, and lacks the necessary manpower for defense. In such a case, the country may have to pull entire companies or divisions out of the war to send them back home for defense, or even resort to forcing the weak and young into military service to protect their homeland. However, history has repeatedly shown that people do not respond well to being forced to fight for a country or empire that has erased their cultural identity. Blister Canyon failed to adequately defend its land without resorting to such measures, while Little Bird, on the other hand, had a well-trained militia that effectively protected their towns.


    Not adding that finally that even the most loyal and battle hardened Blister Canyon soldiers and officers knew they were fighting an unwinnable war. Even history knows that citizens and soldiers won¡¯t fight in a war if they know that they won¡¯t get food if the people are starving so they won¡¯t balk at a leader who keeps his people starving or enslave many and destroy many cultures. But the history book also pointed out how conscripting POWs to fight nations friendly with their homeland or is their homeland is not a good idea. The ¡°Marked Men¡± consist units fighting for against their homeland or who have extremely low morale where ¡°Marked Men¡± got their name due to they were marked on their foreheads and were forced to fight against their homeland and their morale was so low that many broke ranks before battles or routed after their being shot at by a first volley fire.


    Not adding that Little Bird they tried different weapon designs like making a six shot musket of having six barrels smoothbore muskets or an quad barreled combination musket that would fire all of it¡¯s shots at once but it took a very long time to reload all six or four barrels in which the enemy would¡¯ve been able to get four or six shots off before the Little Birden soldiers could¡¯ve had the time to reload fully with only 20 models for the four shot ones were made and 10 for the six shot ones were made. But another reason why Blister Canyon lost the war was them treating the war as a total war of using up all of their natural, human, and agricultural resources fighting a war not adding that Blister Canyon they cut down many trees and other flora to make way for camps, forts, and training areas so whenever new units were deployed to Little Bird. They had to deal with the lush jungles, and mountainous terrain of the southern half of Little Bird that¡¯s full of lush jungles, flat plains, and a mountain range with an elevation of 6690 ft while the rest of Little Bird is just lush jungles and flat plains with some mountain ranges here and there which the Natives and settlers used to their advantage hence the Natives grew up on the land so they know what¡¯s poisonous, what¡¯s safe to eat and what animals that are safe and what animals that are dangerous and be avoided like snakes and bears.


    Not adding another reason why Little Bird won the war was via propaganda and how the few cities had opera houses. Hence, the government used opera plays similar to USO tours. They demonized Blister Canyon soldiers about how they were coming in hordes to come and destroy their cultures and enslave them. Still, their conscription was limited to only 2.5% could be conscripted for military service while for Blister Canyon that all males once they hit the age of 16 they begin military training. Not adding the history book pointed out the contrast between Little Bird and Blister Canyon where on Little Bird children could play around on the banks of rivers, play sports, having fun and do what children do while on the other hand for Blister Canyon the children begin somewhat training of their children practicing loading cannon shells, and close infantry drills before turning 16 and forced into the military.


    But Blister Canyon and Little Bird were two sides of different coins where Little Bird was and still is favoring reason, freedom, peace and equality over Blister Canyon¡¯s demagoguery, authoritarianism, warmongering and bigotry. But almost twenty years after the war when Blister Canyon fell due to a power vacuum and multiple uprisings at once well Blister Canyon changed and started to follow Little Bird in favoring reason, freedom, peace and equality.


    I then put the history book back and left my apartment before getting into my car.


    ¡°Good morning Empire,¡± the news anchor¡¯s voice cut through the static, a repetitive greeting that grated on my nerves. His tone, dripping with an insincerity that seemed to mock the very words he spoke, tempted a scowl onto my lips.


    ¡°Good morning to you too, jackass,¡± I muttered under my breath, a futile retort to the one-sided conversation.


    The anchor droned on, his voice a backdrop to my thoughts. ¡°Military officials at Camp Thunder have expressed relief as the bullet train to Camp Skybolt is once again operational. An anonymous officer has disclosed the extensive use of metals for the war effort. Meanwhile, Little Bird has transitioned from a war economy to a limited mobilization, with plans to further downgrade to a civilian economy. The nation has stepped back from a total war economy, a state not seen since the days of World War 2,¡± he reported, a hint of pride in his voice for the repaired train. ¡°In other news, Ranger Stations Easy and Fox endured an overnight assault by an unidentified faction. The Rangers repelled the attackers, sustaining minimal casualties. The assailants remain unnamed.¡±


    As I was listening to the car radio I just couldn¡¯t stop thinking about how my dad taught me several good things about how that obsession with wealth and inability to let go can lead to one¡¯s downfall, good intentions can lead to tragic outcomes and poses questions about the morality of violence, and that consequences of one¡¯s actions and the importance of personal responsibility. It shows how our decisions can have far-reaching effects, even if we don¡¯t see them immediately.


    ________________________________


    Last night. Lieutenant Colonel Midnight Waterson''s POV


    "Attention," I commanded, my voice steady and eyes piercing through the dim light of the command tent. "In the unfortunate event of capture, remember: rank, surname, service number. Nothing more."


    A young Ranger, his uniform still crisp and clean, looked up with a mix of curiosity and apprehension. "Could you elaborate, ma''am?"


    I stood taller, embodying the very essence of the discipline that had been hammered into us. "Observe," I said, and with a voice that brooked no argument, I recited, "**Lieutenant Colonel. Waterson. 193-241-970.**"


    This was the code, our unwavering mantra, derived from Article 5 of the Geneva Convention of 1929. It was supposed to be a prisoner''s unassailable right to withhold information, save for those three identifiers. But in the grim reality of our world, where the Little Bird nation¡ªa signatory of this convention¡ªhad let these ideals fade into obscurity during the Second World War, such rights were a mere fantasy. The Little Bird military had no equivalent article; any captured soldier from the German Fallschirmj?ger-Division, Seebataillon, or SS, the Italian Divisione Marina, Divisione Paracadutisti, or the Japanese SNLF and Teishin Shidan, would meet a grim end, far from the honor of war.


    In 1938, the Little Bird War Department issued a chilling decree. It stated that all enemy commandos, whether in uniform or not, whether surrendering or not, were to be executed on the spot. The term "commando" was loosely interpreted by the Little Bird Armed Forces, including any specialized infantry skilled in amphibious or airborne operations. Marines, Naval Infantry, Paratroopers¡ªall were deemed Special Forces, a menace to be eliminated without the dignity of a trial.


    I shared with them the harsh realities of war, how the Little Bird Army, Marines, and even Rangers would rely on armored support to dispatch captured enemy commandos. The tanks of the Little Bird Military were always equipped with three types of shells: AP (Armour Piercing) for armored targets, HE (High Explosive) for structures and infantry, and White Phosphorus¡ªWillie Pete, as we called it. In World War II, our tanks boasted machine guns akin to the American .30 caliber M1919 and the .50 caliber M2. As the war drew to its brutal close, following the Battle of the Bulge and in retaliation for the Malmedy Massacre, our methods grew more ruthless.


    I explained the preference for White Phosphorus over smoke shells. Willie Pete served a dual purpose: smoke screen and incendiary weapon, often the fiery core of tracer rounds. I recounted tactics where our tanks, advancing ahead, would turn their cannons inward, creating a deadly crossfire to thwart any enemy infantry daring enough to climb aboard¡ªwhile ensuring the safety of our own crew within their steel confines.


    Then, I spoke of my grandfather, a veteran of both World Wars and the Korean conflict. A man who treated friend and foe with equal kindness, insisting that even those we fought had families waiting for them. As a Sergeant in the American 1st Infantry Division during the ''40s, he held a unique perspective. Despite the widespread disdain for Nazis¡ªa sentiment generally well-founded¡ªhe maintained that they, too, were human and deserved respect in death. He had seen the worst of humanity, fighting alongside the British Army in the First World War, then with the American Army in the Second and in Korea. To him, the SS were the true adversaries, yet his compassion remained unchanged, even against the Volkssturm.


    Suddenly, the silence was shattered by the snap of a twig, a branch.


    "What took y''all so long?" I called out, expecting another patrol returning to camp.


    But instead of friendly footsteps, a hail of gunfire erupted. We scrambled, helmets secured, weapons drawn¡ªmy hand instinctively reaching for the carbine version of the X16, similar to the XM177E2, CAR-15/Colt Commando, as we returned fire.


    Our armor deflected the incoming rounds, but the enemy¡ªwhomever they were¡ªwas relentless, threatening to overwhelm us. At that moment, I pressed the hardened communication device at my side and uttered the code "Shattered Spear" twice, calling for immediate support.


    ____________________________________________________________________________


    Inside the Little Bird War Department, the air was thick with tension. A voice cut through the silence, "Shattered Spear?" It was a question laden with urgency.


    Another responded, a seasoned tone amidst the chaos, "It''s a distress call. It means a Little Birden unit or an ally is being overrun. It calls all combat aircraft for immediate support."


    The room fell quiet, the gravity of the situation settling in. The map table lay before us, a sea of toothpicks topped with the proud flag of Little Bird, each one marking the pulse points of our nation''s defense: army bases, Marine Corps depots, firebases, training grounds, air force stations, and naval air stations. Among them, the stalwart outposts of the Little Bird Rangers.


    ________________________


    With a steady hand, I unleashed a barrage from my assault carbine, its dual magazines rigged in the jungle style¡ªa testament to the ingenuity of the Little Bird Armed Forces. This configuration, with magazines taped top-to-top, was a tradition dating back to World War II, ensuring that mud or dirt never compromised the spare. Our licensed versions of the BAR and Tommy Gun, equipped with 20 or 30-round stick magazines¡ªnever drums¡ªwere a legacy of that era.


    The enemy closed in, their numbers overwhelming, but they were met with the lethal precision of hand-to-hand combat. The Rangers, alongside our brethren in the Little Bird Marines and Special Forces, were trained of a hundred ways to dispatch a foe. No need for firearms, blades, or blunt instruments¡ªour hands were weapons enough, trained to deliver death with efficiency and fatality.


    Through the static of my helmet''s earpiece, a voice crackled with urgency. As a Lieutenant Colonel, my gear was top-tier¡ªthe hardened commander model, equipped with both an uplink module and a live-feed transmitter to headquarters. The news came swiftly: the 32nd Multirole Fighter Wing would be in position within thirty seconds.


    I reached for the LBAFGF (Little Bird Armed Forces Ground Forces)-02 Target Designator, its compact 14-inch frame deceiving in its power. This handheld laser device, emitting a low-power 1mw red beam, was crucial for pinpointing targets for air or artillery strikes. With a steady hand, I aimed the laser, painting the solitary path leading up the mountain¡ªa beacon for the incoming fighters.


    The leader of the 32nd confirmed the lock on their end. "Target acquired," they affirmed. The weight of the moment hung heavy; with a simple laser''s glow, the tide of battle was about to turn.


    Rockets streaked across the sky, their trails marking the path of deliverance. One jet, its 20mm Gatling-style rotary cannon roaring to life, unleashed a torrent of rounds¡ªeach 20 mm ¡Á 102 mm projectile exiting the barrel at a blistering rate of 6,000 rounds per minute. Beside it, another jet''s 30mm counterpart spat out 30x173mm rounds, slightly slower at 3,000 rounds per minute, but with devastating effect.


    This was the doctrine of the Little Bird Air Force, a strategy refined since the days of World War II. Ground-based observers, identifiable by the LB AIR FORCE tags on their uniforms, were embedded within regular army and marine units. Their presence ensured pinpoint accuracy for air support, allowing aircraft to provide direct and lethal assistance to the ground forces engaged in the thick of combat. These Multirole Aircraft, formerly known as Attack Aircraft, operated with a degree of autonomy, often surprising enemy forces as they maneuvered to and from the front lines.


    Having completed their initial strafing runs, the jets peeled away from the area of operations, only to regroup and prepare for another assault. They would return, their payloads ready to rain down upon the enemy once more, a relentless cycle of support for the troops below.


    Our makeshift station, nestled in the rugged terrain, doubled as an IR Strobe beacon. It marked our presence, a silent sentinel amidst the chaos. To the west, the enemy loomed¡ªa stark contrast to our position. For added safety, I improvised: an aluminum can repurposed as a holder for an IR Strobe beacon. Its pulsing light, a clandestine signal to our pilots above, distinguished friend from foe in the monochrome tapestry of war.


    This method of identification was a lesson hard-learned from history. In the Second World War, the Little Bird military used red smoke grenades to mark their positions, only to realize the dire consequences of miscommunication. Red was the color of attack for the Air Force, leading to tragic friendly fire incidents. The solution was a shift to orange smoke¡ªa visual cue that saved countless lives.


    My military tenure spans decades, three wars, and countless battles. I enlisted back in ''87, fresh out of high school, at a time when basic computer literacy was a prized skill, unlike the ubiquity of digital fluency today. I recall my first engagement as a platoon leader in the Marines, a memory now dramatized on the silver screen. They depicted a helicopter dodging an RPG, but the reality was far less cinematic¡ªa simple case of poor hand-eye coordination leading to a marine¡¯s fall.


    As the years marched on, I ascended through the ranks of the Rangers. From Captain to Lieutenant Colonel, my ascent was not just a climb in rank but a commitment to a creed: to lead from the vanguard, to stand united with my comrades-in-arms, not as a distant overseer from a command post or the confines of a desk. This was the oath I swore, to be entrenched in the thick of battle, to be part of the brotherhood forged in the crucible of war.


    Leadership in the military is a mantle I bear with gravity¡ªit''s not about camaraderie or friendship, it''s about command and control. I recall a Lieutenant from the war in 2000, who lost his entire platoon¡ªnot to enemy fire, but to disarray. My words to him were blunt, "Maybe, if you were in control of your men, instead of trying to be their best friend, they wouldn''t need to be found." Too many officers blur the lines between leader and peer, forgetting the hierarchy that holds the forces together.


    In the heat of battle, I long to command my Rangers to execute the Four F''s of Combat: Find, Fix, Flank, and Finish the enemy. Yet, geography dictates our tactics¡ªthere''s only one path, with a sheer drop on one side and a steep incline on the other, making flanking maneuvers impossible. But we are Rangers, a hybrid force of scouts, commandos, paratroopers, and infantry. We are the elite, tasked with clearing objectives and conducting specialist operations ahead of the main army''s arrival. Our adaptability is our strength, our reliability unquestioned. We will hold this outpost, against any foe, with whatever forces they muster. For we are not just soldiers; we are Rangers, and we will stand our ground.


    In a solemn gesture of remembrance, I christened this rugged terrain "Purple Heart Mountain," a tribute to the sacrifices made on "Purple Heart Lane." The name echoes the harrowing losses of the 502nd PIR''s Third Battalion along National Road 13 north of Carentan, where they endured devastating losses. It''s a stark contrast to the tales of my granduncle Charlie of the 501st PIR, 101st Airborne, and his twin in the 504th PIR, 82nd Airborne, who both braved the storms of war.


    The enemy was ill-prepared for the arsenal at Ranger Station Easy. Our ranks, armed with launchers reminiscent of Bazookas, while we carry a diverse array of ammunition. From Hollow Point to Armor Piercing, Frangible to Soft Point, we were equipped for any confrontation. The standard issue for the Little Bird Armed Forces is the Full Metal Jacket, but even here, we diverged¡ªour Airforce pilots, crew chiefs, and Pararescue teams carried pistols loaded with Subsonic rounds.


    As dawn broke over Purple Heart Mountain, the aftermath of the night''s battle lay stark against the morning light. The enemy''s assault had faltered, their numbers dwindling under the relentless defense of the Rangers. They had employed a tactic known as the "Human Wave," an archaic strategy where attackers surge in dense formations, seeking to overwhelm defenders through sheer force. But such methods proved futile against the disciplined might of the Little Bird Army.


    Our doctrine, "Superior Firepower," stood in stark contrast to their desperate gambit. It is a principle that prioritizes the judicious use of munitions over the reckless expenditure of lives. "We throw shells at the enemy, not men," the doctrine declares¡ªa poignant reminder that while material can be replenished, the loss of a soldier is irreplaceable. In the calculus of war, it is understood that bullets are cheap, manpower is precious.


    The silence of the morning was a testament to this belief, as the mountain bore witness to the valor and sacrifice of those who defended it, ensuring that each life spent was honored by the survival of many.


    The military doctrines I¡¯ve learned, though not through formal Officer Candidate School or a military academy, are the bedrock of strategic warfare. They are the distilled wisdom of countless battles, a testament to the adaptability and resilience required in the face of adversity.


    - Delay Tactic: "When victory is unattainable, slowing the enemy''s advance through ambushes and delaying tactics can be advantageous."


    - Mobile Forces: "Mobile forces can swiftly reinforce defenses or offenses at critical junctures."


    - Dispersed Support: "By dispersing support units, they can provide extensive coverage while remaining safe from direct engagement."


    - Regimental Combat Teams: "An infantry regiment, integrated with support units like artillery, tanks, and reconnaissance, forms a self-sufficient unit for enhanced flexibility."


    - Mechanized Infantry: "While motorized troops suffice, offensives require mechanized infantry that can advance in armored transports for protection."


    - Centralized Fire Control: "Centralized fire control enables concentrated firepower on a target by evaluating artillery support from a single location."


    - Forward Observers: "Forward observers position themselves to assess the accuracy and impact of artillery, relaying information for adjustments."


    - Combined Arms: "The synergy of armor, infantry, and support units operating in coordinated teams surpasses the effectiveness of these forces acting independently."


    - Tactical Control: "Officers adept in combined arms tactics can effectively oversee operations from forward positions."


    - AirLand Battle and Shock and Awe: "A blend of strategies that emphasize air superiority and rapid dominance to overwhelm the enemy."


    The arrival of a helicopter bearing relief signals the end of a duty cycle and the beginning of a well-deserved respite. The rotation system we have spending a month at the outpost before returning home for a month¡ªensures that Rangers remain sharp, rested, and ready for the challenges ahead. It''s a rhythm that balances the demands of service with the need for recovery, allowing us to return to our loved ones and recharge before once again standing guard over the freedoms we protect.


    As the helicopter blades cut through the air, my mind was awash with the faces of those I¡¯ve commanded¡ªthe brave souls who stood firm in the face of danger, and those who found solace in moments of vulnerability. The battlefield is indiscriminate, often claiming the young, those barely at the cusp of adulthood. My father¡¯s words echo in my memory, a somber reminder of the youthfulness that pervaded the ranks in Vietnam, a stark parallel to my own experiences.


    In the solemn tradition of the Little Bird Military, the death letter serves as a final testament, a poignant farewell from those who have fallen. It¡¯s a practice that honors the bond between soldier and family, a bridge between the finality of duty and the enduring love that persists beyond life¡¯s end. These letters, whether they carry words of undying affection or the heartache of separation, are a cherished legacy, ensuring that the spirit of the fallen lives on in the hearts of their loved ones.


    I carry with me two such letters, penned for the day I hope never comes. One is addressed to my Aunt and Uncle, a tribute to their unwavering support after the tragedy that claimed my parents. The other, to my daughters, Midnight Jr. and Aurora, is a mother¡¯s promise that, though I may be absent, my love for them is as boundless as the skies they were named after. These letters are not just farewells; they are beacons of my love, guiding lights for those I hold dear, should darkness ever fall.


    From the perspective of Midnight Waterson:


    The echoes of a high school error reverberate through my life, manifesting as two precious daughters. Their father, absent for a decade, reemerged like a specter from the past, wielding deceit as his weapon in a court of law. He painted me as an unfit mother, a slanderous portrait that couldn''t be further from the truth. I never shielded my girls from reality; instead, I equipped them with the armor of trade skills. By the time they reached junior high, their hands were already adept at woodcrafting, leatherwork, clay, and metalwork. High school shop classes were merely a review for them, as they were already familiar with the intricacies of electricity and the internal combustion engine.


    Yet, the falsehoods spun by their father took root, and my daughters were compelled to live under his roof. There, they were reduced to mere housekeepers, their culinary efforts devoted solely by him. But the military discipline of Little Bird''s towns, where soldiers'' lives blend with civilian rhythms, had been instilled in them. When they fled his oppressive grasp, they knew the way back to me, their true home. In Lumber, our town, the presence of the 11th Infantry Division is palpable, yet it remains open to the public. Here, amidst military educators, doctors, and other service members, we''ve found a haven¡ªa place where my daughters can thrive, unfettered by the chains of falsehoods and where their skills and independence shine brightly.


    _______________________________________________


    Mackenzie ¡°Macaroni¡± Waterson POV


    As I stride through the vibrant streets of Empire finishing up my errands.. Today''s not just about the mundane errands;I¡¯ve even stopped at a restaurant to double check our reservation is all set where to me it¡¯s about securing a moment of joy with Lusty. We''ve got a date tonight, and it''s not just any date¡ªit''s our little rebellion against the chaos of life. Sure, we''re together, but glued at the hip? Never. I''ve seen too many loves lose their spark from being too close, too often. There''s truth in the saying that familiarity breeds contempt.


    We cherish our independence, our separate sanctuaries. It keeps our rendezvous fresh, a cause for celebration, not a tiresome routine. Studies back me up: proximity doesn''t equal fondness. Even marriage won''t see us sharing a roof¡ªnot if it means trading passion for indifference.


    Last night, I was engrossed in a war film, a stark contrast to the usual fare. This film honors the scars of battle with the gravity they deserve, crafted with the guidance of veterans who''ve lived the fight, paying tribute to their fallen brothers and sisters.


    Little Bird''s commitment to the truth of history is what grips me. It''s not just about the glory; it''s about the hard lessons, like the Dieppe Raid¡ªa disaster that reshaped the Allies'' strategy for D-Day. Little Bird doesn''t shy away from the tough parts of history. It''s a bold stance, but it''s one I stand behind. We need to see history from all angles to keep from repeating the old blunders.


    I''ve read my share of history books glorifying America''s role in the World Wars. Yes, America was a powerhouse, but these tales often downplay or ignore the sacrifices of other nations. Take Operation Sea Lion: some speculate on Germany¡¯s potential to change the war''s tide. But my great-grandfather, a two-time World War and Korean War vet, and my granduncles, can''t stand movies that crown America the lone hero, sidelining the efforts of others.


    As a kid, war movies were my company while Dad was away. My great-granddad, a British Army vet from World War I, never joined me. He enlisted at thirteen, and the nightmares of trench warfare were his alone to bear. His take on World War II was mixed, having lost sons to the fight. His words were stark, "It''s war. Soldiers die. Victory comes at a cost." He never spoke of the policy that split him from his son in ''43, sending him to the 16th Infantry Regiment and his boy to the 2nd Ranger Battalion.


    My cousin Midnight? She''s all about the mission. To her, war''s as simple as driving a nail. She''s quick to cut through the nonsense. Once, her Marine platoon was picking through fallen comrades'' dog tags with hard-to-pronounce or rare names, joking around. Midnight set them straight, reminding them those tags represented real people with loved ones. That''s why she''s Ranger material¡ªher focus never wavers, even under fire from her own platoon. She''s now training with the Little Bird Rangers, living by their creed: "We dive into Hell and don''t resurface until the mission''s complete."


    Midnight''s right; Little Bird stands firm on not meddling in the affairs of other nations. We have the military might, but we don''t aspire to be the world''s police. Our policy is clear: we''re not here to fix the world''s problems. If we''re drawn into a conflict, we know the wisdom in stepping back and walking away once our part is done. It''s not about isolationism; it''s about making smart choices¡ªavoiding conflicts that don''t serve us and offering humanitarian aid where we can.


    Unlike the United States, which has often intervened in other countries due to its resources and manpower, Little Bird''s foreign policy aims to prevent another quagmire like Vietnam. We refuse to send our soldiers into endless battles with no clear path to victory, only to retreat and save face. Our policy leans towards neutrality, ensuring we don''t ignite wars unnecessarily.


    Even in our peacekeeping efforts, we prioritize understanding and cooperation. Deploying interpreters, Guides and local anthropologists is our first step, ensuring we respect and do not antagonize the local population. Little Bird''s approach is a blend of isolationism and selective engagement¡ªwe don''t stick our noses where they don''t belong. But if a nation seeks our help, we''ll oblige, as long as it aligns with our principle: Little Bird first, everyone else second. This policy, rooted in the belief that ''Charity begins at home,'' has guided us since 1936.


    Midnight''s stance on the fresh-faced recruits is clear-cut: 98% frustration, 2% necessity. The frustration stems from the naivety they bring to the frontlines¡ªeager beavers all, spouting lines like, "Where''s the enemy?" "Let me at them." "When do we storm the capital?" Yet, within 48 hours, reality hits hard; they''re sprawled out, innards exposed, crying out for medics, yearning for the comfort of their mothers.


    Midnight, though, isn''t your run-of-the-mill officer. She''s a high-ranking commissioned officer who''s drilled one rule into her troops: no salutes in the kill zone. It''s a sniper''s playground, and such formalities are a deadly giveaway. She''s had to resort to snapping the arms of those who forgot¡ªbetter a broken arm than a bullet through the brain, she argues. Complaints? Sure, they''ve trickled up the chain of command, but the old-timers remind the greenhorns that they''re getting off easy. In the old days, a salute in a no-salute zone could earn you a summary execution. Midnight''s method may seem harsh, but it keeps her Rangers alive, albeit one-handedly clutching their sidearms.


    That 2% where she values new blood? It''s all about maintaining battalion strength, ensuring they''re not caught short-handed. The Little Bird Army Rangers, despite the "Army" in their title, aren''t officially part of the Army. They''re more akin to a subsidiary, much like how the Marines fall under the Navy in the United States. The Rangers maintain a similar relationship with the Army, while the Little Bird Marines stand as a separate entity, and the Little Bird Navy boasts its own Naval Infantry, mirroring the Marines'' role.


    Midnight is the epitome of military leadership¡ªcompetent, level-headed, and devoid of any delusions about the nature of war and the soldiers she commands. She¡¯s the archetype of a model leader: calm, unflappable, and deeply invested in the welfare of her Rangers. As a tactician, she¡¯s unparalleled¡ªsmart, courageous, analytical, and calm under pressure. She¡¯s a leader without flaws, vices, or even a hint of humor, and she¡¯s relentless in pushing her enemies to their breaking point, regardless of the risks involved.


    Her competence was forged in the crucible of Ranger training, where she first learned the weight of a weapon and the responsibility it carries. She recalls how her instructor would recklessly brandish a .45 handgun, finger ever on the trigger, barrel pointed at the faces of those training to become Rangers. This reckless display was antithetical to everything Midnight knew from her Marine training, where the cardinal rules were etched into her being: treat every weapon as if it¡¯s loaded, and never point it at anything you¡¯re not prepared to destroy.


    Standing at 5¡¯10", Midnight is not one to be intimidated¡ªnot by rank, nor by size. When she grew weary of her towering 7¡¯2" instructor¡¯s dangerous antics, she confronted him. It was a defining moment that showcased not only her bravery but also her unwavering commitment to the safety and discipline that form the backbone of any elite military unit. Her actions spoke volumes, echoing the sentiment that true strength is not measured in physical stature but in the courage to stand up for what is right.


    After ticking off the last item on my to-do list, I found myself contemplating dinner plans and made sure our reservation was set for Friday. With a dinner date with Lusty on the horizon, set for Friday the 22nd, I wanted to ensure everything would be perfect. Today, being Wednesday the 20th, gave me ample time to prepare.


    I ventured to a grocery store, deliberately choosing one where my mother wasn¡¯t working her part-time shift. I knew that if I crossed paths with her, she¡¯d have a list of errands ready for me. So, to avoid the additional tasks, I opted for a different store, where I picked up a pot roast. It¡¯s a dish I¡¯ve mastered over time, and I was looking forward to sharing it with Lusty.


    While there, I encountered a gentleman adorned with ¡°The Aerial Cross of Valor,¡± an honor akin to the Medal of Honor. Out of deep respect, I offered him the Little Bird military salute which is different from a salute for the US Military but it¡¯s a gesture taught to me during my time as a Petty Officer in the US Navy. The salute is a sign of utmost respect, performed by raising the right hand sharply, fingers together, thumb along the palm, with the hand¡¯s outer edge slightly tilted down. The fingertip touches the visor¡¯s rim or the forehead just right of the eye, maintaining a straight wrist and arm, the elbow slightly forward, and the upper arm level.


    In the world of military tradition, salutes are often seen as a gesture of respect towards the rank, not necessarily the person. However, for me, Mackenzie ¡°Macaroni¡± Waterson, it¡¯s always been about the individual¡¯s valor and sacrifice. This belief was instilled in me by my family, who taught me to see beyond the insignia to the human experience behind it.


    My family also emphasized the readiness a soldier must maintain. They likened war to an unyielding force of nature, not to be postponed by inclement weather or personal comfort. This lesson was vividly illustrated during a childhood memory with my granduncle Stanley. As a six-year-old, I hesitated to play in the snow, citing the cold as my excuse. His response was stern, invoking the harsh winter conditions faced by soldiers during the Battle of the Bulge and the Siege of Bastogne. At the time, his words were just a blur of history and heroism to my young mind. It wasn¡¯t until later in my education that I fully grasped the gravity of what he described¡ªthe surprise German offensive on December 16, 1944, the young soldiers braving the bitter cold, many suffering from frostbite, and the legendary response of ¡®Nuts!¡¯ by Brigadier General Anthony McAuliffe when faced with a German surrender ultimatum.


    Growing up, the weather was a constant backdrop to lessons in resilience. My family, decorated with military service from World War II to Vietnam, never let a downpour or a snowfall go to waste. ¡°Go out and play in the rain,¡± they¡¯d urge, instilling in me a readiness that transcends comfort. As a child dreaming of military life, I was reminded, ¡°You¡¯re going to face all kinds of weather¡ªhot, cold, raining, snowing, hailing. You have to be ready for it all.¡±


    This wasn¡¯t just about preparing for the physical demands of service; it was about cultivating the mental fortitude to endure and adapt. Now, as an adult, the weather holds no sway over me. Whether it¡¯s the tropical climate of my new home or the humid subtropical air of the Southern United States where I grew up, I¡¯m unfazed. My granduncles¡¯ and cousins¡¯ legacies are not just tales of war but lessons in perseverance, echoing through every raindrop and snowflake that I once watched from the window.


    I remember the wisdom my great-granddad imparted during those rainy days. Each time I¡¯d step into the house, soaked from the rain, he¡¯d say with a stern yet caring voice, ¡°Go dry your feet and put on a fresh pair of socks.¡± His advice was more than just a remedy for discomfort; it was a lesson in vigilance passed down through generations.


    My great-granddad, a veteran of both World Wars, had witnessed the painful consequences of trench foot among his fellow soldiers. This condition, caused by prolonged exposure to damp and unsanitary conditions, was a constant threat in the trenches. Similarly, during the Vietnam War, my uncles and cousins faced ¡°Jungle Rot,¡± a comparable affliction due to the relentless tropical moisture.


    He kept a World War II poster that outlined steps to prevent trench foot, a stark reminder of the importance of self-care even in the harshest conditions. That poster, and his words, have stayed with me. Now, as an adult, no matter where I am or how wet the weather gets, I always remember to keep my feet dry. It¡¯s a simple act, but it carries the weight of history and the care of a man who understood the cost of neglecting one¡¯s well-being in the face of adversity.


    Mitchell¡¯s experience in the Little Bird military reflects a deep understanding of the importance of proper gear for varying conditions. The military¡¯s provision of 24 pairs of socks and specialized clothing for different environments is a testament to their commitment to soldier welfare and mission readiness. The detailed inventory, including four pairs of socks per day, winterized uniforms, and CBRNNA (Chemical, Biological, Radiological, Nuclear, and Nerve Agent) gear, ensures that soldiers like Mitchell can adapt to any situation, whether it¡¯s the scorching deserts or the dense jungles.


    As a radiotelephone operator, Mitchell¡¯s role is crucial, and his gear is tailored to protect both him and the sensitive equipment he operates. The modification of his armor to accommodate the radio, while limiting his capacity to carry additional items, is a strategic decision. It prioritizes communication¡ªa vital aspect of military operations¡ªover personal load-carrying capability. This choice underscores the balance between individual capability and the overarching needs of the military unit.


    Mitchell¡¯s sacrifices, such as forgoing a haversack or rucksack, are a small but significant part of the larger picture of military efficiency and effectiveness. It¡¯s a clear illustration of the principle that every role in the military, no matter how specialized, is designed to contribute to the collm


    ______________________________


    Dawn broke over Fort Colossal, the air crisp and the skies clear¡ªa perfect day for a jump at Clearlake. I watched as a trio of LB-15 "Golden Talon" jets cut through the silence, their presence as commanding as the Rangers they served.


    Mitchell sidled up to me, his grin as wide as the drop zone. "Mac, you ready to take the plunge with us today?"


    I shot him a look, my tone dry as the desert sand. "Considering I shelled out $180 for this thrill, I''d say I''m committed."


    He chuckled, clapping me on the shoulder before turning to his gear. His checklist was a soldier''s lifeline: K-rations, sweets for quick energy, the bitter comfort of powdered coffee, and the essentials¡ªcompass, bayonet, entrenching tool. His voice was a steady cadence as he listed each item, down to the musette bag brimming with ammo and the trusty .45 that never left his side. "Can''t forget the smokes even though I don¡¯t smoke," he added, tapping the cartons. "And for the unexpected¡ªmines, grenades, and enough TNT to make our own fireworks."


    I raised an eyebrow, my gaze following his meticulous preparations. "You''re packing like we''re heading into Berlin in 1945, not a training drop."


    He met my gaze, his eyes serious now. "It''s about realism, Mac. We jump with full kit to mimic combat conditions¡ªwhether it''s a HAHO from the stratosphere or a HALO just shy of the clouds. It''s the weight we carry, the readiness we maintain. It''s what makes us Airborne."


    I nodded, understanding the weight of his words as much as the gear on our backs. "I''ll check in with Sgt. Johnstine for the paperwork. No one''s dying on my watch¡ªnot even in practice."


    Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    Stepping into the administrative building, I squared my shoulders and met Sgt. Johnstine¡¯s gaze. The paperwork was a mere formality¡ªa liability waiver stating that the military wouldn¡¯t be held responsible if I got injured. I¡¯d already signed a similar document when I forked over the $180, but the Little Bird military was meticulous about protocol, demanding everything in triplicate. With a flourish, I signed my name across each copy.


    As I exited, a sudden impact against my chest took me by surprise¡ªa dummy grenade, lobbed with precision. I spun to face the assailant.


    ¡°You!¡± The woman¡¯s voice was stern, her stance unyielding. ¡°Civilian or not, your money doesn¡¯t buy discord in my ranks. Consider yourself fortunate you¡¯re not one of my soldiers, or you¡¯d be scrubbing latrines for a month. Now, straighten up that uniform.¡±


    I snapped to attention, responding with a crisp, ¡°Yes, Lieutenant,¡± before adjusting my gear.


    Rejoining Mitchell, I couldn¡¯t help but ask, ¡°What happens if someone stops at the jump?¡±


    He gave me a sidelong glance. ¡°In basic, hesitation gets you kicked out. Here, it¡¯s simple: jump on your own accord, or get a shove from the jumpmaster¡ªor the boot of the paratrooper behind you.¡±


    ¡°And the grenade-throwing lieutenant?¡± I prodded.


    ¡°Lieutenant Luna ¡®Pancake¡¯ Maud,¡± he replied, a hint of respect in his tone. ¡°She¡¯s as tough as they come, but fair. Don¡¯t let the rough exterior fool you; she¡¯s got a heart of steel tempered with just enough warmth. Her story? Let¡¯s just say she¡¯s had a marriage shorter than some of our flights¡ªeight hours, to be exact. Caught her husband in an underground sex club instead of the store. When he came home two shots. She took her snub nosed revolver and shot him in the nuts and those two .32 caliber bullets were the divorce papers in a metaphorical sense but a judge declared the wedding nulled.¡±


    Before I could digest the tale, Lt. Luna¡¯s command cut through the air. ¡°Third platoon, board up!¡±


    We moved as one, the weight of our gear a familiar comfort. Today, we¡¯d soar above Clearlake, our spirits as indomitable as the jets that patrolled the skies. As for Lt. Luna? Maybe, just maybe, I¡¯d find a way to thaw that icy exterior.


    As we neared the behemoth of steel and rivets, its dimensions loomed over us¡ªa testament to the might of Little Bird¡¯s aerial fleet.


    Length: 154 ft 3 in (47.01 m) Wingspan: 179 ft 9 in (54.78 m) Height: 48 ft 3 in (14.7 m) Wing area: 2,673 sq ft (248.3 m2)


    I couldn¡¯t help but comment on the obvious, ¡°Looks like Third platoon¡¯s got company.¡±


    Mitchell, ever the tactician, explained, ¡°It¡¯s D Company¡¯s turn, minus the Captain. That¡¯s 119 of us, running drills on command absence¡ªtesting the mettle of our Lieutenants from all four platoons.¡±


    I pondered the scenario, the strategic part of me acknowledging the wisdom, yet the soldier in me saw the risk. ¡°Smart to prepare for every possibility, but it¡¯s a fine line between clever and foolhardy.¡±


    We stood side by side, the plane¡¯s shadow engulfing us. Today, we¡¯d fly without our Captain, a reminder that in battle, leadership isn¡¯t a rank¡ªit¡¯s an action. And as the engines roared to life, I knew that each of us, from Lieutenant to the Technician Fifth Grades, was ready to step up and lead.


    The ranks and insignias were a language of their own, each stripe and bar a story of service and sacrifice. T/Sgt, S/Sgt, T/3, Sgt, T/4, Cpl, T/5¡ªtheir insignias showed that they¡¯re not inexperienced soldiers but experienced seasoned or veteran soldiers.


    ¡°Stand up! Hook up!¡± The command echoed, snapping us to attention. We rose as one, each soldier checking the gear of the man in front. First platoon leaped into the void, their heavy equipment tumbling out in boxes, parachutes blossoming behind them.


    Minutes ticked by, and then it was the Second platoon¡¯s turn. But the lights¡ªneither red nor green¡ªremained dark. A silent signal, perhaps, of a plane struck silent in combat, its warning systems dead.


    Our turn came. The door yawned open, a gaping maw to the sky. I hesitated¡ªnot from fear, but from the surreal moment of calm before the storm. Mitchell¡¯s boot met my back, a firm reminder that there¡¯s no room for pause when duty calls.


    Then, the rush¡ªthe leap, the fall, the abrupt tug at my harness as my chute deployed. There¡¯s no feeling quite like it¡ªthe assurance that you¡¯re still in the fight, still soaring high above the ground. It¡¯s the sweet jolt of life, the heartbeat of the airborne.


    Suspended at 3000 feet, the world below was a tapestry of green, the town of Clearlake a mere speck in the vastness, like a target marked by a gunship''s grease pencil. The view was breathtaking, a rare tranquility amidst the chaos of descent. I clutched the sliders, ensuring the gentle breeze didn''t claim me as its own.


    Below, the soldiers of the third platoon were a whirlwind of activity, their chutes collapsing around them as they touched down¡ªveterans to the core, their speed and precision a testament to their countless drills.


    My own landing was less graceful, a face-first introduction to the unforgiving earth. But as I gathered myself, I caught sight of Mitchell¡ªhis approach was art in motion, a low trajectory that had him running the moment his boots kissed the ground.


    The Little Bird Military''s doctrine was clear: Rangers, Special Forces, Airborne, and Marine Commandos are taught to engage with the earth as if embracing an old friend¡ªswiftly, smoothly, with barely a pause between air and ground.


    I, however, was given a rougher welcome. A botched landing is a brutal teacher, dragging you across the terrain, each second an eternity until stillness grants you reprieve. Lying there, I couldn''t help but laugh¡ªa civilian among trained paratroopers, humbled yet exhilarated by the dance of descent.


    Struggling with the stubborn chute, I cursed under my breath. "Come on, damn thing, get unstuck!"


    The harness refused to budge, as if it had become one with me during the fall. But Mitchell was at my side in an instant, his combat knife in hand. With a practiced motion, he flipped the knife, gripping the blade, and used the handle to tap the jammed connector. The harness yielded, and freedom was mine once more.


    I looked up at him, sheepish. "Sorry, Sergeant."


    He shook his head, a wry smile on his face. "Don''t be sorry. It''s rare, but it happens. The gear''s tough, but so are we."


    Relieved, I stood up, brushing off the dirt. The incident was a small reminder that even in the most controlled environments, the unexpected could always occur¡ªa lesson well-learned for any soldier or civilian in the field.


    Trailing behind Mitchell, I watched the members of Third Platoon converge on Lieutenant Luna''s position. Her middle name, ''Pancake,'' seemed to stick as awkwardly as syrup on a mess hall plate, but it was the map in her hands that drew my attention. She studied it with a furrowed brow, the leather casing worn from countless operations. Her hesitation spoke volumes; even in an era where technology reigns, the fundamental skill of map reading remained vital.


    Luna''s orders were clear, her voice cutting through the morning air. "Third Platoon, move out¡ªtake cover in the woodlands! Sergeant, with me."


    I obeyed, slipping into the forest''s embrace, the dappled light playing tricks on my eyes. Glancing back, I saw Mitchell stride toward Luna. His rank of Sergeant often placed him at the forefront, yet here he served as the platoon''s communications lifeline and executive officer¡ªa testament to his versatility beyond leading a squad.


    Luna seemed out of her element, her confidence wavering like a leaf in the wind. To the untrained eye, she might appear a fresh-faced academy graduate, but her demeanor suggested a deeper story¡ªa leader grappling with the weight of command.


    When they returned, Luna''s announcement was grim. "We''ve been dropped off-course," she admitted, the error laid bare for all to hear.


    In that moment, I understood the true test of leadership wasn''t in the perfection of orders, but in the ability to adapt and overcome when plans went awry. And as we regrouped, ready to face the unexpected, I felt a surge of respect for Lieutenant Luna ''Pancake'' Maud. Today, she would lead us not from a textbook, but from the front lines of reality.


    Luna''s command was swift, her voice slicing through the stillness. "First Squad, head north for a third of a mile. Third Squad, south the same distance. Double time!"


    I watched the squads disperse, their movements fluid and assured. These were no novices; they were seasoned warriors for whom such maneuvers were second nature. It was evident in their ranks¡ªno fresh-faced Privates here, only those who had earned their stripes and bars through grit and discipline.


    As I checked the time, my watch inverted on my wrist for ease, Luna gave the signal for Second Squad. "Move out," she ordered, and we rose to join the dance of war games.


    Mitchell caught sight of my digital timepiece and couldn''t resist a jab. "Look at Mac, with her high-tech gadgetry," he teased. The rest of the platoon sported watches that were relics of a bygone era¡ªmechanical, hand-wound, their faces illuminated by luminous paint, a legacy from the ''30s and ''40s.


    "Your fancy watch could compromise us," he chided, half-serious.


    I shot back, "It''s broad daylight, Mitch."


    He nodded, conceding the point but added, "At night, that LED glow could betray us to the enemy. Always be mindful of your gear''s impact, Mac. It¡¯s like wearing a desert camo uniform in a snowy environment"


    Slipping the digital watch into my pocket, I turned to Lieutenant Luna. ¡°Lieutenant, would it be alright if I carried a firearm?¡±


    Without missing a beat, Luna nodded to Mitchell. ¡°Sergeant, arm her.¡±


    Mitchell¡¯s movements were fluid, the X16 rifle settling on his back as he drew the Phoenix pistol. With precision, he ejected the magazine, racked the slide, and caught the ejected .45 round, slotting it back into the magazine before handing me the now-empty pistol.


    ¡°You asked for a gun, not ammunition,¡± Mitchell remarked, a hint of amusement in his voice. His adherence to the exact wording was military precision at its finest.


    We marched on, the rhythm of our boots a steady drumbeat against the earth. After a few miles, we rendezvoused with the Second Platoon. The scene was chaotic¡ªsome paratroopers had become entangled in the towering trees. Their descent from the harnesses was a battle against gravity, each branch a formidable adversary on their unintended journey down.


    Surveying the scene, the urgency of the situation was palpable. Luna''s voice cut through the tension, "Has this platoon called for a medevac?"


    The Second Platoon''s Lieutenant shook his head, frustration evident. Their equipment crate had burst open upon impact, scattering gear and breaking the RTO''s radio¡ªcommunication was down.


    Without hesitation, Luna directed Mitchell to make the call. His voice was clear and authoritative as he transmitted the request for medical evacuation, "Eagle 3-3 to Caracaras Leader requesting MEDEVAC at grid coordinates 4-3-2-4-2-4-2-3. Repeat, this is Eagle 3-3 to Caracas Leader requesting MEDEVAC to grid coordinates 4-3-2-4-2-4-2-3. Eagle 3-3 over and out."


    The call sign ''Eagle'' piqued my curiosity, and I inquired about it. The explanation was steeped in tradition and pride¡ªeach Airborne unit bore the name of a predatory bird, a symbol of their prowess and role as apex protectors of the skies. In the 39th Airborne Regiment, the battalions were named as such:


    - First Battalion: Caracaras


    - Second Battalion: Falcon


    - Third Battalion: Eagle


    - Fourth Battalion: Buzzard


    - Fifth Battalion: Vulture


    - Seventh Battalion: Harrier


    - Eighth Battalion: Hawks


    The structure of Little Bird¡¯s military, with its intertwined Battalion and Regimental Headquarters, reflects a streamlined chain of command, efficient for rapid deployment and response. The absence of a standing Divisional HQ, except during heightened states of conflict, underscores the regiment¡¯s agility and the nation¡¯s strategic reserve practices.


    As we waited for the MEDEVAC, the air was thick with anticipation and unspoken thoughts. I was about to voice mine when Mitchell interjected with a story that cut to the heart of the airborne ethos.


    ¡°Do you think¡­¡± I said.


    ¡°Stanley¡¯s nerves were likely frayed,¡± he said interrupting me, his voice tinged with empathy for the young paratrooper. ¡°Training can only prepare you so much. His twin, seasoned by operations Husky and Avalanche, had the edge of experience. But Stanley, on D-Day, faced Hell for the first time.¡±


    Mitchell¡¯s gaze was distant, his mind perhaps recalling his own baptism by fire. ¡°Airborne soldiers are a breed apart. We¡¯ve trained to thrive in the chaos of being surrounded¡±


    I told him not to sound like a stereotypical military recruiter.


    Mitchell¡¯s chuckle was a low rumble, his voice tinged with humor. ¡°I¡¯ll leave the recruiting to the posters and slogans, Mac.¡±


    With the wounded safely en route to Fort Colossal, we resumed our march, the rhythm of our boots a steady cadence against the earth. I couldn¡¯t help but muse about the whereabouts of First Platoon, voicing my thoughts aloud.


    ¡°I wonder if the First Platoon is as lost as we are,¡± I said out loud.


    Luna replied with annoyance, ¡°We¡¯re not lost civvie we¡¯re just behind schedule.¡±


    I then decided to ask a question and I said, ¡°So Lieutenant if your platoon was paradropped and had other Paras from other units mixed in with your platoon because of mis-drops. But your platoon was ordered to capture and hold a bridge but the enemy forces have twice the manpower and twice the gear and vehicles than you do but your platoon have enough explosives to destroy the bridge twice over. But when you radio to a higher up that you¡¯re going to blow the bridge but high command tells you not too. What would you do?¡±


    Luna took a sip from her canteen and replied, ¡°Damn straight I would blow the bridge because rather blow a bridge than letting the enemy use it to move men, vehicles, gear and equipment to the front. But I would¡¯ve had the bridge wired to blow so the moment the enemy starts to cross it then I can use a remote detonator or a explosive plunger and detonate the explosives when the enemy starts to move on the bridge and take out God knows how many soldiers with several vehicles probably tanks, APCs or IFVs then I would in a heartbeat. It¡¯s not going to be like that movie where a squad of Rangers go across France to find a single man to send home but instead of destroying the bridge they decided to fight the Germans in the town instead of blowing the bridge that¡¯s in Ramelle.¡±


    In the second half of her sentence, I knew she was talking about a movie. But I agree with her, rather destroying something vital than letting it fall in enemy hands because once friendly reinforcements show up they can have their engineers or combat engineers to repair or fix what we destroyed.


    Surveying the ranks of Second and Third platoons, I couldn''t help but take pride in the sight. The soldiers, a steadfast line of resilience, were mostly equipped with the X16 assault rifles¡ªa licensed variant of the venerable M16A1, rechambered for the heavier 7.62x52mm rounds. They had the familiar form of the old warhorse but boasted the rugged reliability of an AK47. Among them, paratroopers stood out, their arms cradling the futuristic lines of energy weapons, reminiscent of the M1928 Thompson, yet modified with a G36C-style rail-top carry handle.


    Lieutenant Luna was a departure from the typical hard-nosed officer trope. She didn''t fit the mold of the barking commanders often caricatured in war films. Her leadership style was more nuanced, a blend of stern resolve and quiet authority. She had a way of merging Second platoon with her own, a tactic that spoke of her seasoned experience in command. It was clear she wasn''t green, nor was she a product of some sterile military academy''s leadership program. When the chips were down, Luna was the type to stand firm, not flee.


    Her military career began in ''95, and her first taste of war was a baptism by fire. The lieutenant of Third platoon had deserted, claiming he''d fetch help, leaving his RTO behind. In Little Bird, desertion was no small matter¡ªit was met with the ultimate penalty. His replacement, an eager Ensign fresh from training, was ill-prepared for the grim dance of war. He was a stark contrast to Luna, who had quickly learned to navigate the chasm between textbook strategies and the chaotic reality of the battlefield.


    The troops had a saying about academy officers, dubbing them "five minutes" for their expected survival time in combat. It was a grim joke that underscored the harshness of war.


    Curiosity got the better of me. "Lieutenant Maud, before you became a Lieutenant, did you serve under any others?" I inquired.


    Luna''s response was tinged with annoyance. "Yes. My first battle, one lieutenant fled¡ªpicked up by the 15th Infantry Regiment, of the 3rd Infantry Division covering our retreat. Desertion is a firing squad offense here. The second Lieutenant? He barely missed the ''Five minutes'' mark. We nicknamed him ''4:59''¡ªboth because that¡¯s how long he lasted in his first battle and the second because of what time he died in Eastern Europe."


    I gazed at Lieutenant Luna, her silhouette framed against the backdrop of the trees. ¡°What kind of officer are you, Lieutenant?¡± I ventured, my voice barely above the hum of activity.


    She paused, her eyes reflecting a depth of understanding born from years in the trenches. ¡°In the Little Bird Military, officers fall into three categories,¡± she began, her tone measured. ¡°Category A: those who chase fame and glory, indifferent to the blood and toil of their men. They¡¯re the type to send soldiers to face a tank armed with nothing but bravado. Category B: those who value their troops, yet are willing to challenge the enemy, regardless of the danger. And then there¡¯s Category C: the tacticians, who see war as a grand chessboard, always holding a strategic ace up their sleeve, meticulously calculating every move to secure victory with minimal casualties.¡±


    She turned to me, a wry smile playing on her lips. ¡°I embody both Categories B and C. I¡¯ve encountered Category A officers among the Airborne¡ªhad they lived in another era, they¡¯d have ordered paratroopers to drop straight onto Normandy¡¯s beaches on D-Day, rather than securing key positions inland. But we paratroopers, we¡¯re not cut out for naval invasions; that¡¯s a job for the Marines..¡±


    Lieutenant Luna¡¯s voice cut through the tense silence, ¡°Mitchell, the map, now.¡± Her command was swift, a reflection of the urgency of our mission to rendezvous with First Platoon. As Mitchell unfolded the map with practiced hands, I leaned in for a closer look. The Little Bird flag was depicted in reverse, and the terrain seemed all wrong.


    ¡°Why is everything backwards?¡± I asked, puzzled.


    Mitchell glanced at me, his expression a mix of seriousness and a hint of insider knowledge. ¡°Little Bird¡¯s military cartography isn¡¯t straightforward. We alter terrain features and reverse declinations intentionally. It¡¯s a safeguard¡ªshould the map fall into enemy hands, it leads them astray thinking they got a map for another region or grid.¡±


    Luna overheard and chimed in, her tone a mix of frustration and resolve. ¡°The former Captain lost the accurate map to the enemy. His carelessness amounted to treason.¡± She paused, her gaze hardening. ¡°I took care of him¡ªdefenestration. It may have been an accident, but it saved a bullet for the firing squad.¡±


    Mitchell, with his dual life as a cop, added, ¡°Defenestration, the act of throwing someone out of a window. It¡¯s a term I¡¯m all too familiar with.¡±


    Luna scrutinized the map with a strategic eye, ensuring every detail was accounted for before handing it back to Mitchell, who stowed it securely. Her gaze then shifted to me, piercing and deliberate.


    "Hey civvie, you familiar with the Golden Rule?" she inquired, her voice carrying the weight of command.


    I nodded, reciting the familiar adage, "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you."


    A wry smile flickered across Luna''s face. "Not out here, civvie. In war, the Golden Rule is simpler: take cover or die." Her words were stark, devoid of any philosophical embellishments, distilled to the raw truth of survival on the battlefield.


    The march was arduous, the underbrush beneath our boots snapping and yielding with each step. Yet, despite the challenging terrain, we managed to converge on First Platoon''s position.


    "Seems like the wind favored you, delivering your heavy equipment crate right to our doorstep," quipped the First Platoon Lieutenant.


    Luna, ever the stoic, responded with her usual philosophical calm. "Everything happens for a reason," she stated, a hint of certainty in her voice.


    Mitchell drew me aside, his tone conspiratorial. "Luna''s a fatalist," he confided. "She believes in destiny, that every event is predetermined and unavoidable. ''Everything happens for a reason'' is her mantra, and she''s Agnostic¡ªdoesn''t put her faith in deities."


    As we eavesdropped on Luna''s conversation with the First Platoon Lieutenant, it became clear that the mix-up with the equipment was seen as serendipitous. First Platoon had ended up with Third Platoon''s heavy gear, but in a gesture of camaraderie, they returned the favor. Among the exchanged arsenal were the Man-Portable Railgun (MPR)¡ªa handheld behemoth harnessing electromagnetic forces to propel projectiles at devastating speeds¡ªand the Heavy Laser Cannon (HLC), a beast of a weapon that unleashed a relentless laser capable of slicing through the toughest materials, usually mounted on armored vehicles or fortifications.


    In the back of my mind, a thought surfaced¡ªit must be Visala''s doing, the unseen hand guiding our fates if this was war.


    Visala, the enigmatic genius of Little Bird, is a force to be reckoned with¡ªher intellect a blade honed sharp. Married to our cousin, Lieutenant Mitchell ¡°Mitzy¡± Waterson, he carries the nickname with a sense of inherited pride, a nickname bestowed by his mother that shielded him from the barracks¡¯ banter. Sergeant Mitchell, known among his comrades as ¡°Lightning Feet,¡± earned his stripes on the high school football field. A wide receiver with the speed of a cheetah, once he had the pigskin, he was a blur¡ªa streak of lightning the defense couldn¡¯t hope to catch.


    Mitchell¡¯s path could have led to the roar of stadiums and the adulation of fans. Yet, he chose a different kind of uniform¡ªthe badge of a cop, the protector of peace in the same streets where he and Cadence built their life. His frame may not match the titans of the gridiron, weighing in at a mere 150 pounds, but his heart is as mighty as any linebacker¡¯s. Content with a modest $115 a week, he forgoes the siren call of a quarter-million-dollar contract.


    Some may jest, chiding him for not seizing the collegiate gridiron glory, for not harnessing the G.I. Bill¡¯s windfall to chase a degree or a trade. But Mitchell¡¯s eyes are fixed on a different prize¡ªa legacy beyond trophies and accolades. The spark in his gaze betrays his anticipation, a paternal flame kindling within. Though he may deflect inquiries with a nonchalant shrug, those who know him see the truth. Mitchell stands on the cusp of fatherhood, the next chapter in his story poised to unfold in the coming months¡ªa narrative rich with the promise of new life and dreams yet to be realized.


    Mitchell and I had been trekking through the rugged terrain, the weight of our gear and the anticipation of the exercise''s end pressing upon us. "So, Mitchell, when did you and Cadence first cross paths?" I asked, seeking to lighten the mood with a touch of personal history.


    "We''ve been inseparable since the sandbox days of Kindergarten," he replied with a nostalgic grin. "Started dating in eighth grade and never looked back. But let''s save the walk down memory lane for after this drill."


    Our journey led us to the LZ, where the tandem rotor helicopters throbbed with life, ready to whisk us back to Fort Colossal. As a civilian observer, I was granted a rare glimpse into the meticulous world of the paratroopers. They packed their chutes with a precision and care that spoke volumes of their dedication¡ªno detail was too small, no fold too insignificant. It was a ritual of survival, each fold a silent vow against sabotage.


    The next jump was hours away, and Mitchell tossed me his keys, a gesture of trust. "Grab a bite, Mac. You look like you could use it." His car, a ''57 Thunderbird, gleamed azure blue¡ªa classic beauty with a heart of American steel. The three-speed manual was a beast I wasn''t quite prepared for. As I fumbled with the stick, Mitchell''s exasperated cry cut through, "Dear God, Mac. Use the clutch! You''re grinding the gears to dust!"


    He hurried over, the frustration clear on his face as he killed the engine and retrieved the keys. "Fourteen hours of blood and sweat went into fixing her up," he lamented. "Now, I''ve got another round of repairs thanks to you."


    Guilt gnawed at me. My own ride was a 4-speed manual, a familiar friend beneath my hands. This Thunderbird, though¡ªa relic from a time when Mitchell''s Aunt and Uncle deemed him roadworthy at the age of fifteen¡ªwas a different beast altogether. In Little Bird''s Commonwealth of Mountain, they hand you the keys early, a year ahead of the other four Commonwealths. I should''ve known better, but the nuances of a three-speed were foreign to me, a far cry from the automatic comforts of my Alabama driving test.


    I offered an apologetic shrug, hoping to convey my remorse. "Sorry, Mitch. I guess some gears are just meant for more practiced hands. I¡¯m used to driving either an automatic or a four manual transmission car, not a three manual transmission."


    Mitchell told me to think of a three manual transmission car as a four manual car minus one.


    ¡°So think about a three gear car with four gears minus the fourth gear?¡± I asked.


    Mitchell replied, ¡°Reverse, First Gear, Second Gear, and Third gear.¡±


    I then got out of his car and decided to walk into town then try again.


    Stepping into the local store, the fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a sterile glow over the aisles. I was there for something quick, those pre-packaged lunches that you grab when time''s not on your side. But there, among the mundane routine of grocery shopping, was a familiar face¡ªCadence, my cousin-in-law, her cart half-full and her attention on the shelf before her.


    "Hey Cadence, long time no see," I greeted, the words feeling both warm and awkward as they hung in the air between us. I was about to delve into the kind of conversation that starts with light banter but can quickly tread into personal territory. "So, not to be nosy, but what''s it like..."


    She cut me off before I could finish, her voice a mix of pride and pragmatism. "Mitchell had his options with the G.I. Bill¡ªcollege, university, even going pro in football or baseball. But he didn''t go down that path," she explained, and I listened, leaning against my cart. "For one, he can''t stand the paparazzi, always snapping photos, spinning stories out of thin air. Then there''s the women, the kind who whisper sweet nothings, trying to edge me out, eyeing his wallet more than his heart. And if an injury benched him, they''d scatter faster than roaches when the lights come on."


    She paused, picking up a can of peas and inspecting it before continuing. "And you know, to Mitchell, sports are about the joy, the game, not the paycheck. Here in Little Bird, we''ve seen players downplay injuries, push past their prime, all because they can''t let go. They''re young, in their twenties, but their bodies are on borrowed time. Sure, quarterbacks, special teams¡ªthey might last into their forties, fifties even, because they''re not the ones getting slammed every play."


    Her eyes met mine, and there was a softness there, a love that went beyond material things. "Mitchell might not be rolling in dough, but that''s not why I''m with him. It''s about who he is. We might not jet off to exotic locales, but every evening he comes home, it''s like he''s brought a slice of paradise with him."


    As she spoke, I saw a different side of the life they''d chosen, one built on values and shared moments, not dollar signs. It was a reminder that sometimes, the richest experiences come from the simplest pleasures.


    The frozen food aisle was a stark contrast to the warmth of our conversation, the air tinged with the scent of cold plastic and preservatives. Cadence''s hand hovered over a pack of hot dogs, a small smile playing on her lips.


    "Mitchell might tease about hot dogs being kid stuff, but he''ll wolf one down if there''s no burger in sight," she said with a laugh. "He''s a simple man at heart, prefers a good, juicy burger over anything fancy."


    She tossed the pack into her cart, her expression turning contemplative. "You know, back in school, I knew folks who''d give ''gold digger'' a whole new meaning. They''d latch onto someone, bleed them dry, and then disappear at the first sign of trouble¡ªlike shadows fleeing from the light."


    Cadence shook her head, a mix of disgust and pity in her eyes. "It''s a game to some, dating for dollars, leaving a trail of broken hearts and empty wallets. But that''s not what life''s about, not for us. Mitchell''s not the kind to chase after money or fame. He''s real, you know?"


    Her voice softened, filled with a fondness that only years of shared history could weave. "The first time my mom met him, she just knew. ''He''s a keeper,'' she said. And she was right. We''ve been inseparable since we were kids, long before life got complicated. We don''t need much¡ªjust each other. And that''s enough."


    As she spoke, I could see the truth in her words, the genuine connection that transcended material desires. It was a reminder of what truly mattered in this world turned upside down¡ªa reminder that, sometimes, the richest treasures are found not in wallets, but in hearts.


    Cadence''s laughter echoed down the aisle as she tossed the hot dogs into her cart. "You and Claire, huh? Like two peas in a pod¡ªor should I say, bedbugs on a mattress?" she teased, a knowing glint in her eye.


    I raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk on my face. "And how exactly did you come to know about Claire?"


    She shrugged, her smile unwavering. "Watersons and their open books," she quipped. "But hey, your love life is your own. I''m just here for the gossip."


    I couldn''t help but laugh, the sound mingling with the soft hum of the freezers. It was refreshing, the ease of acceptance in her words. It stood in stark contrast to my mother''s stubborn views on my bisexuality¡ªjust a ''phase'' in her eyes.


    As we navigated the store, the conversation flowed as easily as our steps. "So, what''s it like? The housewife gig?" I asked, curious about her day-to-day life.


    Cadence stopped in her tracks, her expression turning serious. "Housewife? Hardly," she corrected me. "Sure, I''m often at home, but that''s because our farm demands it. We''re harvesting apples, oranges, and all sorts of crops. And let me tell you, living in the tropics has its perks¡ªendless growing seasons, no frost to fight off."


    She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "The military pays us a dime for every piece of fruit and veg we produce. By year''s end, Mitchell''s the one drowning in numbers, not me."


    A mischievous grin spread across her face. "And cooking? Please, the last time I tried, the kitchen caught on fire. Let''s just say, I leave the culinary arts to Mitchell that he got from his mother."


    The sarcasm in my voice was as thick as the tension that often hung in the air these days. "I bet that was a blast," I quipped, imagining the chaos of an impromptu move.


    Cadence''s laughter was light, a sound that seemed to push back against the weight of our reality. "Actually, it was," she said, her eyes brightening at the memory. "Staying with my mom meant she got to spoil the grandkids rotten. You should''ve seen the fort they built in her living room."


    I raised an eyebrow, a little surprised. "I thought you were just starting your family. You know, the first baby on the way?"


    She shook her head, a strand of hair falling across her face as she corrected me. "No, this is number four. Rose, Platinum, and McKinney are already ruling the kindergarten playground. And Rose? She''s got Mitchell wrapped around her little finger. Always clinging to his leg, never far from her dad."


    As she spoke, I could almost see the image she painted¡ªa snapshot of domestic bliss amidst the chaos, a father''s love serving as a beacon of normalcy for his children. It was a stark reminder of what we were all fighting for: not just survival, but the chance to live, to love, and to hold on to the moments that made life worth living.


    Cadence''s story brought a vivid image to my mind, one of pure childhood joy and the unbreakable bonds of family. "The moment Mitchell steps through the door, it''s like Rose has a radar for him," she said, her voice filled with amusement. "She''s like a little koala, clinging to his leg with a grip that would rival a vice. And nothing¡ªnothing¡ªcan pry her away unless it''s her favorite meal on the table."


    I laughed, the sound echoing my own childhood memories. "I can relate. I was a daddy''s girl too, though I don''t remember ever being quite that attached."


    Cadence nodded, her eyes twinkling with pride. "She''s tough, our little Rose. Just the other day at the park, she took a tumble from the jungle gym. Any other kid might have burst into tears, but not her. She was back on her feet in no time, dusting herself off like a true trooper."


    It was clear that Rose was cut from the same cloth as her father¡ªa resilience and strength that seemed to run deep in their family. In a world that demanded toughness, it was heartening to see such traits emerging even in the youngest among us. It was these qualities, I mused, that would shape the future of our resistance, our community, and perhaps, one day, the world.


    As we strolled through the store, the conversation took a turn towards the future, towards Rose and the path she might walk. "She''s got the spirit of a soldier," I mused, stacking cans into Cadence''s cart.


    Cadence was quick to shake her head, her voice firm. "No military for Rose. She''ll be the one baking cakes, dashing into fires, or maybe even helping pregnant women delivering babies. Anything but that."


    I couldn''t help but chuckle at the irony. "A cop or a firefighter''s okay, but not the military? That''s an interesting line to draw."


    She sighed, a hint of worry creasing her brow. "If she ever does sign up, she''d better be stationed somewhere safe, far from any danger."


    The aisles around us seemed to close in as we delved deeper into the realm of ''what ifs.'' "You''ve seen those sci-fi movies, right? The future''s all about tech¡ªrobots, drones, armies without faces. But what happens when the enemy turns our own tech against us?"


    Cadence dismissed the thought with a wave of her hand. "That''s just fiction."


    But I pressed on, the examples rolling off my tongue. "Nuclear power, international travel, aircraft, jet engines, smartphones¡ªonce fiction, now reality. Even some cars are ditching dials for touchscreens."


    Cadence''s words painted a vivid picture of Little Bird, a country seemingly frozen in time, its streets lined with vehicles that whispered tales of a bygone era. "Touchscreens in cars? That''s a daydream here," she said with a dismissive wave. "Our rides are classics, relics of the ''40s to ''60s¡ªnothing like the sci-fi tech you''re talking about."


    Clearlake, the town I was visiting, was an intriguing blend of past and future¡ªa retro futuristic canvas where nostalgic architecture from the 1950s American suburbs met modern innovation. It was a community hub, boasting a cinema, gym, restaurants, and more, all serving the families connected to Fort Colossal. Despite its military ties, Clearlake thrived under civilian governance, its doors open to all, a testament to the town''s inclusive spirit.


    Cadence shared insights into the local life, explaining how military neighbors contributed part of their pay towards housing, a system reminiscent of the Basic Housing Allowance, adjusted for marital status, rank, and dependents. It was a practical arrangement, ensuring that each family''s needs were met, from the single pilot to the household bustling with children.


    I was about to delve deeper when Cadence cut in, her voice tinged with a hint of sorrow. "Mitchell''s home wasn''t always ours," she revealed. "It belonged to his mom and stepdad until tragedy struck. But Nat, his third sister, passed the keys to him when he came of age. Now, he shoulders the responsibility, his sergeant''s salary covering our life''s expenses."


    As she spoke, she added chicken to her cart, the mundane act a stark contrast to the weight of her words.


    The checkout line moved with a rhythm all its own, a dance of beep and shuffle as Cadence and I loaded the conveyor belt. ¡°Are we hoofing it back with all this?¡± I asked, eyeing the growing pile of groceries.


    Cadence chuckled, her keys jangling in her hand. ¡°Not a chance. I¡¯ve got wheels¡ªMitchell¡¯s got his ride, and I¡¯ve got the family chariot.¡±


    As the cashier worked with practiced precision, I watched in fascination. ¡°A bagger? That¡¯s a new one for me,¡± I remarked, noting the efficiency of the process.


    Cadence paid¡ªa mere $50 for a cartful of sustenance¡ªand we wheeled our bounty out to her car, a vintage beauty from the 1940s. The groceries settled into the backseat, a snug fit that would¡¯ve been impossible with the kids in tow.


    ¡°If the little ones were here, we¡¯d be playing trunk Tetris,¡± she quipped, a smile in her voice.


    I confessed my secret timing of the checkout process. ¡°Three minutes, two seconds. Record time. I¡¯ve seen snails move faster on other days.¡±


    Cadence laughed, the sound bright against the hum of the parking lot. ¡°You should see it during blackouts. Out come the old registers, all buttons and manual inputs. It¡¯s like stepping back in time.¡±


    She shook her head, her gaze lingering on the car¡¯s dashboard. ¡°Math¡¯s not my thing¡ªgive me a field to tend or a fire to put out, but numbers? That¡¯s Mitchell¡¯s domain. I swear his mother replaced his brain with a computer processor.¡±


    We then went to their house, a nice two story farmhouse with three bedrooms, one bath on the second floor, and another bedroom behind the stairs in which I learned that the master bedroom behind the stairs is Cadence and Mitchell¡¯s bedroom. They chose that one because they know in the future their kids will try to sneak out and that their bedroom will be right where they can catch them in the act.


    I put my shoes by the front door and walked on the hardwood floor barefooted.


    I helped Cadence put the groceries away but I made myself some brunch in which I just made fried eggs on slightly toasted bread before going back to Fort Colossal for another airborne training jump.


    _____________________________


    Back at Fort Colossal.


    ¡°Hey Mitchell, why do the soldiers under Luna¡¯s leadership do what she says but how they respond is a bit hesitant?¡± I asked.


    Mitchell replied, ¡°Her first day as Lieutenant the platoon walked right into an ambush with her being the sole survivor. She may have a stoic exterior but she truly does care about the Paras under her command. But she has a reputation for being completely mission-oriented. But some nickname she has gotten is Grim Reaper because out of the 30 which is a platoon size 29 were KIA and some speculate that she either intentionally led her platoon into that ambush while others saying that it¡¯s war. Her stoic nature is implied to be her attempt to cope with all the death she¡¯s witnessed from her time in the Airborne for the past fifteen years.¡±


    Mitchell then went and talked about how Luna isn¡¯t one of those officers who will send her soldiers into combat that¡¯s ill prepared and that Luna¡¯s leadership style is rigorous and uncompromising. Her training methods are described as harsh, but they are respected by her soldiers for their effectiveness. The discipline she instills is recognized as a form of necessary toughness that prepares them to survive the chaos of battle. This contrasts sharply with the practices of some officers she knows, whose harshness crosses into mistreatment or bullying, eroding trust and morale within their ranks.


    Moreover, Luna has witnessed officers who falter under the pressures of combat, unable to perform basic tasks like map reading, or who become paralyzed by fear, seeking refuge in foxholes rather than leading from the front. Others adhere too strictly to regulations, failing to adapt to the fluid dynamics of warfare. These experiences have informed Luna¡¯s own leadership, emphasizing the need for a balance between discipline and adaptability, between the letter of military doctrine and the unpredictable nature of combat. Luna has seen other officers who would heedlessly send units into engagements for which they are ill-prepared, often resulting in unnecessary casualties.


    ¡°Why is she a bit rough around the edges?¡± I asked.


    Mitchell replied, ¡°She didn¡¯t have the best life experience in her youth. She never knew her father and her mother favored Star who is Luna¡¯s oldest sister and Luna was always an afterthought. And back in 1989 when Luna was fifteen when Star dropped out of school because she got pregnant and was going to graduate in the class of 1990 but Star dropped out due to pregnancy, well Luna said she was going to drop out too but their mother dragged Luna into the kitchen and poured hot grease down her back.¡±


    I felt a chill run down my spine, the image too vivid in my mind. ¡°Damn,¡± I muttered, ¡°no wonder Luna¡¯s always in fight mode.¡± It was a harsh reality, one that made Luna¡¯s resilience all the more remarkable.


    Shaking my head, I let out a low whistle. ¡°It¡¯s like she¡¯s been through a war nobody can see,¡± I murmured, more to myself than to Mitchell.


    He nodded solemnly, his eyes reflecting a story that seemed too complex for words. ¡°It¡¯s a tangled web, Mac. Star and Luna share a mother but not a father. Star¡¯s dad, the one married to their mom, met his end at the Berlin Wall in ''71. Their mom made it out, though, took a boat to New York, had Star, then Luna came along in ''74.¡±


    Mitchell¡¯s gaze drifted, lost in the past. ¡°Luna¡¯s got this way of making me feel like I¡¯m the kid she never had. And her marriage? Talk about a flash in the pan. Eight hours of ¡®I do¡¯s¡¯ turned into ¡®I don¡¯t¡¯ when her so-called husband claimed he was hitting the store but ended up at some seedy joint instead.¡±


    I couldn¡¯t help but scoff, the irony bitter on my tongue. ¡°Eight hours, huh? If I had a spouse vanish for that long on a bread run, I¡¯d have a whole bakery set up by the time they got back. Some people just don¡¯t know the value of commitment.¡± My voice was a mix of humor and disdain, a defense mechanism against the absurdity of it all.


    Mitchell¡¯s words hung in the air as I made sure my harness and parachute was not loose and not too tight just right, my mind half on the task, half on the conversation. ¡°I usually let my wife handle the grocery runs, but I tag along often,¡± he said, a hint of guilt lacing his tone. ¡°Still, I can¡¯t shake off the feeling for Luna. What¡¯s rougher, you think? Being stood up at the altar or an eight-hour marriage to a guy who bails for a ¡®loaf of bread¡¯ and ends up at some shady club?¡±


    I chuckled, sliding a glance at him. ¡°Ran into Cadence earlier at the market. She picked up chicken tonight, wanted you to know. But with her being Luna¡¯s niece and all¡­¡± I trailed off, raising an eyebrow.


    Mitchell just shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. ¡°Luna¡¯s cool with it. As long as I respect Cadence, treat her right, she¡¯s got no beef with me. It¡¯s all about respect, Mac. That¡¯s the code we live by.¡±


    So there I was, strapped into my seat with the kind of excitement that¡¯s half thrill, half ¡®what-the-heck-did-I-get-myself-into?¡¯ I forked over a cool $180¡ªwhich, by the way, is a small fortune that could¡¯ve been spent on an epic night out or a fancy new gadget. But no, here I am, about to jump out of a perfectly good airplane. Why? Because apparently, I love to challenge gravity and my sanity in equal measure.


    Up ahead, Mitchell, the platoon¡¯s XO and RTO, is probably getting cozy with Luna. He¡¯s got to stick to her like glue because, let¡¯s face it, someone¡¯s got to relay the big shots¡¯ orders down the line. Meanwhile, I¡¯m back here plotting not to faceplant into the dirt like last time. Oh, the glory of airborne ops!


    This time, it¡¯s all about nailing the landing. I mean, how hard can it be, right? These soldiers make it look like a walk in the park. They¡¯ve been leaping from towers and planes for years, turning fear into a hobby. They hit the ground running¡ªliterally. Legs bent, chutes flaring, eyes scouting for the perfect patch of earth to claim. Then there¡¯s Mitchell, the human gazelle, already unbuckling his gear mid-air and hitting the ground in full sprint mode. Me? I¡¯m just trying not to be the star of a slapstick landing that ends with my butt imprint on the drop zone.


    But hey, it¡¯s all in good fun, and if I can stick the landing this time, maybe I¡¯ll earn a few style points. Or at least avoid becoming the day¡¯s comic relief. Wish me luck!


    So, there I am, the queen of sarcasm, surrounded by a bunch of paratroopers who seem to think it''s show-and-tell time. They''re all, "Hey Mac, you know which cord to yank for your main chute?" And I''m like, "Yeah, I paid attention during the five-second briefing, thanks." They''re egging me on to pop it open right there, but I''m not about to turn this bird into a circus tent. Plus, I''d rather not distract the pilot and end up skydiving without a plane.


    Now, let''s talk about the jump. Last time, it was all about that static line life¡ªhook up, step out, and let the plane do the work. But this time? Oh no, it''s all manual, baby. It''s just me and the wild blue yonder, playing a high-stakes game of ''pull the right cord or become a lawn dart.''


    Let''s be real, the odds of me pulling off a Hollywood landing are about as good as finding a unicorn at the end of a rainbow. But hey, I''m a realist. I know there''s a solid chance I''ll be kissing the ground with my face again. They call it a "botched" landing, but I call it an "unplanned rapid descent to humility."


    As for the rest of the jump crew, you can see the wheels turning in their heads, "Why the heck did I sign up for this?" Yeah, it''s a legit question. These folks have seen some things, lost buddies, and here they are, floating down like sitting ducks, easy targets for anything from pop guns to big boy anti-aircraft cannons.


    Those old-school recruitment posters with the paratroopers blasting away with a Thompson SMG one-handed? Please. That might''ve flown back in the day, but now? It''s about as practical as eating soup with a fork. But you know what? To each their own. Some folks march to the beat of a different drum¡ªor in this case, jump to the rhythm of a different gun.


    I¡¯ve got a front-row seat to the most hardcore group of sky warriors you¡¯ll ever meet. These paratroopers? They¡¯re like walking armories. With M16A1s, M14E2s, and .30 machine-guns at the ready, they¡¯ve got more firepower than a Fourth of July fireworks show. And envy? Pfft, that¡¯s for the other guys. Our crew¡¯s got two solid years of intense training under their belts, and a love affair with assault grenades that turns them into close combat legends.


    These folks are the ninjas of the sky¡ªdrop ''em behind enemy lines, and they¡¯ll vanish into thin air, only to pop up where you least expect them. They¡¯re the boogeymen that go bump in the night, the constant threat that keeps the enemy up, wondering, ¡°Where are they?¡±


    Let¡¯s talk about their spirit¡ªthese paratroopers redefine ¡°fanaticism.¡± They¡¯re the kind that¡¯ll stare down the Grim Reaper and ask if he¡¯s up for a duel. Retreat? Not in their vocabulary. They¡¯d rather dance with danger than take a single step back. They¡¯re the ones who¡¯ll take on the big, bad units that send regular G.I.s running for the hills. Because being surrounded? That¡¯s just another Tuesday for these airborne daredevils.


    You can tell a lot about a person by their banter, and let me say, the chatter among these paratroopers is anything but novice..


    So, Mitchell''s been running his mouth about how each platoon gets its own slice of sky for a DZ (drop zone, for the uninitiated). These folks? They''re not just planning their weekend BBQ. They''re strategizing their landings, RV (rendezvous) points, and the whole nine yards at a squad level. It''s like a chess game where the pieces fall from the sky, and every move is life or death.


    Now, let''s talk about parachutes. These troopers are their own packers. Why? Because nobody likes surprises, especially the kind that involve a non-cooperative chute at a few thousand feet. It''s a trust thing¡ªpack it yourself, and if you mess up, well, you''ve only got yourself to blame. Each chute''s got a number, and it''s like a sacred bond between a jumper and their silk lifeline.


    The way they talk about their next moves, their tactics once they hit terra firma¡ªit''s like listening to a well-oiled machine. No cogs out of place here. They''re coordinated, they''re sharp, and they''re ready to turn the enemy''s day into a very bad one. It''s impressive, really. Makes you proud to be a part of this crazy family that falls from the sky and fights like hell once they land.


    The tension in the air was thicker than the coffee in the mess hall as the red light flickered on. We all stood up, a forest of camo and anticipation, waiting for that green glow. And there''s Lieutenant Luna, the kind of leader who''s been kicking ass and taking names since ''93. She''s not just a leader; she''s a force of nature with a rank.


    If you told her to hold a bridge, she''d turn it into Fort Knox. TNT, C4, Plastic Explosives, Satchel Charges¡ªyou name it, she''d wire it up like a Christmas tree from hell. If push came to shove, she''d blow that bridge sky-high, leaving the enemy scratching their heads and looking for a detour. Then, Engineers or Combat Engineers would swoop in, building a pontoon bridge faster than you can say ''reinforcements.''


    Just like that, I took the leap of faith¡ªagain without being shoved out. This time, it was different. After a heart-stopping few seconds of free fall, feeling like an eagle (or maybe a flying squirrel), I yanked the cord. There''s that gut-wrenching jerk, and voil¨¤, my chute open, and I''m floating down like a leaf on a breezy day.


    I''m not just falling; I''m sailing, baby! I flare my chute, bent my knees, and¡ªwould you believe it¡ªI stuck the landing. No face-planting into the dirt this time. I was like a cat, all grace and poise. I watched the pros do it and mimicked them like a paratrooper parrot.


    The harness connector, that sneaky little devil, tried to put up a fight, but I showed it who''s boss. A bit of muscle, a dash of determination, and pop! I was free, standing tall, and not a speck of earth on my face. Take that, gravity!


    Well, wouldn''t you know it, Macaroni Waterson here, and I''ve just been gifted with a surprise visit from a dark olive drab parachute. Not just any parachute, but one that''s decided to grace me with its presence by landing smack-dab on top of me. After a brief tussle, I discover it''s the Third Platoon, 3rd Squad''s equipment crate. Oh boy, it''s like Christmas for the gun enthusiast¡ªpacked with a Browning M1919A6 machine gun, a trio of Anti-Armor launchers, and three portable Anti-Air systems. Talk about heavy metal thunder!


    I give the crate a respectful nod and back away because, let''s face it, I''m not about to play Santa with this kind of firepower. Meanwhile, the paratroopers are donning their gas masks, not for a fashion statement, but because they''re about to unleash hell with those launchers, and nobody''s got time for flash and backblast when you''re busy being a badass.


    The few times I''ve seen these masks in action, it''s either been a drill to see how fast they can gear up for a CBRN showdown or just to amp up the intimidation factor. And trust me, nothing says "don''t mess with me" quite like a squad of masked paratroopers.


    But let''s talk about their skills. These paratroopers? They''re like the Olympic athletes of warfare. They glide from cover to cover with the grace of a gazelle, their aim is so sharp they could probably shoot the wings off a fly while blindfolded, and they''ve got this whole brotherhood and sisterhood thing going on with suppressing fire and blindfire. And grenades? They''re tossing them around with the precision of a chef flipping pancakes.


    So yeah, I''m here, trying not to get squashed by airborne supply drops, and all the while, I''m in awe of these paratroopers.


    You know, I''ve been scratching my head about the same thing. Why haven''t I seen an Engineer company around? Well, let me break it down for you. The Little Bird Army''s got a trio of engineering marvels: the Engineers, who are the brains at the bases; the Combat Engineers, who dive into the thick of it to build, fix, and do their engineering wizardry under fire; and then there are the Assault Engineers, the demolition daredevils who make things go boom in the enemy''s backyard.


    But here''s the kicker: when you''re a paratrooper trained to drop behind enemy lines, you can''t exactly bring the whole engineering entourage with you. It''s like showing up to a stealth mission with a marching band. So, what do you do? You improvise, adapt, and overcome. These paratroopers are like MacGyver on steroids¡ªthey''re outnumbered, outgunned, but never outsmarted. They''ve got a PhD in demolition and a master''s in kicking butt.


    Sometimes, when the chips are down, and they''re paradropped into the fight, they might find themselves without their trusty Combat Engineers and Assault Engineers¡ªor their big bags of explosive party favors. It''s like showing up to a potluck and realizing you left your famous casserole at home.


    Now, let''s talk fashion. These paras are rocking the classic M1967 uniforms, but with a twist. They''ve got bullet-resistant armor that''s as light as a feather but tough as nails. It''s the kind of gear that laughs in the face of pistol rounds, shrugs off shrapnel, and gives a big, fat "nope" to armor-piercing and full metal jacket rifle rounds. Mobility and protection? They''ve got it in spades.


    I decided to run to where my cousin Mitchell is because he¡¯s with Luna the platoon commander when I got there she has a leather case in her hand and she was looking at something which looks like a map but she didn¡¯t look like she was lost or confused but was either planning a route or a backup route in the back of her mind.


    Mitchell''s got this high-tech gizmo strapped to his arm, looking like something straight out of a sci-fi flick. It''s about the size of a smartphone, but with all the bells and whistles of a tactical pad. Me? I know better than to poke my nose where it doesn''t belong, especially when it comes to fancy gadgets that probably cost more than my entire gear.


    Luna, with her eagle-eye for detail, hands the map back to Mitchell, who stashes it away like a secret treasure. Then, like a conductor orchestrating a symphony of soldiers, she directs the squads with precision. First squad heads south, third squad north, each a quarter mile out, setting up a defensive perimeter as seamless as a well-rehearsed play.


    Mitchell, he''s got this saying about Luna, "She might not always do the right thing. But she always does it for the right reasons." And it''s true. If Luna wasn''t born to wear the uniform, I could picture her running the show at the Little Bird equivalent of UPS, not taking any flak from anyone. You laugh at her shorts? That''s a one-way ticket to the ER, courtesy of Luna''s right hook. She''s got that look in her eyes, the kind that says she''s not just battle-ready¡ªshe''s battle-born.


    If the zombie apocalypse ever hits, I¡¯m betting on Lieutenant Luna and her platoon to be the last squad standing. I mean, the live fire training I¡¯ve witnessed? It¡¯s like a scene straight out of a horror flick, only the zombies are automatic targets, and the heroes are real-life paratroopers with nerves of steel and a ¡°double tap¡± policy that would make any undead think twice.


    They¡¯ve got this mantra, ¡°If it looks dead, put one more bullet into it just to be sure,¡± and another gem, ¡°Two in the head keeps it dead.¡± It¡¯s not just catchy; it¡¯s survival 101 for these battle-hardened vets. They¡¯ve learned the hard way that the only good enemy is a double-checked enemy. Except for the .50 Cal HMG team¡ªthose folks are in a league of their own. When they unleash their explosive, armor-piercing, and incendiary rounds, it¡¯s game over. No second shots needed.


    As for our grand exit strategy? It¡¯s all hush-hush, top-secret stuff. Only Luna knows the way to our evac site, and that¡¯s the thrill of the training. We jump into the unknown, march a couple of miles with only our wits and willpower, and then it¡¯s back to Fort Colossal we go. It¡¯s the kind of adventure that makes you feel alive.


    As the march pressed on, the air filled with the robust voices of Second Squad belting out their Regimental song. There I was, just taking it all in. Singing? Not my forte, and besides, I don''t know the words. My girlfriend, though? She could''ve given them a run for their money with her pipes. The whole scene had a ''Full Metal Jacket'' vibe, minus the Hollywood script.


    Mitchell, my cousin, stayed quiet, and so did Luna. Mitchell''s not the singing type, and Luna? Well, who knows? Maybe she''s more of a shower singer.


    Suddenly, the crack of gunfire shattered the moment. I hit the dirt, heart pounding, as Mitchell''s voice crackled over the radio, "Eagle 3-3 to Caracaras Leader, we''re taking fire. Is this part of the drill? Over." But there was no hesitation from the paratroopers; they sprang into action, returning fire with the kind of colorful language that would make a sailor blush. They were like kindergarteners¡ªif kindergarteners were armed and had a PhD in creative cursing. It was chaos, it was madness.


    Luna''s boot connected with my side, a not-so-gentle reminder that dirt is no place for a warrior. "You can''t fight if you''re hiding down there," she barked, her voice cutting through the chaos like a knife. Before I knew it, I was yanked upright, and an assault rifle was thrust into my hands.


    "But Lieutenant, I''m a noncombatant," I protested, trying to keep the panic out of my voice.


    Luna wasn''t having any of it. "Cut that baloney," she snapped back. "Mitchell already spilled the beans about your stint in the Navy as a fire control man. You''re a combatant, not a noncombatant."


    I opened my mouth to argue, but the words died on my lips. Now wasn''t the time for a debate on semantics. How Luna knew about my past was a mystery for another day¡ªa day without bullets flying overhead. For now, I had to focus on surviving this mess. And maybe, just maybe, proving to Luna that Macaroni was more than just a nickname.


    Hefting the rifle, I could feel the extra weight immediately. It wasn¡¯t just any rifle; this was a beast upscaled to chamber 7.62x52mm rounds. The Little Bird military doesn¡¯t mess around¡ªthey prefer their bullets like they prefer their coffee: strong and with a kick that can punch through the thickest jungle foliage.


    It¡¯s all about the stopping power, the kind that makes sure whatever¡¯s on the receiving end stays down. That¡¯s why the old American M1 Carbine, as classic as it is, doesn¡¯t cut it here. It¡¯s a fine piece for MPs playing guard dog behind the lines, but out here in the wild? You need something with a bit more ¡®oomph.¡¯


    So, while I¡¯m not exactly thrilled about the added weight, I get it. In the jungle, where visibility is a joke and every shadow could be hiding a threat, those heavy caliber bullets are worth their weight in gold. The 5.56mm rounds might be the go-to for the support crew, but for those of us expected to tangle with the unknown? It¡¯s 7.62mm all the way. It¡¯s the difference between a mosquito bite and a sledgehammer¡ªand out here, I¡¯ll take the sledgehammer every time.


    Watching the paratroopers in action is like attending a master class in efficiency. They¡¯ve got this tactical reload down to an art form¡ª29 rounds out, one in the chamber, and they¡¯re ready to roll without missing a beat. It¡¯s all about staying in the fight, no pause, no break, just a seamless transition from one mag to the next.


    And let¡¯s talk about the rifle. It might bear a passing resemblance to the classic M16A1, but this baby¡¯s got the guts of an AK47. A little dirt in the chamber? No problem. This isn¡¯t the finicky M16 of yesteryear that would jam up at the first sign of trouble. The Little Bird military knows their terrain and their tech. They¡¯ve crafted a weapon that¡¯s as reliable in the jungle as it is anywhere else¡ªbecause when you¡¯re homegrown in a jungle country, you know a thing or two about making gear that can handle the heat and the humidity.


    I¡¯ve seen them in action, too¡ªslapping the magazine release with a fresh mag, knocking out the old one, and slamming in the new with a click that¡¯s music to my ears. They¡¯ve got their mags taped jungle style, double-barreled and ready for a quick swap. Me? When my mag runs dry, I just drop it and slap in a new one. No fancy tricks, just good old-fashioned practicality. It¡¯s not just about firing; it¡¯s about reloading with the kind of smoothness that keeps you alive and kicking in the thick of it.


    I then heard Mitchell talk to someone over the radio because I¡¯m close to him and Luna where I¡¯ve heard him say ¡°This is Eagle 3-3. We need immediate air support at grid Able-Dog-George-Nine!¡±


    Someone replied, ¡°Eagle 3-3 we do not have clearance in that grid.¡±


    The radio crackled with urgency, and there was Mitchell, his voice steady but tense, ¡°This is Eagle 3-3. We need immediate air support at grid Able-Dog-George-Nine!¡± The response was a cold splash of reality, ¡°Eagle 3-3 we do not have clearance in that grid.¡± That¡¯s when Luna stepped in, her grip on the radiophone as firm as her resolve. ¡°Eagle 3-3 Actual, requesting close air at Able-Dog-George-Nine,¡± she commanded, ¡°Priority one ordinance on my command. I authenticate Easy Sugar, over.¡±


    It was clear as day¡ªLuna wasn¡¯t just tired; she was in her element, fighting for every advantage. As a Lieutenant, she¡¯s got the authority to call down the thunder, assuming she¡¯s got the green light from higher up. And let me tell you, the fire in her voice, the unyielding determination¡ªit¡¯s the kind of stuff legends are made of. Luna¡¯s the type to stare down the abyss, challenge the devil himself, and emerge not just unscathed but victorious, as if the very fires of Hell were her personal playground.


    Minutes stretched on like hours under the relentless sun, and just when I thought we''d be left to fend for ourselves, the roar of salvation echoed from above. A military chopper swooped in, its dual miniguns spitting fire and raining down hot brass. There I was, dodging casings like it was the world''s most dangerous game of catch. I fished out the scalding metal from my uniform, each one a tiny comet burning through the fabric of my not-so-battle-ready attire.


    Oh, how I envied the paratroopers'' armor. Whether it was light, medium, heavy, or sturdy, each had its trade-offs. Light armor? No penalties, free as a bird. Medium? You''re lugging around an extra 7.5% of weight, and your stealth''s down by about 10 points. Heavy armor''s even worse, slowing you down by a hefty 15-20% and slashing your sneak by 20-30 points. But sturdy? That''s the gold standard¡ªextra weight, sure, but with protection that''s worth its weight in gold.


    I get it, though. That kind of gear doesn''t come cheap. At a whopping $12,500 a pop well that¡¯s my guess, it''s no wonder they don''t hand it out like candy. Here in Little Bird, that kind of dough could snag you a couple of houses, easy. But as the chopper''s guns blazed a path for us, I couldn''t help but think that maybe, just maybe, feeling a little less like a walking target might be worth the investment.


    We then checked the bodies in which one of them had orders that says in bold:


    Boys and Girls, we''ve got ourselves another holier-than-thou white knight needs putting down. Here are the details:


    Name: Waterson, Mackenzie


    Race: Caucasian


    Sex: Female


    The bounty is 10000 bucks this time around. And, for a change of pace, they want the head this time.


    Good hunting! Target is considered armed and extremely dangerous.


    Capture is NOT recommended -- Bounty will be paid upon proof of death (head).


    Let''s put this devil in the ground and be done with it.


    As I rifled through the pockets of our unfortunate visitors, I stumbled upon a crumpled piece of paper that screamed ¡®Top Secret¡¯. Turns out, these weren¡¯t your average party crashers; they were mercenaries with a taste for the dramatic¡ªme being the star of their show. ¡°Look at that, I¡¯m a celebrity,¡± I quipped, my voice dripping with enough sarcasm to fill a swimming pool. Lieutenant Luna, ever the pragmatist, chimed in with her two cents. ¡°Frankly, I prefer adversaries who can fire back. Beats the heck out of those tennis ball launchers we use in training. At least these guys don¡¯t serve up a fuzzy green ball at 40 mph.¡± Trust Luna to find the silver lining in a shootout.


    Flipping through the mercenary contract, I couldn¡¯t help but chuckle. There it was, in black and white, a bounty on my head¡ª10 grand. Not exactly chump change, but hey, it¡¯s not every day you¡¯re valued at the price of a decent luxury car with every bell and whistle. Did it faze me? Nah. I¡¯ve faced scarier things at the bottom of a cereal box.


    The day was too gorgeous, and the company was too good to let a little thing like a price tag dampen my spirits. ¡°Alright, Third Platoon, let¡¯s hustle and catch up with Second,¡± Luna barked out the orders with the kind of authority that made you want to move mountains¡ªor at least jog to the next rendezvous point. So off we went, a band of paratroopers, leaping into the fray, because if there¡¯s one thing better than a sunny day, it¡¯s spending it flying high with comrades. And if someone wants to make a quick buck off me? Well, they better be ready for a tennis ball cannon salute.


    We hunkered down with Second Platoon, and I gotta say, their setup was sweeter than a double scoop of gelato on a hot day. They were nestled in like a tick at a dog park, covered on all sides, and a .50 Cal with a field of fire so wide you¡¯d think it was auditioning for a Broadway show.


    But here¡¯s the kicker¡ªhalf of Second Platoon was benched in the infirmary, nursing their egos and bruises from a practice jump that went sideways. So, just like a bad sitcom rerun, Second got folded into Third, and together we were off to rendezvous with First Platoon.


    As we moved out, I couldn¡¯t help but muse, ¡°Third gets the .30 Cal, the reliable workhorse. And Second? They get the .50 Cal, the showstopper.¡± It¡¯s like being at a rock concert where every band wants to be the headliner. But hey, as long as we¡¯re making music together, let the good times roll.


    Trudging through the jungle¡¯s embrace and across the plains that stretched like a green sea, we played follow-the-leader with Luna. She was our compass, pausing now and then to consult the map, ensuring we weren¡¯t just marching to the beat of our own drum in endless circles.


    As for the .50 Cal HMG crew? I¡¯ve got a soft spot for them. The gunner¡¯s lugging around an 82-pound beast of a machine gun, the spotter/loader¡¯s got the 45-pound tripod, and let¡¯s not forget the poor soul saddled with a hundred pounds of .50 BMG ammo. It¡¯s like they drew the short straws and ended up with the gym¡¯s weight rack on their backs.


    But hey, at least it¡¯s a team effort, not some Herculean solo mission. Third Platoon¡¯s got it a bit easier¡ªThird platoon machine gun¡¯s sporting a bipod, and one guy gets to play the hero carrying it, while the others are ammo mules.


    Eventually, we rendezvoused with First Platoon, and with that, our little adventure wrapped up. We headed back to the familiar walls of Fort Colossal.


    There''s something almost poetic about watching the platoons at the range, each person a master of their craft. The Phoenix pistols crack in the hands of First Platoon, held one-handed, bodies angled just so, as if they''re dancers in a ballet of bullets. They stand sideways, a stance that speaks of old duels and new determination.


    Then there are those with the automatic rifles and battle rifles, hugging the earth in couched or prone positions. They''re the embodiment of focus, each shot a deliberate punctuation in the silence between bursts.


    And let''s not forget the machine gun symphony: First Platoon''s 5.56mm LMG, Second''s .50 Cal HMG, and Third''s Medium Machine Gun. They fire in controlled bursts of three or four rounds, a disciplined display of firepower. It''s all about conservation¡ªevery round is precious, and not a single one is to be wasted. It''s a lesson in restraint.


    The run was another slice of the day¡¯s drill, and as the platoons lined up running in unison by squad, Luna¡¯s voice cut through the air like a knife. ¡°Who are ya?¡± she bellowed.


    ¡°AIRBORNE,¡± came the thunderous reply from Third Platoon, their voices melding into one.


    ¡°How far?¡± Luna challenged, her tone rising above the morning mist.


    ¡°All the way!¡± they roared back, a promise and a pledge rolled into two words.


    Curiosity piqued, I sidled up to Luna. ¡°Hey Lieutenant, what ungodly hour does your platoon start training?¡± Her answer was a casual ¡°0300 hours,¡± as if it¡¯s the most natural thing in the world to rise before the stars have clocked out. Insane? Maybe. But then again, war doesn¡¯t exactly wait for your alarm clock. It¡¯s a 24-hour life or death human nature, and Luna¡¯s platoon is always clocked in.


    It¡¯s a sobering thought, isn¡¯t it? The idea that war is an inescapable part of the human condition, woven into the very fabric of our history. It seems like peace is often just the quiet between storms, a brief respite before the drums of conflict beat once more.


    Yet, there¡¯s a thread of hope in that tapestry of turmoil¡ªthe notion that unity can be our shield. When faced with a common enemy, the barriers between us can crumble, and we stand shoulder to shoulder with those we might have once called foes. It¡¯s in those moments, when we¡¯re united against a shared threat, that we truly see the potential for what humanity could be¡ªbound not by the wars we fight, but by the peace we forge together.


    War may be a constant echo in the halls of history, but so is the resilience of the human spirit, the capacity to come together, to protect, to survive. And maybe, just maybe, that unity can one day outshine the specter of war.


    Stepping back into the city of Empire is like flipping through the pages of a history book while riding a roller coaster. It¡¯s a place where the past and the future collide, creating a vibrant tapestry of life that¡¯s as diverse as it is dynamic. The streets are arteries, pulsing with the rhythm of countless footsteps¡ªsome rushing along the highways, others meandering down cobblestone alleys lined with baroque houses that whisper tales of yesteryears.


    The cityscape is a checkerboard of architectural marvels, from the sleek lines of skyscrapers to the quaint charm of prefabricated enameled steel houses. Parks dot the landscape like emerald jewels, offering a breath of fresh air amidst the urban jungle. Culture thrives here, in concert halls that echo with symphonies, nightclubs that throb with beats, and luxurious stores that dazzle with their wares.


    The seaport is the city¡¯s beating heart, with a lighthouse that stands as a beacon of hope, its light slicing through the darkness, guiding vessels home. Empire is a melting pot, a place where German precision, Italian passion, Irish wit, Chinese innovation, Native wisdom, and Black resilience come together, creating a rich mosaic of humanity.


    Yet, beneath the city¡¯s vibrant veneer lies a haunting moniker¡ª¡°City of Death¡±¡ªa grim reminder of the sacrifices made to build its foundations, of lives lost to disease and drought. It¡¯s a name that¡¯s whispered in the shadows, a memory that lingers like a ghost.


    In the midst of this sprawling metropolis lies ¡°Little Italy,¡± a subdistrict within Downtown where the air seems to hum with the melody of Italian conversation, and the tricolor waves proudly on buildings, painted or perched. It¡¯s a corner of the world where heritage is held close, and community flourishes.


    And then there¡¯s Clearlake¡ªa stark contrast to Empire¡¯s bustling streets. It¡¯s the quintessential quiet town, where life moves at a leisurely pace, and the biggest event of the day might just be the mailman¡¯s arrival. It¡¯s a place where simplicity is the jewel in the crown, and tranquility is the currency of the realm.


    Empire and Clearlake, two sides of the same coin, each with its own charm, its own rhythm, and its own story to tell.

 Chapter Twelve

    A few days later.


    In the dead of night, I was roused not by the blaring of my alarm, but by the acrid scent of smoke. My groggy brain conjured images of Mom''s midnight snack escapades, but a bleary-eyed glance at my trusty LED watch 2:14 AM had me wondering, "Who in their right mind fires up the grill at this ungodly hour?"


    I stumbled out of bed, fumbled for the door, and¡ªlo and behold¡ªthere it was: a fire, dancing merrily in the hallway. For a split second, I contemplated a life of serene solitude, leaving behind the woman who''d endured labor for me. But, alas, conscience is a pesky thing.


    With a swift kick worthy of my Navy days, I turned my bedroom wall into an impromptu escape route, just wide enough for two. "Mom, hit the fire alarm!" I hollered, preceding the usual debate.


    Miraculously, she complied without a single retort, springing into action like a cadet on drill day. Meanwhile, I channeled my inner drill sergeant, pounding on neighbors'' doors "Evacuate! This is not a drill!"


    Just like that, we were a conga line of pajama-clad refugees, shuffling to safety, courtesy of your truly accidental hero and part-time fire marshal.


    There I was, standing amidst the chaos like the last sailor on deck, making sure every person had abandoned ship¡ªer, apartment. The smoke was thick enough to slice, and I couldn''t help but cough out a smoky, "Ahoy!"


    Then, through the haze, a voice cut through, "Macaroni?" It was none other than Lieutenant Valkery, sounding as calm as if she were ordering a latte instead of navigating a fiery inferno.


    "Lieutenant," I rasped back, "we''ve got a blaze in 12D, drop two. It''s spreading faster than gossip in the mess hall. And heads up¡ªthe windows are built for high pressure."


    "Copy that, 137, drop two," Valkery barked back, with the authority that could make even the flames stand at attention.


    As we waited for the cavalry to arrive, the chill of the night air had me regretting my choice of pajamas¡ªor lack thereof. Clad in nothing but a sports bra and boxer shorts, I was shivering like a chihuahua in a snowstorm.


    Mom, ever the optimist, tried to distract me. "Reminds me of waiting in line for a rock concert in my wilder days," she mused, a wistful smile on her face.


    I couldn''t help but roll my eyes. "Love to burst your bubble, Mom, but those rock gods you adored? Most of ''em were just moving their lips to a pre-recorded track. There''s more authenticity in a can of Spam."


    I spat out the taste of smoke and nostalgia, turning to Mom with a smirk. ¡°You know, this isn¡¯t the ''70s. That ship sailed about 40 years ago. You¡¯re nudging 47, and all this reminiscing is gonna make you feel like your spine¡¯s about to go on strike. Pop¡¯s silent because he knows the minute he starts on about his ¡®good old days¡¯, he¡¯ll have to face the music¡ªthat he¡¯s not a spring chicken anymore, and that the ''70s and ''80s might as well be ancient history.¡±


    Mom just rolled her eyes, but I could tell she was fighting back a laugh. Let¡¯s face it, sometimes you¡¯ve got to poke fun at the past to keep the present from burning down around you.


    Mom eyed the firefighters with annoyance. "How do they even do their job?" she pondered aloud, her voice tinged with a cocktail of curiosity.


    I shrugged, the glow of the flames reflecting in my eyes. "They''re firemen, Mom. It''s not like they can just stand there, gawking at the fire and saying, ''Gee, that looks rough.'' Unlike my cousin-in-law Linda, who knows her exit is only after everyone else''s safety is secured."


    She opened her mouth, probably to deliver a classic mom-ism, but I cut in. "Look, I''m a Millennial, sure, but political correctness isn''t my jam. If the situation calls for it, I''ll drop the gender-neutral lingo faster than a UFO zipping out of sight. And in this new world order, where aliens call the shots? Let''s just say, political correctness is about as popular as a witch at a Puritan tea party."


    Mom gave me that ¡®I-told-you-so¡¯ look. ¡°You left your phone back there, didn¡¯t you?¡± she said, with a hint of a scold in her voice.


    I just flashed a grin, the kind that¡¯s seen more than its fair share of boot camp smirks. ¡°Mom, you can keep your computers, emails, and phones. Just hand me some good ol¡¯ pen and paper. I¡¯m old school like that.¡±


    Sure, my phone was probably melting into a modern art masterpiece back in the apartment, but who cares? I¡¯m not one to get attached to things nor materialistic. Worst case scenario, I¡¯ll hitch a ride back to the States and snag a new one. Nothing fancy, just something that can call or text someone. I don''t need every bell and whistle.


    I squared my shoulders, ready to lay down the law. ¡°I¡¯m heading to my girlfriend¡¯s place to crash for a bit,¡± I declared, already picturing the comforting embrace waiting for me there.


    Mom perked up, ¡°Oh, I¡¯ll come with you then!¡±


    I shot her a look that could freeze lava. ¡°Not happening, Mom. I¡¯m not about to let you work your¡­ ¡®charm¡¯ on her kids, getting them to wait on you hand and foot. And let¡¯s not forget, everyone who¡¯s ever lifted a finger for you did it because you twisted their arm with your mind games, only to toss their kindness back in their faces.¡±


    She opened her mouth, probably to protest, but I wasn¡¯t having any of it. ¡°Nope, this time, you¡¯re on your own. I¡¯m off to be with my girl, where the only fire I want to see is in the fireplace, not the hallway.¡±


    Mom¡¯s question hung in the air, tinged with the scent of smoke and uncertainty. ¡°So, what¡¯s the plan? A motel? A hotel?¡± she inquired, her eyes searching mine for a hint of sympathy.


    I couldn¡¯t help but chuckle, despite the night¡¯s events. ¡°Well, if you¡¯re feeling nostalgic for the good old days, there¡¯s always the option of a flophouse. I hear they¡¯re going retro with rates at $0.25 a night,¡± I quipped, winking at her. ¡°But don¡¯t worry, I¡¯m sure we can find you a place with a few more stars and a lot less¡­ character.¡±


    It was a moment of levity amid chaos, a reminder that even when the world¡¯s on fire, you can still find a reason to smile.


    Mom¡¯s words stung like salt in a wound. ¡°Some daughter you turned out to be,¡± she spat, her disappointment a tangible thing in the smoky air.


    I squared my shoulders, ready to stand my ground. ¡°And what kind of mother does that make you?¡± I shot back. ¡°I¡¯ve got vivid memories, you know. You sprawled on the couch, indulging in every vice imaginable, trying to mold me into a mini-you¡ªdishonest and prickly as a cactus. But Dad, he was different. He taught me the value of loyalty, honesty, and the courage to be unapologetically myself.¡±


    I could feel the heat of the fire and the heat of the moment, blending into a fiery cocktail of raw emotion. ¡°He was there, accepting me when I came out, at a time when being bisexual was more taboo than accepted. You? You dismissed it as a ¡®phase.¡¯ Well, guess what, Mom? Some phases, like diamonds, are forever.¡±


    The flames had finally bowed out, their fiery dance coming to an abrupt end. Lieutenant Valkery approached, her silhouette cutting through the lingering smoke. ¡°Well, someone¡¯s clearly not a fan of yours,¡± she quipped, a wry smile playing on her lips.


    I couldn¡¯t help but smirk back, despite the night¡¯s drama. ¡°Yeah, I think the charred remains of my apartment are a pretty clear ¡®Dear John¡¯ letter,¡± I retorted, my nose still twitching from the lack of gasoline stench.


    Just then, headlights pierced the darkness¡ªa car rolling up like the cavalry in an old western. Valkery leaned in, her voice low. ¡°Called your girl with the payphone inside,¡± she said, tapping my arm and leaving a smudge of soot as a parting gift.


    ¡°Thanks for that,¡± I muttered under my breath as she strode away, the name ¡®Valkyrie¡¯ fitting her more than ever. She might not have wings, but she sure knew how to swoop in at the right moment.


    I leaned against a concrete wall, catching snippets of conversation from Lieutenant Valkery and her crew. ¡°You learn not to box with 137 on the job,¡± she said, a note of respect in her voice that was usually reserved for the men and women of Engine and Ladder Company 23.


    Just then, my girlfriend, Lusty¡ªshort for Lyricist, though I¡¯ve never quite connected the dots on that one¡ªstrutted over. Her nickname might suggest something else, but to me, it¡¯s spot-on; she¡¯s the epitome of health and vitality.


    She wrapped me in a hug that could rival any fireman¡¯s carry. ¡°She saved multiple lives on the way out. In her skivvies no less,¡± Valkery announced, returning to us with a smirk.


    Lusty, ever the rock in my stormy sea, just nodded. ¡°I¡¯d have been shocked if she hadn¡¯t. But tell me, Lieutenant, between you and me¡ªwhat¡¯s the word?¡±


    Valkyrie''s eyes hardened, the playful glint replaced by the steel of certainty. ¡°No question, no doubt about it. This was arson.¡±


    Lusty, ever the gracious host despite the hour and the circumstances, opened her doors to us. ¡°Just for tonight,¡± she insisted, glancing at my watch which was inching towards 3 AM. ¡°Your mom¡¯s got her part-time gig in the morning, then she can scout out a motel.¡±


    I wasn¡¯t about to pick a fight with my girlfriend, not when she was offering sanctuary. So, we ascended to her penthouse, a haven high above the city¡¯s scars. Mom claimed the couch, sinking into it with a sigh that carried the weight of the night¡¯s events. Meanwhile, Lusty and I retreated to the bedroom, a silent agreement between us that some conversations could wait until the world wasn¡¯t burning¡ªat least, not literally.


    _____________________________________


    As dawn broke, I was the first to rise, the quiet of the morning a stark contrast to the night¡¯s turmoil. In the kitchen, I whipped up a breakfast spread fit for a weary crew¡ªmy girlfriend, the infamous ¡®mother¡¯ figure, and her bright-eyed kids.


    Mom ate her plate with the speed of someone on the run, then bolted out the door, off to her job. Lusty, in her infinite wisdom, orchestrated a brief interlude before ushering her kids off to school¡ªa moment of calm before the day¡¯s storm.


    Out of the blue, I mused aloud, ¡°We¡¯re not the top species on the planet because we¡¯re nice.¡± It was a random thought, a leftover from the night¡¯s adrenaline.


    Lusty, ever the philosopher, met my gaze. ¡°I know, Mac. Wars aren¡¯t won with paddy cake. They¡¯re won by baring teeth, by proving you¡¯re willing to go the distance, to unleash the beast within.¡± Her words were a reminder of the raw, untamed spirit that had carried us through the night and would carry us through whatever battles lay ahead.


    I sighed, the weight of the world¡ªor at least the weight of familial expectations¡ªresting on my shoulders. ¡°It¡¯s like she¡¯s got this twisted high score in her head, where the guy¡¯s bank balance is the only thing that racks up points,¡± I said, shaking my head.


    Lusty¡¯s brow furrowed in thought. ¡°It¡¯s that old-school mentality, isn¡¯t it? Like those teachers who¡¯d look down on tradespeople, not realizing those ¡®blue-collar¡¯ jobs can bring home some serious green.¡±


    I chuckled, despite the bitterness. ¡°Yeah, and about those credit cards¡ªback in the States, there are some with no spending limits. It¡¯s like a financial Wild West. But here? Little Bird¡¯s got a different set of rules. Credit lines cap out at $30k-50k. No unlimited spending sprees in this neck of the woods.¡±


    Lusty nodded, a mix of already knowing and understanding in her eyes. ¡°Guess that keeps things grounded, huh? No room for gold-digging when the gold mine¡¯s got a fence around it.¡±


    Lusty¡¯s words painted a picture of a love that was simple yet profound, the kind that didn¡¯t need the validation of material wealth or societal approval.


    ¡°Your folks had something special, the kind of bond that¡¯s worth more than any credit limit,¡± I said, my voice soft with respect. ¡°A slice of pizza and each other¡¯s company¡ªthat¡¯s the real deal, the kind of romance that outshines any diamond.¡±


    I took a deep breath, the memories of my own upbringing bubbling to the surface. ¡°As for my mom, let¡¯s just say she¡¯s got her own¡­ unique way of showing love. Once I was done with school, she had a lineup of ¡®suitors¡¯ waiting for me, as if I was the prize in some twisted game show. But I wasn¡¯t playing along. I¡¯m not a trophy to be won, and I sure as hell don¡¯t need a hammer to get my point across.¡±


    ¡°Look, Lusty,¡± I started, leaning back against the brick wall, "we¡¯re like mismatched socks in a laundry basket. You¡¯ve got that old-school charm, treasuring every little thing ''cause that¡¯s all you had. Riding the bus like it¡¯s a limo and chatting up folks face-to-face ''cause texting wasn¡¯t a thing. And me? I¡¯m the poster child for the instant generation¡ªorange juice from a packet, apple juice that never saw an apple, and cartoons on demand. But hey, we both get it, right? Appreciating what¡¯s in our hands today ''cause who knows if it¡¯ll slip away tomorrow.


    Back in high school, I watched kids burn through cash faster than a wildfire. There was this one girl, ninety pairs of shoes lined up like soldiers, and she¡¯d still wail about having nothing to wear. Me? I had two pairs¡ªsneakers for gym and those Minnetonka Moccasins. Wore those sneakers ''til they literally disintegrated. That¡¯s real life, not some fashion show."


    Lusty chuckled and shook her head. ¡°Macaroni, you crack me up. In my day, fashion was a rerun of a 50¡¯s sitcom¡¯ Guys in flannel and loafers, gals in dresses bright enough to direct traffic. But we¡¯re on the same page about one thing¡ªmoney flies faster than gossip in this town. I knew a gal, never worked a day in her life, but had a boyfriend flipping burgers and footing her bills. And where I come from? Dropping out to work wasn¡¯t a choice; it was survival. Helping the family keep the lights on¡ªthat¡¯s the kind of stuff you don¡¯t forget.¡±


    ¡°Slapping trays, delivering orders, and pouring coffee, that was my high school hustle,¡± I told Lusty, leaning on the counter. "Raking in $130 a week, feeling like the queen of coins. But you, babe, you were the master of the dime, stretching that $27 like it was a fortune. Me? Every cent was a soldier sent to battle the bills ''cause Mom was too busy kissing every vice in town.


    "And saving up for that lemon on wheels? Felt like I was squeezing pennies just to keep it chugging along. This was way before the days when Starbucks planted its flag on every block."


    Lusty squinted, puzzled. ¡°Starbucks? What in Hell is that?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s like a bank, but instead of cash, they hand out coffee for $3.55 a pop,¡± I explained with a smirk.


    Lusty burst out laughing. ¡°Who¡¯d fork over nearly four bucks for a cup o¡¯ joe? I¡¯d rather dash to Joe¡¯s down the street, where a dime still buys you a brew. That¡¯s the real deal, not some fancy-pants coffee castle.¡±


    I agree and since here in Little Bird that if a normal cup of coffee is ten cents while a large cup of coffee is twenty cents and if you¡¯re going to bring in a place that costs four bucks for coffee well no one will go to it.


    Lusty caught me staring off into the distance, the gears in my head grinding away. ¡°Penny for your thoughts, Mac?¡±


    I snapped back to the present, ¡°Just had a cousin on my mind, wondering what he¡¯d make of the war.¡±


    She nodded, her voice taking on a somber tone. ¡°He¡¯s probably up there, calculating how that Little Bird doctrine would rain down hell¡ªa week at the least, a month at most. Imagine, 30 rounds a minute from a 105mm cannon, or 30 rounds an hour from a 240mm behemoth.¡±


    I opened my mouth to add my two cents but stopped short. Memories of Lusty¡¯s dad, a tough-as-nails vet from the Little Bird 9th Marine Division, 12th Artillery Company, flooded in. He served from ''68 to ''75, a time when a controversial war was going on.


    Lusty¡¯s gaze was distant, her voice barely above a whisper. "Talk about his time in ''Nam? Only in his nightmares, Mac. He opened up once, told me about this one that haunted him. Two squads of Leathernecks, our own LBMC, got tangled up in the dark, mistook each other for Charlie. Panic set in, and they called down the thunder¡ªfinal protective fire. For fifteen harrowing minutes, the sky lit up with fire and fury, incendiaries and white phosphorus painting the night with horror.


    "Then, a crackle over the radio¡ª¡®Cease fire! Cease fire, you¡¯re hitting Marines!¡¯ My dad scribbled that down, hands shaking, and passed it to the battery commander. The order boomed out, ¡®CEASE FIRE!¡¯ And just like that, the shelling stopped. But for fifteen gut-wrenching minutes, they¡¯d been raining hell on their own brothers, all because of a ghost in the jungle."


    I could see the weight of the story in her eyes, the kind of weight that never really lifts. It was a stark reminder of the chaos and the fog of war, where friend and foe blur into a nightmare that lingers long after the guns fall silent.


    Lusty¡¯s got this way of talking about her dad, you know? Like she¡¯s flipping through an old photo album with her words. He never shook off that one day¡ªcoordinates scribbled, orders shouted, and the world exploding in fire and confusion. He didn¡¯t believe in therapy; said his family was his lifeline, the anchor that kept him from drifting too far into the past.


    She¡¯d get this fierce look in her eyes when she talked about joining the military. Her dad, though, had other plans for her¡ªif she ever wore the uniform, he wanted her hands clean of war¡¯s dirt. He¡¯d list off roles like he was reading from a catalog: base engineer, logistics officer, veterinarian, all sorts of specialists¡ªanything but the front lines.


    There was this one time, Lusty nearly signed up, ready to trade diapers for dog tags. But life had other plans, and she chose to be a mom over a G.I. or a Marine. She doesn¡¯t regret it, not one bit.


    But man, the stories she¡¯d tell about her dad¡¯s mess hall¡ªlike it was some kind of Swedish meatball shrine. They even had a nickname for it, ¡°Swedish Meatball Company,¡± ''cause those meatballs were on the menu more than anything else. Guess it¡¯s the little things that stick with you, huh?


    Lusty¡¯s mom was a real spitfire, you know? Her friends were all up in arms about her dating a Marine. They tried every trick in the book to split them up, even played matchmaker with every Tom, Dick, and Harry they could find. But Lusty¡¯s mom? She wasn¡¯t having any of it. Told her so-called friends to take a hike. She was loyal, sending letters filled with love and support across the ocean, keeping their connection alive despite the miles.


    Get this¡ªwhile her beau was dodging bullets, Lusty¡¯s mom was hitting the books, training to be a therapist. By the time he returned from ''Nam, she had her diploma in hand and a plan in mind. She was dead set on getting him into college, dreaming of him landing a degree and a cushy job. But Lusty¡¯s dad, he was cut from a different cloth. Didn¡¯t care one bit about who brought home the bacon, just happy to have his girl by his side. That¡¯s the kind of love story that sticks with you, isn¡¯t it?


    Cracking open a cold one, that cola fizzing like the morning heat ain¡¯t no thing. ¡°Nothing beats that chill,¡± I mused, taking a swig.


    Lusty was leaning on the counter, her voice tinged with a mix of anger and sadness. ¡°You know, my folks had it rough. Mom got caught in some lovestruck patient¡¯s fantasy, ended up with a lawsuit that cost her everything. License gone, dreams shattered, and there we were, swapping our cozy prefab for a cramped tenement. People yap about poverty like it¡¯s a problem to solve, not realizing for some, it¡¯s just life. It¡¯s about making do, not moaning about what you don¡¯t have.¡±


    I nodded, setting the bottle down. ¡°Reminds me of the old days my granduncles talk about. Lines of men waiting for a day¡¯s work. We¡¯ve come a long way since then¡ªhealthier, and smarter, but somehow, we¡¯ve lost touch. Kids today don¡¯t know the meaning of ¡®wait.¡¯ It¡¯s all instant this, instant that. And the real problems? Where¡¯s the instant fix for that, huh?¡±


    Lusty¡¯s eyes were fierce. ¡°Like that kid Squad 141 found, skin and bones ''cause his folks couldn¡¯t be bothered, Where¡¯s the people up in arms about that? Everyone¡¯s looking for quick answers, but nobody¡¯s willing to dig deep. They want safer cars but won¡¯t invest in making it happen. And don¡¯t get me started on those who treat kids like burdens or paychecks. Where¡¯s the outrage for that?¡±


    I leaned back, feeling the weight of truth in her words. ¡°It¡¯s a world of fast fixes and faster forgets. But some things need more than just a quick patch-up. They need us to care, to really give a damn. And that¡¯s something you can¡¯t get at the snap of your fingers.¡±


    ¡°School was like a showroom for spoiled brats, you know?¡± I grumbled to Lusty. ¡°Kids throwing fits if the car with the bow wasn¡¯t the right color. I remember this one party, parents snickering at my old man ''cause he didn¡¯t shower me with pricey stuff. But a few? They got it. It¡¯s not about the price tag; it¡¯s the thought that counts.¡±


    Lusty nodded, a wry smile on her face. ¡°Oh, I got ¡®the stare¡¯ from my folks whenever I even thought about throwing a tantrum. This one time at the store, I pushed it too far, and Dad¡¯s belt came off faster than a fire alarm. Got a spanking right there in the parking lot. But you know what? I¡¯m grateful for that. Taught me to value what I have, not to whine about what I don¡¯t. Respect and gratitude, that¡¯s the real deal¡ªnot some temper tantrum over a shiny toy.¡±


    I rinsed off my plate and cup, setting them in the sink before heading out with Lusty to tackle some errands.


    "You know," I said, shaking my head, "some girls back in high school were so damn picky. They''d only date a guy if he was over 6 feet tall, made at least 100k, drive a fancy car, and had some high-status job."


    Lusty laughed, rolling her eyes. "That''s like searching for a diamond in a pile of diamonds. I get it, though. But for me, whether it''s a guy or a gal, I don''t care about height, income, car, or job. My folks drilled it into me that using someone and loving someone are worlds apart. Love''s what makes you happy, not their bank account. And you, Mac? I don''t give a hoot about your Navy salary, your height, or that muscle car you drive. I love you for you, plain and simple.¡±


    I nodded, thinking about Lusty''s stories. "Your dad was a real romantic, huh? Two days off a year, and he made them count¡ªValentine''s Day and your mom''s birthday. Even when they were scraping by, he''d save up for something special, like a bouquet or a home-cooked dinner. And that 20th anniversary bracelet? A $5k diamond, saved up penny by penny. That''s love in action."


    I chuckled, remembering the girls from my school days. "I knew some women who''d laugh at a bouquet or a $5k bracelet, calling it cheap. They wouldn''t blink at anything under $100k. But your dad, he made every dollar count. Most of that bracelet money came from the military''s housing allowance for returning soldiers. He got lucky with the 24-month plan, $100 a month, and he saved every bit of it. Added his own savings to hit that $5k mark. That''s dedication."


    Lusty smiled, her eyes softening. "Yeah, my dad knew how to show love, even when times were tough. It''s not about the price tag; it''s about the thought and effort. And that''s something money can''t buy.¡±


    Lusty¡¯s fingers drummed a rhythm on the wheel, a beat to the truth she was laying down. ¡°Music was a no-go for me, not just ''cause the record labels are like leeches, but ''cause of what my mom said about love. There¡¯s the kind that sticks around, flaws and all, through thick and thin. Then there¡¯s the fair-weather kind, bailing out faster than roaches at last call when things get tough.¡±


    I couldn¡¯t help but agree. ¡°It¡¯s wild, isn¡¯t it? Some folks hear your salary and either scoff or cling like you¡¯re their lifeline. But hit a rough patch, and watch them scatter. Dad always said, the real test of friendship, of love, is who¡¯s standing by you when the storm hits. The ones who stick around? They¡¯re keepers. The rest? They¡¯ll circle back when the sun¡¯s out, but you¡¯ll know they¡¯re just there for the good times.¡±


    Lusty¡¯s story is a testament to the kind of stubborn, unwavering love that¡¯s all too rare. Her mom could have caved under the pressure, could¡¯ve penned that ¡°Dear John¡± letter and moved on. But she didn¡¯t. She held on, through years of war and worry, and when Lusty¡¯s dad came back, she was there, waiting. That¡¯s the kind of love that doesn¡¯t flinch at the face of adversity or bow to prejudice. It¡¯s love that looks beyond skin color and heritage, that stands firm even when the world¡¯s trying to tear it down.


    Lusty? She inherited that strength, that resilience. She never understood the hate from her dad¡¯s side of the family, the cold shoulders, the cruel words. But she remembers the day her mom stood up for her, telling her dad that the apologies were owed to their daughter, not to her. That¡¯s dignity. That¡¯s grace.


    Years later, when the extended family showed up, trying to play nice after all the hurt they¡¯d caused, Lusty stood her ground. She knew their regrets were hollow, their pity misplaced. They had their chance to be family, to show love and acceptance, but they chose bitterness instead. Like her parents before her, chose to honor the love that was real, not the late apologies that weren¡¯t worth the breath they were spoken with. It¡¯s a powerful reminder that the true measure of family isn¡¯t blood; it¡¯s the love and respect that binds us.


    Lusty¡¯s words painted a vivid picture of her roots¡ªa community toughened by hardship but not easily fooled. ¡°Choosing the fire department wasn¡¯t just about chasing adrenaline for me. it was about doing something that mattered, something respected. My folks, they had their fears, sure, but they backed me because they knew it was about more than just a job¡ªit was about serving a community that doesn¡¯t get swayed by empty promises.¡±


    She¡¯d often talk about the integrity of her district, how they rallied behind leaders like Mayor Martinez and my granduncle, who actually walked the walk. ¡°They didn¡¯t just vote for a name; they voted for action, for people who truly looked out for the working class,¡± Lusty would explain with a hint of pride in her voice.


    When the city tried to pull a fast one, relocating Firehouse 47 and leaving Eastside exposed, her people didn¡¯t just roll over. They educated themselves, held City Hall accountable. ¡°They¡¯re not pawns in some political game,¡± Lusty would say, her tone firm, ¡°they know when they¡¯re being sold a bill of goods. And they¡¯re not afraid to call it out.¡±


    You know, Lusty¡¯s got this wild tale about the time she played musical chairs with her votes. She once ticked the box for her district rep and the Alderman of Public Safety. But as quick as they were voted in, they were voted out¡ªturns out, our Eastside District Rep was more interested in cashing checks than checking in on his constituents. The Alderman? Said we couldn¡¯t afford new fire gear back in the ''80s, yet somehow, the city found a fat stack of cash to build bars over their community gardens. Go figure, right?


    But here¡¯s the kicker: the folks of Eastside weren¡¯t having any of it. They boycotted those bars faster than a cat on a hot tin roof, and when they shut down, they threw a little demolition party¡ªEastside style. They torched the abandoned buildings and took back the land for our crops. City Hall got salty and cut off the water, but did that stop them? Nope. They just tapped into the old cisterns, boiled the heck out of that water, and kept their gardens greener than a frog on a lily pad.


    Jobs? Around here, I call ''em ¡°McJobs¡±¡ªyou know, the kind that makes you feel like you¡¯re running in circles, chasing your own tail. Lusty¡¯s mom, bless her heart, was slinging drinks and flipping burgers, dreaming of a day she could trade it all in for a therapist¡¯s couch and a house full of kiddos. But life had other plans, and all they got was our dear Lusty.


    Now, Lusty loves to gab about her folks. They remembered when the Little Bird VP took the big seat, and let me tell you, he wasn¡¯t winning any popularity contests. And her dad? Proposed to her mom fresh off the plane from ''Nam in ''75. People laughed, said it was too soon, too crazy. But love¡¯s like that sometimes¡ªbold, brash, and a little bit bonkers. They hadn¡¯t seen each other since ''68, but when you know, you know, right?


    Back in the day, in Alabama, we all had grand dreams. We¡¯d strut around, chests puffed out, talking big about raking in six figures, living in swanky digs, and cruising in rides so shiny, they¡¯d make the sun jealous. College was the golden ticket, or so we thought. But then, life threw us a curveball called reality.


    Fast forward, and those same dreamers are clocking in at the golden arches, flipping patties instead of cash. They¡¯re rolling in beat-up cars that have seen better years, all while their fancy phone dreams got downgraded to whatever¡¯s on sale with a two-year contract. It¡¯s a humbling slice of humble pie, served fresh daily.


    But here¡¯s the thing: not everyone is destined to strut around in a suit and tie, pulling in a cool 50k before the leaves change colors. Some of us are out here making an honest living, even if it¡¯s just scraping by on minimum wage. It¡¯s not about the cash; it¡¯s about the hustle, the grind, the sheer will to keep pushing, even when the odds are stacked like pancakes at a breakfast buffet.


    I never pictured myself hopping countries for love. But when life flings open a door, you don¡¯t just peek in; you charge through it like it¡¯s the last call at a fire sale. So here I am, living proof that the best plans are the ones you never planned at all.


    So there I was, playing sidekick to Lusty on her grocery run, when she starts philosophizing about life¡¯s open and shut doors. Her folks had dreams¡ªbig ones¡ªbut life¡¯s got a funny way of mixing up the blueprints. They ended up with one kid, Lusty, who¡¯s more into counting blessings than counting Benjamins.


    Now, Lusty¡¯s got this vintage ride, a real classic. To her, it¡¯s not about the flash; it¡¯s about the function. As long as it fires up and gets her from A to B, she¡¯s golden. She¡¯s not about those shiny new models that lose half their value the minute you roll off the lot. Nope, she¡¯s all about that old-school charm¡ªa car¡¯s a car, whether it¡¯s from the ''50s or the ''60s.


    She¡¯s playing the long game with her cash. Instead of blowing it on the latest gizmo, she¡¯s funneling it into the stock market. She¡¯s got this plan, see, to cash out when her girls graduate, maybe turn a tidy profit. It¡¯s like she¡¯s planting money trees, waiting for them to sprout greenbacks. She says folks around here treat stocks like a clearance sale¡ªbuy low, sell high. Who knows, that penny stock might just be her golden ticket one day.


    So there we were, Lusty and I, zigzagging through the grocery aisles like we¡¯re on some sort of supermarket sweep. Mom would¡¯ve loved to join the chaos, but she¡¯s busy playing hide and seek with the stock at work. She¡¯s got this ninja move where she sneaks goodies into the cart when Lusty¡¯s not looking¡ªlike a culinary Houdini.


    Now, post-shopping spree, I¡¯m supposed to shack up in a motel, thanks to some pyro who turned my apartment into a bonfire. The plan was for Mom to crash at my place till her rehab stint wraps up, but let¡¯s be real: I can¡¯t have her spinning her mind games around Lusty¡¯s children. If there was an Olympic event for manipulation, Mom would be standing on the podium, biting into a gold medal.


    I leaned in, giving Lusty the lowdown. ¡°At least your dad snagged a lady who loved him for his rough edges, not his wallet. Didn¡¯t matter if the gift tag read a dime or a grand; it was the thought that counted.¡±


    Lusty nodded, ¡°True that. My folks? They were all about those heart-and-soul kind of presents.¡±


    I chuckled, ¡°Man, I knew some gals back in high school who took ¡®gold digger¡¯ to a whole new level. If it wasn¡¯t pushing six figures, it might as well have been pocket change. Overheard one at the mall once¡ª¡®Don¡¯t waste my time with the bargain bin, honey. If it ain¡¯t over 100k, I ain¡¯t interested.¡¯ Meanwhile, the first sparkler the jeweler showed her was a cool 59k. I mean, come on, a thoughtful trinket for a penny? That¡¯s my jam.¡±


    Lusty shared a slice of nostalgia, ¡°Every Valentine¡¯s, my parents hit the mall, not for the glitz, but for the giggles. They¡¯d cap it off with dinner at the food court¡ªno candlelight, no moonlit strolls, just good ol¡¯ gratitude. Mom was just happy to have someone who got it, you know? Someone who knew that effort trumped extravagance every single time.¡±


    So I said to Lusty, ¡°You know, my old man gifted me these bracelets for my graduations¡ª10k for high school, 15k for college. They¡¯re tucked away like buried treasure now. Dad didn¡¯t have to, but he wanted to mark the milestones. The gals back home? They snickered at the ¡®low quality,¡¯ but hey, it¡¯s the sentiment that sparkles, not the carats.¡±


    I remember how they used to rub my dad for his ''83 LTD¡ªyeah, that beast of a station wagon with a 4.9L V8 and a 4-speed that¡¯s seen more years than a high school reunion. But Dad? He¡¯s not about that ¡®new car smell.¡¯ His first love was a ''67 Charger, cherry red and all muscle, until his cousin turned the transmission into a jigsaw puzzle¡ªno reverse, no love.


    Dad¡¯s a simple guy: mess with his family, his wheels, or his sports, and you¡¯ve stirred up a hornet¡¯s nest. He¡¯s the type to watch football with the intensity of a coach at the Super Bowl, even if it¡¯s just the Rose Bowl on a lazy Sunday.


    Lusty hit me with a question, ¡°Ever catch a football game live with your dad?¡±


    I grinned, ¡°Super Bowl XXXIV, Georgia, January 30th, 2000. Dad and I made a friendly wager before the game¡ªfive bucks on the line. I backed the Rams, he rooted for the Titans. By the game¡¯s end, I was a whole ten dollars richer. Those 650 bucks we dropped on tickets? Best investment ever. Dad¡¯s been a Football fanatic since ''71, watching from the age of four.¡±


    Lusty¡¯s eyes went wide, ¡°650 for tickets? What, do they sprinkle them with diamond dust?¡± She scoffed, ¡°Around here, you¡¯d get a seat for a Nightshade.¡±


    After doing a shopping run with Lusty we went back to her penthouse.


    ________________________________________________


    Unloading the groceries at Lusty¡¯s, I tossed the brown paper bags onto the counter and mused, ¡°Bet you, one of these days, America¡¯s gonna ditch plastic bags for those fancy reusable ones, then flip the script and ban those too.¡±


    Lusty, ever the practical one, quipped, ¡°And what was so wrong with paper bags in the first place?¡±


    ¡°Cheaper to churn out plastic than paper, that¡¯s why,¡± I explained. ¡°It¡¯s all about the bottom line.¡±


    She shook her head, ¡°Ridiculous. We stick to paper ''cause they last. I mean, back in the day, a paper bag was my backpack. Rain or shine, I walked to school storming through storms, scaling mountains, bushwhacking through the woods. No cushy bus ride for us, no sir.¡±


    I couldn¡¯t help but chuckle, ¡°Alright, grandma, let¡¯s tuck you in,¡± I teased, echoing the tall tales of my dad¡¯s school-bound adventures.


    As I unloaded the groceries onto the cool granite countertop, Lusty and I fell into a rhythm, her stowing away the goods while I crisply folded each paper bag flat. It¡¯s like we¡¯re in sync, a well-oiled machine¡ªno need for grand gestures or matching ¡°I¡¯m with stupid¡± tees to show we¡¯re a pair.


    We keep our relationship on the down-low, like a secret handshake. A select few are clued in, and that suits us just fine. To those in the know, it¡¯s clear as day; to everyone else, it¡¯s none of their business. After all, the best things in life aren¡¯t always broadcasted for the world to see.


    I raised an eyebrow at the grocery haul. ¡°No instant OJ or apple juice? That¡¯s a first.¡±


    Lusty just smiled, ¡°Nothing but fresh-squeezed goodness every morning, just like my mom used to make. She wasn¡¯t about that instant gratification life. If it didn¡¯t take time and love to cook, it wasn¡¯t on our table. And Macaroni, you know as well as I do, here on Little Bird, TV dinners are the go-to for guys who can¡¯t cook and for families too slammed to simmer a stew.¡±


    I chuckled, ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s the modern-day dilemma¡ªbalancing the clock and the kitchen. But hey, nothing beats the taste of a meal made from scratch.¡±


    Lusty laid it out plain and simple, ¡°Raising my kids to be thrifty, to savor those soul-soothing, belly-warming meals, just like my mom taught me. There¡¯s an art to homemade, to making do. Take my wallet, for instance¡ªcrafted from shark skin by my mom¡¯s own hands, a relic from her tribal days. And those heels from ''64? They¡¯re more than vintage; they¡¯re a testament to the Nightingale tribe¡¯s knack for being crafty, resourceful, and economical.¡±


    I nodded, ¡°She did a number on you, alright. Taught you to be just as resourceful, just as penny-wise. Remember that meatloaf you made one night? We had enough leftovers to stack meatloaf sandwiches sky-high. That¡¯s the kind of resourcefulness that would make your ancestors nod in approval.¡±


    The phone rang, breaking the calm. Lusty snagged it and after a quick chat, she¡¯s telling me she¡¯ll be back in thirty minutes.


    I couldn¡¯t resist, ¡°Or it¡¯s free, right?¡± tossing a jab at those old pizza delivery promises.


    She rolled her eyes, ¡°Not chasing down a pizza, Mac. That whole ¡®30 minutes or free¡¯ deal was a recipe for disaster. Makes you wonder how many close calls, fender benders, or worse¡ªfull-on crashes happened ''cause drivers were flooring it to save a buck. As a Lieutenant Firefighter/EMT, I¡¯ve seen enough to know those accidents were just waiting to happen.¡±


    As I finished tucking away the last of the groceries, I flicked on the TV for a bit of background noise. But the news caught my attention¡ªsomething about a flu with a rabies twist. The Little Bird Bureau of Human Welfare was on high alert, and the whole city was about to turn into a quarantine zone. Streets barricaded, patrol cars on guard¡ªsounded like the opening scene of a horror flick.


    I couldn¡¯t help but quip to the empty room, ¡°If this goes full Zombie apocalypse, I¡¯m grabbing a shotgun, a rifle, and a sidearm.¡± A smirk played on my lips as I thought back to those late nights conquering Resident Evil. ¡°Those gaming marathons might just pay off. As long a Nemesis doesn¡¯t come for me¡±


    Lusty breezed back in, kids and my mom in tow, just as the news was blaring about the quarantine. I couldn¡¯t help but recall that zombie flick we saw, the one where the city was bathed in an ominous orange glow from the military¡¯s bombs.


    ¡°Yeah, that movie,¡± I mused, sliding ammo into my handgun with a practiced ease. ¡°The whole place was a wreck¡ªskyscrapers gutted, roads torn up, paths blocked off and ash raining down. That orange-red tint wasn¡¯t just for show.¡±


    Lusty nodded. ¡°It¡¯s all about the mood. Red screams danger, war, a deceptive calm before the storm. And blue? That¡¯s the color of sorrow, of what¡¯s lost.¡±


    I clicked the magazine into place. ¡°Well, if life¡¯s gonna imitate art, I¡¯m ready. Let¡¯s just hope it¡¯s more Hollywood than reality.¡±


    Lusty¡¯s got the right idea, pulling out board games to pass the time. ¡°Since we¡¯re gonna be stuck indoors, might as well make the most of it,¡± she says, setting up the game like a pro.


    Under my breath, I can¡¯t help but quote a little fire and brimstone. ¡°As the Good Book says, ¡®For by now I could have stretched out my hand and struck you and your people with a plague that would have wiped you off the Earth.¡¯ Exodus 9:15.¡± It¡¯s a whisper lost in the shuffle of cardboard and dice.


    Sandwich in hand, I muse aloud, ¡°If the military rolls in, those video game heavy machine guns and miniguns might not be as handy as they seem. Sure, they mow down zombies in games, but unlike real life? They¡¯re just overheating hunks of metal.¡±


    They give me the eye-roll, classic. But I¡¯ve got to hand it to this city¡ªit¡¯s come a long way from the bad old days. Lusty remembered it well, ¡°Back then, you¡¯d find more street fights than streetlights. Now? It¡¯s like we¡¯ve scrubbed the grime off the streets.¡±


    Lusty¡¯s got a point about steering clear of hospitals during an outbreak. ¡°Clinics and hospitals are ground zero for germs, a real hotbed for contagion,¡± she says, and I can¡¯t argue with that logic. ¡°And let¡¯s not forget those zombie flicks where the government herds everyone into a hospital for evacuation, like they¡¯re lining up snacks for the undead.¡±


    It¡¯s a no-brainer¡ªhospitals are a magnet for the sick, and in a crisis like this, they¡¯re just about the last place you¡¯d want to be. Lusty¡¯s seen enough horror movies to know that when the government sets up shop in a hospital during an apocalypse, it¡¯s not exactly a stroke of genius.


    Sealing up the place, I made sure we were as insulated as could be. ¡°This isn¡¯t exactly how I pictured my day unfolding,¡± I admitted with a sigh. ¡°Seems like someone¡¯s got a different plan for us.¡± The thought of travelers stranded at airports crossed my mind, and I winced. ¡°Man, those poor souls with their flights on hold indefinitely. It¡¯s not just about the refunds¡ªit¡¯s the homesick folks, the tourists¡­ what a mess.¡±


    Lusty¡¯s in the kitchen, whipping up snacks for the kiddos, and she¡¯s got this look that says she¡¯s seen it all. ¡°Airports must be a real scene right now. Folks desperate to get home, not giving two hoots about some virus on the loose. And if it¡¯s in the air? Forget about planes and choppers¡ªthat¡¯s just a flying petri dish.¡±


    She¡¯s got a point. I remember this one zombie story where the bug was catching rides in the sky, turning passengers into the walking dead mid-flight. Talk about a no-exit nightmare.


    ¡°Here in Little Bird, they don¡¯t slap on quarantines for kicks,¡± Lusty continues, slicing apples with precision. ¡°If this thing went national? You¡¯d have people dialing their embassies faster than you can say ¡®outbreak,¡¯ trying to get a ticket out. But all they¡¯d be doing is gift-wrapping the bug for the rest of the world.¡±


    Leaning against the kitchen counter, I couldn¡¯t help but ponder the fate of malls in our city. ¡°You know, the whole mall-as-a-fortress thing in zombie flicks is so played out. It¡¯s like they forget a mall is a colossal space¡ªa small band of survivors wouldn¡¯t stand a chance.¡±


    Curious, I turned to Lusty. ¡°What¡¯s your take on malls in horror films?¡±


    She didn¡¯t miss a beat, ¡°Oh, it¡¯s been beaten to a pulp. That trope¡¯s so old it¡¯s collecting social security. Time to retire it for good.¡±


    Gazing out the window, the sight of barricades going up sends a chill down my spine. ¡°Back in Alabama, I knew guys who lived and breathed Romero¡¯s undead sagas,¡± I muse aloud. ¡°Never thought I¡¯d see the day when those fictional desolate streets would mirror reality. And that pastor? He¡¯d probably say this outbreak is divine retribution for humanity¡¯s missteps.¡±


    Shaking off the unease, I plant myself in front of the TV, determined not to be that person who blithely switches off the news. In every horror movie, there¡¯s that one character who tunes out the dire warnings, only to regret it later. Not me. I¡¯m staying informed, keeping my eyes peeled on the screen. Ignorance might be bliss for some, but when it comes to survival, knowledge is power.


    Lusty¡¯s has a point about the dog-eat-dog world often depicted in zombie flicks. ¡°It¡¯s like a twisted showcase of the worst of human nature,¡± I reflect. ¡°Instead of banding together, they¡¯re all about outdoing each other. It¡¯s survival of the fittest cranked to eleven.¡±


    I¡¯ve seen my fair share of those movies too, where the fallen comrade gets ditched at the first sign of trouble. ¡°It¡¯s a harsh lesson in teamwork¡ªor the lack thereof,¡± I add. ¡°They say there¡¯s strength in numbers, and it¡¯s true. A four-man squad is nothing next to a five-man team. Sure, sometimes sacrifices are made, but too often, it¡¯s not about necessity¡ªit¡¯s about selfishness.¡±


    This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    As the day wound down, I found myself in the kitchen, sliding a couple of frozen pizzas into the oven. The cheesy aroma soon filled the air, promising a simple feast for Lusty¡¯s daughters and us. It¡¯s funny how the little things, like sharing a Meatlovers pizza, can feel so grounding, even when the outside world is spinning out of control.


    My mother, usually a whirlwind of opinions and energy, has been unusually quiet, lost in the pages of a book. It¡¯s a change that speaks volumes; maybe this is her way of turning over a new leaf, of showing that it¡¯s never too late to shift gears and start anew. She¡¯s 47, and like Dad used to say, we¡¯ve all got that invisible clock ticking away inside us. It¡¯s a sobering thought that our time is finite, but it¡¯s also a reminder to make the most of the moments we have, to live fully and love deeply, no matter how much sand is left in the hourglass.


    My mother, she¡¯s always been a complex enigma. A woman who sought help only to scorn those who extended their hands, including my father. I remember the day she discarded his Bible¡ªa symbol of his quiet faith. He¡¯s a man of God, yes, but not one to preach at doorsteps or judge others¡¯ beliefs. He honors the freedom of faith, or the choice of none, with a gentle respect.


    I¡¯ve often pondered what sparked the shift in her, the softening of her edges. Perhaps the looming realization that her earthly journey might conclude within three decades stirred something within her. But for me, the olive branch comes too late. The scars of the past are etched deep, unerasable by time or remorse. She was absent, not just from my life but from my father¡¯s side, lost in her vices.


    It was only when I stepped into adulthood that she seemed to recognize the void where her presence should have been during my formative years. But by then, the die was cast. My extended family had become the lighthouse in the fog, guiding me when she couldn¡¯t. They were the ones who witnessed the milestones of my youth, the moments she missed and can never reclaim.


    My dad, he¡¯s the kind of man who knows the weight of every hour. Working tirelessly, 50 to 70 hours a week, yet he always found those precious moments to pause, to be there for me. He understood the void that absence leaves in a child¡¯s heart¡ªhis own father was a ghost of presence, whisked away to the Korean DMZ Conflict when my dad was just an infant.


    Throughout the ''70s and early ''80s, my grandfather remained an elusive figure in my father¡¯s life, a shadow that never quite materialized into substance. But my dad broke that cycle. He vowed that the history of neglect would not repeat with me. Born in ''84, a child of young love and defiance, I never knew my biological grandfather. My dad made that choice, a silent protest against the man who never really played the role of father to him.


    Instead, it was my great-uncle who stepped into those shoes, filling the gaps with lessons on life and the workings of an internal combustion engine. He became the mentor, the father figure my dad deserved. And my dad, in turn, became the hero of my own story¡ªalways ensuring I felt valued, cared for, and loved, no matter the cost.


    As the oven worked their magic, spinning dough into comfort, I found myself drawn to the window. There, I watched the stillness of the street below, where a lone patrol car sat sentinel, dividing the empty lanes with its silent presence. Another drifted by, its lights a fleeting whisper against the backdrop of a city that felt more like a memory than a bustling center of life.


    Turning from the glass, I sought the warmth of connection, finding it not in the deserted streets but in the eyes of my girlfriend, Claire. My mother¡¯s disapproval of our love is a storm cloud in a clear sky, but it¡¯s one I¡¯ve learned to navigate. My father, the steadfast beacon, and my family, the chorus of support, understand the simple truth: Claire and I, we¡¯re real. We¡¯re two souls grounded in the earthiness of genuine affection, not in the fleeting currency of convenience. Our love isn¡¯t just spoken; it¡¯s lived, breathed, and cherished in the quiet moments just like these.


    The glow of the television cast a somber light as I watched the Mayor¡¯s announcement unfold. A curfew from 7 AM to 6 PM¡ªa decision not made lightly, intended to curb the spread of uncertainty as much as any virus. It¡¯s not a full lockdown; the streets aren¡¯t barred, and the city breathes in hushed tones. Yet, the threat of arrest looms for those who dare to wander past the allotted time.


    The news cycles spin tales of speculation, painting narratives without substance.


    ¡°This is how fear spreads,¡± I muttered. ¡°Not with facts, but with conjecture masquerading as truth.¡±


    They¡¯re not guiding us on how to stay safe; they¡¯re fueling the fire of panic. The ring of the phone shattered the silence, and Lusty¡¯s voice carried a note of inevitability as she spoke my name. The call ended, and her eyes met mine with a mix of concern and resolve.


    ¡°You have to go into work,¡± she said, her words heavy with the weight of what that meant. ¡°Even with this outbreak hanging over us.¡±


    As I weave through the alleyways, shortcuts to the station, I carry with me the lessons my dad instilled. He taught me to stand firm in who I am, to recognize the worth of my journey. He said, ¡°If they weren¡¯t there during your struggles, they don¡¯t deserve a seat at the table of your success.¡± It¡¯s a mantra that¡¯s guided me through life¡¯s labyrinth.


    In the flickering light of high school and university days, I saw it all¡ªthe allure of popularity, friends clustering like moths to a flame. But when adversity struck, they scattered, swift as cheetahs fleeing the scene, leaving behind nothing but the echo of their departure. They sought the warmth of good times, not the chill of challenges.


    Yet, it¡¯s in the contrast of those who flee and those who stay that life reveals its true colors. The steadfast friends, the ones who walk with you through the storms, they¡¯re the treasures. They¡¯re the ones who understand that support isn¡¯t a fair-weather friend. They¡¯re the keepers, the ones who share not just your laughter but also your silence, your tears. They¡¯re the ones who prove that true friendship isn¡¯t about basking in the glow of success¡ªit¡¯s about holding the light for you when the path gets dark.


    _______________________________


    Squad 769 firehouse


    In a swift motion, I darted to my locker, but instinctively, I veered into the sleeping quarters. With a quick turn of the lock, I sealed myself inside and slipped into my station uniform. It¡¯s a ritual now, this dance of caution and readiness.


    I maintained a wary distance from my six colleagues. The invisible threat of infection hung between us, unspoken but heavy with implications. I¡¯m not taking any chances; the stakes are too high. It¡¯s a strange thought, isn¡¯t it? Any one of us could be a silent carrier, unknowingly harboring an enemy within.


    Peering out the window, my gaze fell upon the familiar silhouette of the old tenement buildings. They¡¯re relics of a bygone era, standing since the early 20th century¡ªsturdy brick sentinels with their steel bones, crowned by modest shops at their feet. Yet now, they¡¯re scenes of a different kind of battle.


    I¡¯ve watched the HAZMAT-suited figures enter, a stark contrast to the worn red bricks. They emerge later, leaving behind a chilling marker on the doors: ¡°QUARANTINE. Contagious disease. No one may enter or leave this building by order of the Empire Branch of the Bureau of Human Welfare.¡± It¡¯s a stark reminder of the times we¡¯re living in, where safety is a luxury and vigilance, a necessity.


    It wasn¡¯t long before they were upon us, their presence a mix of reassurance and intrusion. They came to check on us, to peer into our eyes and search for the telltale signs of the sickness that had our city in its grip. I asked one of them¡ªthe one with eyes that avoided mine¡ªjust how bad this thing was. He hemmed and hawed, his words a carefully choreographed dance around the truth.


    But you see, I¡¯m a Waterson. We¡¯re made of sterner stuff. We don¡¯t dress up danger in pretty words or serve reality with a side of sugar. We call it like we see it, straight and true. And if someone¡¯s earned a piece of our mind, they¡¯ll get it, unfiltered and undiluted. That¡¯s the Waterson way¡ªno half-truths, no omissions, just the raw, unvarnished truth. Because in times like these, when fear and uncertainty are as contagious as the virus itself, honesty isn¡¯t just a virtue¡ªit¡¯s our duty.


    Many folks out there, they cling to a comforting lie like a life raft in a storm. They''d rather wrap themselves in a soft blanket of falsehoods than face the biting chill of reality. But lies? They''re like a debt that always comes due, and when the truth surfaces, as it always does, those lies become a currency of loss.


    We Watersons, we don''t trade in such currency. We deal in the hard coin of truth because, in the end, it''s the only thing that holds its value. Life, it''s a tough teacher, and it doesn''t hand out cheat sheets. It demands that we face the hard truths, no matter how much they sting.


    Let me tell you, we Watersons have a reputation for our brutal honesty. If someone''s brave enough to ask for our opinion, we give them a fair warning. "Are you sure you want to hear this?"


    Most folks say they want honesty, but they flinch when it''s served up raw and unfiltered. But if they insist, if they really want to know what we think, we don''t hold back. We give it to them straight, no chaser, both barrels blazing. That''s the Waterson way¡ªuncomfortable, maybe, but never uncertain.


    Back in high school, I knew some girls who dreamed of snagging a big shot, someone with deep pockets and a flashy lifestyle. I tried to bring them back to earth, reminding them that most rich folks are already married or have families or are miserable windbags. Plus, millionaires and billionaires are rare. They needed a reality check.


    I still know people from those days who work at McDonald''s or get up at the crack of dawn to collect trash, finishing their shifts by noon. Those girls used to laugh at the idea of dating a trash collector or a burger flipper. But to me, it doesn''t matter if my girlfriend is a fry cook or a garbage collector. People take the jobs they need to make ends meet. High-paying jobs are few and far between, but there''s no shortage of hard-working, modest, low-paying jobs. And there''s no shame in that. It''s about the person, not the paycheck.


    My girlfriend''s father served as a Marine during the twilight years of the Vietnam War. He had the G.I. Bill helped him through college, but he chose not to use it because his wife was supporting him through school. When she lost her therapy license, he didn''t hesitate. He dropped out of college and took a minimum wage job as a janitor, earning just $110 a month. His wife found work through a temp agency, taking whatever jobs came her way for chump change pay.


    Their story is a testament to resilience and sacrifice. It''s a reminder that sometimes, life throws curveballs, and you have to adapt and make tough choices. It''s not about the job title or the paycheck¡ªit''s about the strength and determination to keep going, no matter what.


    After the team left to verify our health status, I found myself questioning the Lieutenant about our relentless duty hours. In response, he simply grasped the right sleeve of my turnout jacket, his finger tracing the contours of the patch emblazoned with the Blue Star of Life. Above it read ¡°EMPIRE,¡± and below, ¡°EMERGENCY MEDICAL TECHNICIAN.¡± His silent gesture spoke volumes, yet it skirted the heart of my query.


    In the heat of the moment, I had nearly forgotten the legacy of the Fire Department City of Empire¡¯s Bureau of Medical Services. Established in the late 1970s, it was a direct answer to the city¡¯s descent into vice¡ªan era when narcotics gripped the streets, and the existing ambulances, whether city-owned or charity-run, were swamped under the tide of need. The aftermath of Vietnam saw combat medics and corpsmen bringing their battlefield-honed skills to these urban frontlines, treating wounds inflicted not by war, but by the violence that narcotics bred.


    Back then, the notion of firefighters doubling as medical professionals sparked controversy. But today, it¡¯s a given¡ªno second glances, no raised eyebrows. It¡¯s a testament to how far we¡¯ve come, how the lines between service roles have blurred in the name of saving lives. It¡¯s not just about fighting fires.


    Back in the day, the push to pass the medical services initiative through the Commonwealth of Mountain House of Representatives and the Little Bird Civilian Congress was a battle of perspectives. Supporters painted vivid pictures for the government officials, asking them to imagine their own kin in dire straits, with the nearest ambulance an hour away. Their pleas were echoed by those who knew the agony of loss when every second counted.


    Opponents, however, dismissed these concerns as overblown. They had hospitals just a drive away, with the luxury of on-call physicians or the means to summon a fly car. But the idea found its champions among small towns with maybe one or two doctors, among rural folks for whom a hospital visit was a day¡¯s journey, among the elderly who couldn¡¯t make the trip, and among those who had faced the brink of loss.


    Before the ''70s, firefighters arrived at emergencies with hands tied by lack of medical training. Even when training began, it was basic¡ªjust enough to stabilize and perform CPR. But it was a start. Me? I¡¯m a Certified First Responder. I may not be an EMT, but I carry the same resolve to save lives, armed with the knowledge and the will to act when it matters most.


    During this outbreak, I know my role and the boundaries it sets. I stick to what I know if a medical emergency call comes in. I¡¯m not about to step outside my lane and risk doing more harm than good. I¡¯m a Certified First Responder, not a Firefighter/Paramedic like the Lieutenant and the rest of the crew. They¡¯ve got the training and the know-how to handle these situations. My job is to support them in any way I can, without overstepping. It¡¯s about working together, each of us playing our part to get through this crisis.


    The thought of quartering an ambulance in our already cramped quarters made me speak up. ¡°I¡¯ll hate it if they want to quarter an ambulance with us,¡± I said, the words spilling out before I could catch them.


    Our firehouse, if you can call it that, is more a relic of rebellion than a beacon of safety. It was once a motorcycle clubhouse, echoing with the roars of engines and the wild dreams of those who sought freedom on two wheels. Now, it¡¯s where we hang our helmets and gear up to save lives. The city¡¯s attempt at renovation left us with a space that¡¯s more a tight squeeze than a functional firehouse. Our Rescue Engine dominates the room, leaving little space for much else.


    I often find myself wishing for a new station, one built for purpose, not patched together from the remnants of the past. When I look at the modern, eco-friendly stations like 136, 137, and 138, with their separate rooms and state-of-the-art facilities, I can¡¯t help but feel a twinge of envy. They even have room for Rescue Squads and multiple companies.


    Our station, Squad 769, lacks the iconic fireman¡¯s pole¡ªa symbol of tradition and rapid response. It¡¯s a stark contrast to the older stations, which still bear the marks of history with their spiral staircases and horse-drawn wagon days. Yet, they¡¯ve been granted the dignity of a fireman¡¯s pole, a luxury we¡¯re denied.


    We¡¯re left with an old garage, barely able to accommodate our single Rescue Engine. To bring in another apparatus would be to divide our station in half, creating a barrier within our own walls. We stand alone in the city of Empire as the only station operating a single piece of apparatus, while others boast fleets of two to four. It¡¯s a daily reminder of our humble beginnings and the challenges we face.


    False alarms are like the boy who cried wolf¡ªthey erode trust and waste precious time. Lusty and Dave have seen it all: the pranks that pull us away from real emergencies, the skeptics who won¡¯t let us in because they¡¯ve been fooled one time too many times. It¡¯s a dangerous game that can leave real cries for help unanswered.


    As for our apparatus, it¡¯s as stubborn as the day is long. When it refused to start, I offered to take a look. I¡¯ve got a knack for engines, you see. Back in ''97, I breathed life into a ''48 pickup that most had given up on. Finding parts for that beast was like searching for a specific piece of hay in a haystack.


    So there I was, toolbox in hand, ready to tackle our fire engine¡¯s 100-gallon heart despite the protests. I¡¯m no stranger to getting my hands dirty, and sometimes, you¡¯ve got to bend the rules to keep things running. Meanwhile, the crew tried their hand at fixing the TV, only to have it burst into flames the moment they turned it back on. The irony wasn¡¯t lost on me¡ªthey¡¯d insisted I leave the engine to the pros, yet there they were, playing amateur electrician during a lockdown. Sometimes, you¡¯ve just gotta shake your head and smile at the quirks of life.


    My dad and grand uncles, they had a philosophy: knowledge is your best tool, and not just for fixing things. They saw how some of my cousins were taken for a ride by slick-talking repairmen, swindled out of hard-earned cash for repairs as phantom as a ghost in the machine. They were easy marks, not knowing a carburetor from a camshaft.


    So, they rolled up their sleeves and showed me the ropes. They made sure I knew my way around an engine, that I could spot a scam a mile away. Because when you know what''s under the hood, you¡¯re not just saving on repair bills¡ªyou¡¯re claiming power. Power over your own life, your choices, and your independence.


    It¡¯s paid off. Whenever a mechanic tries to pad the bill with unnecessary fixes, I can call their bluff. I¡¯m not just Macaroni the firefighter; I¡¯m Macaroni the savvy car owner who won¡¯t be hoodwinked. Thanks to my dad and grand uncles, I¡¯m not just tough on the outside¡ªI¡¯m sharp on the inside. And in this world, that¡¯s the kind of strength that really counts.


    Thirty minutes ticked by, and the folks from the Bureau of Human Welfare were back, giving us the all-clear. Health in check, I dove back into work. Hours blurred as I tinkered and toiled until, at 7 PM, the engine roared to life, purring like it was fresh off the lot.


    The TV, though, was a lost cause. A charred mess inside, it was beyond any hope of revival. No more flickering images or canned laughter¡ªjust silence. But I wasn¡¯t caught off guard. I had my own arsenal of knowledge tucked away in my locker: a stack of books, a few encyclopedias. They¡¯re relics of a time when information wasn¡¯t at our fingertips, when knowledge was bound in leather and ink.


    Here in Little Bird, the internet might as well be a luxury good, with computers priced out of reach for folks like us. They¡¯re reserved for the desks of offices and the halls of government, not for the hands of the average Joe. But that¡¯s alright. I¡¯ve got pages to turn and worlds to explore, all from the comfort of the firehouse. In times like these, those pages are more than just words¡ªthey¡¯re an escape, a journey, a respite from the chaos outside our doors.


    The silence of the city is eerie, a stark contrast to the usual cacophony that fills the streets. It¡¯s like living in a scene straight out of a horror movie, or experiencing the unnatural quiet of a rural town on a Sunday night.


    Amidst this stillness, the guys reminisced about their past calls¡ªtales of life-saving moments and close calls. I chimed in with my own story, recalling the time I stepped in to save a life. Sure, I¡¯m not a doctor, but at that moment, I did what was necessary. The doctor later gave me an earful, but I stood my ground, bolstered by the Good Samaritan laws that shield those who act in good faith to help others in distress.


    In the end, it¡¯s the outcome that counts. The man lived. My dad, ever my champion, defended my actions, reminding the doctor and anyone who¡¯d listen that life is precious, and when it¡¯s in danger, hesitation isn¡¯t an option. He made it clear that next time, if faced with a choice, I¡¯d remember the doctor¡¯s words¡ªbut I¡¯d still choose to act, because that¡¯s what Watersons do. We don¡¯t turn away; we step up, even if it means standing alone against criticism. At the end of the day, saving a life is worth any reprimand, any risk, any challenge. That¡¯s the creed I live by, the lesson my dad instilled in me, and the truth that guides me as a firefighter and a first responder.


    The guys have their stories, tales of high-stakes runs that turned out to be paper cuts or pulled muscles. It¡¯s a different world in Uptown and Downtown, where the skyline is a chessboard of high-rises and skyscrapers, each piece equipped with the latest in fire suppression technology. They stand like vigilant guardians, their systems so advanced that most fires are quelled before we arrive on scene.


    To the seasoned firefighters from those parts, the buildings are fortresses, virtually impervious to flames. On the rare occasion, a fire does spark, it¡¯s often snuffed out swiftly, leaving us to radio a Code 4 and signal the other companies with a 10-02 to head back to their respective quarters.


    But then there are the legends, like the one about the colossal high-rise blaze of ''63. It¡¯s a story passed down through the ranks, a reminder of the raw ferocity of fire before technology tamed it. We listen, captivated, even though the tale is from an era none of us witnessed, born as we were in the decades that followed.


    My phone buzzed¡ªa message from Dad. He¡¯s holed up in a motel for the night, unwinding after a day with family. They¡¯d been curious about my job, and he¡¯d proudly told them I¡¯m a firefighter. It raised some eyebrows; a female Waterson in a firehouse was something they hadn¡¯t imagined, given their memories of a time when such a thing was unheard of, except during the world wars.


    But Dad set them straight. He spoke of Little Bird, my home, where history took a different turn. Here, the aftermath of the Great War opened doors for women in the workforce, thanks to the 1937 reworking of the Little Bird Integration Act. It was a move born of necessity, with too many jobs and not enough men to fill them after the war¡¯s heavy toll.


    He told them of the tomboy country women, like me, who stepped up to keep farms and towns running, of the all-female motorcycle unit in the Empire Police Department, and of the women who joined the ranks of firemen, despite the protests and the prejudice. When the Second World War called the men away, women didn¡¯t just fill their shoes¡ªthey reshaped the very fabric of our society.


    I then texted him good night and he should get some sleep because it¡¯s almost midnight where he¡¯s at.


    Growing up, my dad had this larger-than-life dream of me becoming a rockstar. He¡¯d say, ¡°Macaroni, you¡¯ve got the fire to light up the world¡¯s stage.¡± But even as he spun these grand visions, he never missed a chance to ground me with his life lessons. ¡°Remember, kiddo,¡± he¡¯d tell me, his voice earnest over the clang and clamor of me singing to my favorite songs over the radio, ¡°be kind to the folks you meet on your climb to the top. You never know if you¡¯ll cross paths again on your way down.¡±


    He was right. In this whirlwind life, where fame and fortune can be as fleeting as a siren¡¯s wail, it¡¯s easy to lose sight of where you started. I¡¯ve seen it happen¡ªstars who once shone bright, forgetting the hands that helped them rise, only to find themselves in freefall, their old friends now on the ascent. Dad¡¯s words stick with me, a steady beacon as I navigate the unpredictable blaze of life. It¡¯s not about chasing the spotlight; it¡¯s about illuminating the path for others, just as he did for me.


    As the sun sets on the first day of the ¡°Rabivus¡± outbreak, I find myself reflecting on the whirlwind of events that have unfolded. ¡°Rabivus,¡± a moniker we coined to encapsulate the ferocity of this rabies-like virus, seems almost too quaint for the chaos it¡¯s unleashed. Here in Empire, the camaraderie among us first responders is our lifeline, and tonight, the guys at Squad 769 and I shared stories to lighten the mood. They ribbed me about an old rescue¡ªa time when I was green and got an earful from a doctor for my lack of medical training. Back then, I might not have known the difference between a tibia and a fibula, but I knew enough to stay by that man¡¯s side until the volunteers arrived.


    Now, with the badge of a Probationary Firefighter/Emergency Medical Technician pinned to my chest, I¡¯m itching to give that doctor a piece of my mind. Out here, we¡¯re not just fighting fires; we¡¯re battling an invisible enemy, and every call is a dance with danger¡ªa reality most doctors will never know.


    But it¡¯s not just the virus that tests our mettle. My girlfriend Lusty, my cousin, and his wife¡ªthey¡¯ve all had their share of run-ins with the less-than-thankful. Lusty recounted a call to a soda shop where the owner was more concerned about his floors than the unconscious patron bleeding on them. She laid down the law, telling him that if we didn¡¯t stabilize the victim for transport, and they died as a result, he¡¯d be staring down the barrel of a lawsuit. Not against us, the fire department, but against his precious establishment. The threat of losing his multimillion-dollar business to a charge of manslaughter was enough to silence him. After all, word travels fast in Empire, and no one wants to frequent a place known for turning away lifesavers.


    So, as I brace for day two, I¡¯m reminded of why I do this job. It¡¯s not for glory or gratitude¡ªit¡¯s for the people who need us, for the lives we save in the face of the unthinkable. As long as there¡¯s breath in my lungs, I¡¯ll keep answering the call, no matter what awaits.


    Lusty¡¯s stories about the ingratitude we face never fail to amaze me. It¡¯s a strange world here in Empire, where saving lives can sometimes be less appreciated than the inconvenience it causes. I remember her telling me about the time our department was sued over the sound of our sirens. It¡¯s hard to fathom that someone would prioritize their peace and quiet over a life-saving emergency response.


    Then there was that driver, furious because we had to break his car windows. They were obstructing a fire hydrant, and in our line of work, seconds count. The law is clear: we have the right to ensure access to a hydrant, even if it means breaking windows. The judge threw out the case, affirming our actions. It¡¯s common sense, really, but common sense isn¡¯t so common, it seems.


    Let¡¯s not forget the infamous soda shop owner, who tried to block them during a gas leak. Lusty didn¡¯t hesitate to remind him of the legal storm he¡¯d face if anyone died because of his interference. The threat of a class-action lawsuit made him step aside quickly. It¡¯s ludicrous that we even have to explain such things, but it¡¯s part of the job.


    We¡¯ve even been sued for not obeying traffic laws while responding to emergencies. Imagine that¡ªbeing taken to court for rushing to save someone¡¯s life. Thankfully, those cases are dismissed almost instantly. It¡¯s a reminder that no matter how absurd the obstacle, our duty to serve and protect remains unwavering. So we keep on, sirens blaring and hearts racing, ready for whatever comes next.


    I remember the day my cousin Dave, an officer with a laid-back reputation at the station but a true leader in the field, had his own run-in with that notorious soda shop owner. Dave¡¯s approach is different, he doesn¡¯t bother with threats or legal jargon. His priority is clear, help those in need, no matter the obstacle. That day, the scene of the motor vehicle accident (MVA) was chaotic, and Ladder Co 16 had to block off the area, including the soda shop¡¯s parking lot, to secure the site and keep onlookers at bay.


    The owner, infamous for his lack of cooperation, was at it again, berating Dave for the inconvenience. This was the same man who once barred the fire department from entering his shop to aid a customer struggling to breathe¡ªa decision that sparked citywide fury. His blatant disregard for human life over business interests led to a boycott of his establishment. When the case went to court, neither the judge nor the jury had any sympathy for him. They saw his actions for what they were: selfish and reckless. Ultimately, the soda shop was sold after the owner faced charges of voluntary manslaughter. He knew his customer needed help, yet chose to prevent it, a decision that cost him everything.


    It¡¯s stories like these that remind me why we do what we do. We¡¯re here to serve, to save lives, and to stand up for those who can¡¯t. If that means facing down the ungrateful or the ignorant, then so be it. We¡¯ll continue to do our job, with or without their thanks, because at the end of the day, it¡¯s the lives we save that truly matter.


    The year 2003 is etched in our memories, a testament to the resilience and unity of firefighters. I was just still fresh out of high school by two years and still a waitress back then, but the tales from the City of Chocolate¡¯s high-rise inferno are passed down like somber legends within these station walls. Nearly the entire department mobilized, a colossal effort in the face of an unprecedented disaster. Arriving on the scene, the sight that greeted them was beyond comprehension¡ªmassive steel fire engines and trucks crumpled like paper, police cars tossed aside as if by a giant¡¯s hand. The devastation was cinematic, yet all too real.


    The aftermath was a time of silent mourning and unspoken grief, as many children in the city grew up orphaned, their firefighter parents having rushed into the blaze without a second thought for their own safety. They were driven by a singular purpose: to battle the flames, to rescue those trapped by an insidious incendiary device that had weakened the very bones of the buildings.


    For months, the city was shrouded in a ghostly pall, the dust from the collapse so thick it blanketed the streets, obscuring signs and landmarks. The only guidance through this ashen wasteland was the dim glow of rear-facing lights on the surviving fire apparatus.


    In the year and a half that followed, from September 5th, 2003, to March 12th, 2005, the City of Chocolate saw an influx of firefighters from neighboring cities and towns. These men and women, strangers to each other, filled the ranks left vacant by the fallen. They brought with them diverse experiences, knowledge of different codes, and varied approaches to urban and rural firefighting. Here in Little Bird, the contrast is stark¡ªcity departments operate defensively, while rural areas take a more aggressive stance. Yet, despite these differences, they fought side by side, united by a common cause.


    It was a time of learning and adaptation, of understanding that whether we come from bustling cities with multiple companies or quiet towns with just a couple, our mission remains the same¡ªto save lives.


    Change is the only constant in our line of work, and the stories of past generations are a testament to that. Each era of firefighters has faced its own set of challenges and adapted to the tools of their times. Now, we¡¯re in an age where technology like drones can mark potential fire hazards, helping us predict and control the spread of flames with precision. It¡¯s a far cry from the days of the Lost Generation and the Silent Generation, who relied on one-way radios and payphones to communicate with dispatch.


    Back in the 1950s, the fire service saw the introduction of specialized units to handle emergencies beyond the scope of traditional fire companies. Post-World War II brought a construction boom, with wooden houses giving way to prefabricated steel homes for returning G.I.s, and the rise of malls and skyscrapers presented new firefighting challenges.


    Each generation has had its skeptics, wary of new technologies that could potentially fail and put lives at risk.


    Empire is a tapestry of neighborhoods, each with its own heartbeat and hazards. From the soaring skyscrapers of Uptown and Downtown to the tranquil suburban lanes of Emerald Pastors and Riverview, the diversity is staggering. The Factory District hums with industry, while Eastside and Westside boast their historic low-rise apartments, their facades a testament to the international style of the mid 20th century. Highwood¡¯s mansions stand as silent sentinels of wealth, and Tallwood tells a grittier tale with its row houses and industrial sites. Anderson¡¯s multi-family dwellings and the sturdy brick buildings of the port district add yet more layers to this urban landscape.


    Beneath it all, the veins of the city¡ªmiles of subway lines, the sprawling airport on the outskirts, tunnels, bridges, and pipes¡ªform a complex circulatory system that¡¯s both lifeline and vulnerability.


    Since the 1990s, the Fire Department City of Empire has risen to the challenge, evolving into an All Hazards Agency. We¡¯re a model for adaptability, a title embraced by other cities across Little Bird in the early 2000s. We¡¯re prepared for anything, from fires to floods, from earthquakes to epidemics.


    Yet tonight, the silence is almost eerie. No calls, no sirens¡ªjust the quiet anticipation of a city holding its breath. It¡¯s a testament to the gravity of the situation; people are taking the ¡°Rabivus¡± threat seriously, hunkering down, waiting for the storm to pass. It¡¯s a wise choice, considering the Empire Police Department¡¯s history with demonstrations or  enforcing things in the ''60s by force¡ªa reminder that sometimes, the best way to stay safe is to stay put.


    As a probationary firefighter, I¡¯m here, ready and waiting. The stillness is unnerving, but it¡¯s also a sign of hope. It means that maybe, just maybe, we¡¯re getting through this together, as a city united in caution and care. When the call finally comes, we¡¯ll be there, because that¡¯s what we do¡ªwe serve, we protect, and we stand ready to face whatever challenges come our way.


    Navigating the unknown waters of this virus, we¡¯re all treading carefully, especially when it comes to medical calls. The symptoms are a mystery, and every ring of the station¡¯s PA system could mean facing a new challenge without a playbook. It¡¯s a stark contrast to the tales I¡¯ve heard about the police force here on Little Bird, reminiscent of the stories my granduncles and cousins shared about the ''60s. They spoke with a kind of approval for the way the police handled the anti-war protesters back then¡ªhow they dealt with the ¡®hippies.¡¯ It¡¯s a mindset that seems worlds away from our current crisis.


    I couldn¡¯t help but lighten the mood with a quote from Forrest Gump, ¡°We were all looking for someone named Charlie.¡± It¡¯s an odd parallel, searching for an unseen enemy, whether it¡¯s in the jungles of Vietnam or the streets of Empire.


    The riot control tactics here have their roots in the mid-century, with batons, fire hoses, and tear gas. By the ''80s, the police had shifted, adopting military training and repurposing old Ranger armor into riot gear. It¡¯s a history of adaptation, of forces evolving to meet the threats of their time, much like we do in the fire service.


    As for the company, I¡¯ve taken on the role of cook, serving up something warm amidst the chaos. It¡¯s a small comfort, but necessary. With the TV gone, there¡¯s no constant barrage of news to stoke the fires of fear. The media has a way of magnifying the darkness, editing out the light to sell a narrative of panic. But we don¡¯t need that here.


    We had a quiet dinner but to me the calls that other companies are getting are just welfare checks to check on those who are more vulnerable like the elderly but well according to Dave and Lusty that many times the Fire Department go on welfare checks on the elderly and those who are at risk but if there¡¯s no answer then they can forcefully enter a residence to make sure the person is okay. Of course Dave had noted that sometimes that they get to a house to knock but no answer so they open said door by force if it¡¯s locked and a lot of times the person they¡¯re checking up on is usually out like going shopping or going for a walk around the block to keep their heart rate up. But my girlfriend and cousin they¡¯re both in areas of the city where the members of their stations know the people there by heart and know who they are and if they¡¯re at risk or not.


    I just hope we don¡¯t get a major emergency during this even though when we do then the Fire Dispatch will use its distinctive Quick Call system where each station has its own series of tones to indicate it is being called up and a klaxon that sounds to confirm that Station 51 is being deployed. The dispatcher would then, along with destination info, specify the equipment and station to be deployed. If "Station" is called, all units from that station are to be deployed (so a call of "Station 141" means both the engine, the truck, mass cass unit, and airport crash tender roll out); otherwise it''s just the apparatus stated ("Engine" for fire engines, ¡°Rescue¡± for rescue squads. "Squad" for rescue engines, "Truck" for ladder trucks, "Foam" for foam generators, "Deluge" for high-volume monitors, "Copter" for helicopters, "Boat" for fireboats, "Battalion" for battalion chiefs to coordinate larger deployments, and "Division" for Division chiefs for even larger ones)


    The quiet hours after dinner, when the station settles into a lull, are often when thoughts run wild. Tonight, insomnia has me in its grip, a restless mind fueled by the unpredictability of the day. In these moments, I turn to the wisdom of the past, thumbing through the pages of a preparedness manual that¡¯s seen revisions from the 1950s to the 1980s, and again in the early 2000s. It¡¯s a comprehensive guide, covering every conceivable disaster, from the wrath of nature to the follies of man.


    Natural hazards like floods, earthquakes, and wildfires are just the beginning. The manual delves into the rare but real threats of solar storms and meteorite impacts, painting a picture of a world where anything can happen. Then there are the manmade disasters¡ªbioterrorism, civil unrest, and the ever-looming specter of nuclear accidents. Each manual is a reminder that vigilance is the price of safety.


    The Little Bird Bureau of Human Welfare, our equivalent of FEMA and the Civil Defense Administration, alongside the Bureau of Law and the Bureau of Fire Protection, implores us to be ever-prepared. They echo the sentiment that¡¯s been ingrained in us since training. ¡°It¡¯s better to have it and not need it, than to need it and not have it.¡± It¡¯s a mantra for readiness, a call to arms against the unknown.


    As I sit here, the manual in hand, I can¡¯t help but feel a sense of pride. We¡¯re the guardians of Empire, armed not just with hoses and ladders, but with knowledge and foresight. As the night deepens, I find comfort in the thought that we¡¯re ready for whatever comes our way, because we¡¯ve prepared for the unknown, and we stand united in our resolve to protect and serve.


    It¡¯s a bit of a running joke, isn¡¯t it? Those disaster manuals for blizzards and ice storms seem out of place for someone in Empire City, where the climate is anything but frigid. Yet, with the way the world¡¯s weather is changing, who knows? Maybe one day we¡¯ll see snowflakes in the tropics. It¡¯s a wild thought, but in our line of work, we prepare for the wild and the unexpected. That¡¯s the heart of our job¡ªbeing ready for anything.


    Clairebear, that¡¯s a sweet nickname, by the way, and Linda is right about the fire service. It¡¯s a world where experience counts for everything until it doesn¡¯t. Because there¡¯s always that one call, that one emergency that no amount of experience can fully prepare you for. That¡¯s the curveball that keeps us on our toes.


    As for us in the Squad Companies and the Rescue Squads, we¡¯re the jack-of-all-trades in the fire service. We¡¯ve got a tool for every scenario, from rope rescues to water rescues, and everything in between. We¡¯re the ones they call when a situation is too complex for a standard Engine or Ladder Company. And the Rescue Engines, like our Squad Companies, are hybrids¡ªpart engine, part rescue squad, all business.


    The hierarchy of response is like a well-oiled machine:


    <ul>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Engine Company can¡¯t handle it? Call in the Ladder Company.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Ladder Company overwhelmed? It¡¯s time for the Squad Company.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Squad Company needs backup? Bring in the most experienced, the Rescue Company.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">And if the Rescue Company is outmatched¡­ well, that¡¯s when you know it¡¯s serious. But we¡¯re not alone; we¡¯ve got specialized units like HAZMAT and Foam for those unique emergencies.</li>


    </ul>


    It¡¯s a layered approach, ensuring that no matter the crisis, we have the resources and the expertise to tackle it head-on.


    In the fire service, especially here in Empire, the path to becoming part of a Rescue Company is steeped in tradition and hard-earned experience. It¡¯s not just about being a firefighter; it¡¯s about becoming a master of the craft. They usually do transferring across the floor, from Engine Company to Ladder Company, is a rite of passage for many. It¡¯s a journey of growth, where each call, each blaze, each rescue adds a layer to one¡¯s skill set.


    Linda¡¯s perspective sheds light on the rigorous selection process for the Rescue Company. It¡¯s not just an interview; it¡¯s a crucible where every word, every action is scrutinized. They¡¯re looking for the best of the best¡ªfirefighters who embody the aggressive, quick-thinking, and decisive nature that the job demands. It¡¯s about proving you have what it takes to uphold the elite status of the Rescue Company.


    The training¡ªtwice a year, every year¡ªis what keeps these elite teams sharp. It¡¯s a commitment to excellence, to never settling, to always being ready for the next challenge. It¡¯s a testament to the dedication of the firefighters of Empire.


    For the second time tonight, I flipped the manual closed. The words ¡°biological hazards¡± emblazoned on the cover seemed to glow in the dim light of the apparatus bay, where the only illumination was the soft amber of a street light filtering through the window. Lying back down, I stared at the ceiling, my mind racing despite the stillness of my surroundings.


    The ¡°Rabivirus¡± outbreak is chilling, no doubt about it. But as I lay there, my thoughts drifted not to the virus but to the fact that I¡¯ve yet to face an emergency in a high-rise. I¡¯m not exactly eager for it, but as a probationary firefighter, it¡¯s a milestone I expect to encounter. I¡¯m grateful, though, that our city¡¯s skyscrapers are built with fire safety in mind, almost fireproof, you could say.


    But for my cousin Dave, his wife Linda, and my girlfriend Lusty, high-rise fires are the stuff of nightmares. They¡¯ve shared stories of past blazes where the fire was a hidden enemy, lurking within walls, elusive and dangerous. Linda, especially, knows the high stakes all too well. When she served on Engine 18 and Ladder 18, they were often the second or third crew on the scene. Our department¡¯s protocol dictates that the first responders should wait for backup if they arrive significantly earlier than the next due company. Where fire greedily climbs upward through a building.


    Linda¡¯s brother, Donnie, also a firefighter, was tragically lost to one such fire. A floor collapsed beneath him, and despite the urgency, there was nothing to be done. I remember her recounting Dave¡¯s words, ¡°Get up, Linda. We don¡¯t have any time. We can¡¯t save him.¡± Those words must have cut deeper than the flames. And after the fire, Linda¡¯s grief and anger clashed with Dave¡¯s own pain, both lashing out, unable to contain their sorrow.


    As I lay there, the silence of the sleeping quarters was a stark contrast to the chaos of those memories. It¡¯s a reminder of the risks we face and the bonds that hold us together in the fiercest of fires.


    __________________________


    Dawn was breaking, casting a pale light over the city as we received the call. A welfare check at 5:40 AM is unusual, but in these times, the unusual has become the norm. We arrived at the apartment, the silence of the early morning broken only by the muffled sound of a TV from within. Lieutenant gave the door a firm knock¡ªno response. Locked, but someone was inside; the flickering light and the low hum of the television told us as much. With no other choice, we breached the door, only to find the tenant on the floor, an ominous, sizzling mark on their face¡ªa stark and unsettling sight. The Lieutenant he wasted no time radioing in a HAZMAT company and a HAZTEC Ambulance


    As we stood there, the TV droned on, the newscaster¡¯s voice speaking of ¡°Societal Disruption,¡± a term that felt too clinical for the chaos it represented. The outbreak¡¯s impact was confined to the city, they said, but its effects were profound, altering the very fabric of our community. Businesses were hemorrhaging money, with no customers to sustain them because no customers, no money being brought in and no breaking even. I knew from snippets caught on Little Bird and the law books I¡¯d perused¡ªmy light reading after training¡ªthat the economic fallout was complex. Owners of struggling businesses had rights in the face of mergers and takeovers. Even those with minimal equity and voting power couldn¡¯t be dismissed without due process, or the courts would be tied up for years with wrongful termination cases. And every stockholder, no matter how small their share, had a voice that needed to be heard.


    I¡¯m no business expert, but these tidbits of knowledge come to mind as I consider the broader implications of our current crisis. Lusty, my girlfriend, is one of those stockholders. She¡¯s invested in public corporations, not for wealth, but for a future¡ªher daughters¡¯ education. It¡¯s a long-term plan, with an old neighbor keeping a watchful eye on the market¡¯s pulse. When the time is right, when her daughters are on the edge of graduation, she¡¯ll sell those stocks at their peak, securing their path to college.


    In moments like these, amidst the uncertainty of a welfare check and the backdrop of a city in turmoil, it¡¯s these threads of hope and planning for the future that keep us grounded.


    Standing back, we watched the HAZMAT team move in with precision, a well-rehearsed dance of urgency and care. The Hazmat Technician EMT and Paramedic took over, their focus entirely on the person before us. The burn on the victim¡¯s face was a ghastly sight¡ªreminiscent of the way paper curls and blackens at the edges when flame licks its surface. It was a stark reminder of the fragility of life and the brutal reality of our job.


    During my training, our instructor laid it out for us in no uncertain terms: we were going to witness things that would test the limits of our endurance, scenes that the average person might never encounter in a lifetime. The advice was straightforward yet paradoxical¡ªtalk about it, but also keep it under wraps. It¡¯s a delicate balance, managing the weight of what we see without letting it consume us.


    The instructor emphasized the gravity of what lay ahead. Tragedy would be a constant companion, and those who joined the force merely for the paycheck were better off stepping aside. The job demands more than what money can compensate for. Our monthly pay of $240, or $120 biweekly, might seem meager, especially when compared to the standards back in the States. Here, that amount teeters on the edge between middle-class comfort and poverty. Yet, it¡¯s not the paycheck that drives us¡ªit¡¯s something deeper, more intrinsic.


    For many of us, like my cousin Dave, firefighting is a tradition. It¡¯s in our blood, passed down through generations. Dave¡¯s lineage is steeped in the tradition of firefighting¡ªhis father, uncle, and grandfather before him all answered the same call. Linda, his wife, carries a two-century-old torch of service, despite the irony that her native ancestors once revered fire for its life-giving warmth, light and cooking. Since 1710, her family has been on the front lines, battling the very element that once was central to their survival.


    In the midst of this outbreak, the department¡¯s decision to mobilize those of us without immediate family responsibilities is both a practical and compassionate one. It allows those with families¡ªthe parents, the soon-to-be parents¡ªto remain safely at home, to be present for the small moments that, once gone, can never be recaptured. Holidays, birthdays, or just the everyday magic that happens in the warmth of family life.


    For those of us standing in the gap, it¡¯s a solemn duty. We work so that others can hold their loved ones close, knowing that in these trying times, every second with family is precious. It¡¯s a sacrifice, but one we make willingly, because we understand the value of what we¡¯re protecting.


    Keeping a clear mind is essential. It¡¯s not just about staying focused on the job; it¡¯s about maintaining our own sense of peace amidst the turmoil. We find clarity in the purpose of our work, in the knowledge that what we do matters¡ªnot just for the lives we save, but for the families we help keep whole. It¡¯s a heavy burden, but one we carry with pride, because we are more than firefighters.


    Our next call was a welfare check at a tenement building. When we arrived, there was no answer, but it wasn¡¯t for lack of trying. The resident had a special phone that blocks incoming calls while he¡¯s on the line. Turns out, he was deep in conversation with a distant relative, oblivious to the repeated attempts from 695 (Fire Department), 935 (Police Department), 549 (Medical), and 693 (the Little Bird version of 911).


    After a few persistent knocks, he came to the door, a little bewildered but otherwise fine. He even let us check his blood pressure and heart rate¡ªall normal. With the situation under control, the Lieutenant radioed dispatch to slow the ambulance¡¯s approach with a ¡°10-20,¡± signaling them to proceed at reduced speed. Once we were certain the man was in good health, we updated dispatch with a ¡°Code 4,¡± freeing the ambulance and us for other emergencies.


    It was a relief, a simple misunderstanding rather than a crisis.


    Lusty always had a way of seeing the heart in people, even in the stubborn old souls of Eastside. She¡¯d tell me stories that sounded like they were plucked from the pages of a storybook¡ªneighbors who¡¯d watch your place like hawks when you¡¯re away, collect your mail, and make sure everything¡¯s just as you left it. It¡¯s the kind of community where trust is a given, where doors and windows don¡¯t need locks at night.


    Then there¡¯s the Eastside gang, a far cry from the menacing figures painted by the media. Since ''73, they¡¯ve been the unofficial guardians of the streets, more concerned with brooms than bullets, sweeping away trouble and keeping the peace. It¡¯s a unique brand of vigilance, one that¡¯s woven into the fabric of the neighborhood.


    But that same stubborn streak that keeps the community tight-knit can also be a head-shaker. Like the time Lusty saw a car wreck, the driver¡¯s arm mangled in ways that defied nature. Yet, he waved off the ambulance, adamant about not going to the hospital¡ªuntil he learned his car was totaled so he went by ambulance. It¡¯s a peculiar brand of resilience, one that says, ¡°I might bend, but I won¡¯t break¡ªnot until it¡¯s absolutely necessary.¡± That¡¯s Eastside for you, resilient to the core, a place where even the toughest moments are met with an unyielding spirit.


    In Eastside, the voters are anything but passive. They¡¯re the kind that hold their elected officials accountable, the kind that remember every broken promise and every hollow laugh. They understand the power of their vote, the weight it carries. They know that it¡¯s the politicians who need them, not the other way around. When those in office forget who put them there, when they seek re-election with a trail of unkept promises behind them, the people of Eastside make their voices heard loud and clear at the polls, often leaving the forgetful incumbent without a single vote to cling to.


    Lusty told me that the memory of Eastside residents is long and unforgiving. They¡¯re quick to remind others of their failures, and if necessary, they¡¯re not above enforcing a sort of exile¡ªa banishment from the district for those who betray their trust. Yet, despite this stern approach to politics, they¡¯re a community that values gratitude, especially towards those who serve them.


    The people of Eastside have a deep appreciation for the fire department, for the sacrifices made by the men and women of firehouse 47. They understand the cost of saving lives, that sometimes a window must be broken, a door must be forced open. To them, material things can always be replaced, but a human life is irreplaceable. ¡°You can replace a window, not a human life,¡± they say. It¡¯s a sentiment that resonates deeply with me.


    The drive back to the firehouse was a quiet one, the engine¡¯s hum a soft backdrop to my thoughts. The streets, usually bustling with life, were now eerily silent, segmented by those metal fences that spring up during times of civil unrest. Now, they served a different purpose, marking the boundaries of containment zones in response to the outbreak.


    It¡¯s a strategy set forth by the Bureau of Fire, Bureau of Law, and Bureau of Human Welfare¡ªbarricades to stem the tide of infection. Each blockaded street, each patrol car stationed like a sentinel at either end, is a reminder of the city¡¯s efforts to protect its citizens.


    I can¡¯t help but think that these barriers could serve a vital role around our hospitals and clinics. During an outbreak, these places become beacons for the sick, and without proper precautions, they could just as easily become hotspots for the virus to spread. Keeping healthy at a safe distance isn¡¯t just practical; it¡¯s essential.


    As our fire engine made its way through the streets of Eastside, I couldn¡¯t help but gaze out at the skyline. The modern apartment buildings, some gleaming in their completed glory, others paused mid-construction, stood as silent witnesses to the city¡¯s aspirations and its halted progress. Eastside, with its melting pot of cultures¡ªGerman, Austrian, Italian, Irish, Norwegian, English, African, Polish, Jewish, and Swiss¡ªholds fast to the trinity of God, Family, and Work. These values are the bedrock of the community, shaping every aspect of life here.


    Lusty remembers Mayor Martinez, who led the city from 1990 to 1998. She envisioned a transformation for her old neighborhood and the entire city¡ªa metamorphosis from a ¡°wretched hive¡± to a gleaming utopia of glass and steel. Her intentions were clear: uplift the working class, challenge the affluent. Yet, she never made explicit promises; her vision was her pledge.


    Her efforts faced resistance from city hall, where classism against the working class was, and perhaps still is, entrenched. But it was her successor, two mayors later, who co-opted her vision without acknowledgement. That is until the people of Eastside, ever vigilant and unforgiving, held him accountable. They demanded recognition for Martinez, ensuring that her contributions were not erased. Lusty likened Mayor Graham to those students who claim credit for group work they never did¡ªa fitting analogy for a politician who tried to build his legacy on the foundations laid by another.


    Reflecting on the legacy of Mayor Martinez, I can¡¯t help but feel a sense of nostalgia for her time in office. After serving two terms, she chose a quieter life, yet her impact on the City of Empire remains undeniable. It was under her leadership in 1991 that a pivotal change took place¡ªa merger that would redefine emergency medical services within our city.


    Before then, municipal ambulances were under the purview of the city hospitals, operating independently alongside hospital-based ambulances. But on January 1st, 1991, a bold move was made. The Fire Department City of Empire and the city hospitals were unified, a decision that would streamline and enhance the delivery of emergency medical care. This integration meant that some municipal ambulances were reassigned to firehouses throughout the city, significantly expanding the capabilities of the Bureau of EMS within the Fire Department.


    This strategic move not only improved response times but also fostered a deeper connection between firefighters and the communities they serve. It¡¯s a testament to Mayor Martinez¡¯s vision for a city where public services are not just efficient but also compassionate and closely knit with the people they protect.


    Of course her reason why having that merger happen in the first place was because of looking at where response times for ambulances were greater than the city required response time of 7:00 minutes where sometimes ambulances would¡¯ve showed up 20 minutes up to an hour later but Ms. Martinez said in her city address when she started the merger she said on city television ¡°Have any of you seen a accident? Or have any of you had a heart attack recently? Seventy percent of all cardiac cases never live long enough to reach a hospital or clinic. How do you think your mother or your wife or relative or family member would make out under those conditions? Well those are the conditions we''re talking about. If a bomb or some kind of disaster hit this room right now there won¡¯t be a doctor available for an unknown amount of time. Oh sure rescue units from the Fire Department would show up but the best they can do is give you elementary first aid akin to a mother giving to her child with a broken nose.


    The average response time for a city owned ambulance is 7 minutes or greater while the fire department response time is 5:00 minutes or less. Yeah the firefighters in the city are medically trained but they only can give pre-hospital care and those extra two minutes can mean the difference between life and death. Yeah the Fire Department can radio in to the nearest hospital to mobilize their mobile response team to head here but that¡¯s another 2-7 minutes before they arrive. I¡¯m proposing this merger to combine the hospitals and the fire department to station some ambulances in some fire houses across the city to cut down the response time!¡±


    But according to my girlfriend Lusty, the reason why the merger had a ton of public support was because the Mayor got into people¡¯s minds to get them thinking of what if scenarios like a family member having a heart attack or a cardiac arrest where someone can take that person to the firehouse. But the only thing the fire department could do is radio an ambulance because before then firefighters were only trained to be Certified First Responders so medical emergencies like heart attacks and cardiac arrests were outside of their scope and the best thing they could do was radio an ambulance, take the patient to the hospital in their own apparatus or have a hospital on the line to give them instructions until an ambulance arrived but now at least two members of the fire department are Firefighter/Paramedic, ten members are Firefighter/Emergency Medical Technicians with another two being Firefighter/ Certified First Responder.


    She pointed out the discrepancy between the 7-minute or longer response time for city ambulances and the 5-minute or less response time for the fire department. Those crucial two minutes could be the difference between life and death. Her proposal was clear: merge the hospitals and the fire department to station ambulances in firehouses across the city, thereby reducing response times and saving lives.


    Lusty¡¯s perspective sheds light on why the merger garnered such overwhelming public support. The mayor didn¡¯t just propose a solution; she made it personal. She got people to think about their loved ones in emergency situations, where previously, firefighters, limited to Certified First Responder skills, could only radio for an ambulance or provide basic care. Now, thanks to the merger, the fire department boasts at least two Firefighter/Paramedics, ten Firefighter/Emergency Medical Technicians, and another two Firefighter/Certified First Responders per shift¡ªa significant enhancement to the pre-hospital care they can provide.


    As a Probationary Firefighter/Certified First Responder, I¡¯m often reminded of my current limitations. My certification allows me to perform CPR, clean and disinfect minor wounds, treat minor burns, apply bandages, and use non-prescription medicines. I can also drain blisters and assist someone who¡¯s choking. But when it comes to more severe medical emergencies, like heart attacks or cardiac arrests, I have to step aside and let my more experienced colleagues take the lead.


    It¡¯s a humbling position, standing on the sidelines during medical runs, knowing that my scope of practice doesn¡¯t cover the complexities of this virus outbreak or other life-threatening conditions. Yet, I understand the importance of my role and the responsibilities that come with it. Every action I am certified to perform is a vital part of the emergency response chain, and each skill I possess contributes to the safety and well-being of those we serve.


    In the Fire Department City of Empire, the journey to becoming a first responder is both rigorous and rewarding. Every trainee is required to achieve Certified First Responder (CFR) status, which includes a comprehensive two-month class at a hospital, scheduled around the demands of firefighter training. This foundational certification is just the beginning.


    For those like my girlfriend Clairebear and cousin David, the pursuit of excellence doesn¡¯t stop there. They¡¯ve taken their commitment a step further by completing additional courses to become Emergency Medical Technicians (EMTs). Linda, Dave¡¯s wife, exemplifies this dedication even more. After her CFR training, she not only completed the EMT course but also pursued the Paramedic course, driven by a passion for service and an insatiable thirst for knowledge.


    The hierarchy of medical certifications within our department is clear:


    <ul>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Certified First Responder (CFR)</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Emergency Medical Responder (EMR), which serves as an intermediate level between CFR and EMT</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Emergency Medical Technician (EMT)</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Advanced Emergency Medical Technician (AEMT)</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Emergency Medical Technician Intermediate (EMT-I), bridging AEMT and Paramedic</li>


    </ul>


    Beyond the Paramedic level, care transitions to the hospital setting, where different qualifications come into play. EMRs and EMT-Is are in a unique position, acquiring skills that prepare them for the next level. They can provide advanced medical aid, but only within the scope of their training and competencies.


    ¡°Ambulance Engines sure are on the move,¡± I said, stating the obvious for this outbreak.


    The Lieutenant nodded in agreement. ¡°Absolutely. Whether it¡¯s the standard Engine Companies, Truck Companies, Ambulance Engines, Ambulance Trucks, Medical Houses, or any other fire company units, they¡¯re all running non-stop with medical calls.¡±


    In the Fire Department City of Empire, terms like ¡°Ambulance Engine,¡± ¡°Ambulance Ladder,¡± and ¡°Medical House¡± are more than just labels; they signify a shift in focus. These are the fire units that respond to a higher volume of medical emergencies than fires.

 Chapter Thirteen

    Continuation from Chapter Twelve picking right up where it left off.


    We were called to another medical emergency before we could even return to our firehouse. Well, we were dispatched because the FDE operates that if an ambulance is going to be 5 minutes or longer then they dispatch an Engine, Ladder, or Squad Company to go to stabilize the person for an ambulance.


    ¡°I¡¯m holding my tongue,¡± I declared, firmly pressing my lips together. ¡°I¡¯m not tempting fate today.¡±


    Our first call was a curious one¡ªa person with what appeared to be a burn mark on their face. It was eerily reminiscent of a piece of paper caught in flames, edges curling, blackening. Then, our second call was supposed to be a routine welfare check. The dispatchers from Fire, Police, Medical¡ªand even our local 911 equivalent, couldn¡¯t get a response. But when we arrived, it turned out the guy was simply on a call. His phone automatically silences other incoming calls, leaving him oblivious until he hangs up. So there we were, ready for an emergency, and he¡¯s just casually chatting away. It¡¯s moments like these that remind me to expect the unexpected in this job.


    The third call of the day was the one that really got to me. The victim¡¯s face and part of his neck were in such a state that it took my breath away. If I didn¡¯t know any better, I¡¯d say he looked like he¡¯d been mauled by a shark right where the waves kiss the shore. But that¡¯s impossible¡ªwe¡¯re 24 miles inland. The wounds were a paradox, fresh yet ravaged by infection as if it had spread with the ferocity of a wildfire. We didn¡¯t dare touch him, not with the ¡°Rabivirus¡± outbreak sending shivers down our spines just yesterday. The building, the apartment door¡ªnone bore the mark of quarantine. It left us in a limbo of caution and concern, wondering if this man was another victim of the rabies-like virus stalking our city.


    But the Lieutenant radioed in HAZMAT because our team is trained for HAZMAT Class A situations¡ªwe¡¯re talking about handling explosive materials, flammable gasses, non-flammable gasses, poisonous gasses, flammable liquids, and even oxidizing agents and organic peroxides. But this¡­ this was different. It fell under HAZMAT Class B, a category that¡¯s beyond our scope. Specifically, it¡¯s Class 6: Toxic and Infectious Substances we¡¯re dealing with here. That¡¯s when you call in the specialists, the ones who tackle the threats that can¡¯t be seen but are no less deadly. We¡¯re firefighters, yes, but we¡¯re also professionals, and knowing when to step back for the safety of all¡ªthat¡¯s part of the job too.


    Amid this outbreak, I¡¯m acutely aware of the boundaries of my role. As a Certified First Responder, my capabilities are clear-cut. I can provide the kind of first aid you¡¯d expect from a parent tending to their child¡¯s minor wounds¡ªscrapes, cuts, and scratches. But when it comes to more serious injuries, like a broken leg or a heart attack, that¡¯s beyond my purview. Thankfully, I¡¯m not alone out here. The team I roll with are FF/EMT and FF/PM professionals, equipped to handle the more severe medical emergencies. Yet, even with their advanced skills, this third victim¡¯s condition was beyond what we¡¯re trained to manage. It¡¯s a stark reminder that during times like these, sticking to our scope of practice isn¡¯t just about protocol¡ªit¡¯s about ensuring the safety and proper care of everyone involved and not making the situation a lot worse than it actually was. As they say, better safe than sorry.


    Sometimes, in the quiet moments between the chaos, I find myself thinking about the ¡®what ifs.¡¯ What if I had taken that two-month EMT course right after my CFR training? The opportunity was always there, like a door that¡¯s never quite closed. It¡¯s a constant in our unpredictable world¡ªonce one class wraps up, the next batch of hopefuls steps in. But then, this outbreak slammed that door shut, at least for now.


    It¡¯s not about the money; our bi-weekly paycheck of $120 is the same across the board, from the newest recruit to the Fire Commissioner. It¡¯s about knowledge, the ability to do more, to be more. Yet, I can¡¯t shake the feeling that this relentless pace, this unyielding pressure, might just push some of us to the brink. I¡¯ve seen it happen¡ªtalented EMTs and Paramedics lured away by the promise of better hours, flexible schedules, and better pay from private companies, where they¡¯re compensated by patient insurance.


    Here I am, a probationary firefighter, standing firm in the face of what feels like an insurmountable tide. The Fire Department City of Empire Bureau of EMS is already handling 5000 calls daily, and with this outbreak, those numbers could skyrocket. It¡¯s daunting, but it¡¯s also a call to action¡ªa reminder of why we do what we do. Maybe, once this storm passes, I¡¯ll step through that open door and add ¡®EMT¡¯ to my list of ways I can serve this city.


    The realism in our Certified First Responder (CFR) training is something else. We¡¯ve got these lifelike mannequins, a whole family of them¡ªfrom infants to elders. They talk, blink, and can even simulate breathing difficulties. It¡¯s as close as you can get to the real deal without a pulse. Practicing on these dummies is crucial; after all, you can¡¯t rehearse life-saving techniques on people who don¡¯t need saving.


    I remember pondering over whether to pursue my Emergency Driver¡¯s License (EDL). In Little Bird, driving a fire apparatus without one is a no-go. The EDL holders had their own challenges, like navigating a simulated cityscape from the cab of a fire engine. Pedestrians darting across the street, cars cutting in¡ªevery urban obstacle you can imagine. I never took that vehicle training, but I¡¯ve watched the pros make it look easy, even when it¡¯s anything but. Weaving through cones in the drive and then reversing in a parking lot is one thing, but parallel parking a 47-ton fire truck or a 23-ton fire engine? That¡¯s a whole different level of skill than parallel parking a 3 thousand-pound four-door sedan.


    Dragging ourselves back to the firehouse, the clock struck 6:33 AM, and despite the early hour, my stomach was growling for a well-done steak and eggs. Just the thought of a nice, juicy steak was enough to make my mouth water.


    As for why we¡¯re here instead of cozy at home? Well, it¡¯s simple. The guys I work with are a diverse bunch¡ªsome are embracing their bachelorhood, others might be Asexual or Aromantic. A few have had their hearts broken, clinging to memories of a love lost. They¡¯ve found a different kind of commitment, one to this job and the lives we protect every day.


    About that EMT training I passed up? I¡¯m at peace with that decision. The modules evolve, becoming more complex, mirroring the escalating challenges of our work. It¡¯s like leveling up in a video game, from Easy to Expert, except this isn¡¯t a game. This is real life, where the stakes are high, and the rewards are measured in lives saved, not points scored. Maybe one day I¡¯ll dive into that training, but for now, I¡¯m focused on the role I play¡ªa Firefighter Candidate/EMT.


    It¡¯s a quiet truth that many of the men I work with don¡¯t have kids. If they did, they¡¯d likely be at home, tucking them in instead of gearing up for the next call. But that¡¯s how it goes in the Fire Department City of Empire (FDE)¡ªthose with families get the holidays, and the rest of us hold down the fort. It¡¯s not about wanting to work on holidays; it¡¯s about who needs to be where, and when.


    Now, let me tell you about the fleet we have here at the FDE¡¯s medical bureau¡ªit¡¯s impressive and diverse, each vehicle tailored for specific emergencies:


    <ul>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Regular ambulances are the backbone, staffed for either Basic Life Support (BLS) or Advanced Life Support (ALS).</li>


    </ul>


    <ul>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Haz-Tac ambulances are our Hazardous Material Tactical Units, with 39 units staffed by EMTs or Paramedics trained to handle hazardous environments.</li>


    </ul>


    <ul>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Rescue ambulances are rare birds, only 11 in the city, staffed by Rescue Medics trained in high angle rescue, confined space medicine, and more. They¡¯re the ones who can perform rapid sequence intubation or even assist in surgical procedures during prolonged rescues.</li>


    </ul>


    <ul>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">The bariatric unit equipped with a winch and ramp to transport patients over 850 lbs.</li>


    </ul>


    <ul>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">EMS conditions cars are the eyes in the sky, so to speak, for our lieutenants and captains, coordinating the response and arrival of ambulances and crews on the ground.</li>


    </ul>


    <ul>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">EMS major emergency response vehicles (MERV) are our modified school buses, ready to treat multiple casualties with both ALS and BLS functions.</li>


    </ul>


    <ul>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">EMS medical evacuation transportation units (METU) can transport a small crowd of patients, whether they¡¯re seated, non-ambulatory, or in wheelchairs.</li>


    </ul>


    <ul>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">EMS mobile respiratory treatment units (MRTU) are our breath of fresh air, treating patients for smoke inhalation and other respiratory issues.</li>


    </ul>


    <ul>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Haz-Tac officers are the elite, responding alongside Haz-Tac and rescue ambulances as part of the FDE Special Operations Command.</li>


    </ul>


    <ul>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Lastly, our EMS response physicians and EMS Supervisors¡ªthey¡¯re the cavalry, trained for the most hazardous materials and technical rescues, ready to perform on-scene limb amputations if needed. They¡¯re our Mary Car, named for the Blessed Virgin Mary, a beacon of hope and help. And to supervise as well</li>


    </ul>


    Each unit, each team member, plays a vital role in the intricate ballet that is emergency response. While I may not have kids of my own to rush home to, I¡¯ve got a city full of people who depend on us daily. That¡¯s family enough for me.


    In Little Bird, the sight of a bariatric unit is as rare as a blue moon. Our community is a fit one, with most folks tipping the scales between 100-180 pounds. Seeing someone over 200 pounds is an exception, not the rule. It starkly contrasts the tourists who visit from abroad, where our ¡®normal¡¯ might be considered underweight.


    It¡¯s all about perspective, isn¡¯t it? Here, fast food and junk food is marketed as a treat for road trips or the occasional indulgence¡ªnot a daily meal. It¡¯s a cultural thing, a mindset that¡¯s been ingrained in us. We value moderation and balance, and it shows¡ªnot just in our waistlines, but in the very fabric of our city. It¡¯s a testament to the lifestyle we¡¯ve cultivated here on Little Bird.


    In the lulls between calls, we take a collective breath, letting the silence of the firehouse wash over us. We¡¯re a superstitious bunch at the Fire Department City of Empire¡ªnobody dares to comment on the quiet. It¡¯s like an unspoken rule; utter a word about peace, and you¡¯ll summon chaos. I¡¯ve seen it happen¡ªa casual remark about a slow day, and bam, the PA system blares to life, and we¡¯re off to the races. The poor soul who jinxed us? They¡¯ll never hear the end of it.


    But it¡¯s in these moments of calm that I cherish the stories from my girlfriend, Lusty. She¡¯s got fourteen years on the job, a well of tales. Like this one time, before her first pregnancy¡ªway before we met¡ªshe responded to a call involving a mail truck. A letter, destined for someone¡¯s loved one, got stuck to her boot. She tried to get the post office to send it on its way, but bureaucracy is a stubborn beast.


    So Lusty, being the determined soul she is, delivered it herself. Turns out, it was a final message from a woman¡¯s husband who had been killed in action. The post office¡¯s indifference stung, especially since the widow had received the death notification a month before Lusty could deliver her husband¡¯s last words. That was back in 1999, eight years before our paths crossed. Stories like hers remind me why we do what we do¡ªbecause sometimes, it¡¯s not just about fighting fires; it¡¯s about carrying the weight of those little human moments.


    Lusty once confided in me about a choice she made, one that still weighs on her conscience. She had opened a letter, not meant for her eyes, from a soldier whose eloquence could rival the poets of old. It was wrong, she knew, but her intentions were pure. She wanted to ensure his final words reached his beloved. Employing an old military trick, she placed the letter under a fresh sheet of paper and gently shaded over it with a pencil, revealing the hidden address beneath the envelope¡¯s fold.


    With the address in hand, she consulted a map at the fire station, determined to deliver the message herself. It was during her shift, but Lieutenant Autumn, understanding the gravity of the situation, led the entire company to the soldier¡¯s home. They moved as one, ensuring no one was left behind.


    I never had the chance to meet Lt. Autumn or the previous members of Squad Company 141. They died in a warehouse fire, leaving Lusty as the sole survivor. In the field, amidst the ashes, she was promoted to Captain. It¡¯s a bittersweet memory, a reminder of the sacrifices made and the lengths we go to honor the last wishes of those we¡¯ve lost.


    In the stillness of the firehouse, we all shared a silent agreement, savoring the calm before the inevitable storm of the next call. I won¡¯t say it out loud, but in my heart, I¡¯m bracing for another medical emergency. It¡¯s been a pattern lately, though, interestingly, not many calls come from Eastside or Westside.


    Those neighborhoods, they¡¯re like tightly-knit families. They look out for one another, vigilant and caring. In times like these, with the ¡°Rabivus¡± outbreak looming over us, their unity is their strength. They¡¯re cautious and conscientious¡ªnot wanting to inadvertently spread the virus or put their neighbors at risk. It¡¯s a community effort, staying safe, and venturing out only when absolutely necessary.


    Back in the ''90s, when the guys I¡¯m with first joined the force, there was a lot of talk about budget cuts. The department brought in financial consultants to trim the fat, aiming to save about 5-10% of our budget. But their strategy backfired. On Little Bird, a fire company is typically seven strong, but these consultants cut so deep that some companies were left with just three or four members. It wasn¡¯t just about numbers; it was about people¡ªoverworked and stretched thin, doing the job of seven.


    Before 1989, the city¡¯s leaders had grand visions of an idyllic life for its citizens¡ªparks, marinas, a strong police presence¡ªbut the funds just weren¡¯t there. The result? A budget deep in the red. It was a time of austerity, with cuts across the board¡ªfire, police, medical, sanitation, public works, schools, libraries, transportation, utilities.


    Lusty always said it straight, ¡°The city was spending money it didn¡¯t have.¡±


    Contracts were handed out for civic projects that seemed more about keeping people on the payroll than serving any real purpose. Some folks were getting paid to stay home, doing nothing. Eventually, the city had to take out a loan from the Commonwealth of Mountain just to keep the lights on.


    Then came 1990, and with it, Ms. Martinez as Mayor after an emergency election. She was a breath of fresh air, a whirlwind of change. She put people to work and axed the unnecessary. If it wasn¡¯t making money or essential, it was gone. It was a tough time, but it shaped us into the resilient city we are today. It taught us the value of every dollar and the importance of every role within our department.


    Between 1967 and 1989, there was a troubling trend in the City of Empire. Firehouses in poorer neighborhoods were ¡°closed,¡± a term I use loosely because they weren¡¯t shut down¡ªthey were relocated to wealthier districts. This decision was presented as logical management, but to those of us on the ground, it reeked of political maneuvering that made no practical sense.


    In those days, City Hall was a fortress of power, seemingly indifferent to the plights of Eastside, Westside, and Anderson¡ªareas that were particularly fire-prone. Firehouses 17, 33, and 47, which once responded to 12-15 calls daily, were moved. The result? Communities that needed fire protection the most were left vulnerable, with response times ballooning from 4-5 minutes to 12 or more.


    It wasn¡¯t until Ms. Martinez took office as Mayor that things began to change. She was a force to be reckoned with, challenging the status quo at City Hall. Her vision for a ¡°Glass and Steel Utopia of Empire¡± was met with resistance, with city officials claiming a lack of funds. Yet, when they proposed their own projects, she mirrored their objections, highlighting the hypocrisy. Her tenacity and commitment to fiscal responsibility won the hearts of the citizens, making her a beloved figure who truly looked out for the best interests of the city.


    When I spoke with the crew of Squad Co 769 about Ms. Martinez, their respect for her was clear. They remembered her not just as a former military logistical officer but as a leader who genuinely sought to learn and improve. Her nickname, ¡°Ms. Waterson,¡± wasn¡¯t just a play on her name; it was a nod to her approach. She didn¡¯t just take advice from the then-president of Little Bird, Bill Waterson¡ªshe acknowledged it, giving credit where it was due, a rarity in politics.


    Her tenure was marked by a revitalization of the city¡¯s core sectors¡ªagriculture, industry, and commerce¡ªaligning with the city¡¯s motto, ¡°Garden by the sea.¡± Her impact was so profound that there was talk of her running for president, though she humbly declined, feeling that managing a city was challenging enough.


    Ms. Martinez was hands-on, modernizing the city¡¯s emergency services and advocating for the community¡¯s well-being. She understood the critical nature of response times, whether it was a fire or a medical emergency. Her public city hall meetings were a testament to her transparency, inviting citizens to voice their concerns and participate in decision-making.


    Perhaps most notably, she didn¡¯t confine herself to the office. She was out in the field, riding along with fire, police, and EMS crews, gaining firsthand experience that informed her decisions. This connection with the working class only bolstered her popularity and led to practical changes, like merging city hospitals with the fire department to cut down EMS response times significantly. It¡¯s leaders like her who leave a lasting legacy, not just in policy, but in the hearts of those they serve.


    It¡¯s heartening to know that Ms. Martinez valued the wisdom of my grand uncle, taking his advice to heart. It¡¯s a testament to her character that she sought guidance from experienced individuals. However, it¡¯s a bittersweet reality that only a fraction of her initiatives came to fruition. The successful merger of the Fire Department City of Empire with the City of Empire Hospitals was a significant achievement, leading to decreased EMS response times and modernizing public services. This strategic move also expanded the fire department''s role, adapting to our city''s changing needs.


    As the years of her second term waned, the landscape of our emergencies evolved. The decrease in fire incidents is a double-edged sword¡ªwhile it signifies safer structures and perhaps more awareness, it also means that our firefighters are increasingly called upon for medical emergencies. The fires we encounter now are more challenging, fueled by modern materials that burn more intensely. It requires us to be more vigilant, more adaptable, and ever ready to respond to the diverse emergencies that our city presents. Ms. Martinez legacy, though not fully realized, has undoubtedly laid the groundwork for a more responsive and versatile emergency service.


    Ms. Martinez was indeed a visionary, her ideas far ahead of her time. She saw the potential in the City of Empire, a place that had once thrived but fell into hardship between 1968 and 1995. Her approach was hands-on; she didn¡¯t just sit behind a desk. Instead, she immersed herself in the city¡¯s services, riding along with the fire department and EMS, understanding the challenges firsthand.


    Her investigations into the city¡¯s fires revealed a disturbing trend of ¡°arson for profit,¡± and she was critical of the way fires were too often dismissed as ¡°Cause of Fire: Unknown.¡± She pushed for accountability, for thorough investigations that would get to the truth and prevent such crimes.


    Ms. Martinez¡¯s commitment went beyond politics. She didn¡¯t seek votes through empty promises; she sought real change. Her vision for modern, up-to-code housing in Eastside, Anderson, and Westside was about safety and dignity, ensuring that fires, if they occurred, would be contained and not spread with deadly speed.


    The ambulance system she advocated for was revolutionary, allowing Fire Department ambulances the flexibility to cross fixed zones that only hospital ambulances could only cross, ensuring the closest unit could respond to an emergency. This change was not just about efficiency; it was about saving lives, reducing response times in critical moments. Her legacy is one of action, compassion, and an unwavering dedication to the people of Empire.


    As we navigated around the police barricade, the urban landscape unfolded before us¡ªa shipping warehouse, office buildings, a fast food joint, and a gas station. It was a stark reminder of the world continuing on, even as we braced for the unknown.


    Under my breath, I couldn¡¯t help but voice the concern that shadowed every step we took.


    ¡°I hope this virus doesn¡¯t keep shifting, defying all our expectations,¡± I whispered, the words barely escaping. ¡°If it mutates every day, finding a cure might become impossible. And if it spreads through water¡­ washing hands might not be enough.¡±


    The virus, dubbed ¡®Rabius¡¯ for its rabies-like symptoms, was shrouded in mystery. The government¡¯s downplay to a form of influenza didn¡¯t sit right with us¡ªwe were the ones on the front lines, after all. We deserved the truth.


    Around me, theories swirled. Some whispered of government conspiracies; others feared alien involvement or divine retribution. But I, grounded in the both divine retribution and reality of our daily struggle, pondered a more earthly origin¡ªa scientist, perhaps, unknowingly infected, bringing the virus to our streets. It¡¯s a thought that chills me to the bone, knowing that any one of us could unwittingly become a carrier of this unseen threat.


    The situation with the Rabius virus is unlike anything we¡¯ve encountered before. The typical symptoms of rabies¡ªfever, hydrophobia, confusion, excessive salivation, hallucinations, disrupted sleep, paralysis, coma, hyperactivity, headache, nausea, vomiting, and anxiety¡ªare well-documented. But this¡­ this is different.


    We¡¯re seeing victims with injuries resembling burn marks, as if scorched by fire, or fresh wounds that become infected at an alarming rate in milliseconds. It¡¯s not just the physical symptoms that are concerning; it¡¯s the behavioral changes. Some victims become aggressive, posing a danger to themselves and to our first responders. We¡¯ve had to sedate them, induce comas, for everyone¡¯s safety.


    We¡¯re adapting, strapping down patients with additional restraints to prevent any violent outbursts should they awaken. It¡¯s a precaution, a necessary one, to protect both the patient and our teams. This virus, it¡¯s a cunning adversary, and we¡¯re learning to fight it on the fly, armed with our wits and whatever tools we have at our disposal. It¡¯s a testament to the resilience and ingenuity of our emergency services, constantly evolving to meet the challenges head-on.


    The City of Empire¡¯s dispatch system is a well-oiled machine, designed for efficiency and speed. With separate dispatches for Fire, Police, Medical, Technical services, and a centralized one for all four, it ensures that every emergency is handled by the right team without delay. It¡¯s a system that reflects the city¡¯s commitment to its citizens¡¯ safety, teaching them to dial directly to the respective emergency numbers for a quicker response.


    When we arrived at the warehouse and found several people unconscious, we didn¡¯t waste a moment. Instead of taking the long route, we scaled up to the loading docks, where trucks are usually bustling with forklifts. It¡¯s about thinking on your feet, finding the fastest way to reach those in need.


    It¡¯s a common assumption that many places would be shut down during an outbreak, but essential businesses, especially those involved in logistics and delivery, remain operational to keep the city¡¯s lifelines intact. The company¡¯s promise of ¡°Guaranteed on time delivery. Every time all the time¡± is a testament to their commitment, even in the face of a crisis.


    The proximity to the city waterworks might seem odd, but it could be strategic for operations¡ªthough that¡¯s just speculation on my part. I¡¯m somewhat right about the workforce; having fewer workers is a wise precaution. It minimizes the risk of spreading the virus and ensures that essential services can continue with reduced but focused staff. It¡¯s all about adapting to the situation while maintaining the safety and well-being of the community and the workers.


    In the critical moments of a cardiac arrest, every action counts. As a Firefighter/CFR, I know my role well. I was there, hands ready, performing CPR on the victim¡ªpushing hard and fast on the chest, trying to keep the blood flowing, to keep life pumping through veins that had come to a sudden halt. My partner, the Firefighter/EMT, worked alongside me, prepping the defibrillator, a device I¡¯ve heard can be the difference between life and death, capable of jolting a heart back into rhythm.


    I didn¡¯t watch him set it up; my focus was entirely on the chest compressions, the beat of survival under my hands. It¡¯s not within my scope to use the defibrillator, but I understand its importance. When he removed any metal from the patient, including a necklace, and warned me of the impending shock. I knew to pull back, to give him space to work and not get shocked as well and it¡¯s all too common for idiots who are told to clear and not to couch the body only to touch the body and get electrocuted from the defibrillator as well, well that¡¯s according to Lusty that she has seen it happen because the human body conducts electricity.


    As I got a backboard ready to assist in immobilizing possible spine-injured patients because of the floor being solid concrete about four and a half feet of thick solid concrete. Now, let¡¯s talk about TV. You know, the kind that makes our job look like a symphony of heroic feats set to a dramatic soundtrack. But here¡¯s the truth: real life isn¡¯t television. It¡¯s not scripted, and there are no retakes. When the call comes in, we don¡¯t have time for dramatic pauses or perfectly timed revelations. We move, we assess, and we act.


    My girlfriend taught me something valuable. ¡°When in doubt, call the professionals.¡± It¡¯s a mantra that echoes in my mind during those critical moments. Sometimes, trying to help without knowing what to do can cause more harm than good. It¡¯s not about being a hero; it¡¯s about being effective.


    Take CPR, for instance. On TV, it¡¯s all clean and safe¡ªa few chest compressions, maybe a dramatic breath, and voil¨¤! But in reality, it¡¯s gritty. The crunch of ribs under your palms, the sweat trickling down your forehead, and the fear that this might be the one time it doesn¡¯t work. Let¡¯s not forget the risk of spreading oral diseases or the patient vomiting. Yeah, it¡¯s messy, but it¡¯s our best shot at keeping someone alive.


    Defibrillators? They don¡¯t magically restart hearts. They stop them¡ªlike hitting pause on a movie¡ªbut it¡¯s up to us to hit play again. Trust me, there¡¯s no dramatic countdown. Just adrenaline, teamwork, and the hope that we¡¯re not too late.


    Now, tracheostomies. TV loves to make it seem like a walk in the park. But in reality, it¡¯s delicate, nerve-wracking. You¡¯re standing there, scalpel in hand, knowing that one wrong move could change everything. My girlfriend¡ªLusty, we call her¡ªshe¡¯d say, ¡°Don¡¯t even think about it unless you¡¯ve got the training.¡± And she¡¯s right. We¡¯re not Grey¡¯s Anatomy characters; we¡¯re professionals with lives in our hands.


    So, next time you watch a medical drama, remember this: behind the scenes, there¡¯s a team of professionals¡ªreal people, real sweat, real lives hanging in the balance. We don¡¯t need a dramatic soundtrack. We¡¯ve got sirens, heartbeats, and each other. That¡¯s our reality, and it¡¯s damn beautiful.


    I rummaged through the jump bag, its compartments crammed with vials and ampoules. The TV portrayal of instant sedation with a single injection? Utter nonsense. In reality, it¡¯s a delicate dance¡ªa symphony of precise knowledge, swift action, and a vein as your stage. Get it right, and you can safely subdue someone in seconds. Get it wrong, and you¡¯re either staring at a corpse or waiting agonizing minutes for them to crumple.


    Medicine isn¡¯t a one-size-fits-all magic potion. It¡¯s a nuanced art. The right drug, the right dose, the right route¡ªit¡¯s like composing a melody. Anesthesiologists, they¡¯re the virtuosos. They wield syringes like maestros, plunging into veins with the precision of a surgeon¡¯s scalpel. They¡¯re the ones who can hush a raging storm inside a patient¡¯s chest, coaxing them into a peaceful slumber.


    Then there¡¯s the ¡°Raibus¡± virus. TV loves to crank up the drama, showing diseases as instant death sentences. But reality? It¡¯s more like a slow-burning fuse. Incubation periods vary¡ªsome stealthy pathogens tiptoe in, while others kick down the door. You don¡¯t wake up one morning with a full-blown infection. No, it brews quietly, like a storm gathering strength over the horizon.


    That¡¯s the danger¡ªthe silent spreaders. Victims who don¡¯t even know they¡¯re carriers. They mingle, they touch, they breathe, and the virus jumps from host to host. By the time symptoms rear their ugly heads, it¡¯s too late¡ªthe damage is done. We scramble, tracing contacts, isolating, praying we¡¯re not too late.


    But today, it¡¯s cardiac arrest that demands attention. My partner, a seasoned EMT, dives into action. Chest compressions, defibrillator pads, adrenaline shots¡ªthe whole symphony. I¡¯m a CFR, a step below, watching, ready to assist. We¡¯re a team, each note in harmony. And as the warehouse worker fights for his life, I know this: Medicine isn¡¯t about instant miracles; it¡¯s about the quiet battles fought in the shadows¡ªthe ones that save lives long before the curtain rises.


    The crew I¡¯m with have seen their fair share of critical incidents, but nothing compares to the urgency of a cardiac arrest call.


    In the midst of the chaos, I¡¯m reminded of the tales my girlfriend, a seasoned Firefighter Lieutenant and EMT, shares about the field. She¡¯s encountered situations where well-meaning bystanders have made a critical error: removing an impaled object from a victim. It¡¯s a natural instinct to want to help, but this action can often do more harm than good.


    Here¡¯s the hard truth, unless you¡¯re in the controlled environment of a hospital, with a team of medical professionals at the ready, extracting a foreign object from a trauma patient is not advisable. My girlfriend and her crew are skilled and experienced, yet they know their limits. They wouldn¡¯t attempt such a procedure without the presence of a higher-level medical professional. Instead, they focus on what they can do best ¨C stabilizing the object to prevent further injury and preparing the patient for transport.


    TV dramas often dramatize medical emergencies, and while they get some things right, like the necessity to act swiftly in life-threatening roadside situations, they sometimes overlook the complexities. The reality is, the risks of performing a procedure in an unsterile environment far outweigh the potential benefits. Our goal is to manage the patient¡¯s condition as best as we can until we can get them to a hospital.


    There are times, however, when immediate intervention is the lesser of two evils. If not acted upon, the patient might not survive the journey to the hospital. It¡¯s a delicate balance, one that requires quick thinking, a steady hand, and an unwavering commitment to saving lives. That¡¯s the essence of our duty as first responders ¨C to make those tough calls and provide the best possible care under the most challenging circumstances.


    The arrival of the first ambulance company, the Fire Department EMS, was swift. The EMT and Paramedic, clad in their crisp sky blue shirts with dark blue ties, stood out against the scene. Their uniforms, complete with the fire department EMS patch on both sleeves and dark navy blue pants, signified readiness and professionalism. The radio belt wrapped around their torsos was a lifeline to the rest of the team, ensuring constant communication.


    As they took over, I shifted my focus to assist others, but found that the situation was well in hand. Another individual was experiencing breathing difficulties and had lost consciousness, hitting his head due to oxygen deprivation. Yet, the team didn¡¯t require my help.


    In these moments, my thoughts often drift to the dramatized world of movies and TV shows, where emergency services appear almost instantaneously at the scene of a disaster. It¡¯s a stark contrast to reality, where response times can range from 5-10 minutes, and even upon arrival, immediate action isn¡¯t always possible. The proximity of a call can change things; being en route to the station or making a quick stop can put us closer to the incident, allowing for a faster response.


    I understand the need for dramatic effect in entertainment, where time is compressed for storytelling purposes. But in the real world, every second counts, and the work we do as first responders is governed by the reality of time, distance, and the unpredictability of emergencies.


    Approaching the third individual, I could see the signs of distress ¨C dizziness and rapid breathing ¨C yet he was adamant about not going to the hospital. It¡¯s a scenario we encounter more often than you¡¯d think. As first responders, our priority is the patient¡¯s well-being, but we also respect their right to make decisions about their own care.


    I made my way back to our apparatus to retrieve the Refusal of Service Forms, commonly referred to as ¡°Tickets¡± in our lingo. These forms are crucial; they serve as a legal acknowledgment that the patient has voluntarily declined further medical treatment or transportation. It¡¯s a safeguard for both the patient and us, the Fire and EMS personnel, against any potential legal repercussions.


    With a pen in hand, the individual marked his refusal for transport, consenting only to receive medical attention on the spot. It¡¯s a delicate balance, respecting the patient¡¯s wishes while ensuring they understand the potential risks. The moment the patient expressed his refusal to be transported to the hospital, we had to honor his decision. It¡¯s a part of our duty that requires as much compassion as it does adherence to the law. After ensuring he understood the risks, we radioed in to cancel the incoming ambulance. It¡¯s a fine line we walk ¨C providing care without overstepping personal liberties. In this case, forcing him to go against his will would cross that line into coercion, something we¡¯re careful to avoid.


    With the situation under control, I returned to assist my EMT and Paramedic colleagues. Together, we maneuvered the stretcher out of the ambulance, ready to transport another patient who needed our help. We navigated through the warehouse, past the docks where trucks usually load and unload, and down a ramp. A routine part of our environment. Once the patient was securely on board, we closed the ambulance doors, signaling their departure.


    As I watched them drive away, the sky storm clouds rolled up, and a light rain began to fall. The morning had been sweltering, and the rain felt like a small mercy, a brief respite from the tropical heat. It¡¯s moments like these that remind me of the unpredictability of our job ¨C not just in the emergencies we respond to, but also in the simple, unexpected pleasures like a sudden shower on a hot day.


    As I approached Squad 769, I made sure to grab my turnout jacket. It¡¯s essential to keep the station uniform dry, especially when the weather decides to turn on us. The turnout gear trousers, suspenders, and boots I was already wearing are part of the protective ensemble that defines our role and readiness.


    My girlfriend, Lusty, often reminisces about the time when our department transitioned to the new modern bunker gear. It was a significant change, one that happened around the time I was entering high school. She mentioned how her previous girlfriend had some choice words about the color scheme of our gear ¨C black with yellow and white reflective stripes. It¡¯s funny how something as functional as the color of our gear can stir up opinions.


    Lieutenant Marcus once explained that the department had four color options for our turnout gear: black, a brown-tan shade, yellow, and surprisingly, pink. The decision was put to a vote, and black won by a majority, with yellow and the brown-tan color splitting the remaining votes. Pink, well, it didn¡¯t stand a chance.


    I get it, though. The color of our gear carries weight beyond its function. It¡¯s about perception, professionalism, and a bit of tradition. Wearing pink might work for some, but in the heat of the moment ¨C quite literally ¨C we need to be taken seriously.


    Reflecting on the history of our turnout gear, it¡¯s evident how much has changed. The transition from leather, canvas, and rubber to the modern materials we use today is a testament to the evolution of firefighting equipment. The black and yellow paint of the past has given way to the high-visibility stripes we see now, ensuring we¡¯re seen amidst the smoke and chaos.


    Today¡¯s call was a prime example of the adaptability required in our line of work. Once the patient was stabilized and ready for transport, we faced a decision. If the ambulance delay had continued, we would have used the fire engine for transport ¨C a last resort, but a possibility we¡¯re always prepared for. Fortunately, the other ambulance arrived promptly, and we were able to hand off the patient for transport to the hospital.


    Post-incident procedures are as critical as the response itself. We meticulously cleaned our medical gear and thoroughly washed our hands and arms. It¡¯s a ritual that marks the end of one call and the readiness for the next.


    Back at the quarters, the normalcy of daily life greeted us.


    ¡°I see the newspaper still runs,¡± I remarked, picking up the latest edition that had been delivered during our call. Flipping through the sports section, I overheard my colleagues discussing past emergencies. One story, in particular, caught my attention ¨C a major medical emergency involving a parolee. The complexities of such situations are never lost on us. Despite a police officer¡¯s attempt to involve the parole office, the urgency of medical care took precedence, and the parolee was transported with their ankle monitor intact. It¡¯s a reminder that in emergencies, our priority is the patient¡¯s immediate well-being, and legalities, while important, must sometimes take a back seat to life-saving actions.


    As a firefighter and a person of faith, I often find myself at the intersection of duty and belief. It¡¯s a delicate balance, navigating my religious principles while honoring the commitments of my profession and the diversity of the community I serve. I¡¯ve pondered whether my faith would be at odds with entering a place of worship that¡¯s not my own, whether for an emergency call or accompanying a friend. Yet, my experience has shown me that faith, at its core, is about understanding and respect.


    The people I¡¯ve met, many of whom hold their own religious convictions, have demonstrated a remarkable openness. They¡¯ve welcomed others into their sacred spaces and have respected those who choose a different path. This tolerance is the very essence of the community spirit I cherish.


    I recall a time when my father shared with my close knit circle that I was in a relationship with someone who identifies as agnostic and atheist. Despite the concerns voiced about our compatibility, Clairebear and I have thrived on mutual respect. She respects my devotion, and I, her autonomy of belief. Our relationship is a testament to the fact that love and respect transcend differing worldviews.


    I¡¯m not one to turn to prayer as a reflex to every situation. As the world grapples with crises, I stay grounded in realism, knowing that some challenges require action, not just words of faith. I¡¯m a realist, a pragmatist, and a believer who understands that prayer has its place, but it¡¯s our hands and hearts that truly make a difference in the world.


    In my line of work as a firefighter and certified first responder, I¡¯ve seen a spectrum of beliefs and reactions to pain and adversity. When I stub my toe, my first instinct isn¡¯t to pray; it¡¯s to reach for ice, wrap it in a bag, and apply it to dull the pain. It¡¯s a practical response, much like how I approach my job.


    I¡¯ve encountered individuals who, at the slightest discomfort, turn to prayer. While I respect their devotion, I believe in taking tangible steps to alleviate suffering. I¡¯ve also met those who hold their religious views so tightly that they make the IRS seem lenient by comparison. Yes, I¡¯ve had conversations with people who speak of their faith as if the end times were upon us. To them, I extend the same courtesy I seek. ¡°I respect your religious beliefs, but please respect mine.¡±


    However, respect isn¡¯t always reciprocated. I¡¯ve been told my beliefs are wrong and theirs right. My response is firm. If you can¡¯t respect my beliefs, don¡¯t expect me to respect yours.


    This clash of beliefs sometimes extends into my professional duties. There have been calls where a patient¡¯s religious convictions prevent them from seeking medical treatment or hospitalization. Yet, these same convictions often lead to a refusal to sign the ¡°Refusal Form,¡± which legally acknowledges their decision to decline aid or transport. We can¡¯t leave the scene without a signature or ensuring they receive medical help. It¡¯s a standoff that sometimes escalates to the point where law enforcement is called. But by law, we can¡¯t leave without resolution. More often than not, the form gets signed, albeit out of annoyance.


    As I sat there, newspaper in hand, I couldn¡¯t help but chuckle at the thought of dashing to an electronics store for a new TV.


    ¡°No way,¡± I mumbled to myself, ¡°those shops won¡¯t be open now.¡± Sure, I could lend my cell phone for video entertainment, but explaining a smartphone here in Little Bird is akin to explaining quantum physics to a newborn. It¡¯s a rare sight, reserved for the higher echelons and emergency medical personnel, and even then, it¡¯s often just a flip phone.


    I often reflect on the wisdom of the Oompa Loompas from the classic ''72 film, cautioning against the mind-numbing effects of television. My dad, a man of foresight, encouraged me to read, instilling in me the value of books over screens. Books, after all, are free from the interruptions of commercials, inviting readers to paint their own worlds with imagination¡ªa stark contrast to the passive consumption TV often promotes.


    While my peers were glued to their sets, discussing the latest shows, my reality was different. Balancing school and a part-time job left little room for television. The precious free time I had was often spent immersed in the pages of the Bible or a good book, not because I didn¡¯t enjoy TV, but because it was my mom¡¯s domain. When I did tune in, it was practicality that guided me¡ªto the Weather Channel, ensuring I was prepared for whatever the day might bring as I navigated high school from ''97 to ''01.


    It¡¯s funny how life shapes our habits and perspectives. For me, it¡¯s always been about practicality, whether in my personal life or on the job. Just like firefighting, every second counts and every decision matters, I choose to fill my time with what¡¯s meaningful and constructive, be it through service or the simple joy of a good book.


    Reflecting on the past, it¡¯s astonishing how perceptions of technology and privilege have shifted. Back in my high school days, owning a cellphone was a luxury that branded you as ¡®spoiled.¡¯ Fast forward to my last visit to the States, and it¡¯s a rarity to spot a teenager without one. It¡¯s a testament to how quickly norms evolve over just a decade.


    I remember lobbying my dad for a phone in 10th grade. His response was a lesson in values, ¡°Work for it.¡± So I did, juggling academics and a part-time job. In the spring of 2001, my efforts paid off¡ªnot with just any phone, but a flip phone, a reward that felt all the sweeter for the sweat that earned it. Unlike some of my peers who received their gadgets as lavish gifts, often with complaints about the color, I cherished mine for the love and recognition it represented from my father.


    In the firehouse, I sense a disconnect between some of my colleagues and their families. My cousin Dave tells me it¡¯s common in our line of work¡ªfirefighting runs through our veins, passed down through generations. Yet, not everyone is born into this tradition. Dave knows firefighters who¡¯ve broken away from their expected career paths, choosing service over family tradition, sometimes at the cost of those familial ties.


    But for me, my father¡¯s pride is a beacon. His support has been unwavering, not just in my career choice but in every aspect of my life, including my relationship with Claire. It¡¯s a bond that¡¯s been my strength, as much as the sense of purpose I¡¯ve found in serving others as a firefighter¡ªa dream fueled by passion, not obligation.


    From the time I was just four years old, my dad instilled in me a lesson that¡¯s as timeless as the vintage cars I adore. ¡°People you think are your friends will happily sell you out or abandon you if you get in the way of something they want. You¡¯ll only find out who your real friends are when you¡¯re down.¡± He advised me to keep my circle of friends tight, to cherish the true ones and ward off the opportunists.


    I¡¯ve carried that wisdom with me, even as I¡¯ve navigated the complexities of adulthood. I¡¯ve felt the sting of judgment from former friends over my choice of wheels¡ªa classic ''67 Charger. It¡¯s a stark contrast to the modern ''05 GT one of my old acquaintances flaunted back in Kansas City. But here, where I am now, vintage is the norm, not the exception. Cars from the ''40s to the ''60s line the streets, each with a story, each with character.


    To me, it¡¯s not about the year or the model¡ªit¡¯s about reliability and the journey. My Charger may not be the newest, but it roars to life with each turn of the key, taking me where I need to go. It¡¯s a bit like life, isn¡¯t it? It¡¯s not the flashiness on the outside that counts, but the fire within¡ªthe drive to move forward, to serve, to live with purpose. That¡¯s what I choose to value, in cars and in friendships.


    My friends often remark, with a hint of jest, on the nature of my work in the heart of the city¡¯s most challenged neighborhoods. They paint a picture of me as a beacon of hope in areas plagued by poverty, crime, and a litany of social issues. It¡¯s easy to fall back on stereotypes when describing the inner city¡¯s struggles with unemployment, addiction, illiteracy, and the scarcity of quality education and healthcare.


    But the reality here in Eastside, and its counterparts Westside and Anderson, is not just a statistic or a headline¡ªit¡¯s about real people facing real challenges. It¡¯s common for as many as eight out of ten young people to leave school early, taking on part-time jobs to support their families. For these children, higher education is often a distant dream, accessible only through a scholarship or military service¡ªthe latter being the more common path.


    While some may view these neighborhoods through a lens of deficits, I see resilience and determination. The very fabric of these communities is woven with stories of sacrifice and hard work.


    My friends can¡¯t stand how I live because they¡¯re used to conveniences and stereotypes where they¡¯re used to places that are open 24/7.


    Eastside ain''t your typical gang-infested neighborhood. Sure, outsiders hear "gang" and imagine hoodlums with tattoos, dealing drugs, and causing chaos. But let me set the record straight. Our gang¡ªthe one that''s been around since bell-bottoms were cool¡ªhas a different mission. They''re like the neighborhood watch on steroids. These guys keep our streets clean, chasing off troublemakers, and doing what the police won''t touch. It''s delicate though. The EPD sideeyes them, and the citizens? Well, some of them have police scanners, and they know when the dispatcher sounds bored. But hey, it works for us.


    Picture this: smaller supermarkets, simpler aisles, and no flashy displays. Here, it''s all about the essentials. No endless choices¡ªjust what you need. The shoppers? Oh, they dress like they''re attending a gala. No PJs or flip-flops; it''s all about elegance. You''d think they''re heading to a casual event, not picking up bread and milk. But hey, it adds a touch of class to grocery shopping.


    Now, let''s talk about closing time. When the sun dips below the skyline, the city shuts down. Shops lock up, and the streets echo with silence. Forget midnight snacks or last-minute errands. If you''re out past 9 PM, you''re out of luck. It''s like Cinderella''s curfew, minus the glass slipper. And Sundays? Well, Blue laws¡ªreligious reasons¡ªkeep everything closed. No retail therapy, my friend. But it forces us to be resourceful. We make lists, plan ahead, and adapt. Survival of the fittest, Empire-style.


    Living in an apartment here? Brace yourself. Some buildings start in the lobby and only stop on the fourth floor or higher. Anything in between? Stairs. Lots of them. Carrying groceries up those flights feels like a workout. Forget elevators; we''ve got our own Stairmaster. But hey, it keeps us fit, and we''ve perfected the art of juggling bags while climbing.


    My American friends? They shudder at our shopping hours. "No 24/7 stores?" they gasp. But you know what? It builds character. We''re not spoiled by convenience. Saturdays or Fridays¡ªour designated shopping days. And when those stores open at 9 AM, it''s like Christmas morning. We appreciate every hour, every aisle. Walmart? That''s a distant memory. Empire''s rhythm is slower, deliberate. Honestly, I wouldn''t trade it for all the 24/7 megastores in the world.


    My friends back home are often baffled by the simplicity of life here in Empire. They can¡¯t imagine a world without the ubiquity of McDonald¡¯s or a Starbucks at every turn. Sure, I enjoy sinking my teeth into a juicy cheeseburger now and then, but around here, fast food is more of a novelty than a staple¡ªsomething for road trips or rare treats, not daily sustenance.


    Here, the aspirations are straightforward, stable jobs, good health, and a nurturing environment for raising a family. The luxuries many take for granted in the States, like personal vehicles and TVs, are seen through a different lens in Empire. Claire tells me that in Eastside, Westside, and Anderson, such items are considered extravagances. For many, a radio suffices, and the latest flat-screen TV or new car is a distant dream, not a necessity.


    This perspective extends to financial habits as well. While some of my American friends struggle with credit card debt, chasing after the latest and greatest, folks here live within their means. They understand the reality of their earnings and don¡¯t chase a middle-class lifestyle on a modest income. It¡¯s a lesson in contentment and practicality¡ªa stark contrast to the consumer-driven culture I¡¯ve seen elsewhere.


    It¡¯s a different way of life, one that values the essentials over excess. While it might seem restrictive to some, it fosters a sense of resourcefulness and appreciation for what one has. It¡¯s not about what you own, but about the life you lead and the community you build. That¡¯s the heart of Empire, and it¡¯s a heart that beats strong.


    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    The political landscape here in Little Bird is unique, with military service being a prerequisite for political office. It¡¯s a policy that ensures our leaders have a shared experience of discipline and sacrifice. However, the fiscal management by some politicians has been less than exemplary. I¡¯ve seen mayors come and go, each with grand visions of transforming Empire into a utopian cityscape, complete with parks and leisure spaces. Yet, these dreams often came at a steep cost, leading to budget cuts across essential services.


    From the late ''60s to the early ''90s, the city was in turmoil, with the Fire Department¡¯s budget slashed amidst increasing fires. The term ¡®floaters¡¯ became all too common, referring to firefighters waiting for a temporary spot to open up. Before 2007, we had only 34 fire companies, with just 23 actively battling blazes.


    Claire, my girlfriend, shared that many city workers, upon receiving their government paychecks, would rush to check-cashing services, forfeiting 10-25% of their hard-earned money to avoid bounced checks and overdraft fees. This was a time when the city¡¯s financial instability led to strikes and departures, as reliable paychecks became a rarity.


    The turning point came in 1983 when the Bureau of Fire, affectionately known as the Fire Department Nation of Little Bird, stepped in to stabilize the situation. This intervention allowed firefighters to continue their work with the assurance of payment, even as other city services were temporarily outsourced.


    It wasn¡¯t until  1990 that a new mayor took the helm with a business-like approach, prioritizing the city¡¯s income over expenses. Her efforts paid off, and for the first time in years, the city¡¯s income exceeded its expenditures, allowing for the restoration and improvement of city services. It was a lesson in fiscal responsibility that reshaped the city¡¯s future and restored faith in its governance.


    The conversations I¡¯ve had with my friends in the States about Empire¡¯s past paint a vivid picture of a city grappling with its identity and safety. They often compare it to New York City during the same era, with the notable exception that here, services were sometimes outsourced to maintain order.


    It¡¯s hard for them to wrap their heads around the idea that gangs formed not out of a desire for power or criminal intent, but as a community response to inadequate policing. The humor they find in saying that ¡°snails, slugs, and sloths moved faster than the cops¡± underscores the frustration felt by residents awaiting protection and justice.


    To the middle class and the affluent, these gangs represented a dual threat and a paradox¡ªa threat to their way of life, yet also a kind of grassroots militia born out of necessity. Many of the original members were Vietnam veterans who returned home to find their neighborhoods neglected and in disarray. They took it upon themselves to do what they believed the city had failed to¡ªprovide safety and security. They were seen as untrained, yet they were driven by a sense of duty that couldn¡¯t be ignored.


    These men, hardened by war and united by a common cause, stood watch over their communities. They were the unsung heroes who wouldn¡¯t stand idly by as crime rates soared. Their actions were a statement, a declaration that they would fill the void left by the city¡¯s empty promises of more police officers and safer streets. Instead of seeing the funds go towards practical needs, they witnessed the construction of parks that the city couldn¡¯t afford to maintain.


    The period between 1988 and 1990 was a tumultuous chapter in the history of Empire. The decision to disband the police force by the then Lieutenant-Mayor, who later became Mayor, was a controversial move that seemed to stem more from personal vendetta than fiscal responsibility. In place of the police, the Marines from the 3rd Marine Division and Paratroopers from the 21st Airborne Division were brought in to maintain order. However, their methods were far from conventional policing; they operated with a ¡°shoot first, don¡¯t ask questions later let the bullets answer the question¡± approach, which was more akin to military counterinsurgency than community law enforcement.


    This heavy-handed approach had dire consequences for the city¡¯s image and economy. Businesses fled, likened to birds migrating south for the winter, as the presence of military vehicles on the streets painted a picture of a city under siege rather than a safe place to invest and grow a business. The exodus of commerce exacerbated the city¡¯s financial woes, further depleting an already strained budget.


    It was only with the election of a new mayor in 1990 that a sense of stability began to return. She approached the city¡¯s governance with a business mindset, focusing on balancing the budget by carefully weighing the city¡¯s income against its expenses. This pragmatic approach allowed for a more sustainable management of the city¡¯s resources, ensuring that essential services like the Fire Department, Police Department, Medical, Transportation, and Education Departments could continue to operate without compromising the city¡¯s financial health.


    The budget, though vast, required meticulous oversight to ensure that the city could meet its obligations without falling into the pitfalls of previous administrations. It was a lesson in fiscal prudence and strategic planning that helped steer Empire back on a path to recovery and growth.


    My friends back in the States often chuckle at the idea of minimum wage workers here earning $1.25 an hour, which translates to about $108 a month if they work full-time. But then, they get a bit envious when they realize how far that money goes. They''re struggling with $1000 rent on an $1800 monthly salary, often needing a second job just to make ends meet.


    Here on Little Bird, it''s like stepping into an old sitcom where a single breadwinner can support a stay-at-home parent and a few kids on one salary. It''s a stark contrast to their reality, where many have to share living spaces with friends or roommates to split the bills.


    I can''t help but feel a bit fortunate. My medium-sized apartment costs just $71 a month, and on my firefighter salary of $240 a month, I can live comfortably. It''s a different world, one where the cost of living aligns more closely with wages, allowing for a simpler, more sustainable lifestyle. While my friends back home are juggling multiple jobs and high expenses, I can enjoy a bit more peace of mind and financial stability.


    I often find myself explaining to my colleagues here the myriad of bills we juggle back in the States¡ªcellphone, energy, cable, internet, and various insurances like car and home. They¡¯re baffled by the concept of a cable bill, having grown up in a place where you simply buy a TV, plug it in, and you¡¯re set. No need to subscribe to basic cable or pay extra for additional channels. Here on Little Bird, it''s straightforward: buy a TV, plug it in, and enjoy.


    Insurance is another area that confuses them. On Little Bird, most people opt for Government Insurance, which is incredibly affordable¡ªjust $5 a month for car or house insurance, or $10 for both. While private insurance companies exist, the government option is more popular due to its affordability. Plus, Little Bird has universal healthcare, so no one worries about hospital bills. I¡¯ve shared with them how many Americans avoid hospitals because of the exorbitant costs and interest on unpaid bills. Here, if you receive a hospital bill and make a $15 monthly payment, you¡¯re not charged interest.Life here on Little Bird certainly simplifies things. My bills are pretty straightforward: an electric bill, insurance, and a monthly membership fee to the gun range. I also have a cell phone bill, but I¡¯ve set it up for automatic deduction from my bank account on the first of every month.


    I still use a landline phone, which is a bit different. It¡¯s charged per call, based on distance and duration. Short-distance calls cost 10 cents per minute, while long distance calls are 75 cents per minute. At the start of each month, all the previous month¡¯s calls are tallied up, with a 25-cent fee to keep the line active for incoming and outgoing calls.


    Life¡¯s choices and paths are as varied as the people who walk them. My friends back in the States might find the lifestyle here on Little Bird too quiet for their taste, especially with their frequent visits to the Golden Arches. They might even jest about my ¡°nerdy¡± ways during my time at Arcane University, where I chose books over parties¡ªa decision that set me on a different trajectory than many of them, who now face the consequences of their collegiate revelries.


    They may tease me for my career choice, but I take pride in the unique schedule of the Fire Department City of Empire, which operates on a Modified California Roll. It¡¯s a rhythm that allows for work-life balance, unlike the relentless 12-hour days they endure. It¡¯s not just about the hours we work; it¡¯s about the life we build around those hours.


    Yes, while they¡¯re not under the strain of a city lockdown like the one caused by the Rabius outbreak, I¡¯m here, working tirelessly with Squad 769. Being childless, I¡¯m called upon to serve, to keep pushing until we reach our limits.


    The alarm rang, and I knew it was go-time again. But this call was a bit unusual¡ªit wasn¡¯t the adrenaline-pumping rush to a blazing inferno or a life-saving rescue. No, this time we were rolling out to assist Squad Co 525, not with flames, but with a stubborn door that refused to budge.


    You see, in the midst of their haste to respond to an emergency, 525 found themselves ironically grounded by their own apparatus bay door. A mechanical hiccup, perhaps a neglected chain link, had seized up, halting their progress. It¡¯s one of those mundane maintenance tasks that can easily slip through the cracks in a busy firehouse. They say you should check your garage door¡¯s drive chain at least once or twice a year, especially when it¡¯s cycled as frequently as ours are.


    In a department that answers to over a million calls annually, with half of those needing the specialized tools of a Squad or Rescue Company, it¡¯s no surprise that some things get overlooked. But as we pulled up to their firehouse, I couldn¡¯t help but think about the irony of it all. Here we were, a team usually racing against time to save others, now on a mission to save one of our own from the clutches of a jammed door.


    It¡¯s moments like these that remind us of the importance of the little things, the routine checks and balances that keep our wheels turning and our doors opening. In the grand scheme of things, it¡¯s not just about being ready for the big emergencies¡ªit¡¯s also about ensuring we can get out the door to face them.


    When we arrived at the scene, the first thing we noticed was the door chain¡ªstuck and clearly past its prime. It was one of those moments that remind you of the wear and tear the city endures. As I assessed the situation, my eyes caught a glimpse of Carter. He avoided my gaze, turning away as if on cue. Carter and I, we¡¯re different breeds; he¡¯s the kind who¡¯d touch the electric fence just to see what happens.


    You see, there are various ways to learn in life. Some folks absorb knowledge from books, others from observing the world, and a few from the school of hard knocks¡ªlike grabbing that proverbial electric fence. The human mind is wired to remember the sting of a burn or the shock of electricity, teaching us to steer clear next time. Edison once said, ¡°I have not failed. I¡¯ve just found 10,000 ways that won¡¯t work.¡± That¡¯s a lesson in persistence, but also in recognizing when a path leads nowhere.


    Carter, the moron, seems to think that repeating the same mistake will yield different results. My dad, a man seasoned by the trials of rural America in the ''70s, imparted a different wisdom, knowing when to learn, when to observe, and when to leap into action. It¡¯s a balance that¡¯s served me well, especially in this line of work.


    Despite my reservations about Carter, he did attempt a solution¡ªusing grease to free the chain. I couldn¡¯t help but shake my head; it was such a Carter move. Unorthodox, maybe even foolish, but it¡¯s his way of navigating the world. In a city like Empire, where every neighborhood has its own rhythm and rules, sometimes the unconventional approach is what gets you through the day.


    At the Empire Fire Academy, they hammer in a mantra that¡¯s become my guiding principle: ¡°Walk with purpose, don¡¯t run.¡± It¡¯s a creed that speaks volumes, especially in our line of work. It means to approach every situation with deliberation, not haste; to value analysis over impulsiveness; to choose calculated courage over reckless valor.


    In my first few months on the job, I¡¯ve seen plenty of action, and Carter¡¯s been at my side through most of it. Honestly, I¡¯m amazed he hasn¡¯t found himself in a world of pain yet. His brand of bravery often blurs the line with recklessness. He¡¯s got this fire in him that just doesn¡¯t quit, but sometimes I wish he¡¯d remember that ¡°Pumping the brakes¡± isn¡¯t a sign of weakness¡ªit¡¯s a sign of wisdom.


    It¡¯s about taking that extra moment to assess the risks, to look before leaping into the flames. Out here, in the thick of smoke and uncertainty, a split-second decision can mean the difference between life and death.


    I mostly did the repairs on the garage door chain link where the men here know how to do metal work, leather craftsmanship, wood craftsmanship, electrician, work on bikes, and how to work on the internal combustion engine. Here on Little Bird that shop classes are required for men to take where in middle school shop class they learn about metal work, leather craftsmanship, wood craftsmanship, and clay crafting while high school moves on to advanced stuff like working on bicycles, working on the internal combustion engine, and working on electricity. Well according to my girlfriend, men must take the classes but optional for women but according to Claire a lot of women take said classes so they can have a general idea so they can either go and take the trade or so if they have to fix something then they won¡¯t be scammed like handymen or mechanics.


    But we were able to fix their garage door chain so they can be dispatched to any future call in the future. But to me, we just do what we¡¯re trained to do even though how they couldn¡¯t do it means something.


    Carter I¡¯ve heard him call me a ¡°Wrench Wench¡± which is a badge of honor for women who do mechanical inclinations that traditionally have been the forte of men while the term means a girl who proves the former idea is wrong. Heck my dad said, ¡°I would rather have my daughter change a flat tire, change the oil, and fix the car than take it to a guy I don¡¯t know.¡± I kinda feel like Winry Rockbell from 2003¡¯s Fullmetal Alchemist.


    During my time at Arcane University, where I pursued fire science, I had the chance to shadow several firehouses. It was there I met some formidable women who not only fought fires but also served as the firehouse mechanics. These firehouses, marked by crime maps dotted with pins for suspected arson, were hives of activity and vigilance. The women I met were fiercely proud of their units¡¯ response times, always striving to outdo the others. They were as sharp and capable as Lisa in ¡°My Cousin Vinny,¡± and just as quick to prove their mettle.


    Learning the ropes from these women, as well as from my father and grand uncles, has been invaluable. Now, as I serve in Empire, I¡¯m grateful for the way people here see beyond stereotypes. When I share where I¡¯m from, they don¡¯t picture the caricatures often portrayed in the media¡ªthe corrupt officials or the hillbillies. Instead, they recognize the genuine, sensible people that make up my hometown.


    Empire, nestled in the Southern part of Little Bird, is a testament to enduring Southern hospitality and manners. It¡¯s a place where respect and decency are woven into the fabric of community life, and where the warmth of our greetings is matched only by the heat we face in the line of duty. Here, the spirit of the South is alive and well, and it¡¯s an honor to be part of it.


    Adjusting to city life was a culture shock, coming from a small town to the bustling streets of Empire. I remember my first visit in ''04, seeing people scurrying about, seemingly busy yet aimless. At university orientation, they preached the gospel of Campus Security¡¯s rapport with students, claiming it kept crime rates low. But a classmate of mine called their bluff. She argued that in the event of a crime, it¡¯s better to involve the Empire Police Department (EPD) directly.


    Her reasoning was simple. Campus Security doesn¡¯t entirely document everything, potentially letting incidents slip through the cracks. She likened talking to them to ¡°convincing a brick wall that it¡¯s a door.¡± The EPD, on the other hand, is committed to the safety of citizens, visitors, and the city itself. They¡¯ve pledged their service to Empire, the Commonwealth of Mountain, and Little Bird at large. Campus Security¡¯s allegiance? Solely to the campus grounds. It¡¯s a distinction that¡¯s stuck with me, reinforcing the importance of seeking help where it¡¯s most effective.


    My classmate¡¯s advice at Arcane University was clear-cut, when in doubt, go ¡°outside.¡± She meant that instead of relying on Campus Security or campus counselors, it¡¯s often wiser to seek assistance from the Empire Police Department or a private therapist. Her cautionary tales of friends being involuntarily committed after seeking help on campus were enough to make anyone wary¡ªespecially since such actions are only legal in Little Bird if someone poses a danger to themselves or others.


    Our friendship solidified quickly, especially after I fixed her car without charging a dime. She was curious about my mechanical skills, and I shared with her the legacy of car knowledge in my family. It¡¯s almost a rite of passage for the men in my family to be able to dismantle and reassemble a car with their eyes closed. My ¡°uncles¡±¡ªactually cousins¡ªrun an auto repair shop in North Carolina, and they, along with other family members, passed down their expertise to me. This hands-on education gave me an encyclopedic understanding of automobiles, starting with my first project, a ''63 Tempest. It¡¯s this blend of skill and community spirit that I¡¯ve brought with me to Empire.


    After fixing what¡¯s broken and ensuring the door chain keeps working, I often reflect on the city¡¯s transformation. My classmate¡¯s stories painted a vivid picture of Empire¡¯s past¡ªa city that once teetered on the brink of collapse. Empire was a byword for urban decay from the late ''60s to the early ''90s. People fled, seeking refuge from the chaos, as the city became synonymous with crime, pollution, and despair.


    The mayors of those times dreamed of a utopian city, lush with parks and free from worry. Yet, their visions often eclipsed reality, leading to financial turmoil. By ''79, essential services were outsourced, and the city¡¯s workers struggled to make ends meet. The mid-''80s saw Empire on the verge of bankruptcy, saved only by government money.


    It was a time when the streets were riddled with slums and drug dens, and the city services were stretched thin. The drug crisis of the ''80s only worsened the situation, with crime rates soaring. Televangelists likened the city of Empire to Hell, a comparison that stung but wasn¡¯t entirely dismissed by those who called it home. In those days, self-defense became a priority, and gun ownership surged.


    But the ''90s ushered in a new era. Empire began to operate with the precision and accountability of a business. It¡¯s cleaner now, safer¡ªalmost unrecognizable from the city of old. It¡¯s a testament to resilience, to the belief that even the most troubled places can find their way back.


    Heading back to the firehouse, the crew and I made a pit stop at an electronics store. They decided to pick up a new TV, and while part of me wanted to grumble about their lack of repair skills. I couldn¡¯t fault them for wanting some entertainment. It¡¯s a reminder that sometimes, it¡¯s best to leave certain tasks to those who know them best.


    Back in my girlfriend¡¯s old neighborhood, the local lingo for city services brings a smile to my face. The police helicopter is affectionately dubbed a ¡°black and white bird,¡± a nod to the colors of a patrol car. And the fire department? We¡¯re the ¡°Reds,¡± not for any political reasons but for the simple fact that our trucks are red¡ªa name that came after the Red Scare of the ''50s.


    There¡¯s a lighter side to life here, but there¡¯s also a history that weighs on my heart. In the late ''60s through the early ''90s, securing fire insurance was a gamble. Those who had policies in ''70 or ''71 were often left stranded as insurance companies, overwhelmed by claims, canceled coverage. The city¡¯s leadership pointed fingers, blaming the fires on the influx of rural families unfamiliar with urban living. But that was just a convenient way to shift responsibility.


    Claire¡¯s insights into the Eastside¡¯s history are a stark reminder of how far we¡¯ve come. The descendants of those early settlers have witnessed a city reborn from the ashes of its past. It¡¯s a legacy that we carry forward, striving to build an Empire that¡¯s not only stronger but safer for everyone.


    The day wound down with the guys setting up the new TV, a small luxury in the life of a firefighter. Then, there was Claire¡¯s surprise visit, bringing with her binders full of Fire Department lore¡ªa gift of knowledge and a nod to our shared dedication.


    Our conversation turned to the day¡¯s work at Squad Co 525 and my encounter with Carter. I couldn¡¯t help but share a bit of family lore¡ªmy dad¡¯s half-joking theory about my ¡°demonic¡± right hook, a punch so fierce it once sent him scrambling for cold water. It¡¯s a story that harks back to my high school days, where standing up for myself meant out boxing a persistent troublemaker, much to his embarrassment.


    Claire, ever the supportive partner, reassured me that Carter¡¯s silence was a sign of respect, a recognition of boundaries he wouldn¡¯t dare cross again. It¡¯s these moments, these interactions, that weave the fabric of our lives here in Empire.


    In Empire, reputation isn¡¯t just a word; it¡¯s currency, and it¡¯s earned through deeds, not handed out like flyers. Claire¡¯s breakdown of the social standings is spot-on. Being Neutral or a Smiling Troublemaker might keep you in everyone¡¯s good graces, while being Idolized can open doors that were once walls. But on the flip side, fall to Infamy, and you¡¯re looking at a world that turns its back on you, with every step harder than the last.


    Claire¡¯s reputation as Liked city-wide, and Idolized in Eastside, speaks volumes of her character and the respect she commands. It¡¯s a delicate balance, maintaining a positive image without tipping into the zones where envy or animosity can fester. The perks of a good rep, like lower prices and friendly nods, are tangible, but they come with the risk of drawing ire from those who view kindness with suspicion.


    In a city where your name is your shield and your actions your sword, staying Neutral might seem the safest bet. But for those who dare to stand out, who strive to be Liked or even Idolized, the rewards are more than just material¡ªthey¡¯re the smiles of those you¡¯ve helped, the quiet thanks of a city that feels a little safer because you¡¯re in it. It¡¯s a complex dance of give-and-take, where every action echoes through the alleys and avenues of Empire.


    Claire¡¯s quick visit was a brief respite in these lockdown days, a reminder of the world waiting outside. It¡¯s a strange time in Empire, with streets quieter and the bustling life we¡¯re used to on pause. Yet, life finds a way, doesn¡¯t it? Even under lockdown, essential errands like stocking up for hearty meals are small acts of normalcy. Chili, spaghetti¡ªthese are more than just dishes; they¡¯re comfort in a bowl, a taste of better days simmered with hope and resilience.


    As she left, I couldn¡¯t help but feel a sense of gratitude for these moments of connection, for the community that stands strong even when apart. And as a firefighter, it¡¯s these very people, their safety and well-being.


    Now, my cravings wander¡ªa chili cheese dog, a well-done steak, spaghetti with meatballs¡ªbut it¡¯s the chili that calls me. It¡¯s practical, lasting a few nights, and it¡¯s a taste of home. When dad was overseas, my extended family upheld the tradition. Tomato soup, chicken noodle, vegetable soup, and the baked beans and ham soup I savored in Upstate New York at my great-granddad¡¯s place. Every couple of weeks, he and my cousin, who cared for him, would bake a fresh ham, slice it up, and toss it into a hearty soup with beans. It was their way of nurturing.


    My great-granddad, a fireman during the Roaring Twenties and the Great Depression, once told me how fortunate I am to have such a variety of food at my fingertips. Back then, he, his wife, and their children survived on soup and bread¡ªsimple, yet sustaining. They never queued for a soup kitchen in Depression-era Manhattan, but their options were sparse. Soup and bread for dinner, a slice of bread for breakfast.


    Leaning against the cool metal of the garage door, I watched the rain intensify, each drop a small reprieve from Empire sweltering tropical heat. Growing up, my dad would recount tales of his mountainous hometown, where the peaks acted as colossal guardians, trapping the clouds and blessing the land with abundant rainfall. Now, as a firefighter in Empire, I¡¯ve come to appreciate the city¡¯s unique dance with nature.


    Here, the mountains still cradle the clouds, but the ocean breathes life into them, leading to our infamous June deluge. From the 1st to the 21st, the skies open up, a relentless cascade that nourishes the earth, quenches the parched fields, and douses the threat of wildfires. It¡¯s a natural cleansing that revitalizes our city, washing away the stifling heat and grime.


    Yet, with this gift comes a cautionary tale. The downpour brings the risk of landslides, floods, and the reckless abandon of drivers who challenge the storm¡¯s fury on the interstate, turning roads into treacherous streams. It¡¯s a double-edged sword, one that Claire, my partner, knows all too well. As first responders, we witness the aftermath of avoidable tragedies, especially on weekends when Arcane University¡¯s students race against the curfew, their haste often leading to calls we dread.


    The curfew itself, set at 9 PM for minors and 10 PM for teenagers and  university attendees, is a rule I stand behind. It¡¯s a safeguard, a community embrace ensuring our youth are shielded from the night¡¯s uncertainties. Yet, it¡¯s not just about being indoors; it¡¯s about being responsible, about knowing that the thrill of a night out should never outweigh the value of a life. As the rain taps a steady rhythm on the roof, I¡¯m reminded that in Empire, we¡¯re all guardians of each other, and every drop of rain is a reminder of the delicate balance we maintain.


    There''s a certain charm to the rumble of an engine that''s seen more seasons than most trees in Empire. As I sat on the bumper of Squad 769, the rain pelting down like a barrage of memories, I couldn''t help but think of Dad''s ''83 LTD. The last time he gave me a lift, I nudged him about getting a newer model. His reply was a chuckle and the classic Waterson mantra, "Hey, if it ain''t broke, don''t fix it." That''s the thing about us Watersons; we value the stories and miles over the shine and style.


    Our vehicles are more than just metal; they''re legacies on wheels. Some even wear "Historical" tags, a testament to their endurance, allowed to grace the roads on weekends or to bask in the admiration of enthusiasts at car shows. True to our family''s spirit, my kin work those weekends with a vigor that borders on the superhuman¡ªforty hours packed into two days. It''s a grueling rhythm, but it affords them the rest of the week to recover.


    As the rain shifted from a gentle whisper to a torrential symphony within an hour, I was reminded of the storms back home in Northwest Alabama¡ªthe hurricanes that swept through the South with a ferocity that reshaped lives. It''s a familiar pattern, this sudden shift in weather, and it''s one that I''ve come to respect. It''s a reminder that, like the ''83 LTD or the historical cars of my family, some things endure, adapt, and continue to serve their purpose, no matter how fiercely the rain falls or how many years pass by.


    As I weighed the decision to invest my Navy salary into Empire¡¯s businesses, it''s not the allure of wealth that guides me, but a desire to honor my father¡¯s legacy and bolster our community. My time at the university, though brief, imparted a crucial lesson: businesses falter not from lack of profit, but from a lack of prudent stewardship¡ªbe it in management, ownership, or the premature expenditure of funds.


    I¡¯ve seen the pulse of Little Bird, our neighborhood, quicken during the holidays and festivals. It¡¯s a time when businesses can thrive, drawing enough patrons in a single day to offset two weeks¡¯ worth of expenses. It¡¯s a remarkable phenomenon, akin to a financial harvest, reaped from the jubilance of carnivals and the influx of visitors seeking respite in our local havens.


    Empire owes its vibrancy to the film industry, a beacon that has long attracted stars and dreamers alike. The places they frequent, whether by chance or design, become part of the city¡¯s lore, their popularity surging with each celebrity visit.


    Yet, the decision to invest is a complex one. Each business has its own rhythm, its own financial heartbeat. Some may require a steady flow of capital to reach equilibrium, while others might need but a trickle. It¡¯s a delicate balance, one that demands careful consideration and a deep understanding of the economic ebb and flow that defines our city.


    When the world stills and the streets empty, there¡¯s a clarity that comes with the lockdown¡¯s quiet. It¡¯s given me time to think, to plan. I¡¯m ready to invest my Navy earnings into the heart of Empire City, to breathe new life into places that others might abandon. It¡¯s not just about acquiring property; it¡¯s about planting seeds of growth and watching them flourish.


    Being a Waterson means recognizing potential where others see the end of the road. Like my relative in North Carolina, who turned a prize from a pink slip race¡ªa dilapidated garage¡ªinto a thriving auto body shop. It¡¯s that Waterson grit, the ability to see beyond the surface and find value in the overlooked, that sets us apart.


    Then there¡¯s Carter, who¡¯d likely bungle a golden ticket if it came with instructions. Not everyone has the knack for turning situations around, but that¡¯s where we Watersons excel. We¡¯re the ones who take the unexpected opportunity, the underdog¡¯s chance, and turn it into something remarkable.


    As I sit here, watching the rain cascade down, I¡¯m transported back to simpler times¡ªbefore the internet¡¯s buzz, before the digital age¡¯s constant hum. Back when entertainment was as simple as watching raindrops race down the windowpane, while inside, my mom claimed the TV for MTV marathons and my dad waited for the classic movie channel to debut. Those were the days when the reruns of Andy Griffith and Gomer Pyle USMC filled our home, a stark contrast to the rock and pop icons of my mom¡¯s viewing choice.


    It¡¯s funny how some things change, yet others remain steadfast. The rain, the memories, the Waterson way¡ªthey¡¯re all part of who I am, and they guide me as I look to the future, ready to make my mark when the lockdown lifts and the world springs back to life.


    In the echoing bay of the fire station, the PA system is a constant reminder of the disparities within our community. The calls often lead us to the manicured lawns of the middle class and rich, where entitlement can sometimes overshadow common decency. I recall an incident from 2003, a professor at Arcane University faced charges for discriminating against a student who was also a police officer. It was a stark violation of the principles I learned upon my arrival in Little Bird in ''04, where the constitution enshrines the right to education for all, irrespective of one¡¯s job or background.


    My time at Arcane University was eye-opening, not just academically but socially. I encountered peers who mistook privilege for merit, who wielded their status like a blunt instrument. When their taunts turned my way, they quickly learned that a Waterson doesn¡¯t back down¡ªa lesson delivered by my right hook. They were the kind who expected rewards without effort, spending their parents¡¯ earnings with abandon, yet shying away from the concept of earning their own keep.


    Their naivety extended to business ventures as well. They equated ¡°breaking even¡± with the freedom to spend, not understanding that it means balancing costs, expenses, and revenue. Their flawed approach often led to bankruptcy or shuttered businesses, a predictable end for those who valued expenditure over income. My father, though never a businessman himself, instilled in me the fundamentals of commerce, the necessity of generating sufficient revenue to cover expenses and the importance of having a surplus. It¡¯s a lesson that resonates with me as I navigate my own path, seeking to invest not just in property, but in the prosperity and resilience of our community.


    My father instilled in me the principles of financial responsibility from a young age. Whenever I borrowed money from him, I made it a point to return it with interest. This practice wasn¡¯t just about repaying a debt; it was a lesson in understanding the value of money and the importance of honoring one¡¯s commitments. For instance, borrowing $20 meant repaying $40¡ªa steep interest rate that underscored the cost of borrowing.


    In contrast, many of my peers seemed oblivious to these concepts. They scoffed at the idea of repayment, as if money were an ever-abundant resource. Yet, I witnessed the reality checks they faced when their parents reined in their spending sprees, revoking credit cards that had been maxed out under the guise of educational expenses. The ensuing tantrums and crocodile tears when told to find employment were both amusing and telling.


    While attending university, I worked part-time at a local supermarket, handling deliveries and stocking shelves. It was honest work that kept me grounded. My grand uncle offered me a job at his bar, but I declined. The thought of classmates expecting free drinks on my account was unappealing; I sought employment that didn¡¯t cater to entitlement.


    In the district, Eastside, businesses operate with a lean mindset. Claire, my girlfriend, pointed out that many forgo traditional suppliers, opting instead to purchase directly from manufacturers. This approach reduces costs significantly. It¡¯s a stark contrast to some former classmates who ventured into business with extensive product lines but lacked the revenue to sustain their operations.


    In my ventures, I¡¯ve observed a fascinating trend: bars and similar establishments often serve as check cashing facilities. This isn¡¯t a result of a free market anomaly; it¡¯s a strategic choice. These businesses cater to patrons who prefer immediate access to their funds. It¡¯s a service born out of necessity for those who either lack traditional banking accounts or choose to avoid them due to fees and delayed check processing times.


    Consider this: many workers are paid on Fridays, but the reality of banking procedures means their checks might not clear until the following Tuesday. That¡¯s unless they¡¯re willing to pay a fee¡ªoften around $10¡ªfor instant processing. It¡¯s a steep price for immediacy, but one that some are willing to pay.


    These establishments, by offering check cashing services, tap into a customer base that¡¯s already there to spend. Yes, they take a percentage of the check, but it¡¯s a trade-off many customers are willing to make for the convenience of immediate cash. It¡¯s a system that works for both parties¡ªthe business earns from the service, and the customers walk away with cash in hand, ready to enjoy their weekend or pay the bills.


    This dual-function model is something I¡¯ve considered for my own properties. It¡¯s about understanding the community¡¯s needs and providing services that are not just profitable but also beneficial for my patrons. It¡¯s a delicate balance, but one that aligns with my vision of creating businesses that serve and uplift the community.


    The rain in Empire is like a symphony to my soul, a soothing backdrop to the rhythm of city life. It¡¯s the rainstorms and the shroud of fog that cloak the early mornings and late nights, lending an air of mystery and tranquility to the bustling streets.


    In the midst of this natural cadence, my duties often lead me to conduct welfare checks on the vulnerable, the high-risk, and the elderly¡ªa reminder of the fragility and resilience of life. It¡¯s during these moments. But when we got back to our quarters I reached for a history book from my locker, and I¡¯m struck by the eclectic tastes of Empire¡¯s citizens. An all-beef Angus hot dog smothered in macaroni and cheese with a drizzle of ketchup is a local delicacy, a testament to the city¡¯s adventurous palate.


    Back home, I know some people that their culinary quirks are just as unique¡ªketchup on ice cream is not unheard of. As for me, I indulge in a concoction of soda poured over ice cream, creating a fizzy, creamy mixture that¡¯s both nostalgic and refreshing.


    Here in Eastside, such inventive food pairings are commonplace among the eateries. It¡¯s a culture of culinary experimentation, where traditional flavors are reimagined and new combinations are embraced. This spirit of innovation is something I carry into my own business ventures, always seeking to blend the familiar with the novel.


    As I walked the familiar streets of Eastside, my eyes caught the ¡®For Sale¡¯ signs that dotted the landscape. With a pen and pocket notebook in hand, I meticulously noted down telephone numbers and street addresses. These aren¡¯t just properties; they¡¯re opportunities. When the lockdown lifts, I plan to reach out with an offer¡ªa fair asking price coupled with a share of the weekly income. It¡¯s not about expanding for profit; it¡¯s about purpose, about breathing new life into these spaces.


    These establishments, while welcoming to all, primarily serve the low-income residents of Eastside, Westside, and Anderson. The middle class and the affluent rarely venture into these neighborhoods, deterred by misconceptions of crime and neglect. Yet, those of us who call these streets home know the truth¡ªthe crime rate here is virtually nonexistent, a stark contrast to the stigma attached to our community.


    The history of these districts is marred by attempts at erasure. In the ''80s and again in 2005, there were efforts by the wealthy to demolish our neighborhoods, to replace our heritage with soulless luxury condos and amenities designed for the rich, at the expense of the working class. Mayor Martinez, in the ''90s, pushed for gentrification, aiming to replace our century-old homes with modern residences. But these initiatives overlooked the economic realities many families face¡ªearnings that barely cover the essentials, let alone allow for relocation.


    My vision is different. I see the potential for revitalization without displacement, for growth that includes and empowers the community. I¡¯m committed to preserving the character of these neighborhoods while introducing improvements that enhance the quality of life for its residents. It¡¯s a delicate balance, but one I¡¯m determined to achieve. By investing in these properties, I¡¯m not just acquiring assets; I¡¯m investing in the future of Eastside, Westside, and Anderson¡ªa future where prosperity is shared and the dignity of every resident is upheld.


    It¡¯s an ironic twist of fate, the way the old tenements of Empire were razed to make way for modernity. The displaced, once neglected by the very entities that uprooted them, found themselves beneficiaries of new housing, courtesy of the city government and Echelon Enterprises. The city also a multibillion dollar corporation, once indifferent to the plight of the working class, were compelled by the Commonwealth of Mountain and the government of Little Bird to provide temporary housing and fund the construction of new apartments and businesses¡ªunder the watchful eye of federal oversight like a hawk to make sure they don¡¯t cut corners.


    The transformation was bittersweet. While it pained me to see neighbors lose their homes and livelihoods, there was a sense of poetic justice in witnessing the city and Echelon Enterprises being held accountable. My father¡¯s words echo in my mind, ¡°You make your bed, you sleep in it.¡± As a child, I grappled with its meaning, but now I understand¡ªit¡¯s about facing the repercussions of one¡¯s actions.


    He also spoke of karma. ¡°What goes around comes around.¡± It¡¯s a simple yet profound principle that guides my actions. Those who do harm will eventually face the consequences, just as those who contribute positively will be rewarded.


    The hours slipped by today, marked by the steady drumming of rain against the windowpane, washing away the day¡¯s heat. I¡¯ve never been fond of the humidity that follows a downpour, but there¡¯s something about the rain that feels cleansing, even if it¡¯s just a prelude to stickier days. This lockdown caught us all off guard¡ªlife has a way of throwing the unexpected at you, no matter how well you plan for the future.


    In these confined quarters, I found myself manning the kitchen, not because of my gender, but because of my expertise. My culinary skills were honed out of necessity and passion, from solitary living and formal education in both school and university. Cooking has been a part of my life since my teenage years, a skill cultivated while my mother lost herself to her vices and the television, and my father, buried in work, could only offer takeout during the week. The weekends were his domain, and from him, I learned the art of cooking.


    I remember the early days, the mishaps with fried eggs clinging stubbornly to the pan, and now, I can craft a homemade quarter-pounder with cheese that rivals any McDonald¡¯s. It¡¯s a testament to the journey from novice to adept, from following recipes to creating them. Cooking is more than sustenance; it¡¯s a craft, an expression of care, and during this lockdown, it¡¯s become a source of comfort and a reminder of the resilience we all possess.


    Reflecting on my days as a waitress in Alabama, I can¡¯t help but smile at the memory of customers who would ask for my recommendations, only to choose something entirely different. It was a lesson in patience and humility, serving from 1998 to 2003, learning to navigate the waters of customer service.


    The Watersons are known for their tenacity; we don¡¯t back down from a fight or shy away from a challenge. Yet, in the face of rudeness, I learned the value of restraint. There were times when walking away was the only option to avoid escalating a situation. It wasn¡¯t about fear or surrender¡ªit was about choosing battles wisely and keeping my head cool. After all, a Waterson may relish a good brawl, but we also know the importance of fighting the right fights, and sometimes that means stepping back to keep the peace. It¡¯s a balance I¡¯ve carried with me, from the diner floors of Alabama to the bustling streets of Empire.


    In my line of work, both past and present, I¡¯ve encountered my fair share of rudeness. There were times when a customer¡¯s aggression could have easily led to a physical altercation, and I was ready to stand my ground. But I¡¯ve learned that not every provocation deserves a reaction. I never apologized for situations I didn¡¯t escalate because maintaining professionalism is paramount.


    Saying ¡°Good morning¡± to someone only to be met with snappiness or outright hostility can test anyone¡¯s patience. In those moments, it¡¯s tempting to engage in their game, to give as good as you get. But I remind myself that self-control is a strength, not a weakness.


    The Watersons are no strangers to self-defense; it runs in our blood. From boxing to professional wrestling, from karate to capoeira, and taekwondo to Brazilian jiu-jitsu, we¡¯re well-versed in the art of combat. Yet, we also understand the power of words and the importance of de-escalation. We¡¯re quick to suggest ¡°taking it outside¡± not as a threat, but as a reality check for those who mistake verbosity for valor. Those who are all talk but back out easily when have to fight then they¡¯re going to back out


    In my family, we¡¯ve always been about action over words. We¡¯ve encountered plenty who can run their mouths at breakneck speed, but falter when it¡¯s time to back up their claims. It¡¯s one thing to talk about a big game, quite another to step up when the moment calls for it. The Watersons? We stand by our word, and we¡¯ve seen firsthand how those who clamor for a fight often retreat when faced with someone ready to engage.


    During my years as a waitress, I crossed paths with many who were all talk and no action. They¡¯d boast loudly, but at the slightest hint of confrontation, their bravado would evaporate. It¡¯s a common thread¡ªpeople who speak more than they think, who promise more than they can deliver.


    Reflecting on my days as a waitress in Alabama, I can¡¯t say I miss it, despite the fact that I earned $10 more than what I make now as a Firefighter and Certified First Responder in Empire City. It¡¯s not the wage gap that matters to me; it¡¯s the value of the work I do and the impact it has.


    Sure, there were moments when the rudeness of certain customers tested my limits, where I found myself fantasizing about dousing their arrogance with a pot of hot coffee. But I never let it come to that. I chose to step back, to maintain my professionalism, even when every fiber of my being was ready to confront the disrespect head-on.


    I remember customers who would ask to keep the coffee pot at their table, oblivious to the policy that charged per refill. It was a small rule, but one that spoke to the broader discipline of the job. I couldn¡¯t bend the rules, not even for the sake of convenience.


    Then there were my extended family members, who would occasionally grace the diner with their presence. They treated me with kindness, not out of familial obligation, but out of respect for the challenges of waitstaff. They understood that the frustration directed at us was often misplaced, meant for the unseen hands in the kitchen. Their empathy made those long shifts a little lighter, a reminder that kindness can be just as impactful as any grand gesture.


    Now, as I serve my community in a different capacity, I carry with me the lessons learned from those diner days¡ªthe importance of patience, the value of service, and the impact of treating others with respect, regardless of the circumstances even though some need to be knocked down a peg or two.


    Dining out with my dad or girlfriend has its moments, especially when it comes to steak. We¡¯re a ¡®well-done¡¯ kind of family, and anything less just won¡¯t do. It¡¯s not uncommon for us to send a steak back if it arrives medium rare or even medium well. And while the waitstaff often apologizes for the oversight, we¡¯re quick to reassure them that the error isn¡¯t on their shoulders.


    The sight of a rare or medium rare steak might make me shiver, but I respect everyone¡¯s tastes¡ªeven if they¡¯re not to my preference. It¡¯s these small interactions, these moments of understanding and patience, that remind me of the importance of empathy, both in my personal life and in my service to the community. Whether it¡¯s ensuring a meal is cooked to satisfaction or responding to a call in the line of duty, it¡¯s about meeting needs and respecting choices, always with a sense of professionalism and care.


    The fire bell jolted me from my thoughts, its shrill clang echoing through the station. I glanced at my crewmates, their expressions a mix of anticipation and determination. This was it¡ªthe call we¡¯d been waiting for. A fire.


    But as I grabbed my turnout gear, I couldn¡¯t shake the memory of the last medical emergency. The Rabius virus had left its mark on too many faces, and I¡¯d seen the pain etched in their eyes. I¡¯d rather face the flames than witness that agony again.


    We moved with precision, each movement honed by countless drills. Fifty-four seconds¡ªthat¡¯s all it took for us to gear up, the adrenaline coursing through our veins. The apparatus bay door creaked open, and we burst into the pouring rain, the engine roaring to life.


    The adrenaline surged as we arrived at the high-rise fire. I snatched a Fire Ax. My crew might dismiss it as another false alarm or a glitchy automatic fire alarm¡ªafter all, Empire¡¯s modern skyscrapers were practically fireproof. But I knew better.


    Fires in these towering structures were rare, but not impossible. A stray cigarette, a faulty wire¡ªany spark could ignite disaster. As I climbed the stairs, the weight of the hose grounding me, I focused on the task at hand.


    I reached onto my right pocket, my gloved fingers tracing the stitching on my turnout jacket. It was a ritual, this double-checking. The kind of thing that could save your life when the world went up in flames.


    ¡°Macaroni,¡± Captain Harris barked, snapping me out of my thoughts. ¡°You and Rodriguez, check the 22nd floor. Fire alarm directory says it¡¯s a hot spot.¡±


    I nodded, my heart already racing. The City of Empire had its share of towering skyscrapers, and each one held secrets¡ªsome whispered, some screamed in smoke and heat. But today, it was the thin abseiler rope stitched into my jacket that had my attention.


    I ran my fingers over the patch. A lifeline, they called it. A way out when the stairwells turned into chimneys, when the flames licked at our heels. If the fire cut us off, we¡¯d hook that rope to anything solid¡ªa concrete floor, a window frame¡ªand rappel down. It was without danger, a gamble against time.


    Elevator shafts were the worst. Heat trapped in metal, swirling like a furnace. But sometimes, there was no choice. You¡¯d inch your way down, praying the rope wouldn¡¯t melt, your boots scraping against the walls. If you made it to the bottom, you¡¯d emerge, soot-streaked and gasping, into chaos.


    Windows weren¡¯t much better. You¡¯d lean out, eyes scanning for fire below. If it roared out of a lower floor, you¡¯d have to backtrack, find another way. The wind¡ªdamn, the wind. It could whip you around like a rag doll, tangle the rope, make you curse the day you signed up for this job.


    But that abseiler rope was more than just a last-ditch escape plan. It was hope stitched into nylon. When the flames roared and the world blurred, you¡¯d grab hold and trust it. Trust that your training, your gear, would see you through.


    So, Rodriguez and I headed for the 22nd floor. The hallway was thick with smoke, the alarm wailing. I glanced at him, saw the same determination in his eyes. We¡¯d find the fire, fight it back, and maybe¡ªjust maybe¡ªuse that lifeline to get out.


    As we pushed open the door, I thought about the rainstorms that swept through Empire. How they washed the streets clean, how they whispered secrets to those who listened. Maybe today, they¡¯d wash away the smoke, too. Maybe today, Macaroni would cook dinner for her crew, and we¡¯d all raise a toast to that damn abseiler rope.


    Because in this city, where danger lurked behind every door, we held on tight and leaned into the storm. And sometimes, that was enough to keep us alive.


    In the heat of the moment, every decision we make as firefighters can be the difference between life and death. During my training, I learned one critical rule: always check the door before you open it. Here¡¯s why:


    <ul>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">If a door is hot, it¡¯s a clear sign that flames are dancing on the other side, waiting to leap out the moment we give them a chance.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400"> </li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">If a door is cold, it usually means we¡¯re in the clear, and there¡¯s no immediate threat lurking behind it.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400"> </li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">If a door is hot but cooling down, that¡¯s when we need to be extra cautious. It could indicate a fire that¡¯s suffocating from a lack of oxygen, setting the stage for a backdraft.</li>


    </ul>


    A backdraft is a firefighter¡¯s nightmare. It happens when a fire consumes all the oxygen in a room and smothers itself, only to violently explode back to life when fresh oxygen rushes in. It¡¯s like the fire is holding its breath, waiting to exhale a devastating blast.


    To prevent this, we¡¯re trained to introduce oxygen slowly. We make small, strategic holes in doors or walls, allowing just enough air to seep in without triggering a backdraft. It¡¯s a delicate balance, one that requires a steady hand and a cool head.


    In our department, we have a team of Backdraft Specialists. While they don¡¯t don the gear and rush into infernos like the rest of us, their role is no less critical. They are the sages of fire behavior, the ones who arm us with knowledge to face one of the most treacherous phenomena we encounter: the backdraft.


    These specialists are educators at heart, but their classroom is unlike any other. They teach us to read the fire¡¯s language¡ªhow dense, black smoke can shift to a grayish yellow, signaling danger. They show us that when flames are shy, hiding from view, it¡¯s not a sign of safety but a warning of excessive heat and potential combustion waiting for a breath of air.


    They train us to observe how smoke behaves¡ªpuffing out and greedily inhaling back in¡ªas if the fire is breathing, biding its time. We learn that every door isn¡¯t just an entry point; it¡¯s a barrier that could be holding back a violent burst of energy.


    When I approach a door in the smoky corridors of a high-rise, the weight of my responsibility presses down on me as heavily as my gear. I slip off my fireproof glove¡ªa barrier between me and the crucial information I need. With the bare skin of my left hand, I feel the door, the doorknob¡ªgauging their temperature. Hot means danger; cooling means a potential backdraft; cold is a temporary sigh of relief.


    If the door is anything but cold, I ready my ax. We¡¯re trained to create small holes, a technique that allows us to feed the fire just enough oxygen to prevent a backdraft without causing a flare-up. It¡¯s a delicate operation, like performing surgery on a live, unpredictable patient.


    In high-rises, the stakes are higher, the options fewer. We can¡¯t vent through the roof as we would in a house fire. Instead, we may have to break windows on the fire-affected floor. It¡¯s a calculated risk, a gamble with the wind and the fire¡¯s insatiable hunger for oxygen. One wrong move, and we could fan the flames, turning a rescue operation into a disaster.


    I opened cold doors easily but carefully but I thoroughly checked each room to make sure they were cleared. But if a door was hot or cooling down I would slightly vent by making small holes and move on. But since the city is on a lockdown I have a feeling this commercial high-rise is unoccupied.


    To me I find some of my friends back home to be hypocritical where they rags on me for leaving a town to be with my girlfriend and working a job that allows me to be there for my girlfriend but not being there for them yet they left the same town to different cities across America for their work not being there for their friends. But I keep my mouth shut on it because of how hypocritical it is. They don¡¯t keep in touch as they say they do.


    The 22nd floor was a ghost town, shrouded in thick smoke that clung to every corner like a persistent shadow. With my ax in hand, I made the call to shatter the north-facing windows, sending the smoke billowing into the open sky. It was a relief to see it disperse, a visual cue that we were taking control, even if just a little. The building¡¯s HVAC system hummed in the background, working overtime to contain the spread of smoke and fire. I couldn¡¯t help but think of the energy-saving panel I¡¯d seen in the lobby¡ªtechnology designed for efficiency, now caught in a battle with an elemental force.


    The Rabius outbreak had left the building eerily deserted, amplifying the sense of urgency as we moved. After ensuring the 22nd floor was clear, we ascended the Northwest stairwell, aiming to regroup with our company. But the fire was a cunning adversary, severing our path through the attack stairwell. We diverted to the evacuation route, only to find it too had been claimed by the flames.


    Cornered, we considered rappelling down from the windows, but the fire¡¯s tendrils were already lashing out from the openings, a clear sign that escape was not an option there. Our last resort lay within the elevator shaft. With precision, I used my ax to breach the drywall, creating an anchor point 18 inches from the door. The ax bit into the wall, half its length deep before striking a fire stop¡ªa small victory in our precarious situation.


    We secured our bailout ropes with carabiners, each of us taking a breath before descending. Captain Harris led the way, and I followed last, leaving the 33rd floor behind as we made our cautious descent to the relative safety of the 31st. It was a maneuver that spoke volumes of our training and trust in each other¡ªa silent pact that we were in this together, come what may.


    As we stepped onto the 31st floor, Captain Harris¡¯s words, ¡°Terra firma,¡± echoed in the smoky air. It was a moment of dark humor amidst the peril¡ªa reminder that solid ground under our boots was preferable to dangling in an elevator shaft. But our relief was short-lived. The fire burned the bailout ropes we had just used. It was a stark reminder of the fire¡¯s destructive power, how it could claim our lifelines in a heartbeat.


    Yet, there was an unspoken gratitude among us that the ropes held just long enough. They waited, as if with bated breath, for my boots to touch the floor before succumbing to the flames and plummeting down to the building¡¯s depths. I kept silent, a mix of superstition and respect for the situation holding my tongue. No need for words that could tempt fate or bring a jinx upon us. In firefighting, sometimes it¡¯s the things left unsaid that carry the most weight.


    In the unpredictable world of life, I¡¯ve come to believe in the power of silence. It¡¯s a lesson learned not just from the fires I¡¯ve fought but from life itself. There¡¯s a kind of magic in words, and sometimes, they can turn on you¡ªlike invoking a jinx when you least expect it.


    I¡¯ve seen it happen: the moment you comment on how smoothly things are going, the universe has a way of throwing a curveball, making you regret that thought of ease. It¡¯s happened enough times to teach me that some thoughts are better left unvoiced, especially when lives are on the line.


    The academy drills into us that no matter how seasoned we are, the next call could be the one that throws us a curveball. It¡¯s a humbling reminder that confidence should never slip into complacency. We step into chaos, into situations where the rulebook is just a starting point, and the real test is adapting to the unpredictable.


    Take water, for example. It¡¯s not the universal solvent for firefighting that many think. Water can be ineffective or even dangerous against certain types of fires. It¡¯s why we have classifications¡ªA, B, C, D, and so on¡ªeach dictating a different strategy, a different approach.


    My girlfriend, a Class D specialist, knows this all too well. She¡¯s an expert in combating metallic fires, yet those are rare in her line of duty. Instead, she faces the more common residential blazes¡ªClass A for ordinary combustibles, Class B for flammable liquids, and Class F for cooking oils. It¡¯s a testament to the breadth of our training and the versatility required in our profession.


    Here in Empire, as in the rest of Little Bird, we adhere to the US Fire Class system. It¡¯s a language of its own because each one is different.


    Rappelling down an elevator shaft wasn¡¯t on my usual to-do list, but firefighting is full of surprises. As I descended, I couldn¡¯t help but check my air pack meter. The needle was comfortably in the green zone, an assurance of ample oxygen. Had it veered into yellow, a shrill alarm would¡¯ve pierced the air, a stark reminder to leave. Red, of course, would signal an empty tank¡ªa firefighter¡¯s cue to exit, stage left.


    This blaze was a inferno, stretching on for hours. My adrenaline was still spiked, not just from the fire but from a recent thrill¡ªskydiving with the 39th Airborne Regiment. That $180 leap ended with a less-than-graceful faceplant, but it was nothing compared to the dance with danger I¡¯d just performed.


    Overhaul and salvage followed¡ªthe grunt work of firefighting. It¡¯s a meticulous search for hotspots, a task that demands both finesse and force. Armed with a Pikepole, I prodded the ceiling, coaxing down charred debris. Amidst the destruction, a rogue ember kissed my cheek, leaving behind the sting of a second-degree burn. Instinctively, I reached for my glove, smearing soot in a futile attempt to soothe the wound. It was a rookie move, one that did little but add a smear of grime to the injury.


    Growing up, I was no stranger to the rough and tumble of the outdoors¡ªplaying in the dirt, mud, and rain, anything short of severe weather like a hurricane was fair game. That resilience has stuck with me; no injury, not even the heat of an ember leaving its mark on my skin, could sideline me. It¡¯s a toughness instilled by my dad, a reminder to always get back up, no matter the scrape.


    The ember that kissed my cheek, leaving a second-degree burn, was just another badge of honor. It didn¡¯t faze me. I¡¯ve felt worse, like the time hot grease from the stove jumped at me, searing my arm. That pain eclipsed the sting of any ember. I was 15, trying to prove my independence by cooking chicken without my dad¡¯s watchful eye. It was a lesson learned the hard way. Of course it took me six hours to clean up the mess.


    But those embers were cooling off when they fell onto my cheek.


    The ground beneath Empire trembled, a subtle reminder that we¡¯re perched on the edge of the Pacific Plate, part of the infamous Ring of Fire. I¡¯ll admit, when I first heard the term, Johnny Cash¡¯s iconic tune played in my head. It took a geography lesson to realize that this ¡®Ring of Fire¡¯ wasn¡¯t a circus act but a seismic reality, a circle of tectonic activity encircling the Pacific Ocean.


    Post- Salvage and overhaul are where we sift through the aftermath, ensuring the fire is truly vanquished. As other companies completed their tasks, I had my second-degree burn tended to by our EMS. It¡¯s a stark contrast to the city¡¯s obsession with perfection, where even the slightest blemish sends the rich to plastic surgeons, eager to erase any sign of imperfection.


    But that¡¯s not me. I¡¯ve never been one to shy away from the marks life leaves on us. Each scar, each line, tells a story of survival and resilience. They¡¯re emblems of a life lived fully, of risks taken and challenges met head-on. I wear them with pride, a visible narrative of my journey as a firefighter. In a city chasing eternal youth, I choose to honor the passage of time and the experiences it brings. It¡¯s a personal badge of honor, one that I carry with unwavering pride.


    As I navigate the labyrinth of smoke and embers, the City of Empire reveals itself to me¡ªnot just its hidden alleys and soaring skyscrapers, but its very soul. This city thrums with a fierce ambition, where the rhythm of the night rivals the day''s, and the relentless hustle is our universal language. Yet, in this ceaseless race, there''s a fixation that gnaws at me¡ªthe city''s insatiable hunger for perpetual youth.


    Here, in the heart of the film industry, not every path is paved with stardom, and not every visage needs to be frozen in time. Roaming the streets, I witness a parade of flawless faces, each a mirror reflecting the city''s love affair with agelessness. They chase after an elusive spring, yearning to turn back time to their halcyon days. But the truth is, no surgeon''s blade can pause the inexorable march of time. They may strut with the confidence of their youth, but behind those immaculate masks, time marches on, relentless and indifferent.


    It''s not the illusion of youth that counts; it''s the vibrant pulse of life within. How I wish they could see¡ªlife isn''t about capturing a moment in amber. I hold my tongue, observing as they pull others into a maelstrom of fleeting trends and philosophies, longing for ''the good old days'' of yore. They throng to clinics, desperate to mold their flesh into eternal monuments, and they rear their offspring in a realm where ''no'' is an alien concept, leading to outbursts when reality dares to intrude.


    I''m from a small town in Alabama, where the demarcation between right and wrong was stark, and we learned to discern fair-weather friends from those who stand firm in adversity.


    Before I set off for university, I bid farewell to the City of Empire in 2004, after a visit to Arcane University. I mused with my friends, "Envision a city where the quest for affluence, fame, and self-betterment is boundless. A place where you''re either a luminary, on the brink of fame, or a forgotten echo. Where the climent is nearly as perfect year round as the populace aspires to be."


    Indeed, Empire has become synonymous with the silver screen, luring creatives and stars from across the globe. But since my days at university, I''ve come to say, "Welcome to Empire¡ªthe city of celluloid, sand, and the pursuit of perfection. From the forgotten starlets of Highwood or Tallwood to the streetwise people in certain districts, to the inebriated wanderers of Empire Pier, it''s time to delve into this mire of shattered dreams, substance-fueled fallacies, and desperate hopefuls that illuminate this grand city of lights."


    Tallwood, though, stands apart¡ªa sprawling, opulent district, renowned as the cradle of the entertainment world, with its grand theaters and vibrant nightclubs. It boasts lavish homes and stars among its denizens. Yet, Tallwood is more than that¡ªa district of wealth and class, marked by its sprawling estates and the quiet luxury that whispers of success.

 Chapter Fourteen: Helping Businesses

    As the dawn of a post-Rabius virus era began to break, I found myself at a crossroads. The past two months had been a relentless marathon of sirens and smoke, a testament to the city¡¯s resilience and the tireless efforts of its first responders. The scientists had finally outmaneuvered the virus with a cure that promised to restore normalcy to our beleaguered streets.


    Exhaustion had become my shadow, a constant reminder of the long days and even longer nights. Despite being a probationary firefighter, I knew my limits. I submitted a request for several weeks of leave, fully prepared to stand my ground should it be denied. The time had come for me to recharge, to step away from the heat of the blaze and the urgency of the alarms.


    Financial independence is a principle I hold dear, a symbol of the autonomy I¡¯ve fought to achieve. My girlfriend, ever the ally, paid rent, fronted the payment, which I promptly reimbursed. This arrangement was a bulwark against vulnerability, ensuring that my hard-earned money remained beyond the reach of my mother¡¯s demons. Her battle with addiction was her own, and I refused to let my finances become collateral damage. Should she falter, it would unravel the threads of progress spun in rehab, sending her back to Kansas City, not as a visitor, but as a patient once more.


    In the heart of Eastside, where the pulse of the district beats with a rhythm as old as the city itself, I found myself wandering. The streets, lined with the echoes of history, led me to the doors of local bars, each adorned with a ¡°FOR SALE¡± sign. These establishments, once brimming with the laughter and stories of regulars, were now silent, their futures uncertain.


    The owners, weary from the relentless tides of change, sought to hand over their legacies. Yet, they held a firm resolve not to let their haven''s fall into the hands of faceless corporations. These bars were more than just businesses; they were cornerstones of the community, serving the working class that has been the backbone of Eastside for generations.


    The thought of these spaces being stripped of their character, repackaged and polished to suit the tastes of the affluent, was a disservice to the very soul of the neighborhood. The owners understood this. They knew that the essence of Eastside wasn¡¯t in its brick and mortar, but in the spirit of its people¡ªtheir grit, their dreams, and their unwavering sense of community.


    As I walked, the weight of my own badge felt heavier. Here, in the shadow of ¡°FOR SALE¡± signs, I saw the reflection of the city¡¯s relentless pursuit of the new, often at the expense of the cherished old. But like the steadfast owners, I too believe in the value of what endures, in the stories etched into the walls of these bars and in the lives they¡¯ve touched.


    With a vision for Eastside¡¯s future and a respect for its past, I made a bold move. I approached the owners of the three bars, each a beacon of community and camaraderie, with an offer that spoke of partnership rather than mere transaction. $2,500 for each establishment, a total of $7,500¡ªit was a fair price, but it was the promise that accompanied the check that truly sealed the deal.


    I proposed a continuing legacy, a chance for the former owners to remain a part of the story they had begun. By signing with me they would not only receive their asking price but also a share of the profits, a weekly or monthly percentage to the enduring success of their life¡¯s work. Alternatively, for those who wished to stay at the helm, I offered the role of manager, a position of honor and trust.


    This was more than a business arrangement; it was a covenant to preserve the soul of Eastside. In these bars, we wouldn¡¯t just serve drinks; we would serve memories, a place where the working class could still find refuge and recognition.


    The moment the previous owners shook hands with me, I knew we had reached an understanding that went beyond mere numbers. I penned checks for the full asking price adding a little extra as a token of goodwill¡ªa down payment on the future or a parting gift for those seeking new horizons.


    My time at Arcane University, though brief, had been illuminating. A single business course had armed me with insights that would shape my approach to entrepreneurship. The professor, a sage in the world of commerce, imparted a fundamental truth: the art of inventory management is crucial to a bar¡¯s vitality. ¡°Keep it small and manageable,¡± he advised. ¡°A large inventory demands a higher revenue to merely break even.¡±


    This wisdom resonated with me as I contemplated the financial landscape of Empire City¡¯s nightlife. Many proprietors, seduced by the allure of grandeur, stocked their shelves to the brim only to find themselves trapped in a cycle of insurmountable costs. They played a high-stakes game of double or nothing, often ending with empty hands.


    In contrast, those who embraced a leaner inventory model found stability. They didn¡¯t need to chase exorbitant profits to cover their expenses; a modest income sufficed. In the city of Empire, the arithmetic of survival was stark yet simple. A medium-sized bar needed to generate approximately $2,700 per week to break even. While the larger bars and nightclubs faced a daunting threshold of about $14,000 per week and that¡¯s before the salaries of those who pour, mix, and serve.


    In the vibrant tapestry of Empire¡¯s nightlife, I see an opportunity to weave tradition with innovation. The drinks that have quenched the thirst of generations will remain, a nod to the legacy of these bars. Yet stagnation is not in my nature. Expansion beckons and with it, the introduction of a simple yet enticing culinary venture: sandwiches and affordable fare.


    The economics of it are straightforward. While adding food options will indeed raise the break-even point, the cost-effectiveness of such offerings ensures that the increase remains modest. The goal is to enhance the patron experience without imposing a financial strain on the business. Here¡¯s the simple math behind it:


    The Sapphire Lounge, with its illustrious clientele and round-the-clock operations, serves as a beacon of what¡¯s possible. It¡¯s a place where the glitterati mingle with the everyman and legal battles with the paparazzi are as much a part of the ambiance as the cocktails. There the break-even point is not a week¡¯s pursuit but a nightly achievement, a testament to the allure of its offerings and the efficiency of its operations.


    The Sapphire Lounge, with its velvet ropes and exclusive guest lists, operates on a currency of fame and fortune. It¡¯s a world where a Nightshade¡ªour slang for a $10 bill¡ªcan open doors, turning a blind eye to the velvet rope. But such privileges come with a caveat; cause a stir, and you¡¯ll find yourself barred, the glitz and glamor replaced by the cold shoulder of the bouncer who once ushered you in.


    In stark contrast, my vision for the bars I¡¯ve acquired in Eastside is one of inclusivity and community. The idea of hiring a bouncer isn¡¯t to create an air of exclusivity, but to ensure a safe haven for all who enter. These sentinels at the door will be more than just muscle; they¡¯ll be local faces familiar and friendly, who share a vested interest in the well-being of the neighborhood.


    By hiring from within the community, I reinforce the message that these bars are a home for the locals, a place where the doors are open to everyone, regardless of which side of the tracks they come from. Anderson, Eastside, Westside¡ªthese names represent more than just areas of the city; they are tapestries of lives and stories, and my bars will serve as gathering places for all their threads.


    In a city where the divide between the haves and the have-nots is often marked by the establishments they frequent, my bars will stand as bastions of equality. Here the value of a person won¡¯t be measured by the weight of their wallet but by the content of their character. It¡¯s a commitment to the spirit of Eastside, a pledge to keep the community at the heart of everything we do.


    As I look to the horizon, the future of my Eastside bars holds a vision of growth but not the reckless kind that burns bright and fast only to fizzle out. I''m considering adding a billiards room for some friendly competition, or perhaps a smoke lounge for those who indulge. But these plans are for later, once we''ve established a solid foundation.


    I''ve heard the siren call of "Double or nothing" and the allure of going "All out," but I''ve seen too many get caught in that trap. They stretch themselves thin, chasing dreams that their cash flow can''t sustain. My dad likened business to the game of life. You tally up your earnings, subtract the bills, and what''s left is your true score after the rent and utilities are paid.


    I shared these expansion thoughts with my girlfriend, and her response was classic, "Go nuts, but keep me out of it." She''s not one for business, but her support is unwavering. I reassured her that I wasn''t roping her into this venture; I was just keeping her in the loop. She''s proud of my investment in Eastside, especially since I''m keeping the original owners on as managers if they choose. She''s seen too many local spots get gobbled up by corporations, only to be spit out as soulless shells that cater to the flashy crowd while forgetting the regulars who built the place.


    So I''m planning some sensible renovations to spruce up the bars¡ªnothing extravagant. A new floor here, a fresh coat of paint there, maybe even some wallpaper, though that''s a beast to handle. I''m steering clear of the neon-drenched, over-the-top ''80s vibe that movies love to exaggerate. No Hawaiian shirts or sports blazers here. Just a touch-up to honor the past while stepping confidently into the future.


    Lusty, who lived through the ''80s, knows the truth behind the glitz. And me? Born in ''84, I caught just the tail end of that era. But it''s not about reliving the past; it''s about building a future where everyone¡ªwhether they''re from the ''80s, the ''90s, or the 2000s¡ªfeels at home. That''s the legacy I want to create with these bars, a place where stories are shared, and memories are made no matter the decade.


    Hair Metal, with its electrifying riffs and larger-than-life personas, was the soundtrack of an era. It¡¯s true, by ''93, the scene shifted, and the gritty, raw sounds of Alternative Rock took center stage. But those power ballads and anthemic choruses from the ''80s still echo in the hearts of many, myself included.


    In the City of Empire and across Little Bird, the airwaves are a mosaic of melodies, each radio station a time machine to a different musical epoch. Jazz and blues, rock-and-roll, big band, swing, pop, rock, and country¡ªeach genre tells a story, each song a chapter of history. The Big Band¡¯s brass of the ''20s, the Swing¡¯s lively bounce of the ''30s, the Rock and Roll¡¯s rebellion of the ''50s and ''60s, the Blues and Jazz¡¯s soulful narratives, and Country¡¯s honest tales of the working-class life.


    Country Music, in particular, resonates with me. It¡¯s the voice of the everyday hero, the narrative of the common man and woman, stories that modern pop glosses over. Here in Little Bird, musicians are craftsmen, dedicating their lives to the art of storytelling through music. They¡¯re not just performers; they¡¯re historians, poets, and the heartbeat of our culture.


    The music industry may have evolved, now spotlighting dance routines and showmanship, where record deals seem to be handed out like flyers. But true artists, the ones who pour their souls into every note, they¡¯re the ones who truly rock the house. They¡¯re the ones who remind us that music is more than just a catchy beat¡ªit¡¯s a legacy.


    As a Millennial, I¡¯ve seen the trends come and go. Rap and Hip-hop dominate the charts, but for me, it¡¯s about the connection, the clarity of the lyrics, the stories they tell. I prefer the rhythms that let me savor each word, each verse, and the authenticity that comes with it. That¡¯s the kind of music that doesn¡¯t just pass through the ears¡ªit lingers in the soul. And that¡¯s the kind of music you¡¯ll hear in my bars, a tribute to the timeless, the classic, the real.


    I even discussed with Lusty, a long-time local, about the future of her kids. I assured her that once they hit the age of 17 or 16, I¡¯d be more than willing to bring them on board as part of the team.


    Here in the Commonwealth of Mountain, the law is clear. While the drinking age is firmly set at 18, there¡¯s room for the younger generation to step into the workforce early. National regulations, like those in Little Bird, allow minors in bars with parents or guardians, provided their drinks are non-alcoholic¡ªthink sodas and water. It¡¯s a policy I stand behind, fostering responsibility and work ethic among the youth.


    When it comes to labor laws, they¡¯re designed with safety in mind. High school seniors can indeed work part-time in establishments like mine, as long as the environment is hazard-free and they¡¯re not handling alcoholic beverages. It¡¯s about giving them a chance to earn their keep, to learn the ropes by mopping floors and wiping down tables¡ªhonest work that builds character and prepares them for the world ahead.


    I believe in giving back to the community that has given me so much. By offering these young individuals a stepping stone, I¡¯m not just complying with the law; I¡¯m investing in the future of Empire ¡ªone where hard work and integrity are the true measures of success.


    Lusty¡¯s aspirations for her daughters resonate deeply with me. She envisions them pursuing higher education, yet she¡¯s also a pragmatist¡ªunderstanding the value of part-time work during their high school years. It¡¯s a balance I admire and one I¡¯ve lived by myself. Before my days battling blazes and before I wore the Navy uniform, I was a waitress, learning the ropes of hard work and service.


    Here in Little Bird, we hold a certain reverence for education. A college degree can be a golden ticket, but it¡¯s not a guaranteed pass to your dream job. I remember sitting in the halls of Arcane University, absorbing the sobering truth that a diploma doesn¡¯t always open the right doors. It¡¯s a lesson that echoes my father¡¯s wisdom. There¡¯s always a need for hands-on labor, but a specialized degree doesn¡¯t always mean a specialized job.


    The heads-up we get before diving into academia is blunt but necessary. You might graduate with honors, but the job market doesn¡¯t always honor your degree. Experience is a currency all its own, and sometimes, starting from the ground up can be more valuable than a fast pass to a mid-level position. It¡¯s a reality I¡¯ve seen play out time and again¡ªthe university graduate stepping into level 3 or 4, while the one who¡¯s been in the trenches, gaining experience, might just climb to the same height, if not higher.


    It¡¯s a dichotomy that defines our approach to work and education. Whether you¡¯re hitting the books or hitting the pavement, it¡¯s about the journey, the growth, and the strength you build along the way.


    In Little Bird, the wisdom of hands-on learning is instilled early on. From the moment children start elementary school, they¡¯re introduced to the practical magic of vocational education. It¡¯s a philosophy that grows with them¡ªwoodcrafting, leather crafting, metalwork, and clay work in middle school, evolving into the complexities of electricity, bikes, and the internal combustion engine in high school. The encouragement to pursue trade school is strong, offering a path to mastery in a trade while gaining invaluable experience.


    This approach stands in stark contrast to the narrative I encountered back in the States, where the pursuit of a college degree was presented as the only viable route to success. Yet I¡¯ve seen friends burdened by debt from college education, trapped in jobs that barely chip away at what they owe. It¡¯s a harsh reality that makes Little Bird¡¯s emphasis on trades all the more compelling.


    My own journey took a different turn in 2005 when my father chose to invest in an education that promised more value for money¡ªa university halfway across the world, far more affordable than its American counterparts. It was a decision that paid off, not just in financial terms, but in the rich experiences and diverse perspectives I gained.


    The lesson here is clear there¡¯s honor in every path, whether it¡¯s through the halls of academia or the hands-on rigor of trade school. Each offers its own set of challenges and rewards, and it¡¯s up to us to choose the one that aligns with our aspirations and values.


    Of course Lusty also said that some who go to trade school usually don¡¯t go into that trade as an occupation but just to learn so they would know how it would work. After all her father was a janitor for a company but the tenement building that they lived in that her father was the building groundskeeper and kept the land and the building maintained.


    But I never asked Lusty why her dad never went to college or a trade school using the money he got from the military after the Vietnam War. I only can speculate that he didn¡¯t want to or didn¡¯t want to use the money that he earned from getting some friendly Marines killed one day. Or just wanted to put it behind him and not look back on his days in the Marines as an artillery battery radio operator and that the moment he got home in 1975 he just wanted to move on and not look back. But I wasn¡¯t there and Lusty didn¡¯t ask because her parent''s business was their own business.


    But I even told my girlfriend that I like Little Bird and how back in America I know some people who are politically correct and get offended easily while here on Little Bird being PC and easily offended is on par with being called a Witch during the Medieval, Renaissance and Colonial Era. But to me I¡¯ve met many players on games who talk the talk but won¡¯t walk the walk in which they talk smack but when meeting up in reality they¡¯re not willing to talk like that again. But I''m the type that talks the talk but is willing to walk the walk.


    Some people said that I wouldn¡¯t put my money where my mouth is. Then I whipped their ass and they got upset that a guy got his ass whipped by a gal. But I know people besides me. They''re the type who will put their money where their mouth is and have tough skin.


    Lusty''s tales from her district always struck a chord with me. She painted a picture of a world where resilience was not just valued but essential. "You either eat what I cook or go hungry," was the mantra her parents lived by, a stark reminder of the no-nonsense upbringing that shaped her. Her neighbors, too, echoed a similar sentiment, often remarking, "There are starving people who would be grateful for this meal," a reflection of their financial struggles that limited grocery runs to a monthly affair with food stamps.


    I found common ground with Lusty''s old neighbors not in hardship, but in the meticulous art of shopping. We''d scour the aisles, weighing the cost against the value, often finding that the generic brands offered the same satisfaction as the name brands, but at a fraction of the cost. Here in Little Bird, the price difference is stark. Name-brand soup costs 12 cents per can, while the generic is a mere 5 cents. To us, saving every penny matters more than you might think.


    Discussing Little Bird''s foreign policy with my American friends stirred up quite the debate. "Little Bird first, everyone else second," may sound harsh, but it''s a policy born from pragmatism. As I''ve traveled across Little Bird, I''ve seen the results firsthand no homelessness, no unemployment, and roads free of potholes. It''s a testament to a government that prioritizes its people, allocating half of its 15 trillion dollar budget to civic services and the other half to national defense.


    The politicians here are a breed apart. To even qualify, one must serve in the military, a nod to our Stratocratic governance. They don''t draw hefty salaries or live in fancy; they earn a modest $5500 a year, the same as those they represent, ensuring their decisions are grounded in reality.


    My grand uncle, a beloved president, exemplified this ethos. He championed trade schools and maintained low taxes, policies that kept the populace content. Even as a firefighter earning $120 bi-weekly, the slight tax deduction from my $122 salary goes unnoticed. Little Bird''s tax system is progressive yet unobtrusive: 2% for low-income workers, 5% for the middle class, and 12% for the wealthy. Moreover, my grand uncle''s reform of the Little Bird Anti-Corruption Team (LBACT) has been revolutionary, empowering them to act decisively against corruption, ensuring integrity within our government.


    This is the Little Bird I know, a place where practicality and fairness aren''t just ideals, but the very foundation of our society.


    To my friends in America, I often describe life in Little Bird as a throwback to the post-World War II era, where even the least fortunate could make ends meet and still have a little left over. It¡¯s a place where a dollar holds significant value and the government¡¯s team of experts in various fields has kept our economy stable since the 1920s. They¡¯ve averted depressions and economic collapses through proactive measures, like the massive public works projects during the Great Depression that kept our citizens employed.


    I¡¯ve shared with them a documentary showcasing how Little Bird, unbound by the Washington and London Naval Treaties, advanced naval technology with the Cadence Class carriers. These vessels were far superior to their contemporaries, capable of carrying a diverse array of 90 squadrons and an additional 120 reconnaissance aircraft.


    I¡¯ve walked the decks of the CV-07 Mackenzie, a Cadence Class carrier preserved as a museum ship. Built in the mid-1930s, it was designed with hypothetical wartime scenarios in mind some of which, like kamikaze attacks and rocket assaults, eventually became reality. Unlike other carriers of the time, the Cadence Class was equipped with heavy cruiser artillery and dual-purpose guns, ensuring their capability to defend against both surface and aerial threats.


    I¡¯ve also discussed Little Bird¡¯s film rating system with my girlfriend, explaining how it mirrors the Hays Code of yesteryear. Here, movies must adhere to strict moral guidelines: crime and immorality cannot be glorified, and any transgressions must be met with on-screen punishment. The portrayal of life is confined to middle-class standards, and any depiction of nudity, sexual behavior, or substance abuse is heavily restricted unless essential to the plot. Our films avoid themes of revenge in contemporary settings, uphold the sanctity of marriage and treat all flags, especially that of Little Bird, with the highest respect.


    While my American friends might find such a system restrictive, I¡¯ve grown to appreciate the clarity of Little Bird¡¯s ratings:


    Rated G: Suitable for all audiences.


    Rated M: Mature content; parental discretion advised.


    Rated R: Restricted; under 16s require an accompanying adult.


    Rated X: No one under 18 admitted.


    It¡¯s different from the MPA ratings they¡¯re used to, but it¡¯s a system that works for us. And though I haven¡¯t mentioned it, many of our shows share the wholesome, sitcom charm of ¡°The Andy Griffith Show.¡±


    My friends back home might find it odd, but when I first arrived in Little Bird, I gravitated towards animated movies. Here, animation is predominantly aimed at kids and families, yet some films trot on the fine line between Rated G and Rated M. Without a PG or PG-13 rating, the decision is binary: if an animated feature veers too close to mature content, it receives an M; otherwise, it¡¯s deemed suitable for all and marked as G. My friends disapprove, especially when I describe how war movies in Little Bird are sanitized to honor veterans and shield children from the brutal realities of combat. Soldiers may fall with a mere red dot to signify a wound, a measure taken to respect those with PTSD and to prevent the glorification of violence.


    As for driving, I¡¯ve shared with Clairebear that my American friends would likely beeline for an automatic transmission upon visiting Little Bird. None of them know how to handle a manual gearbox, and I can¡¯t help but think, ¡°This is too painful to watch,¡± at the mere thought of them trying. But for me stick shift is second nature; my first practice car had a manual transmission, and it¡¯s what I drive to this day. It¡¯s just one of the many quirks that make life here distinct yet strangely familiar.


    In Little Bird, the hum of manual transmissions is the norm, with 98% of vehicles demanding a driver¡¯s full engagement. It¡¯s a detail that Claire finds fascinating, especially when I contrast it with the cinematic portrayal of war here compared to America.


    War films in Little Bird walk a tightrope, often vilifying the enemy to stir patriotic fervor, yet they also pause to reflect on the shared humanity of those on both sides of the conflict.


    ¡°At the end, he was just a soldier,¡± they say, acknowledging the universal doubts and hopes that plague men and women caught in the crossfire of ideologies.


    Back home, American war films tend to spotlight the heroics of our troops while sidelining our allies or casting adversaries in a starkly negative light. I¡¯ve expressed to Claire that, as an American, I crave historical accuracy in these depictions a balanced narrative that honors all who served, not just a single nation¡¯s perspective.


    Lusty, with her characteristic chuckle, reminded me of another aspect of Little Bird¡¯s war movies. Their deliberate avoidance of depicting the raw panic and pain of inexperienced soldiers. No desperate cries for loved ones or graphic wounds here; such scenes are softened to spare veterans from reliving trauma and to prevent children from being exposed to the horrors of war.


    My friends may find this approach sanitized, accustomed as they are to the visceral realism of Hollywood¡¯s battle scenes. Yet, Lusty pointed out, this doesn¡¯t necessarily cast the military in a glorifying light. Instead, it¡¯s a nuanced approach, one that respects the sensitivities of its audience while still conveying the gravity of military service. It¡¯s a balance that Little Bird strives to maintain, even in its storytelling.


    Lusty and I often discussed the poignant way Little Bird''s film industry portrays war. Unlike the distant battles depicted in some movies, the films here lay bare the truth that war touches every aspect of life. They drive the point home that conflicts unfold in someone''s backyard, amidst the familiar settings of homes, schools, and city streets. It''s a sobering reminder that the repercussions of war are felt far beyond the front lines.


    The war films of Little Bird manage a delicate balance, depicting the military with honor yet without romanticizing the institution or the conflict. They present the grim realities of war, sparing the audience from graphic violence while still conveying the profound sacrifices made by those who serve. It''s a narrative that honors the bravery and the bilingual prowess of Little Bird''s military officers, reflecting the nation''s rich heritage of European settlers. Their multilingual abilities, likely honed through education and possibly study abroad experiences, are a testament to the diverse roots of Little Bird''s people¡ªroots that stretch back to the days of Austrian, German, French, Swiss, Danish, Russian, English, and Norwegian colonists.


    Watching that Little Birden war film with my great-grandfather, Terrence Waterson, was a moment I''ll never forget. When he said, ¡°Yes, that¡¯s how it is.¡± It hit me hard. This was a man who had seen the horrors of two World Wars and the Korean War. The film didn¡¯t glorify combat; it showed the raw, painful truth that even the toughest soldiers can break. It was real, and it resonated with him deeply.


    The movie didn¡¯t shy away from the personal sacrifices soldiers make¡ªthe loved ones they leave behind and the emotional walls they build. It showed how seasoned soldiers often keep their distance from new recruits, not out of hate, but to protect themselves from the pain of losing them. The camaraderie wasn¡¯t just about patriotism; it was about friendship and the trust needed to survive.


    What really struck my great-grandfather was how the film portrayed the enemy. They weren¡¯t faceless villains; they were humans, scared and fighting for their own reasons. This humanization was a powerful reminder of our shared humanity, even in war. It¡¯s a perspective that fosters understanding and maybe, just maybe, a hope for peace.


    I remember quoting the movie to Lusty, where a Sergeant said, ¡°They lost a lot of good friends in this war. They think if they don¡¯t get to know you then they don¡¯t have to grieve for you when you die. But they¡¯re wrong. It doesn¡¯t work that way.¡± My great-grandfather said something similar back in ¡®44 when his squad got replacements after D-Day. He¡¯d been through hell, like the First Battle of Ypres. Even as a squad leader in WWII, he treated his men as soldiers but gave replacements a chance to prove themselves. That¡¯s just who he was.


    My great-granddad, he was a breed apart. Not your run-of-the-mill doughboy, no sir. He was a man who saw beyond the color lines when the world was still in black and white. I remember him telling me about the Battle of the Bulge, how his squad, a mix of faces from all walks of life, stood shoulder to shoulder against the enemy. They were brothers in arms, unofficially integrated to strengthen their ranks, a testament to his belief that a man¡¯s worth wasn¡¯t dictated by the shade of his skin.


    He¡¯d been raised on the principle of the Golden Rule by his mother back in England, long before the war. That¡¯s what drove him to leave behind the ashes of Europe in 1919, seeking a fresh start in America. But the New World had its own scars; segregation was a foreign concept to him, an ugly truth that he couldn¡¯t fathom, even 45 years before the Civil Rights Act would try to heal those wounds.


    In the eyes of his squad, he was an oddity, especially during the Second World War. He saw the African-American soldiers as more than just support staff; they were fighters, equals in the truest sense. And women? He was ahead of his time there too, treating them with the same respect he¡¯d give any man.


    But his old man, my great-great-granddad, was a different story¡ªa ¡°Forgotten Waterson,¡± we call him. A man so rigid, he made tyrants seem tender. My great-granddad often said, ¡°The Deutsche Luftstreitkr?fte was a blessing for my brothers, offering them an escape from our father¡¯s iron grip.¡± They took to the skies with the Royal Flying Corps, the precursor to the RAF, finding their freedom amongst the clouds, far from the reach of tyranny.


    When Lusty was about to probe deeper, I shared this snippet of our family¡¯s legacy. She understood then, the dogfights between the Royal Flying Corps and the Deutsche Luftstreitkr?fte weren¡¯t just battles; they were the clashing of ideals, the fight for a future where men like my great-granddad could shape a world without the shadows of the past.


    Lusty¡¯s curiosity was piqued about family monikers, and she turned to me with a question. ¡°So his son Junior, did he have a nickname?¡±


    I leaned back, the memory of family stories flooding in. ¡°In the Waterson clan, sharing a first name means you¡¯re bound to end up with a nickname. Terrence Charlie Waterson Junior, though, he was simply ¡®Jr¡¯ to his dad and the rest of the family. But had he been a Terrence Charlie without the ¡®Junior¡¯? A nickname would¡¯ve been a certainty.¡±


    I chuckled, thinking of my own peculiar tag. ¡°Take me, for instance. I¡¯m Mackenzie, but with 14 other Mackenzie Watersons out there, I had to stand out. So, ¡®Macaroni¡¯ it was¡ªbecause ¡®Cheeseburger¡¯ just didn¡¯t have the same ring to it.¡±


    I glanced at Lusty, her attention unwavering. ¡°Then there¡¯s Mackenzie ¡®Sturmgewehr¡¯ Waterson. She earned her stripes¡ªand her nickname¡ªas a garrison soldier for the Little Bird Army, wielding an outdated Assault Rifle 1943, their take on the captured Sturmgewehr 44.¡±


    I explained further, ¡°If a father and son share a name, and the son is dubbed ¡®Junior¡¯ or has a numeral, ¡®Junior¡¯ sticks. But if a ¡®Junior¡¯ fathers a ¡®III¡¯ or ¡®IV¡¯, they go by their first name and numeral. Unless, of course, they prefer a nickname. It¡¯s our way of keeping track without losing our minds.¡±


    Nicknames, they¡¯re like badges we wear¡ªsome gleaming with honor, others tarnished with shame. They tell tales of our deeds, the moments that define us, or sometimes, the blunders we¡¯d rather forget. I shared with Lusty how in the Waterson family, a nickname can be a mantle of pride or a cloak of disdain.


    When I introduced Claire¡¯s nickname, ¡°Lusty,¡± to my family, it raised a few brows. They leapt to conclusions of romance and passion. But I set the record straight: ¡°Lusty¡± isn¡¯t about vigor or desire. It¡¯s a play on ¡°Lyricist,¡± a nod to her way with music, her poetic soul.


    The family¡¯s reaction was mixed¡ªsome insisted on calling her Claire, respecting the name given at birth, while others embraced ¡°Lusty,¡± the name she chose for herself. It¡¯s a curious thing, how a name can spark such debate, how it can be both a label and a legacy. But in the end, it¡¯s the person behind the name that truly matters, and Claire¡ªwhether as ¡°Lusty¡± or by her given name¡ªremains the same remarkable individual I cherish.


    Lusty¡¯s question caught me mid-thought, ¡°Aren¡¯t you getting distracted?¡± It was a fair point. As I mulled over the logistics for my burgeoning enterprise, I realized efficiency was key.


    ¡°Indeed, I am,¡± I confessed. ¡°But it¡¯s more than mere distraction. I¡¯m strategizing a direct procurement approach. By sourcing materials straight from manufacturers for the select bars I require, I¡¯m not just simplifying the process¡ªI¡¯m also shaving off unnecessary expenses. Eliminating middlemen means we can sidestep those extra fees they tack on, which inflates our costs. This move isn¡¯t just about cutting corners; it¡¯s about lean operations and competitive pricing. For a startup like ours, that could be the difference between just surviving and truly thriving in this cutthroat market.¡±


    It was a calculated shift, one that could redefine our position in the industry. And as I knew that every decision could lead to either a breakthrough or a setback. This was a chance I was willing to take for the sake of innovation and growth.


    I even asked Lusty if she¡¯s sure she doesn¡¯t want to partake in the business but she refused because to her being a Lieutenant Firefighter/EMT, freelance musician, armored car guard, and a single mother are good enough for her and don¡¯t need to add another career to her life. But I assured her when her daughters because old enough to get a part-time job I¡¯ll offer them a spot in a janitorial position until they turn eighteen to serve alcohol because I¡¯m going to be following the Commonwealth of Mountain laws and how since I¡¯m their legal guardian I¡¯m not going to do anything to jeopardize that.


    Even though Lusty¡¯s daughter¡¯s came from my cousin David ¡°Dave¡± Mitchell Waterson even though she could¡¯ve asked anyone else but guess she chose a good enough friend than asking a friend who doesn¡¯t want to at least be apart the children¡¯s life or gone to a sperm bank for IFV or artificial insemination where mistakes can be made by her getting pregnant by the wrong doner but she asked Dave on the request he would of done if it every other week if he and Linda could take them so he could at least be apart of their lives. At least Dave is the type who even though he¡¯s married and has a family of his own but at least he was willing to help out a friend but unlike many others he¡¯s willing to spend time with Lusty¡¯s and his daughters.


    I then got off track again before giving Lusty a kiss on the mouth before leaving.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to go get quotes for renovations to upscale but attract the same customers,¡± I said.


    Lusty replied, ¡°That¡¯s the damn point.¡±


    Leaving my girlfriend¡¯s penthouse, I couldn¡¯t help but reflect on my eclectic academic journey. From 2004 to 2007, I earned a Bachelor¡¯s degree in Physical Education and Fire Science. Later, I pursued a Master¡¯s degree in Culinary Arts and Mythology. My studies took me deep into the works of poets like Homer¡ªnot Homer Simpson, but the ancient Greek poet who penned the Odyssey. I also delved into the writings of Aristotle and Aesop.


    Aesop¡¯s fables, especially ¡°The Boy Who Cried Wolf,¡± left a lasting impression on me. My dad used to read it to me when I was a kid, explaining how the shepherd¡¯s lies for attention led to his downfall when a real wolf appeared, and no one believed him. That story taught me the importance of honesty; if I became a compulsive liar, no one would trust me when I truly needed help.


    Yet, whenever I¡¯m near a boat or even just see one, I can¡¯t resist quoting Odysseus, ¡°Joyfully to the breeze royal Odysseus spread his sail, and with his rudder skillfully he steered.¡± It¡¯s a reminder of the adventures and lessons that have shaped my life.


    If only my mother could learn from ¡°The Boy Who Cried Wolf.¡± Unfortunately, she¡¯s a compulsive liar, and quite skilled at it. I often joke that she¡¯d make a great politician. When she called me, asking to live with me while she was in rehab, I initially thought she was faking it. I said no, but a few days later, her rehab doctor contacted me, confirming her story. They even involved the US Embassy in the City of Empire, which reached out to local law enforcement to track me down and relay her message.


    Realizing she was telling the truth, I returned to America and brought her to live with me. Now, I supervise her when I¡¯m not working, ensuring she stays on the right path. It¡¯s a challenging situation, but I¡¯m committed to helping her through it.


    Despite the rocky relationship with my mother, I¡¯ve taken serious measures to ensure my firearms are secure. I have a military-grade weapons locker that even plastic explosives can¡¯t breach. I feel like the female version of Burt Gummer from Tremors with my arsenal, but safety is my top priority.


    When my mother once tried to access my locker, I had to scold her and then added extra security measures to prevent her from using bolt cutters on the lock. My training in weapon safety, both in Alabama and here on Little Bird in the Commonwealth of Mountain, has taught me the importance of keeping firearms secure.


    To further ensure safety, I store my ammunition separately in a hidden location. This way, even if my mother somehow got into the locker, she wouldn¡¯t have access to the ammo, preventing any potential mishaps.


    I call it the ¡°Commonwealth of Mountain,¡± but the name really depends on who you ask. Some people refer to it as the ¡°State of Mountain,¡± others as the ¡°Borough of Mountain,¡± and still others as the ¡°County of Mountain.¡± Even state-level government buildings can¡¯t seem to agree, with different departments using different terms.


    For me, it¡¯s all about personal preference. I stick with ¡°Commonwealth of Mountain,¡± while my girlfriend prefers ¡°Borough of Mountain.¡± My cousin, David ¡°Dave¡± Waterson, likes to call it the ¡°County of Mountain.¡± It¡¯s interesting how something as simple as a name can vary so much depending on who you talk to.


    The military buildings here all refer to it as the ¡°Commonwealth of Mountain.¡± Back when I was at Arcane University, I used to head over to the Armory for the city¡¯s militia to play basketball. The armory is a public building, and I always thought of the militia as akin to the Minutemen and militias of the American Revolution.


    The militia here on Little Bird replaced the Home Guard, which I liken to the Army National Guard back in the United States. The Home Guard was too large and often moved units around, sometimes leaving areas under-protected during times of civil unrest. During the anti-war protests, some cities or universities in the Commonwealth of Mountain ended up with more ¡°weekend warriors¡± than others.


    So, the Home Guard was replaced with the militia, with each militia assigned to protect a specific town or city. Unlike the Home Guard, the militia cannot be federalized into military service. The militia includes many people who the regular military would label as 4F (unfit for service), but they only reject those who are mentally unfit for military service.


    The term ¡°Commonwealth¡± was added in the 1960s to create another layer between the State/Borough/County and the Stratocratic Government of Little Bird. This helped create legislation broad enough to address common concerns across these regions. According to my cousin Dave, the military prefers ¡°Commonwealth¡± because it simplifies logistics and deployment. The Little Bird military has five armies, and the Third Army is responsible for the Commonwealth of Mountain. This means the military can be deployed within its boundaries and can only cross into other Commonwealths if necessary, like during an invasion or times of war. Dave says this makes defense operations, like ballistic defense stations, more efficient.


    The Third Army is quite the formidable force, consisting of the 14th, 15th, 17th, and 18th Infantry Divisions, the 21st Airborne Division, the 39th Airborne Regiment, the 1st and 2nd Mountaineer Divisions, the 5th and 7th Armored Divisions, and the 5th and 7th Air Cavalry Regiments.


    On the other hand, the Little Bird Marine Corps boasts the First Marine Corps, which is their equivalent of a Field Army. This includes the 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 4th, 5th, 7th, 8th, and 9th Marine Divisions, along with the 10th Marine Regiment. Notably, the 21st Airborne Division and the 3rd Marine Division are stationed just outside the city of Empire.


    The Little Bird Third Army has a storied history, having received numerous military citations and medals since the early 1900s. Both the Army and Marine Corps play crucial roles in the defense and operational capabilities of the Commonwealth of Mountain. While the Little Bird First Army has the same roles for the Commonwealth of Blueberry, the Little Bird Second Army for the Commonwealth of Strawberry, the Fourth Army for the Commonwealth of Cascade, and the Little Birden Fifth Army for the Commonwealth of Starfish.


    After all when the Soviets did a surprise invasion of Little Bird back in 2005 well if it wasn¡¯t for the Fort Suction Militia, and the Fort Suction Police Department whom the latter isn¡¯t even trained to fight professional soldiers, armored vehicles and attack helicopters. Not adding that during skirmishes the Soviet officers thought about having their units get close to Little Birden military units so they would be hesitant to call down an artillery strike, air strike or a Napalm strike on their own position but found out the hard way that they would call down fire support down on their own position if need be. Not adding that the Little Bird Army brought out the heavy artillery literally where the Soviet''s artillery didn¡¯t have the range while the Little Bird Army there 210mm and 240mm artillery guns fired with impunity.


    But I do give props to how the Soviets got onto Little Bird by doing a surprise invasion where the Soviets launch a surprise invasion of Little Bird by loading up their troops on disguised cargo ships and sneaking them into the Commonwealth of Starfish, past the L.B. Navy. They quickly overrun the city of Fort Suction and the town of Riverwood and spread out inland before officially being surrounded by the Little Birden First, Second, Fourth, and Fifth Armies.


    And the Little Bird 7th Army aka the 1st and 2nd Ranger Regiments (1st, 2nd, 3rd, 4th, 5th, and 7th Rangers Battalions for 1st Ranger Regiment, 8th, 9th, 10th, 11th, 12th, 14th, and 15th Ranger Battalions for the 2nd Ranger Regiment) who said Rangers every night for two months infiltrated Soviet occupied Fort Suction every night by boat. Or by para dropping they done a lot of damage to the Soviet defenses and artillery weapons where if said weapons were well hidden and couldn¡¯t be targeted by counter-artillery fire or an airstrike well said Rangers used Thermite to permanently disable artillery pieces by inserting said Thermite into the breech and quickly closing it then said Thermite welds the breech shut and make loading the artillery impossible.


    I have to give props to the Little Bird War Department for their strategic deployment of ¡°Project Phoenix¡± soldiers. According to some of my cousins in the military, the War Department follows a philosophy of ¡°knowing when it¡¯s time to watch, knowing when it¡¯s time to build and when it¡¯s time to act.¡± They were cautious about deploying their supersoldiers, who are part of Special Operations and wear some kind of advanced body suit¡ªprobably a titanium shell if I had to guess.


    The advantage of ¡°Project Phoenix¡± soldiers is their incredible strength and endurance. They can carry crew-served weapons like a .50 Cal Heavy Machine Gun, which usually requires a crew of three, as easily as a standard infantryman carries an assault rifle. I¡¯ve seen these soldiers on war news feeds, their identities hidden by helmets with faceplates that can polarize to obscure their faces.


    Many of these helmets are equipped with small, hardened cameras that record high-definition footage and send it back to command. The footage I¡¯ve seen is almost futuristic. These soldiers can withstand heavy gunfire, including armor-piercing and full metal jacket rounds, which just bounce off their armor. They¡¯re so strong that they can punch the side of a tank¡¯s barrel, rendering it useless.


    ¡°Project Phoenix¡± actually dates back to 1945, originally intended to increase a soldier¡¯s durability for the invasion of mainland Japan. By the time these soldiers were ready, the war was over, and this was before the testing of the Trinity nuclear bomb. The project selected the most battle-hardened Marines and Army Rangers, and the modern version of ¡°Project Phoenix¡± builds on that legacy.


    My half-cousin, who¡¯s involved with the project, said that these soldiers have to be careful with their strength. Even something as simple as opening a car door or a building door can result in them ripping it off its hinges if they¡¯re not careful. This is true even when they¡¯re out of their armor. It¡¯s fascinating and a bit intimidating to think about the power they wield.


    As I was walking down the street, whistling a tune, an SUV pulled up beside me. Three of the four occupants got out, and one of them addressed me.


    ¡°Ms. Waterson, we need you to come with us,¡± he said.


    I took a moment to size them up. They were all wearing relatively light gear caps with logos (some forward, some backward), shades, polo shirts or sleeveless shirts, and sometimes bulletproof vests. They had camo pants with gun holsters strapped to their left legs and sturdy boots. Their arms were adorned with various tattoo designs, giving them a rugged, yet coordinated look.


    I told them no, since I didn¡¯t know them. But I was reading their movements and their eyes, trying to gauge their intentions.


    Despite my vigilance, they managed to get me by force¡ªnot at gunpoint, but they were strong and determined. They bound my hands and hustled me into the SUV.


    As we left the city, I noticed two helicopters circling overhead. They weren¡¯t civilian or police helicopters; they were military. Specifically, they were UH-140 ¡°Falcons.¡± The Falcon is a versatile, multipurpose utility helicopter used by the Little Bird Army for troop transport, deployment, and air-to-ground support. It was designed to compete with the USMC Osprey. While the Osprey¡¯s first flight was in 1989 and it entered service in 2007, the Falcon first flew in 1992 and was put into service in 1996.


    The Falcon¡¯s specifications are impressive:


    Length: 37.9 ft


    Width: 33 ft


    Height: 14.1 ft


    Mass: 14.2 metric tons


    Maximum speed: 296 kilometers per hour (184 mph)


    Engine(s): Twin turboprop engines


    Armament: One four-round burst 20mm or 30mm autocannon under the nose


    Crew: One pilot, two-door gunners


    Complement: Five passengers, including gunners


    Seeing those helicopters overhead, I knew things were serious. The presence of military hardware like the Falcon meant that whatever was happening, it was on a whole different level.


    Soon, the driver was hit by something from an impressive range. The SUV swerved off the Interstate and crashed into a tree. Before the driver was hit, the four mercs glanced at the helicopters but quickly dismissed them, using a radio to alert the SUV behind us to be ready since the Falcons weren¡¯t part of the plan.


    When the driver was hit, I deduced it was from a high-powered rifle with a low-powered round. It pierced the window and struck the driver without going through the seat to hit the mercenary next to me. I noticed the second vehicle following us flipped out of control after its front left tire was hit. It looked like a rescue mission was underway.


    My heart raced as I realized someone out there was trying to save me. The precision of the shots and the sudden chaos gave me a glimmer of hope amidst the tension.


    The passenger-side window shattered as a figure punched through it, grabbing the mercenary next to the driver. In a swift fluid motion, the figure disarmed the merc and pulled him halfway out of the vehicle before dragging him out completely through the passenger door.


    One of the Falcons landed nearby, and three lightly armed spec ops soldiers emerged, carrying submachine guns equipped with suppressor-compensator hybrids. They moved with lethal precision, neutralizing the remaining mercenaries as if they had done it a million times before. Dressed in all-black battle dress uniforms, black vests, FAST helmets, and black masks, their identities were completely obscured.


    The mercenaries didn¡¯t stand a chance. The soldiers took them down before they even knew what hit them.


    ¡°Strike Actual, this is Strike-One,¡± one of the soldiers said into his radio. ¡°VIP is secure. Repeat, VIP is secure.¡±


    I was nervous to get out of the SUV, unsure of what to expect.


    ¡°Alright, Mac, we¡¯re here to get you out of here,¡± the same soldier reassured me.


    I had no idea where to begin, so I asked, ¡°Who are you?¡±


    The soldier looked at me through his mask, his eyes the only visible part of his face. ¡°We¡¯re your extraction team. Let¡¯s get you to safety.¡±


    I asked, ¡°How do y¡¯all know I was in danger?¡±


    The soldier ignored my question, his attention diverted by a message in his earpiece.


    ¡°Strike-One, let¡¯s head to the LZ,¡± he said, then turned to me. ¡°Heard you were capable in a fight. Try to keep up.¡±


    He handed me a handgun from his holster. ¡°Went through basic like you,¡± I replied, though I didn¡¯t mention my time in the United States Navy as a Fire Controlman on the USS Bunker Hill from 2007-2009, where I controlled the bow Mark 45 5-inch/54-caliber lightweight gun.


    ¡°Who the heck are these guys?¡± I wondered quietly.


    The pistol he handed me was a Viperstrike .50, a real hand cannon chambered in .50 AE. It had a ton of recoil, but this was the SOCOM version, equipped with a suppressor-compensator mix that made the recoil almost negligible.


    As we moved towards the landing zone, I couldn¡¯t help but feel a mix of adrenaline and curiosity. These soldiers were unlike any I¡¯d encountered before, and I had a feeling this was just the beginning of a much larger story.


    The squad leader used hand signals to communicate, and the moment he raised his hand, the team instantly stopped. It was clear these soldiers were highly trained; you don¡¯t get into special operations by being a lone wolf. I¡¯ve heard stories back in America about how the most athletic people sometimes can¡¯t make it through Navy SEAL training, while the most unathletic ones can.


    I couldn¡¯t tell if these guys were from the Little Bird Army Special Forces or the Little Bird Marine Corps Commandos. Neither group wears insignias, allowing for plausible deniability if captured behind enemy lines. Their weapons were common within the Blister Canyon, Little Bird, Lava Falls Defense Force (BCLBLFDF), so if captured, they could claim to be from any of the three.


    I decided to keep my mouth shut and follow their lead. These soldiers moved with a purpose and precision that left no room for doubt¡ªthey knew exactly what they were doing.


    I knew they weren¡¯t Silent Serpents because their uniforms were different. The Silent Serpents wear a black-gray undersuit made of Kevlar, which protects against small arms fire. The inner layer regulates temperature, keeping the wearer warm or cool based on the weather, and can match infrared signatures. Their armor, including the helmet and chest plate, is made of titanium and ceramic materials, covering from the clavicle to the bottom of the rib cage, with some protection for the abdomen. The helmet is distinct, with a rounded visor made of titanium and coated with a heat-dispersing material. The visor can polarize to obscure the user¡¯s face or depolarize to become nearly transparent, usually colored silver-blue, but sometimes red, dark orange, silver, black, or golden.


    Initially, I thought the Little Bird Marine Commandos were the Little Bird equivalent of the USMC Force Recon or Marine Raiders. However, I realized that Force Recon was established in 1957, while the Marine Raiders were established in 1942 and disbanded in 1944. The Little Bird Marine Commandos, on the other hand, were established in 1940.


    I wanted to ask how far the landing zone was, but I kept my mouth shut. These guys had just saved me, and I figured asking who they were would probably get me a ¡°need to know¡± response. So, I decided to follow their lead and stay quiet.


    When we reached the landing zone, it was an open field. The four-man team quickly set up a defensive perimeter around the clearing. It was clear they had done this countless times before. Their movements were precise and practiced, like a well-rehearsed dance.


    These guys operated in the shadows, their missions likely buried under layers of black ink in classified documents. The true extent of their operations would never be known to the public, only to those who were directly involved. For everyone else, it was always a matter of "need to know" and most of the time, we didn''t need to know.


    As I watched them work, I couldn''t help but feel a mix of awe and curiosity. These were the kind of soldiers whose stories would never be told, whose deeds would remain in the dark, known only to a select few. It was a stark reminder of the hidden world of special operations, where the line between heroism and anonymity is razor-thin.


    It wasn¡¯t long before an armored jeep arrived. We all climbed in, with the squad leader getting on last, and we sped off. As soon as we were moving, the helmets and masks came off in unison, revealing familiar faces¡ªit was some of my cousins. Many of my cousins here on Little Bird are military spec ops, and they make their jobs look like art. Infiltration, demolitions, assassination, intel retrieval¡ªthey turn these tasks into modern masterpieces.


    ¡°Strike Actual, this is Strike-One. The VIP is secure,¡± my cousin Detlef Waterson said into his earpiece.


    I couldn¡¯t believe it was family that had saved me. In the Waterson family, we have a saying, ¡°We know what¡¯s happening within the family.¡± And they knew. We all knew. But the speed and precision with which they responded and rescued me was almost unreal. It was a testament to their skill and dedication, and I felt a profound sense of gratitude and pride.


    ¡°Hey, do y¡¯all know who¡¯s after me?¡± I asked, trying to piece together what was happening.


    My cousin Weaver replied, ¡°Some big shot in the city of Empire. You know his friend Carter? Well, apparently, this big shot is the Lieutenant of the Sparrow Syndicate.¡±


    I was about to say something, but he showed me some intel on a smartphone-like device.


    ¡°So they weren¡¯t mercs?¡± I asked, surprised.


    ¡°No,¡± they told me. ¡°But that¡¯s how the Sparrow Syndicate outfits their people, making them look more like mercs than a cartel.¡±


    It didn¡¯t take long for us to reach the main highway.


    ¡°Do you think they¡¯ll send corrupt officers to stop us?¡± I asked, still wary of what might come next.


    Montgomery replied with a reassuring grin, ¡°Mac, we¡¯re in a 14-ton armored jeep. A 2-ton car won¡¯t stand a chance. Even if those baddies opened fire with small arms, we¡¯ll be completely safe and sound.¡±


    His confidence was comforting, and I felt a bit more at ease knowing we were well-protected.


    I saw Montgomery pick up a phone to receive a message.


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s great,¡± he muttered.


    ¡°What is it?¡± I asked, sensing trouble.


    ¡°Got marked police vehicles coming up on our six, but our eye in the sky with government-level access says no police units are in the area,¡± Montgomery explained.


    ¡°So, criminals dressing up as cops for a false flag op?¡± I replied, piecing it together.


    ¡°Yup,¡± Detlef confirmed.


    The situation was getting more complicated by the minute, but with my cousins¡¯ expertise and our armored jeep, I felt a bit more confident we could handle whatever came our way.


    I picked up a rifle and removed the magazine, inspecting it. ¡°7.62x52mm Armor Piercing,¡± I noted.


    ¡°Favored by Little Bird Army Snipers for penetration of armor,¡± Montgomery added.


    ¡°I¡¯ll deal with any unwanted guests,¡± I told them. Soon enough, we heard sirens in the distance. We weren¡¯t fooled by the criminals posing as cops. I opened a hatch on the ceiling of the up-armored jeep, steadied the rifle, and fired three precise shots before ducking back inside and closing the hatch. I aimed at the tires of the cars chasing us, and with their tires popped, they had to give up the chase.


    ¡°We don¡¯t have any visitors anymore,¡± I said, putting the rifle back in its place.


    The tension eased a bit as we continued down the highway, knowing we had one less threat to worry about.


    ¡°If the crooks dressed as cops set up a roadblock¡­¡± I began to ask.


    Montgomery cut me off with a confident grin. ¡°What¡¯s going to win, Mac? A two-ton steel car or a 14-ton up-armored, mine-resistant armored vehicle? I¡¯m putting my money on the fourteen-ton up-armored vehicle.¡±


    His confidence was reassuring. I couldn¡¯t help but smile at his unwavering belief in our vehicle¡¯s capabilities. It was clear that whatever obstacles lay ahead, we were more than prepared to handle them.


    ¡°Long time no see, Mac,¡± Detlef said with a grin. ¡°Last time I saw you, you were just a youngling.¡±


    The last time I saw Detlef was around 1989, when I was either four or five. He was living in West Germany back then. I remember it was around my birthday. As a teenager, I used to imagine he might have been an American CIA agent using a German name to cross into East Germany. It wasn¡¯t until later that I found out he was actually in the West German Bundeswehr, not a CIA spook.


    ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s been a while,¡± I replied, smiling at the memory. ¡°I used to think you were some kind of secret agent.¡±


    Detlef chuckled. ¡°Well, I guess the truth is a bit less glamorous, but still pretty interesting.¡±


    It was good to reconnect with family, especially under such intense circumstances. It reminded me that no matter how far we go or what we do, family ties always bring us back together.


    I was about to say something, but they all responded in unison, ¡°That cuts both ways.¡±


    I paused, curious about their meaning. They explained that in the Waterson family, we don¡¯t buy into the saying, ¡°The enemy of my enemy is my friend.¡± It cuts both ways. If someone has two enemies, their enemies¡¯ enemies might become their friends, but it also works the other way around. Essentially, alliances can be as dangerous as enmities, and trust is a rare commodity.


    It was a reminder of the complex web of relationships and loyalties we navigate, especially in our line of work. It made me appreciate the clarity and loyalty within our family even more.


    After all, they really don¡¯t have friends per se because of the saying that ¡°those who are the closest can hurt you the most¡± where they keep their friendships and other types of relationships at arm''s length.


    They dropped me off at home, and Montgomery gave me a stern warning. ¡°Keep your door locked, Mac, and don¡¯t open it or go outside unless it¡¯s necessary.¡±


    I was about to ask about my so-called mother, but I already knew what they would say, ¡°See answer A.¡± In other words, look after myself. No Waterson, including me, likes my mother because of her constant lying and playing victim even when she wasn¡¯t the victim. To my family, she¡¯s like the shepherd from ¡°The Boy Who Cried Wolf.¡± Even her own family doesn¡¯t like her.


    As I locked the door behind me, I couldn¡¯t help but reflect on the day¡¯s events. It was a stark reminder of the complex web of trust and loyalty in my life. But one thing was clear, family had my back, and that was something I could always count on.


    I headed into my master bedroom, which I affectionately call ¡°La Villa Macaroni.¡± I chose the nickname Macaroni because ¡°Cheeseburger¡± just doesn¡¯t have the same ring to it, even though I love both cheeseburgers and macaroni and cheese equally.


    I walked over to my weapons locker, entered the code on the pad, and opened it. I pondered for a moment, considering my options. Finally, I decided on the Baker Marine Combat Shotgun, the licensed version of the American Remington 870 MCS. I loaded it with Magnum Buckshot, chambering the first shell and loading the rest into the tube.


    With the shotgun ready, I felt a bit more secure. It had been a long, intense day, and I needed to be prepared for whatever might come next.


    I even used my cellphone to call my dad back in Alabama for help. But I remembered something he told me when I was a teenager. A lot of battles I¡¯ll face, I¡¯ll have to fight on my own. Not every time will I have the luxury of friends or family coming to my aid. Now, many battles I¡¯ll face alone, but sometimes, I¡¯ll have the luxury of having friends or family to back me up.


    That¡¯s one thing I love about being a Waterson¡ªwe love to fight, and we¡¯re not the type to run our mouths without backing it up. I know many people who play online games and act tough, but in reality, they turn tail and run when things get rough. Us Watersons, we¡¯re like the old days before people hide behind screens to act tough without proving it. We don¡¯t hide behind screens and act differently. We put our money where our mouths are, willing to back up what we say. We practice what we preach, unlike many who preach but aren¡¯t willing to practice what they preach.


    It¡¯s a tough world out there, but knowing I have the strength and the family to back me up when needed gives me the confidence to face whatever comes my way.


    For additional security, I grabbed a handgun. It¡¯s a versatile pistol with the following specs:


    Caliber(s): 9x19mm, .45 ACP


    Weight: 1.65 lb


    Length: 7.2 in


    Barrel length: 4 in (102 mm)


    Capacity: 8-round magazine


    Fire Modes: Semi-Auto (SA/DA)


    When I bought it and waited for the five-day background check, the gun shop owner mentioned that this handgun was popular with the LBIAOSA (Little Bird Intelligence Agency and Office of Strategic Actions) and Little Bird Special Forces during WWII, the Korean War, and the Vietnam War until it was phased out in the mid-90s for the Viperstrike .50. The owner, a former member of the Little Bird 2nd SFG during the Vietnam War, shared this tidbit.


    I also had a cousin once removed, Infernus, who was in the Little Birden 1st SFG. Other countries¡¯ intelligence services couldn¡¯t determine if Infernus was her birth name or a codename. She used the Phoenix Pistol, the Little Bird version of the M1911. According to some of my cousins in Little Bird Special Forces, their weapons have refined rifling for advanced muzzle velocity, different from basic rifling for civilian firearms.


    I thought about suggesting to my dad that he become a dual citizen of both Little Bird and the United States and peacefully emigrate to Little Bird to retire in a log cabin overlooking a lake¡ªhis dream retirement spot. He used to work 50 hours a week, sometimes longer, only for my so-called mother to take 70-80% of his paycheck to fuel her vices, plus taxes for the State of Alabama and the U.S. Federal Government.


    That¡¯s why I emigrated to Little Bird. They have a sales tax and an income tax, but both are low¡ªjust pocket change compared to the myriad taxes in the United States. Here, I only pay 2% of my paycheck to the government. Losing two dollars is better than the government taking half my check. My friends in America complain about taxes, but I told them they shouldn¡¯t complain. They live in a country that caters to the rich, while I live in a country that caters to the poor and impoverished. Most of Little Bird¡¯s spending goes to civic programs to keep youth off the streets, so they don¡¯t join gangs or commit crimes. These programs provide places for youth to play sports, make friends, talk to adults for help with schoolwork, and learn trades like woodcrafting or leathercrafting. There are also tutors to help with homework and schoolwork.


    My girlfriend sends her kids to these youth centers to make friends and get help with schoolwork. She doesn¡¯t pretend to know everything and only helps with what she knows. She went to these centers as a kid for help with schoolwork.


    After securing my handgun, I locked my door with the deadbolt and the doorknob lock. I considered barricading the door with furniture but decided against it, knowing it would be a pain.


    I pulled a history book off my shelf, a gift from my cousin Jimmy ¡°James¡± Richard Waterson IV. It detailed the dark days of his town, Harvest, and the corrupt political machine that once ruled it. The mayor and his cronies used the police not as protectors of the law, but as enforcers, extorting residents and tourists alike, and threatening those who dared to vote for other candidates.


    Harvest was a farming community, and in 1947, an election year delayed by the war, the corrupt mayor began shaking down returning G.I.s. These men and women, who had spent years fighting authoritarian regimes in Europe and the Pacific, refused to be intimidated. They had not fought against tyranny abroad only to face it at home. Banding together, they stormed the town¡¯s armory, arming themselves with a mix of semi-automatic rifles, automatic rifles, and even some World War I-era weapons. They surrounded the police station, demanding the ballot boxes with the forced votes.


    Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.The mayor, desperate, called the Governor of the State of Starfish for help from the Home Guard. However, President Orange federalized the Home Guard, nullifying the governor¡¯s order. The G.I.s, knowing the town was flanked by mountains, used explosives to cause a landslide, blocking the only two entrances to the town. The corrupt officials, trapped inside a building, quickly ran out of food and water. The G.I.s, well-supplied, cut off all water and power to the building. The officials had two choices: surrender or fight. Many chose to fight but were outgunned by the G.I.s, who had Tommy Gun-styled SMGs, BAR-styled automatic rifles, and semi-automatic rifles.


    The G.I.s emerged victorious, restoring safety and ousting the corrupt mayor and his lackeys. However, they and their families were arrested and charged with starting an armed rebellion and treason. The charges were dropped when President Orange, through her brother-in-law Brigadier General Adam Orange, confirmed that their actions were protected by an act of Congress. The only punishable offense was the unlawful use of explosives, resulting in community service to repair the roads damaged in the landslide.


    This story highlighted what I love about Little Bird: the protection of congressional and constitutional rights. The G.I.s acted within their rights to rebel against a tyrannical government and didn¡¯t actually break any laws.


    Now, I¡¯m just waiting until it¡¯s time to go get my mother. Despite my feelings towards her, I¡¯d rather pick her up than risk her taking public transport.


    Mrs. Abigail Orange, through her brother-in-law Brigadier General Adam Orange, sent a letter stating:


    ¡°The Defendants¡¯ rights to act as an armed militia against a tyrannical government are protected by an act of Congress and they cannot be compelled nor tried for following their rights. This includes, in this case, forming an armed militia to protect their home against a tyrannical government on their home soil. - Signed Brigadier General Adam Orange, War Service Commander, War Department, City of Chocolate.¡±


    I kept reading the book and even interviewed some of the G.I.s who were there. Some of them were tankers, those who operated inside tanks. They admitted that some wanted to steal a tank, but that would have alerted the authorities and activated the Home Guard much earlier. They also wanted the 78mm white phosphorus shells.


    The book didn¡¯t shy away from showing how these G.I.s weren¡¯t pushovers. When push came to shove, they struck back. The corrupt mayor was playing with fire. Most of these men and women were 17-20 when they signed up to fight in the war in ''42, so they were in their early 20s when they returned in ''45. They had spent two to three years in active combat. When the corrupt cops pointed their .38 revolvers at the returning G.I.s, these men and women, who had faced MG42 fire, were not intimidated. They quickly disarmed the corrupt officials and pointed the .38s right back at them, reminding them that Panzerkampfwagen V Panthers and Panzerkampfwagen VI Tiger Ausf. E tanks were far scarier than a .38 revolver. These G.I.s, regular infantry, had engaged these tanks in the war, when the Axis powers were desperate and unpredictable.


    I put the book back on the shelf and kept my head on a swivel, always watching my back. I headed over to Eastside, feeling a bit more at ease since I¡¯m dating Lusty. People there treat me with respect because Lusty vouched for me.


    When I met with the final person for the third bar, he told me I now owned the place and he didn¡¯t care what I did with it. Even though I should have been home, I felt safer in Eastside. The men and women here, many of whom served in the Army or Marines, abhor the police department. Crimes here are punished by the community, and since Clairbear vouched for me, they treat me as one of their own. If anyone tried to kidnap or assassinate me, the community would step in. The last time someone almost got killed in Eastside, the people stopped it themselves because the cops didn¡¯t care. They even killed the killer, and when the DA¡¯s office got mad and sent the police to arrest the person who killed the killer, the cops left on foot after almost starting a riot. The people in Eastside solve crimes their way, doing what the police won¡¯t or can¡¯t do.


    Eastside isn¡¯t popular with the DA¡¯s office, and vice versa. The people here voice their hatred against the police department and the DA¡¯s office, which don¡¯t treat crimes in Eastside, Westside, and Anderson as seriously as those in middle-class or affluent neighborhoods. In the city of Empire, an army of cops would respond to a crime in a wealthy area, but in places like Eastside, they barely show up. Once, there was a homicide in Westside, and the killer got only two years in max security prison, eligible for parole after nine months. If it had been in a middle-class neighborhood, it would have been five years, and in a rich neighborhood, ten years.


    The people in Eastside know how broken the justice system is. Many travel on foot or take public transit to avoid traffic tickets. When they do get unfair tickets, they file motions in civil court to get them voided. Nine out of ten times, the tickets are unjust. When they go to court, the officers who wrote the tickets often don¡¯t show up, even though subpoenas are sent to their residences and precincts well in advance. This shows the judge that the tickets weren¡¯t issued legally.


    Feeling a bit more secure, I continued to keep an eye on my surroundings, knowing that in Eastside, I had a community that had my back.


    Lusty often talked about how messed up the criminal justice system is, but she also highlights the close-knit community of Eastside. Despite many people now living in modern apartment buildings, the sense of community remains strong. Eastside is only 1.162 square miles with a population of 58,200, making it a tight-knit area. The high Austrian and German population here celebrates their version of Oktoberfest, a tradition brought over in the 1800s. As Lusty puts it, ¡°If both World Wars couldn¡¯t separate us, then I don¡¯t know what will.¡±


    The people of Eastside had two choices: be divided and let the city overrun them, or become well-educated and fight back. Their education empowers them to challenge city hall, showing they don¡¯t need the bureaucratic system. From 1967 to 1995, Eastside had a high fire rate due to obsolete wiring. In 1984, the city moved Firehouse 47 out of Eastside, Firehouse 17 from Westside, and Firehouse 33 from Anderson, claiming it was to save money. This was a lie, as the firehouses were relocated to areas that didn¡¯t need fire protection. The fire commissioner blamed the residents, calling them rural people not used to city life, which was untrue since their ancestors had lived there for generations.


    The people of Eastside learned the inner workings of the fire department, timing how long it took for the closest firehouse to respond, which was usually 12 minutes or longer. Before, the response time was under five minutes. They formed bucket brigades and used garden hoses to fight fires. They realized the city was practicing ¡°Planned Shrinkage,¡± cutting civic services to let the area collapse so the city could buy it for pennies on the dollar without using eminent domain. The residents refused to sell their businesses and tenements, valuing their memories and community ties.


    Lusty loves how in Eastside, parents can let their children play outside with adult supervision because of the trust within the community. This trust allows kids to play safely without constant adult oversight, fostering a strong sense of community and mutual support.


    You know, people in Eastside are a lot smarter than they get credit for. As a firefighter, I¡¯ve seen my fair share of reckless behavior, but not here. Unlike other places, folks in Eastside don¡¯t wait until the last second to dart across the street when they see us coming. They know better than to challenge a 23-ton fire engine filled with 1,000 gallons of water or a 47-ton steel fire truck. These beasts can¡¯t stop on a dime like a ten-pound mountain bike.


    I have to give credit where it¡¯s due. Most of the fires and emergencies I¡¯ve responded to in Eastside fall into the ¡°unavoidable¡± category¡ªthings that would happen no matter what. Sure, there are a few avoidable ones, but nothing like what my cousin Dave and my girlfriend Lusty deal with. They get calls for fires that could¡¯ve been prevented with a bit of common sense. I¡¯m talking about people grilling inside their homes, leaving stoves unattended with flammable items nearby, or smoking and carelessly letting their cigarettes fall into paint or oil. Some even light up in bed and fall asleep, letting the cigarette ignite the sheets. It¡¯s like they¡¯re asking for trouble.


    Back in 2008, the city was still reeling from a devastating 8.3 earthquake that had caused extensive damage. During this chaotic time, my cousin Dave, my girlfriend Clairebear, and Dave¡¯s wife Linda had to tackle a high-rise resort fire. The cause? Someone decided to use a hotplate in their room instead of calling for room service. This careless act ended up destroying an entire floor of the resort. When the fire broke out, everyone was outside, so the floor was abandoned. The automatic fire alarm (AFA) went off, but it was set up in such a way that it didn¡¯t indicate which floor was affected. This meant more and more fire companies had to be called in to search each floor, room by room, to locate the fire.


    I only heard about this emergency through word of mouth because I was back in the United States, training for the US Navy at the time. Clairebear described it as ¡°the third time in the fire department¡¯s history where all four Fire Department City of Empire Special Operations Units were at an emergency that wasn¡¯t a school fire.¡± These elite units consist of men and women with extra training, skills, and a wealth of experience. I¡¯m proud to say I fall into the category of those with extra training and skill.


    In my view, natural disasters like hurricanes, wildfires, and extreme heat are unavoidable. However, structure fires, car accidents, and many EMS runs fall into the avoidable category. Many of the house fires my cousin Dave and Clairebear respond to could have been prevented if people exercised a bit of common sense. For instance, leaving stoves unattended with flammable items nearby, like cloth or paper towels, is just asking for trouble. It¡¯s frustrating to see how easily these fires could have been avoided with a little caution.


    I think a lot of people in Emerald Pastors and Riverview grew up being told that if they ever got into trouble, they should just call for help and someone would come to their rescue. This might explain why they¡¯re so careless. These are middle-class districts with prefabricated steel houses made of fireproof materials, which pretty much nullifies the risk of fires. Riverview, while middle-class, is home to the elderly and university students who prefer living off-campus rather than in dorms, frats, or sororities. Even though university policy requires students to live on campus for a year before they can move off-ground, I managed to live in my great-granduncle¡¯s villa when I was at Arcane University. It was his summer home, and it worked out perfectly for me.


    Here in Eastside, most of the fires we fight are the unavoidable types. This is often due to neglect by the city or circumstances that make it impossible to prevent the fires, no matter how careful people are. It¡¯s frustrating, but it¡¯s the reality we deal with every day.


    Not adding that Claire says that when she was a kid and teenager she was always happy for fire prevention week. Of course as a child it was not doing school work for an hour. But well learning how they provide a first line of defense against fire by being careful because of the fire department being the second and last line of defense against fire. In most other districts the fires are the avoidable type if people stop to use common sense like not leaving a cigarette next to a propane tank or mess around with a flare in a garage only to drop it when said flare gets hot and said flare falls onto oil canisters or lands in a bucket of oil based paint.


    I¡¯ve done a few inspections here in Eastside, and I have to say, the people here aren¡¯t idiotic. They actually clean up after themselves and follow basic safety protocols. They turn off electric clothing irons when not in use, properly dispose of worn-out wires, avoid overloading electrical outlets, and don¡¯t use power strips to plug in more cords. They also don¡¯t put coins in fuse boxes or drape wet laundry over extension cords. Plus, they store their cleaning supplies properly, so in case of a fire, it takes longer for the flames to reach them.


    But when my cousin Dave or my girlfriend Claire do their inspections, it¡¯s a different story. They¡¯ve seen enough careless behavior to write a book about it. Dave has been on the job for almost fifteen years, and Claire has fourteen years under her belt. They work out of different firehouses in Emerald Pastors and Riverview. I give the people of Riverview a pass because most of them are senior citizens, but Emerald Pastors are mostly middle-class folks who should know better.


    Dave¡¯s firehouse is on a one-way street, and across the street is a no-parking zone because of the firehouse. Despite the clear signage, people still park there. His company, Ladder Company 16, operates a 100-foot tiller ladder, which is longer than rear-mount ladder trucks. Many times, they¡¯ve had to break car mirrors to get through, and the car owners get mad instead of taking responsibility for parking in a no-parking zone.


    I¡¯ve seen Dave crack his knuckles, ready to take on those arrogant drivers who refuse to take responsibility for their actions. These folks have even sued the department for vehicle damage, but the judges always dismiss the cases. Why? Because they parked in a no-parking zone clearly marked with a ¡°NO PARKING 24/7¡± sign. The judges not only dismiss the cases but also slap the drivers with 8 points out of 12 on their licenses for parking illegally.


    Dave, like the rest of us Watersons, takes responsibility for his actions. But he¡¯s met plenty of angry drivers who blame him and his company for damaging their cars. Some even hire lawyers to file lawsuits, but these cases get thrown out because the drivers have no ground to stand on. They chose to park where they shouldn¡¯t have.


    As Dave says, ¡°Able Shift gets those people twice a week.¡± I interpret this as people trying to make a quick buck by doing something stupid and then suing the city, hoping for an out-of-court settlement. It¡¯s frustrating, but at least the lawsuits against the fire department for broken side mirrors get dismissed. The drivers who file these suits are the ones who decided to park illegally in the first place.


    I just finished inspecting the bars I bought and called a few renovation companies for quotes. The estimates varied, with labor costs ranging from $400 to $800. My dad always said, ¡°Just because something is expensive doesn¡¯t mean it¡¯s good,¡± so I had to decide whether to use the same company for all three bars or hire different companies to get the renovations done within a shorter time frame.


    I considered asking my family for help since they know renovation and construction, but they¡¯re not licensed contractors in the Commonwealth of Mountain. According to Little Bird¡¯s laws, anyone doing renovations needs a license from their Commonwealth, approved by the HVAC and Skilled Trade board. My family only does renovations on their own property, not commercially. I decided against asking them because I don¡¯t want the cops showing up and asking for a license they don¡¯t have. The law states that only the leader of the renovation team needs the license.


    I thought long and hard about it and decided to hire all three renovation companies, one for each bar. I made it clear they couldn¡¯t pull a fast one on me. They asked for a small deposit upfront, which I understand goes towards purchasing materials, pulling permits, or securing a spot on the contractor¡¯s schedule.


    I know this because I have two cousins with contractor licenses in Mississippi and Virginia. Many of my family members on Little Bird have the education and skills to be licensed contractors, whether from living on a farm, attending vocational school, or joining the military and using their G.I. benefits to get their license fees waived. In Little Bird, it¡¯s mandatory for men to sign up for the military, and those who don¡¯t can sign up for the Selective Service and be eligible for the draft. While the U.S. got rid of the draft in 1973, Little Bird has limited conscription during peacetime and a more extensive draft during crises and wartime.


    My family in Little Bird can do renovations on their own homes or help friends without any legal issues because it¡¯s private property. However, since the bars I bought are commercial properties, they could only walk me through the process of putting up wallpaper or drywall, rewiring electrical systems, or laying down floors without actually doing the work. So I decided to go with the professional companies instead.


    I¡¯ve done renovations in the past as a ¡°favor¡± for a family member in Mississippi. My dad always said, ¡°This is why you don¡¯t indebt yourself to others.¡± I learned exactly what he meant. My cousin and his wife went out of town and I ended up spending my entire summer vacation working on their house.


    Back then I was in high school and working part-time as a waitress. My schedule was grueling, four hours a day at the restaurant, then several hours of travel to my cousin¡¯s place, followed by hours of renovation work. Sundays were even tougher¡ªchurch from 8-11 AM, waitressing from 11-3 PM, and then renovating from 5-10 PM. The other six days were just as packed, with waitressing from 8 AM-12 PM and renovating from 2-10 PM.


    I had no social life because I was constantly working. The only breaks I got were the car rides to and from the house. Many nights, I was so exhausted that my dad had to carry me inside and put me to bed. It was a tough lesson in the importance of setting boundaries and not overcommitting, even for family.


    At least I had my dad with me during those renovations. He only helped with the electrical work because he was worried I¡¯d mess it up and either electrocute myself or cause a fire. He was a licensed electrician in Alabama before the 2008 recession. After his time in the 82nd Airborne he wanted a job with a better work-life balance, so he chose to become an electrician. He felt it was a good fit and provided a stable income.


    My dad served in the 82nd Airborne and was deployed to Panama for Operation: Just Cause and later to Iraq for the Gulf War. He missed several years of my life during those deployments, and I stayed with extended family because he didn¡¯t trust my mother. Honestly, I don¡¯t trust her to fill a pot with water either. He couldn¡¯t get those years from 1989 to 1992 back, so he chose a job that allowed him to spend more time with me. He didn¡¯t want me to grow up resenting him for missing out on my life. Looking back, I never really hated him for it. He made up for lost time, and I understand that his deployments were beyond his control.


    As I left Eastside I kept my head on a swivel making sure whoever was after me didn¡¯t get a second chance of getting me because next time I most likely won¡¯t have the luxury of having my family safe guard my back.


    _________________


    Several hours later, I was relaxing on my couch, reading a book, when I heard a knock on my apartment door. I got up to answer it and found a man standing there. He introduced himself, saying he had just moved into an apartment down the hall.


    Something about him set off my instincts. My gut was telling me something was off, but I decided to play along, not wanting to raise any suspicions. But my suspicions were high because of everything that had happened today. Saying I was a tad bit on edge was definitely an understatement.


    After that introduction, I grabbed my apartment key and car keys and decided to head to the Sapphire Lounge, a bar and dance club on top of a high-rise. I used to visit it a lot when I was at Arcane University. Maybe the bouncer would remember me; every Friday, I¡¯d slip him ten bucks to let me in. Most of the time, it was an event, and only those on the list could get in. That ten bucks always got my name added to the list.


    __________________________


    At the Sapphire Lounge


    I headed straight to the bar.


    ¡°What can I get you?¡± the bartender asked.


    Without missing a beat, I replied, ¡°Mozzarella sticks with marinara sauce and a cheeseburger with extra grease.¡±


    ¡°Oh, the Macaroni special,¡± the bartender said with a grin. ¡°Want a shot or a bottle of whiskey to go with it?¡±


    I looked at him, and after a few seconds, his memory clicked. The special was named after me because I always ordered mozzarella sticks, a cheeseburger with extra grease, and a shot of whiskey.


    The bartender put in my order after I handed him five bucks, then gave me a number. I went to find a seat.


    ¡°Must be slow dancin¡¯ night,¡± I muttered to myself.


    On the dance floor, people were swaying to a slow-beat song. Maybe it was a special slow dancing event for couples to enjoy.


    I watched them dance, keeping my phone on vibrate so any calls wouldn¡¯t disrupt the atmosphere or ruin anyone¡¯s fun. I also kept my head on a swivel, occasionally checking my surroundings and even my back.


    After a while, someone approached my table. Instinctively, I prepared to jump up in a defensive stance, but it was just one of the kitchen staff delivering my order. I eased up, relieved.


    As I ate, I kept my eyes up, scanning the crowd, convinced that someone might be after me. I remembered watching The Terminator and Lieutenant Traxler saying, "You''re in a public place, so you''ll be safe." I never believed that, and while I''m not being hunted by a futuristic cyborg, I''m not taking any chances with the "Sparrow Cartel."


    Why I decided to come out tonight is a mystery, even to me. Maybe I just didn''t want to be home. I wasn''t going to my girlfriend''s place because I didn''t want to put her and her children in harm''s way. The same goes for Dave and Linda''s apartment. I didn''t want to endanger Linda and their kids. Although, knowing Dave, he would have insisted I come over anyway. The last person who threatened Dave ended up being flown to a shock trauma center by air ambulance with every bone in his body broken.


    I''m choosing not to involve them because I don''t want them to get into trouble with the people after me. But I know Dave would pull the family card, reminding me that family is there for each other no matter what. For us Watersons, we have a saying, "You mess with one of us, you mess with all of us."


    I remember when I was a kid, staying with a female cousin who treated me like her own daughter. Some kids were picking on me and when I told her, she went ballistic. She wasn''t my biological mother, but while my dad was away for the Gulf War, she acted like I was her own. She marched right over to those kids'' houses and snapped at their parents, even telling them that if they wanted a fight, it would be the battle of the century. She was, and still is, the caretaker of my great-granddad, making sure he''s not alone on his farm in Upstate New York.


    Of course my great-grandfather told her that she should just bring the Thompson M1A1 that he has even though he wasn¡¯t issued a Thompson with his time in the US Army in World War 2 and the Korean War but actually an M1918A2 Browning Automatic Rifle.


    I stayed at the Sapphire Lounge, mostly eating and having a few drinks. I had a few shots of whiskey and then a cup of coffee.


    I get why it¡¯s called ¡°The Sapphire Lounge.¡± The lighting here looks like someone held a sapphire gem up to the light, casting that deep blue glow. They can change the color, but it usually represents a blue sapphire. In Little Bird, each Commonwealth has its own state gem. The Commonwealth of Mountain¡¯s gem is a ruby, Cascade¡¯s is a sapphire, Starfish¡¯s is an emerald, Strawberry¡¯s is lazurite, and Blueberry¡¯s is a diamond.


    A guy came up and asked if he could sit at my table. My gut was screaming no, but it was giving me bad vibes about everyone, so I let him sit down.


    We had a lively conversation, but the moment he tried to sweet talk or seduce me, I shut him down. I told him to pump the brakes because I¡¯m already in a relationship and not interested.


    When the guy asked what my family does for a living, I didn''t hesitate. I told him it was classified, known only to a handful of people, and that what they do never happened.


    He thought I was playing hard to get.


    Legally, I can only say that most of my family''s work is known to them and a select few, including the highest echelons of the military and on-site survivors. If someone dies, they become an "un-person," with all evidence of their existence systematically erased¡ªbirth certificates, records, everything, as if they never existed. And those who knew them would have two choices: either never speak (and by extension everybody they know as well) or be committed to an insane asylum on the pretext of them being dangerous to themselves and society.


    When he asked if I thought my own family would betray me, I dismissed the idea immediately. Us Watersons stick together, no matter what. Back in 1955, here on Little Bird, we had a standoff with the cops for 117 hours. They were after one of us, thinking he was the criminal because of the same shoe size. The real criminal was picked up in another town for the same crime. The standoff didn''t turn into a firefight, but the cops surrounded the house for four days, trying to draw us out. The guys inside had served in World War II or the Korean War, or both, and knew how to stretch their supplies and ration effectively.


    The Waterson family never abandons each other. We''re always there for one another, no matter what. It''s countries that betray their own people, burying the truth beneath lies and deceit. Our loyalty to each other is unwavering, and we''re fiercely protective. As we say, "If you mess with one of us, you mess with all of us."


    Even though there''s a saying that those closest to you can hurt you the most, I don''t worry about that with my family. According to my cousin Mitchell, his mother-in-law always said the KGB was generally better-informed about American activities. But the LBIAOSA (Little Bird Intelligence Agency Office of Strategic Actions) was even better-informed about both the CIA and KGB. Like the KGB, the LBIAOSA is still better-informed than the CIA. Star mentioned that the Little Bird Government viewed Americans as a dangerous menace on par with the Soviets during the Cold War.


    The only time a Waterson has ever hurt another Waterson is usually during sibling squabbles.


    After a while, I left the Sapphire Lounge. I took different routes home to make sure I wasn''t being followed. Thankfully, I made it back to my apartment building and safely into my apartment.


    ________________________


    In my apartment, the air felt unusually thick, like the calm before a storm. I noticed something on the kitchen counter, a shadowy figure that shouldn¡¯t be there. Instinctively, my hand went to my pistol, gripping it tightly as I moved into a Weaver stance, every muscle in my body tensed and ready.


    ¡°Mom¡­ You home?¡± I called out, my voice barely above a whisper, hoping it was just her.


    Silence. The kind that makes your skin crawl. No response. My heart pounded louder in my ears as I edged closer, the weight of the unknown pressing down on me.


    In my apartment, the air felt thick with tension, like the opening scene of a horror movie where the unknown lurks just out of sight.


    "Mom... You home?" I called out again, my voice echoing in the silence. No response.


    I moved cautiously, checking my bedroom, the guest bedroom, and the bathroom. Each room was empty, the eerie quiet amplifying my unease. It was just me and the unsettling stillness.


    As I approached the object on the kitchen counter, a figure suddenly emerged from my blind spot, lunging at me. Instinct took over. I fired off a few rounds, the deafening shots breaking the silence, before he could disarm me. My handgun slid down the hall towards the bathroom, leaving me to face the intruder with nothing but my wits and training.


    Instead of going after the handgun leaving myself defenseless. I just stood there in a defensive stance with my fist balled up.


    ¡°You fuckin¡¯ trying to shoot me? You fuckin¡¯ crazy?¡± said the assailant.


    I stood there, heart pounding, waiting for the assailant to make his move. The silence was deafening, each second stretching into an eternity. I didn''t say a word, just braced myself for the inevitable clash.


    When he attacked, it was fierce and relentless. I fought back with everything I had, but he was strong, overpowering me despite my best efforts. Even from the floor, I continued to struggle, refusing to give in.


    As I grappled with him, a desperate hope flickered in my mind. Those gunshots had to have been loud enough to alert my neighbors. Maybe someone would call the cops. Maybe help was on the way. But for now, all I could do was hold on and fight, praying that time was on my side.


    As my vision began to blur, I saw a shadowy figure approaching. Panic surged through me, fearing it was another assailant. My mind raced, trying to make sense of the situation.


    Then, the figure whispered, "Psst," catching the assailant''s attention. To my surprise, the attacker immediately got off me, his face twisted in horror. I lay there, gasping for breath, trying to understand what had just happened. The room spun around me, but I clung to the hope that this unexpected turn might be my chance for survival.


    ¡°Whoa hey,¡± the assailant stammered, ¡°I¡¯m a cop.¡±


    The mysterious figure, cloaked in black, replied coldly, ¡°Show me your badge.¡±


    The guy fumbled, producing a badge. The figure barely glanced at it before declaring, ¡°It¡¯s a fake. Little Bird police badges have six numbers, not four.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not a cop,¡± the figure said, voice steady and commanding. ¡°Go stand by the wall. Hands on the wall. No funny business.¡±


    I recognized the voice but couldn¡¯t place it. The figure was dressed head-to-toe in black battle dress uniform, black combat boots, a black mask, sunglasses, and a lightweight tactical special forces helmet. His right hand stayed on his suppressed handgun, while his left reached out to me. Despite the familiarity of the voice, I couldn¡¯t identify him. I grabbed his hand, feeling a strange sense of relief.


    Whoever he was, he knew I was in trouble and had arrived faster than the cops. I suspected my neighbors hadn¡¯t called the police; the thick walls of these Empire city apartments could muffle screams and gunshots. I wondered how this mysterious figure knew the assailant was impersonating an officer, but that was a question for another time. For now, I was just grateful for the unexpected rescue.


    ¡°How do you know I was in trouble?¡± I demanded, my voice shaky but determined. ¡°How do you know he¡¯s impersonating an officer?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll tell you in due time,¡± the mysterious figure replied, his tone calm and authoritative.


    Suddenly, my apartment landline rang, the sound slicing through the tension.


    ¡°Answer it, Ms.,¡± the guy ordered.


    Nervous but knowing the incessant ringing would drive me crazy, I picked up on the third ring. ¡°It¡¯s for you,¡± I said, handing the phone to the mysterious figure, who kept his eyes and gun trained on the assailant.


    As he took the call, I couldn¡¯t help but speculate. Could this be a family member from Little Bird? The Phoenix pistol he carried, a licensed version of the American M1911A1, was a clue. But this was modified for covert operations, complete with a suppressor. My cousin Mitchell had once explained the different types of barrels used by the Little Bird military: standard issue, covert, and overpressure. The covert system, designed for control and reduced rate of fire, seemed to fit this situation perfectly.


    Whoever this mysterious figure was, he had arrived just in time, and his knowledge of the fake badge and quick response hinted at a deeper connection. But for now, I had to trust him and hope that the situation would soon be under control.


    I overheard bits of the phone call, but the jargon was beyond me. It sounded like spy lingo or advanced military code. Despite my rank as a Master Chief Petty Officer in the Navy, I was out of my depth here. To me, there¡¯s only one Master Chief Petty Officer, and that¡¯s John 117.


    The only phrase I caught was, ¡°Hostile currently apprehended in One Four Charlie.¡± I deciphered ¡°One Four Charlie¡± as my apartment, 14C. But I still had no idea who this mysterious figure was. My mind raced with questions. How did he and the assailant get into my apartment?


    I speculated that the assailant might have scaled the side of the building and either broke in or picked the lock on the patio door. But the mysterious figure? I knew he hadn¡¯t come through the front door¡ªit creaks loudly no matter how you open it. His sudden appearance and the way he handled the situation suggested he was highly trained, possibly special forces or intelligence. But for now, his identity remained a mystery, and I was left to piece together the puzzle of my unexpected rescue.


    Soon, there was a knock on my door, followed by a voice announcing, ¡°Police Department.¡± The mysterious figure quickly interjected, ¡°They¡¯re not cops. Real cops bang on doors with the side of their hand, not their knuckles.¡± The sound of knuckles rapping against the door confirmed his suspicion.


    It seemed this figure had a background in law enforcement. My mind raced through the possibilities. My family had a history with the police. My grand uncle Charlie was a precinct phone operator for the NYPD in post-World War II Manhattan; my cousin Midnight¡¯s father was a receptionist cop in the town of Lumber; and Mitchell, who currently serves as a cop in Clearlake when not in military training.


    But Charlie and Midnight¡¯s father were long gone¡ªCharlie died in a car accident in 1972, and Midnight¡¯s father was killed in 1985 when a tractor trailer¡¯s brakes failed, crashing into his car. Could it be Mitchell? It seemed unlikely; he¡¯s a devoted husband and father, not someone who would leave his family in the middle of the night without a pressing reason.


    Despite the mystery, I felt a strange certainty that this figure was either a family member or someone closely connected to my family. The way he handled the situation, his knowledge, and his timing all pointed to someone who knew me well. But for now, I had to trust him and focus on the immediate danger at hand.


    I scratched Mitchell off the list. He¡¯s incredibly close with his wife, Cadence¡ªthey¡¯ve been friends since kindergarten, and their marriage is like a match made in heaven. With three kids and another on the way, I knew he¡¯d want to be with her, especially now. There¡¯s no way he¡¯d leave her side at a time like this.


    Whoever the mysterious figure was, his timing could¡¯ve been better, but his intervention was a lifesaver. As the knocking on the door continued, he instructed me to let the fake cops in. I was about to ask why when he explained, ¡°Real cops have the authority to kick in a door if nobody answers. And if they sense something is wrong, they would¡¯ve radioed for backup. These guys haven¡¯t. If they were real cops, they¡¯d have attempted forced entry after the third knock.¡±


    His knowledge was both scary and accurate. I couldn¡¯t help but wonder about his background. His precise understanding of police procedures suggested a deep familiarity with law enforcement. As I moved to open the door, my mind raced with questions about who he was and how he knew so much. But for now, I had to trust him and hope that his plan would keep us safe.


    I opened the door, letting the fake cops in. The mysterious figure moved swiftly, taking them out as if on cue.


    ¡°Why did you silence them?¡± I asked, my voice trembling.


    ¡°I can give you three reasons why they were fake cops,¡± he replied. ¡°First, the badge numbers. Second, their ballistic vests were on the outside of their uniforms. Real cops wear their vests inside. Third, the watches they are wearing are way beyond a cop¡¯s salary. Even with overtime and bribery, no cop could afford glow-in-the-dark LED watches. In Little Bird, cops wear common mechanical or analog watches. Gold-plated ones are rare and only worn by Lieutenants, of which there are only eight in Empire.¡±


    He then told me to check the badge numbers. I did, and sure enough, there were only four digits. In Little Bird, police and fire department badges have six or more numbers. My own fire department badge number is 198445, seven digits.


    The mysterious figure¡¯s knowledge was impressive and unsettling. His timing, though not perfect, had saved me. As I stood there, trying to process everything, I couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that this was someone connected to my family or someone who knew me well. But for now, I had to focus on the immediate danger and trust that he had my back.


    Soon, the apartment door opened, and two more figures dressed like the mysterious one stepped inside.


    ¡°Guess it¡¯s time to reveal myself,¡± the mysterious figure said, removing his helmet, sunglasses, and mask. It was Mitchell.


    ¡°Cadence is with her mother for the night, and she took the kids,¡± Mitchell explained.


    I was about to respond, but the thought of Cadence taking their kids to their grandmother''s house warmed my heart. It was a kind gesture, especially since Mitchell¡¯s kids would never meet his mother, Sanda, who died back in ''96. Mitchell had always believed it was wolves that killed his mother and stepfather, but contrary to popular belief, wolves generally avoid humans. There have been fewer than a few dozen recorded wolf-related fatalities in North America and the world over the past 300 years.


    Mitchell¡¯s standoffishness around his birthday made sense, given the trauma of losing his mother. I speculated it might have been hyenas, but that was a mystery for another time. For now, I was just grateful he was here, saving me when I needed it most.


    ¡°Jack, Sam, you two can reveal yourselves,¡± Mitchell commanded.


    The two figures removed their masks, revealing themselves. Jack spoke first, ¡°Now we have to silence her as well.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s my cousin. We¡¯re not going to silence her,¡± Mitchell shot back, his tone firm.


    ¡°Yes, sir,¡± Jack replied, a hint of joke or humor in his voice.


    ¡°I¡¯m not a sir. I work for a living,¡± Mitchell retorted, the familiar banter of an NCO correcting a soldier.


    Their exchange made it clear that Mitchell was a Sergeant, and his response was typical of NCOs when called ¡°sir.¡± It¡¯s a common faux pas, and the retort, ¡°I am not a ''sir!'' I work for a living!¡± is a classic correction.


    ¡°Corporal Skybolt, Corporal Hartstock, this is Master Chief Petty Officer Waterson,¡± Mitchell introduced me.


    I nodded, still processing the whirlwind of events. Despite the tension, the familiarity of Mitchell¡¯s voice and the banter between them brought a strange sense of normalcy to the chaos. It was a relief to know I was in capable hands, even if the situation was far from over.


    ¡°So what¡¯ll happen to the two eliminated ones and the assailant?¡± I asked, my voice steady despite the chaos.


    Mitchell replied cryptically, ¡°The less you know, Mac, the better.¡±


    I bit back my irritation at the nickname. I preferred Macaroni or Mackenzie, not Mac.


    ¡°You going to take our ¡®friend¡¯ here for a little chat?¡± I asked, using ¡°friend¡± loosely.


    Mitchell¡¯s eyes hardened. ¡°We know a hundred ways to get information out of the enemy. Asking nicely isn¡¯t one of them.¡±


    I watched as Jack and Sam efficiently removed the bodies from my apartment. The sight was surreal, like something out of a nightmare.


    ¡°Who are they?¡± I asked, needing to understand more about my unexpected rescuers.


    ¡°Jack Sybolt and Samuel ¡®Sam¡¯ Hartstock,¡± Mitchell said. ¡°Sam has a unique way of thinking that often proves right. They¡¯re harmless, but Sam¡¯s instincts in the war were spot on, even when intelligence disagreed. In this business, Macaroni, never go against your gut. Jack¡¯s a Marine Corps Machine Gunner, and Sam¡¯s a DM aka Designated Marksman.¡±


    I nodded, recognizing the terms. But their presence here suggested they weren¡¯t ordinary Marines. They were likely part of the Little Bird Marine Corps Commandos (LBMCCO), established in 1940 for underwater demolitions and maritime infiltration. They reminded me of the U.S. Navy¡¯s Underwater Demolition Teams before they became the SEALs. The LBMCCO seemed on par with the Marine Raiders from 1942-1944, but unlike the Raiders, the LBMCCO was still active, adapting to modern warfare while maintaining their specialized skills.


    Mitchell¡¯s friends had saved me, but the questions about their methods and the enemy¡¯s intentions lingered. For now, I had to trust them and focus on the immediate threat. The answers would come in time.


    ¡°Thanks, Mitchell,¡± I said, my voice filled with gratitude.


    ¡°No problem, Mac,¡± he replied, though the nickname still grated on me.


    Mitchell then grabbed the assailant, informing him they were going for a little walk. With that, they left, leaving me alone in the now eerily quiet apartment.


    As the adrenaline began to fade, a new worry crept in. Where was my mother? She wasn¡¯t here, and the thought of her falling asleep on the bus or getting on the wrong one gnawed at me. The idea of her ending up in another town or city made my blood boil. I needed to find her and make sure she was safe. But for now, I had to gather my thoughts and figure out my next steps.


    I couldn¡¯t call the cops. In Little Bird, anyone 18 and over has to be missing for 24 hours before law enforcement gets involved. If my mother were a teenager, I could report her missing after three hours. If she were a child, it would trigger an immediate response. But at 46, I had to wait a full day.


    Honestly, a big part of me didn¡¯t really miss her. She¡¯d been neglectful and mean in the past. Only a minuscule part of me, maybe 0.000000001%, actually missed her. Still, I couldn¡¯t help but worry. Despite everything, she was my mother, and the thought of her being lost or in trouble gnawed at me. I hoped she was just delayed and would walk through the door any minute now.


    I watched the clock as 9 PM turned into 10 PM, then midnight, and finally 2:30 AM. The waiting was agonizing. To pass the time, I checked my apartment thoroughly. The windows were intact, the patio door was locked with no signs of forced entry or lockpicking, and the glass was unbroken.


    How the assailant got in remained a mystery. With no signs of forced entry, I speculated he might have taken a photograph of my apartment door lock and had a key made at a hardware store. It was the only explanation that made sense without any visible damage.


    I considered reinforcing the door or adding a double lock for extra security. My alarm system was supposed to send a silent alarm to the cops if someone broke in, bypassing the dispatcher. It also had a feature to alert me if any door opened during the night, but it hadn¡¯t gone off. The system was set to recognize when my mom or I came and went, but tonight, it had been silent.


    The thought of my mother still lingered. Despite our strained relationship, I couldn¡¯t help but worry. I hoped she was safe and that this ordeal would soon be over. For now, I had to stay vigilant and figure out how to prevent this from happening again.


    I can''t help but feel a mix of frustration and concern when it comes to my mom. We''ve got a clear schedule, she''s allowed out between 9 AM and 5 PM, aligning with her part-time job hours. But if she steps out of line, I''ve laid down a three-strikes rule. First strike, I''ll snap at her like a parent scolding their child¡ªthough in this case, it''s the other way around. Second strike, I''ll have to babysit her. And if it comes to the third strike, she''ll be heading back to Kansas City to her rehab center. Next time, I won''t be so charitable if she doesn''t play by my rules.


    Honestly, my mom reminds me of a few folks I knew back in Alabama. They''d get all riled up if things didn''t go their way¡ªlike expecting to inherit everything at a family member''s funeral, only to find out they got next to nothing. Or maxing out their parents'' credit cards and then getting mad when they can''t even afford the dollar menu at McDonald''s. It''s frustrating, but I guess it''s just another challenge to navigate.


    Back at Arcane University, I had a classmate who went through a rough patch with her family¡ªthey disowned her, but she worked hard and put herself through college. One day, she got the news that her grandfather had passed away and left her a million dollars, along with a big ranch with a boat dock by a lake. Suddenly, her estranged family came crawling back, acting like nothing bad had ever happened. They expected her to forget the past or accused her of being delusional. It got so bad that I invited her to stay with me at my great granduncle¡¯s villa.


    I told her that when someone comes into money, people around them¡ªincluding enemies and family¡ªbecome like moths to a flame. Her parents even took her to court, but the judge threw their case out, stating that by disowning her, they had given up their parental rights. Legally, they weren''t her parents anymore. When they tried to take her to criminal court for not helping family, the judge dismissed it, saying it wasn''t a criminal matter and that they had voluntarily disowned her.


    Her parents acted like entitled brats, thinking they could get whatever they wanted without facing any consequences. It was a tough situation, but she stood her ground and came out stronger.


    I can relate to that. My dad stayed with my mom for twenty-four years, from 1982 to 2006, and I never quite understood why he didn''t leave her sooner. Honestly, he should''ve broken up with her back in the spring of 1984, right after I was born. My mom was incredibly lazy and always took a majority of my dad''s money. When I got a part-time job, she constantly asked me for money and was never there when I needed her. It was always my dad who stepped up.


    It''s frustrating to see someone you care about being taken advantage of, especially by a family member.


    I was about to call it a night when I headed to my bedroom. Just as I stepped inside, a strong hand grabbed me from the shadows.


    "Sloppy Mac," a familiar voice chided, "Letting your guard down."


    "Damn it, Mitchell! Where did you even come from?" I snapped, my heart racing.


    "A magician never reveals his tricks," he replied with a smirk. "I''ve been standing in this corner since 22:00 hours."


    Of course, he used military time instead of just saying 10 PM. Typical Mitchell. He probably wanted to scare me or see if he could catch me off guard. Well, mission accomplished. But seriously, it''s 3 AM¡ªno wonder I''m a bit sloppy.


    ¡°So did the assailant who was after me earlier did he talk?¡± I asked


    Mitchell replied, ¡°They always talk.¡±


    ¡°What did he reveal?¡± I asked


    Mitchell just threw a duffle bag at me and just said, ¡°Suit up.¡±


    The last thing I wanted to do was play Covert Ops at 3 AM but I did so anyway.


    ____________________________


    In another apartment, I stood by the door, watching as Mitchell entered the room. His hand rested on his holster, a clear sign he was ready for anything.


    Mitchell opened the door, slipped inside, and closed it behind him. The room was dimly lit, with light filtering in through the window blinds from the surrounding high-rises, skyscrapers, and streetlights.


    _____________________________


    (Sgt Mitchell Waterson POV)


    I nudged him sharply, "Hey, wake up."


    He jolted awake, eyes wide with panic as he scrambled to his feet. But I shoved him back down onto the bed.


    "Who are you?" he demanded, voice trembling.


    I fixed him with a steely gaze. "I''ll be asking the fucking questions here. You better have the right answers."


    "Fine," he muttered.


    I leaned in, my voice steady and commanding. "What''s your name?"


    "Carter," he replied, trying to sound confident.


    I shook my head slowly. "Carter? That''s not enough. Your full name is Alexander Jeremiah Carter. You''re 35 years old, Caucasian, and stand at 5''8". Born on January 14th, 1975, at 1:33 AM, weighing 186 pounds. Empire born and raised. Your father was an RBT, dishonorably discharged for AWD on a recruit who outshot him."


    His eyes widened in shock, realizing I knew everything. And I used the term RBT, a Little Bird military term for Recruit in Basic Training.


    Carter''s shock was palpable, but I didn''t give him time to recover. "Now, Carter, let''s talk about your recent activities. Where were you last night?"


    He hesitated, eyes darting around the room. "I was at home," he finally said, but his voice lacked conviction.


    I leaned in closer, my tone icy. "Don''t lie to me, Carter. We both know you weren''t at home. I have witnesses placing you at the docks. What were you doing there?"


    His face turned pale, and he stammered, "I... I was just meeting a friend."


    I raised an eyebrow. "A friend? Who is this friend, and why meet at the docks in the middle of the night?"


    Carter swallowed hard, realizing he was cornered. "It was just a business deal, nothing illegal."


    I smirked. "Business deal, huh? We''ll see about that. Now, tell me everything about this ''deal'' and who else was involved."


    Carter''s throat seemed to tighten, rendering him speechless.


    "Was it about the green light on Ms. Waterson?" I asked, my hand resting on the holstered handgun.


    He hesitated, his silence confirming my suspicion.


    "You don''t have any legal jurisdiction here on Little Bird," Carter finally managed to say, trying to regain some control.


    I leaned in, my voice low and menacing. "We were just on the right foot, Carter. Now we''re on the wrong one. You really don''t want me to make that one phone call."


    Carter''s eyes widened, realizing the gravity of the situation. He had no idea that I, Sgt. Mitchell Waterson, had the authority to operate domestically.


    "Listen, Carter," I said, my voice firm and unyielding. "You have two choices. You can stonewall my questions, and I''ll make that one phone call. You and everyone you''ve met will end up on the government watch list. Then, I''ll make another call to your associates, letting them know just how eager you were to sell them out to save yourself."


    Carter''s eyes widened in fear, the weight of my words sinking in.


    "Or," I continued, "you can tell me what I want to know, and I can guarantee your safety."


    He swallowed hard, realizing the gravity of his situation. The room was silent, the tension palpable as he weighed his options.


    "Can you promise that if I do talk and answer your questions, then my son and I will be safe from any harm?" Carter asked, desperation creeping into his voice.


    I met his gaze, unwavering. "Tell me the truth, give me what I need, and I can ensure your safety from any retaliation. If your information checks out and proves useful, I can arrange new identities for you and your son. Your old lives will be systematically erased, and you can start anew."


    Carter''s eyes flickered with a glimmer of hope.


    "But," I continued, my tone hardening, "if you lie to me or keep stonewalling with bogus answers, I''ll make those calls. Everyone you''ve ever spoken to since the age of four will end up on a government watchlist. And your friends from the docks? They''ll know just how eager you were to sell them out."


    The room fell silent, the weight of my words hanging in the air. Carter knew he had no choice but to cooperate.


    Carter took a deep breath, his resolve crumbling. "Alright, I''ll talk," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Just promise me my son will be safe."


    I nodded, my expression softening slightly. "You have my word. Now, start from the beginning. What was the deal at the docks?"


    Carter swallowed hard, then began to speak. "It was a weapons deal. We were supposed to receive a shipment of high-grade military equipment. The green light on Ms. Waterson was part of the payment."


    I felt a surge of anger but kept my composure. "Who orchestrated this deal? Names, Carter. I need names."


    He hesitated for a moment, then continued. "It was organized by a man named Victor Reyes. He''s the one pulling the strings. I was just a middleman."


    "Where can I find Reyes?" I pressed.


    "He''s got a safe house on the outskirts of the city. I can give you the address," Carter said, his voice trembling.


    I nodded, taking down the information. "Good. Now, stay put and don''t make any sudden moves. We''ll get you and your son to safety once this is over."


    Carter nodded, relief washing over his face. He knew he had no choice but to trust me.


    "Before I go, I''ve got a few more questions," I said, my tone firm. "Does this Mr. Reyes have any guards or hired guns with him or along his routes?"


    Carter opened his mouth to respond, but I cut him off. "And remember, if you give me false information or alert Reyes, that phone call to your associates will happen. They''ll know you blabbed."


    Carter''s face paled, and he nodded quickly. "Reyes always has a few guards with him. They''re heavily armed and well-trained. He also has a couple of lookouts along his routes to warn him of any trouble."


    I leaned in closer. "Names, Carter. I need names and descriptions of these guards and lookouts."


    He swallowed hard, then began to list off names and descriptions. "There''s Marco, his right-hand man. Big guy, about 6''4", built like a tank. Then there''s Luis, a sharpshooter, always carries a sniper rifle. The lookouts are usually locals, but Reyes changes them frequently to avoid detection."


    I took down the information, my mind already working on a plan. "Good. You''ve done well, Carter. Now, stay put and don''t do anything stupid. We''ll get you and your son to safety once this is over."


    Carter nodded, relief and fear mingling in his eyes. He knew the stakes were high, and there was no turning back now.


    "What if I want to stay in the city of Empire?" Carter asked, a hint of desperation in his voice.


    I didn''t miss a beat. "Well, you and your son can always move to another district, but you''ll need to change your routines. Those days of visiting the Empire Grandeur Hotel are over, buckaroo. No more heading to bars or clubs to chat up the ladies. You''ll have to live a low-profile life to stay off the radar."


    Carter''s shoulders slumped as the reality of his situation sank in.


    "If your son plays sports, take him out and enroll him in a different one. If he insists on staying in the same sport, your new identities will offer some protection, but you''ll need to be cautious. The key is to avoid drawing attention to yourselves."


    Carter nodded slowly, understanding the gravity of the changes he would need to make. "Alright, I get it. We''ll do whatever it takes to stay safe."


    I gave him a reassuring nod. "Good. Now, stay put and don''t do anything foolish. We''ll get you and your son to safety once this is over."


    "See, that was easy," I said, a hint of satisfaction in my voice.


    Carter managed a weak smile. "Well, the saying goes, ''The enemy of my enemy is my friend.''"


    I leaned in, my expression serious. "One day you''ll find out that it cuts both ways."


    Carter''s face grew more concerned. "Wait, what about the police department? Some of my friends have paid off cops, and those corrupt officers are like gods. People do whatever they say."


    I met his gaze, unwavering. "If they even get within fifty feet of you or your son, if they pick up your son from school and drop him off at your apartment without your knowledge, those officers will find themselves in a maximum security cellblock with the worst of the worst. Their power is relatively benign."


    Carter looked relieved but still wary.


    "Listen," I continued, "think about Lady Justice holding the balance. Those corrupt officials are on the lower balance. Their power is limited, and they won''t be able to protect themselves once they''re exposed. They would be selling each other out for a reduced sentence."


    Carter nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. "Alright, I trust you."


    "Good," I said, standing up. "Stay put and don''t do anything foolish. We''ll get you and your son to safety once this is over."


    I then left Carter¡¯s room and went back out into the living room and I got Macaroni and we went out the way we came in but I had Macaroni change back into her civilian clothing then keep her in an all black battle dress uniform.


    ___________________________


    (Mackenzie ¡°Macaroni¡± Waterson POV)


    As I walked down the dimly lit street late at night, the distant wail of sirens reached my ears. I paid them no mind until I found my path blocked by a few police cars. Instinctively, I knew they were impostors. On Little Bird, all government vehicles, including police cars, are equipped with government exempt plates.


    "Get her," commanded a voice from someone dressed as a cop.


    I muttered under my breath, "Come on."


    One of them charged at me, and I swiftly kicked him in the stomach. Another came at me, and I backhanded him across the face, knocking him down. I grabbed a wooden baton as an improvised weapon, ready to defend myself. Despite my efforts, I was soon overwhelmed and subdued.


    _____________________________


    Several minutes later, which felt like an eternity, I regained consciousness with a throbbing pain at the back of my head.


    "I know y''all ain''t real cops," I said, my voice steady. I had my reasons to prove it:


    1. The badge numbers only had four digits, not the six or more typical of genuine badges.


    2. They wore their ballistic vests on the outside of their uniforms, whereas patrol officers on Little Bird wear them underneath their shirts. Only SWAESU teams wear vests externally.


    3. The convoy consisted solely of patrol cars, lacking the heavy Bearcat-like vehicles that are standard in Little Bird police convoys. Typically, these convoys have four cars in the front, four in the rear, an armored truck or transport van in the middle, and two motorcycles leading and trailing.


    4. The watches they wore were luxury timepieces, not the ten-dollar watches from Walmart that genuine Little Bird officers wear. Most officers sport analog or mechanical watches, not glow-in-the-dark LED ones.


    I was about to say something, but one of the fake cops barked, "Shut it."


    "What''s going on?" asked the fake cop driving the car.


    The other fake cop grabbed the radio, "Lead car, what''s going on?"


    "Got some trees that fell down," came the reply over the radio. "We''re going to take the long way around. We need to back up."


    Another fake cop radioed, "This is rear car. We''re going to back up so we can take the alternative route."


    Suddenly, a loud but distant bang echoed through the night. I saw through the driver''s side mirror a shower of sparks erupting from the rear car. Another loud bang followed, hitting the lead car and sending more sparks flying.


    Both the lead and rear cars radioed in, reporting that whatever hit them had immobilized their vehicles. Their engines were destroyed, leaving them dead in the water. To me, it sounded like the work of the Little Bird Sniper Rifle System Model 1950, a formidable weapon that serves as both a sniper rifle and an anti-material rifle, firing .50 Cal High-Explosive Incendiary/Armor-Piercing (HEIAP) rounds.


    To me, it felt like a classic tank ambush tactic. In such scenarios, an enemy or friendly tank would target the lead and rear tanks of an enemy column, effectively trapping the remaining tanks in the middle. This leaves them with no option but to turn and face the ambushing tank or expose their engines by turning the other way.


    I scanned the treeline on the north side of the road, noticing shadowy figures moving and emerging from the woods. My vision was limited, but I had a strong feeling it was my family. They had been saving my bacon all day, and their actions in the military often fell under the "anti-hero" category. Their methods were questionable, but they were driven by the goal of keeping the world safe.


    Their operations were and are on a "need to know" basis, known only to on-site survivors and the highest echelons of the military. The truth of their actions remained hidden from the world, known only to those who were there. The rest of the world remained in the dark, unaware of the sacrifices and decisions made to ensure their safety.


    "Drivers of the convoy," a commanding voice boomed over a PA system, "Place your hands out of the window, turn off the vehicles, and throw the keys onto the ground. Then, place your hands outside of the window."


    The fake cops hesitated at first. I glanced at the passenger side mirror and saw the passenger in the car behind us reach for his gun. A barrage of bullets quickly convinced the drivers to comply. Whoever was saving me this time had brought more friends or perhaps more family. They were following military protocol to the letter. My cousin Mitchell had once explained that from a squad level on up, each soldier is trained to keep their eyes and weapons pointed at a selected enemy, ready to fire at a moment''s notice.


    "All of you fake cops, take your weapons and drop them onto the asphalt," ordered the same man over the PA system. "Then, slowly get out of the cars with your hands in the air."


    The fake cops in the passenger seats hesitated, but after witnessing what happened to the one who drew his gun, they quickly complied.


    "All fifteen of you, line up east to west, shoulder to shoulder," the voice commanded.


    The fake cops obeyed, but the team rescuing me remained hidden. They were smart, knowing that leaving their cover would be foolish, especially when the enemy was unaware of their exact positions. Contrary to popular belief, smart soldiers and officers never abandon great cover unless absolutely necessary.


    Out of the fifteen fake cops, twelve were swiftly taken down, as if by a firing squad. The precision was chilling. Soon, shadowy figures emerged from the forest, moving with the stealth and coordination of a well-trained unit.


    I felt a surge of relief and gratitude. My rescuers were not only skilled but also strategic, ensuring they maintained the upper hand. It was clear that they were professionals, possibly my family, who had been saving me all day. Their actions, though often falling into the "anti-hero" category, were driven by a deep commitment to keeping the world safe, even if it meant operating in the shadows.


    Soon, the shadowy figures emerged from the forest. A man in an all-black battle dress uniform, black mask, and helmet approached my door. He freed me while another figure delivered a stern message to the two fake cops. "Tell your bosses to leave her alone."


    The one who freed me expertly picked the lock on my handcuffs, releasing me with practiced ease.


    One thing I know about the Waterson family is that we protect each other fiercely. Our families are off-limits, and if anyone dares to target them, we take off the gloves and fight back with everything we''ve got.


    After the rescue, I learned it was indeed my family who had come to my aid. When someone messes with one Waterson, they mess with all of us. We stand united, ready to defend our own at any cost.


    If I had to guess then my family members here now who are saving my bacon are trained in:


    Asymmetric Warfare


    Direct Covert Action


    Special Reconnaissance


    Unconventional Warfare


    Counter-intelligence


    Counter-narcotics


    Counter-proliferation


    Counter-terrorism


    Executive Protection


    Foreign Internal Defense


    Guerrilla Warfare


    Personnel Recovery


    Owing to its secretive nature, the recruitment process for their unit is extremely stringent, with members required to have enlisted within the Little Bird Armed Forces and proven themselves in active combat. Rarely, however, membership is offered to those from other nations who have proven themselves among fellow operators. During the selection, all potential recruits are forced to participate in a rigorous psychological evaluation to test their perseverance and compatibility with fellow  recruits.


    Additionally, aside from a thorough psychological evaluation, all recruits are made partially aware of the unit''s secretive nature, with many abiding by its covert nature. Understanding that unlike their brethren in other special forces units, their actions and successes would never become publicly acknowledged by the public and politicians.


    My family members who saved my bacon right now do that on a daily basis where there could have been an insurrection faction that took over a nuclear launch facility. But they stopped the insurrectionists from launching the nukes. They won''t ever get acknowledged for it and if an insurrectionist did fire a nuke then it would be written off as a nuclear test or a pair of jumpy operators who were testing the silo and the missile but unintentionally fired the missile. But that is what the government does best, sweeping things under the rug.


    Some of my family members who rescued me were female and well us Watersons well the males are more inclined to do what Jack Ruby did to Oswald by just walking right up to them and shooting them while looking them in the eyes. But us female Watersons are even more dangerous than the men because we¡¯re more inclined to barricade someone¡¯s house up and catch it on fire and that¡¯s just on a good day and if we¡¯re having a bad day then we can do a lot worse.


    As the dust settled, more vehicles rolled in, and I found myself being ushered into the middle one. We had to leave some of my family behind. My cousin Jack, always the dramatic one, said, ¡°This is going to make the newspapers all across Little Bird.¡±


    His sister, ever the realist, shot back, ¡°This won¡¯t even make the papers in Empire or Emerald Hollow.¡±


    I couldn''t help but chuckle at their banter, even though my nerves were still frayed. They had just saved my life, again. I knew they would stay behind to clean up the mess ¨C the fallen trees blocking the road, the remnants of the ambush. By the time they were done, it would be like nothing ever happened.


    But I think that their job, whatever it is, will never be publicized. If I had to guess, their work involves taking the gloves off to keep the world safe, crossing lines that many people can''t cross due to moral constraints or simply because they aren''t willing to go the extra mile. Many people can''t do it because what they do will never be public knowledge. Those who can''t do it often want to be heroes, get a chest full of medals, and become legends with statues made in their honor so they won''t be forgotten. But their work? The after-action reports are covered in black ink and buried in the deepest part of the war department, never to see the light of day. To me, it''s comparable to the British S.O.E., where their actions are heavily classified and will remain so until they die.


    Of course, my cousins who saved me have accents that have changed over time. But to them, they don''t play by the rules of war because they engage in unconventional warfare. If I had to guess, their missions are unsanctioned and unauthorized due to the secrecy involved. Not to mention, the motto of the Little Bird Silent Specters is, "Our enemies don''t play by the rules, so neither do we."


    ¡°How did y¡¯all know I was in trouble?¡± I asked.


    Jack didn¡¯t give a concrete answer but just said, ¡°We always know when another Waterson is in trouble.¡±


    I looked at him, trying to read between the lines. There was something unspoken, a bond that went beyond words. It was as if they had an invisible thread connecting them, always aware of each other''s peril. It was both comforting and unsettling.


    As we drove away, I couldn''t help but think about the life they led. A life shrouded in secrecy, where their heroic deeds would never be known, their sacrifices never acknowledged. They were the unsung protectors, the silent guardians. And as much as I wanted to know more, I knew better than to ask. Some things were better left in the dark even if they did tell me then they would have to kill me afterwards.

 Chapter Fifteen

    Seven hours later, I groggily rolled out of bed and glanced at my phone. 10:05 AM. Great, just six and a half hours of sleep. My cousins had to swoop in and save my bacon again, this time from a fake police escort. Talk about a close call!


    Instead of crawling back under the covers, I decided to seize the day. My mom wasn''t back yet, but honestly, that was the least of my worries. We''ve been at odds since day one, so her absence was almost a relief.


    I threw on my usual tomboy gear¡ªjeans, a t-shirt, and my trusty sneakers¡ªand headed out. The world was waiting, and I was ready to face whatever came my way.


    I brewed a small pot of coffee and savored a cup before heading out for my morning run¡ªmy usual routine when I''m not working. The fresh air and the rhythm of my feet hitting the pavement always help clear my mind.


    As I jogged through the familiar streets, I unexpectedly bumped into an old classmate from Arcane University.


    "Mac, is that you?" he called out.


    I muttered under my breath, "I swear, the next person who calls me Mac is getting a knuckle sandwich."


    I can''t stand being called Mac. I much prefer my nickname Macaroni or my birth name Mackenzie. Mac, Mac and Cheesy, Kenzie, Ken, Enzi, Mackie, Kenzie-Pie, MacKitty, K-Mac and Cheese¡ªugh, the list goes on. But Mac? That''s where I draw the line.


    Even my dad calls me Macaroni because he knows I''m comfortable with it. I don''t mind if someone calls me Mackenzie or Macaroni, but those other nicknames? No, thank you.


    "Hey there, John," I greeted him with a smile.


    "So, Mac, what have you been up to?" John asked.


    I sighed internally but kept my tone light. "Actually, I did an enlistment in the Navy, completed a deployment, and now I''m in the US Navy Reserves. But my main gig? I''m a firefighter."


    John looked surprised. "I thought you''d end up in writing or poetry, given your degree in Ancient Greek and Medieval European poetry and philosophy."


    I chuckled. "Nope, I joined the fire department. You see, people coming out of the military usually have three paths: A. Join a career with a paramilitary structure like law enforcement or the fire department, B. Get a blue-collar or white-collar job, like a typical 9-to-5, or C. Turn to crime. I chose A because I wanted a career with a paramilitary structure that''s also physically demanding."


    John nodded, seemingly impressed. "Well, that''s quite a journey, Macaroni."


    I smiled, appreciating the use of my preferred nickname. "Yeah, it''s been a wild ride, but I wouldn''t have it any other way."


    "Anything else that happened to you, Macaroni?" John asked, curiosity evident in his voice.


    I took a deep breath before replying, "Well, my mom is staying with me while she''s going through rehab. It''s been... challenging, to say the least. And get this¡ªI had a masked assailant break into my apartment, but thankfully, one of my cousins came to the rescue."


    John''s eyes widened. "Wow, that''s intense."


    "Yeah, and if that wasn''t enough, for the past 24 hours, I''ve been dealing with people dressed up as cops who aren''t actually cops. Their badge numbers are too short, they''re wearing vests over their uniforms, and sporting fancy watches that no real cop could afford¡ªnot even the corrupt ones."


    John shook his head in disbelief. "Sounds like you''ve had quite the adventure, Macaroni."


    I nodded, a wry smile on my face. "You could say that. Life''s never dull, that''s for sure."


    John looked concerned. "Do you need a place to stay to stay safe?"


    I shook my head. "Nah, I''m good. I''m going to talk to my landlord about reinforcing my door for extra security. Honestly, I have no idea how the masked assailant got into my apartment¡ªthere was no sign of forced entry."


    John reached into his business coat pocket and handed me a business card. "My mom runs a place for people who feel threatened or unsafe in their own homes. They take in anyone, regardless of gender. If you ever feel like you don''t feel safe at home, give my mom a call. She''ll get you a room until you feel secure. You don''t have to take it, but it''s there if you need it."


    I took the card, appreciating the gesture. "Thanks, John. I''ll keep it in mind. It''s good to know there''s a backup plan if things get too crazy."


    He nodded, giving me a reassuring smile. "Stay safe, Macaroni."


    I smiled back. "You too, John. Thanks again."


    We went our separate ways, and I tucked the business card into my pocket for safekeeping. Feeling a bit peckish, I headed to a street vendor and grabbed an Italian sausage on a hot dog bun with sauerkraut. That''s one of the things I love about Little Bird and the city of Empire¡ªeveryone has unique tastes. I''ve even seen people put macaroni and cheese on a hot dog! But hey, who am I to judge? When I was younger, and even now, I still put syrup on my bacon, sausage, and scrambled eggs. To each their own, right?


    I also got a soda to wash it all down. Just as I finished my brunch, things took a turn. I ended up in a scuffle with someone. It was self-defense on my part, but that didn''t stop someone from calling the cops. Before I knew it, my attacker and I were both taken down to the 10th Precinct.


    Life in Empire is never boring, that''s for sure!


    ________________________________________


    At the tenth precinct, I was asked if I wanted to file a police report on the assault. Before the officer could even finish his question, I firmly stated that I wanted to press charges. I wasn''t about to let my attacker get away with it.


    After filing the report, I was led out to the lobby. That''s when I saw my attacker being released. His lawyer had shown up in record time, and the way the Precinct Captain and the lawyer were chatting, it was clear they were old pals¡ªprobably poker buddies or something. It felt like a favor was being called in.


    "What''s going on?" I demanded.


    The officer informed me that my attacker was being released.


    "And this is why everyone finds the justice system a joke," I said, frustration boiling over. "The victims are the ones who need the justice system, but it''s the perpetrators who always seem to get off scot-free. Meanwhile, innocent people or those who commit minor misdemeanors end up with felony charges because they can''t afford a good lawyer. The prosecution steamrolls them, while the rich or knows an influential walk out like nothing happened."


    I left the precinct feeling disillusioned but determined. If the system wouldn''t protect me, I''d find a way to protect myself.


    I remember the stories my girlfriend, Lusty, used to tell me about the injustices in her old district. One time, a convenience store got robbed, and the fire department was the first to arrive on the scene. It took a patrol car two hours to respond, and another two years for the robbery detectives to investigate the crime. In the end, they had to close the case due to a lack of cooperative witnesses and the store owner''s inability to recall the details of the robbery because the victim suffered brain damage.


    Lusty also mentioned how she was interviewed by the detectives, but her parents had to be present. In Little Bird, it''s a law that a minor cannot be interviewed by law enforcement, detectives, prosecutors, or lawyers without a parent, guardian, or family lawyer present. This is to prevent detectives from using complex language that a child might not understand, potentially leading them to say things they didn''t mean or were persuaded to say.


    Lusty always says, "The only government system that people believe in is the fire department." She elaborated, "The only organization you cannot do without is the fire department. You can do without the police and bring in the military to control traffic and such. But you can''t bring in outside fire companies to small towns outside of Empire because there aren''t enough of them." People in Eastside often say, "When you call the fire department or pull the box, you''re going to get help, regardless of the time of day. We might not get any sympathy, but we know they''ll respond."


    Lusty also points out that in Eastside, Westside, and Anderson, the fire department responds to any emergency, including tenant-landlord disputes and other situations that typically fall under police jurisdiction.


    I headed over to my girlfriend''s apartment, and her daughter Lily let me in.


    "Is your mother home?" I asked.


    Lily nodded. "Yes."


    "So, how''s sixth grade going so far?" I inquired.


    Lily shrugged. "It''s going fine. I failed my math test, though."


    I gave her a reassuring smile. "It''s alright. Math isn''t everybody''s cup of tea. But the math you''re learning now will help you in the real world."


    Lily looked curious. "How so?"


    "Let''s say you ask me for a dollar, but I give you five bucks because I don''t have a dollar," I explained. "How much money do you give back to me?"


    Lily thought for a moment. "Four bucks."


    "Exactly, Lily," I said, pleased. "See? You''re already using math in practical ways."


    Lily smiled, feeling a bit more confident. "Thanks."


    "Where''s your mother?" I asked.


    "She''s in the kitchen, making us grilled cheese," Lily replied.


    As I walked into the living room, I saw Lusty''s other daughters¡ªRose, Margaret, Mabel, Bella, Chloe, and Charlotte¡ªbusy with their activities. Rose was diligently working on her homework, while Margaret, Mabel, Bella, Chloe, and Charlotte were engrossed in a board game. Lily had returned to the kitchen table to continue her homework.


    "Hey there, Lusty," I greeted her as I entered the kitchen.


    "Afternoon, Macaroni. How are you?" Lusty replied, flipping another slice of cheese sandwich in the pan to make grilled cheese.


    "Fine. Just came back from the Tenth," I said, leaning against the counter.


    "Why?" she asked, her brow furrowing with concern.


    "After my morning run, I grabbed a hot dog and soda for brunch. But right after I finished, some guy assaulted me. I filed a police report, but the guy walked free because of who he is," I explained, frustration evident in my voice.


    Lusty sighed, shaking her head. "That''s just ridiculous. I''m glad you''re okay, though."


    "Yeah, me too," I said, appreciating her concern. "It''s been a day, that''s for sure."


    Lusty replied, "Have you thought about talking to Dave about it?"


    "Dad?" Lily chimed in, looking up from her homework.


    I sighed. "I thought about it, but I''m not in the mood to escalate things. Yeah, I could ask Dave, and he could probably have the guy thrown in jail where his influence or money can''t get him out so easily. But I''m just not up for taking it to that level right now."


    Lusty nodded, understanding. "Lily, all of you will be going to be with Dad next weekend."


    Lily''s face lit up. "Really? That''s great!"


    I smiled at her excitement. "Yeah, it''ll be good for you all to spend some time with him."


    Lusty replied, "Lily, you and your sisters spend every other weekend with your father. That''s the custody agreement we made before any of you were brought into the world. I have custody, but every other weekend from Friday night to Sunday night, you all stay with your dad."


    "I know, Mom, but I like spending time with Dad, Linda, and their kids," Lily said. "I still wish we could''ve gone to that festival earlier this year."


    I smiled at Lily. "You didn''t miss much, Lily. It was pretty boring. I just went for the food and beverages. That''s the main reason adults go to festivals and carnivals¡ªthe food and maybe the games. We bring kids so they can run off to ride the rides or play the games, even though those games are usually rigged."


    Lily giggled. "Yeah, I guess you''re right."


    "No, seriously, those games are rigged," I said, recalling a frustrating memory. "Once, I hit a target dead-on, but it didn''t fall down. If it wasn''t for my dad, I would''ve jumped over that counter and put the game guy in an intensive care unit. He calmed me down with a funnel cake topped with powdered sugar."


    Rose looked up from her homework. "Hey, Mom, can you help me with my history assignment? I''m doing the history of entertainment. Where did funnel cake come from?"


    "No need, Lusty, I got this," I said, stepping in. "Rose funnel cakes have an interesting history. The concept dates back to the early medieval Persian and Arab world as zalabieh, where similar yeast-risen dishes were first prepared. This idea spread to Europe, and Pennsylvania Dutch immigrants brought the yeast dish, known as drechderkuche, to America. Around 1879, they developed the baking powder version and gave it the name ''funnel cake.'' Pennsylvanian Germans call it ''Drechderkuche.'' In the U.S., funnel cakes were originally associated with Pennsylvania Dutch Country. It''s one of the first North American fried foods, linked to the Pennsylvania Dutch, German immigrants who came to Pennsylvania in the 17th and 18th centuries. Today, it''s a staple at amusement parks and fairs all over the country. The name ''funnel'' comes from the technique used to make the cakes, where the pancake-like batter is poured into hot oil through a funnel."


    Rose diligently wrote that down. "How do you know all that, Macaroni?" she asked, impressed.


    I smiled. "Knowledge is power. And those politicians and bureaucrats are afraid of knowledgeable people because they can expose the flaws in the system."


    I went over to Rose and noticed she was struggling with her math homework.


    "Oh, multiplication," I said, understanding her frustration. "I can see why you''re having trouble."


    Lily chimed in, "First it was addition, then subtraction, and now multiplication."


    "And finally, division afterwards," I added with a smile. "Multiplication can be tricky. Here''s an easy way to think about it: If I have four bags, and each bag has three marbles, how many marbles do I have in total?"


    Lily didn''t answer right away. Instead, she used her fingers to count by threes, writing down 3, 6, 9, 12 on her paper. She looked up and confidently said, "Twelve."


    "That''s right, Lily!" I said, proud of her effort. "See, you''re getting the hang of it."


    "Four times three is twelve," I said. "But what separates us is that when I was in school, we had to use calculators to get our answers. You all have to use your brainpower to figure it out. I guess those teachers were right when they said we wouldn''t have a calculator with us all the time. Well, I do because of my smartphone, but you and everyone else in Little Bird have to think about it and work it out on paper."


    Lily sighed. "I don''t like my math teacher."


    I chuckled. "Nobody does."


    Lusty chimed in, "I liked mine. He was a pretty relaxed guy. It was my third-grade teacher I hated. I remember we had to do a report on what we wanted to be when we grew up. I said I wanted to be a musician or a firefighter, but Ms. Johnson just said, ''You''re going to be laying on your back collecting welfare checks.'' She was a real nuisance. Never supportive and always hostile, not caring that her students were only in the third grade. She treated us like we had crashed the family car into a tree!"


    I shook my head. "That''s awful, Lusty. Teachers like that can really impact a kid''s confidence."


    Lusty nodded. "Yeah, but it made me more determined to prove her wrong."


    Lusty went to the cabinet and pulled out seven ceramic plates in blue, white, and red, along with a single yellow one.


    "Alright, girls, it''s lunch!" Lusty announced, placing two grilled cheese sandwiches and a small scoop of tomato soup on each plate.


    I took Lily''s notebook and flipped to the back. When she returned, I handed it to her.


    "Here, Lily, I made you a cheat sheet of sorts," I said, showing her the multiplication chart. "It goes from 1x1 to 12x12, so you can always look up the answer if you''re stumped. But remember, not during a test. Think of it as a helper. And whatever you do, don''t cheat. Cheaters never prosper and always get caught in the end. I knew people back in Alabama who cheated on a test and had to repeat the grade all over again."


    Lusty nodded in agreement. "In the long run, it''s better to do things the right way. Cheaters always get caught one way or another."


    Lily looked at the chart and smiled. "Thanks, Macaroni. I''ll use it to help me study."


    Lusty and I went to her bedroom to talk privately.


    "So, are you sure you don''t want Dave''s help?" Lusty asked, concern evident in her voice.


    I nodded. "I''m sure. I can fight my own battles, and asking Dave or any family member for assistance is a last resort for me. If I did ask Dave for help, what the guy did to me would be nothing compared to what Dave would do."


    Lusty sighed. "Just saying, asking family for help never hurts. When I was in a medically induced coma, a doctor was going to euthanize me because I didn''t have any immediate family around. The people of Eastside saw me as family, but they couldn''t do anything. Luckily, they found an uncle I never knew I had because my mom didn''t want him around me."


    I looked at her, feeling a mix of gratitude and sadness. "I''m glad they found him, Lusty. Sometimes, family isn''t just about blood¡ªit''s about the people who care about you."


    She smiled softly. "Exactly. Just remember, you don''t have to go through everything alone."


    "But do you think one of your family members can help out in different ways?" Lusty suggested. "Like put enough pressure on the police department to get your attacker?"


    I sighed. "Like what? Have one of my high-ranking family members tell the police commissioner, ''A guy who attacked a vital government agent gets to walk free because the Precinct Captain and his lawyer are poker buddies or close enough?'' Yeah, I could, but since I''m not a vital government agent, what would they say?"


    Lusty looked thoughtful. "I get it, but sometimes it''s not about the title. It''s about the influence and the connections. Maybe they could at least get the police to take your case more seriously."


    I nodded, considering her point. "You might be right. I''ll think about it. It''s just frustrating to see justice slip through the cracks like this."


    Lusty placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "Whatever you decide, just know you have support. We''re all here for you."


    As I was deep in thought, Lusty broke the silence. "Remember when Linda, Dave''s wife, was facing legal troubles because of that arrogant jerk? Do you know how Dave got the guy to back off?"


    I shook my head. "How?"


    "Dave argued that if Linda went to prison and a terrorist attack happened in Empire during that time, it would be the arrogant guy''s fault. That got him to back off and drop the case," Lusty explained.


    I raised an eyebrow. "And he fell for it?"


    Lusty nodded. "When his lawyer asked for more information, Dave told the judge that the details were above top secret. He said if they found out, the judge, the arrogant guy, and his lawyer would become ''un-persons''¡ªevery trace of their existence erased and they would be lined up executed by firing squad or electric chair because of how secret the information was. It was a matter of national security, the kind that, if leaked, would lead to charges of treason, which is a capital punishment."


    I couldn''t help but be impressed. "Wow, that''s intense. Dave really knows how to play hardball."


    Lusty smiled. "Yeah, he does. Just remember, sometimes you have to use the tools and connections you have to protect yourself and those you care about."


    "And if I went to Dave about it, what do you think he would do?" I asked, genuinely curious.


    Lusty thought for a moment. "Well, you do have several cousins who are high-ranking officers in the military. If they find out, I''m sure they''ll talk to the War Department. Imagine if the son of a CEO or COO of a corporation that supplies the military with its gear attacked someone. What do you think the War Department would do? They wouldn''t want to do business with a company whose higher-ups'' offspring think it''s okay to attack others for no reason. Yeah the military may kill people but at the same time they only do so when told too and we have a Professional Conscripted Army not thugs for hire. The military would cancel their contract and find another corporation to make their equipment."


    I raised an eyebrow. "How do you know the guy who hit me is related to a higher-up in a defense contractor?"


    Lusty smiled knowingly. "Macaroni, in Little Bird, the rich and influential usually fall into a few categories: movie stars, celebrities, vehicle manufacturers, arms manufacturers, or defense contractors. If it was a celeb or movie star, they or their agent would have contacted you by now to apologize and try to settle out of court before the case goes to court. Vehicle or weapons manufacturers know how bad press can ruin a business. Defense contractors, on the other hand, don''t care until the military pulls the contract from under their feet. I''ve seen celebrities and movie stars give heartfelt apologies, even offering to buy a new car for the person or their family as an apology for their or their child''s actions. They know the power of word of mouth, and if one person says they''re going to boycott a celebrity, it spreads like wildfire."


    I nodded, taking it all in. "That''s a good point. Maybe I should consider reaching out to Dave after all."


    Lusty placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "Just remember, you have options and support. You''re not alone in this."


    "At least we''re not back in America, where Corporate America ruins everything, and social media is a breeding ground for people doing stupid things for clout," I said. "Someone back in America would probably ruin a wedding just to get their fifteen minutes of fame. Corporations lobby politicians in Washington D.C. for this or that, essentially bribing them."


    Lusty looked at me with a knowing smile. "Macaroni, are we in the United States?"


    "No," I replied.


    "Are we in a country with corrupt politicians?" she asked.


    "No," I said again.


    "What do you think happened to the last politician here on Little Bird who got bribed?" Lusty continued.


    "Had to deal with the Anti-Corruption Team," I answered.


    "Exactly," Lusty said. "You''re in a country without corrupt politicians or corporations running the show through lobbying. Here, we have systems in place to keep things fair and just."


    I replied, "So if I find out who the guy is, and if he''s rich or influential¡ªor heaven forbid, both¡ªand his parents used their money or influence to get him released, making the EPD kick him to the curb like nothing happened..."


    "You''re getting it, Macaroni," Lusty said. "Then you can call the Anti-Corruption Team, and they''ll put the Police Department under a microscope. They''ll find something¡ªthey always do. What do you think the Police Department will do?"


    "Try to save face and act like favoritism didn''t happen so the ACT can go away," I said, using the initials for the Anti-Corruption Team.


    "Exactly," Lusty nodded. "The last time the Empire Police Department was investigated by the ACT, they arrested a Police Captain on bribery charges because he had a lot more income than a Police Captain should. He didn''t say anything until he was on trial, and then he spilled the beans about working with his brother as a contractor and landscaper on the side."


    I shook my head. "I''m sure he wishes he had come forward with that information and added it to his tax forms. It would have saved him from going through all that with the ACT and the entire city believing he was corrupt."


    Lusty replied, "Yeah, well, go and talk to Dave or another cousin who can find information like dialing up 411 or an operator when you need a phone number for a place."


    "Yeah, I have cousins who can find information out quickly," I said. "But to change the subject, you know what I don''t like about works of fiction? It''s when they try to make characters relatable."


    Lusty nodded. "Yeah, I know what you mean. While you were away, there was a short-lived show about a group of recent college grads who got degrees but couldn''t find jobs in their fields. They had to take modest, hard-working jobs earning minimum wage while living in a penthouse way outside their price range. Out of the five characters, two were burger flippers, one was a mascot holding a sign outside a building, and the other two worked part-time in a bar. They were earning about $250 a month, but the penthouse looked like it should be $500 a month. They also had to pay their bills and student loans, often missing payments and accruing interest."


    "I can''t relate to that," I said. "Yes, I went to university, but my dad paid my tuition each year, so I didn''t have to take out a loan. The only part I can relate to is working a job, but I lived in my great-grand uncle''s villa and only had to pay the electric bill. I had no loans to pay back. And I worked as a part-time supermarket stocker."


    Lusty chuckled. "Yeah, it''s hard to relate to those fictional struggles when our experiences are so different."


    I gave Lusty a small kiss on the forehead and told her daughters I''d see them later. Then I left her penthouse, which is both beautiful and affordable.


    ______________________


    Outside Lusty''s apartment, I ran into the same guy who had attacked me just an hour ago. He was flaunting his supposed untouchability, thinking he was better than everyone else.


    I took out my smartphone and snapped a photo of him. "Thanks for the perfect photo," I said sarcastically, putting my phone away.


    Before I could fully pocket my phone, he tried to snatch it from me but failed. He then attempted to fight me again, but I defended myself. Like before, someone called the cops, and we were both taken to the Ninth Precinct.


    _______________________


    At the Ninth Precinct, I was released without bail. As I entered the lobby, I saw the same lawyer talking to the desk sergeant, demanding his client''s release. The desk sergeant firmly told the lawyer that it was the Captain''s orders not to let a criminal walk out without being fully processed, regardless of their power or influential friends.


    I decided to wait in the lobby to see how it would play out. Soon, the Captain of the Ninth Precinct arrived because the guy was causing a scene. The Captain didn''t waste any time defending her rules and actions. She wasn''t afraid of the lawyer''s boss or his client''s influential friends and family. She shared my views on the justice system, recognizing that it often fails the people who need it most while letting the real culprits off with a slap on the wrist.


    I decided not to loiter at the precinct and left, knowing I had other things to do. I headed to my mother''s job to see if she was there, and to my surprise, she was.


    "Why didn''t you come home last night?" I asked her quietly, not wanting to cause a scene.


    She looked at me nonchalantly. "Because I went home with my boss last night. I''m not a kid, Mackenzie. I''m a grown adult."


    I took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. "That''s strike one. Strike two, I''ll drop you off and pick you up before and after work. Strike three, you can go back to Kansas City for rehab, and you and that place can forget my number because next time, I''m not coming to get you."


    She looked taken aback but didn''t argue. I hoped she understood how serious I was.


    It''s tough dealing with family issues, but sometimes tough love is necessary to help them get back on track.


    "If you were going to stay out, at least give me a call so I''m not worrying!" I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "I''m putting my neck on the line here. You may not care, but I do. Do you have any idea how hard it is to convince my landlord to let my estranged mother move in without raising the rent or making me sign a new lease?"


    My mother opened her mouth to say something, but I cut her off.


    "No, you don''t get to say anything. Since you were a young adult, you''ve been used to always playing the victim card," I continued, still trying not to make a scene. "You never know what it''s like to put in the effort because you never cared to try. And when you do try, what do you do? You go out with your boss without even giving me a courtesy call or leaving a note to say where you''d be."


    She looked taken aback, but I hoped my words would sink in. It was time for her to understand the impact of her actions.


    "Do you want to know why your family, siblings and extended family didn''t come to get you?" I asked, looking her straight in the eye.


    My mom shook her head, indicating she didn''t want to know.


    "It''s because when they tried to help you in the past, you always gaslighted and manipulated them by playing the victim card," I explained. "They wanted you to be a solid citizen, but you twisted things around making them feel like they were the bad guys. They were genuinely trying to help you get clean, but you manipulated and gaslighted them until they finally said no."


    I took a deep breath, trying to keep my emotions in check. "To them, you''re like the shepherd from ''The Boy Who Cried Wolf.'' That''s why Dad didn''t come to get you¡ªhe knows you would do the same thing. You''re lucky I did, even though I shouldn''t have."


    She looked down, and I hoped my words would make her realize the impact of her actions.


    I picked up a loaf of bread, a couple of packs of bologna, and a squirt bottle of mustard, paid for them, and left the store. After stopping by my apartment to put away the groceries, I headed over to my cousin Dave¡¯s place.


    ________________________________________


    I made my way to Apartment 14C at 451 Heliconia and Rhizome¡¯s Blvd. Dave opened the door with a warm smile.


    ¡°Hey, Macaroni! How can I help you?¡± he asked.


    "Some idiot attacked me twice. The first time, the cops let him go without even processing or booking him," I said, frustration evident in my voice.


    Dave raised an eyebrow. "The easiest thing I can do is red flag his credit or debit card, mess up his credit score, and make it so he can''t get money out of an ATM or from the bank for a couple of days."


    "Is that even legal?" I asked, skeptical.


    Dave shrugged. "It''s what the Little Bird government does to those suspected of financing terror groups. They cut off their source of income."


    I narrowed my eyes. "I feel like there''s an ''and'' in there."


    Dave nodded. "There is. Usually, the people whose bank accounts and cards get red-flagged are indeed financing terror groups. Then either I and my pals or someone in this family and their SOCOM unit go and deal with them."


    I sighed, considering his offer. "Well, I guess it''s worth a shot. Thanks, Dave."


    It''s always good to have a family who can offer creative solutions, even if they operate in the gray areas.


    ¡°Let me take the photo and show it to a few people. I can get a positive ID within a few hours,¡± Dave said. ¡°Got some buddies who owe me a favor, and I want to say they can ID the guy.¡±


    I replied, ¡°What are you planning on doing?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll just get a PID to make sure, and if need be, I¡¯ll tell you so you can make the next decision,¡± Dave said.


    I replied, ¡°I have no idea what ¡®PID¡¯ means.¡±


    ¡°It means Positive Identification,¡± Dave explained.


    I was about to ask more when Dave continued, ¡°Done some missions here and there that required our targets to be PID to make sure we can scratch them off the list.¡±


    Curiosity got the better of me. ¡°What do you do anyway? Besides firefighting.¡±


    Dave grinned. ¡°I can disarm a thermonuclear warhead with a blindfold and a paperclip.¡±


    ¡°No, seriously, what do you do?¡± I asked, raising an eyebrow.


    I knew that Dave was one of the few members of the Fire Department City of Empire qualified to use explosives, but he had no record of serving in the military. It made me wonder if he was part of a secret society of sleeper agents¡ªfully autonomous field operatives trained to restore order to communities suffering from catastrophic events, institutional collapse, and societal breakdown. These agents could be deployed as ¡°Civilian Contractors¡± in areas too hot for the military, where a uniform would give away their presence. They lived normal lives until called upon, and they weren¡¯t an elite unit in the traditional military sense. They probably had the authority to do ¡°whatever is necessary¡± to restore order or maintain safety by doing sanctioned and unauthorized missions, including the ¡°elimination¡± of all threats to their mission.


    But I didn¡¯t ask him. If he wasn¡¯t part of it, he¡¯d just say no. If he was, he might have to silence me for knowing. Some questions are better left unasked or unanswered.


    I was going to ask what he would do but to me I was the one to call the next shots once getting a positive identification on the guy but I was just thinking about what it would be.


    I soon then left after sending that photo to Dave so he can show it around.


    ________________________


    As I was walking down the street, I was soon stopped by the police and arrested. They brought me back to the Tenth Precinct.


    Turns out, I was being arrested for assault even though the only thing that could be considered assault was actually self-defense.


    When we got to the precinct, I kept my mouth shut and didn¡¯t say a thing to them. I just sat in the cell, thinking.


    It wasn¡¯t long until I heard some chaos until it wasn¡¯t long until I saw someone in a black battle dress uniform. Whoever it was began to lockpick the cell.


    I had no idea what was going on. But I did know that I was being rescued¡­ again. Not that I was going to complain.


    ¡°Our decoy is in place,¡± said the guy. ¡°So all of the good cops in the precinct are chasing a decoy while all of the dirty ones are here.¡±


    I interpreted it as all of the cops who do their jobs were out going after a decoy, while the ones being bribed by the criminals were being dealt with here.


    ¡°Are they?¡± I asked.


    The same guy replied, ¡°They¡¯re fine, but when they wake up, they¡¯re going to have a headache like getting hit on the head with a sledgehammer. The good ones who are chasing our decoy aren¡¯t being harmed though.¡±


    I knew how painful those headaches could be.


    Outside, I met Dave again.


    ¡°How did you know I was in trouble?¡± I asked.


    Dave replied, ¡°Saw it from my patio.¡±


    I felt stupid for asking that question.


    ¡°I know in an hour or so the Mayor is going to call the Police Commissioner, and the Police Commissioner is going to call and scream at the 10th Precinct Captain,¡± said Dave.


    I asked, ¡°How?¡±


    ¡°The city of Empire didn¡¯t get its nickname of Empire Arms Defense for nothing,¡± Dave said. ¡°In 1941, the city¡¯s population was around 500,000 people but rose by one million. A majority of those people came into the city to work in the defense factories making military vehicles, tanks, armored cars, half-tracks, jeeps, bombers, fighters, fighter-bombers, and munitions, just to name a few. And I mentioned how you¡¯re a vital informant in the fight against terror and how a certain somebody just jeopardized the main source of income for this city.¡±


    I quickly pieced it together. The main source of income for the city of Empire is those defense plants. If the military pulls out of their contract and finds other defense contractors outside the city, Empire will lose several billion dollars.


    I know all about the city of Empire nicknames of them being: Bay of Prosperity


    Fortune Bay


    Defense Harbor


    Tourist¡¯s Haven


    Empire¡¯s Edge


    The Financial Fortress


    Harbor of Wealth


    The Bay of Innovation


    Empire¡¯s Shield


    The Golden Bay


    But I feel like the city of Empire motto that''s in Latin ¡°The Garden by the Sea¡± also should be a nickname due to the amount of agriculture around the city.


    ¡°So you¡¯re more or less coercing the city?¡± I asked.


    Dave replied, ¡°Nope, just putting pressure on the city without going to the media or going to Westside or Eastside. Little Bird may be a police state but many people distrust the police for one reason or another.


    "Yes schools may teach us that the ¡®Policeman is our friend¡¯ which is partially true but at the same time, many cops are our enemies because they¡¯re no better than the criminals they swore to arrest. Oh if you read history about the Empire Police Department Anti-Gang Unit 9 out of 10 you¡¯ll find out those cops aren¡¯t even doing their job and are acting like a gang themselves.


    "I¡¯m from a small town where the town police department is on the take of criminals because smaller towns are more easily bribed by criminals not big cities. And you want to know why gangs and the Mafia don¡¯t go after cops? Because then their protection money would be useless. While big city cops don¡¯t go after the Mafia and Gangs because it¡¯s better to let the status quo go on the moment the cops go after a gang or a mafia family a new one will just spring up to replace the old one it''s easier to let the status quo be unless something significant happens.¡±


    I replied, ¡°And the Mayor¡­ How do you know what you said? How will he take what you said?¡±


    ¡°When he asked for evidence to back up what I said,¡± Dave began, ¡°I told him that if I showed him then he would be tried for knowing national security information that not even the President knows of. That¡¯s how secret it is.¡±


    I replied, ¡°Even though you said it in public.¡±


    ¡°I have no idea what you¡¯re talking about,¡± Dave said.


    I was about to say something but soon came to the conclusion of what Dave said that I¡¯m not actually an important person to national security that¡¯s so high up that not even the President of Little Bird knows. Only a small group of people have access to ¡®More Secret than Top Secret¡¯ and the President and a majority of people in the Defense sector aka the military don¡¯t even have access. I know that ¡°Top Secret¡± means such material would cause "exceptionally grave damage" to national security if made publicly available. But if the Little Bird Government has ¡®More Secret than Top Secret¡¯ then that¡¯s something.¡±


    ¡°So you got a PID on my attacker?¡± I asked.


    Dave replied, ¡°Some people who owe me a favor or two. I cashed in those favors to make the process go by a lot faster.¡±


    ¡°What about surveillance?¡± I asked.


    Dave replied, ¡°Little Bird may be a police state, but it¡¯s not the book Nineteen Eighty-Four. We don¡¯t have a thought police. Little Bird may be a police state, but at least we still allow people to voice their concerns, speak their minds, and have the right congressional law to peacefully assemble for a protest. Yes, during peaceful protests, a few cops will be dispatched to keep an eye on it so it doesn¡¯t turn into a riot. Yes, protesters need a permit to let them protest, but said permits specify the time, when, and where, so the police can cordon off the area to keep vehicles and pedestrians from going through. Yes, Little Bird may be a police state, Macaroni, but the people have the right to host rallies, marches, vigils, pickets, strikes, and boycotts, all protected by an act of Congress. Unless the group has an agitator that starts trouble and rallies the group to resort to violence, then it¡¯s no longer a protest but a riot.¡±


    I nodded, taking it all in. ¡°So, what¡¯s the next step?¡±


    Dave looked at me seriously. ¡°We need to make sure you¡¯re safe. I¡¯ve got a place where you can lay low for a while. It¡¯s secure, and no one will find you there.¡±


    I hesitated for a moment but then agreed. ¡°Alright, lead the way.¡±


    As we walked, I couldn¡¯t help but feel a mix of gratitude and unease. Gratitude for having someone like Dave looking out for me and unease about the lengths we had to go to stay safe in a world that seemed increasingly chaotic.


    ¡°So who were those who got me out?¡± I asked.


    Dave replied, ¡°Some friends of mine. They wanted to go the other route, not the peaceful one that I went with.¡±


    ¡°And knocking out corrupt cops is peaceful?¡± I asked.


    Dave replied, ¡°Is silencing them a better option?¡±


    ¡°Nope,¡± I said, correcting myself, while thinking.


    ¡°If I became a cop instead of a firefighter¡­¡± I began to say.


    Dave replied, ¡°Would you be comfortable with ¡®outdated¡¯ tactics?¡±


    ¡°I know all about how the cops in Little Bird are trained to quell riots with batons, mounted police, fire hoses, and dogs,¡± I said. ¡°Even though many countries around the world have abandoned those tactics. But I know what my grand uncle Bill would¡¯ve said. He would¡¯ve said, ¡®Let me run my country; don¡¯t make me start telling you how to run yours,¡¯ because he was passive-aggressive about that. He even told those country leaders that when there¡¯s a riot, and whatever the damage is, then he and the Little Bird government will gladly send the bill for the damage so that country can pay it. That got them to back off.¡±


    Dave replied, ¡°Yeah, Uncle Bill had a way of telling other countries to back off. Even when he and Sandra got divorced, they were the kind of divorced people who were still friendly with each other and the kind of divorcees who still talked like good friends instead of hating each other.¡±


    ¡°Do you know why they divorced?¡± I asked.


    Dave replied, ¡°Honestly, I don¡¯t know. If I had to guess, it was falling out of love. They were happily married for almost 25 years, from 1968 to 1993, then divorced. But I know how they met, though.¡±


    ¡°How did they meet?¡± I asked.


    Dave replied, ¡°She was a US Army Nurse in Vietnam while he was in the US 5th Infantry Division in Vietnam. He stepped on a punji stick while on patrol in 1965. Yes, he was pro-war in Vietnam, even when he and she came to Little Bird and he, out of the blue, ran for president in 1968 after they became citizens of Little Bird.


    "While she had no interest in politics, she dealt with health issues because she believed women are better at being healers. Uncle Bill was a favorite President because, while he was pro-war, he was also supportive of the working class. He favored helping the many, not catering to the few. Some people call him the direct predecessor to Mrs. Abigail Orange because Mrs. Orange did things as President like eliminating taxes for the elderly so once someone retires, they no longer have to pay taxes. She also created the Bureau of Labor to help people find jobs, prevent nepotism in the workplace, and introduce a livable minimum wage.


    "Uncle Bill focused on helping the working class and the impoverished, and on vocational and trade schools, not colleges, because he knew that many people go to college but don¡¯t land a job in their degree field. He understood the importance of blue-collar jobs like working on the roads, power lines, and telecommunication lines.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, and he had a lot of enemies too,¡± I said. ¡°How many times was his life in danger?¡±


    Dave replied, ¡°Once, when he was campaigning for reelection in 1971, he was giving an outdoor rally, and some ultra nutcase militants who didn¡¯t like him tried to eliminate him. Even though there were a lot of LBPPT, cops, and even military militia that had the area surrounded. Like any other time when the president goes out, even if Uncle Bill wanted to take his wife and daughters out to dinner or to a movie, the LBPPT planned the route and notified the nearby hospital just in case.¡±


    ¡°So similar to the US Secret Service?¡± I asked.


    Dave replied, ¡°LBPPT stands for Little Bird Presidential Protection Team. They only protect the President and his or her family and the former presidents and their families until they die. I know that Lucy, Natalie, and Ashley¡ªyou know, Mitchell and Twilight¡¯s older sisters¡ªhad a team of agents protecting them to and from school and when they went out to play. They didn¡¯t have a normal childhood because they went to public school instead of a private or charter school. Sandra wasn¡¯t going to shell out money for a private school or send them to a charter school on taxpayer money.


    "Oh, and in 1979, Sandra was outraged when the school their daughters were attending substituted food with some kind of paste to cut back on costs. Let¡¯s just say the saying ¡®Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned¡¯ came true. She made Lucy, Natalie, and Ashley a homemade lunch, but when the school threw it out, she went at the school with both barrels. She never gave the school permission to throw out her daughters¡¯ lunches, nor did she or her husband sign a form or permission slip to allow the school to feed children paste without parental consent.¡±


    We soon arrived at the safe house.


    ¡°Yeah, Uncle Bill and Aunt Sandra were the type not to keep secrets from each other. If they wanted to do something with the kids, they would have a civil conversation to make sure they were both comfortable with it,¡± said Dave. ¡°Even when they divorced, they did it in a way that ensured equal custody of their children. They always got each other¡¯s permission for their children to do things. If Bill wanted to take his daughters camping or on a fishing trip, Sandra would agree, and vice versa. They wanted to know what their children were doing. Sandra¡¯s new husband, their children¡¯s stepfather, was against it and always said no. But since the courts didn¡¯t see him having any parental rights because he didn¡¯t care, well, when he threatened Bill one time when he came to get Lucy, Natalie, and Ashley because they switched every other week, Bill was going to take them to the movies but asked Sandra beforehand.


    "When their stepdad went to say something and threatened Bill, Bill told him the last thing he should do is threaten the president of Little Bird. Even Sandra told her husband to let it be because he had no right to say anything. When he wanted to fight Bill¡­ well, who¡¯s going to win in a fight¡ªa guy who was in combat or a guy who was trained to type sixty words per minute?¡±


    I replied, ¡°Yeah, Bill probably taught him a lesson.¡±


    Dave then showed me around the safe house. I was about to ask who owned it, but as before, some questions are better left unanswered.


    ¡°Do I have to worry about any unexpected visitors?¡± I asked.


    Dave replied, ¡°We have a supply runner who comes by every three days to make it look like it¡¯s lived in and not to draw any unwanted attention, so people don¡¯t think it¡¯s deserted.¡±


    ¡°If they ask who I am?¡± I asked.


    Dave replied, ¡°Give them the code phrase ¡®The night is the darkest before the dawn,¡¯ and the supply runner will reply, ¡®But the dawn always breaks.¡¯ Or say, ¡®In the shadows, we find our strength,¡¯ and they will reply, ¡®And in the light, we reveal our purpose.¡¯ That way, they¡¯ll know you¡¯re on our side.¡±


    Soon after Dave left, I took some time to look around the safe house. It was a decent place, but I was anxious to hear back from Dave with the Positive Identification. That didn¡¯t stop me from going out, though. While I was out, I got a phone call saying my apartment had been broken into. I rushed back to my place.


    When I arrived, I saw the guy who had assaulted me twice being led to a patrol car in handcuffs. The cops there weren¡¯t city cops but the Island Police, which I compare to the State Police and Highway Patrol back in the United States. Being from both North Carolina and Alabama, I was used to the Highway Patrol.


    Even though what the guy did was a felony, if I wanted the charges dropped, I would have to go to the DA¡¯s office and tell the prosecutor. But there was no chance in Tartarus I was going to let him off the hook for two counts of Assault, Harassment, and Breaking and Entering. Thankfully, the cops got there fast enough that he didn¡¯t have the chance to rob the place.


    I knew the difference between Burglary and Robbery. Robbery is taking property from someone through threats or fear of harm or attempting to steal, while Burglary involves illegally entering a building, whether or not something is stolen.


    As I watched the patrol car drive away, I felt a mix of relief and determination. This ordeal wasn¡¯t over yet, but at least one piece of the puzzle was falling into place.


    Another cop and a pair of detectives were on the scene. I recognized the detectives from the past: Burglary Detective Aurora and her partner, Detective Zofia. Zofia was my girlfriend¡¯s ex-girlfriend. She and Claire had broken up because Zofia didn¡¯t want to date a firefighter, saying, ¡°Firefighting is dangerous while being a cop is less dangerous, almost safe.¡± Even though firefighting is one of the most stressful jobs in the world, being a cop isn¡¯t all that safe either. Zofia had grown up spoiled rotten because her mother catered to her every demand, while her father didn¡¯t want to spoil her. If her dad didn¡¯t get her what she wanted, her mom definitely did.


    Of course, the cop tried to stop me from entering my own apartment, but Detective Aurora told the cop to let me in, so I did.


    ¡°Macaroni? Right?¡± asked Detective Aurora.


    I replied, ¡°Guilty as charged.¡±


    ¡°Well, good news is that nothing of yours is stolen,¡± Detective Aurora said. ¡°Just a forced-open door. Are you going to be pressing charges?¡±


    I replied, ¡°I¡¯m already pressing charges for two counts of assault. And I want to press harassment charges.¡±


    ¡°Well, that¡¯ll be a tough one for the PD to do,¡± Detective Aurora said. ¡°I¡¯m not defending the higher-ups at HQ, but they¡¯ll tell whatever Precinct Captain or Lieutenant to throw the case into a paper shredder.¡±


    I replied, ¡°Better not.¡±


    ¡°Well, the guy you¡¯re pressing charges against,¡± said Detective Aurora, ¡°long story short, his father owns an arms manufacturer that produces both military and law enforcement weapons. He¡¯s willing to sell weapons and ammo to the police department at half the cost if they¡¯re willing to look the other way to his son¡¯s activities.¡±


    ¡°Oh good Lord. I can see why his lawyer got to the precinct quicker than a moth to the flame. And how the 10th Precinct Captain let him go in a New York second,¡± I said.


    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t surprise me if the company can have the DA¡¯s office drop the case and try to send some money your way to look the other way,¡± said Detective Aurora.


    ¡°I¡¯ll deny the money and take them to court anyway. And if I lose the money, well, I got some family members who are close to the Joint Chiefs of Staff,¡± I replied.


    ¡°I have no idea what the Joint Chiefs of Staff is,¡± said Detective Aurora.


    ¡°The Supreme Military Council of Little Bird, I mean. I highly doubt the Little Bird Armed Forces would want to buy weapons, weapon parts, and munitions from a company or arms manufacturer if the owner¡¯s child can go around committing crimes but get off scot-free because of how said manufacturer has both military and law enforcement contracts that bring in about a billion dollars per year, with 75% of the orders coming from the military and the other 25% from law enforcement,¡± I explained.


    Detective Aurora nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. ¡°Well, let¡¯s hope the higher-ups see it that way too.¡±


    Soon after Detective Aurora, Zofia, and the other cop left, I looked around my apartment to double-check that everything was in place. Thankfully, nothing was stolen. I had everything marked and tagged by the PD, so if someone did steal it or pawn it, the Police Department could recover it faster. Without registration, it would turn into a he-said-she-said situation, but with the registration, it clearly points to who the owner is.


    I knew that pawn shops are supposed to report to the police if something seems stolen because no sane person is going to pawn a $5,000 gold jewelry piece unless they desperately need the money. Most people who pawn things need cash right then and there.


    As I thought about the situation, I wondered what would happen if the PD or DA¡¯s office threw out the case. When I get a PID on my attacker, could I file a lawsuit against the PD, DA, or the Bureau of Law for miscarriage of justice? It was a frustrating thought, but I knew I had to be prepared for any outcome.


    I sat down, trying to calm my racing thoughts. This whole ordeal was far from over, but I was determined to see it through. I wasn¡¯t going to let corruption and injustice win. Not this time.


    I started thinking about whether I should hire a criminal defense lawyer. If it does go to court, I could ask for a public lawyer if it reaches a courthouse. Even if I lose the case, the Commonwealth of Mountain would have the bill, not me. Here on Little Bird, law offices have a motto about not billing their client if they lose a case and only asking for 25-40% of the money if they win. Most lawyers charge per hour and have some kind of timer with them to track how many hours they worked on a case so they can bill their client.


    I knew I had to find the right lawyer and hope I didn¡¯t end up hiring the wrong one for a field they¡¯re not an expert in. I¡¯ve heard stories about people hiring lawyers or their friends and family hiring lawyers but getting the wrong type of lawyer. People facing a criminal charge might get a lawyer, but the wrong one, like a divorce lawyer. Even though divorce is rare on Little Bird, the country has expert anti-police lawyers who can punch holes in testimonies and evidence that the police department collects. That¡¯s why many police precincts in Little Bird collect concrete evidence so a lawyer who¡¯s an expert against law enforcement can¡¯t punch holes through it but can get rid of circumstantial evidence like nothing.


    I knew that if I had to file a lawsuit against the Bureau of Law or the Police Department or both or the company my attacker works for, it would fall under the miscarriage of justice for the PD and Bureau of Law, while for the company, it would be a felony lawsuit.


    As I mulled over my options, I felt a mix of determination and apprehension. This fight was far from over, but I was ready to take it on, no matter what it took.


    I then went back to the safe house and made a peppered turkey sandwich. While I was eating, Dave came back.


    ¡°I got a PID on your attacker,¡± Dave said.


    I replied, ¡°The child of a movie star or a celebrity?¡±


    ¡°Nope,¡± Dave replied.


    I replied, ¡°The child of a CEO or owner of a vehicle manufacturer or weapons manufacturer?¡±


    ¡°Getting warmer,¡± said Dave.


    I replied, ¡°I know this isn¡¯t a game of colder, cold, getting warmer. So my final guess is that the attacker is the child or some kind of relative of a defense contractor.¡±


    ¡°Bingo,¡± said Dave.


    I replied, ¡°Lusty was right. She told me how it¡¯s usually defense contractors who have military contracts getting about a billion dollars a year for said contract, so they would have the money and resources to fight off a lawsuit and to bail anyone out because, to them, their lawyer costs will be pocket change. At least we¡¯re not back in America.¡±


    ¡°Hey, you Americans didn¡¯t heed Ike Eisenhower¡¯s warning in his Farewell Address in 1961 about the dangers of the Military-Industrial Complex,¡± said Dave.


    I sighed, thinking about the complexities of the situation. ¡°So, what¡¯s the next step?¡±


    Dave looked at me seriously. ¡°We need to make sure you¡¯re safe and that we have all the evidence we need. This isn¡¯t going to be easy, but we¡¯ll get through it.¡±


    I nodded, feeling a mix of determination and apprehension. This fight was far from over, but with Dave¡¯s help, I was ready to take it on, no matter what it took.


    ¡°What are you going to do?¡± I asked.


    Dave replied, ¡°Going to go and talk to the Owner of Strawberry Arms.¡±


    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    ¡°Is there an ¡®and¡¯ in there?¡± I asked.


    Dave replied, ¡°Well, I¡¯m going to give him two choices: either he stops defending his son and lets the long arm of the law catch up with him, or I make one phone call to the Supreme Military Council. Then the Army, Navy, Marines, and Air Force will withdraw their contracts, and going forward, the company won¡¯t get another military contract. It¡¯ll be publicized how the owner¡¯s son attacked and harassed an off-duty firefighter and broke into her apartment. I¡¯m sure their profits and stocks will go down severely and they¡¯ll have a change of heart. These corporations only see the error of their ways when they¡¯re backed into a corner with legal action they can¡¯t escape or when their stocks and profits are hurt.¡±


    I nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. ¡°Sounds like a plan. Let¡¯s hope it works.¡±


    Dave gave me a reassuring smile. ¡°It will. We¡¯ll make sure justice is served.¡±


    While Dave was gone, I found myself reflecting on a time when I stayed with my female cousin during my dad''s deployment for Operation: Just Cause. I call that period the ¡°Time of Tension¡± and ¡°House of Tension¡± because my cousin and her mother-in-law were always at each other¡¯s throats. My cousin had a baby, and her mother-in-law criticized her every move, saying she was a terrible mother, a bad cook, and couldn¡¯t do anything right. Despite my cousin doing all the housework, her mother-in-law never lifted a finger to help and constantly criticized how she was raising her grandchild.


    My cousin¡¯s husband eventually had to tell his mother to either start helping out and stop criticizing his wife or leave. When she didn¡¯t comply, he kicked her out. However, my cousin¡¯s mother-in-law took the baby, but the police were able to intervene and arrest her. My cousin decided to file charges with her husband¡¯s approval.


    I remember how my cousin received numerous phone calls from her husband¡¯s side of the family, accusing her of being hysterical or overreacting. She slammed the phone on its reciever many times. Despite this, the Watersons stood by her, and even her husband was on her side. Her in-laws were always against her, but she didn¡¯t care about them.


    I also recall Christmas Eve of ¡®89 when my cousin¡¯s sister-in-law treated me like her daughter, calling me a different name and treating me like an infant. My cousin told her sister-in-law to back off, as she was just watching me as a favor for my dad. When her sister-in-law tried to take me, my cousin stopped her in a New York second, and we left.


    As I thought about these memories, I also considered the importance of getting a good lawyer if needed. It¡¯s always better to be safe than sorry.


    I decided to go and visit a criminal lawyer because I thought it would be safe, just in case I had to file a lawsuit against the Police Department, the Bureau of Law for miscarriage of justice, or Strawberry Arms weapon¡¯s manufacturing.


    After a while, I was able to talk to a criminal lawyer. He said I had strong evidence and that he¡¯d handle all the paperwork, find witnesses, and wait for the prosecution to reach out. I told him how I knew to keep my mouth shut without a lawyer present, even though 9.9 out of 10 times my mouth runs faster than my brain and I usually say things that get me riled up.


    As I was walking back to the safe house, I ran into the same guy who had assaulted me twice, harassed me once, and broken into my apartment. But before he could open his mouth, I spoke up.


    ¡°Thanks for giving me information to file a suit against you, your father¡¯s company, and the Police Department,¡± I said.


    He smirked and told me how my lawsuit would bear no fruit because there were no statements and no charges pressed against him, the department, or his father¡¯s company.


    ¡°And that¡¯s where you¡¯re wrong. Your lawyer having the police department throw out reports is a cover-up,¡± I said, standing my ground.


    He looked taken aback for a moment, but then his smirk returned. ¡°We¡¯ll see about that,¡± he said before walking away.


    I continued my walk back to the safe house, feeling a mix of anger and determination to take on this fight no matter what it took.


    I got to the safe house and not long after, Dave arrived. He mentioned that the meeting went fine, even though the owner of Strawberry Arms thought Dave was bluffing. It didn¡¯t take long until the phone in the safe house rang, and Dave answered it in spy lingo.


    ¡°Come on, Macaroni,¡± said Dave.


    I followed him to a place I had never been before. I had to swear never to speak of the place because I was on a need-to-know basis. I didn¡¯t ask what the place was, but it felt like how I envisioned an NSA building would look on the inside.


    Dave then took me to a room.


    ¡°Hey D-454, what you got?¡± asked Dave.


    D-454 replied, ¡°An interesting phone call.¡±


    D-454 then played a recording.


    ¡°Hello, this is Herbert Strawberry,¡± said Herbert Strawberry (over the tape from a recorded phone call).


    A man replied (over the tape from a recorded phone call), ¡°Yeah, this is General Daniel Philip from the Supreme Military Council. I¡¯m just calling to let you know that the Little Bird Army is pulling out of the yearly contract for your company to make weapons, weapon parts, and ammo for the army.¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t do this!¡± exclaimed Herbert Strawberry.


    General Daniel replied, ¡°The Army has decided to take our 1.5 billion dollar contract to another company. Good day, sir.¡±


    The line then went dead.


    ¡°Guess you can say my bluff worked,¡± Dave said. ¡°Not adding that General Daniel is married to one of our cousins, so I called her, and she called him. Think of it like a domino effect.¡±


    I replied, ¡°Well, that¡¯s a billion and a half dollars from the defense budget being reallocated from the army to another manufacturer to supply the army. Of course, the Marines, Air Force, and Navy are another story, but that 1.5 billion from the Army now is not coming in, I¡¯m sure that¡¯ll hurt their profits.¡±


    Dave nodded. ¡°Exactly. Sometimes, you have to hit them where it hurts the most¡ªtheir wallets.¡±


    I felt a sense of relief and determination. This fight was far from over, but with Dave¡¯s help, I was ready to take it on, no matter what it took.


    ---


    ¡°How do you think the Army is going to feel about General Daniel¡¯s decision?¡± I asked.


    Dave replied, ¡°As long as the Army can fulfill their requests from another company, they don¡¯t care. The military goes to Strawberry Arms for their high-quality weapons, but the Little Bird Military goes to Hawk Arms for their high-precision weapons that can hit a penny from 20 miles away with high-quality metal to reduce wear and tear. Even though 25% of their orders are for left-handed shooters, since the 1960s, the weapons the Little Bird military uses are designed for ambidextrous people. Even though 74% of the military is right-handed and 1% are ambidextrous, each company has a subsidiary that handles military orders.¡±


    I nodded, absorbing the information. ¡°So, the Army has options.¡±


    ¡°Exactly,¡± Dave said. ¡°And by pulling out of the contract with Strawberry Arms, they¡¯re sending a strong message. It¡¯s not just about the money; it¡¯s about integrity and accountability.¡±


    I felt a sense of relief and determination.


    Dave even explained how Strawberry Arms Corporation, Hawk Arms Industry, Falcon Arms Corporation, and Eagle Firearms Industries each have different military subdivisions to cater to military orders.


    For example, Falcon Arms has:


    -Falcon Defense Systems: Specializes in producing firearms and equipment for the military, including assault rifles, sniper rifles, and machine guns.


    - Falcon Tactical Solutions: Focuses on developing advanced tactical gear and accessories for military operations, such as night vision goggles, tactical vests, and communication devices.


    Similarly, Eagle Firearms has:


    - Eagle Military Division: Handles the production of military-grade firearms, including pistols, shotguns, and grenade launchers.


    - Eagle Combat Technologies: Develops cutting-edge combat technologies and weapon systems for the military, such as drones, smart weapons, and advanced targeting systems.


    The same applies to vehicle manufacturers like Hornet, Wasp, Buckliner, and Walter. They also have military contracts and their own military subdivisions. These vehicle manufacturers work with arms manufacturers to install weapons on their vehicles. They are well aware of how damaging a lawsuit or bad press can be.


    I nodded, absorbing all the information. ¡°So, these companies have a lot at stake.¡±


    ¡°Exactly,¡± Dave said. ¡°And by hitting them where it hurts¡ªtheir contracts and reputation¡ªwe can make a real impact.¡±


    I felt a renewed sense of determination. This fight was far from over, but with Dave¡¯s help, I was ready to take it on, no matter what it took.


    From how Dave was talking about it, he knows that if a corporation hired by the military faces bad press or legal action with no way to win, the military will pull out of the contract. This would cause the corporation to lose a majority of their income.


    Yes, Strawberry Arms will still make some income from selling semi automatic weapons and bolt-action rifles to the civilian population, as well as low-powered cartridges for home defense and hunting, but that''s only 5% of their income. Another 10% comes from law enforcement sales, while the army contract made up 80% of it.


    To me, that sounded like a reason not to put all your eggs in one basket. They always relied on the Army contracts for the majority of their income and never thought about branching out to diversify their revenue streams.


    Dave¡¯s insights made it clear how vulnerable Strawberry Arms was to losing their primary source of income. It was a stark reminder of the importance of diversification in business.


    ___


    Back at my apartment, I finally got the door fixed. Dave was there, helping me out as usual.


    ¡°So, what did your lawyer say if you went and got one?¡± Dave asked, his hands busy with the door.


    I replied, ¡°He said we¡¯ve got a solid case. He¡¯s going to find witnesses and collect evidence. Just the fact that the PD let him out three times on charges of Assault and Burglary and the cops turning a blind eye, will definitely make an impression on the jury.¡±


    ¡°Go on,¡± Dave encouraged, his eyes focused on the task at hand.


    ¡°I told him I wasn¡¯t going to settle out of court. He mentioned that all his clients say the same thing. When corporations and government agencies settle out of court, they offer an amount that¡¯s pocket change and don¡¯t do anything to make it right. So, fighting it in court, even if we lose and I don¡¯t take the out-of-court settlement, will send a message that not everyone will take a settlement and run.¡±


    Dave nodded, a look of approval on his face. ¡°That¡¯s the spirit. Sometimes, it¡¯s not just about winning the case; it¡¯s about making a stand and showing that you won¡¯t be easily bought off.¡±


    I felt a renewed sense of determination. This fight was far from over, but with Dave¡¯s support and a solid legal team, I was ready to take it on, no matter what it took.


    ¡°Why do people take out-of-court settlements?¡± I asked, genuinely curious.


    Dave replied, ¡°There are a number of reasons. Some people want to end the case and move on with their lives instead of going to court every day for who knows how long. Some cases take weeks or months. Some do it to save costs, some for privacy, and many to save time. Not everyone has the time for a trial that lasts weeks or months, and many lawyers charge by the hour. Imagine getting a lawyer that charges $70/hr for a case that lasts two months from Monday to Saturday, 8 AM to 5 PM. Another reason is that the party suing has control. If the company or city offers them a certain amount, they¡¯ll drop the case and never have to deal with each other again. Many people go to trial because the judge can make the city or corporation pay more than what the defense would offer out of court. Let¡¯s say your case is worth $100,000, but the defense offers you $75,000 to settle out of court. If you refuse and win, a judge can make them pay more than what your case is worth.¡±


    I did the math in my head. If my case lasted a month in court and my lawyer charged $70/hr, I would owe $13,434.


    ¡°How do you know so much about law?¡± I asked, impressed.


    Dave replied, ¡°When I was at the fire academy back in ¡®95, I used to hit the library that had some law books. I got myself some knowledge on law. Plus, I¡¯m part of the Firefighter Union Rep, so if a firefighter is in trouble, I help them out.¡±


    Dave continued, explaining how many times he¡¯d been prohibited from representing a firefighter in trouble. He said that if a firefighter calls him or another Union Rep, they legally have to be present. It¡¯s mandatory for the Fire Department to let a firefighter in trouble get legal counseling from a Union Representative. It¡¯s like the Miranda warning in the United States, where you have the right to a lawyer during questioning, and if you can¡¯t afford one, one will be appointed to you. But Dave said he and other Union Reps had been prohibited from seeing the member they were assigned to represent, even though the law says if a union member is in trouble, they have the right to seek legal counsel. If a union representative is not permitted to participate in an interview that results in disciplinary action, that union member can sue the city and potentially become a half-millionaire by the end of the day.


    ¡°Of course, go over to the Fire Department City of Empire HQ, and a majority of the people there aren¡¯t smoke eaters,¡± Dave continued. ¡°It¡¯s politics this, politics that. Whenever a firefighter is in trouble, those sycophant bureaucrats at HQ play politics. This is why I, my wife Linda, Lusty, and even Battalion Chief Marcus of the 19th Battalion are nicknamed the ¡®Old Guard.¡¯ We¡¯re from a time when HQ had its members¡¯ backs facing legal trouble. Oh, a firefighter facing legal action for breaking a car window because it was blocking a fire hydrant? Even though a case like that will be thrown out by a judge because you can¡¯t park fifteen feet from a hydrant, and parking in front of a hydrant is illegal, the person suing doesn¡¯t have a case. Anytime I¡¯ve gone over to HQ to meet my client but was denied, I told the Union about it. The Union could take the Department to court for not allowing a member access to legal counsel.¡±


    I knew where he was going with his story. Those desk jockeys would do everything to play politics and save face, not letting any member have the right to legal access. A troubled member can¡¯t talk to a lawyer or a Union Representative because they¡¯ll use big words and terms the defendant won¡¯t understand, making it more severe than it is. A Union Rep or lawyer will either dumb it down or not make the charges sound severe because they¡¯re not.


    I decided to change the subject. ¡°So, what do you know about the fleet maintenance division?¡±


    Dave replied, ¡°Well, if the name doesn¡¯t tell you, then I don¡¯t know what will. Long explanation short, they work on both current and reserve apparatus. They even work on apparatus from towns around the city because those towns don¡¯t have a budget for a fleet maintenance division. Working on a 23-ton fire engine or a 46-ton fire truck is a lot different than a three-thousand-pound car. A normal car jack won¡¯t do because those can lift up to three thousand pounds. Even if you remove all the water and tools from the fire engine, you¡¯re just going to shave off 8,328 pounds and 14.1 ounces of water and a few hundred pounds of gear. A stainless steel ladder or an aluminum ladder and other gear on a fire truck weigh about five hundred pounds, give or take. That¡¯s still going to be over the weight limit of a normal jack.¡±


    I was about to say something when Dave continued, ¡°Oh yeah, we can use those towns¡¯ apparatus and vice versa. Heck, the main reason I joined the Fire Department was to make my father happy. The other reason was that I wanted to be a mechanic, a government mechanic, because the Fire Department is a government organization. But I¡¯m a Lieutenant Firefighter/Emergency Medical Technician, and I¡¯m also an in-house mechanic for Firehouse 16. I can do basic repairs and maintenance on Engine 16, Ladder 16, Super Engine 12, Urban Search and Rescue 3, Field Communications Unit 47, BLS Ambulance 5, ALS Ambulance 10, and Swift Water Rescue Unit. Even though Engine 16, Super Pumper 12, Ladder 16, and the USAR unit are a Cab over Engine design, the Field Communications Unit is based on a delivery step van, and the Swift Water Unit is just a pickup truck with a trailer attached with two inflatable boats.¡±


    I couldn¡¯t help but admire Dave¡¯s dedication and knowledge. He was a true asset to the Fire Department and a great cousin.


    I didn¡¯t talk about the legal procedure that¡¯s about to happen. But according to the laws of Little Bird, if the military pulls out of a contract prematurely, it opens up a Military Congressional Investigation to see why the Army canceled the contract with Strawberry Arms. If necessary, whatever evidence they find might go to the Little Bird Civilian Congress for another investigative hearing. These kinds of hearings and investigations can take months, if not years.


    But I know that when it becomes public that the son of Strawberry Arms assaulted an off-duty firefighter twice, harassed her, and broke into her apartment, the stockholders of Strawberry Arms would likely sell their stocks and invest in another company. Other weapon companies on Little Bird would see an increase in stocks and profits.


    The thing about Little Bird is that people have long memories. They see companies thinking they¡¯re above the law and they don¡¯t forget. While Strawberry Arms makes high-quality hunting and home defense weapons, their reputation doesn¡¯t mean much when other weapons manufacturers on Little Bird also produce high-quality weapons.


    I knew this was going to be a long and arduous battle, but I was ready. The support from Dave and my legal team gave me the strength to push forward. I wasn¡¯t just fighting for myself; I was fighting for everyone who had been wronged and for those who believed in justice. This was about more than just winning a case; it was about making a stand and showing that no one is above the law.


    ¡°Well, when it comes to the trial,¡± Dave began, ¡°it¡¯ll turn into a media circus because Strawberry Arms is a major company. All kinds of media will be outside the courthouse, asking questions. Even though the Army pulled out of the contract, Strawberry Arms still has enough money to fight a lengthy legal battle. Their lawyer costs will be pocket change to them. But at least here on Little Bird, companies can only choose one lawyer to represent them in court, not an entire army of lawyers. That¡¯s one thing I hate about corporations¡ªthey have the money to support their own but despise those who challenge them.


    "Heck, back in 1966, there was a class-action lawsuit against an amusement park of doom. The amusement park was following the safety regulations of the County of Mountain, not the stricter safety regulations set by the Country of Little Bird. A group of employees and some visitors got hurt when the roller coaster derailed. It was an ugly mess. My dad and Uncle Clark said some people were unrecognizable. When the class-action lawsuit came, employees had to either drop the case and be severely reprimanded or be fired and blacklisted from working in amusement parks again. Many employees and victims took an out-of-court settlement, but some refused. It was a legal battle in federal court.¡±


    I nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. ¡°That¡¯s what happens when companies take shortcuts and follow the bare minimum safety regulations. That¡¯s why my dad and I don¡¯t like amusement parks. We don¡¯t know what their safety regulations are or if they maintain their machines properly. Unlike carnivals or fairs on Little Bird, which have rides built to the highest standards under the country¡¯s safety regulations, not just the Commonwealth¡¯s.¡±


    Dave agreed. ¡°The Commonwealth of Mountain probably tried to save face afterward. The federal government¡¯s minimum safety requirements are much stricter and would have prevented the accident in the first place. I¡¯ve seen amusement parks here on Little Bird proudly state that they follow federal safety requirements, whether minimum, maximum, or in between. It makes me feel more secure and safe,¡±


    I replied, ¡°Probably safer than Fort Knox. Not the military installation, but the United States Bullion Depository, also known as Fort Knox.¡±


    Dave and I started to talk about family, and he mentioned how his niece Lucy is going through a rough divorce at the moment. Her in-laws are supporting their son and telling her to pretend what she walked in on never happened.


    I was about to ask for more details, but Dave continued, explaining that Lucy had married a very respectable man. His family is urging her to stop the divorce and act like nothing happened because if the truth got out, it would hurt his reputation and business. They refuse to partake in the divorce procedure, thinking Lucy will drop it sooner or later. However, the country of Little Bird has tough divorce laws, and since Lucy¡¯s soon-to-be ex-husband was unfaithful, it¡¯s an at-fault divorce.


    Dave mentioned that Lucy is staying with family and has a good case, so she can more or less take everything from her husband. He also reflected on how lucky his son-in-law is because the divorce is the easiest thing compared to what his father Bobby and Uncle Clark went through. They passed away seven years ago, but Dave is happy they died in the line of duty. They lived and breathed firefighting and would have been bored out of their minds in retirement. Dave¡¯s father was a fireman in Manhattan from 1921-1941, 1945-1950, and 1953 until his retirement in 1966. His granddad, Terrence Waterson, spent most of his life in the New York City Fire Department, only leaving to fight in World War II and the Korean War.


    Dave¡¯s father and uncle saw how much the job meant to their dad. Firefighting isn¡¯t like a normal nine-to-five job; each shift is different. One day, you might fight a fire that only requires a single engine company, and the next, you might need two or three engine companies. Sometimes, the chief might need to strike out an alarm that brings every apparatus to the scene, or you might have to fight a fire that you could just stomp out or kick some dirt on.


    Dave¡¯s father and uncle were volunteer firefighters¡ªBobby in Brooklyn and Clark in Staten Island. They tried to sign up for the US Army, Navy, Air Force, and Marine Corps to fight in Vietnam but were rejected due to Clark being cross-eyed and Bobby having shaky hands. They also tried to join the New York City Fire Department but were denied for the same reasons. So, they came to Little Bird. They were rejected by the Little Bird Armed Forces and labeled as ¡°4F¡± for both the United States and Little Bird Armed Forces. However, when they tried the Fire Department, they were shocked to find out that their numbers were called for the fire academy, and they got through it. Only cities have fire academies because towns can¡¯t afford them, but many fire academy recruits are from towns.


    Dave, Lusty, and I have seen native-born Empire candidates go through the fire academy and get assigned to towns they¡¯ve never been to. Take Dave, for example. He was born and raised in Clearlake, but when he got to the fire academy, he was assigned to Engine Co 16 in the city of Empire¡ªa city he had never been to before training. For a few months, he had to look at a map to navigate the big city.


    ¡°Hey Dave, you¡¯ve been a Captain since 2001¡­¡± I began to say.


    Dave replied, ¡°I¡¯m happy being a Captain. I¡¯m not in the mood to take the Officer exam to become a Lieutenant. My dad and uncle were Lieutenants, and to me, I¡¯m not interested in becoming a Lieutenant. I don¡¯t want to feel like I¡¯m taking a rank that I knew my dad and uncle to be from 1982 until their deaths.¡±


    To him, it¡¯s sentimental reasons and sentimental value why he¡¯s happy being a Captain and not interested in taking another officer exam to become a Lieutenant.


    I could see the emotion in his eyes as he spoke. It was clear that his decision was deeply personal and rooted in his respect and love for his family. I admired his dedication and the way he honored his father and uncle¡¯s legacy. It made me appreciate even more the bond we shared and the values that guided us in our work and lives.


    ¡°If my dad or uncle were still alive,¡± Dave said, ¡°they¡¯d be the type to say, ¡®You can cry when not working, but while on shift, people still need our help.¡¯ That¡¯s not him being rude; it¡¯s just how they coped with the job. They believed that while on shift, people needed their help at a moment¡¯s notice, and they had to be ready to do their job every time they went out the door. I agree with that. I run my company the same way my dad and uncle ran theirs back in Clearlake.


    "If someone in the company is having emotional problems or family issues, they would send them home. My dad and uncle wanted their company to be mentally and emotionally right because the last thing they wanted was to go into a fire for search and rescue with someone who wasn¡¯t right mentally and emotionally. They¡¯d be more prone to making mistakes that wouldn¡¯t have happened otherwise. So, whenever someone in my company isn¡¯t doing well emotionally and mentally, I just tell them to go home. I¡¯m more than willing to have a floater take their place until they are ready.¡±


    I could see why Dave was nicknamed ¡°Old Guard.¡± He made sure his company was mentally and emotionally fine so they didn¡¯t make avoidable mistakes, like venting a floor that a search team is on. In the fire academy, they teach to avoid venting where a search team would be entering or be at because fire is constantly looking for oxygen, and venting where the search team is just puts them in danger. Dave¡¯s dad and uncle put in 35 years in the fire department, even though it was in a town. While a smaller town doesn¡¯t have the same emergencies as cities, towns have different challenges.


    ¡°Don¡¯t make any mistake about the job. This job will make you pause to think about consequences,¡± Dave continued. ¡°But why we¡¯re so good at our job now is because of trial and error from previous generations of firefighters. We learned from their experiences because they had to learn the hard way. A hundred years ago, they didn¡¯t have the luxury of advanced tech or specialized units. They used their knowledge and experiences to teach the next generation. Most of the knowledge you¡¯re going to get is not from training or sitting in a classroom but from learning from the guys who¡¯ve been doing it for years. Take me and your girlfriend Lusty. I have more experience than her because I¡¯ve been on the job a year longer, even though she outranks me because she chose to become a Lieutenant. But what keeps us going is that there are still fires, still emergencies, and many people need help.¡±


    I understood where Dave was going with it. You can learn from books all you want, but you¡¯re going to get taught the same thing over and over. One way to truly gain experience and knowledge is by going out and learning it firsthand. Since Dave commands a Truck Company, he and his team are responsible for more tasks outside of an Engine Company¡¯s purview. While an Engine Company¡¯s job is to fight the fire and handle fire suppression, a Truck Company is tasked with forcible entry, search and rescue, ventilation, and ladder-pipe operations at the scene of a fire. They have more automatic tools, whereas an Engine Company has manual tools.


    Dave explained that those assigned to ventilation have a specific way to test if a roof is stable. They hold onto the ladder and drop their saw or ax onto the roof first. Then, with a firm grip on the ladder, they test the stability of the roof by carefully stepping onto it. If the roof isn¡¯t stable or falls while they¡¯re getting onto it, they still have the ladder to hold onto.


    Talking about the job was keeping my mind occupied, not thinking about the upcoming legal battle.


    ¡°I think you¡¯ll hate Emerald Pastors,¡± Dave said.


    ¡°Why?¡± I asked.


    ¡°I think common sense is a foreign concept to the middle-class families there,¡± Dave said. ¡°Last shift, near the tail end of the Rabius outbreak, we caught a fire in an apartment building.¡±


    ¡°Kitchen fire?¡± I guessed.


    ¡°Nope,¡± Dave replied. ¡°Candle fire. A candle fell onto a couch because it was too close to the edge of the end table. The fire spread throughout most of the apartment. Candles smell nice but can cause huge fires if left unattended. Whenever Linda and I leave our apartment, we blow out our candles so if any of them fall, they won¡¯t cause a fire. And they say those who are educated have a lower chance of causing fires.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, well, that¡¯s why I like Eastside,¡± I said. ¡°When I do inspections, people use their brains, and common sense is common in Eastside. Most fires we fight are unavoidable types, and people keep flammable things away, like keeping paper towels and cloth rags on the sink, not by the stove.¡±


    ¡°Who keeps a roll of paper towels or a cloth rag next to a stove? A nutcase?¡± Dave asked, shaking his head.


    I chuckled, appreciating the lighthearted moment amidst the serious conversation. It was these small exchanges that made the job a bit easier to handle.


    Dave and I continued chatting, and he mentioned how the most secure buildings on Little Bird are schools of all types. They¡¯re constructed with A-rated materials, meaning they¡¯re fireproof and have fire doors that securely latch. Fires produce air pressure that can blow open doors, so those fireproof doors lock in place, needing the push bar to be pressured first to open.


    I knew why this was the case. It¡¯s not just the local or Commonwealth government that investigates, but the federal government does too. Lusty told me many stories about her middle-high school mix (one half was middle school, the other half was high school). The school had many fires due to inadequate fire protection because it was up to par with fire prevention standards from the 1950s when it was built in 1958. By the time my girlfriend started high school in the 90s, fire protection laws and regulations had changed. The 1988 fire protection law required government buildings, high-rises, and schools to have self-sealing fireproof doors, sprinklers, and a fire alarm that alerted people to a fire in the building.


    Lusty lost most of her friends in high school due to fires that could have been prevented if the city government had spent money to modernize the school. The fire would have been slowed down until the first due company got there. But the city was being cheapskates. The school¡¯s floors and doors were made of a type of wood not tested by the Fire Prevention Bureau. Once the fire reached them, it took a while for the fire to burn through.


    A door made of fireproof materials would have slowed the fire from 20 minutes to 3 hours, not two or three minutes. The school wasn¡¯t made with natural furnishings but with synthetics. Allowing synthetic material into a public school is something I don¡¯t understand, even though studies have shown that synthetic materials burn a lot faster and hotter than natural furniture. I¡¯ve seen comparison videos about how synthetic furniture burns faster and starts a fire that¡¯s a lot hotter than natural furniture, which burns a lot slower. Lusty said it was too late for the city to do anything because she lost a lot of friends in middle school and high school due to school fires.


    The people of Eastside have memories that last a lifetime and don¡¯t go away easily. Lusty may work for the city, but she hates the city government. Every time there was a fire, the first thing the Fire Department did was conduct a fire investigation. Their reports always stated how unsafe it was for anyone to be in the school and recommended shutting it down for being a fire hazard. But the city would go behind the Fire Department¡¯s back and reopen the school, leading to the same disaster and the same cycle.


    Long story short, even in tragedies, the city council and politicians pointed their fingers at the Mayor, blaming her for the school fires. But the city council and Aldermen refused to allocate a budget for modernizing the schools, yet they wanted approval for construction contracts that were 4-10 times as much as it would have cost to bring the schools up to modern fire codes.


    Lusty says that Mayor Martinez is the only politician who never hid from the media. After each school fire, the city council and aldermen always issued a ¡°No comment¡± or were unavailable. Mayor Martinez, on the other hand, always came out and gave briefings about it. She showed proof of having conversations with the city council and Aldermen about allocating a budget to modernize schools to be more fire-resistant. But they always shot her down, saying the city didn¡¯t have the budget for it.


    To me, it¡¯s sad how it took almost two decades of pain and suffering for something to be done. The city faced intense public pressure and finally tore down the school, rebuilding it between 2000-2003 with fire-resistant materials and self-closing doors. They even added an FDC (Fire Department Connection) so if a hose team reaches its end, they can use a coupler to hook up two new hoses¡ªone for the hose team and the other to bring water from the standpipe.


    It wasn¡¯t long until my apartment phone rang. It was my attorney. He told me he was able to get CCTV recordings.


    ¡°You know what I love about this family?¡± I said.


    Dave replied, ¡°We are unbiased and are there for each other?¡±


    ¡°Yup,¡± I said. ¡°Back in the States, my dad told my extended family about me being a Firefighter/Emergency Medical Technician.¡±


    Dave replied, ¡°I bet a lot of them were in shock.¡±


    ¡°My dad said they were, but he said they never told him his only child should find a safer job,¡± I continued. ¡°They said while female firefighters are rare, if I want to do this, they won¡¯t say a thing.¡±


    Dave replied, ¡°But your grandparents and family from your mother¡¯s side?¡±


    ¡°Oh, they thought I would be more comfortable in a job as a secretary or domestically,¡± I said. ¡°My dad said if I wanted to do this, they had a choice: either support me or not contact me. My mom¡¯s family left me texts in the past saying how much I¡¯d be happier as a secretary, running a business, or being a housewife or homemaker.¡±


    Dave replied, ¡°Thought the U.S. had a second wave of feminism in the 60s and 70s?¡±


    ¡°It did,¡± I said. ¡°But it¡¯s just how some people I know still treat gals like it¡¯s the 1950s. When in time on Little Bird that¡­¡±


    Dave cut me off, ¡°February 19th, 1895.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s that date?¡± I asked.


    Dave informed me, ¡°When the Little Bird Civilian Congress allowed women to have legal and economic rights equal to those of men, such as the right to manage their own finances.¡±


    ¡°What about¡­¡± I started.


    Dave replied, ¡°May 17th, 1705. The Native Little Birdens had a majority in the newly formed government and said they would help form it if women had a say. The settlers couldn¡¯t say no because the Natives outnumbered them seven to two. So, on May 17th, 1705, the constitution of Little Bird allowed women the right to vote and hold a seat in Government.¡±


    ¡°Well, what about,¡± I began to say.


    Dave cut me off, ¡°January 1st, 1910, and June 22nd, 1937.¡±


    ¡°Which was?¡± I asked.


    Dave replied, ¡°The Little Bird Integration Act allowed women to reach higher levels of careers and join the military in administrative and clerical roles. In 1937, it was revised because the female population was higher than the male population due to World War I. To fulfill the manpower requests of the military, they had to do the unthinkable for the time. Allowing women in combat roles like infantry, machine gun teams, snipers, pilots, tank crews, and more.¡±


    I was amazed at how progressive Little Bird had been in terms of gender equality but at the same time it was either change or wait until change when it¡¯s too late. It made me appreciate even more the opportunities I had and the support from people like Dave. It was a reminder that while progress can be slow, it¡¯s essential to keep pushing forward for what¡¯s right.


    Dave then asked what my attorney wanted and I told him how he was able to get the security footage.


    ¡°I have a feeling,¡± Dave said.


    ¡°What feeling?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Strawberry Arms would either bribe the witnesses to look away,¡± Dave said.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t an episode of Law and Order,¡± I replied.


    ¡°I mean, some companies would bribe or hide witnesses so the prosecution can¡¯t call them if they can¡¯t find them,¡± Dave said.


    ¡°Isn¡¯t that a felony?¡± I asked.


    ¡°In some countries, it isn¡¯t, but on Little Bird, it is,¡± Dave explained. ¡°Both the prosecution and defense need every piece of evidence and witnesses so they can¡¯t bring surprise witnesses.¡±


    ¡°Sounds like a court scene from Law and Order,¡± I replied, shaking my head.


    Dave chuckled. ¡°Yeah, it does. But it¡¯s good to know that Little Bird takes these things seriously. It means we have a fair chance in court.¡±


    Dave asked if I knew what my attorney and I would do next, but I had no idea. He reassured me that I was lucky to live in a country where if a company like Strawberry Arms tried to bribe a politician or a member of either the Little Bird Civilian Congress or Military Congress, the Anti-Corruption Team (ACT) would investigate and arrest the bribed politician or member of Congress on charges of bribery. So, any money Strawberry Arms invested in bribery would be wasted if the politicians they bribed were just going to get arrested. Dave thinks they¡¯ll find a way one way or another.


    Dave also told me that if I couldn¡¯t afford my lawyer fees, all the Watersons, those in Little Bird and those back in America and Germany¡ªwould chip in to help pay. The Watersons have each other¡¯s backs no matter what. The son of Strawberry Arms attacking me was an attack on all Watersons, not just the ones on Little Bird but those in the U.S. and Germany as well.


    ____________________


    Two weeks later


    Criminal Court, Downtown Empire


    After a few tense minutes, I found myself glancing over at the defense table, trying to appear nonchalant. My heart pounded in my chest as I scanned the room, hoping to catch a glimpse of the man who had turned my life upside down. But he wasn''t there.


    I leaned over to my lawyer, whispering urgently, "My assaulter, harasser, and the same guy who broke into my apartment¡ªhe isn''t here."


    My lawyer gave me a reassuring nod, his voice calm and steady. "Don''t worry, Mackenzie. The judge will issue a bench warrant for his arrest or suspend his driver''s license for failing to appear."


    Just then, the heavy wooden doors of the courtroom swung open, and the judge entered, taking his place at the bench. The room fell silent, the air thick with anticipation. This was it¡ªthe moment of truth.


    The judge settled into his seat, adjusting his glasses as he picked up the docket. The courtroom was eerily silent, every eye fixed on him. He cleared his throat and began to read.


    "Next case on the docket: Mackenzie Waterson versus Strawberry Arms Corporation."


    My heart skipped a beat as he continued, "Ms. Waterson is suing Strawberry Arms Corporation due to allegations that the son of the owner, Mr. Jonathan Strawberry, assaulted her on two separate occasions, harassed her, and unlawfully entered her apartment."


    I could feel the weight of the room''s attention shift towards me. My lawyer placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder, but it did little to calm the storm of emotions swirling inside me. This was my chance to finally hold Jonathan accountable for the terror he had inflicted upon me.


    The judge looked up from the docket, his gaze piercing through the courtroom. "Is the defendant present?" he asked, his voice echoing off the walls.


    The defense attorney stood up, looking slightly flustered. "Your Honor, Mr. Strawberry is not present today."


    The judge''s expression hardened. "Very well. Given the seriousness of the allegations and the defendant''s failure to appear, I will issue a bench warrant for his arrest. Additionally, his driver''s license will be suspended until he complies with the court''s orders."


    A murmur rippled through the courtroom. I felt a small sense of relief, knowing that at least some form of justice was being served. But I also knew this was just the beginning. There was still a long road ahead, and I was determined to see it through to the end.


    The judge turned his attention back to me. "Ms. Waterson, you have the floor. Please proceed with your testimony."


    I took a deep breath, standing up and facing the judge. "Your Honor, the events that led me here today have been nothing short of a nightmare. Jonathan Strawberry has not only assaulted me twice but has also harassed me relentlessly and broken into my apartment. I am here to seek justice and ensure that he is held accountable for his actions."


    As I spoke, I could see the judge listening intently, his expression serious. This was my moment to be heard, and I wasn''t going to let it slip away.


    The judge leaned forward, his eyes narrowing slightly as he addressed the defense attorney. "Before we proceed, I need to know if there were any attempts to settle this matter out of court."


    The defense attorney stood up, adjusting his tie nervously. "Yes, Your Honor. We made several attempts to reach a settlement with Ms. Waterson. The first offer was for $50,000, the second for $60,000, and the third for $75,000. Each time, Ms. Waterson refused our offers."


    The judge turned his gaze to me, his expression curious. "Ms. Waterson, is this true? Were you offered these settlements?"


    I nodded, my voice steady as I replied, "Yes, Your Honor. I was offered those amounts to drop the case and look the other way. But I refused each time because I wasn''t interested in an out-of-court settlement. I know that if I had accepted, nothing would have changed. Jonathan Strawberry would have continued to evade justice."


    The judge''s expression softened slightly, a hint of respect in his eyes. "I see. And why did you choose to pursue a trial instead?"


    I took a deep breath, gathering my thoughts. "Your Honor, this isn''t just about money for me. It''s about justice. Even if I lose this case, I want to send a message that not everyone can be bought off. I want to show that there are people who will stand up for what''s right, no matter the cost."


    The judge nodded, his gaze unwavering. "Very well, Ms. Waterson. Your determination is noted. We will proceed with the trial."


    As I sat back down, I felt a renewed sense of purpose. This was my chance to make a difference, to stand up against the powerful and show that justice would prevail. No matter the outcome, I knew I was doing the right thing.


    The judge turned his attention to Mr. Strawberry, his expression stern. "Mr. Strawberry, I need to understand why you had your son released from the police department after he assaulted an off-duty firefighter twice, harassed her, and broke into her apartment. And let me be clear, I do not want to hear about how ''Strawberry Arms is important to the defense industry.'' There are other weapons manufacturers in Little Bird that are just as significant."


    Mr. Strawberry shifted uncomfortably in his seat, clearly taken aback by the judge''s directness. He opened his mouth to speak, but the judge raised a hand to stop him.


    "Furthermore," the judge continued, "I am aware that the Little Bird Army has already pulled out of their billion-dollar annual contract with the Marines. They are currently deliberating whether to terminate their contract with Strawberry Arms early. This case is not about your company''s contributions to national defense. It is about the actions of your son and the impact they have had on Ms. Waterson."


    The courtroom was silent, the tension palpable. Mr. Strawberry''s lawyer looked flustered, but Mr. Strawberry himself seemed to regain some composure. He stood up, addressing the judge directly.


    "Your Honor, I... I believed that my son was being unfairly treated by the police. I thought that by having him released, I could handle the situation privately and ensure that he faced the necessary consequences within our family."


    The judge''s expression remained stern. "Mr. Strawberry, the law applies to everyone, regardless of their status or family connections. Your son''s actions are serious, and they must be addressed through the proper legal channels. This court will not tolerate any attempts to circumvent justice."


    Mr. Strawberry nodded, his face pale. "I understand, Your Honor. I apologize for my actions."


    The judge turned his attention back to me. "Ms. Waterson, please continue with your testimony."


    I took a deep breath, feeling a renewed sense of determination. I knew that the road ahead would be challenging, but I was ready to face it head-on. This was my chance to seek justice, and I was not going to let it slip away.


    I took a deep breath, steadying myself before recounting the events of that fateful day. "Your Honor, it all started when I left my apartment for a morning run. I wanted to get some cardio exercise in before the day got too hot. During my run, I bumped into a classmate from Arcane University. We chatted for a bit, catching up on old times. Afterward, I decided to grab a hot dog and soda for brunch from a nearby stand."


    I paused, gathering my thoughts before continuing. "That''s when Mr. Strawberry''s son attacked me. It was completely unprovoked. We were both taken to the 10th Precinct, but I was released due to self-defense laws. However, Mr. Strawberry''s son was also released. I saw the 10th Precinct Captain and a lawyer from Strawberry Arms talking like they were planning a poker night, as if they were close friends or the lawyer was calling in a favor."


    I could see the judge listening intently, his expression serious. "After leaving the precinct, I went over to my girlfriend''s penthouse. We talked for a while, and I helped her eldest daughter with her multiplication homework. It was a brief moment of normalcy in an otherwise chaotic day."


    I took another deep breath, feeling the weight of the memories. "When I left the penthouse, I encountered Mr. Strawberry''s son again. He harassed me and tried to attack me once more. Again, I was released due to self-defense laws. Later, as I was out walking, I received a phone call saying someone had broken into my apartment. It was Mr. Strawberry''s son again. He was arrested for burglary, but he got out once more."


    The judge''s expression hardened as he absorbed my testimony. "Thank you, Ms. Waterson. Your account of the events is noted. We will proceed with the case."


    I sat back down, feeling a mix of relief and determination.


    My lawyer stood up, his voice confident and clear. "Your Honor, I would like to present evidence that supports my client''s testimony. We have obtained CCTV footage of the attacks and harassment. Additionally, we have identified several witnesses who can corroborate Ms. Waterson''s account."


    He paused, glancing at the defense table before continuing. "Some of these witnesses were initially hesitant to come forward. However, I informed them that if they refused to testify, I would have no choice but to issue subpoenas to compel their appearance in court."


    The defense lawyer immediately stood up, his expression indignant. "Your Honor, it is illegal for the prosecution or defense to threaten individuals with subpoenas. This is a clear violation of legal ethics."


    My lawyer remained calm, addressing the judge directly. "Your Honor, a subpoena is a court order that can be issued by a judge, a lawyer, or the District Attorney''s office. It is a legal tool used to ensure that witnesses appear in court to provide their testimony. Informing potential witnesses of the possibility of a subpoena is not a threat; it is a statement of legal procedure. Failing to appear in court after receiving a subpoena is considered contempt of court and can result in legal consequences."


    The judge nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Thank you for the clarification. The court will review the CCTV footage and hear from the witnesses. We will proceed with the case based on the evidence presented."


    The bailiff approached the evidence table, retrieving the video footage that my lawyer had mentioned. He carefully set up the equipment, ensuring that the screen was visible to everyone in the courtroom. The judge nodded, signaling for the footage to be played.


    The room fell silent as the video began. The first clip showed me leaving my apartment for my morning run, the timestamp clearly visible in the corner. The footage then transitioned to me chatting with a friend from Arcane University, their conversation animated and friendly. Next, the video showed her buying a hot dog and soda for brunch, the vendor handing her the food with a smile.


    The atmosphere in the courtroom grew tense as the footage shifted to the first attack. Mr. Strawberry''s son could be seen approaching me aggressively, and the ensuing struggle was captured in stark detail. The video then showed both of us being taken to the 10th Precinct, with me being released shortly after.


    The next segment of the footage depicted me arriving at my girlfriend''s penthouse, where she spent some time helping with homework and talking. The video then showed me leaving the penthouse and encountering Mr. Strawberry''s son again. This time, the harassment and second assault were clearly visible, with me defending myself once more.


    The final clip was perhaps the most damning. It showed the hallway outside of my apartment, with Mr. Strawberry''s son breaking in. The footage captured him rummaging through my belongings before being arrested by the police for the third time that day.


    As the video played, murmurs spread through the courtroom. The jury and the people in the gallery whispered to each other, reacting to the clear evidence of the attacks and harassment. The judge banged his gavel, calling for order.


    "Quiet down, please," the judge commanded, his voice firm. "We will have order in the court."


    The murmurs subsided, and the judge turned his attention back to my lawyer. "Thank you for presenting this evidence. It is clear and compelling. We will now hear from the witnesses."


    Mr. Strawberry''s face turned a deep shade of red as he buried it in his hands, the weight of the situation crashing down on him. He had hoped that the charges against his son could be managed, but the reality was far worse than he had anticipated. One assault charge was bad enough, but now there were two assault charges, a harassment charge, and a breaking and entering charge. To make matters worse, his son had been arrested three times in a single day, and each time, Mr. Strawberry had bailed him out before they even went to court for bail.


    The footage that had just been shown in court was damning. It was clear, undeniable proof of his son''s actions and Mr. Strawberry knew that it would be enough to convince any jury. Only ten minutes had passed since the video started playing, but it felt like an eternity. He realized that this was going to be a long and arduous battle, and swaying the jury in his favor would be nearly impossible.


    He glanced over at his lawyer who looked equally troubled. They both knew that getting the evidence dismissed as inadmissible was not an option. The footage had been obtained legally, and there were multiple copies of it. It was admissible in court, and there was no way around it.


    Mr. Strawberry''s mind raced as he tried to think of a way to salvage the situation. But deep down, he knew that his son''s actions had made things infinitely worse. The evidence was overwhelming, and the path to victory seemed more elusive than ever. He could only hope that his lawyer could come up with a strategy to mitigate the damage, but even that seemed like a long shot.


    As the courtroom settled back into silence, Mr. Strawberry braced himself for the long road ahead. This was going to be a difficult fight, and the odds were stacked against him. But he had no choice but to face it head-on, hoping for the best in a seemingly hopeless situation.


    The judge turned his gaze to Mr. Strawberry, his expression stern. "Mr. Strawberry, I must ask, why is your son not present in court today to defend his own case? He is an adult, not a child, yet you are here protecting him."


    Mr. Strawberry shifted uncomfortably in his seat, clearly at a loss. "Your Honor, I... I don''t know. My son lives a life of debauchery, and I have no control over his actions. I don''t know why he isn''t here."


    The judge''s expression hardened. "Mr. Strawberry, it is your son''s actions that are ruining your business in the defense industry. By continually saving him from legal trouble, you are not only hurting your wallet but also damaging your company''s profits and reputation. This cannot continue."


    Mr. Strawberry looked down, clearly troubled by the judge''s words. The weight of the situation was becoming increasingly apparent.


    My lawyer stood up, addressing the court. "Your Honor, we are ready to begin interviewing the witnesses if the defense has no objections."


    The defense attorney, looking flustered, nodded reluctantly. "No objections, Your Honor."


    The judge nodded in agreement. "Very well. You may proceed with the witness interviews."


    My lawyer turned to the first witness, ready to begin the questioning. The courtroom was silent, the tension palpable as the trial continued.


    From my seat, I watched as my lawyer called the first witness to the stand. The tension in the courtroom was still thick, but I felt a sense of calm wash over me. This was the moment we had prepared for.


    The witness, a middle-aged woman who had been jogging in the park the morning of the first attack, took her place and was sworn in. My lawyer approached her with a reassuring smile.


    "Can you please state your name and occupation for the record?" he asked.


    "My name is Linda Thompson, and I''m a schoolteacher," she replied, her voice steady.


    "Ms. Thompson, can you describe what you witnessed on the morning of the incident two weeks ago?" my lawyer continued.


    Linda nodded. "I was out for my morning jog when I saw a man approach Ms. Waterson aggressively. He grabbed her, and there was a struggle. It was clear that she was defending herself."


    The defense attorney shifted in his seat but remained silent. There were no grounds for an objection; the testimony was straightforward and relevant.


    My lawyer moved on to the next witness, a vendor who had sold me the hot dog and soda. "Can you please state your name and occupation for the record?"


    "My name is Carlos Ramirez, and I run a food cart," he said.


    "Carlos, can you tell the court what you saw that day?" my lawyer asked.


    Carlos nodded. "I saw Ms. Waterson buying a hot dog and soda from my cart. Shortly after, a man approached her and started yelling. He then attacked her. She fought back, and they were both taken away by the police."


    Again, the defense attorney had no grounds for an objection. The testimony was clear and corroborated the video evidence.


    As each witness took the stand, they recounted their memories of the events from two weeks ago. My lawyer''s questions were precise and to the point, leaving no room for doubt. The defense attorney attempted to object a few times, but each objection was overruled by the judge.


    The final witness was a neighbor who had seen Mr. Strawberry''s son breaking into my apartment. "Can you please state your name and occupation for the record?" my lawyer asked.


    "My name is Sarah Jenkins, and I''m a nurse," she replied.


    "Ms. Jenkins, can you describe what you witnessed on the day of the break-in?" my lawyer continued.


    Sarah nodded. "I was coming home from work when I saw a man forcing his way into Ms. Waterson''s apartment. I called the police immediately, and they arrived shortly after to arrest him."


    The defense attorney remained silent, knowing that there was no way to discredit the clear and consistent testimonies.


    As the witnesses finished their testimonies, I felt a sense of relief. Their accounts had painted a vivid picture of the events, and the evidence was undeniable. This was my chance to seek justice, and I was determined to see it through to the end.


    The defense lawyer stood up, ready to cross-examine the witnesses. He approached Carlos first, a slight smirk on his face as if he thought he could trip him up with trivial details.


    "Mr. Ramirez," he began, "can you tell the court what kind of hot dog Ms. Waterson purchased from your cart?"


    Carlos nodded confidently. "She got an Sour Empire dog, which is a Chicago bun with Italian sausage and sauerkraut."


    The defense lawyer raised an eyebrow. "And what kind of soda did she get?"


    "A soda like Sprite. It cost $4.27. She paid five bucks but when I gave her change she put it in the tip jar," Carlos replied without hesitation.


    The defense lawyer seemed momentarily taken aback by Carlos''s precise answers. He quickly moved on to the next witness, Ms. Jenkins.


    "Ms. Jenkins," he started, "how do you know Ms. Waterson?"


    Ms. Jenkins smiled warmly. "We''re neighbors. I live a few doors down from her."


    "And have you ever interacted with Ms. Waterson outside of this incident?" the defense lawyer asked, trying to find any inconsistency.


    "Yes, a few times," Ms. Jenkins replied. "I''ve borrowed sugar from her and asked to borrow other items, which I always returned. She''s always been kind and helpful."


    The defense lawyer was grasping at straws, trying to discredit the witnesses. But their answers were clear, consistent, and backed up my account of the events perfectly.


    As the cross-examination dragged on, I couldn''t help but feel a swell of pride. My witnesses were rock solid, and their testimonies were bulletproof. The defense lawyer''s attempts to poke holes in their stories were falling flat.


    It wasn''t long before the defense called for a quick recess, and the judge granted it.


    During the break, my lawyer leaned in and whispered, "I think the defense is scared. They can''t object to the security footage or the testimonies because everything aligns perfectly. The CCTV footage backs up what the witnesses are saying."


    Then, the defense approached us. They asked what it would take for me to drop the case against Herbert Strawberry and Strawberry Arms. I told them I''d drop it if Herbert''s son appeared and gave a public, heartfelt apology. They relayed my demands to Herbert, and it seemed he agreed. He figured he could apologize and then go into full damage control mode for his son''s actions.


    When court resumed, the defense announced that I was willing to drop the charges against Herbert Strawberry and Strawberry Arms but would continue the case against Herbert''s son. The judge asked if this was true, and I confirmed it. The judge then dropped the case against Herbert and adjourned the court until tomorrow at 8 AM sharp.


    I knew why the case was adjourned, but I wasn''t about to say anything about it.


    ---


    The next day in the courtroom, I watched as Jonathan Strawberry walked in. It was clear the bench warrant issued yesterday had caught up with him. I could only imagine his surprise when he called his dad for bail, only to be refused. Herbert Strawberry wasn''t going to help his son this time, not with the lawsuit I had filed now in full swing.


    The press had a field day with the news of Jonathan''s multiple offenses¡ªtwo counts of assault, harassment, and burglary. It was baffling how the EPD had let him go and how those cases had just vanished. But now, people were starting to put two and two together.


    When I glanced over at Jonathan, I saw him lean towards his lawyer, clearly confused. "What are the charges?" he asked, catching even his lawyer off guard. After a moment, his lawyer explained, "You''re being charged with two counts of assault, one count of harassment, and burglary."


    It was evident that Strawberry Arms and his father had decided to let him face the consequences alone. Jonathan''s actions had severely tarnished the company''s reputation and hit their profit margins hard. They weren''t going to bail him out this time.


    Jonathan even asked his lawyer if they had tried to settle out of court with me. His lawyer explained that Jonathan''s father and his father''s lawyer had attempted to settle three times, but I had politely declined, preferring to go to trial.


    Jonathan then suggested that his lawyer, Mr. Thompson, should make me accept an out-of-court settlement. However, his lawyer calmly explained that they couldn''t force me to take a settlement. I had the right to accept or decline at my discretion and no lawyer from Strawberry Arms could coerce or threaten me into settling. Even if they offered to cover my attorney fees if I dropped the case, I would still have declined.


    I found it amusing how Jonathan was talking so loudly that everyone within a ten-foot radius could hear him. Meanwhile, I was speaking to my lawyer in hushed tones, ensuring our conversation remained private. Jonathan''s loud outbursts only highlighted his immaturity and his reliance on his father''s protection.


    One thing I appreciate about being a Waterson is that my dad always encouraged me to act mature and responsible, not like a manchild. This whole scene felt like something straight out of a "Law and Order" episode, even though my dad didn''t let me watch that show until I was fourteen back in 1998.


    The CCTV footage, the apartment hallway recordings, and the testimonies from four witnesses were all we needed. The defense had nothing to get Jonathan out of trouble. Even if they did, my lawyer would have known about it. According to Little Bird national laws, if the prosecution discovers evidence, they must share it with the defense, and vice versa.


    To me, it kind of reminded me of "Brady vs. Maryland," a landmark case from 1963. But Little Bird has a law that predates the American one. Back in 1921, Little Bird tried a man for a triple homicide. The prosecution withheld evidence that would have proven his innocence, leading to a 45-year sentence. After 12 years, new evidence came to light, proving his innocence. He was released, his record expunged, but he couldn''t get those 12 years back. He sued the prosecution for withholding crucial evidence that could have cleared him.


    "What if the defense tries to bring in a surprise witness?" I asked.


    My lawyer replied, "If they do that without informing me, I can contest the witness and have the court discredit them. Both sides must disclose evidence and witness lists so the other side can prepare and not be blindsided."


    I understood what my lawyer meant. You can''t defend yourself against something you don''t know about.


    We both knew that any evidence or witnesses had to be disclosed. If not, it could be ruled inadmissible. It felt like a Brady violation, but since we weren''t in the United States, it was more like a mirrored version of it.


    Soon, the judge entered the courtroom. With the evidence my lawyer had gathered and the solid testimonies from the witnesses, my case seemed pretty open and shut. I couldn''t understand why Jonathan thought he could fight it out in court. Whatever tricks he had up his sleeve, my lawyer would get them ruled inadmissible.


    When Mr. Thompson wasn''t defending Jonathan, Jonathan tried to get the evidence removed and ruled inadmissible himself. The judge, clearly fed up with Jonathan''s childish behavior, held him in contempt of court. The judge sternly told Mr. Thompson to get a hold of his client and warned Jonathan that he was in a court of law, not an elementary school. He needed to act his age, not like a schoolboy.


    The judge even warned Jonathan that he wouldn''t hesitate to send him to prison for the remainder of the trial to ensure he showed up on time each day. Yesterday, Jonathan was a no-show, and the judge made it clear that if another bench warrant had to be issued, Jonathan would be put in prison. This way, the court system could keep an eye on him and ensure he appeared in court right on the dot.


    Mr. Strawberry''s face was priceless. Jonathan was so used to getting his way, thanks to his dad always bailing him out. But now, his dad had jumped ship to save his own reputation and salvage what he could for Strawberry Arms. Jonathan''s expression said it all. "I can''t believe my dad left me high and dry." To me, it was a form of tough love, a message that daddy won''t always be around to clean up your mess. Jonathan needed to learn to take care of his own responsibilities.


    My dad was the total opposite. While he held me to low standards, it was to teach me to own up to my responsibilities and actions, to gain independence. Whenever I messed up, I had to own it.


    Jonathan''s father, on the other hand, had spoiled and enabled him, always cleaning up his messes. While I agree that parents should protect their children until they''re old enough to understand the consequences of their actions, there''s a balance. I was raised by mixed parents¡ªmy dad being the authoritative one and my mom being the neglectful one.


    Jonathan reminded me of my aunt''s spoiled daughter at one of my birthday parties. I remember wishing I had a Neuralizer from Men in Black to erase that memory. At the party, my cousin blew out my birthday candles twice before my dad relit them and my family blocked her, allowing me to finally blow them out. She even tore open my presents like it was her birthday and my aunt had the audacity to suggest the restaurant make a new cake because her daughter didn''t like the flavor.


    My dad firmly reminded her that it was my birthday, not my cousin''s. The looks on my family''s faces said it all. "Is this woman out of her damn fucking mind?" Eventually, my family managed to save some unopened presents for me, but my cousin threw a tantrum because it wasn''t all about her anymore. Everyone in the restaurant gave my aunt and her daughter disapproving glares. In the Waterson family, if a kid threw a tantrum, the parents would give them a look that said, "Go on, keep throwing a tantrum, and we''ll give you a reason to cry."


    Back in the courtroom, the trial continued with a few more witnesses. My lawyer had to issue subpoenas because, in Little Bird, not showing up after being subpoenaed results in an All Points Bulletin (APB) for the cops to find you, whether at home, work, or in between. For someone working in construction, landscaping, or remodeling, the last thing they want is to be hauled away by the cops for not appearing in court on the specified date.


    Jonathan¡¯s lawyer tried to poke holes in the testimonies, but they were airtight. The CCTV footage outside the park where I stopped for a hot dog and soda confirmed the first attack. The footage outside my girlfriend¡¯s apartment building and the security camera in my apartment building''s hallway showed Jonathan committing breaking and entering, which my neighbor confirmed. My lawyer even had a copy of the police dispatcher receiving the call.


    When Jonathan argued that he and his lawyer didn¡¯t get a copy, Mr. Thompson quickly interjected, confirming they did have it. He then told Jonathan to stop talking and let him handle it. Lying about not having the copy was perjury, especially since they had sworn under oath to tell the truth before the trial began.


    The trial was going smoothly. My lawyer was on fire, highlighting the key points with precision. He made it clear that Jonathan''s first assault on me was completely unprovoked. The second assault, along with the harassment and burglary, was premeditated. The CCTV footage outside my girlfriend¡¯s apartment showed Jonathan waiting for me, confirming the harassment and the second assault. My lawyer had already sent a copy of this footage to the defense before the trial began.


    Even though I was in a criminal court, my thoughts kept drifting to my dad. I wondered if he had left me an inheritance. I had already created my own will, ensuring that 25% of my assets would go to Lusty and her kids, 25% to Dave, Linda, and their kids, and the remaining 50% to my family on the Waterson side or to charity if they didn''t want anything. My dad always said that each person has a biological clock that determines their lifespan.


    As the trial progressed, it became clear that Mr. Thompson, Jonathan''s lawyer, was hardly putting up a defense. I mentioned to my lawyer that it might be because the evidence was so overwhelming that Jonathan had dug himself into a hole too deep to climb out of.


    My dad always told me about karma¡ªthat what goes around comes around.


    When the day concluded, I asked my lawyer, "So, the jury?"


    "They believe Jonathan is guilty," he replied. "His attorney has been tight-lipped throughout the day."


    We left the courthouse, knowing that all government buildings, except fire and police stations, have business hours from eight to five or seven to five.


    At least I wasn''t up against an HOA. The Watersons back in America avoid Homeowner Associations like the plague. Many of my family members in the US fly the American flag and refuse to live in gated communities where people abuse their power. That''s why 98% of my family in the US live in rural areas, with the other 2% in suburbia.


    When day three of the trial began, the defense claimed they had found evidence to prove Jonathan''s innocence and had new witnesses. However, when the judge asked if this had been disclosed to the prosecution, my lawyer revealed that we had only been informed about it ten seconds ago. We hadn''t been given any prior notice.


    Even though Little Bird is a police state, it has due process, the right to a fair and speedy trial, an impartial jury, legal representation, and the right to confront witnesses. It also ensures the right to a jury trial in federal courts for civil cases where the claim exceeds a certain amount. Judges can''t overrule facts revealed by the jury, and there are protections against excessive bail and fines, as well as "cruel and unusual" punishment. Incarcerated individuals are also protected from discrimination and unequal treatment based on race, sex, or creed.


    When asked why the evidence and witnesses weren¡¯t disclosed to the prosecution, Mr. Thompson said he couldn¡¯t reach the prosecution because he called his law firm, but the front desk receptionist said my lawyer had walked out the door a few minutes before Mr. Thompson called and was on his way to the courthouse.


    The judge allowed it. My lawyer had left his office before Mr. Thompson called, and while he tried to get in contact, my lawyer was unavailable. Mr. Thompson arrived at the courthouse a few minutes before the trial began and couldn¡¯t find us because my lawyer and I were in a side room where lawyers and their clients can talk with privacy screens down for confidentiality. The privacy screen was more like curtains or blinds, or those projector screens in schools. I remember copying school work off a projector screen in school. Back then, I didn¡¯t have perfect eyesight, so when my eyes could finally align to see what I had to write down, the teacher would already start erasing it and write something else. I had to copy from friends.


    My lawyer didn¡¯t object to the new evidence and witnesses, but he could have. He was unavailable when the defense tried to get in contact. I didn¡¯t say anything, but my lawyer assured me he could discredit the new witnesses and get the new evidence ruled as inadmissible if they were found illegally or if the defense intimidated the witnesses. He claimed to be an expert at discrediting witnesses and getting fake evidence labeled as inadmissible. I took his word with a grain of salt because I¡¯ve heard stories of lawyers claiming to be experts but failing to do their jobs. People have hired the wrong type of lawyer, like a divorce lawyer for a criminal case, and it ended disastrously.


    When I got my lawyer, I specifically asked the receptionist for a criminal lawyer or one who specializes in lawsuits, and my lawyer is a criminal attorney. I know when my dad and mom got divorced, neither of them got a divorce lawyer because they couldn¡¯t afford one. Even though family members across America offered to help with legal fees, my parents went through an at-fault divorce because my mother was an ungrateful wife who took advantage of my father. His family, extended family, and even his future in-laws warned him that marrying my mother would be like riding with the devil, but he thought they were overexaggerating. From 1984 to 2007, my dad was stuck in a loveless marriage, hoping she would come around and be a role model mother to their only daughter. Unfortunately, she never did.


    The new first witness called was John, my former classmate from Arcane University back in the day. Whatever the defense had planned, it backfired spectacularly. John defended me, saying that while I might be a tomboy with a fiery side, I¡¯m the living definition of ¡°If you attack me first, I¡¯m retaliating¡± and ¡°An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.¡± Even now, I won¡¯t attack someone without justification. If someone bad-mouths my dad, that¡¯s justification enough. Even though we hadn¡¯t met for a couple of years until the other day, he said that even as a firefighter, I won¡¯t attack without provocation or in self-defense.


    I wore my suit to court, not a dress. I have two suits: my U.S. Navy Service Dress Uniform and my Fire Department City of Empire Dress Blues. I decided to wear the latter because I can wear suit pants instead of a skirt.


    The judge mentioned that the last time there was a firefighter in his courtroom was during the 1981 Firefighter Strike. The FDE (Fire Department City of Empire) went on strike for pay, benefits, working conditions, and staffing levels. The city firefighters back then struck for almost an entire year because their pay was poor and hadn¡¯t increased since 1932. Their working conditions were terrible, with most of their breathing apparatus and bunker gear dating back to the 1950s, and only officers getting canvas jackets. Staffing levels were so low that a company would often be understaffed, and studies showed that fewer than five firefighters on a piece of apparatus significantly reduced the company¡¯s effectiveness. It was so bad that even the city volunteer firefighters joined the strike, despite having normal jobs and only going to their volunteer firehouses when their pagers went off.


    But my lawyer was able to cross-examine John, and John painted me not as a saint nor a devil, but as a good-hearted rascal.


    The defense¡¯s plan had clearly backfired.


    The next so-called witness wasn¡¯t even a witness but my father. Even swearing under oath on the stand, my dad made it clear that no sane father would abandon his daughter. He emphasized that he would always help me and that he wasn''t about to throw his daughter under the bus. He spoke about how, every day in my youth, he was by my side, always supporting me. He wasn''t expecting to get a subpoena from a foreign court and come here, and he would rather be at work than wasting his day in court. He made it clear that nothing the defense could say or do would make him say something he never would.


    My dad''s testimony was powerful. He spoke with conviction, and his love and support for me were evident. He recounted how he had always been there for me, through thick and thin. He talked about the sacrifices he had made to ensure I had a good upbringing and how he had always encouraged me to stand up for myself and do what was right.


    The defense tried to rattle him, but my dad stood firm. He reiterated that he would never abandon me and that he was proud of the person I had become. He mentioned how he had taught me the values of honesty, integrity, and standing up for what is right. He made it clear that he believed in me and that he knew I would never attack someone without provocation.


    The judge and jury were visibly moved by my dad''s testimony. It was clear that his words had a significant impact on the courtroom. My lawyer didn''t need to cross-examine him; his testimony spoke for itself.


    As the trial continued, the defense''s case seemed to be falling apart. Their attempts to discredit me were failing, and their witnesses were not holding up under scrutiny. My lawyer remained confident, and I could see that the jury was leaning in our favor.


    Throughout the trial, I couldn''t help but think about my dad''s words and the support he had always given me. It gave me strength and reassurance that we were on the right path. I knew that with my dad and my lawyer by my side, we would get through this.


    The defense tried to undermine my dad''s testimony, but my lawyer quickly called for an objection on the grounds of badgering. The judge sustained the objection, recognizing that the defense was badgering my dad for information about my youth. My dad stood firm on the stand, defending me passionately. He pointed out that the defense had no understanding of my background, especially the fact that my mother was neglectful and never cared for me. It was always my dad who took care of me, even if it meant making me dinner at ten minutes to midnight to ensure I ate before bed. My mother was so self-centered that she never considered that being a parent meant it wasn''t all about her anymore.


    My dad made it clear that the defense had no grounds for dismissing his testimony as hearsay because they were never there. He emphasized that if necessary, he could bring in family members who watched over me when he was deployed for the U.S. Invasion of Panama in 1989 or the Gulf War. They would testify to the same effect, reinforcing his statements about my upbringing and his unwavering support.


    The defense''s attempts to discredit my dad only served to strengthen our case. The jury could see the genuine love and dedication my dad had for me, and it was clear that his testimony was credible and heartfelt. My lawyer''s objection and the judge''s ruling further highlighted the defense''s desperation and lack of solid arguments. It was another victory for our side, and it bolstered our confidence as the trial continued.


    When my lawyer asked my dad a single question, "Mr. Waterson, how would you feel if someone went after your daughter?" my dad didn''t hesitate. He gave his testimony with conviction, saying that anyone who comes after me looking for a fight will get the first swing, but I''ll strike back with my mean right hook. He even joked that my fists have demonic powers because of how strong my right hook is. He recounted a story from my school days when I had a bully. My dad tried to settle it peacefully, but the bully''s parents didn''t care about their child''s behavior. The bully''s mother even sent her brother, who was a cop, to talk to my dad.


    When the cop asked my dad if his name was his actual name, my dad simply said, "I plead the fifth." He explained that in the United States, the Fifth Amendment includes a clause that allows people or witnesses to decline to answer questions to avoid self-incrimination. The bully''s uncle had to leave because there was nothing he could do legally. If he had put his hands on my dad, my dad could have sued the Killen Police Department for abusive police procedures. Instead, my dad told his cousin, who was like a brother to him, and my cousin once removed sent her daughter over to talk to my bully.


    My lawyer had no other questions for my dad, only that one. After my dad''s powerful testimony, the judge dismissed him because neither the defense nor the prosecution had any further questions. I wasn''t surprised to see my dad wearing his U.S. Army Dress Service Uniform. It was the only suit he had, and this was the first time he wore it since 1993.


    The courtroom was silent for a moment after my dad left the stand. His testimony had left a strong impression on everyone present. The defense''s attempts to undermine him had failed, and my dad''s unwavering support for me had only strengthened our case. The jury seemed to be even more convinced of my integrity and the truth of our side of the story.


    As the trial continued, I felt a renewed sense of confidence. With my dad and my lawyer by my side, I knew we were on the right path. The defense''s case was crumbling, and it was only a matter of time before justice would prevail.


    The defense called another witness, and to my dismay, it was my mother. She sided with the defense and lied on the stand, just as I had feared. My mother has always been self-centered, caring only about herself. I still don''t know why I agreed to help her with her rehab by having her move in with me instead of staying at the rehab center 24/7. What she said on the stand was completely blown out of proportion.


    She claimed that I was a problem child, always fighting with her, throwing things, breaking stuff, and being unhinged. She painted me as a brat who, no matter how much love she gave, was always difficult. But I knew she was lying. My lawyer noticed me breathing slowly, sweating, and shaking. He tried to call for a recess on the grounds that my mother''s testimony was making me uncomfortable, but the judge denied it.


    When I tried to take a sip of water from a glass cup, my hands were shaking so much that I dropped the glass onto the floor. The judge asked if I was okay, and my lawyer answered for me, saying no and explaining why we needed a quick recess. The judge finally allowed for a half-hour recess.


    During the recess, my lawyer reassured me that we would handle my mother''s false testimony. He reminded me that the jury could see through her lies and that we had the evidence and witnesses to support our case. I took a few deep breaths and tried to calm myself, knowing that we had to stay focused and strong.


    During the recess, I was surrounded by my support system: my girlfriend Claire "Lusty," my cousin Dave, Dave''s wife Linda, and my dad. Lusty noticed that I might be starting to have an early stage of a panic attack due to the flood of bad memories triggered by my mother''s lies on the stand. She pointed out that my mother was trying to save face for her failures as a mother by painting herself as the good one while making me look like the devil in disguise. Lusty, with her background in Eastside, knew all too well about people manipulating others to make themselves look good.


    My dad chimed in, telling Lusty that my mother was an expert at gaslighting and manipulating others. They all stayed by my side, offering their support and reassurance. Lusty left briefly to go to a vending machine, but she returned quickly with some unsettling news. She had overheard the defense and my mother talking, and the defense had told my mother that she was doing a good job of painting me in a negative light.


    This revelation only fueled my determination. I knew that my mother''s lies and the defense''s tactics were desperate attempts to undermine me. With my support system by my side and the truth on our side, I felt more resolved than ever to see this through and fight for justice. The half-hour recess gave me the time I needed to gather my strength and prepare for the next phase of the trial.


    When court resumed, my lawyer swiftly moved to get my mother dismissed as a witness. The judge instructed the jury to disregard her testimony entirely. It was a relief to see her lies being thrown out.


    Next, the new video footage presented by the defense was also dismissed and ruled inadmissible. It turned out to be heavily edited to make it look like I attacked Jonathan unprovoked, rather than in self-defense. The judge saw through this manipulation and threw out the evidence.


    The judge didn''t stop there. He held Mr. Thompson, the defense attorney, in contempt of court for such an inexcusable and unforgettable stunt. The judge also announced that Mr. Thompson would be facing jail time for evidence tampering and for presenting an unreliable witness.


    This series of events was a significant turning point in the trial. The defense''s case was crumbling, and their desperate tactics were being exposed. With the support of my lawyer, my family, and my friends, I felt more confident than ever that justice would prevail. The truth was on our side, and it was only a matter of time before the jury saw it too.


    With no new evidence and no new witnesses, the jury left to deliberate. The evidence was strong, and I timed their deliberation on my watch. They went back at 1:00 PM on the dot and returned at 1:05 PM. It was clear that they didn''t need much time to reach a decision.


    When the judge asked the jury for their verdict, it was evident that justice had prevailed. For both counts of assault, the jury voted guilty. For harassment, they voted guilty. For breaking and entering, they voted guilty. And finally, for obstruction of justice, they also voted guilty.


    It was a resounding confirmation of what we had hoped for¡ªa pretty open and shut case. The overwhelming evidence, the support from my family and friends, and the truth on our side had all contributed to this outcome. The defense''s desperate attempts to manipulate the situation had failed, and the jury saw through their tactics.


    As the verdict was read, I felt a wave of relief and gratitude. The journey had been tough, but with the support of my loved ones and the dedication of my lawyer, we had achieved justice. It was a moment of vindication and closure, knowing that the truth had finally been recognized.


    Since I won my case and well Strawberry Arms had to pay my attorney fees as well which is something I didn¡¯t have to do. But now another thing I had to do was to deal with my mother.

 Chapter Sixteen: Happy Birthday Macaroni

    A month later.


    May 17th, 2010


    As I lay in bed, I did the math in my head and realized it was 4 AM Pacific Time, which meant it was 7 AM back home in the Central United States. Despite the early hour, I couldn''t help but smile at the thought of my family waking up and sending me birthday messages.


    I wasn''t thrilled about having to work today, but I wasn''t going to complain. The messages from my family¡ªthe Watersons¡ªmade it all worthwhile. My cousins, aunts, uncles, and even some extended family members had taken the time to wish me a happy birthday. It felt like a warm hug from miles away.


    My dad''s message stood out. He mentioned he had a surprise for me but would reveal it tomorrow since he knew my work schedule. Every other week, I shared my schedule with him, so he always knew when I''d be home or at work. His promise of a belated birthday surprise added a touch of excitement to my day.


    My mom, on the other hand, didn''t wish me a happy birthday. It didn''t surprise me, nor did I expect her to. She probably didn''t even remember the date. She didn''t know or care that I was turning 26 today. I felt a pang of sadness but quickly brushed it off. I was 26 now, and I felt a mix of old and young simultaneously.


    I fondly remember how my dad used to leave me birthday cards when he had to work on my special day. Those little gestures meant the world to me, and they still do. Despite the ups and downs, I knew I was loved, and that was enough to make my birthday special.


    I couldn''t help but wonder what kind of surprise my dad had planned for me. It could be anything! Maybe an outing, since he knows how much I love the outdoors. Or perhaps a homemade meal or a special gift. My mind raced with possibilities.


    But then, a small part of me worried. What if the surprise was him introducing me to a new girlfriend? While I wanted my dad to be happy, I couldn''t help but fear the idea of a stepmother who might be lovely in front of him but a devil in disguise when he wasn''t around. I knew I was overreacting, letting my imagination run wild with negative thoughts about step-parents.


    Pushing those worries aside, I got ready for the day. Since my mom was on strike two, I drove her to work before heading to Squad 769 firehouse. I didn''t announce that it was my birthday. I preferred to keep it low-key, letting the warmth of my family''s messages carry me through the day.


    ---


    At the firehouse


    I didn¡¯t mention that it was my birthday because, to me, it wasn¡¯t necessary. Not everyone cares about birthdays, and some people see them as just another day. To me I really never had a good birthday so I just view all birthdays as another day.


    We inspected our manual and automatic tools, and I performed maintenance on our rig to ensure it was ready for any future calls. I kept my birthday to myself because, in Little Bird, it''s socially acceptable for adults to celebrate their birthdays quietly. It''s not about making a big deal out of it or expecting everyone to know and acknowledge it.


    I did wonder why our apparatus fit from the 60s, but I didn''t question it too much. Different places have different equipment based on their needs. Here in Empire, the inner city areas are narrow and compact, so our fire apparatus is designed to navigate those tight spaces. Tiller ladders are common here because they can fit where regular ladder trucks can''t and carry more equipment.


    Thinking about the town of Twin Rivers over in Blister Canyon, it''s interesting how the town is split between two countries due to an old war. The north side belongs to Little Bird, and the south side to Blister Canyon, with a river dividing them. It''s odd how such a small town has two firehouses but only one police station and one clinic, with the police precinct on the Blister Canyon side and the clinic on the Little Bird side.


    I¡¯m not going to overthink it. Today is just another day, and I''ll go on with my duties as usual.


    ____________________


    May 18th, in the evening.


    At a nice restaurant.


    I went over to the booth where my dad was at.


    ¡°Hey dad,¡± I said.


    My dad replied, ¡°Hey there Macaroni. Happy belated 26th birthday.¡±


    ¡°Thanks dad,¡± I said, ¡°Nice restaurant you chose here.¡±


    Soon a woman joined the booth.


    ¡°Oh Macaroni this is my girlfriend,¡± my dad said.


    I looked at her in which she looks like she¡¯s 30 which would make her four years older than me but fourteen years younger than my father. I wanted to say what my gut was saying but I didn¡¯t because I don¡¯t want to accuse her of something even though the Watersons tell each other to follow our gut because of our gut having our natural instinct to follow its institution.


    ¡°Oh you¡¯re Mackenzie,¡± the woman said. ¡°I¡¯m Martha. Nice to finally meet you. Your dad talked all about you.¡±


    I was about to say that she ain¡¯t Martha Steward in which I only know that name because of the movie ¡°The Bride of Chucky¡± that I saw with a friend and his family in theaters.


    My gut was saying that she was with my dad for money or an inheritance. If my dad had one or not but while us Waterson¡¯s are instructed to trust our guts we also don¡¯t blab our mouths to ruin relationships because of a clingy family member. If something did happen I would get evidence and show my dad.


    But I greeted her with a warm smile on my face but my eyes said, ¡°If you harm my dad or are with him for his money I will fucking end you¡± glare. Some might call me clingy to my dad but those who call me clingy don¡¯t know my background and how since my dad isn¡¯t with my mom so he could save for his retirement or something.


    ¡°So your father tells me you¡¯re a firefighter?¡± Martha asked.


    My facial expression wanted to change with the expression saying ¡°No shit Sherlock.¡±


    I replied, ¡°Yup. When the door comes down that¡¯s my domain, and inside those four walls that¡¯s my world, when the door goes up I go out there to serve the public and I get out there and put my lock and my butt on the line to serve the public. The mission comes first. Will I get hurt? Maybe. Will I die? Maybe. The department prepared me for that knowing that it¡¯s a dangerous world. I can laugh and I can joke and I can pet the Dalmation but when I go to work I have  to keep my shit together. I don¡¯t have an active imagination because in the academy they drilled into us that if you have an active imagination you might as well quit now because we¡¯re going to see things that you Martha won¡¯t never see and if we have an active imagination and if we thought about how we could die or get hurt then we would have to put in retirement papers and resign.¡±


    My birthday dinner was fine but when I ordered a well done steak she tried to say I should¡¯ve gotten a salad or something a lot healthier for my birthday dinner. I more or less told her to fuck off because how she said it the tone was her saying that I was fat or chubby. Even though I¡¯m 210 pounds, I want to say that at least half of my weight comes from my hourglass figurine and some muscles where I¡¯m not muscular nor skinny but in between leaning towards skinny.


    After the dinner my dad gave me a gift in which it was a necklace with an emerald gem on it. Emeralds are the birthstone of May. But when my dad left to go to use the bathroom Martha tried to snatch my emerald necklace but I stopped her, grabbing her wrist and slightly squeezing it.


    I told her not to even think about it. But soon my dad came back but Martha tried to play victim but the moment my dad was about to say something I told him how Martha tried to take it without warning. But if he wants to believe Martha then I would just leave my share of the bill and take my present and go home. But my dad was on the fence so he was in the middle not taking sides.


    When it came to dessert I got a slice of strawberry cake. But when Martha said something I told her to stop complaining and she can get her own dessert because I¡¯m not sharing my slice of cake with her. But I said it in a way that didn¡¯t make me sound like an entitled brat but in a way that she¡¯s allowed to get what she wants.


    ¡°So Mackenzie when you plan on getting married?¡± Martha asked.


    I had no idea how to respond to that but to me her tone was like she wanted to be like a mother who wants their only child to be married off.


    ¡°Well my girlfriend and I aren¡¯t planning on getting married anytime soon,¡± I began.


    Martha replied, ¡°Your girlfriend? That won¡¯t do. We need to find you a man to be with so you can have several healthy babies down the road.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not going to happen,¡± I said.


    Martha replied, ¡°Excuse me?¡±


    ¡°I like having a girlfriend. I don''t need a man to be successful and I¡¯m not having kids until I¡¯m ready,¡± I said standing my ground.


    Martha replied, ¡°Well your biological clock is ticking down.¡±


    I was offended by Martha¡¯s sentence about my biology and I was about to tear into her but I let it slide because of us being inside of a public building. But I was offended by a woman who¡¯s four years older than me telling me how I¡¯m getting older that when I do get older it would be harder for me to have children. But I made up my mind where if I don¡¯t have children then I won¡¯t and if I do then I will. But my dad supports me on my decision of not wanting to have children until I¡¯m either ready or just don¡¯t want to have kids.


    After dinner we went our separate ways even though Martha tried to convince me to let her see my apartment but I came up  with a fib and said how my apartment is a little bit sloppy even though I keep my apartment spotless.


    ________________________________


    May 20th.


    As I stepped into my apartment, I was greeted by an unexpected sight. Two boys, who looked like they were either in their late high school years or early college, were standing in my living room.


    ¡°Who the heck are you two?¡± I demanded, my voice a mix of confusion and irritation.


    The one with long curly hair spoke up first. ¡°We¡¯re your step brothers. Our mom and your dad said it¡¯s fine for us to come here. Some woman who was leaving this place just said we could come in.¡±


    I blinked, trying to process what he was saying. Stepbrothers? I quickly pulled out my phone and checked for any messages, missed calls, or emails from my dad or his girlfriend. Nothing. Not a single notification.


    I had no idea that my dad¡¯s new girlfriend had kids, let alone that they were now apparently my stepbrothers. And why were they acting like my dad and his girlfriend were married? They weren¡¯t even engaged as far as I knew.


    ¡°Wait a minute,¡± I said, holding up my hand. ¡°You¡¯re saying your mom and my dad are married? Because last I checked, they were just dating.¡±


    The boys exchanged a glance, looking just as confused as I felt. ¡°Well, they told us to come here,¡± the curly-haired one insisted. ¡°Maybe there¡¯s been a misunderstanding?¡±


    I sighed, rubbing my temples. This was not how I envisioned my morning going. ¡°Alright, let¡¯s figure this out. But first, you two need to explain everything from the beginning.¡±


    The more uniformly and neatly dressed boy stepped forward, his expression earnest. ¡°Our mom really wanted us to spend a day or two with you so we could get to know our stepsister,¡± he explained. ¡°She thought it would be a good idea for us to bond and get to know each other better.¡±


    I sighed, feeling a mix of exhaustion and frustration. ¡°I get that, but it would¡¯ve been nice to get a heads-up. I¡¯ve been on shift for the past 24 hours, and the last thing I want to do is play host to two strangers I just met.¡±


    The boys exchanged a glance, looking a bit sheepish. ¡°We¡¯re really sorry,¡± the neatly dressed one said. ¡°We didn¡¯t mean to intrude. We just thought it was what our mom and your dad wanted.¡±


    I took a deep breath, trying to calm my racing thoughts. ¡°Alright, let¡¯s figure this out. But first, you two need to explain everything from the beginning.¡±


    The curly-haired boy nodded. ¡°Our mom and your dad have been seeing each other for a while now, and they thought it was time for us to meet you. They didn¡¯t want to wait any longer, so they sent us over here.¡±


    I rubbed my temples, feeling a headache coming on. ¡°Okay, I get it. But next time, a little communication would go a long way.¡±


    The boys nodded in agreement. ¡°We¡¯ll make sure to let them know,¡± the neatly dressed one said. ¡°We really didn¡¯t mean to cause any trouble.¡±


    I sighed again, feeling a bit of the tension leave my shoulders. ¡°Alright, let¡¯s start over. I¡¯m Mackenzie, but you can call me Macaroni. What are your names?¡±


    The boys smiled, looking relieved. ¡°I¡¯m Jake,¡± the curly-haired one said.


    ¡°And I¡¯m Alex,¡± the neatly dressed one added.


    ¡°Nice to meet you, Jake and Alex,¡± I said, managing a small smile. ¡°Let¡¯s see if we can make the best of this situation.¡±


    ¡°Do you have any video games?¡± asked Jake.


    I replied, ¡°Nope. You¡¯re now in a country where video games date back to arcade games. No PlayStations, no Xboxes, no modern gaming consoles here. If you want to play games, I suggest you head to the Eastside Arcade. It¡¯s more or less a fancy shopping mall with more glass than metal, but they have a game room with arcade games.¡±


    Jake seemed to dislike that idea. ¡°Well, that sucks.¡±


    Alex, trying to lighten the mood, chimed in, ¡°Hey, it could be fun! I¡¯ve never really played arcade games before. It might be a cool experience.¡±


    I nodded, appreciating Alex¡¯s attempt to make the best of the situation. ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s actually pretty nostalgic. Plus, it¡¯s a good way to unwind after a long day.¡±


    Jake shrugged, still looking a bit disappointed. ¡°I guess it could be interesting. Do you want to come with us, Macaroni?¡±


    I considered it for a moment. After a 24-hour shift, I was exhausted, but maybe a little outing could help me relax. ¡°Sure, why not? Let¡¯s go check it out. But first, let me grab a quick shower and change into something more comfortable.¡±


    The boys nodded, looking a bit more enthusiastic. ¡°Sounds good,¡± Alex said. ¡°We¡¯ll wait here.¡±


    As I headed to my room, I couldn¡¯t help but smile a little. Maybe this unexpected visit wouldn¡¯t be so bad after all. It might even be the start of a new adventure.


    I took a quick shower, making sure to lock the door behind me. After drying off, I got dressed and tossed my dirty clothes into the laundry basket. Feeling a bit more refreshed, I was ready to take on the unexpected adventure with Jake and Alex.


    We headed to the Eastside Arcade, just as I had described it to them. The building was an impressive structure of glass and reinforced steel, gleaming under the city lights. As we walked in, the sounds of arcade games and chatter filled the air.


    Alex seemed intrigued by the place and decided to take a leisurely stroll around, taking in the sights and sounds. Jake, on the other hand, made a beeline straight to the gaming zone, his eyes lighting up at the sight of the classic arcade machines.


    ¡°Alright, you two,¡± I said with a smile. ¡°Have fun and try not to get into too much trouble. I¡¯ll be around if you need me.¡±


    Jake was already engrossed in a game, barely acknowledging my words. Alex gave me a nod and continued his exploration of the arcade.


    I found a quiet corner to sit and relax, watching the boys as they immersed themselves in the arcade experience. Maybe this unexpected visit wouldn¡¯t be so bad after all. It might even be the start of a new adventure and a chance to bond with my newfound step brothers.


    Alex was casually window shopping, peering through the displays of various stores. It was clear he was more interested in browsing than gaming.


    I couldn¡¯t help but think about how misleading the name "arcade" was. It was more like a glorified shopping mall, but without calling it that. The history of this place was quite dramatic. Back in 2000, the original Eastside Mall had to be torn down after a devastating fire. The fire department had to use explosives to make the mall cave in on itself, a tactic they sometimes use to fight oil well fires by imploding the well to cap it. At least, that¡¯s what I¡¯ve heard.


    The stories about the fire were intense. There was no determined point of origin, and my cousin Dave had some wild tales about it. He said the underground parking lot was an inferno. No matter what they tried¡ªwater, foam, dry powder, wet chemical, ABC dry chemical, Purple-K, sodium bicarbonate, carbon dioxide, Halon, vaporizing liquid fire extinguishers¡ªnothing could put out the flames. It was so hot that it felt like trying to blow out a forest fire as if it was a birthday candle. Halon has been banned by the country of Little Bird since September 18th, 1994 two months after Canada and they use it when it¡¯s except for essential uses or for use as analytical standards but it¡¯s very rare for Little Bird to use it after it was banned for Ozone depletion.


    As I watched Alex walking around, window shopping, and Jake engrossed in the arcade games, I couldn¡¯t help but wonder if they knew the history of this place. It was a reminder of how unpredictable life could be, and how sometimes, you just had to roll with the punches.


    After a couple of hours, I gathered Jake and Alex, and we headed back to my apartment. Despite my exhaustion, I decided to make them some lunch. It was the least I could do to make them feel welcome.


    In the kitchen, I whipped up some sandwiches and a simple salad. As we sat down to eat, I could see that the boys were starting to relax a bit more.


    ¡°So, what do you guys think of the arcade?¡± I asked, trying to make conversation.


    Jake shrugged, ¡°It was alright. Different from what I¡¯m used to, but not bad.¡±


    Alex nodded, ¡°Yeah, it was interesting. I liked seeing all the different stores too.¡±


    I smiled, glad that they were starting to open up. ¡°Well, I¡¯m glad you guys had a good time. Maybe next time we can explore more of the city together.¡±


    The boys exchanged a glance and then smiled back at me. ¡°That sounds like a plan,¡± Jake said.


    As we continued to chat over lunch, I realized that maybe this unexpected visit wasn¡¯t so bad after all. It was a chance to get to know my new step brothers and maybe even start building a new family dynamic.


    Soon, Jake started to talk to me in a more demanding tone. He asked me to get him something, but I wasn¡¯t intimidated. ¡°You¡¯ve got two legs that aren¡¯t broken,¡± I replied calmly. ¡°You can get up and get whatever you want yourself.¡±


    A few minutes later, my phone rang. It was Martha, my dad¡¯s girlfriend. She came at me over the phone, clearly upset. But I wasn¡¯t about to back down. I retorted, striking back with both barrels. ¡°You¡¯re a bad mother for dropping your kids off at my apartment without my consent,¡± I told her. ¡°Next time, I¡¯ll be calling the cops both here in the city of Empire and back in Alabama for child abandonment. I could¡¯ve been working today, or I could¡¯ve left before they even arrived and wouldn¡¯t be back until the following morning or even another week.¡±


    Alex, who had been polite throughout, spoke up. ¡°I know what our mom did was messed up,¡± he said. ¡°She should have asked you if it was okay for us to show up, especially considering your work schedule.¡±


    I appreciated Alex¡¯s understanding. ¡°Thanks, Alex,¡± I said. ¡°I just need a bit of consideration, that¡¯s all.¡±


    Jake, looking a bit chastened, mumbled an apology. ¡°Sorry, Macaroni. We didn¡¯t mean to cause any trouble.¡±


    I sighed, feeling a bit of the tension leave my shoulders. ¡°It¡¯s alright. Let¡¯s just try to make the best of this situation. I go back to work tomorrow, so let¡¯s enjoy the time we have. And Jake if you talk to me in a demanding or empowering tone again then I¡¯ll bitch slap you by back-handing you across the face. This is my apartment not yours.¡±


    As we settled back into a more relaxed atmosphere, I couldn¡¯t help but feel a bit hopeful. Maybe, despite the rocky start, we could find a way to get along and build some kind of family bond.


    ____________________________


    A Week Later


    Killen, Alabama.


    I decided to surprise my father with a visit to my childhood home. The place where I grew up, filled with memories of laughter and love. But as I stepped through the familiar front door, I felt a strange unease.


    I wandered through the house, taking in the changes. It was then that I saw her¡ªmy father''s new wife. My heart sank. He had married her without even telling me. She was now my stepmother.


    I felt a knot tighten in my stomach. I needed to talk to my father. I found him in the living room, and we began a serious conversation about his new wife. I expressed my concerns, pointing out that nearly every photograph in the house featured her. It felt like she was trying to erase our family''s history, replacing it with her own.


    "She''s a narcissist, Dad," I said, looking him straight in the eye, hoping he would see the truth in my words. But he dismissed my concerns, accusing me of lying.


    I felt a wave of hurt and frustration wash over me. "You have to choose, Dad," I said, my voice trembling. "You can either believe in your only child who loves you and wants the best for you, or you can choose your new family and risk losing me forever."


    He looked at me, his eyes filled with a mix of sadness and resolve. "I''m sorry, Macaroni, but I chose my wife."


    His words hit me like a punch to the gut. I stood up, my legs feeling like lead. Without saying another word, I walked out of the house. As I closed the door behind me, I pulled out my phone and blocked his number.


    I got into my rental car, my hands shaking. I saw my father come out, trying to chase after me, but I couldn''t bear to hear what he had to say. I put the car in reverse, backed out of the driveway, and drove away.


    I found a motel for the night, my heart heavy with sorrow where I cried myself asleep. The next morning, I used my round trip ticket on the first flight back to Empire, leaving behind the place that was once my home, now filled with nothing but heartbreak.


    _______________________


    Lusty''s Apartment


    I knocked on the door, my heart heavy with the weight of the previous night''s events.


    "Hey Mac..." Lusty began, her voice trailing off as she saw the look on my face.


    I tried to hold back my tears. "Hey Lusty, is it okay if I come in? I don''t want to deal with my mother right now."


    Without hesitation, Lusty stepped aside and let me in. Her apartment felt like a sanctuary, a place where I could finally let my guard down.


    "You okay?" Lusty asked, her eyes filled with concern.


    I struggled to find the words. How could I even begin to explain what had happened? The betrayal, the heartbreak¡ªit was all too much.


    "As a mother, I know when someone is upset," Lusty said gently, her voice soothing.


    I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. I began to recount the events of the previous night, my voice trembling as I spoke. Lusty''s expression shifted from concern to horror as she listened, appalled by what I had been through.


    She wrapped her arms around me, offering the comfort and support I so desperately needed. At that moment, I knew I wasn''t alone.


    After I finished recounting the whole story, Lusty looked at me with a mix of empathy and determination. She took a deep breath and said, "Mac, I can''t believe what you''ve been through. It''s heartbreaking and unfair. But you did the right thing by standing up for yourself. You deserve to be treated with respect and love."


    She paused for a moment, then continued, "You know, sometimes people make choices that hurt us deeply, but it doesn''t mean we have to carry that pain alone. I''m here for you, always. We''ll get through this together."


    Lusty''s words were like a balm to my wounded heart. She pulled me into a tight hug, and for the first time since the confrontation with my father, I felt a glimmer of hope.


    I even told her how my dad had promised that if he ever remarried, he would invite me, text me the invitation, and even send an overnight letter. But Lusty was there for me, reassuring me that what my dad did was inexcusable. She reminded me that the residents of Eastside, almost all fifty-nine thousand of them, considered her family.


    "At least it ain''t Judgement Day," I said, trying to lighten the mood and make myself feel better.


    Lusty looked puzzled. "Judgement Day?" she asked, clearly not understanding the reference. Lusty wasn''t religious, so it made sense.


    "Do you remember something in the Bible about the last days, when the dead would rise from the grave?" I asked.


    Lusty shook her head no.


    "Revelations 6:12," I began, quoting from memory. "''And I looked as he opened the sixth seal, and behold, there was a great earthquake. And the sun became as black as sackcloth, and the moon became as blood. And the seas boiled and the skies fell. Judgement Day.'' Every ancient and modern religion has its own myth about the end of the world. And to me, I''d rather be unintentionally stepped on by the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man than have my dad choose his new family over his only daughter."


    Lusty chuckled, her laughter a small comfort. "Don''t know what a 112.5-foot-tall marshmallow mascot from a 1984 movie has anything to do with it," she said, shaking her head with a smile.


    Her lighthearted response made me smile, even if just a little. It was a reminder that despite the pain, there were still moments of levity and connection to be found. With Lusty by my side, I knew I could face whatever came next.


    "If your extended family found out about your father''s choice?" Lusty asked, her curiosity piqued.


    I sighed, "While they won''t have any say in his decision, they''ll definitely give him a piece of their mind. It''ll be like the real wrath of God kind of stuff."


    "Like fire and brimstone raining down from the sky, rivers and seas boiling, forty years of darkness, earthquakes, volcanoes, the dead rising from the graves?" Lusty said with a smirk. "You mutter in your sleep, you know."


    I couldn''t help but chuckle at her dramatic description. "Lusty, I have extended family members who are step-parents themselves, and they always put their biological children first. My family back in America is going to give my dad an earful."


    Lusty nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. "Well, it sounds like your dad is in for a tough time. But remember, you have people who care about you and will stand by you no matter what."


    Lusty then shifted the topic to our nicknames, trying to lighten the mood.


    Besides "Lusty," I knew her other nicknames: "Ghetto Firefighter" and "Family Firefighter." The first one, "Ghetto Firefighter," came from her being comfortable in any situation, no matter how tough. Growing up in a part of the city with a high fire rate played a major part in that. The second nickname, "Family Firefighter," was because she was so approachable by kids, making them open up and share things they normally wouldn''t.


    "Have you got your nickname yet?" Lusty asked, her eyes twinkling with curiosity.


    "Yeah, it''s ''Frost,''" I replied with a small smile. "Because I have the tendency to stay frosty while on the job."


    I went outside and looked down onto the street below. To my surprise, I saw an armored car crash into a fire hydrant. As I glanced across the city skyline, I noticed someone on a glider crash into some scaffolding. I couldn''t help but chuckle and say, "Well, there''s something you don''t see every day."


    Lusty joined me, shaking her head with a smile. "This city never ceases to amaze me," she said, her laughter a comforting sound amidst the chaos.


    ¡°At least your dad ain¡¯t in Eastside,¡± Lusty said.


    I asked, ¡°Why not?¡±


    ¡°Last person who chose their new family over their biological children under the age of 18 and kicked their biological kids out to have their new wife and step-kids move in well Eastside selected a few people for a jury. I overheard it and all of them said and I quote ¡®We don¡¯t need to deliberate. Hang that motherfucker now. I got the rope right here¡¯ and well the people in Eastside well if a child is 17 and a day before turning 18 well said parent has to raise them as a child until they¡¯re adults legally. What that guy did was child abandonment.¡±


    I changed the subject, but nothing came to mind, so we just stood there in silence, enjoying the nice spring breeze.


    Lusty broke the silence, "That¡¯s the one thing about being in the Fire Department¡ªyou have to miss a lot of important things like birthdays."


    There was another pause, and I had no idea what she would say next.


    "Have you checked your phone for any messages?" Lusty asked, breaking the silence.


    "Nope, I kept it off since last night. Never turned it back on. But I blocked my dad and his wife," I replied, feeling a mix of relief and sadness.


    "Have you thought about your other family back in America trying to get ahold of you?" Lusty asked, her concern evident.


    "Yeah, but I know that when my dad tells them why I''m not answering and how my phone is off, they''ll understand. When he explains what happened, they''ll automatically jump ship and defend me," I said, feeling a bit more reassured.


    Her words were comforting, and I felt a sense of gratitude for having someone like Lusty in my life. We stood there for a while longer, letting the spring breeze wash over us, finding solace in each other''s presence.


    I then decided to turn on my phone. After waiting for a while, it finally came back on, and my notifications went off like fireworks. I had 232 missed calls and 345 text messages from family members back in the United States. The older messages, received between 4-7 AM Central Pacific Time, were filled with worry and concern. The newer ones, received just an hour to a few minutes ago, were messages of support and disbelief at my father''s decision to choose his new family over his own flesh and blood.


    I felt a mix of emotions as I read through the messages. It was overwhelming, but also comforting to know that my family had my back. Lusty looked over my shoulder, reading some of the messages with me.


    "See? You''re not alone in this," she said softly, giving my hand a reassuring squeeze.


    I nodded, feeling a bit more at ease. "Yeah, I guess you''re right. It''s just... a lot to take in."


    "We''ll get through this together," Lusty said, her voice filled with determination. "You have a whole army of family who love you and support you."


    As I read through the messages, a whirlwind of emotions washed over her. The initial worry and concern from my family members tugged at my heartstrings, making me feel both guilty and loved. The more recent messages of support and disbelief at my father''s actions brought a sense of validation and relief.


    I felt overwhelmed by the sheer volume of messages, but also deeply comforted knowing that my family stood by my side. The outpouring of love and support made me feel less alone in her pain and gave me the strength to face the difficult situation ahead.


    With each message, My resolve grew stronger. I knew she had an army of people who cared for me and would support me no matter what. It was a bittersweet moment, filled with both heartache and hope, but I felt a glimmer of optimism knowing I wasn''t facing this battle alone.


    ___________________________


    Tuesday, the 1st of June.


    As I was carefully placing the manual and automatic tools back onto Squad 769, I felt a familiar presence behind me. The firehouse, usually a place of camaraderie and purpose, suddenly felt heavy with unspoken words.


    ¡°Hey Macaroni,¡± my dad''s voice broke the silence, a nickname that once brought a smile to my face.


    But today, I couldn''t bring myself to respond. I kept my back turned, my heart aching with a mix of anger and sadness. I decided to give him the cold shoulder, hoping he would understand the depth of my hurt. The tools clinked softly as I continued my task, each sound echoing the distance growing between us


    ¡°Hey Macaroni?¡± my dad asked, his voice tinged with concern. ¡°Can¡¯t you hear me?¡±


    I continued to ignore him, my heart heavy with the weight of unspoken words. I had told him before how much I disliked Martha. She would never be my stepmother, yet she insisted on treating me like a child, despite being only four years older than me. I was 26, a grown woman, but Martha, at 30, refused to see me as anything other than a kid.


    My dad had made his choice. He chose his wife and her children over me, his own daughter. He always preached about how ¡°choices have consequences,¡± and now I was living the painful reality of his decision. The firehouse, once a place of solace, now felt like a battleground of emotions. Each tool I placed back onto Squad 769 was a reminder of the growing chasm between us.


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    My dad then put his hand on my shoulder, but I shrugged it off, the touch feeling like a betrayal.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong, Macaroni?¡± he asked, his voice filled with confusion. ¡°Why haven¡¯t you answered your phone? Why did you block Martha and me?¡±


    I muttered under my breath, ¡°You should practice what you preach.¡±


    ¡°What was that?¡± he asked, leaning in closer.


    I turned around, my eyes burning with unshed tears, and replied in a confrontational tone, ¡°You should practice what you preach! You always say that family is there for each other no matter what, not brush them off when one tells you something! I told you how Martha was treating me like a child, but what did you do? You told me to ignore it! So last week, I gave you an ultimatum: choose me or Martha and her kids. And you chose them!¡±


    The words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of my pain and disappointment. The firehouse, once a place of refuge, now felt like a battlefield where my heart was the casualty.


    Soon the fire bell went off with the report of a fire in an abandoned warehouse with Squad 769 going to be the first due Engine Company because firehouses 14, 15 and 71 are busy with a car fire, malfunctioning automatic fire alarm and someone stuck on top of a crane.


    ¡°Wait Macaroni,¡± my dad said.


    I cut him off as I was putting my turnout jacket on, ¡°This could be my final run.¡±


    I then got onto Squad 769 and we were out but I wasn''t interested in what my dad had to say before we rolled out of the door. He always preached ¡°Choices have consequences¡± and he chose to alienate his daughter and he has to live with that consequence.


    _______


    At the abandoned warehouse, I grabbed the 4-inch supply hose and sprinted towards the hydrant. Just as I reached out to twist off the cap, it clattered to the ground.


    "Squad 769-7 to Squad 769, the hydrant has been vandalized. I''m heading to the next one," I radioed in, my voice steady despite the frustration bubbling inside. Without missing a beat, I dashed off to the nearest hydrant, hoping this one would be intact.


    Every second counted, and I wasn''t about to let a sabotaged hydrant slow us down.


    As I sprinted to the next hydrant, my radio crackled with urgency, "Where''s the water, Macaroni?" I couldn''t give a direct answer yet, but I was determined to get it flowing.


    I reached the hydrant, unscrewed the cap, and quickly hooked up the supply hose. Double-checking the connection, I grabbed the hydrant wrench and turned it with all my might. Water surged through the hose, and I felt a wave of relief.


    "Squad 769-7 to Squad 769, we''ve got a water source," I radioed back, my voice steady. Every second counted, and now we were back in the game.


    As I was running back to rejoin my company, a massive explosion soon knocked me off my feet and flat onto my back.


    __________


    (Mackenzie ¡°Macaroni¡± Waterson Father POV)


    While I stayed behind in my daughter Mackenzie''s firehouse, I hoped to talk to her when she got back. I wanted to explain my decision and hoped she would stop acting like a moody, bratty teenager. I thought she''d be happy about my choice, but instead, she''s acting like a rebellious 26-year-old.


    After several minutes, I overheard the fire department dispatcher calling for the company my daughter is in. There was no response. My heart sank. Then, another voice came over the dispatch system, announcing that Engine 18, Ladder Co 18, and the 18th Battalion were two and a half minutes away.


    It felt like a game of roulette, with only a one in seven chance that my daughter would be safe and sound. The waiting was agonizing, and all I could do was hope and pray that she''d come back unharmed.


    It didn''t help that the last thing Macaroni said to me was, "This could be my last one." It sounded so cryptic, like she had made peace with the dangers of firefighting, accepting the possibility of getting hurt or even killed.


    She''s part of a specialized unit with highly trained firefighters who respond to emergencies requiring expertise or specialized tools not found on a standard Fire Engine or Fire Truck. They handle situations that need advanced equipment, like a Miniature Rescue Squad. This means Macaroni and her team are often called to the most dangerous emergencies, including fires in abandoned buildings. Their advanced tools can identify the weakest parts of a structure, predict fire spread, and assess what''s most at risk of catching fire.


    Knowing this, I couldn''t help but worry. Every call she goes on is a high-stakes situation, and I hope she returns safe every time.


    Those two and a half minutes felt like an eternity, each second dragging on slower than a sloth. My heart pounded in my chest as I waited for any news.


    When the time finally passed, the dispatcher began listing off all the nearest firehouses to respond to the scene. The 18th Battalion had struck a seventh alarm, signaling a major emergency. They even called for the Coroner and Advanced Life Support (ALS) for medical transport.


    The gravity of the situation hit me like a ton of bricks. My mind raced with worry for Macaroni, hoping she was safe amidst the chaos. All I could do was wait and pray for her safe return.


    As I waited, I kept listening to the radio chatter. A firefighter reported that whatever happened had knocked down some buildings around the abandoned warehouse. They needed additional equipment, and dispatch quickly replied that Heavy Rescue was already on its way.


    Macaroni and her girlfriend Claire had told me that any major fire, especially one that''s a third alarm or greater, automatically gets a Rescue Squad dispatched. I hoped that if anyone needed medical transport, it wouldn''t be my daughter. But there was a nagging voice in the back of my head, reminding me that there was a one in seven chance it could be Macaroni who needed to go to the hospital. Worse, there was a six out of seven chance she might not make it at all.


    I desperately wanted to clear the air with her. The last thing I wanted was for her to die hating me for my decision last week. I didn''t want people to remember me as the father who alienated his daughter, who died without hearing my side of the story. My family hated my decision to choose my new wife and my step-sons over my own daughter. Even my own father was against me. He had worked a lot and was an alcoholic, but at least he managed to rebuild trust with me before I grew up. I hoped I could do the same with Macaroni before it was too late.


    A part of my mind kept whispering that if Macaroni died without us making amends, my entire family would openly blame me. At every holiday gathering, they''d make me the black sheep, reminding me of my choice to prioritize my new wife and stepchildren over my own daughter. The regret would be unbearable.


    After some time, I overheard dispatch notifying the closest hospital about an unconscious firefighter with bleeding from their ears. The use of "they" instead of "he" or "she" only intensified my worry.


    I decided to go to the hospital and wait. I arrived just seconds before the ambulance. When the EMT and Paramedic rolled a firefighter into the ER, my heart sank¡ªit was Macaroni. I went to the waiting room, sat down, and started to pray for her health. I hoped she would make a full recovery. I didn''t want to lose her, not just to avoid the blame for alienating her, but because I genuinely wanted to be there for her and apologize.


    _____________________


    Several days later, I found myself in the hospital waiting room, a styrofoam cup of coffee sitting on the table next to me. I glanced over at my cousin David, but his glare was so intense it felt like it could throw daggers. I quickly looked away.


    I wanted to make small talk with Dave, but he looked like he had just fought a fire himself, so I decided to keep my mouth shut.


    After a few moments of silence, I tried to break the ice. "Do you think Claire will come here?" I asked.


    Dave''s reply was filled with hate and disdain. "She''s in the hospital cafeteria, getting her children something to eat. She doesn''t want them to see Macaroni in the state she''s in."


    The tension in the room was palpable, and I could feel the weight of my family''s disapproval bearing down on me. All I could do was hope for Macaroni''s recovery and a chance to make things right.


    Soon, Martha and her two sons arrived, but Dave scoffed in disgust.


    ¡°What¡¯s your problem?¡± I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.


    Dave''s reply was sharp and filled with frustration. ¡°Macaroni hates her and her son Jake. And here you are, bringing your new wife and her kids to the hospital, knowing full well that Macaroni can''t stand them. Can you really not see why she blocked you and has been giving you the cold shoulder and the silent treatment?¡±


    I wanted to argue, to defend my actions, but I kept quiet. Dave''s words stung, and I knew there was truth in them. He got up in disgust and returned to visit Macaroni, leaving me to sit with my thoughts and the heavy weight of regret. All I could do was hope for a chance to make things right with my daughter.


    Martha told me that it¡¯s not my fault and that whatever problem Macaroni and Dave had, even though she knew Dave and just called him ¡°That guy¡± but to me my daughter and Dave are family. I had no idea what to do where I wanted to be with my new family and be with my daughter at the same time but I was conflicted between my daughter and my wife with her kids.


    It wasn''t long before Mitchell arrived with a woman by his side.


    ¡°Is someone back there with her?¡± Mitchell asked, his voice tinged with concern.


    ¡°Yeah, Dave is,¡± I replied, hoping to ease his mind.


    Mitchell seemed somewhat relieved. ¡°Alright, all of us don¡¯t need to be back there,¡± he said.


    Curiosity got the better of me. ¡°Is that your wife, Mitchell?¡± I asked.


    Martha chimed in, ¡°Do you two have any children?¡±


    Mitchell''s response was curt. ¡°CO. Lieutenant Maud.¡±


    Lieutenant Luna, the woman with Mitchell, shot Martha a glare that clearly said, ¡°We can take this outside.¡± The tension in the room was palpable, and I could feel the weight of everyone''s emotions bearing down on us. All I could do was hope for Macaroni''s recovery and a chance to mend the fractured relationships around me.


    Soon, Lusty arrived with her kids, having kept them out of school under the guise of an important doctor''s visit.


    I turned to Mitchell, trying to offer some comfort. "Mitchell, I want to give my condolences for your father''s passing a couple of months ago."


    "Thanks," Mitchell replied, his voice the same.


    Curiosity got the better of me again. "So, what''s it like being the son of the President?" I asked.


    Martha interjected with a playful tone, "I bet the ladies lined up for miles wanting to be with you."


    Mitchell sighed, "Being the son of the President means you have to figure out who your true friends are and who just wants to be close because of my father''s position. I had so-called friends in school who thought they could get handouts if I asked my dad. When I didn''t want to take advantage of my dad''s position, their true colors showed."


    The room fell silent for a moment, the weight of Mitchell''s words hanging in the air. It was a reminder of the complexities and challenges that come with being in the public eye, and how important it is to have genuine connections.


    Soon Dave came back and so I decided to go back and visit Macaroni.


    _______________


    In Macaroni¡¯s hospital room, I stood by the door, my heart heavy as I watched my daughter lying in the hospital bed. Her eyes were closed, and the steady beep of the heart monitor was the only sound in the room.


    I had hoped it wouldn''t be Macaroni, but I couldn''t lie to myself any longer. My actions had driven her away, making her feel unappreciated and failing to empathize with her feelings.


    I pulled a chair over and sat down beside her, gently holding her hand. I didn''t know what to say, but I knew I had to speak from my heart.


    "I love you, Mackenzie," I whispered, my voice trembling. "Nothing in this world will stop me from loving you. Nothing in this world will separate us."


    I squeezed her hand, feeling the weight of my regret and the hope for her recovery. It was heartbreaking to see her like this, hooked up to machines to keep her alive. All I could do was pray for her to wake up and give me a chance to make things right.


    A doctor came in and asked who I was. I told him I was Mackenzie''s father and asked if I could speak to a hospital priest. He promised to get one of my religious background.


    While waiting for the priest, I knew I couldn''t rely solely on prayer to get my daughter through this. I''m not one of those religious fanatics who prays over every little thing and ignores modern medicine. I believe in the power of both faith and science.


    When Macaroni wakes up, I know a simple heartfelt apology won''t be enough. I need to apologize in a way that shows I truly mean it, without it sounding forced or insincere. I want her to feel my genuine regret and love, and to understand that I''m committed to making things right between us.


    When the doctor returned, I asked when Mackenzie would wake up. The doctor explained that they had to put her in a medically induced coma. They would keep her like that for a week, monitoring for signs of improvement or deterioration. If they saw signs of improvement, they would bring her out of the coma.


    I then met with the hospital priest, and we prayed together in silence for my daughter''s recovery.


    "Father, do you think this is part of God''s plan to make people see the error of their ways?" I asked, my voice filled with uncertainty.


    The priest replied, "Sometimes the Good Lord puts those closest to us through very tough times, even on death''s door, to make others see what they did wrong and to make us see what we did wrong."


    "So, it''s like the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come?" I asked, drawing a parallel. "Because the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come reveals to Scrooge the future consequences of his past and present actions: his lack of sympathy for the poor, his ill-treatment of his clerk Bob Cratchit, and that the Cratchit family''s poor health will result in the death of their disabled young son, Tiny Tim."


    The priest nodded, "If you want to use that analogy, then you can."


    His words gave me a lot to think about. I realized that this might be my chance to reflect on my actions and make amends with Mackenzie. I just hoped it wasn''t too late.


    "The last thing my daughter said to me was, ''This could be my last call.'' That''s what she said before her company went to the fire," I confided to the priest, my voice heavy with regret.


    The priest replied gently, "It''s not my place to say, but perhaps the Good Lord has put your daughter here to make those who hurt her see the error of their ways and feel the weight of their actions."


    I didn''t tell the priest that it was me who had driven her away, making her feel unwanted and disregarded. I had failed to value her opinions, and now I had to face the reality of her lying in a hospital bed, in a vegetative state, on life support.


    Soon, a nurse came and took the priest away to attend to another family. Moments later, Martha arrived.


    "Hey, have you thought about it?" Martha asked, her voice filled with concern.


    "Not a chance in Hell am I going to have the doctor pull the plug on my only child!" I replied, my voice firm and resolute. I couldn''t bear the thought of losing Mackenzie permanently, and I was determined to do everything in my power to give her a chance to recover.


    Martha tried to convince me that it would be easier to have the doctor take Macaroni off life support, to put her out of her misery. But I stood my ground, resolute in my decision. As Martha began to argue further, I reminded her that neither she nor Macaroni¡¯s birth mother had any say in this matter. Macaroni¡¯s birth mom had waived her parental rights, and Martha, who was old enough to be Macaroni¡¯s sister, had only been in her life for two weeks, since the day after Macaroni¡¯s birthday.


    "Macaroni is 26 and an adult," I said firmly. "You can''t claim it''s your wish as a parent when you weren''t part of her life until recently."


    Martha fell silent, and I could see the frustration in her eyes. But I knew I had to stand by my daughter, to give her every chance to recover. I couldn''t bear the thought of losing her, especially without making things right between us.


    ______________________


    A couple of weeks later, the doctor decided to take Macaroni out of her medically induced coma. The heart monitor continued its steady beep, a small comfort amidst the uncertainty.


    I stayed by Macaroni¡¯s side, refusing to leave until visiting hours were over. One moment her eyes were closed, and then, slowly, she began to open them.


    ¡°Oh Mackenzie, you¡¯re awake!¡± I exclaimed, my voice filled with joy and relief. ¡°I¡¯m so happy! I''m so sorry for my decision. Every second for the past seventeen days, I thought you were on Death¡¯s door!¡±


    Tears welled up in my eyes as I held her close, grateful for this second chance to make things right.


    Seeing Mackenzie awake, I felt a rush of emotions. I knew this was his chance to make things right.


    "Mackenzie, I can''t tell you how relieved I am to see you awake," I said, voice trembling with emotion. "I know I''ve made mistakes, and I deeply regret the decisions that hurt you. I want you to know that I love you more than anything in this world. I''m here for you, and I''m committed to making things right between us. Please, give me a chance to show you how much you mean to me."


    I squeezed her hand gently, hoping she could feel the sincerity in my words. This was the beginning of a long journey to rebuild their relationship, and I was determined to make every moment count.


    Macaroni blinked a few times, trying to focus on her father''s face. Her voice was weak, but she managed to speak.


    "Dad... I heard you," she said softly. "I know you were here... and I know you care. It''s just... it''s been hard. I felt so alone and unimportant."


    She paused, taking a shaky breath. "But seeing you here, hearing you say those things... It means a lot. I want to believe you, and I want us to fix things. But it''s going to take time."


    She squeezed his hand gently, a small but significant gesture. "Let''s take it one step at a time, okay?"


    "Okay, Macaroni," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "Me, your step-brothers, and Martha will be here to help you readjust to walking and getting back on your feet."


    Macaroni''s eyes narrowed slightly. "Leave Martha and her devil son out of it," she replied firmly.


    I nodded, understanding her feelings. "Whatever you say, Macaroni. I''ll be over the moon to help you walk and readjust after being in a medically induced coma for the past seventeen days, fourteen hours, and fifty-four minutes."


    I squeezed her hand gently, feeling a mix of relief and determination. This was the start of a long journey, but I was ready to be there for her every step of the way.


    Soon, Dave came back and hugged me tightly. I could feel the weight of the situation pressing down on both of us.


    ¡°What happened?¡± Macaroni asked, her voice weak but filled with concern.


    I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. ¡°You¡¯re in the hospital,¡± I replied gently.


    ¡°And the company I''m in?¡± she asked, her eyes searching mine for answers.


    Dave and I exchanged a pained look, unsure of how to break the news. Finally, Dave spoke up, his voice heavy with sorrow. ¡°They¡¯re KIA.¡±


    Macaroni''s face paled. ¡°What happened?¡± she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.


    Dave explained, ¡°The abandoned building you all responded to had enough explosives to equal 12,000 tons of TNT. The building contained 80% of the blast, but the remaining 20% was enough to knock you off your feet and kill the other six instantly. You were far enough away to survive, but close enough to be thrown by the blast wave.¡±


    Macaroni''s eyes filled with tears, and I could see the pain and loss etched on her face. I squeezed her hand, trying to offer some comfort. ¡°We¡¯re here for you, Macaroni. We¡¯ll get through this together.¡±


    She nodded slowly, her determination shining through the grief. ¡°I want to honor their memory. I want to get better and make sure their sacrifice wasn¡¯t in vain.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll help you every step of the way,¡± I assured her, my voice filled with resolve. ¡°You¡¯re not alone in this.¡±


    Dave added, ¡°We¡¯ll make sure you have all the support you need, Macaroni. We¡¯re here for you.¡±


    I felt a renewed sense of purpose as we stood by her side. This was our chance to rebuild, to support Macaroni in her recovery, and to honor the memory of her fallen comrades. Together, we would face the challenges ahead and become stronger on the other side.


    ¡°What can the firefighter union do about that?¡± Macaroni asked, her voice tinged with frustration.


    Dave sighed, ¡°There¡¯s not much the union can do directly. I can request a more thorough inspection to understand why 12,000 tons of dynamite were in an abandoned warehouse basement. Friends or family of the victims can file wrongful death lawsuits or sue the city for allowing abandoned buildings to remain instead of repurposing them into something useful, like apartments for dockworkers or public housing.¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t the firefighter union push for a more thorough investigation?¡± I asked, hoping for some form of justice.


    Dave nodded, ¡°Yes, but the Fire Department¡¯s Fire Investigation team, the Police Department Bomb Squad, and the Arson Squad have already combed through the site thoroughly.¡±


    ¡°And the emergency response?¡± Macaroni asked, her eyes searching for answers.


    Dave explained, ¡°Every single apparatus and firefighter in the city was there, including all six volunteer companies. They pulled volunteers away from their regular jobs to respond.¡±


    ¡°Isn¡¯t that illegal?¡± I asked, concerned about the legality of the situation.


    Dave shook his head, ¡°What¡¯s more important? A customer getting their pound of ham sliced thin at a butcher shop or someone¡¯s life? That¡¯s a rhetorical question.¡±


    The room fell silent as we all absorbed the gravity of the situation. It was clear that the road to recovery and justice would be long and challenging, but we were determined to face it together.


    "But I could ask for the County of Mountain or Federal resources to investigate," Dave said. "The Fire and Police Departments have limited resources, but the County of Mountain has state-level resources, and the federal government has federal resources."


    "Which one is it? State or County?" I asked, a bit confused.


    "Depends who you ask," Macaroni chimed in. "I call it the Commonwealth of Mountains."


    Dave nodded. "I prefer to say County of Mountain, while my wife prefers Borough of Mountain. It really depends on who you ask. Even government buildings have random versions of County, Borough, State, or Commonwealth."


    I sighed. "I think ''safety is the highest priority unless it costs too much money'' should be every government and company''s motto."


    Dave interjected, explaining how cost-cutting measures on Little Bird are a felony. "Cutting costs has gotten a lot of people killed, which launches investigations. When cost-cutting is found to save a few bucks, and people die in fires or emergencies that could have been prevented, families can file wrongful death suits against the company and the government. Since the ''90s, fire codes have gotten stricter, but sometimes companies still cut costs or use inferior materials."


    He continued, "At least 98% of the materials used in high-rise and other building constructions are tested by the Little Bird Bureau of Fire Protection. They label products from A to F, with F being highly flammable and not suitable for use, and A being the most fireproof, able to withstand fire for over an hour and a half. B is similar to A but can''t withstand fire for as long, and so on."


    The room fell silent as we absorbed the information. It was clear that ensuring safety and accountability was a complex and ongoing battle. But knowing that there were measures in place to prevent such tragedies gave me a glimmer of hope.


    "I have no idea what the ''Bureau of Fire Protection'' is or what it does," I admitted, feeling a bit lost.


    Macaroni gave a small smile. "Think of it like the NFPA, the National Fire Protection Association back in the U.S. It''s similar to that."


    Dave sighed. "I have a feeling they hate me."


    Macaroni chuckled softly. "Yeah, because you wear obsolete turnout gear from 1950-1995. It has sentimental value to you because of your dad and uncle."


    I couldn''t help but smile at the exchange. Despite the gravity of the situation, it was comforting to see a bit of normalcy and humor return. It reminded me that even in the darkest times, there were still moments of light and connection.


    Soon, Martha burst into the room, exclaiming, "Oh my baby!" as she rushed over. But before she could reach Macaroni, she tripped and fell flat on her back. Dave and I looked on in shock, realizing it was Macaroni who had knocked her down.


    "I''m not your ''baby''," Macaroni said firmly. "She can''t let it be and can''t stand that I''m not letting her treat me like a child."


    I could see the determination in Macaroni''s eyes. She was asserting her independence, making it clear that she wanted to be treated as an adult. I knew this was a delicate moment, and I needed to support her in standing up for herself.


    "Martha, please understand," I said gently, helping her up. "Macaroni needs to be treated with the respect and independence she deserves. Let''s all work together to support her recovery."


    Martha looked taken aback but nodded slowly, realizing the importance of respecting Macaroni''s wishes. It was a small step, but an important one in rebuilding trust and understanding within our family.


    ¡°When can I go back to work?¡± Macaroni asked, her determination shining through.


    I chuckled, ¡°That¡¯s the Waterson fighting spirit.¡±


    ¡°No, you¡¯re not going back to work,¡± Martha interjected. ¡°You need to recover until a doctor can sign off on you. You¡¯ll need to go through rehab to make sure you can walk and are stable enough to return to work.¡±


    Macaroni chuckled, as if Martha had told a joke.


    ¡°Actually, Macaroni, your step-mother is right,¡± Dave said. ¡°Per department policy, you have to ensure you¡¯re stable enough and complete a two-month rehab to make sure you can walk straight again.¡±


    Martha added, ¡°Yup, mother knows best.¡±


    Macaroni¡¯s expression hardened. ¡°My mother is an addict and she doesn¡¯t know best. And you¡¯re never going to be my mother.¡±


    I stayed silent, caught between wanting to support Macaroni without alienating Martha. It was a delicate balance, and I didn¡¯t want to make things worse.


    ¡°I just want a cheeseburger,¡± Macaroni said, trying to lighten the mood.


    Martha quickly interjected, ¡°No unhealthy food! A strict diet of fruits and veggies for you!¡±


    Macaroni¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°You¡¯re not my mother, and I will eat what I want because I¡¯m an adult, not a child.¡±


    I took a deep breath, realizing that this was going to be a challenging journey. But I was determined to support Macaroni in her recovery and help mend the fractured relationships within our family.


    As I sat on the hospital bed next to my daughter, her heart ached with a mix of relief and sorrow. ¡°So, the company I''m in?¡± Macaroni asked.


    Martha, trying to be comforting but missing the mark, replied, ¡°Forget about work.¡±


    Dave, chimed in, ¡°Currently, A shift is occupied by floaters until more qualified ones can¡­ How can I phrase it without sounding like they¡¯re being replaced?¡±


    Macaroni sighed, feeling the weight of the world on her shoulders. ¡°I have no idea how I even feel,¡± Macaroni admitted, her voice cracking. ¡°It kinda felt like something divine spared me, but I¡¯m not even going to lie to myself.¡±


    Martha, oblivious to the gravity of the situation, said insensitively, ¡°It was something divine that saved you.¡±


    The room fell silent as Dave, Macaroni and I turned to Martha, our eyes filled with disbelief and anger. How could she be so callous?


    ¡°You have no decency, do you?¡± Macaroni asked, voice trembling with disdain. ¡°Two men from the company I''m in¡­ their children will either grow up with a single parent or end up in the foster care system!¡±


    I looked at my daughter, her eyes filled with tears, and I knew I had to stand by her. ¡°What you said was uncalled for and mean,¡± I said to Martha, my voice firm. ¡°You never stopped to think about the families of the guys my daughter worked with.¡±


    At that moment, the reality of our situation hit me like a ton of bricks. The pain, the loss, the uncertainty of the future¡ªit was all too much to bear. But I knew I had to be strong for my daughter, for the families affected, and for myself.


    As we sat in the hospital room, the tension was palpable. Suddenly, Dave''s radio crackled to life, ¡°Firehouses 14, 15, 16, 17, 19, 23, Rescue Co 17, and 18, USAR 3, Battalion 18, Battalion 19, Safety Battalion 3, Safety Battalion 4, Squad 541, Squad 525. Mass Cass Unit 7. All EPD Auxiliary and Highway Patrol respond to the East Interexchange. The overpass has collapsed with both firefighters and civilians down.¡±


    Dave''s face turned serious as he replied, ¡°Copy, Sixteen Truck responding,¡± before bolting out of the room.


    Martha looked confused, clearly not understanding the gravity of the situation.


    ¡°It¡¯s a 10-60 emergency,¡± Macaroni explained, her voice steady despite the chaos.


    ¡°A what?¡± I asked, feeling a knot form in my stomach.


    ¡°A major emergency,¡± Macaroni clarified. ¡°It brings in 5 Engine Companies, 5 Ladder Companies, 4 Battalion Chiefs, 1 Deputy Chief, 1 FAST Unit, 1 Rescue Task Force - which includes 2 Rescue Co., 2 Collapse Rescue, 2 Squad Co., 1 Haz-Tac Officer, 1 Rescue Paramedic Unit, 1 Additional Rescue Co., Rescue Battalion, Safety Battalion, 1 Tactical Support Unit, SOC Logistics Support Unit, SOC Compressor Unit, Haz-Mat Battalion, Haz-Mat Company #32 or 33, Haz-Mat Technician Engine Company, Communication Unit, Field Communications Unit, Recuperation and Care Unit, and Public Information Officer.¡±


    Martha, trying to shift the focus, said, ¡°You need to think about other things, like walking down the aisle one day at a church or wedding venue.¡±


    Macaroni''s eyes flashed with determination. ¡°If my girlfriend and I get married, it will be at a courthouse, not in a church. She¡¯s both Agnostic and Atheist. And if we do get married, it will be cheap and on the fly, not something that takes months or years to plan.¡±


    Martha looked at me, seeking support, but I stood firm. ¡°I stand by my daughter¡¯s decision. If and when they get married, Martha, you need to accept that you won¡¯t be planning Macaroni''s wedding. And she isn¡¯t interested in marrying a guy.¡±


    The room was filled with a heavy silence as the reality of our lives settled in. The chaos outside mirrored the turmoil within, but in that moment, I knew I had to be strong for my daughter, for the families affected, and for myself.


    ¡°Well, you need to start planning for when you¡¯re ready to begin your walking rehab,¡± I said gently, trying to steer the conversation towards recovery.


    Macaroni sighed, ¡°I¡¯ll start tomorrow.¡±


    ¡°What happened to you, Macaroni, doesn¡¯t happen every day,¡± I reminded her, my voice filled with concern.


    Macaroni, always quick with a quip, replied, ¡°Neither is seeing a 100-foot Marshmallow man walking down the street.¡±


    Martha looked puzzled. ¡°I don¡¯t get it,¡± she said, clearly out of the loop.


    Macaroni and I exchanged a knowing glance. Of course, Martha wouldn¡¯t know about the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man from Ghostbusters.


    _____________


    (Mackenzie ¡°Macaroni¡± Waterson POV)


    I found myself at the walking rehab center, feeling a mix of apprehension and determination. I knew this was a necessary step to get cleared for work, but I couldn''t shake the feeling that I was doing just fine without any assistance. The thought of using a cane or, heaven forbid, a walker, made me cringe. I didn''t want to become one of those grumpy elders who whack people with their canes for misbehaving.


    As I waited, a woman approached me with a warm smile. "Hello, Ms. Waterson. I''m Dr. Emily Carter, your walking rehab specialist," she said, extending her hand.


    For a moment, I felt a surge of irritation. The name "Carter" brought back memories of someone I knew who was a real jerk. But I quickly reminded myself that not everyone with the surname Carter deserved my wrath. I took a deep breath and shook her hand.


    "Nice to meet you," I replied, trying to keep my tone neutral. "Where can I get started?"


    Dr. Carter chuckled softly. "Slow down, Ms. Waterson. We''re here to make sure you can walk properly, not to train you for a triathlon."


    I couldn''t help but smile at her lighthearted approach. It reminded me of my cousin, twice removed, who had been a gunship helicopter pilot during the Vietnam War. He had survived a helicopter crash that left him with severe injuries, including the removal of part of his stomach. Despite his limitations, he never went to rehab, not on his time nor the VA''s. Instead, he found solace in hard work, knowing his limits, and watching football games, especially on Super Bowl Sunday.


    As Dr. Carter led me through the initial assessments, I realized that this rehab journey was about more than just getting cleared for work. It was about understanding my own limits and finding ways to overcome them. With Dr. Carter''s guidance, I felt a glimmer of hope that I could regain my strength and independence without losing my sense of humor and determination.


    Dr. Carter then conducted a routine check-up, just like any other doctor would. She checked my vitals, asked about my medical history, and made sure there were no underlying issues that could affect my rehab. Once she was satisfied with the initial assessment, she led me to an examination room.


    "Alright, Ms. Waterson," she said, her tone professional yet kind. "Let''s talk about your rehabilitation plan. The first steps are crucial, and we need to ensure you''re comfortable with them before we move on to more challenging exercises."


    I nodded, feeling a mix of anticipation and nervousness. "How hard do you think the first steps will be for me?" I asked, trying to gauge what I was in for.


    Dr. Carter smiled reassuringly. "We''ll start with some easy steps, focusing on your balance and strength. It''s important to take it slow and steady. Everyone progresses at their own pace, and we''ll adjust the plan as needed based on how you''re doing."


    Her words put me at ease. I appreciated her thoughtful approach and the fact that she was willing to tailor the rehab plan to my specific needs. It was clear that she was dedicated to helping me regain my mobility and independence.


    As we discussed the details of the plan, I couldn''t help but feel a sense of determination. With Dr. Carter''s guidance, I was ready to tackle the challenges ahead and take those first steps towards recovery.


    "Do I have to use a walker or cane?" I asked, a hint of reluctance in my voice.


    Dr. Carter nodded. "You''ll need to use a walker while you''re here in the rehab center, and we''ll assign you a cane for when you''re out and about."


    I felt a pang of frustration at the thought of relying on these aids, but I knew it was necessary for my recovery. Just as I was about to ask about the cost, I remembered how fortunate I was to live in a country with universal healthcare. It was a relief to know that I wouldn''t have to worry about the financial burden, even though my insurance only covered medical visits.


    "So, what''s the plan?" I asked, eager to get started.


    Dr. Carter smiled warmly. "We''ll begin with some basic exercises to improve your balance and strength. As you progress, we''ll gradually introduce more challenging activities. The goal is to help you regain your mobility and confidence, step by step."


    Her reassuring words gave me a sense of hope. I knew the journey ahead wouldn''t be easy, but with Dr. Carter''s guidance and support, I felt ready to face the challenges. It was time to take those first steps towards recovery, one careful step at a time.


    "What kind of basic exercises?" I asked, wanting to ensure we were on the same page.


    Dr. Carter smiled, appreciating my curiosity. "We''ll start with some simple exercises to improve your balance and strength. These might include things like standing on one leg, heel-to-toe walking, and gentle leg lifts. We''ll also work on your gait to make sure you''re walking correctly and efficiently."


    I nodded, feeling a bit more at ease. "That sounds manageable."


    "Absolutely," she replied. "The key is to take it slow and steady. We''ll gradually increase the difficulty as you progress. Remember, it''s all about building a strong foundation."


    Her words gave me confidence. I knew that with her guidance, I could tackle these exercises and make steady progress. It was reassuring to know that we had a clear plan in place, and I was ready to take those first steps towards recovery.


    "When I determine that you''re comfortable and can manage that, then we''ll move onto the hard stuff like sprinting and later running on a treadmill," Dr. Carter said with a warm smile.


    I replied, "And other harder exercises for my cardio and walking exercises that¡¯ll be challenging?"


    Dr. Carter nodded. "Exactly. We''ll incorporate more intense cardio exercises and advanced walking drills to really push your limits. The goal is to build your endurance and strength gradually, so you''ll be ready for any physical challenges that come your way."


    I felt a mix of excitement and nervousness. The thought of sprinting and running on a treadmill seemed daunting, but I was determined to give it my all. With Dr. Carter''s support and guidance, I knew I could tackle these challenges head-on and make significant progress in my recovery journey.


    Dr. Carter smiled, appreciating my eagerness. "In addition to sprinting and running on the treadmill, we¡¯ll incorporate a variety of advanced walking drills. She then slid me a piece of paper that says that these might include:


    <ol>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Incline Walking: Walking on an inclined surface to build strength and endurance in your legs.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Obstacle Courses: Navigating through a series of obstacles to improve your agility and coordination.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Speed Intervals: Alternating between fast and slow walking to boost your cardiovascular fitness.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Weighted Walks: Carrying light weights while walking to enhance your overall strength and stability.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Backward Walking: Walking backward to challenge your balance and engage different muscle groups.</li>


    </ol>


    Each of these drills is designed to push your limits and help you build a strong foundation for more intense physical activities. We¡¯ll adjust the difficulty based on your progress to ensure you¡¯re always challenged but not overwhelmed."


    I felt a surge of determination. The variety of exercises sounded both challenging and exciting. With Dr. Carter¡¯s guidance, I was ready to tackle these advanced drills and make significant strides in my recovery journey.


    "Any other harder ones?" I asked, curious about what else lay ahead.


    Dr. Carter nodded. "Yes, another challenging exercise is running a mile on a track. This will be one of the final tests to ensure you''ve built up your endurance and strength. If you can complete that, it will be a significant milestone in your recovery."


    I took a deep breath, feeling a mix of anticipation and determination. Running a mile seemed like a daunting task, but I was ready to face it head-on. With Dr. Carter''s support and the progress I''d already made, I felt confident that I could rise to the challenge and achieve my goals.


    "Have you ever worked with a first responder before?" I asked, genuinely curious.


    Dr. Carter nodded. "Yes, I primarily assist police officers who get injured on the job, but I''ve worked with all kinds of first responders. Firefighters, Paramedics, EMTs¡ªyou name it. They often face unique challenges in their recovery, and it''s my job to help them get back to full duty."


    Her words reassured me. Knowing that she had experience working with people in high-stress, physically demanding jobs like mine made me feel more confident in her ability to guide me through this process. I was ready to tackle whatever challenges lay ahead, knowing I was in capable hands.


    ___________________


    Back at my apartment, I finally sank into the comfort of my couch, ready to unwind. Just as I started to relax, there was a knock at the door.


    "Please, not another visit from those religious zealots," I muttered to myself. The last thing I needed was a lecture on why their beliefs trumped everyone else''s.


    I opened the door and was taken aback. Standing there was a woman who looked eerily like me, but with striking blue eyes and a few battle scars etched into her face.


    "Who are you?" I asked, my curiosity piqued.


    "Cadenza Amore," she replied. "I''m Mitchell''s half-sister. We share the same mother, thanks to superfecundation."


    I couldn''t help but notice the toughness in her demeanor. "You''ve seen some fights," I remarked.


    Cadenza''s eyes hardened. "You don''t win fights or wars by playing patty cake," she said, her voice carrying the weight of experience.


    "Can I ask what you''re doing here, Ms. Amore?" I inquired, trying to mask my surprise.


    "Mitchell told me you might need some help around the house after what happened," she replied, her tone matter-of-fact.


    "Well, it was nice of him to think of that, but I''m not really comfortable with a housekeeper or a caretaker," I admitted, feeling a bit uneasy about the whole situation.


    Cadenza gave a small, reassuring smile. "I''m not here to be a housekeeper or a caretaker. Think of me more as a helper, someone to make sure you don''t have to be on your feet all the time when you need something," she explained, downplaying the formality of her role.


    I decided to let her in anyway, curiosity getting the better of me.


    ¡°So, what do you do?¡± I asked, hoping to get a better sense of who this mysterious woman was.


    Cadenza¡¯s expression remained unreadable. ¡°Classified,¡± she replied, with a hint of a smirk.


    Great, I thought. This was going to be interesting.


    From Cadenza¡¯s hourglass figure and athletic build, it was clear that her job was physically demanding.


    "Special Forces?" I ventured, trying to piece together the puzzle.


    "In a way," she responded, her tone cryptic.


    "If I had to guess, I''d say you''re with one of the five Little Bird Special Forces Groups, similar to the Green Berets and Delta Force. Or maybe the Silent Serpents, which are somewhat publicly known," I speculated.


    Cadenza shook her head with a slight smile. "Nope, not them," she said, leaving me even more intrigued.


    "Army Rangers? Marine Commandos?" I guessed, knowing those two were also part of the elite Little Bird military special forces.


    "Nope," Cadenza replied, her expression giving nothing away.


    "Project Phoenix?" I ventured, hoping this time I''d hit the mark.


    Cadenza''s eyes lit up. "Ding, ding, ding. You win."


    "Win what?" I asked, genuinely curious.


    "Finally getting the right answer," she said with a grin.


    "Military brat?" I asked, curious about her background.


    Cadenza nodded. "Father''s a General in the army. I spent most of my time off in school with him. His wife didn''t want kids and walked out before I was born. During the war, she was caught selling secrets to the Soviets, acting like it was no big deal. My unit captured her, and she tried to play innocent. I told her that selling military information is a capital offense, punishable by death. She tried to act like a loving mother, but I made it clear she wasn''t my mother. She walked out before I was born and never cared to check up on me or my father."


    Her story was intense, and I could see the pain and resolve in her eyes. "That''s... a lot to deal with," I said softly, trying to offer some comfort.


    Cadenza shrugged. "I made my peace with it."


    "And the woman who your dad was with before leaving and not checking up on you two?" I asked, genuinely curious about her fate.


    Cadenza''s expression hardened. "It''s called a firing squad for a reason. Here in Little Bird, trading government and military secrets is a capital offense. Offenders face either the firing squad or the electric chair."


    "Yeah, I know Little Bird is one of the few countries with the death penalty options like hanging, firing squad, gas chamber, and electric chair. The firing squad is considered the most humane because the country refuses to adopt lethal injection, seeing it as too humane for those on death row," I said, recalling my own knowledge. "Back in Alabama, where I''m from, there''s a prison with an execution chamber in Escambia County."


    Cadenza nodded. "Capital punishment laws here are absolute and not to be taken lightly. Those who sell or trade government or military secrets get to choose between the firing squad or the electric chair. For other death row crimes, it''s a one-in-four chance among the methods, but for treason, including selling secrets, there are only two options."


    Cadenza leaned against the wall, her posture relaxed yet alert.


    "You can sit down if you want," I offered.


    She shook her head with a polite smile. "I prefer to stand."


    "So, what''s your father like?" I asked, genuinely curious about the man who raised such a formidable woman.


    "He''s the type who, if I overheard him say something, wouldn''t deny it or gaslight me. He always comes clean," Cadenza began. "He knows I''m not a female version of him. The only thing we really share is an interest in firearms. I have friends whose parents hate their own children because they don''t share the same interests. They drive their kids away by forcing their hobbies down their throats. Those kids run away, and their parents never see their weddings, their grandchildren, or have family at funerals because they pushed them away."


    Cadenza continued, sharing stories about friends whose fathers wanted them to be gearheads, but they were more into sports, or mothers who wanted their daughters to be artists or book club members, but they had different passions. "If I were a mother," she said thoughtfully, "I''d encourage my child to pursue their own interests. I know children aren''t carbon copies of their parents. Sure, some hobbies get passed down, but not everyone shares the same passions."


    Her words resonated with me, painting a vivid picture of her values and the kind of person she was. It was clear that Cadenza valued individuality and understood the importance of letting people be who they truly are.


    I was tempted to bring up genetics but decided against it. "So, your rank?" I asked instead.


    Cadenza replied, "Lt-Cmdr 1856385-CA."


    I scratched my head, trying to decode the military jargon.


    "Lieutenant Commander," she clarified with a small smile.


    "Have you ever been in a tough battle?" I asked, genuinely curious about her experiences.


    Her eyes darkened slightly, and she nodded. "More than I''d like to remember," she said quietly. "But those battles have shaped who I am today."


    __________________________


    (Cadenza Amore POV)


    August 20th, 2005


    I led Fireteam Saber alongside a convoy of APCs, the rumble of their engines a constant reminder of the tension in the air.


    Tech Sgt Francis muttered, "Can''t believe some Soviets slipped past our line."


    I responded, my voice steady, "It''s our job to push them back. Command considered using dogs to flush them out, but the Reds dug in deep. Chemical warfare is off the table, so we''ll handle this the old-fashioned way."


    Suddenly, an RPG struck the lead APC. The soldiers riding on top leaped off just in time, but those inside weren''t so lucky. The explosion was a stark reminder of the brutal reality of our mission.


    The battle raged on as we engaged the Soviets. The remaining two APCs unleashed their .50 Cal HMGs, strategically positioned behind the wreckage of the lead vehicle. This provided them with cover, ensuring that any incoming RPGs had a higher chance of deflecting off the frontal armor or hitting the surrounding trees rather than destroying the APCs.


    We advanced cautiously. The APCs held their position, refusing to move until we neutralized the Soviet Anti-Armor teams. The terrain ahead was treacherous, with inclines that could trap the vehicles or stall their engines. Realizing this, we had to make the tough call to turn the APCs around and find a more navigable route.


    Every decision was critical, every move calculated. This was warfare at its most brutal and unforgiving.


    We reached the entrenched Soviet positions, and Fireteam Saber took the brunt of their fire. Their bullets bounced harmlessly off our armor, leaving the Soviets bewildered and frustrated. We served as the perfect distraction, allowing our assault teams to maneuver around and flank them from the left. The Soviets, fixated on us, couldn''t comprehend why their bullets were ineffective.


    As the battle raged on, I couldn''t help but think of the dire situation for the Soviets in Fort Suction. Surrounded by half a million Little Birden soldiers, the 100,000 Soviets were being relentlessly pounded by mortar, artillery, and rocket fire. The air force added to their misery with cluster bombs, laser-guided bombs, and napalm. Stories circulated about how our artillery guns had to pause to cool down due to the intense rate of fire, even on the first day of the invasion.


    Despite the overwhelming odds, we were up against a battalion-sized element of Soviet forces that had breached our lines. Every moment was a test of our resolve and tactics, but we pressed on, determined to push them back and secure our position.


    As we moved forward.


    "Reinforcements," I announced, spotting another APC and friendly assault infantry advancing behind it. This time, the APC was an armored flamethrower, moving in on our western flank.


    Suddenly, a squadron of jets roared overhead. Moments later, the Soviet depot we were closing in on erupted in a massive explosion.


    "Does the Air Force know we''re here?" I muttered to myself, questioning the timing and proximity of the strike. The battlefield was a chaotic symphony of fire and steel, and every second counted.


    Command ordered us to halt our advance. Intelligence suggested a Soviet Battalion HQ was holed up in a cave ahead. Instead of digging them out, we were going to force them out by burning them out.


    We waited for the tanks to arrive. The Little Bird military fielded a variety of tanks, including the M1, M1A1, M2, and M2A2 Main Battle Tanks. Each had different variants: Self-Propelled Gun, Self-Propelled Anti-Air Gun, Tank Destroyer, Armored Recovery Vehicle, Armored Engineer Vehicle, Amphibious, Bridge laying, and Armored Flamethrower. Although flamethrowers are considered obsolete and primarily used for clearing foliage around bases, they were our last resort for flushing out entrenched enemies when airstrikes were too risky or when our units were pinned down and unable to use rocket launchers.


    We prepared for the next phase, knowing that the Soviets would soon face the full might of our armored flamethrowers. The anticipation was palpable, every soldier ready for the order to advance.


    Our assault teams were equipped with man-portable flamethrowers, each with just ten seconds of fuel. The flamethrower tanks varied by type, generally holding thirty seconds of fuel. The Army''s APCs, designed as armored flamethrowers, and the Navy''s armored vehicles could shoot napalm, for up to a minute.


    The assault teams exhausted their underbarrel and handheld grenade launchers, firing incendiary and high-explosive grenades until they ran out. We held our position, waiting for the tanks to arrive. When they did, they weren''t the flamethrower variants we had hoped for but the main battle tanks. However, they were armed with 120mm white phosphorus shells, ready to burn out the Soviet forces entrenched in the cave.


    We prepared for the next phase, knowing that the Soviets would soon face the relentless onslaught of our combined firepower. The tension was palpable, every soldier ready for the order to advance.


    If we had been the Marines, we might have employed the "Blowtorch" and "Corkscrew" method. A Combat Engineer or Armored Flamethrower would act as the "Blowtorch," blasting fire into fortified positions, while soldiers with automatic weapons provided suppressive fire as the "Corkscrew." Alternatively, we could have used explosives to collapse the cave.


    But our orders were clear: burn the Soviets out. That''s exactly what we did. The white phosphorus shells from our tanks ignited the cave, forcing the Soviets out into the open. It was brutal, but it was effective. We executed our mission with precision, ensuring no Soviet forces remained entrenched.


    The remnants of the Soviet Battalion scattered, engaging in fierce firefights with other Little Bird Army units. To me, war is a stark reminder of mortality. Seeing the Soviets burning, I ordered my men to put them out of their misery. It was the humane thing to do; leaving them to suffer was inhumane.


    My father always said, "Soldiers of all countries are the same at the end of the day, questioning their choices and hoping they''ve done the right thing." This resonates deeply with me. Regardless of our backgrounds or the flags we fight under, we are all human. We may battle for different reasons, but at the end of the day, we share the same fears, hopes, and humanity.


    __________


    (Current day/ Mackenzie ¡°Macaroni¡± Waterson POV)


    Cadenza finished her story, and I listened intently. At one point, I couldn''t help but interject. "I thought flamethrowers were either banned or considered obsolete?"


    "Yes, flamethrowers are considered obsolete," she replied. "Nowadays, they''re mostly used in agriculture for controlled burns, clearing brush, melting snow and ice, incinerating weeds and insect hives, and for pyrotechnic events. The military still uses them to clear out foliage and other obstacles. Despite some beliefs, flamethrowers aren''t generally banned. However, the United Nations Protocol on Incendiary Weapons forbids their use against civilians and forests, unless those forests are being used to conceal combatants or other military objectives."


    Her explanation was thorough, and I found myself learning more about the practical uses and regulations surrounding such a controversial weapon. It was clear that Cadenza''s knowledge extended far beyond just combat skills.


    "So, who gets assigned a flamethrower in Little Bird?" I asked, genuinely curious about the specifics.


    "Combat Engineers and Assault Engineers," Cadenza replied.


    "What''s the difference?" I asked, wanting to understand more.


    "Combat Engineers are responsible for building or destroying structures in a combat zone. They''re issued weapons for both defense and offense," she explained. "Assault Engineers, on the other hand, are similar but are equipped for offensive actions. They blow up obstacles to deny enemy access while fighting on the frontlines alongside regular soldiers. The Little Bird Military also has Rear Echelon Engineers who stay back at base to keep things running smoothly. However, they can be pressed into Combat or Assault Engineer roles if additional manpower is needed. Combat Engineers use ARVs, or Armored Recovery Vehicles, and AEVs Armored Engineer Vehicles, while Rear Echelon Engineers and Assault Engineers do not."


    Her detailed explanation painted a clear picture of the different roles and responsibilities within the engineering units, highlighting the versatility and importance of each group in military operations.


    "Why do I have a feeling that an ARV or AEV are like the British AVRE, or Armored Vehicle Royal Engineers, from World War II? Those vehicles could handle demolitions, mine clearing, tracks, roadways, bridge laying, and gap clearing," I said, trying to connect the dots.


    Cadenza nodded. "You''re spot on. In World War I, the Little Bird Army of Engineers designed specialized trucks to create temporary bridges over anti-tank trenches, preventing tanks from getting stuck. By World War II, they had developed ARVs and AEVs, including a variant of the Armored Engineer Vehicle equipped with a mortar or a 105mm gun. These turned into heavy assault vehicles capable of destroying enemy defenses or supporting troops without exposing them. Although the heavy assault vehicles often undershot their targets, they had a tool that could make the shells more dangerous. This tool allowed the shells to bounce off the ground, creating a delayed explosion that could catch enemies off guard thinking it¡¯s a dud."


    Her explanation was fascinating, revealing the ingenuity and adaptability of military engineering over the years. It was clear that Cadenza had a deep understanding of her field, and I couldn''t help but be impressed by the history and evolution of these specialized vehicles.


    "So, what''s your favorite engineering vehicle?" I asked, genuinely curious.


    Without hesitation, Cadenza replied, "The armored flamethrower. It''s incredibly effective at forcing the enemy out of their positions without putting friendly infantry at risk. It can clear out bunkers, trenches, and fortified positions, making it a powerful tool on the battlefield."


    Her answer made perfect sense, given her background and expertise. The armored flamethrower was a formidable piece of equipment, and it was clear why it held a special place in her arsenal.


    "What about you? What''s your favorite vehicle?" Cadenza asked, turning the question back to me.


    "Does it have to be an engineering vehicle?" I asked, wanting to broaden the scope.


    "Nope," she replied with a smile.


    "Then I''d have to say the Willys MB," I said. "The jeep that won World War II for the Allies."


    Cadenza nodded appreciatively. "A classic choice. Versatile, reliable, and iconic. It played a crucial role in the war effort."


    "Exactly," I agreed. "It''s amazing how such a simple vehicle could have such a significant impact. I even had family members drive or ride on it in the war."


    Just then, my phone vibrated. It was a message from my dad. He said Martha wanted to come and stay with me until my walking rehab was done. I immediately texted back, telling him to keep Martha away or I''d file a restraining order. She just couldn''t see that I was a 26-year-old woman, not a little girl or a rebellious teenager.


    My dad defended Martha, saying she was just being overprotective and saw me as the daughter she never had. I pointed out that I was born in 1984, while Martha was born in 1980, and her twin sons were born in the ''90s when she was in 11th grade. I could do the math. I firmly told my dad that I already had an aide¡ªmy cousin Mitchell''s half-sister, Cadenza¡ªwho would be my live-in assistant. I insisted that Martha stay away, warning that if she showed up, I''d call the cops and report her for harassment and stalking.


    Dad texted back, saying he''d try to convince Martha to stay in Alabama and not fly thousands of miles to be with me.


    Cadenza shared more about her past. She told me how, during the war, her unit captured her father''s wife, who tried to play the mother card despite not being Cadenza''s mother. Cadenza had no qualms about arresting her for selling military secrets to the Soviets. She even wanted her executed by electric chair without the wet sponge, but the military opted for a firing squad instead.


    Cadenza explained that she never really had a mother, just her father. She and Mitchell didn''t even know they were half-siblings until a few years back in ''08. Their arguments as friends always felt more like sibling squabbles, which made sense once they discovered their true relationship. They had gone through elementary, middle, and part of high school as friends, completely unaware that they were actually family.

 Chapter Seventeen

    Three months later


    September 1st, 2010


    "I still can''t believe you chokeslammed my neighbor," I said, shaking my head in disbelief.


    Cadenza shrugged, "Yeah, well, he shouldn''t have run up on us like that."


    "You''re lucky he''s not pressing charges," I replied, my voice tinged with concern.


    Cadenza smirked, "Look on the bright side, Mac. Your walking rehab is almost over. Just a couple more tests and exams, and Dr. Emily Carter will sign off that you''re good to go back to work."


    I sighed, "Yeah, at least that''s almost over."


    While waiting to cross the avenue, I noticed the flashing lights and sirens of Collapse Rescue Squad 17 speeding by, with Rescue 17 leading the way.


    ¡°Well, that ain¡¯t good,¡± I said, my eyes following the vehicles. ¡°Collapse Rescue Squad 17 just flew by with Rescue 17 leading.¡±


    Cadenza replied calmly, ¡°Yup.¡±


    ¡°So, when the Soviets landed on Little Back in ¡®05,¡± I began to ask, curiosity piqued.


    Cadenza nodded, ¡°I¡¯ve heard over the radio. Guess the Soviets weren¡¯t expecting to fight cops. Yes, justified police forces are not meant to engage professional soldiers, armored vehicles, and attack helicopters. Yes, those cops used automatic rifles like a standard infantry squad, and yes, given that men here are required for military service, it makes sense. I was with my dad, listening to the radio, and heard a Fort Suction Militiaman say, ¡®We are taking heavy fire. We cannot hold it. We have to leave now and we¡¯re going to take who we can, but we¡¯ll have to leave many behind!¡¯ Of course, both the cops and militia held the line for as long as they could until the Air Force was mobilized to cover the evac sites. Once the evacs were done, the Air Force used LGBs to destroy the three bridges that led out of Fort Suction.¡±


    I shook my head, trying to imagine the chaos and bravery of that day. ¡°That must have been intense.¡±


    Cadenza shrugged, ¡°It was. But they did what they had to do.¡±


    We continued to wait for the light to change, the weight of history and the present moment hanging in the air.


    ¡°On the radios, it felt like a dramatic radio program,¡± Cadenza continued. ¡°Even though by the 1980s, the Soviet Union had been thoroughly de-Stalinized after a series of political reforms, the Fort Suction Militia members were still shouting anti-Communist and anti-Stalin slogans.¡±


    I raised an eyebrow, ¡°Let me guess. You guys had a high-yield neutron bomb capable of terminating personnel without damaging infrastructure?¡±


    Cadenza shook her head. ¡°No, a neutron bomb requires a small nuclear detonation, which would be quite destructive in the middle of a major city. But your granduncle did order the Little Bird military to recapture Fort Suction within one month, or he would authorize a thermonuclear strike. So, yes, one month later, the Little Bird military managed to recapture the city.¡±


    I whistled softly, ¡°That¡¯s intense. I can¡¯t imagine the pressure they must have been under.¡±


    Cadenza nodded, ¡°It was a tense time, but they did what they had to do to protect the city and its people.¡±


    As we finally crossed the avenue, the weight of those historical events lingered in my mind, a reminder of the resilience and determination of those who came before us.


    ¡°I bet the Soviets wished they never set foot on Little Bird,¡± I said, shaking my head at the thought.


    Cadenza chuckled, ¡°The Soviets who were in Fort Suction definitely regretted it. When they tried to cross the river using rowboats, a few well-placed bullets sunk those boats, and they ended up floating down the river. Rowing directly to the shore where your enemies are waiting is not a good idea. They had no cover, but we did. The Soviets tried to use their 152.4 mm artillery to shell our positions, but our 105mm and 155mm artillery could hit their artillery. Their artillery could hit ours, but our 210mm and 240mm artillery guns could counter-battery fire their guns, and they didn¡¯t have the range to hit our 210mm and 240mm guns.¡±


    I nodded, imagining the chaos and strategic maneuvers. ¡°Sounds like a tactical nightmare for them.¡±


    Cadenza smirked, ¡°It was. They underestimated us, and it cost them dearly.¡±


    As we continued walking, the stories of past battles and the resilience of those who fought them filled the air, a testament to the strength and determination of our people.


    ¡°The Soviet 3rd Shock Army landed on Northwest Little Bird, attempting a naval invasion to relieve their surrounded allies, the Soviet 5th Shock Army, trapped in Fort Suction. Long story short, the Soviet 3rd Shock Army failed. They landed on the beach but were pinned down by mortar, artillery, and regular gunfire. They didn¡¯t have enough amphibious vehicles for a massive beach invasion, only able to drop off 170 soldiers at a time before having to return to the ships to load more soldiers. The Soviet 3rd Shock Army also lacked any kind of support. Every inch of that beach was pre-sighted by 60mm, 61mm, 81mm, 120mm mortars, and 105mm, 155mm, 210mm, and 240mm artillery. Not to mention, the Militia members and their Anti-Armor teams, with well-placed shots, disabled the BTR-80s turrets, preventing them from laying down suppressive fire for the soldiers,¡± Cadenza continued.


    I nodded, ¡°That¡¯s a recipe for disaster. No naval support, no air support, and not enough amphibious transports to bring more soldiers to the shore. It was like they were hoping the Little Bird Military wasn¡¯t paying attention. But the Little Bird Military, well, the Militia, did.¡±


    Cadenza smirked, ¡°Exactly. They underestimated us, and it cost them dearly.¡±


    I replied, ¡°Guess they were hoping for a surprise invasion and to avoid landing in an urban area because of the populace.¡±


    Cadenza nodded, ¡°Exactly. Soviet propaganda was something else. They claimed to occupy half of Little Bird by the third month, including Blister Canyon and Lava Falls, for added audacity. They even said the Little Birden civilians were welcoming the invasion as a liberation and joining the Soviets. In reality, they only controlled Fort Suction. The Little Bird civilians were extremely hostile to the invaders, grabbing any gun or weapon they could find and fighting back. Soviet Commanders mentioned in their mission briefings that their troops were surprised by the level of resistance. Everywhere they went, they were greeted with gunfire.¡±


    I chuckled, ¡°It¡¯s funny how an enemy country uses propaganda to say the war is going well for them, but in reality, it¡¯s a complete disaster.¡±


    Cadenza smirked, ¡°Yeah, they really underestimated the spirit and resilience of the Little Bird people.¡±


    ¡°So, the citizens of Fort Suction?¡± I asked, curious about their fate.


    Cadenza sighed, ¡°Those who couldn¡¯t escape and had to be left behind tried to continue their day-to-day activities, but it was much harder. During the evacuation, the Air Force used scorched earth tactics, destroying fuel silos, gas stations, electrical substations, telecommunications, rail, and industrial resources.¡±


    ¡°Ain¡¯t that a war crime?¡± I asked, raising an eyebrow.


    ¡°Not against enemy combatants,¡± Cadenza replied. ¡°But many citizens became part of the resistance movement. People with different views buried their hatchets and fought against the Soviet occupiers¡ªroyalists, patriots, anarchists, even religious fanatics.¡±


    ¡°Sounds like partisans. What¡¯s the difference between resistance and partisans?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Resistance fighters might sabotage supply lines, pass secret messages, and generally make life as inconvenient as possible for the invaders. They gather their metaphorical pitchforks or actual weapons and say, ¡®Hey invaders, not on our watch.¡¯ Partisans, on the other hand, are more like rebels with a cause, guerrilla fighters. Think about the Italian, French, Dutch, and Soviet resistance to the Axis powers. Sometimes, your neighbors who hate you can become your allies. The Fort Suction resistance used codewords with the Little Bird military to signal that their cell or group had been compromised without the Soviets knowing. Those who didn¡¯t resist often sold out their neighbors or friends who were in the resistance. But one thing is clear: people will rebel if you take their land and enforce your rules or push your own countrymen too far.¡±


    As I opened the restaurant door, I asked, ¡°So, those who sold out their own neighbors to the Soviets?¡±


    Cadenza nodded, ¡°They were arrested by Military Police on charges of treason and aiding the enemy.¡±


    We stepped inside, the weight of those stories lingering in the air, a reminder of the complexities and sacrifices of war.


    ¡°How did people cope?¡± I asked, genuinely curious about their resilience.


    Cadenza sighed, ¡°Without power, fuel, and communications, life was a lot harder during that month from July 21 to August 21. But I think they quickly got used to the sounds of jets flying overhead, gunfire, and explosions from artillery and mortar rounds. After the city was recaptured, they began to rebuild their lives, but many lives couldn¡¯t be repaired. For days afterward, people put up posters that stretched for blocks, looking for missing friends or family members. Some had high hopes of reuniting, while others accepted the harsh reality that they had lost loved ones. That¡¯s one of the hardest parts of war¡ªsome people can¡¯t accept the loss and wait for years, even decades, hoping to see their friends or family again. Others come to terms with it sooner or later.¡±


    I nodded, feeling the weight of her words. ¡°It¡¯s heartbreaking to think about, but it¡¯s incredible how people find the strength to keep going.¡±


    Cadenza gave a small, sad smile. ¡°Yeah, it is. People are resilient, even in the face of unimaginable hardship.¡±


    As we settled into the restaurant, the stories of survival and loss lingered in my mind, a testament to the enduring human spirit.


    ¡°Of course, the military provided psychological counselors so people could talk to someone and get some kind of mental support. And when we struck back at the USSR, well, long story short, we learned from where Napoleon and Germany failed,¡± Cadenza said.


    I replied, ¡°So, logistics and weather?¡±


    ¡°Exactly. Germany was overconfident in capturing land from the USSR. Hitler believed that communist society was fundamentally weak and wouldn¡¯t take much to defeat. The French under Napoleon failed due to logistics and weather. Germany had its own issues¡ªStalin had purged the Soviet Officer Corps, leaving the Soviet Army poorly led, undersupplied, and undertrained. But supplies from Britain and the United States¡ªlike weapons, ammo, and other essentials¡ªkept the Soviets fighting. And then there¡¯s October, the Soviet autumn. You get snowfalls, thaw, snowfall, thaw, turning central Russia into a muddy morass, grinding the German offensive to a halt. The French faced harsh weather, disease like typhus, scorched earth tactics, and guerrilla warfare by Russian peasants and Cossacks,¡± Cadenza explained. ¡°There¡¯s a benefit to losing¡ªyou learn from your mistakes. We learned from what happened to the French and Germans. We adapted for the brutal Russian winter in September, were given autumn uniforms, and by late October-early November, we had winter uniforms. We didn¡¯t over-rely on mechanized or motorized supplies.¡±


    I nodded, impressed by the strategic foresight. ¡°Sounds like you guys were well-prepared.¡±


    Cadenza smiled, ¡°We had to be. History taught us valuable lessons, and we made sure not to repeat the same mistakes.¡±


    Soon, a waiter came by, and I ordered a root beer float while Cadenza opted for some water.


    ¡°Of course, the Little Bird Army developed combat armor to protect vital organs,¡± Cadenza said. ¡°The winterized version keeps the wearer warm, preventing frostbite or hypothermia. It even includes a built-in balaclava mask and combat goggles to prevent snow glare. There are four variants of the combat armor: Spring, Desert, Autumn, and Winter. Spring and Autumn are painted dark olive drab, Desert is a desert color, and Winter is all white. Spring and Desert variants are lighter for warmer weather, while the Winter variant is insulated to keep the wearer warm without risking hyperthermia.¡±


    I nodded. ¡°Sounds like the Little Bird War Department put a lot of thought into how individual soldiers could keep fighting in the brutal Russian winter.¡±


    Cadenza continued, ¡°The Soviets did the same, finding ways to keep their soldiers warm. Even the Russians don¡¯t like -40 degrees, regardless of what they say. No sane person wants to fight or live in that kind of weather. And I¡¯m talking Fahrenheit, not Celsius. Blizzards often made support like artillery and air support unavailable. Both sides hated deep snow because it left vehicles and foot tracks, slowing movement and making it easy for others to follow or ambush.¡±


    I sipped my root beer float, thinking about the challenges they faced. ¡°It¡¯s incredible how much strategy goes into just surviving the elements, let alone fighting.¡±


    Cadenza nodded, ¡°Absolutely. It¡¯s a constant battle against both the enemy and the environment.¡±


    As we continued our conversation, the blend of historical insights and personal experiences painted a vivid picture of resilience and adaptation in the face of adversity.


    ¡°You fought, I didn¡¯t. Stuff here was rationed like no tomorrow,¡± I said, recalling the tough times.


    Cadenza nodded. ¡°Yeah, and it helped the war effort, didn¡¯t it?¡±


    I wasn¡¯t going to argue with that. Rationing during the war taught me valuable lessons. When I was in university, I had to ration my car¡¯s gas. Like millions of others, I had a sticker on my windshield to tell the gas station attendant how much fuel I was allowed. Those who didn¡¯t drive much got only a quarter or half a tank. Many cars on Little Bird have 7.0 L engines, while others have 5.8 L engines. My car had a 7.0 L engine, but I only got half the fuel, so I had to ration gas and diesel carefully.


    I remembered the rationing of tires, gasoline, food, and consumer goods. We had to make do with what we got until the next week. Nobody could make multiple trips to the store or gas station per week; we had to plan and go once a week.


    ¡°It was tough, but it taught us resilience,¡± I said, reflecting on those days.


    Cadenza smiled, ¡°Exactly. It¡¯s amazing how people adapt and find ways to keep going, even in the hardest times. You''d be surprised by many people who think rationing is nothing and continue like it¡¯s nothing then get mad that they can¡¯t get what they want because they have to wait until next week to get it or another week. After all, rationing is a once a week buy because what you buy this week you can¡¯t get again until next week.¡±


    ¡°At least it prevented businesses from price gouging,¡± I said, grateful for some silver lining.


    Cadenza nodded. ¡°Yeah, thanks to Little Bird Statute 33.2-3, the Anti-Price Gouging law. Businesses can only raise their prices by 10%. Anything over that, and they face fines. This law kicks in during a National Emergency, State of Emergency, or a declaration of war.¡±


    ¡°And what stops businesses from price gouging during normal times?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Little Bird Statute 33.2-2, the Civil Anti-Price Gouging law,¡± Cadenza explained. ¡°It prevents businesses from raising prices on consumer goods by more than 4%.¡±


    I nodded, appreciating the measures in place. ¡°It¡¯s good to know there are protections to keep things fair, especially during tough times.¡±


    Cadenza smiled, ¡°Absolutely. It¡¯s all about making sure everyone can get what they need without being taken advantage of.¡±


    ¡°So what part of the Warsaw Pact did you fight in?¡± I asked.


    ¡°East Germany to Russia. Including the Soviet Republic or other countries like the Soviet Republic of Ukraine,¡± Cadenza replied.


    ¡°I think you mean Soviet Socialist Republic with the country name in front of the Soviet Socialist Republic,¡± I clarified


    Cadenza replied, ¡°Maybe in another universe the USSR have broken up before  2008.¡±


    Soon, the waiter returned to take our orders. Cadenza and I shared a common trait¡ªwe both leaned more towards being carnivores than omnivores, even though humans are naturally omnivores.


    As we looked through the menu, I couldn''t help but chuckle, ¡°Looks like we¡¯re both going for the meat-heavy options again.¡±


    Cadenza grinned. ¡°You know it. There¡¯s nothing like a good steak or a juicy burger.¡±


    I nodded in agreement. ¡°Absolutely. It¡¯s hard to beat a well-cooked piece of meat.¡±


    We placed our orders, both opting for hearty, meat-centric dishes. As we waited for our food, the conversation flowed easily, touching on everything from our favorite recipes to the best places in town to get a good steak. It was nice to share a meal and some laughs, a small respite from the heavier topics we had been discussing.


    ¡°I know the Soviets hated us,¡± Cadenza said, taking a sip of her water.


    I replied, ¡°Is it because you guys in Project Phoenix can wield crew-served weapons or mounted weapons like a standard infantryman can hold a battle rifle?¡±


    ¡°Yup, we can handle weapons like a tri barrel minigun with an internal power source. Unlike how movies depict miniguns, they need a power source to operate,¡± Cadenza explained. ¡°We can also hold and use a .50 Cal HMG like a standard G.I. can use a rifle, SMG, or shotgun.¡±


    I whistled, impressed. ¡°That¡¯s some serious firepower. No wonder they were intimidated.¡±


    Cadenza nodded. ¡°Yeah, it gave us a significant edge in combat. Being able to use such heavy weaponry effectively made a big difference.¡±


    As our food arrived, we continued discussing the unique capabilities of Project Phoenix, marveling at the advancements and the impact they had on the battlefield.


    ¡°What other weapons did you all use?¡± I asked, intrigued.


    Cadenza leaned in, a mischievous glint in her eye. ¡°Do you believe in aliens?¡±


    I chuckled, ¡°Well, I do believe there¡¯s extraterrestrial life on other planets. Let me guess, the Government of Little Bird reverse-engineered alien tech?¡±


    Cadenza nodded. ¡°In a way, yes. We¡¯ve had access to some advanced technology that¡¯s not exactly from around here. It gave us a significant edge in developing new weapons and defense systems.¡±


    I raised an eyebrow. ¡°That¡¯s incredible. So, what kind of alien tech are we talking about?¡±


    Cadenza smiled. ¡°Let¡¯s just say we¡¯ve got some pretty advanced stuff that makes our standard weapons look like toys. Energy-based weapons, advanced propulsion systems, and even some pretty nifty defensive tech.¡±


    I shook my head in amazement. ¡°No wonder the Soviets were so intimidated. You guys had some serious firepower.¡±


    Cadenza nodded. ¡°Yeah, it definitely gave us an advantage. But it¡¯s not just about the weapons; it¡¯s about how we use them and the strategies we employ.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, when I was in university, I watched TV like a hawk, tuning in to the evening news every night. Some people called me a ¡®war hawk,¡¯ whatever that means,¡± I said.


    Cadenza replied, ¡°War hawks are people who advocate for going to war. They tend to be extremely aggressive and vocal in their position, often viewing those who dismiss warfare as cowards or idealists. War hawks will appeal to the general population for support, putting pressure on their ideological opponents to declare war. Just because a war hawk wants war doesn¡¯t make them a bad person. They might have perfectly good and logical reasons, like stopping a genocidal dictator or ending a civil war in a neighboring country that threatens regional security and kills thousands. I think the term you¡¯re looking for is ¡®war buff¡¯¡ªsomeone who finds the idea and prospect of war fascinating.¡±


    I nodded. ¡°That makes sense. I guess I was more of a war buff, fascinated by the strategies and history, rather than advocating for conflict.¡±


    I cut my steak and took a bite, savoring the flavor. ¡°At least the war didn¡¯t turn into a global thermonuclear war,¡± I said.


    Cadenza shook her head. ¡°That¡¯s not entirely true. It came to the brink of nuclear war a few times. Between 1959 and 1961, the Little Bird Armed Forces reorganized into a Pentomic Army, training in the use and defense against nuclear warfare. They were prepared to keep fighting even after a nuclear strike and had tactical nuclear weapons at the regimental level, though they were never used. These weapons served as a deterrent. The Warsaw Pact likely had cold feet about using their nuclear weapons because they knew we would retaliate. While our tactical nukes were officially at the regimental level, in reality, they were at the Army Corps level, further away. So, even if a regimental HQ was hit, we could still retaliate.¡±


    I nodded, taking in the gravity of her words. ¡°It¡¯s scary to think how close we came to the brink.¡±


    Cadenza sighed, ¡°Yeah, it was a tense time. But the deterrence worked, and we managed to avoid a full-scale nuclear conflict.¡±


    ¡°But what would¡¯ve happened if nuclear weapons were used?¡± I asked, the thought sending a chill down my spine.


    Cadenza took a deep breath, ¡°Using a nuclear weapon once to slow down attackers is one thing. It shows the attackers that the defenders are willing to escalate to that level. But if the Soviets or Warsaw Pact had used nuclear weapons liberally, like handing out candy, it would have been a different story. If they were resolute enough to destroy their own cities or countryside to stop our advance, then we or NATO would likely have felt we had no other option but to go for all-out nuclear war. And as they say, ¡®the rest is history.¡¯ But luckily, it never came to that. Maybe we were just moving too fast, or perhaps the fear of nuclear retaliation kept everyone in check.¡±


    I nodded, the gravity of her words sinking in. ¡°It¡¯s terrifying to think how close we came to such a catastrophic scenario.¡±


    Cadenza nodded. ¡°Absolutely. The threat of mutual destruction kept everyone on edge, but it also prevented the worst from happening. It¡¯s a delicate balance, but it worked. Just think about whether every nuclear capable country have enough nuclear weapons to send us back to the Stone Age.¡±


    I paid the bill, feeling grateful for the meal and the progress I¡¯d made in my walking rehab. I was supposed to use a walking cane for support, but the Waterson fighting spirit had me doing it my way.


    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.


    ¡°So, did your dad make a will or some kind of inheritance?¡± I asked.


    Cadenza nodded. ¡°My dad left the farmhouse under his name, but when I turned 18 back in ¡®08, the property was transferred to me. Everything in it, well, my dad let me have it instead of taking it and moving out. So, I¡¯m a homeowner.¡±


    ¡°Do you ever get tired of killing the enemy in battles?¡± I asked, my curiosity getting the better of me.


    Cadenza seemed taken aback by the question.


    ¡°Because sooner or later, as you get better at fighting, your friends and family might become scared of you,¡± I finished, trying to explain my thoughts.


    Cadenza looked a bit confused, maybe even a little hurt. I wondered if she fell into the "Psychopath" soldier category. The Little Bird Military had four types of soldiers: "The Jingo," who is swept up in patriotic fervor; "The Psychopath," who loves the horror of war; "The Unwilling Conscript," who hates war and is just looking out for their own skin; and "The Broken Soldier," who was once a nice person but experienced something that broke them inside.


    Cadenza seemed like she might fit into the "Psychopath" category, while her half-brother, my cousin Mitchell, fit into both the "Jingo" and "Broken Soldier" categories.


    Cadenza finally spoke, her voice steady but with a hint of pride. ¡°It¡¯s not about loving the fight. It¡¯s about doing what needs to be done to protect those you care about. Sometimes, that means making hard choices and living with the consequences.¡±


    I nodded, understanding a bit more about the burden she carried. ¡°I get it. It¡¯s just... tough to reconcile sometimes.¡±


    She gave a small smile. ¡°Yeah, it is. But we do what we have to do.¡±


    As we left the restaurant, I felt a deeper connection to Cadenza, appreciating the complexities and sacrifices that came with her role.


    ¡°My dad always taught me, ¡®Choices have consequences¡¯ and ¡®Karma. What comes around goes around,¡¯¡± I said, reflecting on his wisdom.


    Cadenza nodded, ¡°Choices do have consequences. I remember a mission where we had to capture a high-value target (HVT). My unit was dropped off first, but Unit 2 of the Silent Serpents had their helicopter hit and were taking heavy fire. I had a choice: Option A, save Unit 2 at the cost of the HVT fleeing, or Option B, go for the HVT and risk losing Unit 2. I chose Option A. We always have other opportunities to go after the HVT, but if I chose Option B, we would¡¯ve lost Unit 2. I went with my gut.¡±


    I nodded, appreciating the weight of her decision. ¡°That must have been a tough call, but it sounds like you made the right one.¡±


    Cadenza sighed, ¡°It was tough, but I couldn¡¯t leave them behind. Sometimes, you have to make hard choices and live with the consequences, hoping you did the right thing.¡±


    As we walked on, I felt a deeper respect for Cadenza and the difficult decisions she had to make, understanding that every choice in war carries heavy consequences.


    ¡°My father always said he never really saw the Panamanians or Iraqis as the enemy,¡± I said, reflecting on his words. ¡°He was in Operation: Just Cause and the Gulf War. He always told me that the soldiers he fought were just like him¡ªhoping they were doing the right thing, questioning their choices. He saw them as soldiers, not enemies.¡±


    Cadenza nodded, ¡°There are two types of soldiers: the fanatics who do what their country tells them without question, and those who, at the end of the war, want to atone for what they¡¯ve done or accept that they can¡¯t atone for it. The latter often just accept that no matter what they do, they can¡¯t erase the past. If I had to use real-life examples, for the fanatics, I¡¯d point to the Waffen-SS, who swore allegiance to Hitler and were fanatical. For the latter, I¡¯d say the average infantryman in all armies. Many soldiers harbor a lot of guilt and remorse for things they¡¯ve done in war. Some hope they can make up for it in the future, while others believe they deserve to die.¡±


    I nodded, understanding the heavy burden soldiers carry. ¡°It¡¯s a tough reality. My father always tried to see the humanity in everyone, even in the midst of conflict.¡±


    Cadenza smiled softly. ¡°That¡¯s a rare and admirable perspective. It¡¯s important to remember that, at the end of the day, we¡¯re all just people trying to survive.¡±


    As we walked on, the conversation left me with a deeper appreciation for the complexities of war and the human spirit¡¯s capacity for empathy and understanding, even in the darkest times.


    ¡°Think about my half-brother, or your cousin Mitchell, for example,¡± Cadenza said. ¡°He¡¯s one of those soldiers who goes out of his way not to earn medals. To him, they¡¯re just reminders of painful memories and ultimate sacrifices. Even as an RTO and XO of Third Platoon in the 39th Airborne Regiment, he had to make tough decisions. Like when they were pinned down and he was ordered to call in artillery or air strikes on their position to protect the unit from being overwhelmed or annihilated. Sometimes, a miscommunication resulted in friendly units being killed by friendly fire from either artillery or napalm.¡±


    I nodded, ¡°My girlfriend told me several times about her father, who was an artillery battery radio operator in the Marines during the twilight years of the Vietnam War. He signed up after the Tet Offensive. From what she told me, her dad said that two friendly Marine units from the same platoon fired on each other, thinking the other was either NVA or Viet Cong. Both squads radioed for artillery support, and it didn¡¯t take long for them to realize they were engaging a friendly unit. When they brought the injured to the firebase he was stationed at, he had a thousand-yard stare, especially when he saw those who got burnt by Willy Pete. White phosphorus burns at well above 2500 degrees Fahrenheit and continues burning even in water. Fellow Marines had to carve out the burning fragments from their faces with knives. That haunted her father until her parents'' untimely deaths back in ¡®96.¡±


    Cadenza nodded solemnly, ¡°In war, soldiers like him just follow orders. He probably thought both squads were under enemy fire. Nowadays, advancements in technology like friend or foe tags have lowered the chances of blue-on-blue incidents, but back then, it was often a failure of identification.¡±


    I sighed, ¡°It¡¯s heartbreaking to think about the mistakes and the toll they take on everyone involved.¡±


    Cadenza agreed, ¡°It is. But it¡¯s also a reminder of the importance of clear communication and the heavy burden soldiers carry, even long after the battles are over.¡±


    As we walked on, the weight of these stories lingered, a testament to the complexities and harsh realities of war.


    ¡°Nowadays, our soldiers¡¯ helmets have built-in chips so friendly aircraft like UAV drones or jets can identify them,¡± Cadenza said. ¡°These chips are advanced¡ªif a soldier dies, the IFF chip goes offline, so an enemy can¡¯t wear it and be marked as friendly. For artillery, platoons have to radio their grid coordinates. If they call for artillery, we know their exact location and won¡¯t fire unless it¡¯s an FPF mission. FPF stands for Final Protective Fire, where artillery fires close to a friendly position to protect them from being overwhelmed.¡±


    I nodded. ¡°I know what FPF means.¡±


    Cadenza smiled. ¡°Just making sure. My dad always said, ¡®Loyalty runs deep in the family.¡¯¡±


    I replied, ¡°My dad always said, ¡®Those who want peace prepare for war.¡¯ Not all families are loyal, though. Some will backstab each other in a New York second. Many people come from abusive or broken homes or families with high expectations. They deal with their trauma through medical professionals. I know people who look like they could be superstars but feel ugly inside and get plastic surgery, sometimes ending up looking like monsters.¡±


    Cadenza nodded thoughtfully. ¡°It¡¯s true. Everyone has their battles, whether on the battlefield or within themselves. It¡¯s important to find support and healing, no matter where you come from.¡±


    ¡°At least your dad didn¡¯t choose his new family over how you feel,¡± I said, feeling a pang of envy.


    Cadenza nodded. ¡°If my dad remarried or chose his new family over me and let my stepfamily walk all over me, I¡¯d tell them to hit the road. If my stepmom said, ¡®Well, the house belongs to my dad,¡¯ I¡¯d remind her that once I turned eighteen, the house was transferred to my name, removing him from the deed. Even if they hired the best lawyer, they couldn¡¯t contest the will or inheritance because it¡¯s already done. If my stepmom and step siblings tried to claim squatter rights by changing the locks, well, Little Bird doesn¡¯t have squatter rights. I could call the CLPD and have them charged with trespassing and taking over an occupied residence. And if my dad got mad at me for having my stepfamily arrested and pressing charges, I¡¯d tell him that next time they¡¯d meet a buckshot from a 12-gauge and that I don¡¯t want to see them again.¡±


    Cadenza continued, explaining that since she¡¯s twenty and the inheritance her dad left her had the house¡¯s name transferred to her, the courts would see her as the owner. She acknowledged that she isn¡¯t in my shoes and doesn¡¯t have a step-family like I do.


    I sighed, ¡°It¡¯s tough dealing with family dynamics, especially when there¡¯s a step-family involved. But it sounds like you¡¯ve got a strong sense of what¡¯s right and how to protect yourself.¡±


    Cadenza smiled, ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s all about standing your ground and knowing your rights. Family can be complicated, but you have to look out for yourself too.¡±


    As we walked on, I felt a bit more empowered, knowing that it¡¯s possible to navigate even the most challenging family situations with strength and determination.


    We soon got back to my apartment.


    ¡°If you weren¡¯t a G.I.¡ªI mean, a souped-up supersoldier,¡± I began to ask, ¡°What would you have done for a career?¡±


    Cadenza thought for a moment. ¡°I would¡¯ve become an independent news reporter. I don¡¯t read mainstream newspapers. I buy independent ones, not because mainstream papers are state-funded or anything, but because many journalists use misleading titles or exaggerate things. Some are sleazy and dishonest, willing to screw over others to get their pieces published. If I were a journalist, I¡¯d actively search for real news stories. You have the freedom to choose where you get your news, but I get mine from supermarket tabloids. Go ahead, read the Empire Times or the Empire Tribune if you want¡ªthey get lucky sometimes. Major newspapers often won¡¯t publish certain stories due to political pressure, connections, or simply not wanting to take a risk. Independent papers report on what they want, with proper evidence to back up their claims.¡±


    I nodded, appreciating her perspective. ¡°That makes sense. It¡¯s important to have diverse sources and to seek out the truth.¡±


    Cadenza smiled, ¡°Exactly. Journalism should be about uncovering the truth, not just pushing an agenda.¡±


    As we settled in, I felt a deeper respect for Cadenza¡¯s values and her commitment to integrity, whether on the battlefield or in the realm of information.


    ¡°My father always taught me, ¡®What you put out into the world will come back and haunt you.¡¯ It sounds like a fancy way of saying karma,¡± Cadenza said. ¡°But many people will give up their family for power.¡±


    I nodded. ¡°That¡¯s why I love watching crime films here in Little Bird. They always have a message that a life of crime is all for nothing and don¡¯t glorify it. They show the downsides¡ªprison, living in constant fear¡ªand don¡¯t glamorize money, cars, respect, or freedom.¡±


    Cadenza smiled. ¡°Exactly. Karma is real. What comes around goes around. Treat others badly, and don¡¯t be surprised when it comes back to you.¡±


    As we settled into the comfort of my apartment, the conversation flowed easily, touching on the values and lessons we¡¯d learned from our families and experiences. It was a reminder that, no matter the challenges, staying true to our principles and treating others with respect always pays off in the end.


    I decided to get some rest and just not overwork my body because I want to finish my final few tests to be cleared for work and not unintentionally pull a muscle or something.


    ¡°Well, while this is a nice country it has its problems,¡± I said.


    Cadenza replied, ¡°Yeah it does.¡±


    ¡°I guess this country is doing fine with the death of my grand uncle,¡± I said.


    Cadenza replied, ¡°He was the president that had all kinds of preparations done in advance before going to talk to the president on hardcore policy matters and he always took full responsibility for things not going how he thought they would go. Hey, countries deserve leaders who know what they¡¯re doing, not act all senile or act like they can do whatever they want. At least he took accountability for his actions and made policies that benefited and still do benefit the working class. As they say the needs of the many outnumber the needs of the few.¡±


    Cadenza went over to the sink and cranked it all the way to the left. I knew that meant the water was going to be scalding hot. She¡¯s like those people you see on social media, the ones who think a shower head dripping fire is ¡°perfect.¡± I can¡¯t wrap my head around it. How can anyone think water hot enough to leave first-degree burns is ideal? Personally, I prefer my water warm, not scorching. And don¡¯t get me started on those folks who drink coffee so hot it could peel the skin off their tongues.


    Then my thoughts drifted to my grand uncle. There¡¯s not much to say about him, even though he was the longest-serving president of Little Bird. He made a lot of policies to support the working class. Despite being backed by the Militarists, he never did anything to upset them. He knew a country needs a military, and the last thing he wanted was a coup. The Militarists supported his plans because they had family and friends who needed the help that only the middle class and rich usually get.


    My grand uncle was backed by three political parties:


    - The Loyalists, who wanted to keep elected officials in power.


    - The Militarists, who wanted to protect the country from invasion and rebel threats.


    - The Nationalists, who wanted to safeguard Little Bird¡¯s interests and prevent invasions.


    After his death, people couldn¡¯t stop talking about how he expanded on the policies and programs created by President Abigail Orange, the second female president of Little Bird from 1936-1955. She kept Little Bird out of the Great Depression by putting millions to work with public programs and ensuring that people over 65 didn¡¯t have to pay taxes. She also created the Bureau of Labor, which is like the Department of Labor in the U.S. but more hands-on, helping people find careers that fit their skills and encouraging vocational training.


    My grand uncle Bill expanded on her work but, unlike many politicians, he gave credit where it was due. He respected President Orange and never tried to take credit for her achievements, which earned him a lot of respect.


    ¡°If you weren¡¯t a firefighter what would¡¯ve you done as a career?¡± Cadenza asked.


    I replied, ¡°Police Department.¡±


    ¡°You know that the cops here are a lot different than how they are where you¡¯re from,¡± Cadenza said.


    I replied, ¡°I know. I told my dad how the cops here are like when he was an infant and child during the latter years of the Vietnam war. Batons, dogs, fire hoses, tear gas.¡±


    I took a sip of my water.


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t your father¡¯s wife want kids?¡± I asked.


    Cadenza replied, ¡°Don¡¯t know but I know her parents must be turning over in their grave to drag the family name and reputation being dragged through the mud. I wonder what their reaction was when their only daughter was a Soviet spy. I bet it wasn¡¯t good.¡±


    Cadenza even said how she wanted to see her father¡¯s ex-wife be executed by the electric chair but with a dry sponge not a wet one.


    _________________


    A few days later...


    ¡°If I were a cop in this country, I¡¯d know they carry different handgun rounds like 9x19, .45, .44 Magnum, and .357 Magnum,¡± I said, leaning back in my chair. ¡°And they carry high-caliber weapons too. You know that famous line from Dirty Harry? ¡®I know what you''re thinking. ''Did he fire six shots or only five?'' Well, to tell you the truth, in all this excitement, I kinda lost track myself. But being this is a .44 Magnum, the most powerful handgun in the world and would blow your head clean off, you''ve gotta ask yourself one question: ''Do I feel lucky?'' Well, do ya, punk?¡¯ I bet those criminals don¡¯t feel lucky.¡±


    Cadenza chuckled, ¡°Well, if you were a cop, I hope you¡¯d enjoy 2-40.¡±


    ¡°2-40?¡± I raised an eyebrow.


    ¡°Two windows down, going 40 MPH,¡± Cadenza explained. ¡°According to Mitchell, you can¡¯t just assume cars have air conditioning. That¡¯s a luxury. Back in the 40s and 50s, air conditioning in cars was a big deal. The main evaporator and blower system took up half the trunk space and there was no temperature thermostat. A lot of cars from the 1960s have AC built-in, but my ride is a ¡®48 pickup truck. I just need one window down.¡±


    I nodded, thinking about the old days. ¡°I don¡¯t get why some cops here wear all gray short sleeve uniforms. Dark blues make sense because light colors like light gray show doughnut stains, coffee stains, and look unprofessional. But their base salary is $26 less than the fire department¡¯s. The fire department¡¯s base salary is $3,120 annually, while the police department¡¯s is $3,094 annually.¡±


    We then entered the walking therapy center. Cadenza waited in the lobby while I met with Dr. Emily Carter. After several hours, Dr. Carter told me I finished my tests in record time. She said I was one of the few people who never complained, preferring to just get it over with. I never used a walker or cane while out and about, only using them during my tests.


    Dr. Carter gave me the all-clear for work but suggested I take a few more days to a week to rest. She also wanted to schedule follow-ups for the next month.


    _______________________


    The next day, I headed to the Fire Department City of Empire Headquarters. The building was bustling with activity, but I walked through the hallway and into the elevator. After a few floors, I found myself in a waiting room, clutching my clear-for-duty papers.


    I had to wait for my turn to see the person who would either approve or decline my papers. The minutes felt like hours, but eventually, I was called in. The guy in charge looked over my papers and, with a nod, told me I was cleared for active duty. He mentioned that I would report to work next week since A and B shifts were off, and it was C and D shifts'' week.


    Feeling a wave of relief and excitement, I decided to celebrate. I treated myself to a steak dinner, savoring every bite as I thought about getting back to work.


    At least Cadenza isn¡¯t with me today. She¡¯s the type that if someone looks at her the wrong way, gets confrontational. If someone says something bad to her face, she¡¯s more inclined to take a blowtorch to them or drag them back into the kitchen and throw hot cooking oil on their face.


    On the other hand, I might sit down with Linda and help her with her issues. Mark Twain once wrote, ¡°Courage is resistance to fear, mastery of fear, not absence of fear.¡± Linda struggles with moving on from the past, but she¡¯s elite in her field. Her company handles around 12,200 calls a year, including 2,200 building fires, 500 vehicle extractions, 210 building collapses, and 70 SCUBA jobs. And that¡¯s not counting other emergencies requiring technical rescue.


    Even though I¡¯m going back to work next week, I still think this city¡¯s districts could each be their own fire department. The residential buildings here in the City of Empire are diverse:


    - Single Family: A free-standing structure that doesn¡¯t share walls or doors with another building.


    - Condominium: An individually-owned unit in a building or complex with multiple units.


    - Townhouse: A home that shares walls with other homes placed side-by-side.


    - Two to Four Unit Property: A building or complex with 2¨C4 units owned by the same person.


    - Cooperative: A building or complex owned by an organization that sells units as shares to the people who live there.


    - Manufactured Home: A type of housing built in one place and then moved somewhere else. (Mobile homes are the most common.)


    And the commercial buildings include:


    - Small businesses


    - Mom and pop/family shops


    - Mid-rises


    - High-rises


    - Skyscrapers


    Not to mention the numerous office buildings. This city is a complex web of different structures, each with its own unique challenges for the fire department.


    I think the reason Mom and Pop stores are still thriving in Little Bird is because they focus on quality over quantity. Supermarkets and big chain stores might have a vast selection, but family-run stores often sell unique items you can''t find anywhere else.


    Sure, towns here have supermarkets, but they mainly sell groceries. If you need something a grocery store doesn¡¯t carry, you usually turn to a small family-run business or a specialty store. From my experience in the City of Empire and Clearlake, supermarkets stock essentials like groceries, trash bags, paper towels, toilet paper, dish soap, laundry detergent, and dryer sheets. But if you need motor oil, you have to visit an auto parts store.


    It¡¯s interesting to see people take their cars to a mechanic for an oil change, especially in a country where both genders are required to take driving lessons in high school. They learn how to change oil, change a tire, and jumpstart a car. Here, students must take one course of Shop class and one course of Home Economics. The following year, they can choose which one to continue. In Shop class, they¡¯re taught vehicle maintenance, including changing oil, adding antifreeze, and putting water in the radiator.


    This hands-on education ensures that everyone has basic car maintenance skills, which is pretty impressive. It¡¯s a practical approach that prepares students for real-life situations.


    I know my cousins Dave and Mitchell will teach their daughters how to do basic car maintenance. It''s essential knowledge, especially since many women in my family don¡¯t know what a camshaft or a carburetor is. Unfortunately, some mechanics take advantage of this, giving them a long list of unnecessary repairs just to make more money. My grand aunt Lily was lucky; her father, my great-granddad, taught her a bit about cars. This knowledge came in handy during World War II when she was one of the millions of women who entered the workforce to make jeeps for the military. Her twin sister, Diamond, couldn¡¯t join her because she was mentally challenged and could only say ¡°Pop.¡± Lily had to take care of her.


    Some of my family members back in the United States don¡¯t know how to work on a vehicle, so they take it to a mechanic. Unfortunately, some mechanics charge them extra for repairs they don¡¯t need. When us Watersons found out, we were livid. But you can¡¯t scold someone for not knowing something they have no expertise in. We just told them to call a family member who knows how to work on a vehicle next time.


    Here in Little Bird, the Watersons know how to work on a vehicle like they know the inside of their house. They learn in two ways: through school and from their parents. My cousin Mitchell even bribes his and Cadenza¡¯s three kids with a dollar each if they help him wash his car and pass him tools while he works on it. In the end, he gives them a dollar so they can buy a toy or something. It¡¯s a great way to teach them valuable skills and make it fun at the same time.


    I think Mitchell and Cadence¡¯s second daughter, Rose, would probably save her money rather than spend it, even though Platinum, Rose, and McKinney are all in kindergarten. Mitchell and Cadence have different parenting styles. Cadence is the nurturing type, while Mitchell is more authoritative. He wants their kids to gain a sense of autonomy but still follow a set of rules. If their kids got into trouble, I could see Cadence overreacting while Mitchell would be more laid-back, telling them not to worry.


    Knowing where Mitchell and Cadence live, I remember Mitchell had a bully in middle and high school. Every time he fought back, the principal wanted to expel him, but he couldn¡¯t because the bully was the principal¡¯s son. In a small town like Clearlake, where everyone knows each other, the whole town would jump to the conclusion that the principal was protecting his son while punishing the student who defended himself. The principal couldn¡¯t expel Mitchell without causing a huge scandal about his favoritism.


    In our family, it¡¯s normal to give children a basic allowance based on their age. Here in Little Bird, a parent might give their child a quarter for a piece of candy or a pack of gum, 75 cents to a dollar for a pre-teen, and a dollar for a teenager. We Watersons believe in letting our children learn from their mistakes. If one of our kids gets hurt, we say, ¡°Well now, you won¡¯t do that again,¡± because we learn from our mistakes rather than shielding our children from doing something stupid.


    When I was a child, my mom didn¡¯t care much if I got hurt, while my dad would ask if I was okay. After I answered, he¡¯d say, ¡°Well now, you won¡¯t try that again, will you?¡± I remember trying to jump off my bike to run inside the house. I always feel or miscalculated and got hurt until I became a teenager and could safely jump off my bike and land on the grass or slide across the sidewalk until I came to a complete stop.


    When I was a kid in North Carolina, I had a memorable lesson about electrical outlets. One day, we had some family members over, and I was sitting by an outlet. A family member warned me, ¡°No, Mackenzie, don¡¯t do that,¡± but my dad cut him off and said, ¡°Wait, wait, wait. Go on.¡±


    So, I stuck my wet finger into the outlet and got a shock. My dad just said, ¡°Yup, bet you won¡¯t do that again, will ya?¡± And he was right¡ªI never messed with an electrical outlet again unless I was plugging something in or taking it out.


    That happened back in 1992, a week before we moved from Fort Liberty, North Carolina, to Alabama. I remember that week well. My dad considered renting a moving truck, but the costs quickly added up. Many rental places charge by the hour or by the mile, and driving 656 miles in one day or 2,624 miles for the entire week would have been expensive. Instead, my dad called a few family members to help with the move. I didn¡¯t help much with the packing and moving since I was only seven, but my dad paid the family members by treating them to meals, which was rare for us.


    Whenever I asked if we could stop at a McDonald¡¯s or a fast food joint, my dad would always say, ¡°I know a place around the next turn¡± or ¡°I know a place over the next hill.¡± That was just Waterson lingo for ¡°We¡¯ll stop when I decide to stop.¡± My dad rarely liked stopping during the day because he felt it wasted daylight. To him, no sane person moves into a new place at night.


    As I enjoyed my steak dinner with a side of macaroni and cheese, my thoughts drifted to my grand uncle Jimmy ¡°James¡± Richard Waterson I. Since October 1945, he¡¯s survived more assassination attempts than anyone I know. He always says, ¡°You know when to take cover and not poke your head up until the gunfire ends. And you know when to hit the deck when two cars pull up and eight guys with Tommy guns get out and open fire.¡± Being a World War II vet, he¡¯s got a keen sense for trouble, and even at almost 91, he¡¯s not slowing down.


    Then there¡¯s my Grand Uncle Bill. He was the type to keep the Little Bird Dollar backed by the Gold Standard, respecting the Founding Mothers and Fathers of Little Bird. He believed in the value of gold backing paper money, protecting it against inflation. Unlike gold, paper money is easy to divide, but it¡¯s the gold that gives it value. People speak highly of his presidency because he was loyal to the citizens, not pandering to other countries. He expanded on the ¡°Little Bird First Act of 1937,¡± which prioritized the country¡¯s citizens over others.


    I understand why my friends think it¡¯s rude, but I explain that, unlike the United States, Little Bird doesn¡¯t act like the world¡¯s policeman. We don¡¯t intervene in other countries¡¯ problems without a good reason. Our foreign policy might seem like isolationism, but it¡¯s more about loyalty to our citizens. Everything is affordable, and past presidents have kept jobs within the country, avoiding offshoring.


    My grand uncle was elected and re-elected because he never made promises he couldn¡¯t keep, unlike his predecessor. He focused on the well-being of Little Bird¡¯s citizens, ensuring stability and prosperity. It¡¯s a different approach, but one that has worked well for us.


    As I savored the last bites of my steak dinner with a side of macaroni and cheese, my thoughts wandered to my grand uncle Bill. He always favored stricter laws, believing that if you get arrested for a crime, you should face the consequences. The City of Empire tried a month of loose laws, where those arrested were booked and then released. It didn¡¯t take long for criminals to realize they could get away with almost anything. Gun violence, knife violence, arson, and other crimes spiked within just two weeks. My grand uncle called the mayor, threatening to deploy active troops if the order wasn¡¯t reversed. Under public pressure, the mayor complied.


    Bill believed that relaxed laws with minimal punishments were ineffective, just a slap on the wrist. Stricter laws, with real consequences, were more effective. I¡¯ve heard stories about the prisons here on Little Bird. When prisoners first arrive, they¡¯re told, ¡°You are here to be rehabilitated, not to goof off.¡± The wardens are tough, and they make it clear that the inmates are there because they couldn¡¯t behave like normal humans on the outside. It¡¯s harsh, but it¡¯s meant to instill discipline and respect.


    My grand uncles Jimmy and Bill were men of honor, respecting the old ways. They believed in treating women with respect and upholding strong moral values. When Jimmy returned home in 1945 after World War II, he noticed how much the world had changed. He was used to wearing a flak vest, black leather gloves, dark green pants, a dark green button-up shirt, a white undershirt, a black leather belt, and a black leather aviator jacket while flying for the Little Bird Navy.


    Bill served in the US Army from 1965 to 1967, during the Vietnam War. When he came home in 1967 due to an injury, he felt the world had changed, influenced by the counterculture movement.


    With my dinner finished, I headed home, reflecting on my family¡¯s legacy and the lessons they¡¯ve taught me. Now, I just have to wait for my shift to start next Monday.


    As I walked home, humming a tune, two guys approached me.


    ¡°What¡¯s up, fellas?¡± I asked, even though I didn¡¯t know them.


    One of them replied, ¡°Fork over all your dough before you get hurt,¡± while the other pulled out a butterfly knife.


    I decided to draw my concealed pistol and replied sarcastically, ¡°Is this enough?¡±


    The two guys took off running. A foot patrol officer arrived and said, ¡°Hey, hey, hey. What the hell is going on here? You got a license for that thing?¡±


    I pulled out my wallet and handed the cop both my license to carry a firearm and my permit for a concealed weapon. I also gave him a detailed description of the two guys. ¡°Caucasian males, 5¡¯9¡± and 5¡¯7¡±, black and brown hair.¡± The officer radioed in, but his description was more generic: ¡°Caucasian males, medium height, medium build, dark hair.¡±

 Chapter Eighteen

    Soon the cop left.


    Well he¡¯s the most useless fucking cop there is, I thought, Gave the most generic description then walked away and someone pulled a fuckin¡¯ knife on me trying to mug me.


    I went back to my apartment and I got some rest. But I was just tossing and turning so I got out of bed and checked my phone and it was 1:14 AM so I just got dressed and decided to go to Clearlake.


    I just kept thinking about how half-assed the description the cop gave of the suspects was. Yeah because ¡°Caucasian Male, average height, average build, dark hair¡± just describes 89% of the male population in the city of Empire which fits that description. That won''t narrow down the police search for the two if the description matches almost every caucasian male in the city


    ____________


    Clearlake, Little Bird


    September 3rd


    As the first light of dawn broke, I pulled into Mitchell¡¯s driveway. After a grueling five-hour drive, I was running on fumes.


    I stepped out of my car and knocked on Mitchell¡¯s door. He answered, looking half-dressed in just suit pants and his army dog tags. Typical Mitchell, always up before the crack of dawn.


    ¡°Mac, what brings you here this early?¡± he asked, surprised.


    I was too tired for small talk. ¡°Mind if I tag along with you today?¡± I asked, hoping he¡¯d say yes.


    Mitchell shrugged. ¡°Sure, why not? My boss is a real pain anyway.¡±


    ¡°Your boss?¡± I echoed, curious.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Mitchell said, shaking his head. ¡°Years ago, he snagged a car from a police impound lot, changed the tags and color, and gave it to his daughter.¡±


    I raised an eyebrow. ¡°Isn¡¯t that police misconduct?¡±


    Mitchell just laughed. ¡°You bet it is.¡±


    I shook my head in disbelief.


    "Yeah, well, the car was evidence in a narcotics case," Mitchell explained. "The prosecutor managed to get a conviction without it, but it definitely hurt the case."


    I sighed. "And cops like your boss wonder why the public distrusts the police."


    Mitchell nodded. "The Seventh Precinct, our local police department, isn''t exactly known for its integrity. Most of the officers, except me, are more ''my way or the highway'' types. They''re the kind of cowboy cops who don''t enforce traffic laws and are quick to use force without asking questions."


    "Doesn''t the department have an Internal Affairs unit?" I asked.


    Mitchell shook his head. "Mac, this is a small town of 5,500 people, not a city. If we had an IA unit, something else in the budget would have to be cut. Would you take money from the education system, the fire department, the parks, water and sanitation, or the town clinic?"


    I hadn''t thought about it that way. Small towns don''t have the resources that cities do. Adding something to the budget means cutting something else, and that''s a tough choice for any community.


    "On my way in, I noticed the town has an Island Patrol station," I began.


    Mitchell cut me off. "The 67th Island Patrol Precinct is part of the Island Patrol, similar to your State Police."


    "Mitchell, I grew up in states with Highway Patrol, not State Police," I corrected him.


    "Well, the Island Patrol is funded at a higher level because it''s county-wide. Think of Clearlake Police as local and the 67th Precinct as state-level," Mitchell explained.


    He let me inside.


    "So, how do you feel about your co-workers?" I asked.


    Mitchell sighed. "They give good cops a bad name. If we were at war, they would''ve been fragged long ago. They''re the ones you hear about on the news. In a city, they would''ve been exposed by now."


    "Why''s that?" I asked.


    "Remember when you were in a medically induced coma? Over in Las Adventure, four cops and eight detectives were arrested for targeting casino winners. They''d pull over people who cashed out big, pretending to be traffic stops. They finally pulled over an undercover detective working on a case about these fake stops. Not even the blue wall of silence could protect them," Mitchell said.


    "What''s the most ridiculous thing you''ve seen as a cop?" I asked.


    Mitchell chuckled. "Once, my partner and I almost shot each other while chasing a suspect. I kicked over an upside-down kiddie pool, and there he was, hiding underneath it."


    We had breakfast together, and by 7:00 AM, Mitchell was in his police uniform.


    "Without the badge and hat, you look like a businessman," I remarked.


    Mitchell chuckled. "Cadence, her mother, and my friends say the same thing."


    Mitchell''s uniform was sharp, dark blue suit pants, a white collared shirt, a black full Windsor tie, and a dark blue suit jacket with a silver police badge.


    At 7:30, I asked, "So, Mitchell, what kind of calls are we expecting today?"


    "Pump the brakes, Mac," Mitchell replied. "This is a small town, not a city. Most of the crimes here are misdemeanors¡ªshoplifters, pickpockets, that sort of thing. Don''t expect any bank robberies or back-to-back felonies."


    "How do you handle the pace of a small town?" I asked.


    Mitchell smiled. "My partner and I have a routine. We patrol our sector in the car for an hour, then notify dispatch and walk it on foot for the next hour. We keep alternating¡ª8 AM in the car, 9 AM on foot, and so on. It keeps things balanced and lets us connect with the community while staying vigilant."


    "How does your wife feel about you being a cop?" I asked.


    Mitchell opened the trunk and sighed. "She doesn''t like it, but she respects my choice. She doesn''t ask questions she doesn''t want answers to. As long as I come home at 12 PM for lunch and 4 PM after my shift, she doesn''t worry. She knows she can''t control what happens out there."


    "So, what do you think about cities?" I asked.


    Mitchell shrugged. "I was born in the South Bronx, but I grew up here in Clearlake. I''m not a fan of cities¡ªtoo much traffic, too many people. Sure, being on a plane with my brothers and sisters in arms is one thing, but dealing with crowds every day? No thanks. Cities have higher crime rates, and I prefer the peace and quiet of a small town."


    "But why do you think law enforcement isn''t effective in cities?" I asked.


    Mitchell sighed. "Corruption is a big part of it. Criminal groups bribe the police to look the other way. When a criminal who has wronged someone important gets arrested and then released, people start asking questions the department doesn''t want to answer. So, they have to come down hard to save face. You know why the Mafia and other criminals don''t target cops? Because their protection money wouldn''t protect them when the police retaliate.


    "Another issue is traffic. Cops can''t get to crime scenes fast enough. And then there''s the economic disparity¡ªslow response times in poor neighborhoods versus almost instant responses in middle-class or richer areas."


    "My girlfriend Clare comes from a poor background and an impoverished neighborhood," I began, but Mitchell cut me off.


    "Let me guess," he said. "Crimes were reported, but the cops either didn''t show up or took their sweet time, letting the criminals get away. When there was a homicide, detectives delayed the case as long as they could. By the time they got to it, witnesses had forgotten details, leading to a cold case."


    "Yeah," I said. "Lusty¡ªthat''s my girlfriend''s nickname¡ªremembers a convenience store robbery back in 1985. To me, it was more of a bodega. The police didn''t show up until 1987, canvassing the surrounding tenement buildings for witnesses. But they were mostly met with doors closing in their faces.


    "Some people did talk to the cops, including Lusty. But since she was a child, they couldn''t take her statement without a parent or guardian present. Lusty says some cops in Empire mislead people during questioning and say things they shouldn''t. The police didn''t take her statement seriously because she was only seven, almost eight, when they finally came back in 1987. Most people weren''t helpful because they knew the EPD would just let it slide and go unnoticed."


    Mitchell closed the trunk and shook his head. "Let me guess, the EPD and her old neighborhood have a long history of disagreements."


    "Where do I begin?" I said. "Lusty told me that records date back to 1943, but it goes even further back. Public knowledge started in 1943. On January 14th of that year, a female sailor from the Little Bird Navy was on leave. The cops didn''t believe she was a sailor and arrested her for wearing a ''stolen'' uniform, even though she had proper identification.


    "The media, both radio and newspapers, painted the police as heroes and her as a villain, even calling her and the people in her neighborhood Axis sympathizers or communists. This led many men and women from Eastside and Westside to turn to the Mafia for falsified discharge papers to leave the military in protest. Those who were drafted and refused to show up were arrested for draft dodging. In court, when given the choice between military service or jail, many said they''d rather face death row than fight for a country where law enforcement targets someone on leave. They''d rather lose the war."


    Mitchell nodded. "Yeah, they reported it from the Police Department''s point of view to avoid hurting the war effort. But it backfired when people refused to sign up or chose prison over fighting. The ones calling them Communists or Axis sympathizers didn''t know what it was like to crawl through mud and blood. They had cushy office jobs making $45 a week, while the average G.I. made $15. Who do you think wanted the war to last? Not the average G.I. He wanted to go home as soon as possible. But those not fighting wanted the war to drag on for the government contracts and money it brought in."


    Soon, a female police officer around Mitchell¡¯s age approached.


    "Starlight, this is my cousin Mackenzie. She¡¯s riding along with us today," Mitchell introduced.


    "Okay then," Starlight replied.


    I climbed into the back seat of the police car, noting the child locks. If I wanted to get out, Mitchell or Starlight would have to let me out.


    "So, Starlight, have you been in Clearlake your whole life?" I asked.


    "Nope, I¡¯m new here. Just been in Clearlake for the past four months," she replied.


    "Where are you from originally?" I asked.


    "Pine Valley. It¡¯s a small town. I grew up there with my brothers Michael, Daniel, Kevin, Patrick, Ryan, David, Johnny, and Jimmy, and my twin sister April," Starlight explained.


    "Got any family back there?" I asked.


    "My dad. My mom is on the town council and used her influence to have me exiled. My twin sister was on board with it, while my dad tried to contest the decision but was silenced. So, my mom and sister are dead to me," she said, her voice tinged with bitterness.


    "And your brothers?" I asked gently.


    "They''re dead. They died in order of birth from mid-August to early September," Starlight said quietly.


    "If you don''t mind me asking," I said, "why were you exiled from your hometown?"


    Starlight sighed. "Mama always favored April, my twin. She''d tell me to be more like April, but it was just favoritism. Even when I did something to make her proud, she''d coldly say, ''Stop trying to outdo your sister.'' But if I didn''t achieve anything, she''d scold me, ''Do something like your sister to make a name for yourself.'' It was a no-win situation. One minute she wanted me to be like April, the next she scolded me for trying.


    "My father and brothers saw how messed up it was. They told her that she was making me conflicted¡ªif I didn''t do something, I got scolded, and if I did, I got scolded. It was impossible to please her."


    "And I thought I had it rough," I said.


    Starlight shook her head. "You had a semi-normal childhood. Your mom was a narcotic addict, but she was there, even if she was out of the picture most of the time. You still got to be a kid. Me? The moment April and I turned four, we were off to the family restaurant to clean up until we were old enough to wait tables, cook, or run the register. My brothers had dreams, but when the war broke out, they joined the Rangers at the first chance and died in combat. At least they can rest in peace now. My mom wasn''t heartbroken; she always said, ''That''s what they get for not listening to me.''


    "To me, they got the easy way out, not having to live with the painful memories of a mother who wanted her kids to compete and win trophies but scolded them if they didn''t do anything or if they outdid April in any way. She''s the type of parent who believes ''Second place is first place for losers.'' Trying isn''t in her vocabulary; she expects 100% all the time."


    I nodded, thinking about my own mom. She was an addict, but she was always on the couch watching TV, mostly out of my way. I didn''t have a normal childhood, but at least I had one. My dad always told me, "Never judge anyone unless you''ve walked a mile in their shoes," so I kept my thoughts to myself.


    "You fought in the war?" I asked, intrigued.


    Starlight nodded. "Yeah, I lied about my age by a year. Served with the Second Infantry Division, 16th Regiment, E Company. Earned four Purple Hearts, a Bronze Star, a Silver Star, and a Distinguished Service Cross."


    "Wow," I said, impressed. "That''s quite a record."


    "Before you ask, my surname is Russian. I can speak Russian fluently. I''m a second-generation Russian-Little Birden. My dad is first-generation; my grandparents fled the Soviet Union to escape Stalin''s purges. Unlike my sister, I''m proud of our family culture. My grandparents taught me Russian, just in case. When the war broke out, the Army was looking for people who could speak the language," Starlight explained.


    "That''s incredible," I said. "Your skills must have been invaluable."


    Starlight smiled. "It was an honor to serve, and knowing the language definitely helped."


    "So, what if you ever decided to get married or have a child?" I asked.


    Starlight replied, "My mom and sister will never find out. I''m 542 miles away, and they don''t know my address or phone number. My dad does, but he''s keeping it under wraps. Honestly, my mom is a prime example of why people should undergo mental and psychological evaluations before having children. If my mom or sister ever show up unannounced, I''ll have them arrested for trespassing. It''s a misdemeanor at first, but if they come back after being warned, it can be upgraded to a felony."


    "How does that work?" I asked.


    Mitchell chimed in, "The first time, it''s a misdemeanor. But if the person ignores the warning or court order and comes back, they can be arrested and the charge can be upgraded to a felony. Felony charges may apply if the trespassing results in injuries or damage to property. Repeated offenses can also lead to charges of harassment or stalking."


    The morning started out slow, as expected in a small town like Clearlake. We might see some calls come in, or we might not see any at all. Starlight shared a story from her first day on the job. She said they had no calls come in, and the most exciting thing she saw was leaves blowing down the street. Even though she had seen leaves blowing in the wind before, the quietness of Clearlake made it seem almost entertaining. It really highlighted how different life is here compared to a bustling city.


    I was actually waiting to see something happen even if it¡¯s them filling up a kid¡¯s bike tire with air. But I have a feeling that won¡¯t happen since it¡¯s almost eight in the morning and kids are either at school or on their way by walking or taking the bus.


    ¡°Guess parents are okay with their children walking to school,¡± I said.


    Mitchell replied, ¡°In small towns like Clearlake well school is easily within walking distance. I walked to school even in the rain.¡±


    We soon then went by an old two story brick building.


    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± I asked


    Mitchell replied, ¡°It¡¯s the old Clearlake firehouse built back in 1853 after the Great Clearlake fire. But it was closed and remodeled into a museum.¡±


    ¡°Why was it closed in the first place?¡± I asked


    Mitchell replied, ¡°December 1st, 1923 was when Hose Wagen Number Five was replaced with Engine Company 5, a gasoline-powered fire engine. Well actually two of them were because the buildings weren¡¯t tall enough not really need a ladder truck. On December 16th, 1948, Truck Company 5 was put into service getting rid of the second Engine Company because the town hall and the cinema are tall enough that ground ladders can¡¯t reach the roof because the ground ladders that Engine 5 has only can reach the roof of a single story residential building.¡±


    After a few minutes of silence, I turned to Starlight. "So, Starlight, you were in the Army. What was your role?"


    "Submachine Gunner. I had the LB-1928 Thunderbolt," she replied.


    "Which is?" I asked, curious.


    Mitchell jumped in. "The LB-1928 Thunderbolt is a reverse-engineered alien tech weapon. It''s inspired by the M1928 Thompson but uses energy instead of bullets."


    "How was the recoil?" I asked.


    "It has a built-in recoil mechanism," Starlight explained. "The gun uses an articulated mechanism that allows the bolt and inertia block to move downward into a recess behind the magazine well, reducing felt recoil."


    "But it''s an energy weapon, so how does it have a bolt?" I asked, puzzled.


    "The bolt channels the energy up to the receiver to be fired out. It doesn''t work like a traditional ballistic firearm," Starlight clarified.


    Over the radio, police dispatch called for any nearby unit to respond to a dine-and-dasher. Starlight radioed in that we''d take it, and we headed to the diner.


    ____


    At the diner, someone was holding a young couple. I could overhear everything from the back seat of the police car, as the window was down.


    "License or ID," Mitchell asked the couple.


    The young man was defensive. "We don''t have to show you our IDs!"


    "You are required by law to provide your name and date of birth," Starlight said firmly.


    The young woman, about Starlight and Mitchell''s age, suddenly kicked Starlight, causing her to fall over. Mitchell immediately drew his pistol.


    "Don''t even," he said in an authoritative tone.


    Another guy nearby muttered, "All this over eight bucks?"


    "Dine and dashing over an eight-dollar bill?" Mitchell said. "Well, now we can add assaulting an officer and being an accessory to assault on an officer."


    Mitchell arrested the woman first, keeping his pistol trained on the male suspect while he retrieved Starlight''s handcuffs to arrest him. After booking and charging the pair at the precinct, Mitchell and Starlight resumed their patrol.


    "So, Mitchell, what was it like in the Battle of Fort Suction to recapture the city from the Soviets?" I asked.


    "I wasn''t there," Mitchell replied.


    "I was," Starlight said, her voice taking on a somber tone. "The first night, the only lights we had were from fires caused by artillery, mortars, air strikes, or tank shells. No street lights, no lights inside buildings¡ªjust the glow of fires. We could have used night vision goggles, but no sane soldier wanted to risk burning their retinas by accidentally looking at something too bright. And then it started to rain.


    "I also took part in the Battle of Summerville Courthouse, which is also the city hall of Fort Suction. All important structures needed green flares to signal they were under friendly control. If a building didn''t have green flares, or if friendly units were fighting inside but couldn''t deploy them, the Air Force would destroy it. But if the building had green flares, it was spared."


    I asked, "Mitchell, Starlight, did you two use your G.I. Benefits of adjusting to civilian life?"


    "Nope," Mitchell said. "The first thing I did when I got home was marry Cadence, then I applied to the police academy the following week. My wife, sister, and family are all I need."


    Starlight added, "I go to a therapist once a week, but that''s about it."


    "Well, Macaroni, it depends on who you ask," Mitchell continued. "Every veteran is different. Many use their G.I. Benefits to go back to school or as a down payment for a house. But some, like me, just want to move on with our lives as if the war never happened."


    "Yeah, well, the Watersons back in America¡ªthose who served in Vietnam, Panama, or Iraq¡ªavoid the VA like the plague," I said. "They''ve heard too many stories about long wait times and bureaucracy. My dad just tries to move on with his life."


    "Mac, you''re not in the United States," Mitchell reminded me.


    "No duh, I know that," I replied. "I live in a country where a police tactical team has four assault rifles, a shotgun, a submachine gun, and a squad automatic weapon. Or four assault rifles, a shotgun, a DMR and a sniper rifle or a .50 Cal Anti-Material rifle."


    Starlight replied, "You can thank the Falcon Mafia Family for that during the 1968-1972 Waterson-Falcon War in the city of Empire."


    "Yeah," I added. "The son of the Don of the Falcon Mafia Family couldn''t take no for an answer. He kept asking Christina Waterson the 14th out, even proposing marriage multiple times. On her wedding day in Empire, he shot her newlywed husband as they were walking down the steps of the church."


    Mitchell continued, "It was a stupid move. Her brothers, who had either just finished their tours in Vietnam or were on furlough, were there. Some of them had concealed handguns to protect Christina, but they didn''t bring them into the church out of respect. To Christina, having her family there, even if they didn''t see her walk down the aisle, meant a lot. The idiot who couldn''t take no for an answer returned and shot her husband as they were leaving the church. The war between the Waterson and Falcon Mafia families wouldn''t have happened if he had respected her decision and not picked a fight with guys who had just come back from Vietnam, or served in Korea, or even World War II."


    "Yeah, I''ve heard stories about the Waterson-Falcon War. The Falcon Mafia fought recklessly, wearing flashy clothes and driving flashy cars, making them easy targets. The Watersons, even those who came to Little Bird between 1968-1972, played it smart. They drove common cars in common colors and wore common clothing. In Downtown or Uptown, the men wore suits, while in residential areas, they dressed casually. They targeted the Falcon Mafia''s sources of income strategically." I said


    Starlight nodded. "Mitchell and Twilight told me about it. They fought the other mafia family with either stealth or going loud. If a target was vulnerable from a distance, no amount of guards could protect them. They hurt them in a thousand ways that no sane person could imagine. It''s the same strategy the military and law enforcement use. You don''t go directly for the guy in charge because he''ll just be replaced by a Capo or Lieutenant, and you''ll be back at square one."


    "That''s exactly what I did in the military," Mitchell added. "We went after the guys at the bottom, then moved up to their bosses, and finally to the leader of the organization. It''s not the mafia or a criminal organization, but the military operates similarly."


    I kept quiet until we heard over the radio that more units were needed for an eviction process that had turned into a dispute.


    "It''s 7:55 AM and there''s a dispute going on," I said.


    Mitchell nodded. "That''s usually not good."


    We headed over, but they didn''t turn on the siren. When we arrived, they didn''t move in right away. Instead, they waited for backup. Mitchell kept his eyes on the house, looking ready to pounce from the car at a moment''s notice. Starlight used the computer to run the license plates of the vehicles she could see, checking for expired tags. In a town like Clearlake, she might just give a warning to get new tags, knowing they might already be on the way.


    "Why don''t you two just move in?" I asked.


    "Sometimes it''s better to wait for backup," Mitchell explained. "Evictions that turn into disputes can get nasty. Having at least five officers can make the difference between a situation turning into a gunfight or the person complying."


    "But why don''t one of you go to the front while the other covers the rear?" I asked.


    Starlight, still on the computer, replied, "We did that last month. Mitchell covered the rear door while I went to the front. I rang the doorbell and took a shotgun blast to the side of my face and upper body. My vest stopped the worst of it."


    After a few minutes, Mitchell and Starlight got out and approached the house, leaving me in the car. It felt like an episode of COPS, minus the camera crew. I stayed put, knowing I wasn¡¯t a cop and just along for the ride with my cousin and his partner.


    Mitchell kept his hand on his pistol grip, ready for anything. The situation could go smoothly, with the person being evicted without incident, or it could escalate into something much worse. The tension was palpable, and I couldn¡¯t help but feel a mix of curiosity and apprehension as I watched from the car.


    I waited in the car, feeling the morning sun heat up the leather seats. The sooner they finish, the better.


    After twenty-seven minutes, the incident wrapped up. The eviction process took an unexpected turn as the person being evicted was brought out in handcuffs and placed in another patrol car. It wasn''t how evictions usually go, but it was done.


    Soon, Mitchell and Starlight returned to the car.


    Starlight used the radio to report that they¡¯re back in service.


    After a few more minutes, it was 8:30 AM. We pulled over, and Mitchell radioed in that they would be doing a foot patrol. He let me out, and he and Starlight split up to patrol different areas on foot.


    I walked with Mitchell.


    "Clearlake feels like it''s permanently stuck in the 1950s, with tail-finned Cadillacs, varsity jackets, and pennant strings hanging from buildings," I remarked.


    "And? What''s wrong with that?" Mitchell replied. "At least it''s not a copy-and-paste town like many in America, with coffee shops and fast food joints on every corner. It''s not Everytown USA where people eat out all the time."


    I couldn''t argue with him on that. So far, I hadn''t seen a single fast food joint in town. There were a few restaurants and a diner, but they were the typical sit-in/take-out places, not the fast food chains you see everywhere. The town really did look like something out of post-World War II America, from the late ''40s through the ''50s. It had a unique charm that was hard to find these days.


    I noticed that many of the men and some women I saw were dressed like people from the 1950s¡ªjeans, loafer shoes, buttoned-up flannel shirts tucked in with leather belts. It reminded me of old photographs from 1950s America, where people wore similar outfits. Of course, in those photos, men also wore suits, but to me, suits meant office or business work.


    "So, what kind of policing does Clearlake do?" I asked.


    Mitchell replied, "Clearlake uses a Watchman style of policing. Ideally, it should be Community policing, but with most of my coworkers, except Starlight, being corrupt, Community-based policing wouldn''t work here. The Island Patrol does Community-based policing because they have the manpower for both foot and car patrols. Unfortunately, the town''s population doesn''t trust the Clearlake PD due to the corruption within our ranks."


    "And have you reported it?" I asked.


    "Yup," Mitchell replied. "They tried to ''persuade'' me not to, but I told them I was going through with it. If they didn''t like it, it was their fault. When one of them opened his mouth, I warned him that if any corrupt cop from Clearlake PD went after my wife, son, daughters, or sisters, they''d face the wrath of God. The kind of stuff that would make them wish they never did it or were never born."


    "And if someone hurts your sister Twilight?" I asked.


    "As the eldest brother, I have to protect my baby sister at all costs," Mitchell said firmly. "Even though I''m the only guy in the family, with three older sisters and one younger sister, it''s both Lucy and Natalie''s duty to protect Ashley, me, and Twilight. Lucy and Natalie are the eldest siblings, and Twilight is the youngest of five."


    "How is Twilight?" I asked.


    "She finishes high school this year," Mitchell replied. "She got held back a year, but she''s already applied to college to become an actress."


    "How did she get held back a year?" I asked.


    "She lied about her age," Mitchell explained. "The papers she brought to the recruiter looked legitimate, so she went through basic training and even saw some battles, including the Battle of Moscow. She was in the same division, regiment, battalion, and company as Starlight. They served in the same squad. When the military found out her real age, they kicked her out instead of putting her in a military prison. Locking up a 15-year-old wouldn''t sit well with the civilian population. They gave her the option to resume her military career when she turns 18. Well, she''s 18 now, but she has to make up for the days she missed."


    "You okay with her being an actress?" I asked.


    "Yeah, I''m okay with it," Mitchell replied.


    "Why doesn¡¯t the Island Patrol just arrest the corrupt cops you and Starlight work with?" I asked.


    Mitchell sighed, gripping the steering wheel a bit tighter. "I know the Captain of the 67th Precinct. He refuses to arrest them because he¡¯d rather let the status quo continue. Captain Armor says, ¡®If we lock up every dirty cop on Little Bird, more people would join the force, and many of them would end up just as corrupt as the ones they replaced.¡¯ So, it¡¯s better to maintain the status quo. Any raid that happens in this town, the Island Patrol handles it. They don¡¯t want locals involved because it¡¯s like a jury ¨C they need cops who aren¡¯t suspected of being crooked. If they suspect one, they pull them off the roster and suspend them. The Island Patrol, being like your American State Police, can request officers from different parts of Little Bird if needed."


    "So, it¡¯s better to keep the corrupt ones because replacing them just brings in more corruption?" I asked, trying to wrap my head around it.


    "Yup," Mitchell nodded. "I''ve seen stories on the news since I was five about corrupt cops in high positions selling police information to gangs before raids. Those gangs would either clear out or set up ambushes. Of course, those corrupt cops were sent to places where people hate cops, regardless of whether they¡¯re good or bad."


    "Prison?" I guessed.


    "Yup," Mitchell confirmed. "Ex-law enforcement or ex-corrections officers are popular for all the wrong reasons there."


    As we pulled into a place called "Arcade," which looked like a miniature shopping mall to me, I couldn''t help but ask, "What are we doing here?"


    Mitchell glanced over with a smile. "Cadence and I have our seventh anniversary coming up. Yeah, we''re both 20, but we''ve been together since we were thirteen and married for two years now. I''m looking for something special for her."


    "What''s her taste?" I asked, curious.


    "She''s not into expensive stuff," Mitchell replied. "To her, a ten-dollar bracelet is just as good as anything else. Cadence isn''t one of those girls who thinks anything under a thousand bucks is cheap."


    "I know some people back in the States who would hate your wife," I said, thinking about the judgmental folks I knew.


    Mitchell shrugged, unfazed. "I don¡¯t care what they say about my wife. She has good taste and chose what she wants to do with her life."


    "Oh, I was going to say I know some people back home who would tell your wife she needs a career of her own, not just be home all day cleaning and taking care of the kids," I continued. "Some of them would say she needs more expensive tastes."


    Mitchell chuckled. "And Star, my mother-in-law and Cadence¡¯s mom, always says, ¡®Feminism is about choice; I choose to be a spy and a mother.¡¯ She taught Cadence to make her own choices. Cadence could be a housewife, a stay-at-home mom, or have a job. She chose to be a stay-at-home mom, but she also helps around the orchard and with farming. I give her half of my paycheck and tell her that¡¯s her income. Her mother supports her choice completely."


    I nodded, appreciating the perspective. "Sounds like Cadence has a lot of support and freedom to choose her path."


    Mitchell headed into a jewelry store while I found a bench in the main hall and checked my phone. After a few minutes, he came out with a small box tucked into his coat pocket.


    As we left the "Arcade," I couldn''t help but ask, "What did you get Cadence?"


    Mitchell grinned and pulled out the box, revealing a beautiful diamond bracelet. "Think she''ll like it?" he asked.


    I smiled back. "She''ll love it. It''s perfect."


    Mitchell slipped the box back into his pocket, probably planning to give it to Cadence when we got back to his house for lunch or maybe after his shift. My guess was lunch.


    We continued on his foot patrol, just walking around until the hour was up. At 9:30, we headed back to the patrol car. I climbed into the back seat again, feeling the heat from the leather seats against my arms. I quickly crossed my arms over my torso to avoid getting burned.


    "So, last night I got mugged," I started, breaking the silence. "I defended myself from the muggers. One had a butterfly knife, but I pulled out a handgun and scared them off. When a cop came, I gave a description: ''Caucasian males, 5¡¯9 and 5¡¯7, black and brown hair.'' But the cop radioed in the most generic description ever: ''Caucasian males, average height, average build, dark hair.'' I don¡¯t even know where to begin."


    Mitchell and Starlight burst out laughing. Mitchell never laughed, so hearing him laugh was something special or scary. I guess they found the generic description pretty funny.


    I decided not to go further into how generic the description was. In a city like Empire, with a population of 1.5 million and half of them being men, 89% of the male population fit the description of "Caucasian male, average height, average build, dark hair." The other 10% were other races and nationalities. It was almost laughable how useless that description was.


    "What¡¯s so funny?" I asked, genuinely curious.


    Starlight chuckled. "I just hate to be the guy who matches that generic description. Imagine getting picked up, questioned by the police, then released, only to get picked up again later in another sector or shift."


    "And you find that funny?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.


    Starlight nodded, still smiling. "It''s just how boring and generic the description is. How are the cops in Empire supposed to find them if they don¡¯t even know what they look like?"


    Mitchell shook his head, "Cops can¡¯t really do their job if the description is the most casual thing ever. It¡¯s like putting out an APB for a vehicle and just saying ¡®Blue car.¡¯ That doesn¡¯t narrow it down. Sure, you¡¯ve got the color, but that¡¯s about it. An APB or BOLO needs more than the most generic description ever. For a person, it needs details like what they¡¯re wearing and other distinguishing features. For vehicles, it needs the make, model, tag number, and any noticeable dents or scratches the officer first saw. That makes it easier to track down than just a color."


    "Meaning?" I asked, wanting more clarity.


    Mitchell continued, "For example, if I want the cops to be on the lookout for a specific car but don¡¯t know the license plate, I¡¯d radio, ¡®Dispatch, put out an APB on a ¡®58 Wasp Air four-door sedan, color is blue, busted left tail light.¡¯ That¡¯s a better description than just saying a blue four-door sedan with a busted tail light."


    We rode around for an hour where there was only one traffic stop in which that was just for someone rolling through an intersection without stopping at a stop sign. But they just gave the driver a warning instead of a ticket.


    But to me the switching back and fourth of riding around for an hour then walking around for an hour wasn¡¯t really the best. But I didn¡¯t care for it until the time it became noon in which Mitchell took us to his house for lunch but Cadence was out back harvesting some crops that are Beans, Carrots, Chilies, and Corn for example.


    While Mitchell and Cadence were busy in the kitchen, I stayed in the living room with Starlight.


    "So, why did you join the police department?" I asked, curious about her story.


    Starlight sighed, leaning back on the couch. "It was a chance to get away from my mom and sister. Initially, I was supposed to be assigned to the station in Pine Valley, but at the last minute, my assignment was changed to here. I saw Mitchell twice at the police academy; he said he was visiting someone. I have a feeling he had something to do with me being here. But at least I''m not in Pine Valley. My mom did something illegal by manipulating the town council to exile me because she didn¡¯t like me."


    "That sounds rough," I said, feeling a pang of sympathy for her. "But it seems like things worked out for the better."


    Starlight nodded. "Yeah, it did. I like it here, and I¡¯m glad to be away from all that drama."


    "Do you miss anyone back there?" I asked.


    Starlight sighed, "Just my dad. Nobody else. Pine Valley is one of those small towns you hear about from the Wild West era, where everybody knows each other. Career choices are limited¡ªthere''s a small factory, a supermarket, a radio station, and a TV station. Sure, there are fire and police stations, but a town of 300 people doesn¡¯t need many cops. Pine Valley is a typical rural community on a small inlet on the coast, sitting on a bay. The only notable landmarks are a church, town hall, the factory, the supermarket, and the radio and TV stations. People there don¡¯t have many career options. Most join the military right after high school just to get out of town. Seeing the same people every day gets repetitive."


    I nodded, understanding her perspective. "Sounds like Clearlake is a nice change of pace."


    "Yeah," Starlight agreed. "Clearlake is a lot bigger, with about 5,500 people, including the soldiers of the 39th Airborne Regiment. There are still a lot of people I haven¡¯t met, and I¡¯ve only explored about 40% of the town so far."


    Starlight clenched her fist, her knuckles turning white.


    "You okay?" I asked, concerned.


    She took a deep breath. "Just remembering how my mom once let me go to the beach, even told me to ''have fun.'' But an hour later, she came down and yelled at me for not being at work. Both she and my dad had said it was okay for me to go and be a kid, have some fun. I was twelve. My sister April was supposed to be at work, but she was off catching butterflies at the plaza across from town hall and the church. Mom didn¡¯t go after her, though. We had brothers working the register, waiting tables, bussing, and in the kitchen. I had no idea why I was needed at work. All I did was spray down and clean tables. It wasn¡¯t even the tourist season, so it wasn¡¯t busy."


    I nodded, feeling her frustration. "That sounds really unfair. It must have been tough growing up with those expectations."


    Starlight sighed, relaxing her fist. "Yeah, it was. But I guess it made me stronger in the end."


    "Your mother sounds like a whackjob," I said, shaking my head.


    Starlight nodded, a bitter smile on her face. "Yeah, she is. My dad was always more relaxed. He''d let half of us go out and play if the other half had no friends to hang out with. He wanted us to have a childhood, not just work all the time. But my mom? She was all about work. ''You have to be at work the moment you get out of school, and when you''re not in school, you need to be at work,'' she''d say. But April never had to follow those rules as a kid or teen! My brother Ryan once broke his leg falling off his bike, and Mom still made him go to work. He could barely stand, but she didn''t care."


    "That''s harsh," I said, feeling a mix of anger and sympathy. "It''s good your dad tried to balance things out, at least."


    "Yeah," Starlight agreed. "He did his best, but it was tough with Mom always pushing us so hard."


    "So, if you had a child," I began.


    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Starlight sighed. "If I have one before April, and then April has a child after me, Mom would say, ''Starlight, stop trying to outdo your sister. Just because she had a baby doesn¡¯t mean you have to have one so soon,'' even if I had mine months or years before her. And if April can¡¯t have a child, I bet Mom would find out where I live and come pounding on my door, demanding I have a child and give it to April."


    Mitchell walked in, catching the tail end of our conversation. "That reminds me of my first call as a cop. My training officer, who¡¯s my friend Sam¡¯s wife, and I got called to a house where a woman was pounding on the door, demanding her daughter open up so she could talk about giving her future child to her sister. We told the woman to leave since she was on private property and the homeowner wanted her gone. She refused, got confrontational, and I told her to get out of my face. She didn¡¯t scare me; my mother-in-law is scarier. She slapped me, and the next thing she knew, she was on the ground with handcuffs on for trespassing and assaulting an officer."


    Mitchell handed Starlight and me two cold glass bottles of soda. "Here you go," he said with a grin.


    "Thanks," I said, taking a sip. "Sounds like you¡¯ve had some interesting experiences on the job."


    Mitchell nodded. "You could say that."


    "Do you think your mother-in-law is scarier than that woman, Mitchell?" I asked, genuinely curious.


    Mitchell chuckled. "Absolutely. She¡¯s a spook for the LBIAOSA, the Little Bird Intelligence Agency and Office of Strategic Actions. Spies and field agents there know a hundred ways to kill a man and make it look like natural causes. So yeah, she¡¯s a lot scarier than a woman demanding her daughter have a child to give to her sister. Star¡ªthat¡¯s her real name, not a codename¡ªdid a great job making sure Cadence didn¡¯t follow in her footsteps. Star missed a lot of Cadence¡¯s life because of her work, but Cadence¡¯s aunt, Luna, was always there for her. The difference is, Star and Luna are women of action, comfortable with guns and using them. Cadence, on the other hand, is a pacifist. She doesn¡¯t like guns, but she¡¯s okay with me having them as long as they¡¯re locked up and out of sight."


    I nodded, impressed. "Sounds like Cadence has a strong support system and knows what she wants."


    Mitchell headed back to the kitchen to help Cadence with lunch.


    "Mitchell''s the kind of husband who always helps his wife," I remarked to Starlight. "He¡¯s not like some people I know who expect their partner to do all the work while they laze around. And then they have the nerve to call the hardworking one lazy, even though they just sit around playing video games or doing nothing useful."


    Starlight nodded in agreement. "Yeah, Mitchell and Cadence have a good system. He goes out to work, and she handles the domestic chores and helps with the farming. They respect each other''s lifestyles and choices. Mitchell doesn¡¯t want kids, but he¡¯s willing to have a family to make Cadence happy. And even though Cadence hates guns, she¡¯s okay with Mitchell having them as long as they¡¯re locked up and out of sight."


    I smiled, thinking about their relationship. "It¡¯s all about respect and understanding. They don¡¯t yell at each other over their differences. Their love is built on mutual respect and a willingness to compromise, unlike those couples who are always at each other''s throats."


    "Exactly," Starlight said. "It¡¯s refreshing to see a couple that truly supports and respects each other."


    "My parents were always at each other¡¯s throats," I began, feeling a mix of frustration and sadness. "My dad worked hard, putting in 50 or more hours a week, while my mom, a narcotic addict, just lay on the couch all day doing nothing. She constantly yelled at my dad over little things, and the house was always a mess. My dad and I would clean, but when we weren¡¯t there, she¡¯d turn it into a pigsty and leave piles of dishes in the sinks. It was a nightmare. There were times as a kid and teenager I was ready to report my mom to the authorities. Some of my friends'' parents in Alabama were ready to call CPS because of her. Until things got straightened out, I lived with family on a farm. Riding a horse was fun, but getting kicked or thrown off wasn¡¯t."


    Starlight looked concerned. "How bad did the arguments get?"


    "Pretty bad," I replied. "Five times in 1994, seven times in 1996, twelve times in 1998, fourteen times in 1999, and seventeen times in 2001, the cops were called to our house because of how loud the arguments were. They were always at night, and my mom didn¡¯t care about anyone else. She had to be the loudest, yelling so much that the neighbors across the street could hear. Lots of sleepless nights. My dad never yelled back because he was considerate of others trying to sleep for school or work the next day. Their arguments sometimes lasted until midnight or even one or two in the morning. My mom always yelled, but my dad never did, even though he should have."


    Starlight shook her head. "That sounds really tough. It¡¯s amazing you got through all that."


    "Yeah," I said, feeling a bit lighter for having shared. "It wasn¡¯t easy, but I guess it made me stronger in the end."


    After about twenty minutes, Mitchell called us to lunch.


    "Well, it¡¯s homemade," Mitchell said with a grin. "Not prepackaged."


    The spread was impressive barbecue chicken, mashed potatoes, fried potatoes, and steamed carrots with herbs. Mitchell or Cadence had thoughtfully put both mashed potatoes and fried potatoes on our plates.


    I took a bite and smiled. "This is delicious. You two make a great team in the kitchen."


    Mitchell nodded. "Thanks. We enjoy cooking together. It¡¯s one of the ways we unwind after a long day."


    Cadence smiled, adding, "And it¡¯s nice to share a homemade meal with friends."


    As we were eating, I decided to ask, "So, Mitchell, what kind of calls do you hate as a cop?"


    Mitchell sighed, "Besides false alarms, it''s domestic calls. Technically, the police can''t arrest an abuser without the victim coming forward to press charges. Most of the time, it''s an open and shut case where the victim doesn''t press charges, so we can''t arrest anyone. Abusive relationships often happen behind closed doors with no tangible evidence. If it''s out in public or in the view of a police officer, then yes, we can arrest the attacker, but nine out of ten times, they''re back out on the streets. By law, the police can''t do anything behind residential doors unless someone reports it. If kids are involved, we can take them out of a dangerous environment, but the abusers often get defended by people saying, ''One day they''ll see the error of their ways.'' In reality, they usually just get worse."


    "So, you wish there were laws that allow cops to arrest abusers more easily?" I asked.


    Mitchell nodded. "There are laws that allow us to do that, but only if it''s reported or out in public or in the view of the police. If there''s a clear sign of abuse, I believe the cops should arrest the abuser either way."


    Mitchell''s words carried the weight of personal experience. His stepfather had been abusive to him, Ashley, and Twilight whenever their mother wasn''t around or they weren''t in public. But in 1995, that mistreatment came to an abrupt end.


    "My stepdad was like that to me, Ashley, and Twilight," Mitchell began, his voice still the same with a Southern US drawl. "If we weren¡¯t around our mom or in public, we had a bullseye on us. One day in 1995, our dad came and got Ashley and me. She was fourteen, and I was five. Ashley told our dad about the abuse, and he set our stepdad straight. After beating him up, our dad said, ¡®If you ever put your hands on my and my ex-wife''s daughters and only son again, I¡¯ll come back and finish the job. I¡¯ll personally see that you get thrown into a prison with the worst of the worst, and have the inmates who do the paperwork tell all the others that you like to go after minors. Many inmates are fathers themselves; you won¡¯t last a day in prison!¡¯"


    Mitchell paused, taking a deep breath. "When our step dad tried to use that incident to ruin our father¡¯s reelection, it backfired. People became more sympathetic to our dad, seeing him as a father protecting his kids. Only reason why he didn¡¯t fight for full custody was because he and mom agreed to have split custody unless if we were in school then every other weekend we would¡¯ve gone to visit him."


    I nodded, feeling the gravity of his story. "That must have been tough, but it sounds like your dad did what he had to do to protect you."


    "Yeah," Mitchell agreed. "He did. And it made a big difference in our lives."


    "One final question, Mitchell," I said, leaning in. "What¡¯s the most important thing your father taught you?"


    Mitchell paused, thinking for a moment. "He taught me that there are two kinds of people in the world, those who do what they say and those who put on airs."


    "Meaning?" I asked, wanting to understand more.


    Mitchell nodded. "There are people who put their money where their mouth is, and then there are those who talk the talk but won¡¯t walk the walk. Some people are genuine and act like who they truly are, while others act superior to what they actually are."


    I nodded, appreciating the wisdom. "That¡¯s a valuable lesson. It¡¯s important to be true to yourself and follow through on your words."


    "Exactly," Mitchell agreed. "It¡¯s something I try to live by every day."


    We then finished the lunch in which we just put them in the dishwasher where Mitchell and Cadence made extra for lunch but that¡¯s just going to be saved for dinner.


    ___________________________


    By 1:00 PM, we were back on patrol.


    ¡°How are Lucy, Nataline, and Ashley?¡± I asked, curious about his sisters.


    Mitchell shrugged. ¡°Honestly, I don¡¯t know. Not to sound rude, but I¡¯m not their babysitter. They¡¯re grown adults.¡±


    ¡°So you don¡¯t worry about your sisters?¡± I pressed.


    Mitchell chuckled. ¡°If they can take on a guy four times their size and win, then why should I worry?¡±


    I stayed quiet for a few minutes, letting the silence settle.


    Mitchell broke it with a story. "Last time I heard about Lucy was when the principal was going to expel me. She threatened to go to the news about how the principal was willing to expel students who defended themselves against bullies, but turned a blind eye when his own son was the bully. She said the news would¡¯ve spread across the County of Mountain, and the school would¡¯ve had to answer tough questions from the Bureau of Education¡ªquestions they couldn¡¯t just say ¡®No Comment¡¯ to like they do with reporters."


    "That was seven years ago," he added, shaking his head at the memory.


    "Sounds like Lucy really stood up for you," I said, impressed.


    "Yeah," Mitchell nodded. "She¡¯s always been fierce when it comes to protecting family."


    The rest of the patrol was mostly quiet, just a few more traffic stops. It seemed like Mitchell and Starlight preferred to give warnings rather than issue tickets.


    Mitchell had been right about not expecting any felonies in a town where everyone knows each other. After the tenth traffic stop, which was just for a loose license plate, I turned to him.


    "You were right," I said. "I was expecting at least a felony stop by now."


    Mitchell chuckled. "Clearlake looks like a picture-perfect blue-white collar town on the surface¡ªquiet and safe. But in reality, that¡¯s just a cover. There¡¯s a lot of fist fights here. People get into brawls to pass the time or settle arguments, and then they¡¯re friends afterward. The cops don¡¯t usually respond to fist fights because as soon as we leave, they just go back to it until they decide it¡¯s over."


    I nodded, understanding the unique dynamics of the town. "So, it¡¯s more about letting them sort things out on their own?"


    "Exactly," Mitchell replied. "It¡¯s a different kind of peacekeeping, but it works for Clearlake."


    After several more minutes, a message came over the police radio for Mitchell to call home. We pulled over, and Mitchell headed to a nearby phone booth to talk to Cadence.


    I watched him through the glass, wondering what the call was about. It must be something important for them to reach out during his shift. Starlight and I exchanged glances, both of us curious but respecting his privacy.


    "Hope everything''s okay," I said quietly.


    Starlight nodded. "I''m sure it is. Cadence wouldn''t call unless it was something that couldn''t wait."


    We waited patiently, the hum of the patrol car''s engine filling the silence.


    "What do you think it is?" I asked, glancing at Starlight.


    She shrugged. "Could be anything. Maybe the kids are in trouble at kindergarten, or it could be something urgent. If it wasn¡¯t important, Cadence would¡¯ve waited until Mitchell got off shift."


    Soon, Mitchell returned from the phone booth.


    "What¡¯s wrong?" I asked.


    "Just need to go back home and talk to Rose," Mitchell replied.


    "Is she okay?" I asked, concerned.


    "Someone made her upset by picking on her," Mitchell explained. "Cadence went and got her, but she wants me, so we¡¯re heading back to the house."


    I nodded, understanding the urgency. "Let¡¯s go then."


    We soon arrived back at Mitchell and Cadence¡¯s house. Starlight and I stayed in the car while Mitchell went inside. He didn¡¯t stay long before coming back out and announcing we were making another stop.


    A few minutes later, we pulled up outside a manufactured house. Mitchell got out while Starlight and I stayed in the car, listening. We could overhear Mitchell telling a woman that her son was picking on his daughter, Rose. He asked her to talk to her son, explaining that while he might be in first grade and Rose in kindergarten, he wouldn¡¯t allow his daughter to be bullied.


    The woman seemed to understand but then mentioned her brother was a higher-ranking cop than Mitchell and that she¡¯d be calling him.


    ¡°Ooh, I¡¯m scared,¡± Mitchell said sarcastically, not missing a beat.


    Starlight and I exchanged amused glances. Mitchell wasn¡¯t one to be easily intimidated, especially when it came to protecting his family.


    When Mitchell got back into the car.


    "Oh, everything is fine," Mitchell said, but Starlight and I knew better. We could tell he had a plan.


    We drove around for a bit before getting pulled over. "One minute," Mitchell said, stepping out of the car.


    As he approached the police car that had pulled us over, the Clearlake cop started to say, "So you like to..."


    Before he could finish, Mitchell grabbed the driver''s door and slammed it into the corrupt cop several times until the officer fell over in pain.


    "Got something you want to say now, you corrupt asshole?" Mitchell said, reaching into the car to turn it off and take the key out of the ignition. He pocketed the keys and the cop''s pistol.


    "Yeah, bet you don¡¯t have anything to say now, do ya?" Mitchell exclaimed before getting back into our patrol car.


    "Told ya it¡¯s all fine," Mitchell said to Starlight and me with a grin.


    Starlight and I exchanged glances, both impressed and a bit shocked by Mitchell''s bold move. Guess he really does have everything under control, I thought.


    "So, that cop you just assaulted with a car door," I said, trying to process what just happened.


    Mitchell replied calmly, "Sent by the woman who told me her brother is a cop. Yeah, a crooked cop."


    I decided to keep my mouth shut about it. What happened, happened. Mitchell had tried to be civil with the woman about her son bullying his daughter, but she acted like an arrogant jerk, escalating the situation. It was technically her fault for pushing things to this point.


    Starlight and I exchanged glances, both of us silently agreeing to let it go. Mitchell had handled it in his own way, and now it was time to move on.


    They just patrolled the streets for a while in which it was pretty quiet.


    Since lunch, Mitchell and Starlight have been busy responding to various misdemeanors:


    <ul>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Public Intoxication: They came across a local who had a bit too much to drink at the town¡¯s annual fair and was causing a scene near the Ferris wheel.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Vandalism: They spotted a group of teenagers spray-painting graffiti on the side of an old building. Mitchell explained it was more about youthful mischief than serious crime.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Petty Theft: At the local convenience store, they witnessed a young person trying to shoplift a few candy bars. The store owner, who knew the kid¡¯s family, decided to handle it by calling their parents instead of the police.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Noise Complaint: They responded to a call about a loud party at a house where the music was blasting. Mitchell and Starlight had to ask the party-goers to turn it down.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Disorderly Conduct: At the town square, they encountered a heated argument between two neighbors over a property line dispute. Mitchell and Starlight stepped in to calm things down. But Mitchell warns them that if they have to come back then he¡¯ll arrest them.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Jaywalking: They saw a group of teenagers crossing the street without using the crosswalk, causing a minor traffic disruption. Mitchell and Starlight gave them a friendly reminder about safety.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Littering: At the town park, they caught someone throwing trash on the ground instead of using the bins. Mitchell asked them to pick it up and dispose of it properly.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Loitering: They noticed a few individuals hanging around outside a closed store late at night. Mitchell and Starlight checked in to make sure everything was okay and asked them to move along.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Bicycle Violations: They spotted a kid riding a bike without a helmet or proper lights after dark. Mitchell gave the kid a gentle lecture on bike safety and provided a spare helmet.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Minor Traffic Violations: They pulled over a driver for not using their turn signal or for having a broken taillight. Mitchell explained the importance of vehicle maintenance and following traffic laws.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Unlicensed Pet Parade: While driving through the town square, they stumbled upon a spontaneous parade of pets, led by a local who decided to organize it without any permits. The parade included dogs, cats, and even a few exotic pets like a miniature pig and a parrot. Mitchell and Starlight had to step in to ensure the safety of both the pets and the public, explaining the need for proper permits and coordination for such events.</li>


    </ul>


    It¡¯s been a busy day, but nothing too serious¡ªjust the usual small-town issues.


    At 3:50 PM, we pulled into the parking lot of the 7th Precinct.


    "Well, today¡¯s been eventful," I said, stretching a bit after the long day.


    Mitchell nodded, a small smile on his face. "Yeah, it has. Never a dull moment in Clearlake."


    Starlight chuckled. "You can say that again. From traffic stops to pet parades, we¡¯ve seen it all."


    I grinned, thinking about everything we¡¯d encountered. "Thanks for letting me tag along. It¡¯s been quite the experience."


    "Anytime," Mitchell said. "Glad you could join us."


    As we got out of the car, I felt a sense of appreciation for the work they did, keeping the town running smoothly, one small incident at a time.


    _____________________


    10:30 PM


    I was out with Mitchell and Starlight, the night air cool and crisp. Mitchell was decked out in his Gen X helmet, black sunglasses, and a blue uniform. Both of them wore blue vests with "POLICE" emblazoned in white on their helmets.


    Curiosity got the better of me. "What''s going on?" I asked.


    Starlight sighed, her expression a mix of frustration and determination. "Mitchell talked to some people earlier, trying to get them to tell their son to stop bullying Rose. But the woman he spoke to was a real piece of work¡ªarrogant and dismissive. Now, the Island Patrol has their house on the raid list."


    I leaned back against the cool leather seat, the night settling into a quiet lull, broken only by the chirping of crickets. The silence was almost eerie, stretching on for what felt like an eternity.


    Then, a male cop''s voice crackled over the radio, "All units, the light is green."


    Mitchell and Starlight sprang into action, stepping out of the car. More officers, dressed in the same blue uniforms and helmets, moved down the street with purpose. I stayed put, not being a cop myself, just along for the ride with Mitchell and Starlight. I still had no clue why they were part of this raid.


    We were parked close enough that I could hear someone shout, "POLICE!" before the front door was ripped off its hinges by one of those massive armored vehicles used to transport SWAT teams.


    Suddenly, there was a series of deafening bangs¡ªnine in total. It was a nine-bang grenade, designed to disorient and stun with eight flashbangs following the initial explosion, creating a prolonged burst of chaos. The night was no longer quiet; it was filled with the sounds of a raid in full swing.


    I watched as some of the cops took cover behind a nearby car, moving with the precision of a well-oiled machine. One officer had their weapon trained on the front door, another on the living room window, and two more covered the sides of the house. Another officer had their sights set on a bedroom window at the front.


    If I had to guess, there were probably officers stationed at the back of the house too, ready to catch anyone trying to escape through the windows or back door. They had every angle covered.


    After a few tense minutes, two people were brought out¡ªa man and a woman. The woman was the same one who had been so arrogant to Mitchell earlier. She wasn''t looking so smug now, with those stainless steel handcuffs clamped around her wrists.


    I watched as the guy who was arrested tried to make a run for it. He didn''t get far before he was tackled to the cold asphalt in a New York second. He hit his head on a car bumper and immediately started crying about police brutality. But his complaints fell silent when he was informed that everything was recorded, showing him deliberately hitting his head on the car bumper. That was his problem to deal with, and it wasn''t going to hold up in court.


    The woman being arrested started screaming about how her brother is a Sergeant with the Clearlake PD. But news flash, even if her brother was there, he couldn''t help her out. In fact, if he tried, he''d be arrested himself for interfering with a police raid and overstepping his authority.


    This raid was being carried out by the Island Patrol, which I figured was similar to the State Police or Highway Patrol back in the United States. The Island Patrol officers answer to the Commonwealth they¡¯re in, holding themselves to a higher standard than the town police. They weren''t about to let her go just because her brother was a cop. They weren''t the type to do favors for their fellow officers in blue.


    I guess the reason the officers didn''t care about her brother being a Sergeant in the town PD is pretty straightforward. According to Mitchell, town or city PDs answer to their respective local governments. In a small town like Clearlake, everyone on the town council knows everyone on the police force, and vice versa. In a city, while they have the resources for an Internal Affairs unit, they still answer to the city council, and there''s a slim chance that some council members might know people on the police force.


    But the Island Patrol operates differently. They have a police board whose members are selected like a lottery. If an officer knows someone on the board, they''re replaced to prevent nepotism. These officers can come from anywhere across the Commonwealth of Mountain. While city police departments are similar, they don''t have the same manpower as the Island Patrol. If the Island Patrol is like the State Police and Highway Patrol back in the USA, they probably have geographic patrol areas for different sectors and precincts. They can cross Commonwealth lines, whereas local PD would have to give up the chase.


    It didn''t take long for the cops to get fed up with the woman''s incessant yelling. One of the officers finally grabbed some duct tape and put it over her mouth to silence her. Even her husband was telling her to stop, pointing out that they were already in a bad situation and her shouting was only making things worse. They had been given their rights, informed that they had the right to remain silent and that anything they said could be used against them in court. But she had been running her mouth for several minutes, giving the officers plenty of material to use against them.


    I could only imagine the headache she was giving the officers with her constant yelling and acting like she was the most important person in the world. Her husband tried to sound confident, saying they would use their money to hire a lawyer. But as soon as he said that, the cops started bringing out boxes of evidence, some marked with "Money" and others with various narcotics. Whatever funds they were planning to use, they wouldn''t be able to access them now.


    A police transport van arrived to take the couple away. Even though it was almost eleven at night, a family services van soon followed to take their two children away, as the house was now a crime scene... multiple crimes, in fact.


    I glanced around and noticed some of the neighbors standing on their front porches or decks, clad in their skivvies or pajamas with slippers, watching the commotion unfold. Many of them were talking to their spouses, trying to make sense of what was happening.


    Events like this are rare in Clearlake, a town where everyone seems to know each other. But as they say, you never really know someone. Mitchell''s words echoed in my mind¡ªClearlake is a place where people only know what they want to know about their neighbors. On the surface, they might seem familiar, but behind closed doors, who knows what secrets they keep?


    I''m a firm believer in the Jekyll and Hyde nature of people. It¡¯s a reminder that appearances can be deceiving, and you never truly know what goes on in someone else''s life.


    Soon enough, Mitchell and Starlight returned to the car, removing their helmets, sunglasses, and balaclava masks. I couldn''t help but wonder why they needed sunglasses at night, but I kept that thought to myself. Mitchell put the car into reverse and started backing up.


    "So, what charges are the two going to face?" I asked, curiosity getting the better of me.


    Starlight smirked, "Should I list them in alphabetical order or not?"


    "Doesn''t matter," I replied.


    "Counterfeiting and narcotic manufacturing," she said.


    "In a town like this, both are surprising," I remarked. "In a city, it''s one thing, but in a small town like this, it''s definitely going to make the papers."


    Mitchell nodded, "Yeah, well, the vehicles they had, the furniture, the clothing¡ªit was all way outside the means of a normal 9-to-5 person or someone running a small business."


    It was a stark reminder that appearances can be deceiving, even in a place where everyone thinks they know each other.


    We soon dropped the undercover car off at the Island Patrol station, returning the uniforms that helped them blend into the night. Mitchell and I then hopped into his classic ''57 T-Bird and headed back to his house. The drive was quiet, the events of the night still fresh in our minds.


    When we arrived, I crashed on his couch, exhausted from the night''s excitement. Mitchell headed to bed with his wife, leaving me to drift off to sleep. It had been a night to remember, and I couldn''t help but wonder what tomorrow would bring.


    In the morning, I was awakened by the mouthwatering sound of bacon sizzling. I got up, but decided to take a quick shower first. I considered using the bathroom in Cadence and Mitchell''s bedroom, but I didn''t want to risk Cadence waking up and assuming it was Mitchell. So, I opted for the bathroom upstairs instead.


    After my shower, I put on some of Mitchell''s clothes. They were a bit tight, but snug enough to fit without cutting off my circulation. It felt like a living symbol of "one size fits all."


    I joined Mitchell for breakfast, which consisted of crispy bacon, scrambled eggs with cheese, a cup of coffee, and a small bowl of oatmeal. There was also a slice of lightly toasted bread on the side of the plate.


    "Guess you or Cadence like blue ceramic plates," I remarked, noticing the matching set.


    Mitchell didn''t respond, probably because it was pretty obvious¡ªthey had several blue ceramic plates and bowls.


    "So, care to show me the weapons you have when you get done eating?" I asked, my curiosity piqued.


    "Sure," Mitchell replied. "Since Cadence and the kids are still asleep, they won''t be up for another half an hour."


    I glanced at the analog clock in the kitchen. It read 6:33 AM.


    We ate breakfast in peaceful silence, the only sounds being the clinking of cutlery and the occasional sip of coffee. Mitchell finished his meal first, eating with the efficiency of someone trained to do so. I figured it was his military mindset years of being trained to eat quickly and be ready for anything.


    It''s a common trait among those who''ve served in the military. They often wake up before everyone else and stick to a strict schedule, going to bed and rising at predetermined times. I''m the same way, hitting the sack at 10 PM sharp and waking up at 7 AM on the dot. Of course, there are exceptions when I stay up later or get up earlier, but routine is key.


    Mitchell started doing the dishes, and just as he was finishing up, I added my own dishes to the sink. After he placed the clean dishes in the drainer, he dried his hands with some paper towels.


    "Come with me," he said.


    He led me to a bookcase, which he moved to reveal a hidden door. He turned on the light, and we stepped into a circular room that was locked and completely out of sight. I had assumed Mitchell kept his weapons in a footlocker under the bed, not in a medium-sized hidden room within the house.


    I had to give credit where it was due. Cadence doesn¡¯t like guns, but she didn''t mind them being in the house as long as they were out of sight. Mitchell had listened to his wife and created a hidden room for the weapons, making sure they were out of sight and out of mind.


    The weapons I saw were impressive:


    <ul>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Semiautomatic Service Garand NM: The Little Bird version of the M14 battle rifle, modified for National Match with a match barrel and adjustable iron sight.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">M1918A2 B.A.R: Complete with a bipod and muzzle brake. This one had history¡ªit was used by Mitchell¡¯s grandfather, my great-grandfather, in World War II and the Korean War.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Military Semiautomatic Combat Shotgun: Equipped with a box magazine holding twelve 12-gauge shells.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">X16 Rifle: Based on the M16A1 but with the reliability of an AK47.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Bolt-Action Hunting Rifle: Classic and reliable.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Scoped Bolt-Action Hunting Rifle: For those long-range shots.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">.22 Rifle: A versatile and handy firearm.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Several Handguns: Chambered in both .45 and 9x19 rounds.</li>


    </ul>


    Around the walls were ammo canisters filled with magazines in 7.62mm, 12-gauge, and .308. It was quite the collection, each piece with its own story and purpose.


    __________________


    Parking lot of the 7th Precinct


    ¡°If the Feds had been paying attention to organized crime before 1957, a lot of mafiosos would have rap sheets three feet thick,¡± Mitchell said, shaking his head.


    I knew exactly what he meant. The world hadn¡¯t really taken the Mafia seriously until the Apalachin meeting in 1957. That meeting was a turning point, confirming the existence of a nationwide criminal conspiracy¡ªa fact that even FBI Director J. Edgar Hoover had long refused to acknowledge.


    In Little Bird, things were different. The Bureau of Law and the Elite Operations Detachment, our versions of the Department of Justice and the FBI, had their reasons for keeping the mafia families under wraps. They wanted the average person to go about their life without worrying about organized crime lurking in the shadows.


    As we got out of Mitchell¡¯s car, the corrupt cop Mitchell had assaulted with a car door the day before approached us.


    ¡°So, you had my sister and brother-in-law arrested!¡± the corrupt cop spat, anger flashing in his eyes.


    Mitchell interrupted without missing a beat. ¡°I tried to be civil to her, but your sister wanted to act like a jerk. She and her husband shouldn¡¯t have been arrogant. Counterfeiting money and using fake cash to fund a lavish lifestyle isn¡¯t my problem. They brought the cops to their front door on their own. So, you want to act all macho? We¡¯ll see who¡¯s tough!¡±


    The corrupt cop threw a punch, but Mitchell was ready. He caught the cop''s fist mid-air and twisted his arm in a way it definitely shouldn''t bend. With a swift move, Mitchell turned the corrupt officer around and delivered a firm kick to his butt.


    "Consider that a warning," Mitchell said, his voice steady and calm. "Next time, I won''t go so easy."


    We stepped into the 7th Precinct, greeted by a large banner in the lobby that read, ¡°WELCOME TO THE 7TH PRECINCT.¡± It was the first thing anyone saw when they walked in.


    As we made our way through, the corrupt cops in the precinct shot Mitchell dirty looks. Their disdain was palpable.


    Mitchell leaned in and whispered to me, ¡°If we were in a zombie apocalypse, these corrupt officers would be the first to go, thinking they could extort the undead for money instead of killing them.¡± He chuckled, then added, ¡°Of course, if we were in a zombie apocalypse, I¡¯d double-tap the undead like anybody else.¡±


    The second part of his comment made sense, considering the Little Bird military trains its soldiers to shoot an enemy in the head twice to ensure they¡¯re dead. It was a stark reminder of the seriousness of their training and the reality of the world we were navigating.


    "I really don¡¯t see this town having detectives," I said, looking around the precinct.


    Mitchell nodded. "The Island Patrol Precinct has detectives, but the town PD doesn¡¯t, and that''s a good thing. It''s not because the town is big enough to need them, but because the town PD is so corrupt. We don''t want to risk it."


    In a town like Clearlake, even if they had detectives, they''d probably still be wearing their patrol uniforms, handling their regular duties. Crimes that need detectives are rare here, happening once in a blue moon. The raid last night was a federal crime, and it needed detectives to investigate. But honestly, some criminals aren''t that smart. Those who counterfeit money often start spending it, and sooner or later, they mess up¡ªprinting it crooked, using the wrong color, or over- or under-coloring it. Many stores have special highlighters to detect counterfeit bills because of people like them.


    In Little Bird, if a store accepts counterfeit cash, they can write it off to their insurance when it''s time for taxes. If someone spends over fifty bucks in counterfeit cash, it''s considered grand larceny, and the store can write it off as a loss. It''s a system that helps protect businesses from the actions of these not-so-smart criminals.


    I have a feeling Mitchell might be the type of cop who would advise victims to round up their bill to fifty bucks or more. That way, the store or restaurant can get their insurance to write off the theft and hit the criminal with a charge of grand larceny. I don''t have any proof of this, but my gut tells me it''s something he might do.


    I''ve heard stories of some cops doing that with dine-and-dashers or people who are being scammed. For instance, there are tales of guys going on dates, then sneaking out when the bill comes, leaving the woman to pay. Some cops would advise the woman to order something extra to push the bill over fifty dollars, so the restaurant can write it off as theft. It''s a clever way to turn the tables on the scammers and make sure the business doesn''t take a hit.


    "Hey Mitchell, if you don''t mind me asking, how much do you get paid a month?" I said.


    Mitchell replied, "One hundred and twelve bucks and fifty cents a month. I keep fifty-six bucks and twenty-five cents, and Cadence keeps her half of fifty-six bucks and twenty-five cents. She also makes the kids their homemade lunch if they won''t eat what the school provides. But Cadence also gives Rose, McKinney, and Platinum lunch money as well."


    "But last time you spoke, you said you pay seventy-one bucks a month for rent," I said, puzzled. "The math doesn''t add up."


    Mitchell nodded, "That''s because I use my Sergeant salary to pay for that. I use my Sergeant salary of $142 a month for rent, while I use my police salary for the family."


    I started to do the math in my head.


    ¡°So as a Sergeant you get paid seven dollars and twenty five cents as a Sgt?¡± I asked.


    Mitchell replied, ¡°Yup but that adds up quick and considering many of the houses here in Clearlake house guys and gals of the 39th Airborne Regiment who live outside of Fort Colossal but many of the houses are owned by the Army so many of the guys and gals have their salary cut no greater than 18% of their salary but the army does that as a way of taking rent and utilities from their pay. My house is not owned by the army where it¡¯s owned by the bank and I pay 71 a month to pay the bank its rent.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t you mean mortgage?¡± I asked.


    Mitchell replied, ¡°Yeah well either way I prefer rent but that¡¯s almost done anyway because my mom and stepdad paid that for six years and my sisters paid for it for twelve years. Just got one more year to go and that¡¯s paid off. And since the bank gets its money either way they don¡¯t ask questions because they¡¯re getting their money back either way.¡±


    "Well, that''s what I love about the country of Little Bird," I said. "If someone makes a payment on time, they can''t be charged interest. I hate interest because it''s like the moment you make a payment that doesn''t fully pay it off, they add interest, so it''s like your monthly payments aren''t making a dent."


    Mitchell looked a bit puzzled, not quite grasping what I was talking about. Little Bird has a unique system where companies can''t charge interest unless people are late on their payments. If someone pays a monthly payment or calls up the company saying, "Hey, I wrote a check and I''m mailing it," then the companies can''t charge interest because the payment is on its way via the postal system.


    That''s how people on Little Bird handle their utility bills¡ªeither by going to the company and paying in cash or mailing a check and calling to inform them. By law, the utility company can''t shut off a person''s utilities if they call and say a check is on the way. It''s a system that ensures people aren''t penalized with interest as long as they''re making an effort to pay on time.


    I even told Mitchell how some people like my dad don¡¯t have insurance because they see it¡¯s not really worth it if having it but going somewhere that accepts said insurance but the person who¡¯s a doctor or what not isn¡¯t in the network so the insurance doesn¡¯t pay for it. And my father and many people tell them if they¡¯re sick they just stay home and rest up.


    Living in Little Bird has its perks, especially when it comes to healthcare. While there are private insurance companies, people can also pay just five bucks a month for insurance from the Commonwealth they live in. And if they don''t want insurance, they''re still covered by the government with universal healthcare. When I explained this to Mitchell, he shook his head in disbelief at how, in some places, money is prioritized over people''s welfare.


    To change the subject, I asked, "So, has your mother-in-law ever been buddy spiked?"


    Mitchell raised an eyebrow. "Do you even know what that means?"


    "Yeah, it means being locked onto by friendly weapons radar," I replied.


    Mitchell smirked. "What do you think?"


    Given that Mitchell''s mother-in-law is a spy, I wouldn''t be surprised if she had flown unmarked aircraft that got picked up by friendly forces. But it''s not like I could just walk up to her and ask. In her line of work, things like that never officially happen¡ªplausible deniability and all that. So, I assume she has, but it''s one of those things we''ll never really know for sure.


    I stepped out of the bathroom and immediately noticed a fight breaking out. The corrupt cops had made the mistake of picking a fight with Mitchell. They clearly didn''t know who they were dealing with. Mitchell is a combat pragmatist, willing to do whatever it takes to win a fight.


    Mitchell had told me months ago about his training in psychological warfare and other tactics. Instead of killing these corrupt officers, he was just badly hurting them. While killing them might have done the town a favor, he believed that inflicting severe pain was a fate worse than death. It sent a clear message, and they couldn''t retaliate against him. If they ever went after his wife or kids, his retaliation would be swift and severe¡ªlike the wrath of God. Or trapping them in their house or car and setting it on fire.


    I remembered a story about my cousin, twice removed. Her husband was abusive, and when he put his hands on her, he disappeared. A decade later, his body was found in the trunk of an old car in a river, with bones so broken they were like powder. My father always said, "The Lord will keep his own, but all the wicked he will destroy."


    These corrupt officers wanted to fight one of the few non-corrupt members of the force¡ªit was just a long time coming.


    When I was young, my pastor always told me to turn the other cheek. But in reality, the world doesn''t work like that. You can''t just turn the other cheek. I stand by that belief. The poor are often considered morally corrupt, while the excesses of the powerful are celebrated. We send kids off to die, for what? So can someone make a few bucks? There will never be another Dr. King or Bobby Kennedy. Men and women have tried to break out of their vicious cycles of crime and corruption, only to either die from it or succumb to it in the process.


    As I watched Mitchell fight, I couldn''t help but think about how his parents, when they were kids in the ''50s, heard things over the radio that were new and futuristic. Now, we take things like credit cards, mobile phones, and takeaway food for granted.


    After Mitchell fought the corrupt cops, he sighed and said, "Ma is looking away from Heaven. Ah, God rest her soul."


    Mitchell''s mother was a peaceful woman who preferred to solve things without violence. It would have been hard for her to see her only son resort to fighting instead of trying to talk things out. But sometimes, in a world like ours, you have to stand your ground and fight for what''s right.


    Mitchell cracked his knuckles, looking like it was just another day at the office for him. I couldn''t shake the feeling that his paratrooper story was just a cover. If his mother-in-law needed his expertise, she''d pull him in, whether Luna liked it or not. Given that Star and Luna are sisters, she might be okay with it, but knowing their history of being at odds, Luna might not be thrilled.


    I followed Mitchell to the armory, which was locked. The officer in charge of it had been knocked out by Mitchell with a typewriter¡ªhard enough to incapacitate but not kill. Mitchell had another way to get in, though. He simply went to the door and picked the lock. That''s one of the perks of being a Waterson¡ªwe''re sharp and can see trouble coming from a mile away.


    "Ain''t that illegal?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.


    Mitchell smirked. "What are you going to do? Call the cops?"


    I couldn''t help but chuckle. All the cops in the precinct, except for Starlight, had just fought Mitchell. These corrupt officers were long overdue to be shown the door. From what Mitchell had told me about the Clearlake PD, when they weren''t being useless, they were vicious bullies or, at the very least, just big jerks. It was time for a change, and Mitchell was leading the charge.


    I think the reason the Clearlake PD is so corrupt is because it''s easier to bribe a smaller town police force than one in a major city. On the ride over, Mitchell told me about the last cop who joined the CLPD and turned state''s evidence. The corrupt cops got to him and his family, and without evidence or witnesses, the prosecution had to drop the case.


    But Mitchell is different. He''s untouchable. If anyone tried to hurt him or his wife, Cadence, her mother would bring down a wrath of God kind of retribution on the entire department. She could have their bank accounts frozen and launch an investigation that would make their lives a living hell. Even their breathing could be used against them.


    Mitchell can defend himself, but if they go after Cadence, the gloves come off. He''d go after them in a way that their dirty money couldn''t protect them. And since Cadence is a Waterson by marriage, we Watersons would see to it that the corrupt officers faced consequences far worse than anything Mitchell could do alone. Plus, with Cadence''s mother in the mix, they''d be in for a world of trouble.


    Soon the door unlocked, and Mitchell stepped inside, emerging a minute later with a shotgun in one hand and an assault rifle in the other. His trigger fingers rested on the trigger guards, showcasing his impeccable trigger discipline.


    "You wanted to see some felony arrests? Today''s the day," Mitchell said, handing the assault rifle to Starlight while keeping the shotgun for himself. "I like shotguns. They send a message that says, ''Stay away from me if you like having a face,'' and they don''t disappoint."


    "Yes, and in 1918, the Germans protested the use of shotguns, saying they cause unnecessary harm," I added.


    "That''s hypocritical," Starlight chimed in. "A country that says shotguns cause unwanted harm yet introduced chemical weapons three years prior."


    "April 22, 1915, was when the Germans used chemicals against the French and Canadian forces," Mitchell explained. "On September 19, 1918, the German government issued a diplomatic protest against the American use of shotguns, alleging that the shotgun was prohibited by the law of war. The Americans responded by saying that if they captured any German soldiers with flamethrowers and serrated bayonets, they would retaliate."


    When we stepped outside, Mitchell headed straight for a patrol car, sliding into the driver''s seat and grabbing the radio. I covered my ears, giving him some privacy for his conversation. Meanwhile, Starlight stowed the rifle and shotgun in the trunk, and I climbed into the back seat.


    After a moment, Mitchell hung up the radio and turned to us.


    "I''ve got a question," I said. "What''s better? Not having a strong enough belief or having a belief so strong it blinds you to any other perspective?"


    Mitchell and Starlight answered in unison, "Not having a strong enough belief."


    They made a good point by saying, ¡°Not having a strong enough belief allows for different perspectives and informed decisions. On the other hand, having a belief so strong that it blinds you to other viewpoints makes you single-minded and closed off to new ideas. It''s a delicate balance, but one that''s crucial for growth and understanding.¡±


    Throughout the morning, Mitchell, Starlight, and the officers from the Island Patrol precinct hit several organized crime areas in town. I couldn''t believe they were allowing me to ride along for these takedowns.


    As we moved from one hotspot to another, I couldn''t help but wonder if any of these places had ties to our grand uncle, Jimmy "James" Richard Waterson I. He founded the Waterson Mafia back in 1945, but he was smart about it. He never went for the flashy, high-risk rackets that would attract police attention. Instead, he focused on garbage, construction, distilleries, protection, and gambling. Since Fort Flurry is in the Commonwealth of Starfish, one of the few places with legalized gambling, his businesses were all above board. The Bureau of Law didn''t bother with them because no laws were being broken, so any case against him would fall apart. Our grand uncle always said he didn''t pay off cops because corrupt officers would just keep demanding more money to turn a blind eye.


    He was ahead of his time. Traditionally, the Mafia was all Italians, unless you were talking about the Russian Mafia, the Triads, or the Yakuza. But our grand uncle was different. He allowed anyone, regardless of race or gender, to be a Capo, Made Man, or Associate. Other Mafia families in Little Bird didn''t take him seriously, but it didn''t matter how much money or how many soldiers they had. In conflict, the defender has the home field advantage, and many of his soldiers were actual men and women who fought in World War II, bringing valuable experience to the table.


    Despite running legitimate businesses, he made a lot of money. Some tried to convince him to move into illegal rackets, but he refused. He knew it would bring law enforcement down on them sooner or later. He wasn''t interested in facing whatever the Little Bird version of a RICO case was. He preferred to play it smart because he knew that even if he did pay off the cops in Fort Flurry or Empire, that would just be another federal offense. To him, making money legally was worth it in the long run. He also knew that other criminal elements could do the same thing but at a lower price. He''d heard stories about corrupt cops wanting more money from the mafias and gangs to let them operate.


    Our grand uncle was a visionary, understanding that staying within the bounds of the law not only kept him out of trouble but also allowed him to build a lasting empire. As I rode along with the officers, I couldn''t help but feel a sense of pride in his legacy.


    He also bought up land and created a few casinos in Fort Flurry, putting the city on the map. Every year, millions of tourists flock to the city for its casinos, avoiding the need to go to Las Adventure. Some Commonwealth leaders, like the Governor and Senator, claimed he bribed them, but the Anti-Corruption Team never found any evidence. Just three guys talking doesn''t warrant an arrest, and you can''t arrest anyone for speaking their mind.


    Mitchell had told me earlier that the Anti-Corruption Team can''t arrest anybody just for talking about money. People might discuss money if they''re in financial need, but if there''s any indication of under-the-table payments, the team can move in and make an arrest. In the ''50s, our grand uncle lobbied the Commonwealth of Starfish''s Governor and Senator legally, not through political bribery. He built a legitimate stream of income, allowing them to live comfortably and safely. He was the type to let others handle the day-to-day operations while he reaped the benefits. With so many businesses and rackets, he couldn''t be everywhere at once.


    "Hey Mitchell, what kind of places have y''all hit today?" I asked.


    Mitchell replied, "Black market spots where they sell things for either a higher or lower profit."


    After that we soon responded misdemeanors throughout the day which they were:


    <ol>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Illegal Dumping: They catch someone dumping old furniture and trash in a secluded area instead of taking it to the proper disposal site. Mitchell and Starlight issue a fine and explain the importance of proper waste disposal.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Public Indecency: They come across someone sunbathing in a public park in inappropriate attire. Mitchell and Starlight ask them to cover up and respect public decency laws.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Minor Fraud: At a local gas station, they find someone trying to use a fake ID to buy alcohol. Mitchell confiscates the ID and gives the person a warning.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Disturbing the Peace: They respond to a call about a street musician playing loud music, disturbing the neighborhood. Mitchell and Starlight ask the musician to stop.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Unauthorized Street Performance: They encounter a group of performers putting on a show in the middle of a busy street without a permit, causing a traffic jam. Mitchell and Starlight help them move to a safer location.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Minor Drug Offense: They find a teenager in possession of a small amount of marijuana. Mitchell and Starlight confiscate the drugs and call the teen¡¯s parents.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Public Gambling: They come across a group of people playing a high-stakes card game in a public park. Mitchell and Starlight break up the game and issue warnings.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Unauthorized Solicitation: They find someone going door-to-door selling products without a permit. Mitchell explains the need for proper permits and asks them to stop.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Minor Animal Cruelty: They witness someone mistreating their pet in public. Mitchell and Starlight intervene, educating the owner on proper pet care and issuing a warning. And Mitchell telling the person that he¡¯ll mistreat ¡®em if they do it again because of Mitchell likes animals.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Quirky/Unexpected - Flash Mob: They stumble upon a flash mob dancing in the middle of the town square without prior notice. While it¡¯s entertaining, it causes a bit of chaos. Mitchell and Starlight help organize the crowd and ensure everyone¡¯s safety.</li>


    </ol>


    But what I wasn¡¯t expecting to see was:


    <ol>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Duck Crossing: A family of ducks decides to cross the main street during rush hour, causing a traffic jam as everyone patiently waits for them to waddle across. Mitchell and Starlight have to step in to direct traffic and ensure the ducks¡¯ safe passage</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Lost Goat: A goat escapes from a local farm and starts wandering around town, munching on flower beds and causing a bit of chaos. Mitchell and Starlight have to catch the goat and return it to its rightful home.</li>


    </ol>


    But given a town named ¡°Clearlake¡± and there is a lake near the town so a bunch of ducks walking across the street was to be expected sooner or later. But a goat was something I wasn¡¯t expecting to see today.


    "So, I have a question," I said, leaning in with a grin. "If we were in a zombie apocalypse, where would you go, and what would you do differently from everyone else?"


    Mitchell didn''t miss a beat. "I''d steer clear of the obvious places. You know, police stations, hospitals, clinics, military bases, and firehouses. And definitely no malls. Not just because they''re overdone in zombie movies, but think about it. Sure, malls have tons of supplies, but the food''s perishable, and you''d need a huge group to secure all the entrances and exits. Plus, there''s no space for farming inside."


    Starlight jumped in, "Yeah, malls have their perks. They''re a one-stop shop with food courts, clothing stores, banks, and even spas. But they''re also hot spots. Everyone knows about them, and they''re in densely populated areas. You''d need a big group to make it work, and even then, it''s risky."


    I nodded. "So, where would you go then?"


    Mitchell thought for a moment. "I''d go for a mid-rise or high-rise hotel. You can barricade the floors you want and maybe even turn the roof into a garden. But hotels are also in dense areas and can be hotspots. Actually, scratch that. I''d head to an island. Low population or deserted, it''s safer and more manageable."


    Starlight chimed in, "I''d head to either a deserted island or the top of a mountain."


    Curious, I asked, "So, what places would you avoid?"


    Mitchell didn''t hesitate. "Hospitals, clinics, anywhere that deals with medicine or where sick people go. Police stations, military installations, churches, gun stores, grocery stores, general stores, malls, airports, bus terminals, train stations. Just to name a few. Hospitals and clinics would be hot spots because sick people already go there, so the infection would spread like wildfire. Police, military, or gun stores would be the first places people go to get weapons when society breaks down. Churches and stores are also hotspots. Airports and other transportation hubs would be crowded with people trying to escape, and you never know who might be infected. And I wouldn''t go anywhere that requires a lot of people to successfully guard it."


    I thought about what Mitchell said. It made sense. When people are scared, they tend to flock to places they feel safe, especially in uncertain times.


    Mitchell added, "Or I''d take an island fort. A fort on an island with water around it, land around it, and only accessible by a bridge."


    The patrol was quiet for a few minutes,


    ¡°So, Mitchell, how do you feel about your CO¡¯s leadership style?¡± I asked, breaking the silence.


    Mitchell glanced at me and said, ¡°Luna¡¯s a realistic leader. She knows her platoon inside out ¨C their strengths, weaknesses, everything. She sets fair and achievable goals and leads by example. When she trains us, it¡¯s with live ammo, not blanks. It¡¯s the only way to get real experience under fire. It¡¯s tough, but it pays off. We know how to move under fire because we¡¯ve done it for real.¡±


    ¡°At least she¡¯s not like Captain Sobel,¡± I said with a chuckle.


    Mitchell looked puzzled. ¡°Who in the hell is Captain Sobel?¡±


    I realized that Mitchell and the rest of Little Bird hadn¡¯t seen the miniseries Band of Brothers.


    ¡°Never mind,¡± I said.


    ¡°Luna delegates responsibility and lets us do our jobs. You can¡¯t do a good job if you don¡¯t have the chance to use your imagination or creativity,¡± Mitchell continued.


    Starlight, who had been listening quietly, chimed in, ¡°Before 1938, that kind of leadership was a death sentence in the Little Bird Military.¡±


    ¡°How¡¯s that?¡± I asked, genuinely curious.


    Mitchell explained, ¡°Back then, many officers from the Army Academy were glory hounds. They¡¯d send their men into combat without support just to earn medals and glory. Their men got the blood and mud while they got the credit. These officers had huge egos and wanted their orders followed to the letter. There was a clash between Army and Marine officers in the 1930s. The new Army officers demanded salutes in no-salute zones and refused any idea of creativity. They couldn¡¯t take responsibility for their actions. On the other hand, Marine officers got their positions through experience. They were promoted based on merit. During wargames, Marine officers would remove their rank patches and blend in with the rank and file. Just before World War II, the Army had to get rid of these ego-driven officers who saw their men as expendable pawns.¡±


    I nodded, absorbing the history lesson. It was clear that Luna¡¯s leadership style was a breath of fresh air compared to the old ways.


    ¡°No, seriously Macaroni,¡± Mitchell said, his tone more intense. ¡°Back in World War I to the 1950s, the Little Bird Armed Forces had regiments with five battalions, each battalion having six rifle companies. Each rifle company had a heavy weapons platoon with mortars and .50 Cal HMGs, and each rifle platoon had thirty soldiers, making each company about one hundred and twenty soldiers strong.


    But those ego-driven officers would send their rifle companies or battalions to take on heavily defended areas without any support. The Marines, on the other hand, adopted tactics similar to regimental combat teams and combined arms tactics. Those glory hound officers would have sent a rifle company to take on a Panzerkampfwagen VI Tiger Ausf. E without proper anti-tank weapons or support. The Marines'' approach was different. They¡¯d use their own tanks as decoys to lure out enemy tanks while infantry flanked and hit the enemy tanks where they were weakest.¡±


    Mitchell¡¯s explanation painted a vivid picture of the stark differences in tactics and the importance of effective leadership. It was clear that Luna¡¯s approach was a breath of fresh air compared to the old ways.


    Once the Little Bird Military got rid of the egotistical officers and brought in effective leaders, they adopted a new battle plan. "Lobbing shells and bullets at the enemy because ammo is cheap, but our manpower is precious." This was a stark contrast to the old ways, where ego-driven officers would send their men into battle without support, often resulting in heavy casualties. These officers didn''t care about their men and would throw them into dangerous situations without backup, then blame their subordinates for any failures.


    In 1938, the Army adopted the Marines'' chain of command style, which emphasized a clear flow of orders and accountability:


    <ol>


    <li> Orders flow from the top down through the ranks. An order from a superior must always be obeyed to ensure their wisdom is carried out without hesitation.</li>


    <li> Orders must follow the chain of command and not skip ranks. A superior can only give orders to their direct subordinates, maintaining harmony and cohesion.</li>


    </ol>


    For example, Mitchell, as a Sergeant, can only take orders from Luna, who is a Lieutenant. A Captain cannot give Mitchell an order without going to Luna first. This system ensures that responsibility and accountability are clear, and orders flow smoothly from superiors to their direct subordinates without skipping ranks.


    This change in leadership style and chain of command helped create a more effective and cohesive military force, where the well-being of soldiers was prioritized, and leaders were held accountable for their decisions.


    Since we hadn''t heard back from anyone yet, Starlight decided to pass the time by pulling out a chessboard. She set it up right on top of the dashboard, and soon enough, she and Mitchell were deep into a game.


    Watching them, I couldn''t help but chuckle. "This kinda reminds me of an old episode of Car 54," I said, leaning back in my seat. "You know, the one where Muldoon and Toody play chess or checkers on the dashboard of their patrol car?"


    I glanced over at Starlight and Mitchell. Of course, Starlight isn''t a short, stocky, dim-witted cop like Toody. And Mitchell''s definitely not the taller, thinner, smarter unmarried guy like Muldoon. Of course Mitchell is 5¡¯11 and Starlight is 5¡¯09.


    Starlight is just a couple of inches shorter than Mitchell, but they''re both sharp as tacks. I guess surviving the war does that to you ¨C makes you quick on your feet and even quicker in your mind.


    "Hey, I''ve got a question," I said, breaking the silence. "Why do you think governments created their own version of police departments?"


    Mitchell looked up from the chessboard, his eyes thoughtful. "Politicians don''t understand people who do good simply because it''s right. It makes them nervous. So the government needs people who do good to protect others, but who can also be controlled and enforce laws to keep the peace."


    Starlight sighed, her fingers hovering over a chess piece. "No matter how many crimes we solve, the world always manages to get back in jeopardy again. Can we keep it safe for at least ten minutes? I feel like the maid who just cleaned up this mess. I can''t imagine how the city cops handle it with even more people and chaos."


    Mitchell leaned back, his eyes intense as he spoke. "People don¡¯t see the fights or what led up to them. They only see what politicians want them to see¡ªthe damage. So when folks become vigilantes, politicians only highlight the destruction. They hate vigilantes because they can¡¯t control them like they do the cops. Vigilantes aren¡¯t bound by the same rules. When criminals bribe the cops or have influential friends, that¡¯s when vigilantes step in. They¡¯re willing to go the extra mile that the cops won¡¯t, thanks to corruption. Communities support vigilantes because they do what the corrupt justice system won¡¯t."


    Mitchell''s words hit home. If the justice system did its job, people wouldn¡¯t feel the need to take matters into their own hands. But when they do, the system labels them as criminals for seeking justice. It¡¯s ironic, really¡ªthe system that lets criminals go free is the same one that creates vigilantes.


    For lunch, we had fried potatoes with rice. Cadence made the rice, and Mitchell fried up the potatoes. The rice was good, but honestly, who can¡¯t cook rice? It¡¯s the easiest thing to make.


    As for me, I grabbed some slices of bread, covered them with butter, and piled on some rice before folding them up. The bread was amazing, though. Cadence buys a couple of loaves, but Mitchell follows his mom¡¯s homemade bread recipe. He keeps her recipe book right on the kitchen countertop, ready to whip up anything from her collection of homemade goodies.


    ¡°Months back, the city of Empire decided to relax the laws, making it so that those arrested had to be released after being processed,¡± I said, shaking my head. ¡°I have no idea what the city officials were thinking, letting criminals back out on the streets. Whose bright idea was it to arrest someone for premeditated murder, process them, and then just release them? It¡¯s like they¡¯re sending a message that you can commit crimes and get away with just a slap on the wrist.¡±


    Mitchell nodded, his expression grim. ¡°Yeah, and I bet those crimes aren¡¯t happening where the rich and city officials live. But let me guess, felonies and misdemeanors skyrocketed?¡±


    ¡°Crime was up for an entire month,¡± I replied, my voice tinged with frustration. ¡°I didn¡¯t feel safe going out at night, even while on the job. Even with cops on the scene, I didn¡¯t feel safe. The crime rate was so high, including arson, and many people died either from the crimes or the fires. To me, arsonists dying by fire is kind of poetic justice.¡±


    I decided to change the subject and talk about Little Bird on the homefront during the war. I remembered seeing propaganda, anti-Soviet propaganda, and occasionally a single or a few multirole fighter jets or strategic bombers flying overhead. The country, including the city of Empire, was gripped by despair and uncertainty. In every war, there¡¯s a turning point where the offense is pushed into defense or vice versa.


    I was attending Arcane University when the war was happening before heading back to America to do one tour in the Navy. To me, the main enemy to society is conformity¡ªwhere people change their behavior or beliefs to fit into society. But that¡¯s what I like about Little Bird. While people have uniformity, they¡¯re also encouraged to express themselves and not feel pressured to fit in. Not everyone fits into a crowd, and that¡¯s okay.


    We finished lunch and went back on patrol. It was quiet, so we headed back to the precinct where Mitchell and Starlight signed out for the day, ready to start their next shift tomorrow.


    I always enjoy spending time with Mitchell, Cadence, and their family. But their kids will never truly understand what the war was like for their father, aunts, and other family members. They were on different fronts in Europe, or in Mitchell¡¯s case, the Far East Russian Soviet Socialist Republic. Their kids, nor Cadence, will ever know what it¡¯s like to endure -40 degree cold, fight in a blizzard, or battle through strong winds.


    When I talked to Mitchell about the war, he shared how the Third Platoon took advantage of blizzards and strong winds to fortify their position, laying down landmines and other defenses. It¡¯s hard to imagine the harsh conditions they faced, but Mitchell¡¯s stories always bring a sense of reality to the sacrifices made.


    Mitchell shared stories about some of the operations he had been a part of. When I asked Starlight, she vividly remembered Operation: Caulifla. It was the Little Bird First Army''s drive from Rostov-on-Don to Moscow, spanning from September 3rd, 2005, to December 16th, 2005. Starlight had joined the Little Bird Army in August 2005, so she had been part of battles that were public knowledge. Mitchell, on the other hand, was airborne. While the airborne is technically a regular army, in Little Bird, paratroopers are considered a class of special forces. They¡¯re trained to fight behind enemy lines, often outmanned and outgunned, with limited supplies.


    Mitchell explained that even if they could bring more supplies like a mechanized division, their planes didn¡¯t have the capacity. They had to make tough choices¡ªeither offload more troops to make room for supplies or offload supplies to make room for more paratroopers.


    It made sense. Planes have a maximum carry weight, and if they overloaded them with supplies and paratroopers, the paratroopers would be cramped, and many supplies might fall into enemy hands. That¡¯s why Little Bird military paratroopers drop with basic supplies first. The planes then head back to drop off the rest of the supplies and reinforcements.


    Mitchell explained how just one plane used by the Little Bird Army to airdrop paratroopers can carry 220 paratroopers¡ªthat''s one and a half companies. In the Little Bird military, a company consists of 120 men, so 240 would be two companies. The supplies dropped with the first wave of paratroopers are basic¡ªammo and first aid supplies¡ªuntil the drop zone and surrounding area are secure enough for heavier supplies like jeeps to be paradropped.


    Before World War II, when the Little Bird Army was experimenting with paratroopers, they would drop heavy supply boxes full of ammo, grenades, anti-tank rifles, and first aid packs with the main assault force. But the wind often blew the heavier supplies away because those parachutes didn¡¯t have stabilizers. The paratroopers'' chutes, however, had stabilizers, allowing them to decide where they wanted to land.


    What Mitchell loves about being a paratrooper is the flexibility. While the average soldier or marine starts where they are told to go, paratroopers can land anywhere and start fighting. But being a paratrooper means Mitchell has to wear many hats. As the XO of Third Platoon and a Radiotelephone operator, he also takes on roles from regular paratrooper to demolitions expert, sniper, and anti-tank specialist. It''s justified, given that paratroopers often work behind enemy lines, outnumbered and outgunned, and have to improvise to complete their objectives.


    Mitchell often talks about how every other year, a new model is created. It reminds me of a video game where you research and advance your nation¡¯s army and technology. In my youth, I played several grand strategy video games where you had to advance your nation¡¯s military and technology.


    I understand where he¡¯s coming from. The use of paratroopers didn¡¯t begin until the Second World War. Dropping soldiers behind enemy lines was a new kind of warfare that had never been done before, except for the Soviets using small numbers of paratroopers in the Winter War of 1939-1940. Mitchell told me that over time, the way airborne operations were handled changed. Initially, it was about making forced entries and positioning key troops in previously inaccessible areas, allowing for new tactical opportunities. Then it transitioned from small operations with only a few paratroopers to larger airborne divisions, paving the way for massive airborne landings. They also learned to adapt paradrop operations according to weather, standardizing equipment such as jump boots, and extending specialized training.


    ¡°Well, my mother always said, ¡®You are who you are, there¡¯s no point arguing about it,¡¯¡± Mitchell said. ¡°To me, that means everyone is different, and there¡¯s no point in trying to change yourself to fit others.¡±


    I agreed with what he said.


    We had chili for dinner in which it was chili and it was a little bit spicy but it was good enough.


    ____________


    Monday, September 6th, 2010


    Westside, Empire, Firehouse 17


    I walked into Firehouse 17, feeling the weight of the city''s hustle and bustle on my shoulders. To the southwest corner of the firehouse, there was a glass wall with its blinds up. The door read, "CAPT. DANIELLA VINTION FIRE INVESTIGATION."


    I approached the office, and Captain Daniella Vintion signaled me to come in. Before I could even get a word out, she cut me off.


    "Listen, I know your girlfriend and your cousin are helluva firefighters, but make one false move and you''re outta here. Don¡¯t think you¡¯re the first," Captain Vintion said, her tone firm and unwavering.


    "I understand," I replied, trying to sound as earnest as possible. "I''ll follow your lead and won''t do anything to get kicked out of here, even though I was only sent over here because it''s considered light duty."


    Spending a few days in a small town had been relaxing, but the guys there were definitely more chivalrous than the ones here in Empire. In towns where everybody knows each other, it''s probably a given. I remembered some history of Clearlake, where back in the 1980s, the then-mayor told people not to help others because that was the job of the Police and Fire Departments. The town tarred and feathered him while the cops just sat on the side. They didn''t intervene because it fell under public humiliation. If they had tried to lynch the mayor, then yeah, the cops could''ve done something.


    Part of my mind was saying that the one job I couldn''t do here on Little Bird was being on the Military Death Squad. These soldiers'' job was to execute those who chose death by firing squad. Execution by firing squad was considered the most humane execution in Little Bird because they hadn''t adopted lethal injection, deeming it too inhumane. The soldiers who actually wanted to carry out executions by firing squad seemed insane or off their rocker to me. Killing someone in war is different from shooting someone who''s tied to a pole with a blindfold over their eyes.


    "Hey Captain, why don''t you work out of HQ?" I asked, genuinely curious.


    Captain Vintion replied, "I like being inside a firehouse. It''s something you don''t get out of an office building. It keeps me closer to the guys. If I were over at HQ, I''d have to sit around people who play politics and are ready to crack down hard on those who break the rules but don''t help their own. Go over to HQ and ask anyone there who isn''t part of Fire Investigation what company they were on or if they ever stretched a line, and they''ll respond confused, not knowing what the hell you''re talking about. I like working out of a firehouse because I did eight years over on Engine 16. I was a nozzleman for five years and a Captain for three. Many times, I miss actually ordering others around and partaking in firefighting and rescuing, not just determining causes of fires. Most fires are labeled as ''Cause Unknown'' instead of ''Suspicious fire'' because if a fire gets labeled as suspicious, a fire marshal or investigator comes in to determine the cause. ''Cause Unknown'' means nobody knows how the fire was caused, most likely a freak accident or just human stupidity. And I swear to God, most fires I investigate are caused by human stupidity."


    I then glanced at a bulletin board on the wall, which displayed a map of the city of Empire. The map was divided into response areas for different firehouses across the city, and it was dotted with various colored push pins.


    "What are the red push pins for?" I asked, curiosity getting the better of me.


    "Suspicious fires," Daniella replied, her tone matter-of-fact.


    "What kind?" I pressed further.


    "My guess? People not using common sense or just being plain stupid," Daniella said with a hint of exasperation. "Like smoking somewhere they shouldn''t. Or doing something ridiculous like having their AC maxed out, then saying they''re cold, so they use a space heater without leaving enough space. Whatever they put the space heater next to catches fire due to the heat. Yes, those people exist¡ªhaving their AC maxed out, then complaining it''s cold, so they dress warmly or bring out a heater instead of just turning off the AC. Or people who leave a burning cigarette on the edge of a table over an open can of paint."


    "Yeah, well, Dave told me all about how over in Emerald Pastors, a lot of emergencies they respond to are the avoidable type," I said. "A single person living alone is one thing, but people with nuclear families should''ve learned that it''s not all about them and that they can''t do anything stupid."


    Daniella nodded, a wry smile on her face. "Yeah, but it''s their stupidity that keeps the fire department in business, though."

 Chapter Nineteen

    Same day


    ¡°Yeah, for the past two days, I¡¯ve been hanging out with my cousin and his family,¡± I said, leaning back in my chair.


    Daniella raised an eyebrow. ¡°Oh really? How was that?¡±


    ¡°It was actually pretty nice, despite the fact that my cousin ended up assaulting a corrupt cop with a car door,¡± I said with a chuckle. ¡°But honestly, the cop deserved it. His sister was all smug and arrogant, but she wasn¡¯t so smug when she got arrested for counterfeiting. She kept yelling and making a scene, to the point where the cops had to duct tape her mouth shut to get her to calm down.¡±


    Daniella shook her head. ¡°Some people just don¡¯t know when to shut up. They think they can be as annoying as they want when they¡¯re getting arrested.¡±


    ¡°Exactly,¡± I agreed. ¡°Especially when the crimes they¡¯re being arrested for are federal offenses. But aside from that drama, it was really nice to see my cousin bonding with his kids. It¡¯s such a refreshing change from the stereotype that only mothers take care of their children or love them more. Kids need both parents in their lives, not just one or the other.¡±


    Daniella nodded. ¡°I¡¯m all for female empowerment, but it¡¯s about choice. Just because you want to do something doesn¡¯t mean everyone else does. Do you know why your cousin¡¯s wife is a stay-at-home mom?¡±


    ¡°Because her own mother wasn¡¯t around much when she was growing up,¡± I said.


    Daniella replied. ¡°She wants to be there for her kids in a way her mother wasn¡¯t for her. Just because her mother wasn¡¯t always there doesn¡¯t mean she has to follow the same path. My mom wanted me to be a businesswoman or a housewife, but I joined the Fire Department instead. My parents still aren¡¯t happy about it, but it¡¯s my life and my choice.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, even though this country passed the Woman Integration Act of 1937 due to the low male population after the First World War, it opened up opportunities for women to take on roles that were previously inaccessible to them,¡± I said, leaning forward. ¡°Women started taking combative roles in the military, patrolling as cops, and fighting fires, rather than just being stuck in clerical positions.¡±


    Daniella nodded. ¡°And those who needed work the most benefited from it. Most of them were simple gals from the countryside without siblings to help them out. Another reason the act was passed was because the government saw more workers as more taxpayers, and more taxpayers meant more tax income.¡±


    ¡°Well, at least people here aren¡¯t paying fifty different taxes,¡± I said with a smirk.


    Daniella looked puzzled, probably because in Little Bird, people only have two taxes: sales tax and income tax, unlike the numerous taxes back in the United States.


    That''s what I like about the country of Little Bird.


    Soon the fire bell went off for a fire investigation even though Daniella is a arson investigator


    ________


    At a small building


    We did a sweep of the building telling people to get out as Ladder Company Seventeen was searching for the fire well source of the smoke with Engine Seventeen doing the same.


    I forced open a door.


    ¡°Alright Sir, you need to evacuate,¡± I said.


    The guy replied, ¡°Nobody needs to know that I was here.¡±


    ¡°Sir, you need to leave now,¡± I said. ¡°Don¡¯t care who you are, you need to go.¡±


    The guy was starting to be arrogant but I told him that I don¡¯t care if he was the King of England and when I told him that he has to leave now then I¡¯ll force him out and it would be less discreet. To me I don¡¯t care who the guy is where the guy could be the mayor and I wouldn¡¯t care.


    The guy then left a little bit mad after me more or less telling him that I don¡¯t give a shit who he is and that I was telling him to get out on his own accord rather than me forcing him out.


    Soon Engine Seventeen found a small fire in which they put out real quick due to it being small. But after the fire we just went around checking for hotspots and when we found none we just headed back to the firehouse.


    ________________________


    The sun was just beginning to rise as I slung my duffle bag over my shoulder and headed towards my car. The crisp morning air was a welcome change from the stuffy office I''d been cooped up in for the past week. Just as I reached for the car door, a voice cut through the quiet.


    "YOU!" The guy''s voice was dripping with anger. "I thought I told you to leave my name off of any official report!"


    I turned to face him, my heart pounding but my face calm. "If you want to fight, then let''s go," I replied, my voice steady.


    His face twisted with rage. "With one phone call, I can and will destroy your career," he spat. "And I will."


    I replied angrily, ¡°Bring it on bitch. How you going to act when I put my size seven and a half up your narrow ass? Now how are you going to act,¡±


    He seemed taken aback, as if he had never seen a woman stand up to him before. It was almost laughable. Did he really think women were delicate, incompetent, unstable, dependent, vulnerable, ineffectual, unreliable, lovely, precious, or sensitive? His arrogance was astounding.


    But I wasn''t about to let him intimidate me. I stood my ground, my eyes locked on his. "You think you can scare me?" I said, my voice low and fierce. "Think again."


    For a moment, he just stared at me, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Then without another word he turned and walked away, his shoulders slumped in defeat.


    I watched him go a sense of triumph washing over me. I had shattered his reality, and it felt damn good.


    I got into my car, the adrenaline from the confrontation still coursing through my veins. I decided to head back to my apartment for a quick breakfast. There¡¯s nothing like a homemade egg McMuffin to start the day right. As I savored each bite, I couldn''t help but think about the day ahead.


    But before I could get too comfortable, I remembered I had to give my mother a ride to work. She was already in the car, and I could sense the tension building. She wanted to start an argument, but I cut her off before she could get a word in.


    "Listen, Mom," I said firmly. "I will gladly drop you off back in Kansas City for your rehab and I wouldn¡¯t lose a minute of sleep over it."


    She fell silent, knowing I meant every word. I really wouldn¡¯t regret it. The car ride was quiet, but my mind was racing. It felt like something out of a Netflix documentary¡ª"Addict Mother, Estranged Daughter: The Mother Who Neglected Her Only Daughter and Husband Wants to Amend for the Past, But Some Things Can¡¯t Be Fixed."


    Some wounds run too deep to heal, and some bridges are too burned to rebuild. But for now, I had to focus on my own path, one step at a time.


    __________________


    Back at my apartment, I decided to make a call to my cousin Mitchell. I knew he was at work, so it was no surprise when his wife, Cadence, answered the phone. I had a favor to ask Mitchell, but since he wasn''t available, I asked Cadence to relay the message.


    "Hey Cadence, can you do me a favor and ask Mitchell to get some intel for me? There''s this guy who''s after me for making him mad, and I need some information on him," I said, trying to keep my voice steady.


    Cadence agreed to pass the message along to Mitchell. But I had a feeling that by the tone of her voice, she would also tell her mother, who is Mitchell''s mother-in-law. I needed all the help I could get, and if that meant involving more people so be it.


    The guy who hates me? Well, I''ve known people like him my entire life. To them, pride is everything and they''d rather take the fall than admit they''re wrong. But I wasn''t going to let him intimidate me. I had a plan, and I was going to see it through.


    As I hung up the phone, I felt a sense of determination wash over me. This was just another challenge, and I was ready to face it head-on.


    After cleaning my apartment I decided to take it easy and spend some time on my patio, tending to my small garden. It''s not much but it''s something and it''s pretty common for people in Little Bird to have their own little patches of fruits and veggies. It¡¯s a small joy that brings a sense of peace and accomplishment.


    Today was a rare blessing¡ªno one bothered me, and I relished the quiet. I didn''t waste a single thought on that jerk who threatened me. He claimed he could ruin my career but honestly, I couldn''t care less. If Mitchell''s mother-in-law could dig up some dirt on him, it might just turn the tables. People like him with their inflated egos often have skeletons in their closets. If those skeletons were to see the light of day, his career and life could be over.


    Later, I went to pick up my mom from work. The drive home was uneventful until we got pulled over. The cop asked for my license and registration, which I handed over without a second thought. But then he had the nerve to say my car was stolen. What a load of baloney! He ordered us out of the car, but I refused. My car is legally paid for and registered in my name. I told the cop he was welcome to run my license plate through the police computer, but he didn''t. I even mentioned that he could call up the dealership to verify the bill of sale. It was frustrating, but I stood my ground.


    In the end, the cop backed off and we continued our drive home. It was just another bump in the road but I wasn''t about to let it ruin my day. I had bigger fish to fry.


    As soon as my mom and I returned to my apartment, the phone rang. It was almost eerie, like someone had been watching and waiting for us to get back. I picked up the receiver, my heart pounding.


    "Hello?" I said, trying to keep my voice steady.


    "It''s Mitchell''s mother-in-law," came the reply. "I''ve got some information for you. Can you meet me at the motel?"


    I agreed without hesitation. This could be the break I needed. I grabbed my keys and headed out the door, my mind racing with possibilities. What kind of intel did she have? Could it be the leverage I needed to turn the tables on the guy who was after me?


    As I drove to the motel, I couldn''t shake the feeling that things were about to get even more complicated. But I was ready for whatever came next. This was my fight, and I wasn''t backing down.


    ______


    At the motel, I knocked on the door of the room Star had specified. She opened it, and I stepped inside, taking in the dimly lit space.


    "Nice to finally meet you, Star," I said, offering a small smile.


    "Likewise," she replied, her expression serious.


    "So, what do you got for me?" I asked, eager to hear what she had uncovered.


    "Robert Elephant," she began. "Yes, that''s his real name. And nothing about him is good."


    "Like what?" I pressed, my curiosity piqued.


    "Well," Star continued, "he''s planning on running in the next mayoral election in the city of Empire. He wants to rule Empire with an iron fist. He cares more about maintaining the status quo than about human life. He doesn''t lift a finger to actually help the citizens of his city, and he willingly wants the city''s police officers to use excessive force¡ªpolice brutality."


    ¡°Anything else?¡± I asked.


    Star replied, ¡°When his wife was in the hospital for stage four cancer, he had an affair.¡±


    I felt a chill run down my spine. This was worse than I had imagined. Robert Elephant wasn''t just a threat to me; he was a threat to the entire city. I knew I had to do something, but I also knew I couldn''t do it alone.


    "Thanks for the info, Star," I said, my mind already racing with plans. "This is going to be a fight, but I''m ready for it."


    Star nodded. "Good luck, Mackenzie. You''re going to need it."


    ¡°Do you got something that I can go after to hurt him?¡± I asked.


    Star replied, ¡°Well you can always go to the media about how an Alderman had an affair on his wife while she was laid up in the hospital with terminal cancer. If the media got that well let¡¯s just say he won¡¯t be able to back up his threats because the people he¡¯s supposed to represent would want his head. And if the people don¡¯t get him then it¡¯ll be his wife who can divorce him and take everything in the process even if he got the best divorce lawyer well his wife will take everything in a New York second leaving him high and dry,¡±


    It¡¯s funny how Star said ¡°In a New York Second¡± because she and her sister Luna are from the city of New York and the borough of Brooklyn in Bedford-Stuyvesant according to Mitchell.


    I¡¯ll think of something to go after the guy. But hey if he does want to ruin my career with his position then I¡¯ll ruin his life in the long run. But I highly doubt his adultery on his sick wife won¡¯t make the Alderman¡¯s mayoral campaigning go any good if his supporters found out he cheated on his wife when she was on her deathbed and almost died due to her terminal cancer even though she¡¯s better now but sometimes what¡¯s in the past can haunt you the most. But I highly doubt he would want his affair to become public knowledge.


    I can see the newspapers now ¡°LOCAL ALDERMAN CHEATS ON WIFE¡± yeah I bet no amount of campaigning or trying to come up with a good excuse won''t fix the past.


    As I left the motel room, I couldn''t help but feel a sense of urgency. The stakes were higher than ever, but I was ready to face whatever came my way. This was my fight, and I wasn''t backing down.


    I know his dirty little secret. It¡¯ll be a shame so I decided to go visit him at his office.


    ___________


    I walked into Alderman Robert Elephant¡¯s office with a confident stride, an evil smile playing on my lips. The room was dimly lit, and the air was thick with tension.


    "Hello, Alderman," I greeted him, my voice dripping with sarcasm.


    Robert looked up from his desk, his eyes narrowing. "What do you want?" he demanded.


    "Oh, I know your secret," I said, leaning in slightly.


    His expression faltered for a moment. "What secret?" he asked, trying to sound unfazed.


    "Adultery," I replied, my voice cold and steady. "If you want to come at me then what I found out will be publicized. And since you''re running for mayor in the next election, wouldn''t it be a shame if the entire city of Empire or the entire Commonwealth of Mountain found out?"


    Robert''s face turned red with anger. "You say anything about it, and I''ll make your life a living hell for the rest of your days," he threatened.


    I stood my ground, my eyes locked on his. "Go ahead. The moment you pick up that phone to call your buddies is the moment your dirty secret comes out," I said, my voice unwavering. "You¡¯ve got friends in high places, and so do I. But if you really want a fight, then throw your best punch."


    We just stared at each other for a moment, the tension in the room palpable. I could see the wheels turning in his head, weighing his options. But I wasn''t backing down. This was my fight and I was ready for whatever came next.


    As I started to leave Alderman Robert''s office, I heard him pick up the phone and start dialing. I wasn''t going to let fear control me. Instead of driving, I decided to take a quick walk around the block to clear my head before heading back to my car.


    But as I was walking, I was suddenly ambushed by a group of seven guys. They came at me fast, and before I knew it, I was on the ground, taking hit after hit. Just when I thought it couldn''t get any worse, a woman approached. Through my blurred vision, I recognized her¡ªit was Cadenza.


    ¡°If you seven want to fight, then pick on someone who will fight back,¡± Cadenza said, her voice strong and unwavering.


    One of the guys sneered and told her to be on her way, but Cadenza stood her ground. ¡°We¡¯re family,¡± she revealed. ¡°Mitchell is my half-brother, which makes me Mackenzie¡¯s half-cousin.¡±


    The guys seemed momentarily confused, but Cadenza didn¡¯t give them a chance to react. She signaled for them to come at her. One guy stepped forward and punched her as hard as he could in the stomach. But instead of doubling over in pain, Cadenza stood firm. The guy let out a cry of agony, clutching his right hand in pain¡ªhe had broken all five of his fingers and knuckles on Cadenza¡¯s torso.


    With a swift and effortless motion, Cadenza placed her index finger and thumb on the same guy¡¯s shoulder and dislocated it as if she were opening a bottle of soda. The rest of the group hesitated, clearly intimidated by her strength and resolve.


    I managed to get to my feet, my body aching but my spirit unbroken. With Cadenza by my side, I knew we could take on whatever came our way. This fight was far from over, but I wasn¡¯t backing down. Not now, not ever.


    Another guy pulled out a butterfly knife and charged at Cadenza. She just stood there, calm and composed. Then, with a swift and powerful kick, she sent him flying down the street. He crashed into a stop sign with such force that it broke the steel sign in half.


    A third guy, armed with brass knuckles, thought he could take her on. He charged at Cadenza, but she was ready. In a series of swift, precise movements, she broke his arm and hand in ways that seemed both imaginable and unimaginable. It was almost surreal to watch.


    The fourth guy pulled out a handgun, thinking he had the upper hand. But Cadenza, unfazed, opened a car door and ripped it off its hinges. She used the door as a makeshift shield, deflecting the bullets. When the guy stopped to reload, she seized the opportunity and threw the car door at him like an improvised weapon, knocking him down.


    The fifth, sixth, and seventh guys, seeing what had happened to their comrades, decided it was best to back away slowly. They clearly didn''t want any part of the fight anymore.


    I stood there, bruised and battered but filled with awe and gratitude. Cadenza had saved me, and together, we had faced down a formidable threat. This fight was far from over, but with Cadenza by my side, I knew we could handle whatever came our way.


    "Thanks," I said, my voice filled with gratitude.


    "Anytime," Cadenza replied with a reassuring smile.


    "I''m just going to go home and lay down now," I said, feeling the exhaustion from the day''s events finally catching up to me.


    I returned to my car, the adrenaline slowly fading away. The drive back to my apartment was a blur, my mind replaying the confrontation and the fight. Once I got home, I didn''t even bother to cover up. I just lay down on my bed, staring at the ceiling, letting the events of the day wash over me.


    ___________


    In the morning, as my mother and I stepped outside, I quickly realized my car was missing. Frustrated, I told my mom to take the orange line bus back to work while I decided to run to Firehouse Seventeen.


    Despite getting beaten up last night, I didn''t call out for my injuries. I just went to work like nothing had happened. Since I was still on light duty, I couldn''t do any actual firefighting, but I was there, ready to help in any way I could.


    I waited outside, enjoying the nice September breeze that blew through from time to time. It was a small comfort in the midst of all the chaos.


    "Morning, Mackenzie," Cadenza greeted me, still wearing the same outfit from yesterday¡ªblack combat boots, blue jeans, a white shirt, and a dark olive drab military jacket with her dog tags around her neck.


    "Morning to you too," I replied with a smile. "I swear this city has a secret car towing service. Can''t find my car."


    "I''ll go find it if you want?" Cadenza offered.


    "If you want to, then go for it," I said, grateful for her help. "I bet Alderman Robert was behind it."


    Cadenza nodded, determination in her eyes. "I''ll see what I can find out."


    ¡°If the cops took it well a lot of cops here are corrupt and are the kind that shoot first and don¡¯t say anything,¡± I said


    Cadenza replied, ¡°Yeah and I¡¯m sure if they shoot at me I¡¯m sure the entire department is going to have to ask why they decided to shoot at a Lieutenant Commander in the Army who was trying to pay for an impounded car. And since my dad is a General in the Army he¡¯ll rain hell down on the EPD and well if need be he can force them into a consent decree. Yeah Little Bird may be a police state but it¡¯s either they can answer for what their corrupt officers do or be forced to enter a federal oversight because the last thing the city needs is armed soldiers back on the streets patrolling following anti-insurgency protocol.¡±


    As she walked away, I couldn''t help but feel a sense of relief that I¡¯m getting my car back.


    Throughout the morning, I listened to both Engine Company Seventeen and the ladder company getting dispatched here and there. It was a slow day for fire investigation, but I didn''t mind. It gave me some time to think.


    I wasn''t going to lose any sleep over my missing car. I had a rough idea where it could have been taken, and I had a strong suspicion that the corrupt Alderman Robert was behind it. I loved my car, but I knew this was just another move in his game.


    I was biding my time, waiting for the right moment to reveal his cheating. When the time came, it would be a bombshell. I was sure his wife wouldn''t want to be married to a guy who cheated in a relationship. The thought of exposing him gave me a sense of purpose and determination.


    As the day went on, I kept my ears open for any updates and my mind focused on the bigger picture. This fight was far from over, but I was ready for whatever came next. With allies like Cadenza and Mitchell''s mother-in-law, I knew I had the support I needed to take down Robert Elephant and his corrupt empire.


    ________


    (Cadenza Amore POV)


    I arrived at one of the police impound lots in the city of Empire and spotted Macaroni''s car. A few people were looking it over, probably trying to figure out what to do with it.


    I had to decide on my approach: go loud or go stealth. If I went loud, every corrupt cop in Alderman Robert''s pocket would be on me in no time. But if I went stealth, they''d eventually realize the car was gone. Either way, I was taking the car back. It was illegally taken by those corrupt cops, and I wasn''t about to let them get away with it.


    I took a deep breath, weighing my options. This was going to be tricky but I was determined to get Macaroni''s car back, no matter what.


    I decided to go loud. As I walked up to the entrance booth, I told the cop there that I was here to get the 1968 Charger. He immediately told me that I couldn''t take it, even though I pointed out that some people were already looking it over. As soon as I said that, the cop drew his gun. But I was quicker. I disarmed him and performed a non-lethal takedown. I wasn''t planning on having every cop in the city, corrupt or not, on my tail.


    The Alderman messed with Macaroni, and since she''s my half-cousin, that means he''s coming after me too. What he doesn''t know is that my psychology is the stuff of therapists'' nightmares.


    Nobody, except my dad and a close group of soldiers, knows how genetically modified I am. I''m part of Project Phoenix, a supersoldier program. I have five gene mods that give me different tactical advantages; hyper-reactive pupils, combat pheromones, adaptive body cells that reduce recovery time from injuries, and tough skin that makes bladed weapons less effective. But most importantly, I''m trained to fight smarter, not harder.


    With the cop out of the way, I got into the impound lot. This was just the beginning. The Alderman had no idea what he was up against.


    The Alderman doesn¡¯t know what makes me different than Macaroni and that is I¡¯m:


    Expert Driving Skills


    Extensive Military Training


    Guerrilla Warfare


    High Intelligence


    Master Combatant


    Master Marksmanship


    Master of Stealth


    Master Tactician & Strategist


    Peak Physical Conditioning


    Physical Strength


    Psychological Warfare


    Tactical Analysis


    Unconventional Warfare


    I then used my stealth skills and knocked out those around Macaroni¡¯s car even though I thought about throwing knives but I decided against it.


    I got into Macaroni¡¯s car and drove out of the impound lot, feeling a rush of adrenaline. I couldn¡¯t stop thanking Visiala for her intelligence. Visiala is literally out of this world¡ªshe came from another planet before its destruction. She was given a new identity in Little Bird, as long as she used her powers to look human and fit into society.


    Visiala doesn¡¯t fit the stereotype of "Little Green Men" that sci-fi loves to portray. I¡¯ve seen her true form once, and she looked like an anthro fox gal to me. Visiala used her intelligence to reverse-engineer alien tech she brought with her, benefiting the country of Little Bird. Laser weapons, advanced medicine, stealth helicopters, supersoldier technology, railguns¡ªyou name it, she¡¯s done it.


    I like Visiala, even though she lives with my half-cousin, Lieutenant Mitchell "Mitzy" Waterson. He''s her handler, which kind of feels like spy lingo for field agents and their case officers. But really, it''s just a nuclear family. Visiala is incredibly smart, especially when it comes to genetics. She altered her and Mitzy''s children''s genetics before they were born, removing her species'' abilities so they would be fully human. She did this so they could live a normal life and fit into human society, without the people of Moonlight Cove knowing that humanoid aliens live among them.


    If it weren''t for Visiala''s intelligence, the war with the Warsaw Pact, aka the Soviets would have lasted much longer. She used her reverse-engineered alien tech to enhance the Nightingale, a VTOL for the Little Bird military. Originally, it had an operational range of 3200 miles, but thanks to Visiala, the Nightingales can now go much faster, much farther, and even travel in the exosphere. During the war, they were used mainly for reinforcements and to bring supplies from the homeland to us faster than any normal jet engine military cargo plane could. The Nightingales fly so fast that the Soviets'' most advanced SAM sites and missiles couldn''t keep up. Those Soviets on the ZPUs didn''t stand a chance¡ªit was a blink-and-you-miss-it kind of aircraft.


    Let''s not forget about Project Phoenix. Visiala used her alien tech to give us advanced power exoskeletons, like something out of sci-fi. The powered assault armor she created has an inner skinsuit, a gel layer that regulates temperature, a pressure seal to keep the suit airtight even underwater or in space, a titanium bodysuit, and a titanium outer shell that covers the chest, arms, hips, legs, calves, feet, and hands. The helmet is made of the same material. The armor has energy shielding and a small power plant to power the suit, which is half the size of a double AA battery but has a lifespan of 1000 years.


    Before returning the car to Macaroni, I decided to stop and fill it up with gas. It still had half a tank, but I wanted to make sure it was full before giving it back to her. As I stood there, watching the numbers on the pump climb, I glanced at my watch and said to myself, "Yeah, I still got time." Macaroni didn''t expect her car back right away, but I wanted to return it as soon as possible because it wasn''t mine to keep.


    With the tank full, I had one more stop to make before heading back to Macaroni. I decided to pay a visit to the corrupt Alderman Robert Elephant. It was time to send a message and let him know that messing with my family was a big mistake.


    ____________


    I stormed into Alderman Robert Elephant¡¯s office, ready to give him a piece of my mind. When I say talk, I mean yell. I let him have it, my voice echoing off the walls as I laid into him for all the corrupt things he had done.


    When I finally stopped yelling, he started to shout back, threatening to send the cops in his pocket after me. I looked him straight in the eye and told him he¡¯d better arrange their close casket funerals in advance.


    That¡¯s when he pulled out a shotgun and pointed it at me. Without missing a beat, I grabbed the barrel and bent it upwards with ease, like I was picking up a book. The look of shock on his face was priceless.


    "You really think you can intimidate me?" I said, my voice calm and steady. "Think again."


    The Alderman was speechless, his eyes wide with fear. He had no idea what he was up against, and I was just getting started. Not adding that he looked at the shotgun in disbelief of how I bent the barrel like it was nothing even though it¡¯s made of metal and I bent it like nothing.


    After my "chat" with the Alderman, I decided to drop Macaroni''s car off at the firehouse where she works. She thanked me for getting her car back, and I couldn''t help but mention my lovely conversation with the Alderman¡ªthough I did admit that it was more of a yelling match.


    As we talked, Macaroni started to bring up religion. She noticed the inverted pentagram on my dog tag chain and asked if I worship the Devil. My response was priceless: "War is Hell, and I''m the Devil!" During the war, US Project Phoenix supersoldiers were called "Devils" by the Soviets. Just one of us could carry the firepower of an entire company of regular infantry, and four of us could match the firepower of a whole battalion. But all 150 of us? Try several infantry divisions firepower all rolled up into a company and two squads worth.


    Macaroni laughed, shaking her head. She knew I wasn''t one to be messed with, and neither was she.


    I decided to head back to the motel.


    <hr>


    In the dimly lit motel room, I sat on the edge of the bed, meticulously disassembling my pistol. Each piece was cleaned with precision, a ritual that calmed my nerves. As I loaded Hollow Point and Overpressured .45 rounds into the magazine, the phone rang, slicing through the silence.


    I picked up, and to my surprise, it was the Alderman. He wanted to meet at his place later¡ªa villa, no less. Fancy.


    ¡°When should I show up?¡± I asked, keeping my voice steady.


    ¡°After I get off work,¡± he replied.


    I agreed, but as soon as we hung up, a knot formed in my stomach. My instincts screamed ambush. They¡¯d never been wrong before.


    I wasn¡¯t about to take any chances. I called for backup¡ªmy boyfriend Francis, my half-sisters Lucy, Natalie ¡°Nat,¡± and Ashley, and even my half-brother Mitchell. If the Alderman was setting a trap, I¡¯d be ready.


    With my team assembled, confidence surged through me. This was going to be a showdown and I wasn¡¯t going in alone.


    Star, who was in the next room, came over with some crucial intel. She¡¯d wiretapped the Alderman¡¯s house phone and office landlines. After our call, he¡¯d contacted some people called "Cleaners." Star explained they weren¡¯t your typical cleaners. These were the kind who wore protective suits and gas masks, their real job being the disposal of bodies¡ªenemies of the Alderman.


    I had a hunch they operated out of a hazardous disposal site, using it as a front to avoid suspicion. To the public, it looked like a legitimate business dealing with hazardous waste.


    I reassembled my gun, feeling its familiar weight. It was time to find one of those Cleaner sites. My handgun, a semiautomatic 9x19 pistol, had been the standard issue for the Little Bird military special forces from 1957 to 1983. Reliable in the jungles of Vietnam, it had eventually been phased out. Despite its double magazine capacity compared to the M1911A1, the 9x19 cartridge was deemed not powerful enough. The army reverted to the M1911A1 until 1995, when the Viperstrike .50 was introduced¡ªa serious upgrade with a 12-round magazine chambered in .50 AE.


    With my trusty sidearm ready, I set out to locate one of the Cleaners'' sites.


    I visited four out of five hazardous disposal sites and to my relief, they were all legitimate businesses. I had to break in and use my stealth skills to move around undetected, but it was worth it to see nothing illegal was going on.


    Then, I hit the final site. That¡¯s where I found the Cleaners, busy at work. In one garage, I found a note conveniently left out in the open. It detailed Alderman Elephant''s corrupt operation, his network of bribes, and his use of blackmail for those who won¡¯t play ball.


    The Cleaners were disposing of bodies with corrosive acids and chemicals, just as I¡¯d suspected. But then I overheard something that made my blood run cold¡ªthey had two new targets, my half-cousin Mackenzie "Macaroni" Waterson and me.


    I knew I was outgunned and outmanned but backing down wasn¡¯t an option. I never do.


    I took my gun and without a second thought, started to fight the Cleaners. Some of them had automatic weapons like the AKM, rare in Little Bird, mostly war trophies from past conflicts. One Cleaner got too close while I was reloading. He hit me with the stock of his AKM, but it broke off. That didn¡¯t stop me. I took the gun from his hands and hit him across the head with it before using it myself, stock or no stock.


    This was my fight, and I wasn¡¯t going down without a battle.


    As I stormed in, a Cleaner blindsided me, knocking me to the ground. But I wasn¡¯t down for long. I kicked him off and grabbed the nearest object¡ªa metal folding chair. Folding it swiftly, I wielded it like a seasoned warrior. That¡¯s the thing about us Project Phoenix supersoldiers¡ªwere trained to turn everyday objects into deadly weapons. A chair? Just another tool in our arsenal.


    The Soviets tried to create their own version of us, but they missed the mark. They loaded their soldiers with heavy armor and special weapons like automatic grenade launchers. We called them ¡°Phoenix Wannabes.¡± While they relied on brute force and heavy gear, we had advanced armor with energy shielding, thanks to my half-cousin Mitchell ¡°Mitzy¡± Waterson¡¯s wife, Visala. The Soviets used the highest level ballistic vests, knee pads, elbow pads, and helmets, but they couldn¡¯t match our tech.


    The Cleaner who knocked me down quickly regretted it. With the chair in hand, I showed him why you don¡¯t mess with a Project Phoenix supersoldier. He never saw it coming nor expected to be beaten to death by a chair.


    Once all the Cleaners were down, their gruesome job of eliminating and disposing of Alderman Robert Elephant¡¯s enemies with corrosive acids and chemicals was finally over. The room was eerily quiet, the air thick with the scent of chemicals and gunpowder.


    Then, the phone rang. I picked it up, and sure enough, it was the Alderman. He tried to play it cool, asking if I was someone else. I cut him off with a cold, ¡°Guess again.¡±


    There was a pause on the other end. I could almost hear his mind racing. ¡°Your Cleaners,¡± I continued, ¡°they¡¯ve got both .45 ACP and 7.62x39mm rounds. They¡¯re not coming back.¡± The silence that followed was deafening. The Alderman knew his game was up.


    I even told him about my love-hate relationship with politicians and the rich. They love waging wars, and the Little Bird Army considers me a "psychopath" who enjoys war. But I hate them because they live in luxury while kids from poor backgrounds fight their wars and struggle with PTSD. To the rich, war is just another way to make money. I told him I¡¯m like a living Jekyll and Hyde¡ªnice on the surface, but the smallest thing can set me off.


    I warned the corrupt Alderman that he could send his pocket cops after me, but I wouldn¡¯t be afraid. If those corrupt officers harmed me, the Empire Police Department would face tough questions they couldn¡¯t dodge. The blue wall of silence means nothing to the army. My father, a General, has the authority to deploy federal troops to take over police duties if needed. The citizens of Empire remember 1988-1990 when the 21st Airborne Division and 3rd Marine Division patrolled the streets, treating all criminals as insurgents. The military¡¯s anti-insurgency protocol is clear: kill all insurgents in combat. Even though said protocol is flawed since during when the army patrolled the streets in that time well one time a group of people decided to rob a store that was closed and well a High Explosive round from a tank got the robbers and destroyed said store and the army had to pay for the damages though.


    When the Alderman threatened to send his pocket cops to my location, I just laughed. ¡°They won¡¯t last long. I¡¯ve got an ace up my sleeve.¡± He didn¡¯t believe me, but I always have a plan¡ªand several contingency plans.


    So, I sat there, waiting for the corrupt cops to arrive. I was ready to show them who¡¯s really in charge. As a Lieutenant Commander, I¡¯m a schemer and detail-oriented strategist, taking every variable into account to secure quick victories with minimal losses. For me, the battleground is a chessboard where I can showcase my intellectual supremacy.


    I knew that targeting the cops in the Alderman¡¯s pocket would raise questions. People would wonder why some officers were being singled out while others weren¡¯t. This would force the rest of the police department to save face and address the corruption within their ranks. It was all part of my plan.


    When the cops in the Alderman¡¯s pocket arrived I decided to play along and let them arrest me. It was all part of the plan I had meticulously crafted in my head. They showed up in a convoy of five police cars, but instead of taking me to the precinct, they were heading to an off-the-books location. Just as I anticipated.


    Before we reached their secret destination the convoy was ambushed. It was a chaotic scene, but I remained calm. This was exactly what I had planned for. The ambush was my doing, a contingency I had set up to ensure I stayed in control.


    As the corrupt cops scrambled I knew this was my moment to turn the tables and show them who was really in charge. The battleground was set and I was ready to make my move.


    The lead and rear cars were hit trapping the others but the cops didn¡¯t radio for help because it¡¯s one of those things they rather keep the location off of the books so other cops don¡¯t find out because of it being illegal.


    I was "rescued" by my half-sisters Lucy, Natalie "Nat," Ashley, my half-brother Mitchell, and my boyfriend Francis. But of course, this was all part of the plan. We headed back to the motel, and during the ride, I couldn''t help but reminisce about my first date with Francis. I remember telling him that if we ever got married, I wouldn''t be the domestic type. He used the term "housewife," but he assured me he was secure with being with a woman who could throw someone like a baseball.


    Francis has always been okay with dating me, even though I can rip a car door off like it''s a twig. He''s secure in himself, and that¡¯s one of the reasons I love him. Francis, and my half-sisters are all part of Project Phoenix, just like me. We''re Fireteam Saber, with me as the leader, Francis as the heavy weapons guy wielding a tri barrel minigun, Nat as the tech expert, Ashley as the CQB Specialist, and Lucy as the Assault specialist.


    Of course, today we weren¡¯t in our fancy power armor and Francis didn¡¯t have his minigun. The military wouldn¡¯t approve a billion-dollar armor or a minigun leaving the base unless authorized, especially since Little Bird isn¡¯t at war. The weapons my family has were the kind any average Joe with the proper ID, good credit, and a clean background check could buy at a gun store.


    As we drove, I felt a sense of camaraderie and strength. We were a team, and together, we could handle anything the Alderman threw at us.


    ______________


    (Mackenzie ¡°Macaroni¡± Waterson POV)


    At night, I found myself creeping down a deserted street, trying to avoid a group of mercenaries. The air was tense, and every shadow seemed to hide a threat.


    I ducked behind a car, my heart pounding in my chest. I needed to move, but as I shifted to the next car, my foot hit a tin can, sending it clattering across the pavement. Panic surged through me, and I bolted, only to skid to a halt when a towering figure in powered armor blocked my path. The figure, easily seven feet tall, looked down at me and gave a single nod.


    Before I could react, the mercenaries opened fire. The armored giant stepped in front of me, its energy shield deflecting the bullets with ease. Then, it turned and unleashed a barrage from its M75 Battle Rifle, the three-round bursts echoing through the night.


    I took off running again, but another armored figure descended from the sky, landing with a thud that sent a shockwave through the ground. It sprinted forward, firing an assault rifle, and was quickly joined by two more¡ªone wielding a semi-automatic shotgun, the other an automatic rifle.


    The four powered armor figures made quick work of the mercenaries, their movements precise and unstoppable. One of them, with the number "101" emblazoned on the left breastplate, approached me. As the figure got closer, the figure removed the helmet and it¡¯s my half-cousin, Cadenza Amore.


    Relief washed over me, but I knew it was time to head home. With a nod of thanks to Cadenza, I turned and made my way back, while she and the other three powered armor figures continued on their mission.


    ______________


    Back at my apartment, I walked in to find my mother and stepmother chatting like it was a normal day. My blood boiled instantly.


    ¡°What are you doing here?¡± I snapped at my stepmother, my glare sharp enough to cut steel.


    Martha, unfazed, replied, ¡°Your mother let me in. She said it¡¯s okay for me to stay for a while.¡±


    ¡°Get out!¡± I shouted, my voice trembling with anger. ¡°Both of you! Mom, this is strike three. You¡¯re going back to the rehab center. I¡¯ll drop you off at the airport first thing in the morning to head back to Kansas City. I gave you three chances and clear rules, but you didn¡¯t take them seriously!¡±


    My mother and stepmother started complaining about how much they hated the country of Little Bird. I cut them off, ¡°You both came here on your own free will multiple times. If you don¡¯t like it, that¡¯s your problem. Little Bird might not be explicitly set in the 1940s, 1950s, or 1960s, but it borrows heavily from those decades. It¡¯s got that retro aesthetic, like what people back then thought the future would be. The vehicles and equipment look old-school but are way more advanced than anything other countries have, even today. It¡¯s retrofuturism at its finest. And Martha, if you come into my apartment again without my crystal fucking goddamn clear permission, I''m shooting you in the Goddamn face.¡±


    As they stormed out, my mother called me an ¡°infertile whore.¡± To be honest, I don¡¯t give a damn what she thinks. She wanted me to settle down with a guy and have children. Yes, I¡¯m bisexual, but according to the Kinsey Scale, I¡¯m a four, meaning I¡¯m attracted to both sexes with a general preference towards the same sex. Honestly, I¡¯m the type of person who doesn¡¯t care if I have children or not. I have family members who want kids, but their in-laws make their lives a living hell if they can¡¯t have children. Some of my family members can¡¯t have children, not because of work, but because they actually can¡¯t conceive.


    What my mother said stung, not because I don¡¯t have children yet, but because I have family members who can¡¯t have biological children. Their spouses and in-laws treat them terribly. Some of my female family members can¡¯t have kids and their husbands and in-laws talk behind their backs. Half of them divorced my family members who couldn¡¯t have children. Yet, when my family members remarried, they finally had children either stepchildren, or adopted children.


    When they finally left, I slammed the door shut and locked it.


    I even talked to some of my family members back in the United States even though it¡¯s like 11 or 10 at night depends if they¡¯re living in the U.S. East coast or Central time zones where they are but well the one thing about us Watersons is that no matter what we¡¯re always available even just to catch up they¡¯re willing to sacrifice some sleep to make sure everything is okay.


    Last time I heard from my extended family, they really let my dad have it for choosing his new family¡ªhis wife and stepchildren¡ªover his only daughter. My cousin even told him, ¡°What if Mackenzie and her girlfriend get married? It¡¯s your fault she won¡¯t invite you to the venue or courthouse! Or what if Mackenzie has a child, either biological or adopted? She won¡¯t tell you!¡± I think that hit him hard, especially after I was nearly on death¡¯s door in June following an explosion. It was like getting hit by an eighteen-wheeler and a brick wall at the same time. Some family members even called him a ¡°Cherry boy.¡± (a virgin)


    Despite everything, I love my dad. He supported me when I came out as bisexual at a time when homosexuality was much less accepted than it is today. My mother, on the other hand, still thinks it¡¯s just a phase and doesn¡¯t truly believe in who I am.


    I then checked my social media in which my mother left a few nasty things on my profile timeline in which I replied to my mother in which I just typed ¡°FUCK YOU, YOU OLD ORNERY OLD BITCH!¡± I let my anger get the better of me but honestly I don¡¯t give a damn if my friends and family see my reply.


    I started reading about my grand uncle, who was president of Little Bird when the Soviets landed and started a war. He sent a note to the Soviets, saying, "You have mistaken our love of peace for weakness," and "Your wanton aggression leaves us no choice." He was like other Little Bird presidents before him, standing firm in the face of aggression.


    Before bed, I thought about my family members who remarried and became stepparents. They love their new families, but their new families often hate them if they show love to their children from previous marriages. But us Watersons, we don¡¯t abandon our family, no matter what. My great granddad, who had many sons, never officially said he loved them, but he showed it in his own way. He always said, ¡°If you¡¯re trying, that¡¯s all that matters.¡± or for birthdays he would¡¯ve said, ¡°Happy birthday¡± and leave it at that. Even after he remarried in 1947, he still loved his sons and twin daughters, and he publicly admitted how much he missed those who died in World War II, Korea, or Vietnam.


    Our family, both immediate and extended, doesn¡¯t express love openly, but it¡¯s there in subtle ways. That¡¯s why when my dad chose his new family over his only daughter, the entire Waterson family went after him with both barrels, even those with stepkids. They still love and listen to their biological children and always take their feelings into account. Some of them are married to people who want them to abandon their own kids, but us Watersons never do that. So when my dad did, even though I¡¯m an adult, they took up arms and let him have it.


    ____________


    In the morning.


    Cadenza came and got me but as we were out walking soon a man came and approached us and when he started to yell at me for throwing my stepmother out onto the streets well Cadenza handed me a shotgun shell.


    ¡°This is a four buck, buckshot and this has twenty-seven pellets,¡± I said threatening tone, ¡°And if you don¡¯t want fifty-four steel pellets in your face then I suspect you should fuck off because I¡¯m not in the fucking mood!¡±


    As Cadenza and I started to walk away the guy grabbed me so I reached into the bag that Cadenza had where after a few hits I had a sawed off double barrel shotgun and I pulled the trigger twice shooting the guy in the face twice. I didn¡¯t have any regrets about it.


    We then decided to visit the Alderman who decided to be at a high class fancy bar during working hours.


    _________________


    The next morning, Cadenza and I found ourselves in a high-class, fancy bar, ready to confront the corrupt Alderman. The place reeked of wealth and power, but we were here on a mission.


    ¡°Not the first time you''ve left a fraulein unsatisfied, nein?¡± Cadenza quipped, her voice dripping with sarcasm.


    The Alderman''s eyes widened in surprise. He clearly hadn¡¯t expected us to survive, let alone show up here. But Cadenza, true to form, couldn¡¯t resist running her mouth. She was the kind of person who never knew when to shut up or walk away from a fight. She always said, ¡°War is Hell and I¡¯m the Devil.¡±


    Despite her calling me "fraulein"¡ªa German term for an unmarried woman¡ªI couldn¡¯t help but be impressed. I¡¯m a second-generation British-German-Italian-American, with a family history as tangled as a soap opera plot. Most of my cousins twice removed, and many of my grand uncles, are first-generation German-Americans born between 1919 and 1942. My grandfather and the rest of my grand uncles are British-German-Italian-American. My great-granddad was born and raised in London to German immigrants who arrived in 1900. He moved to the U.S. in 1919, hence the British-German part. In 1947, he remarried an Italian woman who had moved to the U.S. after World War II to escape the devastation, adding the Italian twist to our lineage. Funny enough the woman he remarried to well they met prior back in 1943


    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    I was genuinely surprised to hear Cadenza use ¡°nein,¡± showing off her bilingual skills. It added an unexpected layer to her already complex persona.


    The corrupt Alderman got up and left, clearly rattled. Cadenza turned to me with a smirk. ¡°You¡¯ll hear a lot of F-words on the battlefield, but the most important one is Flank.¡±


    I nodded, thinking about the four F¡¯s of combat: Find the enemy, Fix the enemy with suppressive fire, Flank the enemy, and Finish off the enemy. It was practically ingrained in me, thanks to my family¡¯s extensive military history. We¡¯ve served in everything from the Holy Roman Empire and the Continental Army, the Imperial German Army, the British Army in both World Wars, the Confederate States Army, and various branches of the U.S. military, including the Little Bird Army.


    As we walked out of the bar, I started talking to Cadenza about my time back in the United States. I mentioned attending a few family weddings where the in-laws tried to crash the ceremonies. ¡°Us Watersons never do that. We respect boundaries. If you¡¯re not invited, you don¡¯t show up. Weddings are sacred events, all about the couple getting married, not about people who ruined their relationship with their son or daughter and then want to make the day about themselves.¡±


    I shared stories about some of my relatives whose weddings were nearly ruined by estranged in-laws. ¡°But if you marry into the Waterson family, you get a supportive clan. We don¡¯t take sides unless a parent abandons their child for a stepfamily. Then, we¡¯re up in arms.¡±


    Cadenza listened, nodding thoughtfully. ¡°Sounds like the Watersons know how to keep things in perspective.¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± I agreed. ¡°We might have our flaws, but we know how to stand by each other.¡±


    As we walked out, I shared more with Cadenza about my family. ¡°You know, some of my in-laws come from families that preach self-reliance and independence. But then, those same families turn around and expect their kids to be walking ATMs. When they don¡¯t get the money, they call their kids selfish jerks. It¡¯s ridiculous.¡±


    Cadenza nodded, listening intently.


    ¡°But when they marry into the Waterson family, it¡¯s different,¡± I continued. ¡°We see our in-laws as family, not cash machines. We actually care about their lives and listen to what they have to say. We¡¯re not the kind of family that pretends to listen but doesn¡¯t really care.¡±


    I chuckled, thinking about some of the stories I¡¯d heard. ¡°Some of my in-laws have said that marrying a female Waterson is an eye-opener. We prefer cheap dates over lavish ones and the simplest weddings possible. We believe in owning only what adds value and meaning to our lives and getting rid of the rest.¡±


    I remembered a particular wedding before I joined the Navy. ¡°One of my female cousins got married, and when I asked about the food, she said, ¡®We can get several dollar meals from McDonald¡¯s afterwards.¡¯ It was funny, but if that¡¯s what she wanted, that¡¯s what she got. Her future in-laws tried to pressure her into catering a lot of meals, saying people would want seconds. But she stood her ground.¡±


    I smiled, thinking about the family tradition. ¡°Most of my female relatives have gotten married in a hand-me-down wedding dress made in post-World War I England in 1919, when my great-granddad first got married. It¡¯s a piece of history, and it means a lot to us.¡±


    Cadenza grinned. ¡°Sounds like the Watersons know how to keep things real.¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± I agreed. ¡°We might have our quirks, but we know how to support each other.¡±


    Cadenza and I couldn¡¯t fully relate to each other, despite both being only children. She had her half-brother, my cousin, while I had my entire extended family. Cadenza grew up as a military brat, spending her breaks on various bases. She was taught to handle shock and awe and to defend herself 24/7 because her father wasn¡¯t always around. On the other hand, I was taught to be self-reliant and independent. But I always had my dad and other family members (minus my mother) to fall back on for help.


    We did share a common understanding of how people often act superior, projecting their insecurities onto others to make them feel inferior. We also shared a fear that if we had younger siblings, they might have been favored by our fathers. Even though we were both only children, this fear lingered. I have two stepbrothers, and while my dad had his views on them, it was because they were teenagers without a father figure. As an adult, I understood that he needed to use his time as their stepfather to be a father figure to them.


    When I asked Cadenza if she feared becoming like her father, she looked appalled and taken aback. ¡°I might be twenty years old and hold the rank of Lieutenant Commander in the Little Bird Army Special Forces, but I belong out in the field, not behind a desk,¡± she said firmly. Despite her rank, which falls between Colonel and Lieutenant General, she insisted she should be in the thick of the action. Normally, someone of her rank would be directing soldiers from a command center, far from the front lines. But as a Project Phoenix Supersoldier, she followed the traditional standards of a regular soldier, taking orders from commanders twice her age.


    In the three months I¡¯ve known Cadenza I¡¯ve learned she¡¯s not a woman who does things by half-measures. She¡¯s either pleasantly jolly or howling mad¡ªthere¡¯s no in-between. If war had to be personified, it would be Cadenza. She embodies the chaos and intensity of battle, always ready to dive headfirst into the fray.


    As we stepped outside, the screech of tires pierced the air. Cadenza didn¡¯t hesitate. She whipped out her Viperstrike .50 and took down four targets in rapid succession, each shot a perfect double headshot. It was like watching an artist at work.


    ¡°You go, I¡¯m staying,¡± Cadenza said bluntly, her eyes scanning the area for more threats.


    ¡°Finish the fight,¡± I replied, knowing she wouldn¡¯t have it any other way.


    Cadenza spoke into her earpiece, ¡°This is Fox 101. You got Phoenixes on the ground, sir. We¡¯re not going anywhere.¡±


    Even though Little Bird isn¡¯t part of NATO¡ªbeing in the Pacific rather than the North Atlantic¡ªthe military here uses both the Pre-1955 and Post-1955 Military Alphabets. So, one company might be called Able, while another is Alpha. When Cadenza said ¡°Fox,¡± it meant she was in Fox Company of Project Phoenix. I¡¯d heard stories about the Little Bird military¡¯s unique traditions, like how all artillery companies use the callsign ¡°Yankee¡± followed by a number. For example, ¡°Yankee-One¡± is the callsign for the artillery of the First Infantry Division or First Marine Division, depending on the division.


    As I moved further away, the sound of gunfire shifted. It wasn¡¯t just the sharp crack of a .50 caliber handgun anymore; it had become the rapid, staccato bursts of a rifle. Cadenza had a duffle bag with her, and I remembered the rumors about Project Phoenix supersoldiers¡ªthey¡¯re trained to fight smarter, not harder. It made sense; no one wanted to lose a several billion-dollar suit of armor and the soldier inside it due to recklessness.


    Even though Cadenza wasn¡¯t wearing her armor, I knew that the combined cost of all the Project Phoenix soldiers¡¯ gear was astronomical. Their armor alone cost twice as much as a modern nuclear aircraft carrier, fully loaded with aircraft, crew, and advanced systems. To put it in perspective, just two of the twelve Flurry-class aircraft carriers cost $11.2 billion together or 5.6 billion per carrier. So, the total cost of all twelve would be pocket change compared to the armor worn by the Phoenix soldiers.


    I know the government, they want to protect their costly investments. Of course, Cadenza loves her boyfriend because he uses incendiary armor-piercing rounds in his machine gun.


    As I was walking, my phone rang. It was my dad. I answered, and he immediately asked why I kicked out Martha. He wanted my side of the story instead of automatically taking his wife¡¯s side. The last time he did that, it alienated me from him and I gave him the cold shoulder.


    I explained how I kicked Mom¡ªhis ex-wife¡ªout of my apartment after strike three and sent her back to Kansas City for rehab. I even informed the rehab center not to call me if she gets better because she took advantage of my generosity, and now she has to face the consequences.


    I told my dad not to start with ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡± because, to me, saying sorry isn¡¯t a real apology. Some apologies take time to earn forgiveness, not just overnight. He always told me that choices have consequences and he chose to believe his new wife over his only child. I still remember that Friday in June when I almost died. The only thing I said to my dad that day was, ¡°This could be my final run,¡± and it almost was.


    My father understood and didn¡¯t question my decision. He knew it was my apartment, and I had set clear rules and a three-strike policy for my mom, his ex. She didn¡¯t care about those rules, and when she broke them, I kicked her out and sent her back to the rehab center. To my dad, someone¡¯s home is their castle and they have the right to enforce their rules. My mom was told the rules but after a couple of months, she threw them right back in my face. So out she went.


    I couldn¡¯t help but feel she went crawling to her boss, given that her rehab allowed her to work. She wouldn¡¯t have been sitting around my place 24/7 but honestly, I couldn¡¯t care less. She made her choices and now she has to live with the consequences. To me I don¡¯t care if she¡¯s back in rehab 24/7 or with her boss fucking him either way I don¡¯t care.


    My father understood completely. To him, what Mom did was like telling someone your house rules and them thinking they¡¯re exempt. We both know family members who are step-parents, and their stepchildren hate them because they still love their own kids and don¡¯t kick them to the curb to focus on their stepkids.


    I had a family member who bought a house and one day while she was at work, her pregnant stepsister moved in without permission. She allowed it for a few nights but her stepsister took over the house even changing the locks. When she told her dad, he sided with his daughter and told his stepdaughter to leave. This caused a divide between him and his wife, but my cousin threw out her stepsister, changed the locks and installed window blockers.


    Now I¡¯m thinking about some of my family members with spoiled stepchildren who don¡¯t know right from wrong. Some of these kids took their parents¡¯ credit or debit cards and spent tons of money, only to find out the hard way when the cards were locked or canceled. The charges were flagged as fraudulent, and the police were involved. That¡¯s the thing about us Watersons, we believe in karma. But this caused marital strife because their spouse would defend their spoiled children in a heartbeat. Us Watersons have an authoritative parental style that allows autonomy but enforces rules.


    I remembered a story about one of my cousins. Her parents left her a hefty inheritance of almost a quarter million dollars. Her husband, living like it was the 1950s, declared that since he was the head of the household, the money was his to use for building a duplex. He expected my cousin, who has a disability that prevents her from standing for long periods, to be a housewife¡ªcooking, cleaning, and having children. He believed that men should make more money than women and saw men who earned less than women as failures.


    The next day at work, my cousin contacted a divorce lawyer. The lawyer served her husband with divorce papers right at his workplace, in front of his coworkers. When he yelled at her, my father, her cousin, stepped in and said, ¡°A man who yells at a woman isn¡¯t a man at all.¡± Her husband wanted to forget the divorce and start over, but she stood her ground and told him to leave. The house was hers, and despite his efforts to claim it, she was awarded the house in the divorce.


    It''s interesting how some people can''t see the irony in their own actions. They get upset about not finding love or getting married, yet they don''t realize how their behavior might be pushing people away.


    Take my grand uncles, for example. They fought in World War II and the Korean War, and when they got married in the post-war United States, they didn''t mind if their wives got jobs. This was a time when women''s roles were severely limited, but some of my grand uncles'' wives stayed on as factory workers, teachers, nurses, or secretaries. I think their relaxed attitude came from the old saying: "A happy wife is a happy life." They preferred their wives to be happy rather than being the kind of husbands who believed only men should succeed. Plus, many of us female Watersons can hold our own in a fight, which probably helped too.


    I love being part of this family because we always stand by each other. We don''t play favorites with our kids. Waterson parents love all their children equally and give advice like, "If you''re trying, that''s all that matters." We don''t expect much, just effort. It''s a lot better than parents who adore one child while making the others feel invisible.


    I think that''s why many Watersons get divorced. Their spouses might favor one child and neglect the others, which causes resentment. Those parents then wonder why their other kids hate them and act innocent, not taking responsibility. It''s funny how some of my family members'' stepkids invite them to important gatherings while not inviting their own parents who alienated them in the first place. It just goes to show that respect and love are earned, not demanded.


    Don¡¯t even get my family started on those parents who expect their kids to give 110% all the time, never letting them be normal kids. They expect constant studying and working, robbing them of a childhood. Sure, my childhood was rough because of my mother¡¯s addiction, but at least I got to play outside and have friends.


    My family finds it hilarious when in-laws try to plan their own weddings at our houses and then tell us we¡¯re not invited. We always get the last laugh. We change the locks, install window stoppers, and set up security cameras to keep them out. Sometimes, we even pack up, move, and sell the house, leaving them with an empty, deserted venue. People say it¡¯s extreme, but you don¡¯t tell someone who¡¯s seen the horrors of war what¡¯s too harsh.


    You can¡¯t manipulate or gaslight a Waterson. We¡¯re too close-knit for that. If one of us in Germany, United States or Little Bird needs help, another will fly from any of the three countries, no matter the cost. We¡¯re smart, too. When a certain dictator came to power in Germany, the Watersons there just left. We stick together and always have each other¡¯s backs.


    I love my family, and they know all about my current situation with the corrupt alderman. They¡¯re helping out in one way or another. I¡¯ve already told the Watersons here in Little Bird about his dirty secret. If he tries anything to hurt me or put me in the hospital, the entire country will know about it. It¡¯s the kind of secret that would ruin his reputation beyond repair.


    One thing about us Watersons is our knack for seeing people¡¯s true colors long before they show them. Take my cousin, for example. Her husband had outdated gender views, and her parents and others warned her about her husband being a jerk. They didn¡¯t press the issue because she always defended him. We believe the best way to learn is the hard way. When her parents died and she inherited a quarter million dollars, his true colors showed. He said, ¡°Remember this. I¡¯m the head of this household. I¡¯m the boss here. If you can¡¯t follow what I say, then you can leave until you know your place.¡± Sometimes, people¡¯s words come back to bite them on the ass.


    Her husband jumped to conclusions and started building a family home with his parents, planning to treat her like a slave rather than a stay-at-home wife. She used her inheritance to get a divorce. It just goes to show that you can¡¯t hide your true self forever, and the Watersons always stand by each other, no matter what.


    Soon after the bar incident, Cadenza caught up to me, having just fought off some mercenaries or whoever the corrupt alderman sent. I could see it in her eyes¡ªshe enjoyed that firefight.


    Cadenza, speaking in Italian, said, ¡°Cos¨¬ coraggioso eppure cos¨¬ stupido.¡± When I asked what she meant, she translated, ¡°So brave yet so stupid.¡± She nailed it. So many people pick fights with the wrong folks and never admit their mistake. I love how she summed up the alderman in just a few words¡ªbrave enough to start a war, but too stupid to know how to fight it, especially against people who fight for survival, not money. Mercenaries, Cadenza, Natalie, Lucy, and Ashley aren¡¯t just fighters; they¡¯re trained professionals.


    I decided to change the subject to family. Cadenza shared how she hates her father¡¯s side of the family, except for her father and half-brother. Her father¡¯s side is adultery central, justifying their actions. Here in Little Bird, if you file for divorce on grounds of cheating and have all the evidence, it¡¯s an open-and-shut case. While divorces aren¡¯t funny, I find it amusing how people served with divorce papers live in lala land thinking their infidelity isn¡¯t a big deal. They never consider the damage they cause and act like the world revolves around them. My mom was the same when my dad divorced her. She never thought he¡¯d go through with it, but he did. At least he waited until I was in college so I wouldn¡¯t get dragged into custody disputes. He waited until I turned 22 and was in university.


    It¡¯s funny how some people never see the consequences of their actions until it¡¯s too late. But us Watersons, we see through people¡¯s true colors long before they show them. We always stand by each other, no matter what. My family told my dad about my mom before they were even married, far before I was even conceived they warned him but he was a young man blinded in love.


    Cadenza has a dark sense of humor, especially when it comes to cheaters. She finds it amusing how people act all innocent when they get caught cheating, even with enough evidence to make any judge side with the person filing for divorce. She says it¡¯s funny how the cheater often refuses to settle and accuses their soon-to-be ex of being pig headed and destroying the family. But when they take it to court, they find out the hard way that they should¡¯ve settled. Judges are usually harsh and the cheater ends up with nothing, often having to pay their ex¡¯s attorney fees. Cadenza always says it¡¯s better to settle out of court and at least get something than to go to court with a lot of evidence against you and get nothing.


    I mentioned how some people are willing to fight even when the odds are stacked against them. I also talked about how some women my male family members dated gave females a bad reputation by being unfaithful or only in relationships for money. These women would go behind their partner¡¯s back and if they got married, they¡¯d want an open marriage.


    Cadenza said that if her boyfriend ever suggested an open marriage, she¡¯d suggest they not live together because she wouldn¡¯t live under the same roof with a guy who wants an open marriage. Her father is a General in the Little Bird Army Special Forces, overseeing the Special Forces, Marine Commandos, and the Silent Serpents¡ªwhom I dub ¡°Helljumpers¡± because they¡¯re paradropped into hellish conditions. I got the idea from the ODSTs in Halo because it sounds awesome. If someone¡¯s father-in-law is a high-ranking military officer, they¡¯d probably want to stay in his good graces, not make him mad.


    Cadenza clarified that the Silent Serpents were created in 1914, just before World War I. Back then, they were called ¡°Specialized Troopers,¡± and their main role was to intervene when regular infantry couldn¡¯t clear the way on the battlefield. She mentioned the German term ¡°Sturmtruppen,¡± which means Stormtrooper. Initially, these troopers were primarily underweight men who could move faster than regular infantry. They were equipped with sawed-down rifles and submachine guns for trench warfare. In 1922, they were renamed Silent Serpents because they could move without making a sound.


    There¡¯s a rivalry between the Silent Serpents and the Little Bird Army Rangers. The Rangers are elite commandos used for special operations and shock troop roles, clearing out objectives before the main army arrives. The Silent Serpents take on missions that the Rangers or other Special Forces can¡¯t handle. My cousin Midnight describes the rivalry as a big brother-little brother dynamic, with the Rangers feeling overshadowed by the Silent Serpents. Despite this, the Marine Commandos and other Special Forces see the Silent Serpents as friendly rivals, eager to fight alongside them.


    Cadenza also mentioned a rivalry with Project Phoenix, though it¡¯s more of a friendly competition. Project Phoenix supersoldiers are so formidable that they can take on twenty people out of armor and consider it a one-on-one fight or they can be outnumbered in a 20 to one fight and they will say ¡°Then it is an even fight¡±. Given that Cadenza once saved my bacon, I believe it.


    As Cadenza and I continued walking, I asked her what she looks for in a relationship. I felt like I was invading her privacy, but she answered openly. She values equality and respecting boundaries. Her boyfriend, Francis, was adopted, but his adoptive parents treat him as their own flesh and blood. Cadenza wants equality and boundaries in her relationship and won¡¯t tolerate being treated as inferior. If Francis or his adoptive parents ever treated her that way, she¡¯d break up with him faster than a moth to a flame.


    Cadenza shared that Francis¡¯s adoptive mother can¡¯t wait to have grandchildren, but Francis told her that starting a family is on the backburner. Both Cadenza and Francis don¡¯t really care if they have children or not. Francis¡¯s adoptive mother never expected Cadenza to earn more than Francis, but his adoptive father doesn¡¯t care about who earns more. To him, if two people are happy, that¡¯s all that matters. However, Francis¡¯s adoptive mother suspects Cadenza might baby trap Francis one day, even though both Cadenza and Francis are only children in their respective families.


    Cadenza is hard to read, but she¡¯s the type who would break up with her boyfriend and kick him out if he lied to his adoptive family about her being lazy, racking up debt, or being selfish. I¡¯d do the same if I had a partner who called me lazy or selfish. I¡¯m in a loving relationship with my Clairebear and my dad doesn¡¯t care that I¡¯m dating another woman. To him, as long as I¡¯m happy, that¡¯s all that matters.


    ¡°Hey Cadenza,¡± I said. ¡°If you don¡¯t mind me asking, what would you do if your dad was going on vacation and told you that you couldn¡¯t come because of your health?¡±


    Cadenza replied, ¡°Well, I¡¯ve always been perfectly healthy, never really been seriously sick unless you count scrapes, scratches, and cuts. If he went on vacation without me, he¡¯d be in for a shock when he returned to find me long gone. And if we met again and he tried the ¡®Baby girl¡¯ card, I¡¯d tell him to stuff it. I love nature, so I¡¯d just go live in a log cabin in the woods around Clearlake. If my dad remarried and I had a stepmom and stepsibling who abused me, and if I told my dad and they acted like I was imagining things, even if my dad told me to deal with it on my own, I¡¯d make him regret his words.¡±


    ¡°Well, as they say, what you say can come back to bite you,¡± I said.


    Cadenza nodded. ¡°That¡¯s true. If I had a stepmom and step sibling who abused me and my dad told me to deal with it on my own, there¡¯s a thing called a closed casket funeral. If my dad started laying into me for taking it too far, I¡¯d throw his words right back at him¡ª¡®deal with it on my own,¡¯ and I would¡¯ve dealt with it on my own.¡±


    Cadenza added that if her father told his family about it, they¡¯d hate her for it. But her half-brother Mitchell said that if she told a Waterson about the abuse, they¡¯d give her stepfamily a taste of their own medicine or make their lives a living hell. They¡¯d ensure people never trusted her metaphorical stepfamily again, no matter how hard they tried to act innocent. They¡¯d say that giving her stepfamily a funeral would be taking the easy way out.


    Cadenza shared that her father¡¯s wife¡¯s family has always been against her, even accusing her of being ungrateful for having her ¡°mother¡± executed. Cadenza and your cousin Mitchell are heteropaternal superfecundation twins, meaning they share the same mother but have different fathers. So, she had no ties to her father¡¯s wife.


    Once, a group from her father¡¯s wife¡¯s family came to fight her. She picked up a baseball bat, but when they pulled out butterfly knives, she retreated into the house and came back with a semiautomatic twelve-gauge shotgun. They backed off quickly, realizing she was willing to escalate the situation to deadly force. This showed she¡¯s trained to fight smarter, not harder, and isn¡¯t a pushover.


    Cadenza has a type one gun license, which allows her to buy fully automatic weapons and conversion kits to turn semiautomatic weapons into full auto. Getting this license is tougher than driving on black ice. There are four types of gun licenses on Little Bird:


    <ol>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Type Four: Common, requires a 30-hour course and a psych evaluation.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Type Three: Similar to type four but allows magnum revolvers and shotguns with a capacity of five shells or less.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Type Two: Allows sawed-off shotguns, handguns with a magazine capacity of 12 rounds or less, and submachine guns with single-shot fire control.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Type One: Allows automatic weapons and conversion kits, requiring a psych evaluation and 300 hours of training.</li>


    </ol>


    Cadenza knows how to defend herself, not just because she¡¯s a supersoldier but because she¡¯s willing to go the extra mile to get the necessary licenses. She¡¯s the last person anyone should pick a fight with, and she knows how to use everyday objects as weapons for both offense and defense.


    It¡¯s clear that Cadenza is someone who stands her ground and doesn¡¯t let anyone push her around. Her ability to defend herself and her willingness to go through rigorous training and evaluations show her dedication and strength.


    Cadenza is definitely one of those people who keeps others guessing. She¡¯s not someone you can control and that¡¯s a great thing. If she had a normal nuclear family with siblings, her mother would probably have been the type to push her kids to compete and compare them to each other. But Cadenza would have told her siblings to stay in their own lanes, not to be rude, but because everyone is good at something different. She believes trying to be someone you¡¯re not won¡¯t get you far. She¡¯d advise them to find what they¡¯re good at and focus on that.


    Cadenza says people are ¡°wired up¡± differently. She loves guns and fighting, but if she had siblings, they might like something else. That¡¯s true for many families. Some of my friends in the U.S. have families that love sports, but their kids don¡¯t. Those families push their kids into sports and then chastise them for not liking it.


    That¡¯s what I love about being a Waterson. Yes, we love sports, but we also excel in other areas like reading, technology, or being handy. Take my cousin Dave, for example. He¡¯s handy and loves working like a demolition engineer. His shop class teacher noticed how interested and fast he was at learning. Dave never wanted to be a firefighter, but he felt pressured to follow in his father and uncle¡¯s footsteps. His dad told him he could be anything he wanted and would still make him proud. They never forced him to join the fire department. After his father and uncle died in the line of duty, a few family members told him it wasn¡¯t his fault and that they knew he didn¡¯t want to be a firefighter. They were proud of him for making his own choice and doing what he loves.


    Dave¡¯s father always said, ¡°You can cry when not on shift, but on shift, people still need our help.¡± It might sound inhumane, but it¡¯s true. You can¡¯t help others if you¡¯re not in the right state of mind. Dave goes to work as if his father and uncle are still alive. He¡¯s glad they died on the job because they would¡¯ve been bored in retirement.


    Cadenza told me that if she ever becomes a mother, she won¡¯t push her kids to be carbon copies of her. She won¡¯t force them to live lives that parallel her own or become what she wanted to be but couldn¡¯t. Despite Little Bird viewing sexual education as a taboo subject for those under eighteen, Cadenza understands that kids aren¡¯t just carbon copies of their parents. She knows everyone is different and should be allowed to find their own path.


    Cadenza chuckled, and when I asked what was funny, she shared an ironic tidbit from history. During both World Wars, the Little Bird military drafted firemen to be Combat Engineers who carried flamethrowers. She found it ironic that men trained to fight fires were given weapons that shoot fire. The military reasoned that firemen were better trained to handle fire, making them ideal for the role.


    Yeah, it¡¯s pretty ironic¡ªpicking men who fought fires to be the ones causing them in battle. It¡¯s a classic case of turning a skill set on its head.


    Cadenza and I continued our conversation about relationships. She mentioned how much she hates unfaithful people who keep their affairs hidden and then try to justify their actions by hoping their spouse cheats too. When the cheater gets caught, they end up jeopardizing a stable relationship for a cheap thrill.


    In the city of Empire, everyone has a reputation. When someone cheats and it comes out, their reputation takes a severe hit. In Clearlake, where Cadenza is from, it¡¯s even more intense. With a population of just 5,500, nothing stays a secret for long. If someone cheats on their significant other, the whole town will know. Adultery spreads like wildfire and everyone will remind the cheater of their actions, never letting them live it down even years or decades after it happened.


    It''s interesting how different communities handle infidelity. In smaller towns, the social consequences can be much harsher because everyone knows each other. It¡¯s a constant reminder that actions have consequences and in close-knit communities, those consequences are magnified.


    Cadenza made it clear that certain actions have long-lasting consequences, especially for politicians who cheat. No amount of PR can change people''s minds about that. When I asked what she would do if she caught her boyfriend cheating, she said she¡¯d break up with him on the spot. If they were married, she¡¯d storm out, see a divorce lawyer immediately and have him served in a public place like work. She¡¯d want his friends and family to give him that ¡°What did you do?¡± look. If he tried to communicate with her, she¡¯d tell him to talk to her attorney and burn any letters he sent without reading them.


    I also asked what she¡¯d do if Francis had a child he knew about but hadn¡¯t told her. Before I could finish, she said that if he came clean right away, she¡¯d let it slide because he was being truthful. But if he hid it, she¡¯d hate him for keeping such a significant secret.


    I get where she¡¯s coming from. Secrets like that can come off the wrong way if not disclosed early. If someone in a relationship has kids and doesn¡¯t tell their partner, it can be a shock when the truth comes out. It¡¯s always better to come clean as soon as possible rather than lie and make it worse later on.


    Cadenza¡¯s approach to relationships is all about honesty and respect. She values transparency and believes that hiding important information can damage trust irreparably. It¡¯s a good reminder that open communication is crucial in any relationship.


    I shared with Cadenza how Lusty and I keep our relationship strong by not keeping any secrets. When we first started dating, Lusty told me she has kids, who are actually related to me because they came from one of my cousins, Dave. Dave and Lusty met in a neutral location with a family lawyer to draft an agreement before making it final. Even though Dave is happily married to Linda, he got her approval beforehand to stay in the loop.


    Dave and Linda have a strong relationship, checking off eight criteria for a happy relationship:


    <ol>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Connection: They share a bond, in their case, firefighting.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Emotional Rapport and Benevolence: They care for each other¡¯s feelings.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Self-Regulation: They have boundaries and don¡¯t cross lines, even during arguments.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Positive Intention Frame: They avoid miscommunication and misunderstandings.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Caretaking in Conflict: They handle conflicts with care.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Mutual Respect, Accountability, and Boundaries: They respect each other and maintain boundaries.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Review and Learn from Mistakes: They learn from their mistakes.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Healthy Support System: They support each other.</li>


    </ol>


    Dave and Lusty¡¯s agreement includes visitation rights, with the kids living with Dave and his family every other weekend during school and every other week during school breaks. The agreement is legally binding, so neither Dave nor Lusty can back out unless a judge says so. Lusty¡¯s seven daughters call me ¡°Aunt Macaroni,¡± even though they¡¯re technically my cousins once removed.


    Cadenza appreciated the honesty and structure in our relationships. She values transparency and believes that keeping secrets can damage trust. It¡¯s clear that open communication and mutual respect are crucial in maintaining strong relationships.


    I told Cadenza how the wife of the corrupt alderman and the people he represents wouldn¡¯t like his dirty secret of having an extramarital affair while his wife was in the hospital. In the Commonwealth of Mountain, adultery is a felony, even though some argue it¡¯s unconstitutional. Many religions here in Little Bird see being unfaithful as a cardinal sin. Lust is already one of the seven deadly sins and many religious texts preach that a husband and wife should live in happiness, not tear each other apart by being unfaithful.


    Little Bird is a secular state, allowing all religions without endorsing one. Many people here are religious, not fanatics, but they value a happy marital life. Some believe having a strong religious belief shields them from godless communism, even though the 1950s and the Cold War are long over. I respect other people¡¯s religious views, and they respect mine. I¡¯m not one of those fanatics who claims their religion is the only right one.


    I also mentioned the ¡°Almighty Believers,¡± a religious cult that took things too far. They got political, calling non-believers Satan worshippers. It got so bad they took over a town, and the Rangers had to be called in to put down the insurrection. Lever-action rifles and muskets against military body armor didn¡¯t stand a chance. Those who surrendered were imprisoned, not for their religious views, but for starting an insurrection. It¡¯s a reminder that while Little Bird allows all religions, it doesn¡¯t tolerate extremism that threatens public safety.


    Cadenza agreed that certain actions have long-lasting consequences, especially for politicians who cheat. No amount of PR can change people¡¯s minds about that.


    We made it back to my apartment, and I couldn¡¯t help but think about my family members who had happy relationships until their partners took things too far. Us Watersons have an uncanny ability to read the writing on the wall. I¡¯ve got a few extended family members who booked trips or vacations for their partners, only to be told to sit it out while their partner brought along ¡°friends.¡± By friends, they usually meant several other people, often of the opposite gender. Naturally, they suspected adultery and asked friends or family for advice, who confirmed their suspicions.


    To get back at their unfaithful partners, they¡¯d cancel the reservations at the hotel, motel, or resort. When their ungrateful partner called to complain about the canceled reservation, they¡¯d be told it was canceled. As my cousin Mitchell says, ¡°Us Paratroopers don¡¯t sit around waiting.¡± It¡¯s sad how some of my family members¡¯ partners would say, ¡°Just sit this one out,¡± while they went to have fun with a ¡°few¡± friends, often eight or nine, mostly of the opposite gender. These partners didn¡¯t care that their significant others spent months, if not years, saving up for the trip and canceling plans with family and friends.


    It irks me how people are willing to betray their loved ones¡¯ trust, especially at the last minute. Us Watersons don¡¯t let unfaithful partners walk all over us and act like nothing happened. We stand up for ourselves and make sure our voices are heard. It¡¯s a reminder that trust and respect are the foundations of any strong relationship, and once those are broken, it¡¯s hard to rebuild.


    Talking with Cadenza about bad relationships and cheating made me think about my own family. Some of my relatives won''t support their immediate family unless their spouse approves. If their spouse gets manipulated by lies, they believe them without question, afraid of confrontation.


    It frustrates me when people don''t stand up for themselves and just go with the flow. Some of my family members who remarried let their new spouse mistreat their biological kids. They might mediate briefly but usually side with their new spouse. If the new spouse wants the kids out to start their own family, my relatives often cave in and kick their kids out.


    Thankfully, those kids call other family members for help. We take them in, help them finish school, and raise them. Trust me, we don''t hold back when telling off the relatives who abandoned their kids. They need to stop being doormats and stand up for their own family.


    I was telling Cadenza about some of my family members who are total doormats. They let their spouse, or new spouse if they¡¯ve remarried, walk all over them. It¡¯s infuriating, especially when these new spouses convince them to kick out their kids from a previous marriage. Some of my relatives do it without a second thought.


    But the Waterson family is tight-knit. When we find out about this, our wrath is biblical¡ªworse than the wrath of God. Eventually, when these kids grow up and their parents and step-parents come crawling back for help, the kids just tell them to hit the road. As my father always says, ¡°Choices have consequences¡± and ¡°Karma is what comes around goes around.¡± Some things just can¡¯t be fixed.


    I was telling Cadenza about how some of my family members are really smart about planning for the future. Many of them set up wills, trusts, or estates to make sure their kids are taken care of. For example, I had a cousin three times removed whose parents divorced. Her mom moved out to stay with family, while her dad and his new lover moved into the house. Eventually, they wanted to kick her out, but they couldn¡¯t because the house was in her mom¡¯s name, thanks to her grandfather. Her dad tried to get the house in the divorce, but the lawyer told him it wasn¡¯t possible since it was legally her mom¡¯s.


    One thing about the Watersons is that we never take the easy way out. We make sacrifices for our family. Some of my relatives work long hours and hardly see their kids or spouse. But they realize that family time is irreplaceable. So they make tough choices. Some leave high-paying office jobs to become stay-at-home parents or switch to jobs with crazy hours just to be there for their family. I have relatives who pick up trash at night so they can be home during the day to see their kids after school and spend time with their spouse. The pay might not be great, but to them, family is everything. Money can always be made, but you can¡¯t replace family time.


    I was talking to Cadenza about how not everyone is cut out to be a leader. True leaders are either brave or deeply thoughtful about the decisions they make. I shared a story about my great-granddad, Terrence Waterson Senior. He was a squad leader in the U.S. Army''s 1st Infantry Division during World War II and the Korean War. When I was six, I asked him about his leadership, and he responded, ¡°I have to live with the decisions I had to make. What would you have done?¡±


    That question has stuck with me ever since. He was in his 40s during World War II, leading soldiers who were often just kids fresh out of high school to early 20s. He had to make tough calls, like sending scouts ahead, knowing they might not come back. It¡¯s a heavy burden to carry, and it made me realize the weight of leadership and the sacrifices involved.


    Cadenza, who holds the rank of Lieutenant Commander in the Little Bird Army and Marine Corps, is in an interesting position. This rank is between Major and Captain, often used when there are too many Majors or to serve as a second-in-command at the battalion level. Despite this, Cadenza leads her own fireteam. She explained that the 150 "Project Phoenix Supersoldiers" are organized into four-person teams: two with assault rifles, one with a heavy machine gun, and a tech specialist. Some teams also include snipers, CQB specialists, or EOD/Explosive Ordnance and Hazardous Operation Specialists.


    Cadenza wanted to discuss the fight against the corrupt Alderman, but she respected my wish to talk about family and relationships instead. I shared my frustration with parents who promise to pay for their child''s wedding but then blow through the money, telling their kids to postpone the wedding indefinitely. These parents often get mad when their kids go ahead and get married anyway, blaming them for rushing things.


    I told Cadenza about how the Waterson family steps in to help. If parents try to postpone a wedding indefinitely, our family has no problem chipping in to make it happen. Some of my female relatives have had to ask for help from both immediate and extended family when their parents tried to delay their weddings. When their parents start to chew them out for getting married, other family members give them a glare that basically says, "Be quiet and be happy, or get out."


    It''s especially frustrating when Waterson kids get kicked out by a remarried parent and their new spouse. These kids often end up living with other family members. Later, when the biological parent and step-parent get mad about not being invited to the wedding or not being able to walk their daughter down the aisle, it''s infuriating. Some of my female relatives have had their older nephews, uncles, granduncles, or male cousins walk them down the aisle instead. The biological parents and step-parents who kicked them out in the first place have no right to be upset. When these female relatives have kids of their own, the biological parents and step-parents suddenly want to play happy family. It''s just not right.


    Before Cadenza and I could finish our conversation, there was a knock on the door. Cadenza, always prepared, grabbed her Viperstrike .50 and answered it. It was her boyfriend, Francis. I¡¯ve always thought Francis sounded more like a feminine name, but I don¡¯t judge. After all, we don¡¯t get to choose our names. My dad named me Mackenzie, and I had no say in it. But I did choose my nickname, Macaroni. It¡¯s a Waterson tradition that if two family members share the same first name, they get nicknames. There are at least fifteen other Mackenzies in the Waterson family, each with their own unique nickname. I picked Macaroni because, well, Cheeseburger just doesn¡¯t have the same ring to it.


    I have a cousin twice removed named Mackenzie ¡°Sturmgrewer¡± Waterson. She got her nickname because she uses the outdated Little Bird 1943 Assault Rifle, which is essentially a captured German StG 44. My great-granddad Terrence, who fought in World War II, still calls her by her birth name out of respect for his experiences fighting against soldiers armed with that rifle. She respects his decision and doesn¡¯t push him to use her nickname.


    Francis joined our conversation about family and relationships. He shared his complicated feelings towards his adoptive grandparents. His adoptive mother couldn¡¯t have biological children, and her then-boyfriend, now husband, was supportive of adopting.


    I mentioned how some of my female cousins feel like they¡¯re living in a ¡°Twilight Zone¡± episode, married to men who act like children and do whatever their mothers say. When these cousins try to leave family gatherings early, their husbands lock the car and demand they apologize. Of course, they call another Waterson for help. When we show up, we make it clear that holding someone against their will is a crime. If the in-laws don¡¯t back down, we¡¯re ready to call the cops.


    One Christmas, a cousin¡¯s husband and his family refused to let her leave. She called her father, a Vietnam War veteran, for help. When he arrived, they insulted him, calling him an ¡°Uneducated Jarhead.¡± He calmly went to his car, grabbed a tire iron, and made it clear he wasn¡¯t leaving without his daughter and grandkids. They quickly backed down, realizing he was ready to walk the walk, not just talk the talk.


    I explained to Cadenza how the Watersons are all about giving people a taste of their own medicine. Take my cousin, for example. The year after she called her former Marine father to get her out of a sticky situation, they hosted Christmas at his house. When her husband tried to leave, her father refused to let him go. When the husband protested, saying it was illegal to hold someone against their will, her father-in-law shot back, ¡°Now you know how it feels! You did the same to my daughter last year!¡±


    The husband was ready to fight right then and there, but he backed down. Not because he was afraid of a man in his 40s, but because the house was full of Watersons¡ªveterans of Vietnam, the U.S. Invasion of Grenada, World War II, and Korea. Picking a fight with a house full of combat-trained men wasn¡¯t a smart move.


    That Christmas in 1983, when my cousin¡¯s husband called his father-in-law and many of his family members ¡°uneducated,¡± the veterans there set him straight. They explained that many of them had to drop out of school to support their families during tough times. In World War II, about 63% of the American military was educated, but many weren¡¯t. The Watersons who fought in WWII didn¡¯t have high school diplomas; they dropped out in the 9th or 10th grade to work. After the war, some returned to school as adults and used the G.I. Bill went to trade school after getting their diplomas, while others took jobs that didn¡¯t require formal education, like truck driving or working as teamsters.


    Francis shared how his adoptive parents are his real parents in every way that matters. As we Watersons say, ¡°Family isn¡¯t who you¡¯re related to, but those who love you like their own.¡± His adoptive parents loved and raised him as if he were their biological child. To Francis, his biological parents are dead to him because they never checked in or sent a letter. He refuses to get a DNA test because he knows who his real parents are¡ªhis adoptive father, a police captain, and his adoptive mother, who worked at the Clearlake library.


    Francis made it clear that if his biological parents ever showed up at his doorstep, he¡¯d tell them to hit the road. His loyalty lies with the parents who were there for him, not the ones who abandoned him.


    Francis also opened up about his extensive adoptive family, who don''t see him as part of the family because they believe "family is biological." They don''t consider adoption as having a real family. I told Francis that many kids who want to be adopted either can''t be or face similar rejection. His adoptive parents, however, raised him as their own, showing that family is about love, not blood.


    Francis mentioned that some kids act out because they haven''t come to terms with losing their biological parents or fear they''ll never be adopted. He was adopted as an infant and believes that "adoption is meeting a child who isn''t your blood and welcoming them into your home." Unfortunately, his extensive adoptive family doesn''t hide their hatred for him and openly expresses it when he''s around. They only hold back when Cadenza is with him. The last time they said something hateful in her presence, she demanded an apology. When they refused, Cadenza, in a show of strength, took the cap off a fire hydrant and ripped it right off the chain. That certainly made them think twice about crossing her again.


    I can see why Francis loves Cadenza. She¡¯s fiery and willing to go much farther than Francis when it comes to standing up for him. Francis can hold his own, but Cadenza takes it to another level. When his adoptive family comes around to rub it in that they¡¯ll never accept him, Francis usually ignores them, believing that "sticks and stones may break bones, but words never hurt." But Cadenza treats him like an overprotective mother. When his adoptive family attacks, she hits back with words that cut deep, and she has no regrets about it.


    Cadenza is like those characters in books and movies who shout, ¡°I regret nothing!¡± Francis chuckled when he told me about a time she stood up for him against his adoptive family. Someone made a misogynistic comment to her, and Francis walked away, not knowing what she did, but the person quickly changed their tune. It was a classic "don¡¯t ask, don¡¯t tell" situation.


    Francis¡¯s adoptive family is more welcoming to Cadenza, not because she¡¯s a woman, but because she¡¯s a high-ranking Little Bird Army Officer who makes five times what they do. The average middle-class family on Little Bird makes $5,500 a year, while Cadenza makes $22,400 as a Lieutenant Commander. But Cadenza and Francis have made it clear that they won¡¯t put themselves in financial hardship to support people who don¡¯t see Francis as family.


    Cadenza despises Francis¡¯s extensive adoptive family because they always want a free handout. She told a story about how one of Francis¡¯s cousins, along with his pregnant wife and kids, moved into her farmhouse without permission. Cadenza yelled and screamed like a drill sergeant while Francis calmly called the cops. My cousin Mitchell and his partner Starlight, along with a few Island Patrol officers, showed up. Francis¡¯s cousin tried to present a fake rental agreement, but Mitchell pointed out the flaws like only having the renter signature not the landlord and not having how much the rent is. The cops were willing to let them go if they packed up and left, but when they argued, Mitchell set them straight, emphasizing that he didn¡¯t want to arrest them in front of their kids.


    Francis and Cadenza managed to get them to leave without incident. In a town like Clearlake, where the cops mostly deal with misdemeanors and family drama, they¡¯re immune to people pulling the pity card. If Francis¡¯s cousin had taken a swing at a cop, they would¡¯ve been arrested for attempted assault on a peace officer.


    We talked a lot about family. Francis finds it ironic that his adoptive extended family, who hate him, come to him and Cadenza for handouts when they hit financial hardships. Cadenza doesn¡¯t hold back, giving them a harsh version of ¡°get off my property.¡± Some even threatened legal action, but they never follow through because they don¡¯t have a case. Asking for money and being told no isn¡¯t something you can take to court. If they did, Francis would present all the evidence of how they¡¯ve treated him over the years. He¡¯s willing to help his adoptive parents, but the rest of his adoptive family can hit the road. Cadenza agrees, saying their poor financial planning isn¡¯t their problem. If she did loan them money, she¡¯d charge interest like a bank.


    Cadenza and Francis are financially responsible, focusing on essentials like bills and groceries, and saving most of their money. Francis mentioned that if they have children, they¡¯d set aside an inheritance for them, ensuring their kids have financial support when they turn eighteen or if something happens to them. It¡¯s a kind and loving gesture, showing how much they care about their future family. Cadenza would support their kids in whatever they choose to do with the money, whether it¡¯s college, university, or trade school.


    When Cadenza met Francis¡¯s adoptive parents, she mentioned joining the army. His adoptive father said, ¡°The army is a good career choice with great benefits, like having the monetary resources for a house down payment or advanced education.¡± Francis laughed, recalling how Cadenza nearly broke his adoptive father¡¯s hand with her strong handshake. It¡¯s clear that Cadenza and Francis are a strong team, ready to face whatever comes their way.


    Talking about family was a great distraction from the Alderman. I shared with Francis and Cadenza how some of my extended family members, especially stepsiblings, have accused each other of crimes to make their biological parents and stepparent hate them and kick them out, even if they¡¯re under eighteen. Those who get accused often move in with another Waterson who raises them as their own. Some have even lost their inheritance or college funds because their biological parents believed lies over the truth. It¡¯s ironic how, years later, when the truth comes out, these parents want to extend an olive branch to the very kids they showed no mercy to.


    I also told them about my cousins, whether first cousins or more distant, whose parents divorced and remarried. Sometimes, the parent they live with demands they stop talking to the other parent, threatening to kick them out if they don¡¯t comply. These kids often run away to be with other family members. If they come to a Waterson, we listen to them because we believe in showing compassion and support. My father always taught me that not everyone goes home to love and support, so we need to be there for each other.


    In the Waterson family, if a parent sides with their spouse or new spouse all the time and never believes their child, other Watersons will tell them to get their mental state checked. We believe our children but also encourage them to fight their own battles while being supportive. Those who dismiss their kids are labeled as ¡°Forgotten Watersons,¡± meaning we ignore them and pretend they never existed.


    The last ¡°Forgotten Waterson¡± I can think of is my great-granddad Terrence¡¯s father. When World War I broke out, Terrence and all eight of his brothers signed up for the British Armed Forces. Only Terrence and one brother survived. Their father shrugged off the deaths of five of his sons, saying, ¡°That¡¯s war; people die.¡± Terrence was similar when some of his own sons died in World War II, Korea, or Vietnam. But when I asked one of his former squad mates from WWII or Korea, he said, ¡°In war, people die, including loved ones and your enemies,¡± with a tone that was heartbroken and sad. Terrence was protective of his squad because the soldiers he led were around the same age as his sons. Even though they didn¡¯t all have the Waterson blue eyes and black hair, he saw his sons in their faces. Saving a squad mate was more like a father saving a son than a Sergeant protecting a Private.


    Cadenza and Francis totally get it. In a small town like Clearlake, everyone knows each other, and they¡¯ve seen parents who favor one child over another. These parents expect the neglected child to be tough and independent, often ignoring them during important events like sports or school projects. They¡¯ll go into debt to protect their favorite child but turn to the neglected one for money when they¡¯re in trouble. When the neglected child brings up the past, the parents expect them to act like nothing happened.


    Francis summed it up perfectly. ¡°If you treat people badly and don¡¯t give them anything to remember fondly, don¡¯t expect them to take one for the team just because they¡¯re family. They¡¯ll always bring up the negative.¡± It¡¯s true¡ªpeople remember the bad times vividly because they had to live through them.


    I shared a story about one of my first cousins. Her mother, a Waterson by blood, remarried and focused all her attention on her new husband and their children, neglecting her daughter from the previous marriage. She missed her daughter¡¯s sports practices, school projects, birthdays, and graduations. The Watersons never let her forget it. My cousin¡¯s step-siblings have organized family photos, but she has none with her parents or step-family. Her stepdad even threw out photos that included her biological dad.


    When my cousin wanted to play soccer, her mom and stepdad told her to quit for ¡°religious¡± reasons, even though they¡¯re atheists and agnostics. The Waterson family stepped in, got them to back off, and let her continue playing. When they grounded her for putting the spotlight on them, the family intervened again.


    As an adult, my cousin has to explain that the people in her photos are aunts, uncles, cousins, nephews, or nieces, not her mom or stepdad. Her mom and stepdad were too busy spoiling their own kids, turning them into entitled brats. On her eighteenth birthday, they made it all about her step-siblings, getting them a cake and presents while ignoring her. When she spoke up, they called her selfish. She stormed out in tears and called my dad and me. Why they came to Alabama well I never asked because none of my business, and my dad tore into them. When her step-siblings tried to defend their parents, my dad gave them a reality check; not everyone will bend over backward to please them.


    We threw her a ¡°Happy belated birthday¡± the following week, inviting her friends and other Watersons. Her mom, stepdad, and step-siblings showed up but threw a tantrum, destroyed the cake, and tore open presents that weren¡¯t meant for them. All the Watersons there gave her mom and stepdad the dirtiest look, silently saying, ¡°You¡¯re responsible for your kids being entitled, and one day they¡¯re going to get a reality check when someone knocks them down several pegs.¡±


    I told Cadenza and Francis about my cousin¡¯s ordeal with her stepbrother finding her journal. She had written down her true feelings, but her mother and stepfather either downplayed it or acted like they were great parents. When she finally confronted them with years of pent-up anger, they called her a loon and had her involuntarily committed for being "insane."


    The entire Waterson family, whether in Germany, the U.S., or Little Bird, rallied behind her. Those in Germany and the U.S. sent angry emails and texts, while those on Little Bird booked the next available flight to confront her parents in person. Her parents tried to play the pity card, claiming she was unstable, but the Watersons weren¡¯t buying it.


    Some Watersons who¡¯ve been bad parents at least have the guts to admit their mistakes and hope to repair their relationships with their children. But my cousin¡¯s mom and stepdad never admit any wrongdoing and act like saints. My dad told them to "cut the baloney," pointing out that no sane parent would hate their child or have them committed for expressing their feelings.


    Even my dad, who chose his new family over his only daughter, admits he was wrong. My grand uncle Stanley once said he¡¯d rather be back in the Ardennes Offensive (Battle of the Bulge) than hear about a mother and stepdad neglecting his grandniece.


    It¡¯s ironic how my cousin¡¯s mom and stepdad neglected her, but now that she¡¯s an adult with a career in tech, they show up asking for money. She throws their neglect back in their faces and tells them no. When they pull the "we¡¯re your parents" card, she tells her stepdad he¡¯s not her father. Real parents don¡¯t favor one child while neglecting another like a ghost.


    Talking about family isn¡¯t always fun, especially when it comes to parents who shouldn¡¯t have had kids in the first place. Cadenza, with her dark sense of humor, joked about how if she and Francis ever have kids, and those kids grow up to be the type who leave home at eighteen and never check in, she¡¯d pull the ¡°I raised you for eighteen years and this is how you repay me?¡± card. She¡¯s pretty independent, but she believes it¡¯s kind to check in on your parents.


    Cadenza mentioned that if their kids ever said they were just waiting for their inheritance, she¡¯d remind them that inheritance laws on Little Bird allow the person who set up the inheritance to change it at any time, even on the same day the inheritance is supposed to be given, unless it¡¯s already been received.


    Francis compared it to those sitcoms where spoiled brats love their parents until they become adults and leave, expecting to get their inheritance. Then they get mad when they find out the will or estate was changed before their parents passed away, leaving them with nothing. It¡¯s a harsh reality check, but it¡¯s a good reminder that respect and kindness should go both ways in a family.


    Cadenza mentioned that she calls her father every other day. At 48, he¡¯s a General and the leader of the Little Bird Army Special Forces, making him a prime target for enemy spies and assassins. She worries about him because of his high rank and the critical role he plays. Cadenza believes that in warfare, taking out high-ranking officers can cripple an enemy¡¯s command structure. She explained that while anyone can be a Private, there¡¯s only one sergeant per squad, one lieutenant per platoon, and so on. This creates a ¡°Limited Advancement Opportunity,¡± where everyone competes for limited positions.


    Francis, when he¡¯s not training or doing what he enjoys, talks to his parents every day to check up on them. Besides Cadenza, his adoptive parents are his only family, and he values staying connected with them.


    I asked Francis what he was fiddling with, and he told me it was a 7.62x52mm Little Bird Incendiary Armor Piercing round. He explained how effective it is, making short work of any infantry it hits, even when suppressed. The armor-piercing rounds are great for deterring enemy light vehicles. When they hit something like armor, the impact color is blue and throws off sparks.


    Francis also talked about his role as a machine gunner. He carries the M241 General Purpose Machine Gun, which is quite heavy and usually found in fixed positions or mounted on vehicles like the UH-140 Falcon helicopter. The M241 is portable at 10 kilograms (23 lbs) and mounted at 19.3 kilograms (42.5 lbs). It¡¯s air-cooled, gas-operated, electrically fired, and drum/linkless-fed. There are two versions: the one he uses with 7.62x52mm rounds and the heavy version with High Explosive-Incendiary .50 Cal HMG rounds, which are mounted on the Little Bird version of the Humvee and the coaxial machine guns of the M2 and M2A2 Main Battle Tanks.


    Francis explained that the M241 General Purpose Machine Gun is primarily used on vehicles or in fixed positions because it¡¯s essentially a Heavy Machine Gun. It doesn¡¯t have a bipod or tripod but uses a special stand to keep it off the ground. This means the gunner can¡¯t fire from a prone position and has to either crouch or bend their knees to use it even though bending your knees for a long time especially in a firefight would hurt your knees after a while. The M241 is usually mounted on vehicles because it¡¯s electrically fired, though not like a minigun that needs an external power source to spin up and fire. Francis even mentioned using a custom-built minigun in the war that had an internal power source instead of an external one.


    Cadenza shared some interesting insights about her father. He''s the type of leader if he sees a war becoming unwinnable or stalemated, would consider actions that might border on treason to back out without surrendering. She described him as a "lion in winter," a hero from times gone by, who believes that bureaucracies are often the downfall of countries in war. He¡¯s a soldier and officer who firmly believes in the principles on which Little Bird was founded, but his bitter experiences have left him with contempt for the way wars are often managed.


    Cadenza mentioned that her father hates hearing about commanders sending their troops into a meat grinder. He sees wars as the young and stupid dying for the old and greedy, with no end in sight. If Little Bird were ever stuck in a forever war, he would use his rank and authority to spread lies and disinformation to demoralize the troops and make the campaign look doomed.


    She also emphasized that the best kind of withdrawal is retreating on your own terms rather than being conquered or annexed and forced to surrender on the enemy¡¯s terms. Sometimes, it¡¯s better to retreat and save face than to be forced into a humiliating surrender.


    It¡¯s clear that Cadenza¡¯s father has a very pragmatic and somewhat cynical view of war, shaped by his experiences and the harsh realities of military life.


    Cadenza suggested we pay the corrupt Alderman a visit, and Francis was all in. He¡¯s the type of boyfriend who goes along with whatever makes his girlfriend happy, rather than picking a fight. I was going to say something, but I agreed.


    As we were leaving my apartment building, Francis mentioned that his car is actually a jeep. I shared a story about my family members who were on furlough during World War II. They often said, ¡°Half of the time when I wasn¡¯t in combat, I was driving around in a jeep.¡± Back then, civilians would ask, ¡°What the hell is a jeep?¡± because the iconic Willys jeep was introduced in 1941, and the first civilian models didn¡¯t come out until 1945. Conversations about jeeps went something like this:


    ¡°I was driving almost the whole time I was over there!¡± a Waterson would say.


    The guy would reply, ¡°Yeah, but this ain''t no tank!¡±


    ¡°I didn''t drive a tank, I drove a Jeep,¡± the Waterson would respond.


    The guy would then ask, ¡°What the hell is a Jeep?¡±


    Nowadays, everyone knows what a Jeep is. But back then, many people assumed my family members who fought in World War II were in the U.S. Armored Divisions or the United States Army Air Corps, driving M3 Stuart or M4 Sherman tanks, or flying B-17 Flying Fortresses, P-40 Warhawks, or P-51 Mustangs. In reality, many were infantry. I did have a grand uncle who flew a


    Curtiss SB2C Helldiver dive bomber for the U.S. Navy in 1944-45, though.


    Cadenza, Francis, and I had a deep conversation about family. Francis finds it incredibly hypocritical that his extensive adoptive family doesn¡¯t consider him part of the family, yet they constantly ask him for favors or money, pulling the ¡°we¡¯re family¡± card. When he says no, they throw tantrums or try to manipulate or gaslight him into helping them.


    Francis loves working on cars and helps his adoptive family with their vehicles, but he makes it clear he won¡¯t do it for free. He¡¯s drawn a metaphorical line in the sand. If they stiff him and don¡¯t pay or repay the favor, he refuses to help them again unless they pay. He even has it all written down in a sort of contract, so he could sue for breach of contract if needed. Little Bird¡¯s labor laws require payment for services, even within families, and failure to pay is a breach of contract.


    When I asked why he doesn¡¯t just sue them, Francis explained that he doesn¡¯t want to waste time in civil court with his adoptive family pulling every excuse in the book to make themselves look good. He has lines he won¡¯t cross and won¡¯t let his adoptive family walk all over him. His adoptive parents, on the other hand, always pay him, even if it¡¯s not with money. They might offer a home-cooked meal or quality family time, which he still considers payment because they keep their word.


    Francis mentioned that his adoptive father, being a cop, can¡¯t arrest family members for breach of contract since it¡¯s a court matter, not a police matter. However, if it turns into a dispute, it becomes a police matter due to public safety or peace.


    It¡¯s clear that Francis values respect and fairness, and he¡¯s willing to stand up for himself, even against family.


    Francis mentioned another incident with his extensive adoptive family. This time, a different "cousin" and his family moved into Cadenza¡¯s farmhouse, changed the locks, and claimed squatter¡¯s rights. I cut him off to ask if it was the same cousin who tried to move in before, but he clarified it was a different one. They claimed the house as theirs, but Little Bird doesn¡¯t recognize squatter¡¯s rights. Moving into someone else¡¯s home without permission or a lease is an open-and-shut case of trespassing, including breaking and entering, which are felonies.


    Since Cadenza is the legal owner of the farmhouse, Francis, being the gentle giant he is, stepped back to avoid saying things he might regret. He let Cadenza handle it. Francis said that in the war, Cadenza ¡°swore like a sailor¡± and she¡¯s the type to say what needs to be said. She¡¯s a shoot-first, ask-questions-later kind of gal, with social manners and education level peaking somewhere in high school. According to both Cadenza and Francis, she has two weapons: her very, very big mouth and whatever handgun she happens to be carrying that day. She uses both liberally. Cadenza doesn¡¯t do things by half-measures; she¡¯s either pleasantly jolly or howling mad, with no in-between.


    When Francis tried to settle it peacefully but failed, he stepped aside and let Cadenza handle it. They both said that a locked wooden door with a normal lock and deadbolt couldn¡¯t stop Cadenza¡¯s fury. I likened it to an F4 tornado ripping a tree out of the ground and throwing it miles away. Francis¡¯s extensive adoptive family calls Cadenza their ¡°Colorful friend¡± because of her colorful vocabulary.


    It¡¯s clear that Cadenza is fiercely protective and doesn¡¯t tolerate any nonsense, especially when it comes to family and property.


    Francis and Cadenza shared another wild story. Francis¡¯s ¡°cousin¡± and his wife moved into Cadenza¡¯s farmhouse, changed the locks, and claimed squatter¡¯s rights. When Cadenza told them to get out, the wife pulled the pregnancy card, accusing Cadenza of abusing and mentally torturing a pregnant woman. But Cadenza didn¡¯t care. Since Francis¡¯s family only comes around when they need something and don¡¯t see him as family, she doesn¡¯t see them as her future in-laws. Only Francis¡¯s adoptive parents treat him as their real son.


    Francis knows he¡¯s adopted because he saw the papers before his parents told him. When they suggested a DNA test to find his biological parents, he shut it down, saying his adoptive parents are his real parents because they chose to raise and love him.


    Francis also mentioned how he ruined the reputation of some of his extensive adoptive family in Clearlake. Later, they tried to be nice to him, but he saw through it. Thanks to Cadenza¡¯s influence, he¡¯s not easily fooled. When they tried to manipulate him, he told them to ¡°cut the shit.¡± Once, after calling them out, some of his adoptive family cornered him at school and beat him up. When they tried again, Cadenza and her half-brother Mitchell were there. Cadenza had a hickory wood baseball bat, and Mitchell brought one too. In the Commonwealth of Mountain, baseball bats are seen as both sporting equipment and improvised weapons, so the cops usually don¡¯t stop people carrying them because a majority of the time it¡¯s people going to go play baseball.


    Cadenza¡¯s fierce protectiveness and no-nonsense attitude have clearly rubbed off on Francis. It¡¯s amazing how they support each other and stand up to those who try to take advantage of them.


    I shared some stories with Cadenza and Francis about my female relatives who faced pressure from their in-laws to leave their jobs and adopt a domestic lifestyle. Us female Watersons always take offense to this because it¡¯s a way of saying we should give up our individuality and autonomy to become housewives. This kind of pressure always causes family drama because we believe in self-autonomy and not being puppets to our spouses.


    One of my female relatives had a particularly tough time. Her husband¡¯s family wanted her to quit her job, close her bank account, and hand over all her money to her husband. She took offense, and rightly so. Her in-laws refused to accept that gender roles have changed. The final straw was after the Gulf War when her brother came back and surprised her with a hug. Her husband jumped to the conclusion that she was cheating. She divorced him, moved out, and moved in with family. Her husband fought for full custody of the kids, and his parents filed for grandparents'' rights. She presented evidence that painted him as unstable and fought her in-laws, who wanted to take her daughter and raise her in their image.


    Mitchell isn¡¯t with us now because he went back to Clearlake to be with his wife, but his mother-in-law always says that women have a choice. Some have careers and families, some become homemakers, and some focus solely on their careers. It¡¯s all about choice, and that choice has to come from them, not from being manipulated into a life they don¡¯t want to live.


    I shared with Cadenza and Francis about my grand aunt Lily, who was one of the millions of women employed in defense factories during World War II. Her husband didn¡¯t want her to work because her twin sister, Diamond, was mentally challenged and could only say ¡°Pop.¡± In 1945, when the war ended, he tried to convince her to quit, but she refused. He quickly backed off because many of her brothers had returned home after fighting in North Africa, Europe, or the Pacific. He knew better than to keep fighting with someone whose family had just come back from war.


    I also told them about a few of my female cousins who have great-paying jobs. Their in-laws are disappointed that their sons are with women who make more money than they do. This dynamic often helps when their husbands get laid off or fired and lie about it. My cousins, who have great-paying jobs, usually have two credit cards¡ªone for regular use and one for emergencies. Some husbands take the emergency card and go on spending sprees. With the advent of smartphones and banking apps, my cousins get notifications for every purchase. They usually get the last laugh by canceling the second card and marking each unauthorized charge as fraudulent. That makes their husbands look dumb founded when they try to use said card but it keeps getting declined.


    Francis mentioned that according to Cadenza¡¯s military psych report, she has "an unhealthy emotional detachment in regards to the consequences of her actions." From what I¡¯ve seen, I completely believe it. Cadenza added that her father¡¯s side of the family doesn¡¯t invite her to events because of her deadpan snarker attitude. She¡¯ll say whatever¡¯s on her mind, even at inappropriate times like funerals or weddings.


    Cadenza is one of those people who gives brutal honesty without warning. Us Watersons, on the other hand, usually give a heads-up, telling people to back out if they don¡¯t really want to hear the truth. Most people who ask for honest opinions don¡¯t actually want them. But Cadenza? She doesn¡¯t hold back and doesn¡¯t give any warnings. She just lays it all out there, no matter the situation.


    It¡¯s clear that Cadenza¡¯s straightforwardness and lack of filter can be both a strength and a challenge, depending on the context.


    When we arrived at the Alderman¡¯s office building, Cadenza shared a story about her father¡¯s side of the family. They often invite her to "adult-only" parties, but then have their kids there. Cadenza, being her straightforward self, always asks, ¡°If it¡¯s an adult-only party, then why are your kids here?¡± She has a point because these parties end up being more about entertaining the kids than allowing adults to speak freely.


    Cadenza explained that these parties are supposed to be a space where adults can talk about adult topics without having to censor themselves. But instead, the hosts expect everyone to pay attention to their kids, play board games with them, and essentially turn the party into a family-friendly event. This frustrates Cadenza because it defeats the purpose of an adult-only gathering. She feels, and rightly so, that if people are going to pay for a babysitter to watch their own kids, they shouldn¡¯t have to spend the evening entertaining someone else¡¯s.


    She clarified that these parties aren¡¯t about cheating or anything scandalous, just a place for adults to talk freely. But when kids are present, it forces everyone to censor themselves and talk in a way that¡¯s appropriate for children. Cadenza¡¯s blunt honesty often gets her in trouble, but she¡¯s just saying what everyone else is thinking. She left one of these parties early because she felt disrespected, and I agree with her. If it¡¯s supposed to be an adult-only event, then it should be just that.


    When we got to the Alderman¡¯s office, we let Cadenza handle the talking. Francis and I stayed in the lobby, but we could hear Cadenza loud and clear. Francis mentioned that when there¡¯s a shouting match, Cadenza is louder than a military drill sergeant.


    I asked Francis about Project Phoenix. He explained that they¡¯re trained to be killing machines who often operate independently. The project started in 1945, but the first class of Phoenixes was created and trained in October 1945, just after the war ended, so the program was put on hold. The selected soldiers were given a serum that increased their damage resistance and dampened higher brain functions, making them tough shock troops for human-wave assaults. This serum also made them jumpy and aggressive, unlike the German D-IX, which only provided bursts of energy.


    We then talked about family. Francis shared a story about a member of his adoptive mother¡¯s side who called him and Cadenza one night, claiming their child had gambled away a lot of money and was in danger. They needed money to pay off the debt or the child would be killed. Francis didn¡¯t help because of the hate they¡¯ve shown him for not being biologically related. A few days later, a lawyer called, revealing it was a test, and Francis had failed. He found it laughable. When he talked to his adoptive father, a Captain in the Island Patrol, his dad said faking a life-or-death situation to get money is a crime. He pulled rank and had officers visit and fine them for the false claim. If Francis had reported it immediately, they could have been arrested for trying to get money under false pretenses.


    It¡¯s clear that Francis and Cadenza don¡¯t tolerate manipulation or deceit, especially from family.


    I shared with Francis how some of my family members who remarried have stepkids who expect their biological kids to help pay off their debts or student loans. It¡¯s not their responsibility, and pulling the ¡°we¡¯re family¡± card gets old fast. I told him how some step-parents and step-siblings take things way too far.


    When I first came to Arcane University, I approached family members for help in case my dad couldn¡¯t cover the full tuition. Many chipped in, and I used their money for supplies and food. Once I got a part-time job, I saved up and paid them back. They also supported me emotionally and mentally.


    I told Francis about some family members whose step-siblings or step-parents committed criminal acts, like claiming them as dependents on taxes or using their social security numbers. We Watersons are smart enough to freeze our credit or check it often and report anything suspicious.


    Some female family members have had step-parents try to force them to marry their step-brothers. Even their biological parents step in to say that¡¯s too far. They¡¯ll always be step-siblings, nothing more.


    It¡¯s crazy how some people try to manipulate and take advantage of family.


    In the lobby of Alderman Robert Elephant''s office, I was deep in conversation with Francis while Cadenza was still in the office, giving the Alderman an earful. We were talking about family dynamics, and I couldn''t help but shake my head as I shared some insights with Francis.


    "At least the women in the Waterson family worry in a good way," I said. "Many of them have boyfriends or husbands, and if they get a call or text about an emergency, they don''t ignore it. Francis asked if it''s a natural instinct because women are often seen as better caretakers, like nurses or female doctors. While that''s true, it''s more than that. Some of the men in our family have girlfriends who don''t take their calls seriously when they''re in pain. They think the guys are exaggerating until they end up in the hospital. It''s a serious issue."


    I continued, "Many of the male Watersons are lucky to be dating or married to women who actually worry if they get a call or text about something severe. They know it shouldn''t be taken lightly. Heck, some of my family members, if they''re too far away to help, will call someone close to check up or even call an ambulance just in case."


    Francis nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. "Of course, there are those who date people who don''t check in or call, and if they end up in the hospital, they won''t be believed until they come home and it''s too late."


    I added, "And back in America, many of my family members are into true crime podcasts and shows. They become detectives when their spouse or partner starts acting secretive, trying to figure out what''s going on."


    It was a heavy conversation, but one that needed to be had. Family dynamics can be complicated, but it''s important to take each other''s concerns seriously, especially when it comes to health and emergencies.


    I shared with Francis that in the Waterson family, there''s a strict rule: no one can date another Waterson''s ex-girlfriend, ex-wife, cousin, brother, niece, nephew, sister, or half-sister without explicit, crystal-clear permission. This ensures that no one feels like someone else is swooping in on their past relationships or close family ties.


    I also mentioned that the Fire Department in the City of Empire has a similar unwritten rule. Firefighters can''t date another firefighter''s ex-girlfriend, ex-wife, cousin, brother, niece, nephew, sister, or half-sister without clear permission. It''s all about respect and maintaining harmony within the team.


    I told Francis about a rule in the Waterson family: no one can date another Waterson''s ex-girlfriend, ex-wife, cousin, brother, niece, nephew, sister, or half-sister without explicit, crystal-clear permission. This rule is in place to prevent any feelings of betrayal or disrespect. If someone wants to date a relative''s ex, they must get permission first to avoid any family rivalry or drama.


    Francis was about to say something, likely agreeing that this rule makes sense. Many people cheat with a lover''s family member, usually a sibling, so getting permission ensures it''s not seen as a slap in the face.


    I also shared stories about some of my female relatives who struggle to have kids naturally. Their husbands or boyfriends often leave them, cheating with another woman or even a sister-in-law. In the Waterson family, adultery is taken very seriously. When these women find out, they don''t just sit back. They call a moving company and have their unfaithful partner''s stuff moved out, often to the cheater''s new place. This causes marital problems for the cheater and their new partner, but to us, it''s fair game. Cheating and being unfaithful are not taken lightly.


    I recounted a story about one of my female cousins who couldn''t have children. She found out her husband was cheating on her with her own sister. This caused a huge fight. Her sister tried to downplay the situation, but my cousin wasn''t having it. Religious beliefs make this even more serious for many Watersons. Her husband didn''t ask for her permission before trying for a kid with her sister, which was another slap in the face.


    When Francis asked what happened, I told him how my cousin''s sister painted her as the villain for getting a divorce and sending her ex-husband''s stuff to her sister''s house. This caused marital strife between her sister and her husband. Even their parents sided with my cousin, saying she had every right to kick out her unfaithful husband.


    Francis then shared how his family doesn''t have siblings demanding money for a "golden child." He mentioned how one of his cousins called him and Cadenza in the middle of the night, expecting a handout. Cadenza offered to loan the money with interest, but when they refused to pay her back, she used every colorful word in the book. Francis''s adoptive family sounds like to me they¡¯re the kind who often gets loans from loan sharks or the mafia and ends up in debt because they won''t pay back.


    Francis shared how his extensive adoptive family on both sides can''t get bank loans due to terrible credit scores. They often resort to borrowing money without repaying or turning to organized crime. Even Francis''s adoptive father warned them about the dangers of borrowing from the mafia, emphasizing that the mafia always gets their money back with interest.


    I chimed in with a story about my great-uncle Jimmy "James" Richard Waterson I. As the head of the Waterson Mafia family, he made loan terms crystal clear. Back in 1954, someone asked him for a $35k loan, and he expected $20k back as interest. While not heartless like movie mobsters, he sometimes extended loan paybacks if there was a good reason. Unlike some loan sharks, he didn''t add more interest if people made partial payments, understanding the burden of constant interest.


    Francis mentioned how everyone on Little Bird knows James Waterson. In the early ''50s, he was dubbed "THE MAFIA DON WHO BROKE TRADITION" for allowing people of different nationalities and women to join his ranks. A WWII vet, he believed in gratitude for those who saved lives, regardless of background. Despite being progressive, other Mafia families saw him as weak until he outmaneuvered them, revitalizing Fort Flurry by legalizing gambling and building casinos, saving the city from economic decline.


    Francis then talked about his adoptive mother''s sister, who married a much older, wealthy man. She had no concept of money, having been spoiled by their parents. Francis''s adoptive mother had to give her earnings to her sister, and when she refused, she was called selfish. When Francis''s adoptive parents got together, her mother expected them to support her sister financially. Francis''s adoptive grandfather, a police lieutenant, told her parents that siblings have no financial responsibility to support each other. He even threatened to arrest them for child abandonment if they disowned her.


    Francis''s adoptive grandfather also warned that many foster parents are in it for the government paycheck, not out of love for children. This scared her parents into easing up on her. His adoptive aunt, however, married a rich man and spent his money recklessly. Cracks in the marriage appeared, and despite signing a prenup, she thought it was her ticket to a higher social circle. When the marriage fell apart, she got nothing due to the prenup.


    Francis''s stories highlighted the complexities of family dynamics and the importance of financial responsibility and respect within relationships.


    I told Francis about some of the dynamics in my extensive family. Some Watersons are spoiled brats, the golden children to their parents, while others lack a backbone and just go along with their spouse''s wishes, neglecting their other kids. I shared a story about my cousin twice removed. Her father didn''t have a backbone and always agreed with his wife, spoiling her siblings while leaving her out. They even had the audacity to ask her to drop out of school to take care of her spoiled siblings. When she refused, her mother got offended, and her father sided with his wife, creating a win-lose situation: the parents winning by not fully taking care of their spoiled kids, and my cousin losing by having to care for siblings who hated her.


    When they grounded her and took away her phone, she managed to contact some extended family, who put an unwanted spotlight on her parents. They tried to save face but failed. After the spotlight was removed, they doubled down on their behavior. Eventually, another Waterson took her and her siblings away to live with him until their parents straightened out. Her spoiled siblings hated living with someone who didn''t bend over backward for them.


    She told me about her siblings'' tantrums. One would throw a fit, kicking and screaming on the floor. When asked what was wrong, she said they were throwing a tantrum, and his response was priceless. "Don''t get your clothes all dirty." Another would hold her breath until she got what she wanted. When asked what she was doing, she said she was holding her breath, and his response was, "That''s a good lung exercise." Their spoiled behavior didn''t work on someone who wasn''t putting up with it.


    When it came to her part-time job, her parents demanded she give her minimum wage earnings to her spoiled siblings. She got used to it because her parents would yell at her if she didn''t. But he caught her in the act and asked, "Did you work for this money, or did they?" She said she worked for it, and he replied, "Why are you giving your hard-earned money to people who don''t work for theirs?" When she explained how her parents forced her, he said, "Are they here? No, your parents aren''t here, so it''s your money. Spend it how you want, not how others want you to."


    I told Francis about my cousin twice removed and how her parents only shared their side of the story with friends and family. In the Waterson family, we always seek the full picture, not just one side. We make informed decisions based on all perspectives. The Watersons with backbones called out my cousin''s parents for being childish, expecting a teenager to act as a mother to her spoiled siblings. They pointed out how unfair it was to expect her to be financially responsible for her siblings when she wasn''t their parent.


    I shared how back in ''82, my cousin got an Atari 5200 for Christmas but was forced to share it with her siblings, while they didn''t have to share their gifts with her. This double standard infuriated the Watersons at the Christmas party. Some Watersons who had to drop out of school during the Great Depression to support their families scolded her parents. They talked about how they had to take any job they could find, often in poor conditions, and how the first federal minimum wage was established in 1938 at 25¡é an hour.


    When my cousin''s mother started crying crocodile tears, every female Waterson, whether by blood or marriage, told her to stop. They said she had nothing to cry over and was only upset because her and her husband''s behavior had been exposed in front of everyone. It was a powerful moment, showing that the Watersons don''t tolerate unfairness or hypocrisy, especially when it comes to family dynamics.


    I told Francis about another one of my female cousins who was married to a literal man-child. This guy took her savings, which she had set aside for their kids'' education, their retirement, and general savings, and secretly gave it all to his unemployed sister for a huge party. When she confronted him, he pulled the "It''s my money" card, even though it was her hard-earned money. He even had the nerve to call her an "ungrateful housewife," despite the fact that she worked after the kids left for school and was home before they got back, managing both work and house chores.


    That was the final straw for her. She got her brother involved, who demanded that her husband call her an "ungrateful housewife" again so he could send him to the hospital. I told Francis how some men in my family feel like living, breathing ATMs and taxi services for their kids and wives. Whenever they try to plan something with their family, they''re shot down, dismissed, and ignored. One male Waterson even woke up to find his house empty because his wife and kids had gone on vacation without him. When he does something by himself or with other family members, they get mad and accuse him of excluding them. It''s ironic¡ªthey do things without him all the time, but if he does the same, he''s the bad guy.


    Their birthdays and other important events often get ignored, but when they go out without their wife and kids, they''re painted as the villains. It''s a frustrating double standard that many Waterson men have to deal with. But if a man does it to a Waterson woman then us female Waterson¡¯s are the living persona of ¡°Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.¡±


    Cadenza then left the Alderman¡¯s office. She looked like she was ready to go back for round two of yelling and screaming. But guess she was done yelling and screaming.


    I was about to ask something but Francis shook his head telling me no to keep me from asking her a question because some questions are better not to ask when someone is angry.

 Chapter Twenty

    As I strolled through the park, enjoying the serenity, Cadenza was by my side, acting as my "security." Honestly, any help is appreciated, especially when it comes to taking down a corrupt Alderman. If anyone wants to join the fight, the door is wide open.


    "Van, sliding door on the side, driver and passenger door with a double back door," Cadenza noted, her voice steady. "Two people inside. Color is white. It¡¯s at our 7 o''clock position."


    I was about to comment, but Cadenza is one of those people who knows how to check if we''re being tailed. She takes alternate routes, stops to tie her shoe, checks her watch, or takes a sip from a water bottle¡ªanything to blend in and not tip off our followers that we''re onto them.


    Cadenza suddenly stopped me and handed over a pistol. I glanced at it, recognizing it as a pocket pistol. Just as I was about to speak, she launched into a quick rundown of what a pocket pistol is, even though I was already familiar with it. It was a .32 ACP caliber, self-loading, semi-automatic pistol.


    With the pistol in hand, I left the park, trusting Cadenza to handle our tail. She¡¯s got a knack for these situations, and I knew she¡¯d take care of it.


    _______________


    After taking a series of alleyways and the long route to ensure I wasn''t being followed, I finally made it back to my apartment. As I approached, I noticed my stepmother, Martha, lingering in the hallway. The last time she barged into my place without permission, I had to threaten legal action to keep her at bay.


    "What do you want, Martha?" I asked, trying to keep my cool.


    She launched into a speech about setting up rules and boundaries for me. I nearly did a spit take. Martha is only three years older than me¡ªI''m twenty-seven, and she''s thirty. Sure, she''s technically my stepmother, but she has no authority to impose rules on me. I''m an adult, not a child.


    She started listing her "house rules": no going outside past 9 PM on weekdays (10 PM on weekends), finding a "suitable" partner (as if my girlfriend, Lusty, isn''t good enough), and monitoring all my phone calls to track my monthly usage.


    I was about to tell her she''d lost her marbles. I reminded her that she could go back to the U.S. and impose these rules on her teenage sons. Here in Little Bird, all landline calls are already monitored and billed per minute¡ª25 cents for short distance and 75 cents for long distance.


    When I told her she was out of her mind, she threatened to tell my dad. I told her to go ahead. My dad would take my side because I''m an adult, not living under her roof.


    Martha seemed more shocked by the fact that my landline phone was already being monitored than by my comment about her losing her rocker. I had to give her the lowdown on how the phone company operates.


    I explained that there are three main departments in the phone company: the "Traffic" Department, which connects calls to other houses or businesses; the "Billing" Department, which tracks the minutes and distance of each call to accurately bill customers; and the "Information" Department, which helps people find phone numbers if they only have an address.


    If my dad were here, he''d totally get what I was talking about. Born in 1966, he often shared stories about how he or his mom would call information to get a number when they only had an address. He also loved reminiscing about the "party lines" he and his friends used to have back in the late ''70s and early ''80s. Those were the days when a single phone line could be shared by multiple households, leading to some interesting conversations!


    I let Martha continue her rant about setting house rules for my apartment, even though I already have my own rules. I''m pretty relaxed about them since I live alone. I had told my girlfriend, Lusty, that I wanted my own place because I''m not the type to live with a significant other and risk growing bored of each other.


    When I was going through the Fire Department City of Empire fire academy, I stayed with Lusty. But after graduating, I got my own place. I believe that living separately helps maintain our relationship. Even if Lusty and I tie the knot, we plan to live apart and go on dates every other week when our schedules align.


    Martha kept rambling, even suggesting I need a man in my life to give me children. Honestly, I''d rather be back in middle or high school math and science classes. Those classes always felt like they dragged on forever, especially since math was my first class in middle school and science was my last. In high school, it was reversed, with science first and math last. Time seemed to crawl in those classes, unlike my other subjects where it flew by.


    After all that, Martha hit me with an unbelievable request; she wanted me to help my stepbrothers submit their applications to Arcane University. I tried to explain that Arcane University isn''t some party school or high school where anyone can get in. It''s a place that values intellect and hard work. They don''t hand out freebies¡ªyou have to earn everything.


    I told her that at Arcane, students have to pay for their meals, school supplies, and even campus housing if they don''t want to live in a dorm. They need to get jobs to cover these expenses.


    When Martha started raising her voice, I stood my ground. I explained that Arcane University prepares students for the real world, where "Mommy and Daddy won''t always be there to help." The professors there are tough; if you ask to borrow a pencil or use the sharpener in the middle of class, they''ll tell you how unprepared you are. They expect you to be self-sufficient and ready for anything.


    I could see she was taken aback, but I had to make her understand that Arcane University is a place where you have to prove yourself every step of the way.


    Martha insisted that I should be the ¡°big sister¡± of the family, but I barely know her two sons, my stepbrothers. I¡¯ve only met them a couple of times, so they still feel like strangers to me.


    She claimed that the costs weren¡¯t too high, so I grabbed a notepad and broke it down for her:


    <ul>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Application Fee: $50 per student</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">School Supplies: $180 (textbooks, notebooks, and other essentials)</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Laptops: $250 per laptop (for certain classes)</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Tuition: $5,500 per year (fees may vary depending on the courses)</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">On-Campus Housing: $150 per month</li>


    </ul>


    I explained that the minimum wage in Little Bird is $45 per week, or half that for part-time workers. Many students struggle to balance work and school because Arcane University classes run from 8 AM to 5 PM. Part-time jobs only offer 3-4 hours of work per day, earning about $4.50 to $6 daily. By the time they get back to their dorms, they¡¯re exhausted and still have to study.


    I also mentioned that stores in Little Bird close around 8:30-9 PM, making it even harder for students to manage their time. Sundays are universally off due to Blue Laws, which restrict most businesses from operating for religious reasons. These laws allow some exceptions, like mechanics, manufacturers, and bakers, but generally, students use Sundays to unwind and destress.


    Despite my detailed explanation, Martha seemed more focused on getting her sons into Arcane University. I told her she¡¯d need to get their passports for travel from the U.S. to Little Bird. When she suggested I could get them Little Birden passports, I had to explain that it would be a felony. Instead, she should go to the Little Bird embassy in the U.S. to get education and work visas for her sons if they get accepted into Arcane University.


    When Martha asked why getting my stepbrothers Little Birden passports would be a felony, I had to break it down for her. What she was suggesting fell under forgery, forgery of government documents, and obtaining passports for non-citizens. She seemed confused, especially since I live in Little Bird but don''t have a Little Birden passport. I explained that I have dual citizenship¡ªI''m an American by birth and moved to Little Bird after my tour of duty with the U.S. Navy. I don''t need a Little Birden passport because my American one suffices. Her suggestion to get her son''s Little Birden passports was illegal.


    Martha still didn''t seem to grasp the seriousness of it, so I told her she was welcome to try getting forged passports if she wanted her sons to end up in prison for using falsified documents.


    When she claimed I didn''t even know what a Little Birden passport looked like, I described it to her. A blue passport with a silver or gold emblem on the front and a dark orange binding. I explained that passports are essential identification documents, carrying information like name, sex, date of birth, and nationality. The cover colors vary depending on the country of issue.


    I hoped this would finally make her understand the gravity of what she was asking.


    When Martha claimed that nothing serious happens to those with fake passports, I had to set her straight. I reminded her that four years ago, a Little Bird citizen was caught with a fake passport during wartime and was executed as a spy. That seemed to give her pause.


    Then she shifted gears, insisting I needed to be with a man to have children. Martha is only sixteen years younger than my mom, and both of them want me to break up with my girlfriend, Lusty, to be with a man. They see my relationship as an insult because I''m dating someone of the same gender. To them, I''m still a bachelorette. They want to marry off and have kids, so they can be grandmothers.


    But I have my boundaries. I''m not the type to walk on eggshells to please them. I don''t care what others think. If I want children, I''ll decide when I''m ready. Right now, I''m not. Lusty and I have a strong relationship, and I''m not about to let anyone dictate how I live my life.


    Martha just wouldn''t stop talking, no matter how many times I told her to. She''s one of those people who never shuts up, even when asked politely or rudely. I did my best to tune her out, but when I got to my bedroom, I was planning to do some laundry. I opened the dirty clothes basket and found it empty.


    I asked Martha if she had gotten rid of my clothes. She casually admitted she had, saying I needed to wear more feminine clothes. I was livid. Martha is the kind of stepmother who demands respect but never gives it. She never stops to ask what it would take to make me like her; instead, she does the opposite. I swear, Martha and my mother should be friends¡ªthey both think I''m a doll, not a person with autonomy.


    I was about to run down the hall and confront her, but I knew I''d end up saying things I''d regret later. Sometimes, it''s better to take a deep breath and think before reacting, even when dealing with someone as infuriating as Martha.


    When Martha started lecturing me about not being confused, I had to draw the line. I respect people¡¯s beliefs and ideologies, but I don¡¯t appreciate them being shoved down my throat. My mother and stepmother have outdated views on what women should be like, views that might have flown before the 1960s. I choose to wear men¡¯s clothing because it¡¯s what I¡¯m comfortable in. Sure, I wear dresses and skirts for special occasions, but my everyday outfit is jeans, socks, slip-on shoes or athletic shoes, a white t-shirt, an overshirt that¡¯s buttoned up and tucked in, and a black leather belt.


    Martha went on about how my dad was too soft on me as a child and teenager, letting me wear whatever I wanted because he wasn¡¯t around much and my mom wasn¡¯t in the picture. I told her not to even go there.


    I then stuck my hand out and demanded $150 from her. I explained that instead of buying individual pieces of clothing, I buy full outfits because it¡¯s a bargain. Many clothing stores in Little Bird sell outfits as a set, including shoes, pants, and shirts.


    She refused, so I dragged her to the nearest clothing store to show her the prices:


    <ul>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Dresses/Shirt: $25.00</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Leather Jacket: $41.25</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Casual Suit and Raincoat: $82.00</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Casual Suit: $67.25</li>


    </ul>


    Martha argued that just saying ¡°shirt¡± was misleading because it included pants, shoes, and even belts. She insisted I get dresses, even though a dress and heels cost the same as a shirt and pants¡ª$25.


    I stood my ground, making it clear that I wear what I¡¯m comfortable in, and no amount of nagging would change that.


    I ended up getting eight shirt outfits, mostly in red and blue. I considered white, but since it symbolizes purity and innocence, I stuck with my usual colors. It''s kind of ironic that I chose red, given that it''s often used to depict fire, and I''m a firefighter. But honestly, I don''t mind.


    I also picked up a casual suit and raincoat, even though I didn''t really need them. In total, I spent $150 on the shirts and another $82 on the suit and raincoat. It was worth it to have clothes that make me feel comfortable and confident.


    Martha then asked if she could go clothes shopping, and I agreed. I took her to a fancier clothing store, knowing her preference for designer clothes over thrift store finds or everyday wear. As soon as she saw the prices, her eyes widened:


    <ul>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Dresses/Shirt: $35.00</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Leather Jacket: $50.25</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Tailored Suit: $115.00</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Tailored Suit and Overcoat: $145.00</li>


    </ul>


    She was about to comment on the prices, but I reminded her that this was a designer store. Naturally, it¡¯s going to be pricier than a regular clothing store. If she wanted high-end fashion, she had to be prepared for the cost.


    As Martha continued browsing the clothes, she brought up the idea of me paying for her sons'' college tuition. I firmly told her no and asked her to respect my decision. I''m not financially responsible for Jake and Alex, and she needs to stop asking me for money to send them to Arcane University.


    Then she switched topics, suggesting I should break up with my girlfriend, date a man, have children, and quit my job to become a housewife. Martha is incredibly insensitive and wants me to be someone I''m not. She demands respect from her stepkids but goes about it all wrong. Her views on women are severely outdated, stuck in the 1950s, even though it''s 2010. Both she and my biological mother hold these old-fashioned beliefs.


    I respect their right to their beliefs, but I''m not here to change their minds. I live my life on my terms, and I''m not about to let anyone dictate how I should live, love, or work. If they can''t accept that, it''s their problem, not mine.


    I know exactly the kind of woman Martha is. It''s not just her outdated views; she''s the type who would blow off important events for trivial reasons. She''d skip her sons'' events to watch a rerun of "The Golden Girls." Don''t get me wrong, I loved that show when I was younger, but Martha takes it to another level. She''d ignore significant moments, like engagement parties, for things that can''t be recreated. Sure, people can have another engagement party if they get divorced and find new partners, but that first engagement party is unique and irreplaceable.


    Martha''s priorities are all over the place, and it''s frustrating. She doesn''t seem to understand the value of these once-in-a-lifetime moments. It''s just another reason why I can''t take her seriously when she tries to impose her outdated beliefs on me.


    Martha''s insistence on me paying for Jake and Alex''s future education at Arcane University is just another example of her overstepping. I don''t have any responsibility for their housing, fees, or tuition. If they do come to the city of Empire for school, I can give them a map and recommend some great diners and places to eat. But actually giving them money? No way. They''re not my kids, and I''m not their guardian, so I have no financial responsibility for them.


    Honestly, I don''t even have any obligation to help them. Yes, they''re my stepbrothers, but the only one I really like is Jake. He''s responsible and has a bright future ahead of him. Alex, on the other hand, seems destined to be a couch surfer and couch potato, likely still living with Martha and my dad, who is their stepdad.


    I have a feeling Martha will keep pushing me to fund their college tuition, but I''m going to stand my ground and refuse. It''s not my responsibility, and I''m not about to let her guilt-trip me into it.


    I have a sneaking suspicion that Martha might try to set me up on a date with one of her family members. I''ve seen this play out with other family members whose parents remarried. Their stepparents often tried to set them up with someone from their side of the family, and those dates usually turned out to be with people who should probably have a rap sheet.


    Us Watersons don''t appreciate our parents or stepparents playing matchmaker for us. We prefer to find love on our own terms. Some of my relatives have had their parents set them up on dates or blind dates with people they didn''t know, based on their parents'' tastes rather than their own. It''s frustrating because it feels like our preferences don''t matter.


    I''ve heard horror stories from my family about parents and stepparents trying to marry them off to step-siblings or step-cousins. They''d talk about weddings and future plans before the stepchild could even voice their objections. When they did, their wishes were often ignored. Some even went as far as setting up hidden cameras to catch inappropriate behavior, only for the parents to be more upset about the cameras than the behavior itself.


    It''s a mess, and I''m not about to let Martha drag me into it. If she tries to set me up, I''ll make it clear that I''m not interested. I have my own life and my own relationship, and I''m not about to let anyone dictate how I should live it.


    As I waited for Martha to finish her shopping, I got a notification on my phone. It was from an anonymous account, but I knew it was my mother. She had tagged me in a photo she posted on social media of me in my fire department formal suit.


    She went on a rant about how my generation, Millennials, is weak. The nerve of her! But my family members jumped to my defense in the comments, pointing out that times have changed. Many of them grew up when my mother and stepmother''s views were the norm, but we''re in the 21st century now, not the 20th. Their outdated beliefs are becoming relics of the past.


    Some of my mom''s own family members even made jokes. One said, "Does this mean we have to go back to trading livestock as currency instead of using paper money?"


    Another cousin chimed in with, "Do the militaries around the world have to go back to chain mail armor and only armed with swords and bows, shouting ''Retake the Holy Lands'' on the way to a combat zone?"


    I couldn''t help but chuckle at their comments. It was nice to see my family standing up for me and poking fun at the absurdity of my mother''s outdated views.


    My mother''s side of the family doesn''t just hate me for being alive or for my accomplishments; they hate me because I''m the daughter of a woman who manipulates and gaslights others. If manipulating and gaslighting were Olympic sports, my mother would win gold medals.


    They can''t stand that someone like my mother could have a child like me. They hate my accomplishments and the fact that I didn''t turn out like her. Even if I had become like her, she would have hated me anyway. They don''t hate me for who I am; they hate me because my mother never took the time to care for me.


    Some of my female relatives on both sides of the family left nasty comments for my mother. They said things like, "This isn''t the 1800s; women have a lot more choices now," and "What''s wrong with a woman being independent and making her own money?" Another comment was, "If you want to be a housewife, you can always remarry and rely on your husband''s income."


    Some family members, both Watersons and from my mother''s side, speculated about my bisexuality. They said it''s my business, not anyone else''s. They pointed out that mothers like mine are why many kids are scared to talk to their parents or run away from home because of how dismissive they are.


    I can only imagine my mother''s reaction to those comments. She''s always made it clear that she''s not proud of me because I''m not a housewife or a master manipulator like her. She hates that I''m "more of a Waterson than her," and she''s right. My dad, a Waterson, raised me, especially when he was deployed for Operation Just Cause and the Gulf War. He left me with other Watersons, keeping me away from my mother. So yes, I was raised with the Waterson way of life¡ªstrong, independent, and ready to fight when necessary.


    One of my friends even left a comment saying, "At least her dad is proud of her achievements and her hard work. Even when she fell off her bike or out of a tree, she got back up, and her dad was proud of her for that. He¡¯s proud because she didn¡¯t take advantage of anyone. Even if she had followed in your footsteps, you still would¡¯ve hated her for it!"


    It''s true. My dad has always been proud of me for who I am and what I''ve accomplished. I didn''t take the easy route or manipulate others to get ahead. I worked hard and earned everything I have. That''s something my mother will never understand or appreciate. But that''s okay. I know who I am, and I know my worth.


    I know my mother well enough to understand her manipulative ways. Before she and my dad got together in the early ''80s (I was born in May ''84, so it must have been between 1980 and 1983), I''ve heard stories about her. One particularly telling story is how she tried to "convince" her cousin to let her walk down the aisle at her cousin''s wedding. By "convince," I mean manipulate. Her cousin, of course, told her to hit the road because weddings are significant events, and her cousin was determined to walk down the aisle herself, with her dad giving her away.


    My mom, legend has it, has no idea why fathers give away their daughters at weddings. So, I


    It''s funny how my mom''s manipulative nature has always been a part of her, even before I decided to leave a comment explaining it. I mentioned that traditionally, it represents a transfer of ownership from the father to the new husband. But in the Waterson family, we see it as the father trusting the husband to be there and protect his daughter. It''s even funnier how she still doesn''t get some of the basic traditions that most people understand. But that''s just her, I guess.


    I know my mother and how my parents didn¡¯t have a traditional wedding in a traditional sense.


    I remember all the times my mother humiliated me, so I decided to return the favor. I posted another comment highlighting her incompetence, like how she can''t even crack an egg without making a mess or how operating a pressure cooker is like quantum physics to her. I also mentioned how she never cared about my education or anything important, the kind of neglect that kids throw back in their parents'' faces when they come seeking help.


    As I was typing, I wondered if I was going overboard. But then I remembered how, even when my dad couldn''t make it to events, he always made an effort to make up for it. My mother, on the other hand, never cared. She once wished me a happy 6th birthday on Christmas Eve in 1995 when I was actually eleven. She was almost six years off!


    It felt good to finally call her out, even if it was just in the comments section. Sometimes, you have to stand up for yourself, especially when dealing with someone who has never shown you the respect or care you deserve.


    I even wanted to blast her with her outdated views but she did that herself. Some of my female relatives either Waterson or from my mom''s side of the family called her out on how stupid she is.


    It''s incredibly frustrating how one-sided my mother is. She throws her misogynistic views at me, but when it comes to other independent women in the family, she''s perfectly fine with their choices. It''s like she has a personal vendetta against me for not fitting into her outdated mold.


    When 98% of the women in my family commented about having careers and no families, my mother responded by saying it''s "not the same" because they''re not in any stage of motherhood and don''t have a boyfriend or husband. She claimed to be happy for their independence, but it''s clear she holds me to a different standard.


    Even my nieces and cousins called her out on it. They pointed out how messed up it is that she doesn''t criticize them for their career choices and lack of relationships, but she constantly hounds me. It''s a classic case of double standards, and it''s exhausting.


    I just have to keep reminding myself that her views are outdated and don''t define me. I''m proud of who I am and the life I''ve built, and no amount of criticism from her will change that.


    One of my cousins, who¡¯s a lawyer, commented that what my mother was doing could be considered defamation against a legal person. I¡¯m not an expert in legal matters, but it¡¯s interesting to think about.


    It¡¯s funny how my mother hates my choices but doesn¡¯t care about the rest of the family. If I owned a house with two or three bedrooms, I could totally see her getting remarried and pregnant just to take over my space, pulling the ¡°You¡¯re single and I have a husband and kids, so I need all this space¡± card. Of course, I¡¯d let my girlfriend and her kids come over to fill up that space instead.


    I know some people in my family who have dealt with narcissistic parents. They¡¯ve had their golden child siblings move in and try to take over their house, expecting them to move into a camper or somewhere else but still pay the rent or mortgage. It¡¯s ridiculous.


    At least here in Little Bird, if someone tried that, they¡¯d have to deal with the cops and the legal system. According to Mitchell, that¡¯s considered breaking and entering and occupying someone else¡¯s dwelling without permission, which are both crimes. My half-cousin Cadenza¡¯s boyfriend¡¯s adoptive family has dealt with that a few times before the cops told them to hit the road or face arrest.


    After Martha finished her shopping, we headed back to my apartment. She started talking about how generous and understanding the Watersons are. I was curious about what she meant, but she went on to explain how she had been invited to several Waterson weddings. She mentioned how meticulously we plan these events, booking venues months in advance and making sure everything is arranged perfectly.


    I simply said, "That''s how business works."


    Martha looked puzzled. "What is that supposed to mean?"


    I explained, "Wedding venues can''t just call someone and tell them their wedding is being moved to another date, especially at the last minute. It looks unprofessional to cancel someone''s special day because of family. People who plan weddings should do so months ahead, not at the last minute, which is more expensive. Many in my family start planning their weddings at least a year in advance to ensure everything is set. I''ve never heard of a female Waterson planning a wedding with just a week or month to go. Venues can''t move or cancel weddings because they''ve already been paid in advance, and pulling favors looks unprofessional and makes people second-guess doing business with them."


    I wasn''t sad about missing a few family weddings. The Watersons always send heartfelt messages if we can''t attend, letting everyone know we''re there in spirit. Some of my male relatives were almost married to bridezillas who wanted extravagant weddings. But those who married female Watersons found that they preferred simple, affordable weddings. They didn''t go all out or double the expenses, keeping things straightforward and meaningful.


    I told Martha about my female relatives who managed to convince their soon-to-be husbands and in-laws to scale back on extravagant wedding plans. Some of these in-laws wanted weddings straight out of a reality show, with no regard for budget. They took "go all out" to an extreme, planning events that even billionaires would find out of their price range.


    Us Watersons, on the other hand, set a budget and stick to it. We prioritize what''s important and cut out unnecessary expenses. For example, instead of hiring a band, we might just use a music player. Some of my male relatives have married women who wanted to push the budget to the extreme, even wanting to rent a band. To me, that would cost more than catering, flowers, and a photographer combined.


    When Martha asked how the female Watersons manage to get their fianc¨¦s and future in-laws to scale back, I explained that we embody the saying "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned." Many of our future in-laws might suggest getting a new wedding dress instead of using one made during the Interwar period. But those female Watersons stand their ground, explaining that the dress, even if made in 1919, holds sentimental value.


    When Martha asked why the wedding dress held sentimental value, I explained that my great-granddad and his first wife got married in 1919, right after World War I. They had both endured immense loss and hardship. My great-granddad was one of the British soldiers who suffered from trench foot but managed to get it treated, unlike many others. He lost all but one of his seven brothers in the war, and his wife lost most of her family when Germany bombed England with Zeppelins. She was essentially an orphan by the end of the war. They were both just eighteen when they got married and emigrated to the United States that same year. The dress symbolizes their resilience and love in the face of such adversity.


    I then shifted the conversation to how dismissive some family members can be. I told Martha about my cousin Evelyn, who is afraid of the dark and claustrophobic. Her sister-in-law''s son locked her in a closet that locks from the outside. When she called her husband and in-laws for help, they dismissed her as overreacting. She had to call her brother, who broke in to rescue her. While technically breaking and entering, it was for a good cause. When she tried to explain what happened, her husband and in-laws brushed it off as "kids will be kids."


    Martha commented on how well my family knows the Bible. She sarcastically asked if the Bible says to get revenge on family members. I clarified, "No, it''s Exodus 21:23-25: ''An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.''"


    Martha replied, "Two wrongs don''t make a right."


    ¡°I know the parts I can use,¡± I said.


    I continued telling Martha about Evelyn''s ordeal. She was locked in that closet for seven hours, and her anxiety skyrocketed. Despite knowing her phobia of the dark, her in-laws and husband dismissed her distress, saying she was overreacting. Evelyn eventually got the cops involved, but her family still didn''t take her seriously.


    Evelyn''s brother, along with a few other Watersons, decided to give her in-laws and husband a taste of their own medicine. They pulled the same "prank" on them. When Martha asked if that was petty, I replied, "If someone locked me in a closet, I''d retaliate the same way. Unless you''re one of those people who think it''s justified to use something extreme like White Phosphorus to get even?"


    That shut Martha up. For us Watersons, "an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth" means people should be punished in a way that mirrors the crime they committed.


    When Evelyn''s in-laws and husband called her for help, she ignored them just as they had ignored her. When they accused her of not helping, she simply said, "Oh, you''re all blowing it out of proportion." She gave them a taste of their own medicine, and it was a lesson they needed to learn.


    ______________


    Back at my apartment, Martha was on a warpath about how she couldn''t wait to be a step-grandmother to my kids. I didn''t even bother to tell her I''m not interested in having children. Instead, I let her ramble while I put my new clothes away.


    I made it clear to Martha that these clothes are mine because I spent my hard-earned money on them.


    Then she had the nerve to say firefighting is easy. I was ready to lose it. Firefighting is so much more than just "putting water on fire." A firehose is heavy, especially when filled with water, and if the fire is on a higher floor, you have to lug that hose up countless stairs with 75-100 pounds of gear. It''s exhausting and dangerous.


    I wanted to explain to her that you can''t just "put water on a fire." There are different classes of fires: Class C (electrical), Class D (metal, which is my girlfriend''s specialty), Class K (cooking oils and fats), Class B (flammable gasses), and Class A (ordinary combustibles like paper and cardboard). Each class requires a different method to extinguish. Sure, water is a universal agent, but if it were that simple, we wouldn''t need foam and other agents for different types of fires.


    Martha seems like one of those people who took Home Economics and missed the lesson on how to handle a grease fire. You don''t throw water on it; you use baking soda or cover it with a lid and turn off the burner.


    I wanted to tell her, in the most hostile way possible, that putting water on an electrical, metallic, or grease fire would make things much worse and cause more harm than good.


    When I started to calm down, Martha hit me with the most ignorant comment ever. She said we don''t have to deal with trauma. I was ready to give her both barrels about how common Post-Traumatic Stress, severe depression, and divorce are among firefighters. I even told her about how Lusty, my cousin Dave¡¯s wife Linda, and I are in specialized units. We handle incidents like train derailments, plane crashes, building collapses, and other emergencies that require more than just an ax, hose, chainsaw, or Halligan bar. When things go beyond the scope of an Engine and Ladder Company, that''s when a Squad or Rescue Company steps in. Our specialized gear alone costs as much as half a fire engine.


    We get called to emergencies that need technical rescues. I explained how times have changed and how this job gets more challenging with each generation. The firefighters before us had to learn the hard way, through trial by fire, without the education we have now. We''ve learned from their experiences, but that doesn''t make our job any less demanding or traumatic.


    I thought about heading over to talk to Linda about her trauma from 2003. Yes, it was traumatic, but she acts like she was the only one there, the only survivor. I get it feels like yesterday for her, but she forgets that many people have trauma and everyone moves on differently.


    Linda needs to get her act together. Her eldest son is almost twelve, about to hit those teenage years when kids start pushing their parents away. They have three other kids, and the second eldest is not far behind. Linda should be spending more time with her kids instead of always being at work. If she keeps this up, her kids might end up resenting her for being so distant.


    I decided to visit Linda at home, but when I got to their apartment, only Dave was there. He told me Linda was at work, but his face said it all. "I''m used to it, but I''m doing more as a parent than she is."


    I asked Dave what he and the kids were up to. He had turned off the TV and was helping them with their schoolwork because they were already falling behind, even though it was only the first quarter. He was worried, and I suspected it was because Linda was backing out of family life and always pulling the trauma card. Even her siblings don''t invite her to anything anymore because she tends to exclude herself and make a public spectacle about her trauma if anyone asks what''s wrong.


    Dave mentioned he had called the school to dismiss their four kids for the day to focus on their schoolwork. He''s the kind of father who takes time out of his life to be there for his kids, essentially doing double duty as both father and mother. Linda, on the other hand, brushes the kids off when she comes home, uninterested in helping them with schoolwork or anything else. Dave told me how Linda even missed Bobby''s elementary school graduation because she preferred to work.


    Dave tried to get through to her, explaining that she''s causing strife within the family. He warned her that one day their kids will grow up and move on, and she¡¯ll miss out on important events like weddings because they won''t want to invite her. Linda tried to justify her absence by saying firefighters work long hours and miss family events, but even her own family pointed out that most of these events happened when she was off duty.


    If Linda tries to pull that card on me, I''ll remind her that many Watersons have trauma, mostly PTSD, and while many don''t go to therapy, they find other ways to cope. They have families and don''t alienate them. One of the perks of being a Waterson is that we don''t use our personal problems to make others feel less than.


    I asked Dave if I could come in and help out a bit, and he welcomed me in.


    ¡°The first thing I¡¯ve learned about parenting is that it¡¯s not all about me anymore,¡± Dave said. ¡°When I first became a father, many Watersons told me that parents have to sacrifice a lot of things they want to do.¡±


    Even though I¡¯m not a parent, I understand. There are so many people who shouldn¡¯t be parents because they act like their kids aren¡¯t there and spend money faster than they can earn it. Dave and I know those types¡ªthe ones who claim to be great parents but drop their kids off at a friend¡¯s or family member¡¯s house with an excuse like, ¡°I¡¯ve got a job interview,¡± when in reality, they¡¯re out partying or blowing money on things they can¡¯t afford. They max out credit cards on a lifestyle they can¡¯t sustain and don¡¯t care about their kids.


    I even told Dave how humans are the real monsters. Whether it''s a nuclear bomb or an alien invasion, human beings don''t need an external force to destroy them. All it takes is unfounded fear, suspicion, blame, contempt, and mistrust, and we¡¯ll destroy ourselves just as easily. In other words, we¡¯re worse than anything extraterrestrial.


    I then went over to Dave and Linda¡¯s four kids: Bobby, who''s eleven, David Junior, who''s seven, and Chloe and Linda Junior, who are six.


    I heard Chloe ask if their mother hates them. Bobby, trying to be the big brother, told Chloe that their mother doesn¡¯t hate them but prefers work helping others. It¡¯s heartwarming to see an eleven-year-old trying to downplay their mother¡¯s choice of work over family, spinning it in a way to make a six-year-old happy knowing that their mother helps people for a living.


    I have a feeling Bobby won¡¯t be able to cover for his mother¡¯s actions forever. He may have sounded sweet and loving, but as an adult, I could hear the strain in his voice. Even he¡¯s tired of defending her, and it¡¯s clear he feels the impact of her absence.


    I helped Dave with the kids'' schoolwork to help them catch up. Math is always a challenge and often the most hated subject, but we managed to get through it. Bobby was struggling with multiplication, so we focused on that, and by the end, he started to get the hang of it. It felt good to see him understand and gain some confidence.


    When Dave had the kids take a break for a snack, he explained that he sets time limits on their study sessions to avoid stressing them out. It¡¯s a smart move; kids need breaks to stay focused and not get overwhelmed.


    During the break, Dave and I chatted about our extended family. We have some relatives who aren¡¯t Watersons by blood but by marriage, and they can be pretty demanding. They offer to pay for college but with strict conditions, only allowing majors they approve of. It¡¯s funny how their kids often rebel against these conditions. They¡¯d rather ask other Watersons for tuition money or even take on student loans than bow down to such strict rules. It¡¯s a classic case of trying to control too much and ending up pushing people away.


    Dave and I also talked about family members raised by a single Waterson parent after a divorce. Some of these kids turned out bratty and spoiled and when they got mad at their single parent for not having the financial means to cater to their every whim, they went on smear campaigns against them. They tried to paint their single parent as the villain, but other Watersons quickly stepped in to set them straight. They reminded the kids how hard their single parents worked to make them comfortable and that backstabbing them was just wrong.


    We never found it funny, but it was ironic how these spoiled kids would try to smear their parents, only to be told off by other Watersons. They''d bring up the single parent''s unwavering love and hard work, pointing out that backstabbing them wasn''t a way to show love. Some Watersons even threatened legal action for defamation as a scare tactic, and they meant it.


    Some of these kids eventually came around to repair their relationship with their single parent, while others either went no contact or assumed their parents wouldn''t follow through with the legal threats. It¡¯s a tough situation, but it shows the strength and resilience of the Waterson family.


    Dave even shared a story about a female Waterson in Little Bird who had a nightmare wedding because her fianc¨¦ always had his sister tagging along, voicing her wants while ignoring his fianc¨¦e¡¯s. He constantly took his sister¡¯s side, which drove our relatives crazy. I remember hearing about it when I was back in the States after university, during my Navy training.


    Dave told me how he started tagging along with her, voicing what she wanted to say. Unlike Dave, who can keep a calm head under pressure, our relative¡¯s fianc¨¦ found it annoying. But she always took Dave¡¯s side, giving her fianc¨¦ a taste of his own medicine. That¡¯s a Waterson specialty¡ªgiving people a taste of their own medicine.


    Dave also mentioned how her fianc¨¦ and his sister had the nerve to tell their parents about Dave¡¯s involvement. When they scolded her for involving a family member in the wedding planning, they painted her as insane. But Dave and her family got them to back down, reminding them that in Little Bird, the bride¡¯s family pays for the wedding, so her choice is final. They told her fianc¨¦¡¯s family that if they wanted anything different, they could foot the bill themselves.


    Dave and the other Watersons figured out that the wedding was called off because our female relative¡¯s parents had the nerve to send bills to her fianc¨¦. When his parents screamed at them, her parents simply said, ¡°You want to keep any expenses that your son¡¯s sister wants, so you can foot those bills. We¡¯re paying for our daughter¡¯s expenses, so anything your daughter wants to add to someone else¡¯s wedding, you can pay for her expenses.¡±


    It¡¯s funny to me how her fianc¨¦¡¯s parents claimed they didn¡¯t have the financial means to pay for what their daughter wanted. They were just expecting the added expenses to go unnoticed. But one thing about us Watersons is that we pay attention to our expenses and take notice of everything.


    Dave also mentioned how our female relative¡¯s parents were able to book a restaurant for lunch or dinner after the wedding. However, her fianc¨¦¡¯s parents refused the idea of eating at a restaurant and wanted to hire a caterer with the most expensive food, the kind you¡¯d find at luxury restaurants.


    Dave shared how all the Watersons who were invited to the wedding decided to stick around even after it was called off. They had already taken time off work, and since cell phones are rare in Little Bird, their employers couldn¡¯t just call them back in. They were there for her, not just as guests, but as family. That post-wedding lunch happened when I was already done with my Navy training and assigned to the USS Ticonderoga.


    Dave and I talked about how our family is different from others. We¡¯re there for each other in a literal sense. We also talked about my great-granddad, who is Dave¡¯s granddad. Most of his sons were born post-World War II and many fought in Vietnam. Their father, who fought in both World Wars and Korea, suffered from what was known as ''shell shock'' or ''combat neurosis.'' Before the 1970s, people just suppressed their trauma. My great-granddad was the first Waterson to be a fireman, and he allowed his sons who fought in Vietnam to stay on his farm in Upstate New York. He wanted to help them even though his other sons who fought in World War II or Korea didn¡¯t say much about their experiences. They were from a different era and didn¡¯t believe in battle fatigue, even though they had sleepless nights.


    Dave appreciated how their father let them stay on his farm, which he bought with his G.I. Bill money in 1945. He moved there in 1966 after retiring and let his sons who came back from Vietnam live and work on the land. It was a way for them to help each other and talk about their experiences instead of pretending they didn¡¯t exist.


    We even talked about some of our male family members who married gold diggers. Those male Watersons are smart, though¡ªthey have checks and balances in place. It¡¯s funny how their gold-digging wives ask for their credit or debit cards to buy their own Valentine¡¯s Day or birthday gifts. While many people do buy their own gifts, on a romantic day like Valentine¡¯s Day, the other partner should be the one buying the gift. Us Watersons usually try to get the best but not too expensive gift. But when their gold-digging wives want the most expensive gifts, it¡¯s a different story.


    Dave mentioned how some Watersons died from cancer or other terminal illnesses, and their gold-digging spouses or lovers tried to take all their money or cards for themselves. But the other Watersons got the last laugh by using the deceased¡¯s money for the funeral and canceling the cards. It¡¯s another classic Waterson move¡ªalways staying one step ahead and making sure no one takes advantage of us.


    After the break, I went back to help Linda and Dave¡¯s kids with their schoolwork. They¡¯re still in summer break mode, not quite ready to buckle down and learn. If it were up to me, I¡¯d tell Dave to divorce Linda. She¡¯s working so much overtime that she¡¯s neglecting her kids and any judge would see that. But I kept quiet because sooner or later, something will happen that¡¯ll make Linda rethink her life choices. I hope it happens soon, before the kids become teenagers and start bringing home dates for prom or graduation photos.


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    It¡¯s sad how Dave has to handle things in a way the kids don¡¯t understand, but I do. He says it¡¯s tough seeing Bobby, David Jr., Chloe, and Linda Jr. spend more time with their uncles Stephen, Daniel, Steven, Mike, and Michael, and their aunt Chloe, than with their own mother. All of Linda¡¯s siblings are in the fire department too, and they still find time for family. They don¡¯t let their on-the-job trauma get in the way of bonding with their loved ones. Some of Linda¡¯s brothers are even officers, yet they manage to balance work and family life.


    It¡¯s a tough situation, but I hope Linda realizes what she¡¯s missing before it¡¯s too late.


    After a couple of hours, I left the apartment feeling accomplished. I had helped Chloe and Linda Jr., who are fraternal twins, with their basic math¡ªadding and subtracting. To make it more engaging, I used money to teach them. This way, they not only learned math but also how to count money, which is a valuable skill. Chloe and Linda Jr. are almost at the age where their dad will start giving them money to go out, buy candy, or go to the movies. It felt good to know I was helping them prepare for that.


    _________


    At Rescue Company 17 quarters, I walked in and made a beeline straight for Linda¡¯s office.


    I found her there doing paperwork, but she looked confused, tapping the pencil eraser on the paper. She seemed either confused or sleep-deprived. Working in a rescue company is demanding; they respond to specialized fire rescue incidents beyond the scope of standard engine, ladder, or squad companies. Rescue companies operate rescue trucks, nicknamed "tool boxes on wheels," carrying a wide variety of specialized tools and equipment for technical rescue situations like rope rescues, building collapses, confined space rescues, trench rescues, machinery and vehicle extrications, water rescues, and more. They respond to all structure fires of a third alarm or higher unless the incident commander requests specialized tools for first or second alarm fires.


    "Hey Linda," I said, stepping into her office. "You look a bit worn out. How''s the workload treating you?"


    Linda looked up, her eyes tired. "It''s been rough, Mac. The paperwork never ends, and the calls have been relentless. I feel like I''m barely keeping my head above water."


    ¡°Have you thought about using your time off to get some rest and relaxation?¡± I asked. ¡°Dave¡¯s father, Bobby, and his uncle, Clark, were the kind of firefighter officers who always wanted their crew to be 100%. Dave¡¯s the same way. They believe that if you¡¯re not in the right mental or emotional state, you should go home, rest, and come back when you¡¯re ready. They always said, ¡®If you can¡¯t help yourself, you can¡¯t help others.¡¯ It makes sense because if you¡¯re distracted and not fully paying attention, someone or yourself could get hurt or worse.¡±


    Linda looked taken aback. She wasn¡¯t expecting me to bring up the kind of officers Dave¡¯s dad and uncle were, or the kind of officer Dave is. Mental state is a big deal to them. They want their crew to be on top of any situation without needing constant direction.


    When Linda was about to open her mouth, I cut her off. "If you pull the trauma card, Linda, I¡¯ll drag you to talk to some of my family members who¡¯ve seen their best friends killed in war. They¡¯ve witnessed deaths from bullets, explosions, fire, and even natural disasters. They¡¯ve seen the last moments of their friends¡¯ lives in the most horrific ways."


    Linda tried to say that family life was fine, but I wasn¡¯t having it. "That¡¯s a lie, Linda. I just visited Dave and the kids. Dave is doubling down as a parent, taking the day off to help the kids catch up on their schoolwork. He¡¯s doing everything he can because you¡¯re not there. When an eleven-year-old has to lie to his younger sisters to protect them from the truth about their mother, that speaks volumes."


    Linda looked like she wanted to argue, but I pressed on. "Your constant working and absence are taking a toll. People don¡¯t invite you to things because you make everything gloomy by pulling the trauma card. It¡¯s time to face the reality of what your choices are doing to your family."


    When Linda opened her mouth, I cut her off. "Look, Linda, my girlfriend Lusty is a single mother with seven daughters. She lost her parents on her second day as a probationary firefighter and has fourteen years of trauma from the job. There have been times when she¡¯s on edge and ready to snap at her daughters when they ask for help with schoolwork or money for candy or movies. But instead of snapping, she stays her lovable self. She doesn¡¯t take out her issues on her kids. If they ask for money, she gives it to them without a second thought. When they leave for the movies or the candy store, she takes that time for herself, maybe a hot bubble bath.


    "Lusty spends time with her daughters despite her demanding job. She has people she trusts to watch her kids when she¡¯s on shift. She doesn¡¯t use her personal problems as an excuse to neglect her children. You need to find a way to balance your work and family life, Linda. Your kids need you, and you can¡¯t keep using your trauma as a shield to avoid your responsibilities at home." I said.


    "I know Lusty has no excuse for what she¡¯s done, and sooner or later, other people would¡¯ve called her out on it," I said, looking Linda straight in the eye. "Even Dave told me how you¡¯ve missed holidays. The Fire Department City of Empire has a system where married firefighters with kids don¡¯t have to work holidays, but you choose to work instead of being home. That speaks volumes."


    I continued, "If your sons or daughters enter high school and get dates for prom or a dance, you¡¯ll miss it. They won¡¯t even tell you because they¡¯ll see how ¡®uninterested¡¯ you are in their lives. If they get married or have children in the future, they¡¯ll tell Dave because he¡¯s been more of a parent than you."


    Linda opened her mouth to respond, but I cut her off. "Cry me a river, Linda. Have you ever stopped to think about other victims? You¡¯re not the sole survivor. Think about the 2,823 firefighters, 45 police officers, and several thousand civilians who died. Many of them left families behind. Kids are growing up without a father or mother, or are orphaned because they lost both parents."


    I paused, letting my words sink in. "You¡¯re not alone in your trauma. Many people, even entire families, are affected by it. It¡¯s time to stop using it as an excuse and start being there for your family."


    When Linda finally spoke, I let her talk. She shared how, in the week after the disaster, she and her company and many other fire stations members dropped off everyday essentials in paper bags to the city of Chocolate for the families suffering right after the event. They sent items to help these families get back on their feet or support them until they could find a job if they were stay-at-home parents who lost their spouse. Linda explained that many people in Little Bird rely on a single income, which is common in our country. While some families have both parents working, many rely on just one.


    I wasn¡¯t going to argue. It¡¯s great that she and many others helped out complete strangers, but that was almost ten years ago. Linda acts like it was yesterday.


    "Linda, it¡¯s commendable that you helped those families, but you can¡¯t keep living in the past. Your family needs you now. It¡¯s time to focus on the present and be there for Dave and the kids. They need their mother, not just a firefighter who¡¯s always at work." I said.


    Before either of us could say anything, the fire bell went off for a call about a person under a train. Linda jumped up, nearly falling over from what I guessed was sleep deprivation. I wasn¡¯t going to stop her, though. Duty calls, and she¡¯s still a firefighter through and through.


    I decided to head back to my apartment.


    <hr>


    Back at my place, I sat down at the dining room table and picked up my phone to check social media. My mom was at it again on her anonymous account, showing her stupidity in spades. The comments were full of people calling her out. Her latest post was about me, criticizing me for not fitting her ¡°ideals¡± of what a woman should be. Honestly, I don¡¯t care. I¡¯m not a manipulative, lying addict who takes advantage of others¡¯ generosity.


    In the past, when some of her family members put her in rehab, she manipulated the narrative and painted them as the bad guys. They eventually threw up their hands and cut contact with her. The last time she heard from her side of the family was in the mid to late 1980s at the latest or the early 1970s at the earliest.


    I¡¯m not going to let her nonsense get to me. I know who I am and what I stand for.


    Soon, Martha sat down across from me. I could tell she was gearing up to ask me to foot the bill for Jake and Alex¡¯s college tuition.


    Before she could get there, I changed the subject. ¡°You know, the bean counters can do whatever they want, but they¡¯re still going to have 100 people competing for one spot.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Martha asked, taken aback.


    ¡°My job is competitive,¡± I explained. ¡°You can have five hundred people take the civil servant entrance exam, but only a handful get chosen. That¡¯s about 100 people, and they¡¯re picked for one reason or another¡ªeither luck or some kind of skill.¡±


    Martha managed to steer the conversation back to asking me to foot the bill for Jake and Alex¡¯s college tuition. I reminded her that Arcane University only accepts students who are willing to go the extra mile; they don¡¯t just accept anyone.


    When Martha said that was discriminatory, I explained that colleges and universities have the right to accept or decline any student who applies. They can even rescind acceptance letters. It¡¯s not discrimination unless it¡¯s based on factors like religion or nationality, which would violate one of the Little Bird Amendments. ¡°Everyone has the right to access public and private education.¡±


    I told Martha that I¡¯m not financially responsible for my stepbrothers, and her lack of planning isn¡¯t my problem. She admitted she hadn¡¯t realized how expensive college was and asked me to cover the costs, promising she and my father would pay me back. I agreed, but only if we had a legal contract stating she would repay a certain amount over the course of their college terms, with interest.


    Instead of a verbal agreement, we went to a lawyer to get a written contract. After a few minutes, Martha signed it, agreeing that she and my father would be indebted to pay me back for the tuition costs, which I estimated to be around $12-16k.


    Of course, the legal contract ensures they can''t leave me with the entire bill or back out at any time. If they do, I can sue for breach of contract. Knowing my dad, he doesn¡¯t want to alienate me again. If they left me with the full bill, every Waterson alive would metaphorically tear my dad and stepmom apart for taking advantage of my generosity. They¡¯d tell them that if they couldn¡¯t afford college, they should have had my stepbrothers take out loans or not send them at all.


    Jake is smart enough that he could probably get a full-ride scholarship, but Alex is a different story. He¡¯s the type who might flunk out or get kicked out, whichever comes first.


    I then brought up why I was excluded from her and my dad¡¯s wedding. Martha explained that they didn¡¯t want to bother me with my career and my relationship with Lusty. They thought that if they invited me, they¡¯d have to reschedule the wedding, and they didn¡¯t want me to lose money. My dad told her that if he was to remarry, I would break my bank to be there, both metaphorically and literally. He didn¡¯t want me to spend all my money on a round-trip first-class plane ticket. The wedding was planned within a month, so they panicked. My dad wanted to invite me but didn¡¯t know my schedule, so they married during the week I was working and went with the venue''s first open spot.


    I thought about bringing up a family with Martha, but I knew she''d start pushing me to have kids, and I''m just not in the mood for that conversation. Instead, I remembered a story about one of my female relatives. She was married to a guy who was both a mama''s boy and a puppet, always siding with his family over her.


    One day, she gave him an ultimatum: choose her and their child or his parents and sister. His family constantly crossed boundaries and ignored her wishes, so she decided to divorce him. He tried to intimidate her, boasting about his wealthy parents and their connections with judges, threatening to make her life miserable. But she wasn''t having any of it. She warned him that her family could report every judge his family knew for abuse of authority and corruption. When he called her bluff, she pulled out her flip phone and called a family member right in front of him. That shut him up real quick.


    Whenever he or his family tried to threaten her after that, it was all bark and no bite. But us Watersons? Our bite is way worse than our bark.


    I''ve got a few relatives who are Watersons by blood but were adopted by other family members. Their biological parents, who married into the Waterson family, didn''t care much and just dropped them off at a Waterson''s home. When the adopting Waterson revised their will to include these kids, things got interesting.


    Once the kids inherited something¡ªbe it money, a house, an apartment, or even a penthouse¡ªtheir biological parents, who aren''t Waterson¡¯s by blood, suddenly wanted back into their lives. They expected their kids to hand over money or transfer the property into their names. But here''s the thing, when a Waterson changes their will, it''s a big deal and not done lightly.


    So, when these parents tried to swoop back in, they found out the hard way that us Watersons don''t take kindly to such opportunistic behavior. Our family stands strong together, and we don''t let anyone take advantage of us.


    I thought about telling Martha how some of my relatives, who married into the Waterson family, put down their kids and claim they''ll be useless in the future. They even criticize their spouses, who are Watersons by blood, for having low-paying but honest, hardworking jobs.


    But here''s the thing about us Watersons; we take pride in our backbreaking work. Whether it''s custodial work, farming, commercial fishing, logging, landscaping, pest control, waste collection and disposal, recycling, construction, maintenance, shipping, driving, or trucking, we do it all. We know the value of hard work and resilience.


    Sure, some of us have white-collar careers, and we tease them lovingly, saying they don''t have the thick skin for blue-collar labor. It''s all in good fun, though. Most of us earn an hourly wage, and we take pride in every dollar we make through our sweat and effort.


    Our family might be diverse in what we do, but we stand united in our values and our work ethic. No matter what, we support each other through thick and thin.


    I thought about telling Martha how diverse our family is when it comes to careers. Us Watersons are known for our hard work across various fields. Many of us are in blue-collar, black-collar, gold-collar, and silver (gray) collar jobs, and a good number serve in the military. Traditionally, the women in our family have worked in pink-collar or white-collar careers. But starting in the late 20th century and continuing into the 21st, more and more female Watersons have branched out into other fields, including the military, blue-collar, gold-collar, and silver/gray collar jobs, just like their male relatives.


    In the country of Little Bird, female Watersons had a unique advantage, getting a head start in these careers. Many of them joined the military, not just out of a sense of duty, but also to use the benefits for advanced education. They often used military funds to go back to school, whether it was college, vocational school, technical courses, correspondence courses, or apprenticeship/job training programs. But with me it was the opposite. I went to college first then joined the military.


    ___________________


    Next monday.


    At the firehouse, I was mulling over how I could¡¯ve told my stepmom to back off about helping my step brothers get into university. Just then, my phone buzzed. It was her, asking if she, Jake, and Alex could come over on Sunday to help them with the Arcane University Enrollment and Aptitude Test. I shot back a text explaining the points system for reduced tuition:


    <ul>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">1200 Points: $2500/term Scholarship</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">1800 Points: $1000/term Scholarship</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">2000 Points: Full Ride Scholarship</li>


    </ul>


    I also mentioned that the base score is 600, with a max of 2400. Scoring between 2000 and 2400 points gets you a full ride.


    I even laid out the majors for her: Business, Communication, Fire Arts, Physical Education, Technology, Culinary, Science and Medicine, Biology, Drama, Economics, Literature, History, Mathematics, Philosophy, Physics, Psychology, Political Science, Computer Science, Language & Literature, and Psychology.


    Honestly, I don¡¯t know why she thinks I need their help, but whatever. If she and Alex thinks that I¡¯m going to do said test for them to either get a reduced tuition or for a full ride scholarship, well I¡¯ll read it over with them and I¡¯ll help them go over the application papers if need be before they do the Aptitude test. But actually doing it for them? Not a chance in hell.


    I put my phone on silent, trying to block out Martha''s constant nagging. She just doesn''t get it. Sure, I took the basic fire academy courses like everyone else, but that was just the beginning. I had to convince the higher-ups at the academy that I was serious about going to rescue training school. I wanted to take advanced classes like Vertical Rescue, HAZMAT Level A, and Building Collapse. Not only did I have to pay for these classes, but I also had to prove that I was committed and not just there to "check it out."


    Taking those advanced classes gave cadets like me a shot at joining a Squad Company, even without on-the-job experience. But it came with a price¡ªbeing ostracized for joining a specialized unit without the usual experience. That''s why Rescue Companies require at least five years of experience before you can even think about Technical Rescue and Rescue School.


    I tried to explain to Martha how competitive my job is. There are only a handful of open spots, usually due to on-the-job deaths, retirements, promotions, or transfers. For those few spots, you have about a hundred people competing. It''s intense.


    Just as I was trying to tune out Martha''s nagging, the fire bell went off for a subway fire. The dispatcher announced that Squad 769 would be the RIT Rescue Company. I couldn''t help but mutter to myself, "Yeah, I joined the fire department just to stand around and let everyone else do the work."


    It''s frustrating sometimes, but I know the importance of our role. Being ready to jump in when things go south is crucial, even if it means waiting on the sidelines.


    But that''s the thing I love about the fire department, and it''s something my girlfriend, my cousin Dave, and his wife all share. It''s not a normal job¡ªno two days are the same, and every shift brings something different. How many people can truly say they love their job? Most are bored to death. But for us, each shift is an adventure.


    My girlfriend, Dave''s wife, and I get especially excited when we get called to something specialized or a fire that''s a 2nd alarm or higher. Sure, people might like their 9-5 jobs, but doing the same thing every day gets old fast. We like the unpredictability and the challenge.


    Dave once told me about a day in Emerald Pastors, a middle-class district where they didn''t get a single fire call. The people there can be pretty naive¡ªleaving burning cigarettes over paint, towels next to stoves, or falling asleep with a lit cigarette. It''s a recipe for disaster.


    At least I''m stationed in a part of the city where my girlfriend is from. The folks here have a lot more common sense. They know to keep flammable things away from what can ignite them. It makes our job a bit easier, but there''s always something new around the corner.


    As I was gearing up, I couldn¡¯t help but think about how the folks in Emerald Pastors remind me of those Oompa Loompas from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. They should probably stop watching TV and pick up a book or ask questions to learn something new. Honestly, they¡¯re living proof that maybe people should take tests before having kids.


    Emerald Pastors is full of people who grew up with instant entertainment, instant communication, and instant money. They¡¯ve been conditioned to call for help at the slightest inconvenience. Meanwhile, over here in Eastside, it¡¯s a different story. According to my girlfriend, people didn¡¯t have TVs or radios or both growing up. Their entertainment was limited to the newspaper delivered on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings, or watching a fistfight on Friday nights. And those fights? Both would laugh it off, and the two fighters would end up as friends. Or watching firefighters fight fires.


    ____________


    At the subway station, we were just standing around while other companies went in to fight the fire, rescue anyone trapped, and ventilate the dense black smoke from the subway system.


    Time seemed to crawl. Every time I checked my watch, it felt like the seconds were dragging on forever. Each minute felt like an hour, but when I looked again, only thirty seconds had passed. It was one of those moments where you just want to jump in and help, but all you can do is wait.


    We heard other firefighters talking as they came and went, needing longer-lasting air bottles or tools like blowtorches to cut through reinforced doors. We just stood around, waiting, while others got to work.


    Then, over the radio, we heard, "Rescue 1-7 to Battalion 1-8, got an officer down."


    We sprang into action, grabbing hand tools. I picked up the Rapid Air Transport (RAT) bag, which slips over an SCBA bottle and holds an extra mask to provide a downed firefighter with air.


    It''s nothing like TV or movies which portrays smoke not as blinding. The subway was pitch black from the dense smoke. In real fires, the smoke is so blinding that we have to feel our way around with our hands. I remember hating that training trailer with no light, forcing us to rely on a sense of touch. But our SCBA masks are advanced now, with thermal imaging and augmented reality technology, making it a bit easier to navigate through the chaos.


    Our masks are pretty futuristic. They can automatically switch off the thermal imaging and augmented reality if we''re outside facing the sun, well just outside in general, so we don''t hurt our eyes. They outline civilians and other firefighters in green, objects like payphones in light orange, and anything hot or in danger of catching fire in red. It''s amazing how years of research and development have brought us to this point.


    If my girlfriend were here, she''d probably go on about how people think fewer fires are good. Sure, there are fewer fires than thirty years ago, but the ones we do have are much hotter. That''s because modern home furnishings are made of synthetics and plastics, which burn hotter than natural materials.


    Standing there, everything in me was screaming not to be in that subway, even with the company. It''s that natural instinct, that fear, telling us to get out. But we push through it because that''s what we do.


    I was in the middle of the group, knowing that Squad Companies like ours can function as either engine or ladder companies at a fire scene. We''re equipped with the same specialized tools as rescue companies, ready for anything.


    Visibility was zero, but our masks provided us with information¡ªrapid temperature changes, individual firefighter body temperatures, oxygen levels, and a 360-degree scan for contaminants. Officers like Captains and Lieutenants can monitor their crew, while Battalion and Division Chiefs keep an eye on all firefighters on scene. They can check body temps and ensure everyone gets out before heat stroke sets in. Our turnout gear protects us from heat, but it has its limits.


    The idea of helping my step brothers with their Arcane University applications flew right out of my mind. When I''m on the job, I stay focused on the here and now. I can''t afford distractions, especially when lives are on the line. Thinking about something months down the road just isn''t my style.


    In the middle of a call, all that matters is the task at hand. Everything else can wait.


    I had a gut feeling that the officer down was Linda. Dave and I had tried to warn her about the dangers of overworking without taking breaks for rest and relaxation. In a physically demanding job like ours, especially in a specialized unit, the risk of getting hurt or making mistakes is much higher.


    Linda''s unit, Rescue Co 17, had an intense year back in 2009, responding to 28,894 calls. Half of those were fires, with many being all-hands or third-alarm or higher fires. The rest were technical rescues, water rescues, or situations that regular Engine, Ladder, or Squad companies couldn''t handle.


    When we heard "officer down" over the radio, I couldn''t shake the feeling it was Linda. She always chose work over spending time with her family, and we tried to warn her that something like this could happen. It''s a harsh reminder of the importance of balance, even in a job as demanding as ours.


    We kept moving deeper into the subway tunnel, relying on our longer-lasting air bottles. They¡¯re rated for 45 minutes, but with our bodies working overtime, they really only last about 30 minutes. Engine and Truck Companies carry the standard half-hour bottles, which realistically give them about 15 minutes of air.


    My girlfriend mentioned that the fire department has "Mask Service Units" equipped to refill air bottles. They can upgrade the standard half-hour bottles to ones that last up to an hour and forty-five minutes. It''s a lifesaver in situations like this, where every minute counts.


    As we pushed further in, the weight of the situation hit me. The deeper we went, the more critical it became to stay focused and rely on our training and equipment.


    It felt like the Battalion Chief was getting impatient, asking for our progress report even though it had only been five minutes. There was some structural collapse inside the tunnel, with debris everywhere, making it tough to get through. The Chief said more equipment was on the way, but it would take 10-20 minutes. That wasn''t good enough for us, so we kept pushing forward, navigating around the caved-in sections.


    If the downed officer is Linda, and she tries to blame her training, I''d have to set her straight. It''s not the training that failed her¡ªit''s the lack of rest. Our schedule is demanding. Work one day, off one, work one, off two, work one, off four. If she''s not getting enough sleep, it''s no wonder she''s making mistakes.


    Sleep deprivation can seriously mess with your brain''s ability to handle emotional events and make proper decisions. It affects alertness and cognitive performance, especially in the thalamus and prefrontal cortex¡ªareas crucial for attention and higher-order thinking. In our line of work, being alert and attentive is what keeps us alive, along with our fear, training and experience.


    So, if it is Linda, she needs to understand that pushing herself too hard without rest is a recipe for disaster. We all need to balance our dedication with self-care to stay sharp and safe on the job.


    I only knew that because well part of my certified first responder training was about how the average person needs 8-10 hours of rest and well if it is Linda then she¡¯s going to be the only one to blame for her own actions


    My cousin Dave and my girlfriend Lusty always say, "You know if you''re cut out for this job. Dismemberment, MVAs, fires, casualties¡ªyou know if you can handle it."


    If the downed officer is Linda, I hope this is a wake-up call for her. According to Dave, she''s already lost a brother, an adoptive brother, and a sister to this job. One fell into a fire, another into corrosive acid, and her sister Sarah... Well, she made a fatal mistake. They were called to a high-rise to rescue trapped window washers. The platform was unstable, and despite Dave''s warnings, Sarah stepped out and fell 24 stories when the platform gave way underneath her foot.


    Dave said Linda''s family wasn''t shocked by Sarah''s death. They knew how hard headed she was. In this job, ignoring experience and advice can be deadly. Their father even said Sarah wouldn''t have survived a year on the job, but HQ was hesitant to cut her from training because their father was a respected battalion chief, and many of her siblings are respected officers.


    We kept pushing deeper into the tunnel. I checked my breathing apparatus oxygen meter and saw I had half a tank left. Even though the reading was displayed on my advanced air mask, old habits from training kicked in. Back then, we used standard masks and had to manually check our oxygen meters, making educated guesses about how much air we had left.


    In training, the meter arrow in green meant plenty of air, yellow meant we still had enough but should consider leaving soon, and red meant we were running dangerously low or out of air. Those lessons stick with you, even with all the new tech we have now. Guess it¡¯s that living saying of ¡°Old habits die hard.¡±


    We soon heard a distant beeping sound echoing through the tunnel. We doubled our pace and found Linda. I quickly grabbed the spare mask from my RIT bag, removed her mask, and put the new one on her to give her oxygen. We had to carry her out.


    The rest of my company got called away to assist another firefighter, so I told them I had this. I never expected to carry a 187-pound woman while wearing 100 pounds of gear, but I used every muscle and fiber of my being¡ªstrength I didn''t even know I had.


    Even though the rescue operation was long, it felt like one of those trips where getting there takes forever, but the way back seems quicker. Heading to Linda''s location felt like it took ages, but returning didn''t seem as long.


    I managed to bring Linda to the surface and handed her over to the ambulance crew. They removed her breathing apparatus and turnout gear jacket, then put her in the back of the ambulance. An EMT placed a breathing mask on her face while a paramedic started chest compressions, counting to five before the EMT told them to go.


    As the paramedic worked, I heard two sets of footsteps approaching. It was my cousin Dave and his sister-in-law, Linda''s sister Chloe. It was heartbreaking, but they didn''t come over as a worried husband and sister¡ªthey came over as concerned fellow firefighters.


    After a minute, the EMT said they got something, and Linda started to cough. Dave told me, "Good job," and Chloe pointed out that I was bleeding on the side of my head and should get it treated. I must have hit something on the way out but ignored it at that moment.


    As I got my minor cut treated, I couldn''t help but think about how I could never be a battalion or division chief. Making those tough choices isn''t for me. My girlfriend, Lusty, always says it''s the officer''s job to ensure their company doesn''t face the consequences of trying to beat the clock. There''s always a consequence.


    Years ago, Lusty was the incident commander at a structural collapse. One firefighter blamed her for his brother''s death, even though she ordered him to get out. When he got trapped, Lusty refused to send anyone else in to assist him, even though he ran in to help his brother. She pulled him out just seconds before the roof caved in on them.


    Lusty suspended him for not listening to her orders, and he filed a grievance against her. The fire department, technical services, and outside parties all cleared Lusty of any wrongdoing. The radio transmissions clearly showed she ordered everyone to get out. He chose to play cowboy, and there was no one to blame but himself. He was eventually transferred to another company because the other five members of Squad Co 141 threatened to resign. They didn''t feel comfortable working with someone who acted like a man-child because he didn''t like Lusty''s decision.


    Lusty mentioned that the fire department transferred him to a slower house to avoid losing an entire company of specialized firefighters. Each member of Squad 141 has unique skills that would be incredibly hard to replace. I know the A shift roster, and each one brings something different to the table. If all five had resigned in protest, their skills would have been lost, and that would have been a huge blow.


    Imagine the media picking up on it: a member trained in combat demolitions, another in avalanche and mountain rescue, one who''s an expert in all types of construction trades, another skilled in using heavy equipment like bulldozers, and one who''s an expert in engineering. Losing that kind of talent would hurt the department badly. Catering to someone who''s just crying over spilled milk wouldn''t look good either


    ._______________


    The next day at the hospital, I saw seven men walk by, heading towards Linda''s room.


    "Who are they?" I asked.


    Dave replied, "Linda''s brothers. Judging by their posture, I guess they''re going to give Linda not just a piece of their mind, but the whole thing. Hopefully, this will be a wake-up call for her."


    I couldn''t help but think about how many people in my family have those sisters-in-law who want to use someone else''s house for their baby shower, only to tell the hosts to leave before the guests arrive because it''s "for close family members." It''s a different kind of drama, but it reminded me of how family dynamics can be so complicated.


    I decided to head back, and as Dave predicted, Linda''s brothers were giving her a serious talking-to. They were furious about her pushing herself too hard, working inhuman amounts of overtime, and neglecting her family. When Linda tried to speak, one of her brothers cut her off, telling her to shut it because nothing she said could justify her actions.


    It was almost satisfying to see her brothers lay into her, especially when they mentioned how even her eleven-year-old son was making excuses for her absence. They could hear the sadness in his voice, and he was on the verge of not defending his mother to his younger siblings. It was a harsh reality check for Linda, and hopefully, it would make her rethink her priorities.


    One of Linda''s brothers even said that if Dave ever decided to file for divorce and full custody of their two sons and two daughters, they would support him. They see that Dave is there for the kids when he''s not working, despite having a demanding job. Before Linda''s trauma, she and Dave split their chores 50/50, but now it''s all on Dave. He''s doing everything¡ªtaking care of the kids, managing the household¡ªwhile Linda just works or hides away, not participating in their lives.


    When an eleven-year-old has to defend his mother but is on the verge of giving up, it''s a clear sign that something needs to change. Linda''s brothers were brutally honest, hoping this would be the wake-up call she desperately needs. It''s tough to watch, but sometimes the truth is the only way to get through to someone.


    When I returned to the waiting room, I saw Dave getting up to leave. I asked where he was going, and he simply said he had a family emergency to deal with. He told me I could leave if I wanted to, so I decided to head out with him. I chose not to ask about the family emergency¡ªsome questions are best left unasked.


    As we walked out together, I couldn''t help but think about everything that had happened. Sometimes, it''s better to give people space and let them handle their issues in their own way.


    As we were leaving, Dave passed someone and casually said, "Morning, Chief." Curious, I asked who it was. Dave explained that the man was Retired Battalion Chief Kai Richter, Linda''s father. He had quite a history¡ªfirefighter for the City of Empire from 1957-1966, a tour in Vietnam, then back to firefighting from 1967-1980. He climbed the ranks, becoming a Captain, then a Lieutenant in 1982, and finally a Battalion Chief from 1987 until his retirement last year.


    Dave shared that Linda''s dad initially didn''t like them dating, but he eventually accepted it because he didn''t want to risk his daughter''s happiness. Chief Richter had to make many tough decisions throughout his career, each with significant consequences. Decisions like whether to risk an entire company to save one person, knowing they won¡¯t make it out, or to pull the company out and leave the victim behind. Those are the kinds of choices chiefs like him have to make quickly. There''s no sitting on the fence or making decisions that take time, where there''s no fairy tale ending.


    Before we got to our cars, Dave shared a story about Chief Richter from back in November 2003. He explained how Chief Richter ordered Ladder Co Eighteen to evacuate after they found an unconscious victim. The fire had reached the trusses, and the structure was on the verge of collapse. Just a minute after they evacuated, the building collapsed. The victim''s brother filed an untimely death lawsuit, but it was thrown out because he hadn''t helped his family member.


    Dave told the guy off, saying he didn''t have to make life-or-death decisions. Working a 9-5 office job, the biggest danger is a paper cut. But for Chief Richter, under A shift alone, he had 326 firefighters under his command before he retired. The weight of those decisions is immense, and it''s something only those in the field can truly understand.


    I decided to check on all three of the bars I bought, just to double-check everything before finally opening them. I figured it was better to get it over with and do my inspection tonight.


    Everything was in order¡ªclean and ready to go. The three renovation companies I hired did a great job. As I thoroughly inspected the bars, my mind wandered to my family members who have pushover spouses. These spouses cater to their kids'' every whim, while the Waterson parent¡ªwhether husband/father or wife/mother¡ªtries to be there for their kids without spoiling them.


    It''s frustrating to see the kids get mad and throw fits when the Waterson parent sets rules and boundaries, only to have their spouse undermine them by telling the kids to ignore those rules. This causes marital strife because the Waterson parent is trying to teach their kids right from wrong, but their spouse goes behind their back.


    Sooner or later, the kids start believing they don''t have to listen to the Waterson parent. But we Watersons are the living definition of "Two can play this game." If a spouse tells the kids to ignore the rules, the Waterson parent will do the same, ensuring that respect and boundaries are maintained, even if it means playing a bit of a game themselves.


    I''ve heard through the grapevine about one of my family members, a Waterson by blood, who got a call from her son after he was arrested. She told him, "You got yourself in that mess, you get yourself out," and "It''s easy to get in there, but it''s hard to get out." She refused to help him because her husband had a habit of bailing their son out, reinforcing the idea that "Daddy will always be there, even if he breaks the law."


    I side with my family members who set rules and boundaries, not just because they''re family, but because they''re trying to teach their kids right from wrong. It''s frustrating when their spouses undermine them, telling the kids to ignore the rules. It''s a recipe for disaster when kids believe there are no consequences for their actions.


    When the kids ignore the Waterson parent, that parent often plays the same game, ignoring their spoiled and entitled behavior. It''s a tough situation, but sometimes it''s the only way to get through to them. Two can play that game, and sometimes, it''s the only way to make a point.


    I find it amusing how entitled people expect the world to hand them everything just because they exist. But I love it when Karma and the universe give them a reality check, showing that the world doesn''t bow to them. With smartphones and social media, many of these spoiled individuals think they''re "influencers" and expect their words to be taken as gospel. They believe companies, brands, and even celebrities should follow or endorse them.


    In reality, if they want to think they''re influencers, they''ll quickly lose their fans and followers once their true colors show. Trust me, those true colors always come out eventually. If they do manage to get followers, they better watch out for those loony fans.


    For us Watersons, hard work pays off in the long run. There are no shortcuts to success. Many of my spoiled family members who try to take shortcuts usually find out it''s not worth it because things don''t turn out as they expect. Growing up in the ''80s and early ''90s, I was taught that "hard work is happy work." When my dad was deployed for Operation Just Cause and the Gulf War, I saw firsthand how many Watersons became carpenters, electricians, and other tradespeople, earning good money through hard work.


    Meanwhile, the spoiled ones would say, "hard work isn''t for them," which is no surprise since they''ve been catered to their every whim and expect everything on a golden platter encrusted with diamonds. It''s a stark contrast, but it shows the value of hard work and the reality checks that life inevitably brings.


    When I stayed with extended family while my dad was deployed, I saw how Waterson fathers taught their daughters about cars. It¡¯s a valuable skill, especially since some female Watersons who drive have been taken advantage of by mechanics. They didn¡¯t know the difference between a camshaft and a carburetor, making them easy targets. Nowadays, we female Watersons are more savvy, and we know how some mechanics overcharge people who don¡¯t know much about cars. It¡¯s wrong and, to me, immoral.


    Growing up in the Southern United States, I always went to church and Bible study on Wednesday nights. It was a godsend because it kept me away from my mother. The pastor often preached about the immorality of taking advantage of others'' naivety. While I¡¯m not a religious fanatic, I believe it¡¯s morally wrong to scam people who are clueless in certain fields.


    As a firefighter, I love the physical demands of my career, but I don¡¯t flaunt it in my family¡¯s face. Many of my relatives have physically demanding jobs in trades or construction, while others pursued advanced education and different careers. When I went to Arcane University for orientation, the professor said, ¡°Getting a degree is like getting a golden ticket, but be open-minded. The career you want might not be available, so be willing to take lower-paying jobs.¡±


    My dad always said there¡¯s always work for those willing to do physical, backbreaking labor, but not everyone is hiring for specialized roles that require a degree. Some of my classmates were closed-minded, only applying for unavailable jobs. Others, including myself, took on menial, backbreaking work that paid pennies just to avoid relying on our parents for money. Many of us worked part-time jobs after school, which meant we couldn¡¯t do schoolwork. We¡¯d get back late, hit the shower, and go straight to bed, only to wake up early for the next school day.


    Hard work has always been a core value for us Watersons. It¡¯s not just about making a living; it¡¯s about building character and resilience. While some of my spoiled family members might not see it that way, I know that the lessons learned through hard work are invaluable.


    I can just imagine my spoiled and entitled family members balking at the idea of hard work if they went to university or college and needed money. They''d probably say, "Eww, hard work? Are you kidding?" When I was at Arcane University, I had a part-time job stocking shelves at a supermarket. If it was a school night, I''d work after the store closed at 9 PM, usually alone. It was tough, especially since I was still adjusting to Pacific Time instead of Central Time.


    I got paid a bit more for overnight hours, but during the day shift on weekends or when there was no school, it was just minimum wage. I remember my first check being $22.33 for a whole week of work. I was about to complain, but then I remembered that the minimum wage in my country hadn''t changed since 1963 and was still $1.25/hr. I learned to be content with it, even though I was used to making $130 as a part-time waitress in high school back in Alabama.


    If my entitled family members got my part-time pay as a stocker, they''d throw a fit because it''s not what they want. At university, many students had part-time jobs, and the pay varied. Some jobs paid slightly more, some a lot less. Many of my friends with morning and afternoon classes worked part-time in bars or other places, putting in ten-hour days for three and a half days a week, earning $10.22/day. Working longer days meant they had the rest of the week for schoolwork.


    Some classmates weren''t prepared for how tough Arcane University was. I know my entitled family members wouldn''t last long. If they used work as an excuse for not doing homework or group projects, the professors would say, "Your inability to manage your time isn''t my problem; it''s yours." That was a wake-up call for many, showing that the excuses that worked in elementary, middle, and high school wouldn''t fly here. They needed better time management.


    When I was studying at Arcane University, I took the bus to work and used that time to do as much homework as I could. Even after I got a car, I''d do my homework in the car before my shift started. I still remember getting my first check in Little Bird and thinking about complaining, but then I reminded myself that I live in a country where prices haven''t changed since 1960. It puts things into perspective.


    As I meticulously inspect my bars before opening, I can''t help but reflect on the importance of time management. In my line of work, juggling multiple responsibilities is crucial. It''s not just about getting things done, but doing them efficiently. Many people in 9-5 jobs are judged on how quickly they can complete tasks, often under tight deadlines.


    Thankfully, in Little Bird, companies can''t demand longer hours without paying overtime unless they want to face a lawsuit for overworking and underpaying their workers. Unlike Corporate America, where a profitable quarter might only get you a pizza party, Little Bird values its workers more genuinely. This country isn''t driven by the Military-Industrial Complex, and it doesn''t act as the world''s policeman. We stay out of other countries'' affairs unless absolutely necessary. Sometimes, it''s better to avoid problems that could worsen with intervention. As the saying goes, "It''s better to stay out of something than intervene in something you don''t understand."


    When the time came to open my three bars, I knew I couldn''t be in three places at once, so I hired staff to manage them. Each bar has a maximum capacity to ensure we don''t exceed fire safety limits.


    On opening day, I was at the first bar I bought. I noticed some patrons bypassed the bar and games, heading straight upstairs to play billiards. They pay a dollar per game, and those tables practically make money on their own. The people of Eastside love sports, and to them, billiards is a serious sport¡ªsome even think it should be in the Olympics. With good food, drinks, and a game to play, they tend to stay for a while.


    As I walked around, I overheard some customers mentioning that our prices are 20-30 cents cheaper than the previous owner¡¯s. It''s always nice to hear positive feedback, especially when it means more business!


    Soon, Martha came in with her two sons, my stepbrothers. I initially worried about getting in trouble since the legal drinking age is eighteen, and they¡¯re only seventeen. But since they were with their mother and only drinking soda or water, I knew we were in the clear.


    I approached them and said, ¡°Jake, Alex, go play the games behind me.¡± They did as I asked, and I took Martha upstairs to my office for a chat. I wanted to know why she brought them here, considering they needed to focus on their university applications and aptitude tests.


    Before Martha could respond, there was a knock on the door. One of my staff members informed me that some cops were here to speak with whoever was in charge. Their presence was causing quite a stir, and I needed to intervene before things escalated.


    The relationship between Eastside and the Empire Police Department has always been tense. Cops showing up in this district tends to put everyone on edge. My girlfriend, who grew up in Eastside, often says that people here won¡¯t hold back in expressing their disdain for the police.


    So, I gathered all the essential paperwork. Earlier this week, even though I''m a firefighter and know the building''s fire safety codes inside out, I had the fire department and a fire marshal come by for a thorough inspection. It''s one of the many roles of the fire department, and these inspections not only keep citizens safe and businesses open but also help firefighters learn about building construction and any special hazards in their district.


    If the cops have something to say, I know it¡¯s likely nonsense. I have the bill of sale, the transfer documents, and proof of payment¡ªall the necessary paperwork. If they claim my bar is overcapacity, that''s a blatant lie. It''s only been twenty minutes since I opened, and there are just 150 people here. The bar''s maximum capacity is 1500, so we''re well within the limit.


    I decided to talk to the cops myself. Long story short, one of them claimed the bar was "overcapacity." I quickly corrected him, explaining that we only had 150 people inside, far from the 1500 maximum. Then he tried to say the bar wasn''t "up to fire code." I informed him that it absolutely was, citing the Lieutenant from Engine Co 19 and the Fire Marshal, who both confirmed that with all the sprinklers and fireproof materials, any fire would likely be contained before the first engine company even arrived.


    I think the cop expected me to be some clueless, stereotypical hillbilly. But I got a solid education back in the United States, and my IQ is in the 100-110 range. I had all the evidence to prove I own the bar. I suspect I know who sent the cop, but I decided to play along for my own amusement.


    That''s what I love about the city of Empire. From politicians to corrupt televangelists with outsized egos railing against moral degeneracy, it''s a place where everyone has their vices. On the surface, it looks like a normal city, but deep down, everyone craves something, whether it''s alcohol or something more sinister. Yes, even I have my vices¡ªpride and wrath.


    When the cop claimed my papers were fake and suggested we settle it at the 10th Precinct, I played along. "Sure, let''s go down to the precinct and get this all settled."


    At the precinct, they brought in the previous owner of the bar. He confirmed that he sold the bar to me, and that the transaction was legal and above board. He even had his retired lawyer verify everything. Despite this, the cops weren''t satisfied and called someone from the DA''s office to press charges for false ownership paperwork. But even the DA''s office confirmed everything was legitimate. They contacted City Hall, which keeps track of business ownership, and verified that I owned the bar.


    With all the paperwork in hand, I headed back to the bar, feeling vindicated.


    I headed back to my bar, and Martha asked me to help Jake and Alex with their aptitude tests, which they need to complete after receiving their acceptance letters. I let them use my office to go over the tests and fill them out. I kept my thoughts to myself, though I have a gut feeling about how things might turn out.


    I suspect Alex might end up having to pay full tuition. He doesn''t seem to take his academic studies seriously, and I worry he might treat university like a party school, hanging out with the wrong crowd and potentially getting expelled for missing too many classes or not taking his studies seriously. On the other hand, I have a good feeling about Jake. He might get a half-tuition scholarship or even a full ride.


    But for now, I¡¯m keeping these thoughts to myself. They need to focus on their tests, and I don¡¯t want to add any unnecessary pressure. Plus, they don¡¯t know that every Friday there¡¯s a test, and I think it¡¯s best they find that out on their own.


    ___________


    The next day was Medal Day, a day I thought would go by quickly until the celebration. But fate had other plans.


    We were called to the roof of a fifty-story high-rise. I put on my harness, and another firefighter secured two carabiners with different ropes to it. The Captain spoke into his radio, ¡°Squad 769 to Command. We got a man coming over the top.¡±


    Was I expecting to perform a rope rescue from the rooftop? Not really. But before I could even think it through, my body was already moving. I found myself at the ledge, harness on, and going over the railing.


    As I descended, the reality of the situation hit me. The person below could be terrified, and there was a chance they might panic and jump onto me. That could cause the rope holder to lose control, sending us plummeting several stories before regaining control. Then there was the fire. The person was on the fire floor, but thankfully, the flames hadn''t reached their location yet. Still, they were outside the reach of our aerial ladders, making this rescue even more critical.


    In moments like these, you have to trust your training and your team. Every second counts, and there''s no room for hesitation.


    When I was lowered to the floor where the person was, I told him to wait¡ªtwice. But my words fell on deaf ears. Out of sheer panic, he jumped onto me, causing us to fall several floors before the team managed to stop us. We slammed into a window.


    The guy was in full panic mode. I looked him in the eye and said, ¡°I swear to God, I¡¯ll drop you.¡± It was enough to get his attention. I grabbed a tool and broke the window, pulling us inside. Once we were safely in, we could hear applause from outside.


    I knew I wasn''t about to swing around like some female version of Tarzan. Being realistic, I wasn''t going to do anything reckless, especially not eighty feet up on the eighth story. I had to avoid putting unnecessary strain on the ropes.


    Once the inside team secured the victim I rescued, I got on the radio and reported, ¡°Squad 769-7 to Squad 769 Actual, safely inside.¡± Even though the Fire Department City of Empire''s radio procedure requires addressing the Company Officer by apparatus type, number, and then the officer''s number (which is always 1), I kept it straightforward. For general company communication, it''s just the company type and number.


    My heart was racing after that rescue, but that''s the nature of the job. Every day in the Fire Department is different, especially in Squad 769''s response area. We deal with tall buildings, cranes, construction sites, and high-profile emergencies like rope rescues.


    If my girlfriend, Lusty or Linda, were stationed with me, they''d have plenty of stories too. They''ve been inside storage tanks, on top of high rises and skyscrapers, underneath bridges, and inside tunnels¡ªbasically, anything outside the scope of a normal Engine and Ladder Company. It''s a demanding job, but it''s what we signed up for, and we face it head-on every day.


    We headed back to our apparatus to stow away the rope rescue gear. The Captain asked the Battalion Chief, ¡°Where do you need us, Chief?¡±


    The Battalion Chief replied, ¡°I need two men up on eight to assist Ladder Seventeen, a four and a half inch supply line on ten, and Ladder Fourteen needs additional equipment on eleven.¡±


    I grabbed a Rescue Saw and the Irons, which is a combination of an Axe and Halligan bar. As SOC firefighters, we have specialized vests that allow us to carry extra saw blades and cutting torch rods. These vests add weight, which can slow us down, but they¡¯re essential for the job.


    Sometimes I wish I was either my girlfriend or any other family member with a flatter chest than I have bigger breasts but to me it¡¯s more of a pain in the ass than a blessing because to me I do not appreciate the attention they bring her. They get in the way or bounce uncontrollably during athletic activity even though I wear a sports bra and have it tight to make it more not bouncy. I love myself, but not in a narcissistic way. Those types choke on a fragmentation grenade for all I care. I embrace my imperfections because nobody''s perfect. Anyone who claims to be can eat a knuckle sandwich.


    I can''t stand perfectionists. They want everything to be flawless¡ªfrom their food to their vehicles, even how they make their bed. The last perfectionist I met bragged about making the "perfect" macaroni and cheese. I just told her, "Yeah, so do billions of other people." At first, I thought she was talking about me because of my nickname, "Macaroni." The last person who called me "Mac and Cheese" got their lights knocked out.


    Yes, my name is Mackenzie, and while ¡°Mac and Cheese¡± might be a common nickname, I prefer ¡°Macaroni.¡± My previous crew, before their tragic deaths, gave me a new nickname: ¡°Frost.¡± They said it was because I always ¡°Stay Frosty¡± on the job¡ªcalm and alert under pressure.


    I think they also chose ¡°Frost¡± because I¡¯m colder than ice to anyone who tries to mess with me. Or maybe they just liked the movie Aliens. Either way, it¡¯s a nickname that stuck, and I wear it with pride.


    As I climbed the stairwell, I couldn¡¯t help but think about the unique culinary tastes of the people in this city. Saying ¡°unique¡± is putting it lightly. Back in university, I saw people putting mayo, mustard, or ketchup on tacos, and even green beans or peas on cheeseburgers.


    When I first arrived here seven years ago, the first thing I saw was someone asking a hot dog vendor for a hot dog with macaroni and cheese on it. At first, I was skeptical, but I gave it a try and found it surprisingly good. This city definitely has its own flavor, and I¡¯ve come to appreciate its quirks.


    When I reached the eleventh floor, I said, ¡°Squad 769 here, what do you need?¡±


    They needed a saw, so I handed over the rescue saw I had with me. I kept my thoughts to myself, but I couldn''t help thinking that the fire was probably caused by a cigarette. In this country, nearly everyone smokes, much like how it was in many parts of the world until the ''80s. Some cultures and populations still have incredibly high smoking rates.


    My family members who lived through most of the 20th century often talked about how common smoking was, even inside buildings. It wouldn''t surprise me if a careless cigarette was the culprit here.


    Some of the routes were inaccessible, so they used the saw to cut through narrow parts of the walls to create new paths. In Little Bird, public schools have shop classes, so I knew these guys had at least basic construction skills. They knew where to cut without hitting electrical wires.


    At the fire academy, we''re taught to tear down walls to create new routes or to check for hidden fires during salvage and overhaul. This ensures we don''t leave any smoldering spots that could reignite later. There have been times when hidden fires have reignited buildings, forcing us to return and fight the fire again.


    As I surveyed the scene, I noticed that some of the rubble and debris seemed to be from the twelfth floor, which would take longer to clear. Using the saw to cut through the walls was a different approach, but necessary given the circumstances. There were small fires here and there, but nothing out of control that required multiple teams to handle.


    _______________


    City Hall, 12:00 PM.


    I spotted my dad, stepmom, and stepbrothers in the crowd. They had all come willingly, but I could sense something was off with my dad. He kept glancing away, his face clouded with worry.


    ¡°Dad, you okay?¡± I asked, trying to read his expression.


    He sighed deeply, ¡°I saw you hanging off the side of a fifteen-story building on a thin rope. Why didn¡¯t you tell me it was that dangerous?¡±


    I couldn¡¯t help but let out a small, bitter laugh. ¡°What part of my job isn¡¯t dangerous, Dad? Fire suppression, EMS, aircraft rescue, marine rescue, wildland firefighting, hazardous materials... High-angle rescues are just part of the Special Operations Training. We¡¯re trained for this.¡±


    His eyes filled with a mix of fear and frustration. ¡°Do you think it¡¯s easy for me to sleep at night knowing you¡¯re risking your life every day?¡±


    I felt a pang in my chest, memories flooding back. ¡°Do you think it was easy for me to sleep when you were deployed to Panama and the Gulf? I was just a kid, not knowing if my dad was coming home. It¡¯s the same fear, Dad.¡±


    The tension between us was palpable, and my stepmom, Martha, stepped in, her voice gentle but firm. ¡°You both need to understand that this worry is a cycle. Macaroni, you worried about your dad¡¯s safety, and now he¡¯s worrying about yours. It¡¯s hard for both of you.¡±


    Her words hung in the air, a painful reminder of the sacrifices we both made for our careers. The cycle of worry and fear, passed down from one generation to the next.


    ¡°What¡¯s the difference? We have the same fear,¡± my dad said, his voice trembling slightly.


    I took a deep breath, trying to keep my emotions in check. ¡°The difference, Dad, is that I¡¯m not getting shot at in Central America or the Middle East. I¡¯m fighting a different kind of war¡ªa war that never ends. I¡¯m battling fires and rescuing people.¡±


    I could see the realization dawning in his eyes. It was a difference, but it didn¡¯t make it any easier. ¡°Fires will never stop, Dad. Even with all the advancements in fire safety and building codes, there will always be someone smoking where they shouldn¡¯t, contractors cutting corners, or Mother Nature sparking wildfires with lightning, droughts, or storms. Someone will always leave a campfire unattended or toss a lit cigarette, and a fire will start. And when that happens, they need someone to fight those fires.¡±


    I paused, letting my words sink in. ¡°Modern buildings might be more fireproof, with better safety features than a century ago, but the need for firefighters will never go away. It¡¯s a war that never ends, and I¡¯m proud to be on the front lines.¡±


    My dad¡¯s eyes softened, and I could see he understood, even if it didn¡¯t make the fear go away. We were both fighting our own battles, and the worry was something we¡¯d have to live with.


    As we walked inside, I turned to my dad and said, ¡°You know, the folks over in Emerald Pastor¡¯s are the ones keeping the fire department in business. They need to go back to school. Who in their right mind keeps towels or paper towels next to a stove, leaves a burning cigarette over an open can of paint, or lights up a cigarette in the middle of the night and falls asleep, letting the ashes start a fire? These are the people keeping us busy.¡±


    I could see my dad trying to process what I was saying. ¡°They give stereotypical hillbillies a run for their money,¡± I continued. ¡°They¡¯re the kind to leave food cooking on the stove and then just walk away.¡±


    Dad tried to defend them, saying, ¡°Keeping food on the stove isn¡¯t that bad.¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°I mean they leave it unattended while it¡¯s still cooking, not just when it¡¯s ready to eat.¡±


    Martha chimed in, ¡°Educated people start fewer fires.¡±


    I sighed. ¡°They¡¯re educated, but they¡¯ve grown up with instant everything¡ªinstant communication, instant entertainment, instant orange juice, instant apple juice. They have everything at their fingertips and think that if they¡¯re in trouble, they should just call someone to fix it.¡±


    It was a harsh reality, but one that we faced every day. The cycle of carelessness and dependency kept us on our toes, always ready for the next call.


    As we walked inside, I shared with my dad and Martha how ironic it is that the people in my district are actually more careful about fire safety than those in middle-class neighborhoods. When Martha asked about the education level in my district, I explained that nine out of ten people have some form of high school education but didn¡¯t graduate because they had to drop out to help their parents with bills.


    Martha then asked what kind of jobs people in my district do. I told her they¡¯re the ones who keep society running. She thought I meant government workers, but I clarified. ¡°I¡¯m talking about sanitation workers, sewer system workers, the people who keep water flowing through the pipes so we can have clean water. They do the dirty, hazardous, and often repulsive jobs that are essential for civilization to function. They¡¯re the ones who are always overlooked.¡±


    My dad and stepmom found it ironic that people without high school diplomas, working thankless jobs that everyone takes for granted, are more fire safety-conscious than those with families, diplomas, or degrees. These folks were raised to handle problems themselves, not call for help at the slightest inconvenience.


    I also told them about the city¡¯s fire spree from 1967 to 1995. The hardest-hit districts were Eastside, Westside, and Anderson. The tenement buildings there were built between 1899 and 1914, and the wiring was just as old, leading to many fires.


    We made our way inside and headed to the auditorium in City Hall. I noticed Alex looking around like he was lost and out of place, while my dad seemed to be having a nostalgic moment, as if he had stepped back in time.


    ¡°All the men here have either a buzz cut or a crew cut,¡± my dad remarked, his voice tinged with curiosity.


    I chose to ignore his comment. The country¡¯s emphasis on uniformity and mandatory military service for men meant that men had to do at least one tour. According to my cousin Dave and my girlfriend Lusty, shorter hair is easier to maintain and makes it simpler for parents to check for ticks. Plus, shorter hair is practical¡ªlow-maintenance, hygienic, and safe.


    As we walked inside, I thought about telling them how different things are in Little Bird. There, they don¡¯t have a ¡°No Child Left Behind¡± policy. To graduate, you need to earn the required points to move up to the next grade. There¡¯s no ¡°close enough¡± ¨C you either make the mark or you don¡¯t. Lusty told me that even if you¡¯re off by one point, you¡¯re held back. It sounds harsh, but just passing students to make the numbers look good isn¡¯t fair either. Lusty believes that by the time students graduate in Little Bird, they¡¯re ready to tackle the world head-on, not just stand around scratching their heads.


    I¡¯ve seen debates on the news about lowering graduation requirements, but many people oppose it. They believe lowering standards is setting up for failure. Lusty mentioned that when she graduated high school in 1997, the requirements were tough: twenty-one credits, eighty service hours, and passing Basic Math or Algebra, English, Science, and either Home Economics or Shop. Students had to score at least 80% to pass, and failing meant repeating the year. Dave, my cousin, also opposes lowering standards. To him, making people do less to achieve the same result is just setting them up for failure.


    I took my seat at the front, trying to blend into the crowd. The Mayor soon took the stage, launching into a long-winded introduction. Honestly, I wished he¡¯d just skip to the part where he announced the medals and the recipients. I wasn¡¯t expecting to get one, anyway.


    As the ceremony dragged on, I found myself zoning out. But then, to my surprise, my name was called. They were giving me a medal for my actions during last year¡¯s oil refinery fire. I never thought I¡¯d be recognized for that. I¡¯ve never been one for medals or accolades; to me, they¡¯re more suited for competitive sports.


    But as I walked up to receive the medal, I realized it wasn¡¯t just about the recognition. It was about acknowledging the risks we take and the lives we save. Even if I don¡¯t care for the spotlight.


    I get where you¡¯re coming from. I¡¯ve never been one to seek out rewards for just doing my job. It¡¯s what I signed up for, after all. But I know there are folks out there who feel they deserve a pat on the back for the simplest tasks, like making a sandwich or tidying up their bed.


    To me, awards make more sense for kids in sports or other activities where they¡¯re pushing themselves and learning new skills. It¡¯s about recognizing effort and growth, not just ticking off everyday chores. But hey, everyone¡¯s different, right? What matters is that we keep doing what we do best, whether or not there¡¯s a medal at the end of the day.


    After the Medal Day celebration, I decided to run a quick errand. I visited a few newspaper companies in the city and made sure Alderman Robert Elephant¡¯s shady dealings were exposed all over the papers. I knew the Watersons would be proud of me for taking the high road, letting the public handle it rather than taking matters into my own hands.


    It felt good to know I was doing the right thing, even if it meant stepping out of my comfort zone. Sometimes, the best way to fight back is to let the truth come to light and let the masses deal with the fallout.


    ________________


    Back at my apartment, my dad made a beeline for the TV and turned it on. The words ¡°Breaking News¡± flashed across the screen, grabbing all of our attention. We rushed over to watch.


    It was a live news report. Federal agents had Alderman Robert Elephant in cuffs. The reporter listed off a slew of crimes he was suspected of, from siphoning funds from city services, adultery, and finally to creating ghost students for different school districts. In Little Bird, schools are funded through taxes and the government, but in Empire, some schools get $5,500 per student.


    Alex, looking confused, asked, ¡°What are ghost students?¡±


    His twin brother Jake explained, ¡°It¡¯s when schools create fake names, genders, and ages for students who don¡¯t exist to get additional money and inflate enrollment.¡±


    I added, ¡°It¡¯s a form of fraud, creating imaginary people for extra funds. The city¡¯s corruption has reached a crisis level.¡±


    Seeing Alderman Elephant in cuffs was a small victory, but it also highlighted the deep-rooted issues we¡¯re facing. It¡¯s a reminder that we need to stay vigilant and keep fighting for what¡¯s right.

 Chapter Twenty-One

    October 14th dawned. I sat poised in a chair, my left arm carefully secured in a strange, unfamiliar contraption. The scientist, a seasoned professional with a calm demeanor,  approached me with a clipboard in hand.


    ¡°Alright Mackenzie, now move your left arm for recalibration. I¡¯ll run a diagnostic,¡± he instructed, his voice a soothing blend of authority and reassurance. I complied, my arm moving with a practiced ease, despite the unfamiliar weight of the contraption. Three connector pieces, gleaming with an almost futuristic sheen, were embedded in my arm. I moved her fingers, each one a testament to the intricate workings of the technology that now ran through her veins.


    ¡°Making a small adjustment,¡± the scientist announced, his eyes fixed on the readings displayed on a handheld device. I continued to move my arm, my fingers tracing the air, responding to the demands of the calibration process. The scientist, his brow furrowed in concentration, carefully observed the readings, a silent dialogue between man and machine unfolding before them.


    ¡°I think I see the problem,¡± the scientist declared, his voice tinged with a hint of triumph.  He tapped the screen of the device, a flurry of digits and symbols dancing across its surface. ¡°Give me a moment,¡± he murmured, his fingers moving with practiced precision. The device hummed softly, a symphony of data processing resonating in the hushed silence of the room.


    ¡°Alright, you¡¯re good to go,¡± he declared, a satisfied smile gracing his lips. With a practiced hand, he removed the three connectors, each one a symbol of the intricate connection between technology and human potential.The contraption, its purpose fulfilled, was gently removed from my arm, leaving her free, but not untouched by the experience.


    ¡°Lieutenant Commander Amore is waiting for you,¡± said the Scientist


    I then got up from the seat and got up and started to walk.


    I guess you all have been wondering how I¡¯ve been in this position. Let me start with last week of what happened,


    ____________


    October 1st


    The firehouse was unusually quiet, but I knew better than to get too comfortable. I was at a table, testing some spare breathing apparatus and masks. It''s crucial to ensure these are in perfect working order; any defect could mean the difference between life and death. If something was off, we''d either fix it ourselves or call the mask service unit. They''d swap our broken gear for a loaner from the 1990s¡ªhardly ideal, but better than nothing.


    Suddenly, the fire bell rang, jolting us into action. A fire at a technology research plant. I grabbed my new helmet, proudly marked "FIREFIGHTER" instead of "PROBIE." Today, I was officially a full-fledged firefighter.


    "So, Captain, what''s the situation?" I asked, securing my helmet.


    "Research facility. People trapped. Automated metal doors," he replied, his voice steady.


    We arrived quickly. The Captain spoke to a scientist who explained they were working on particle matter and nanotechnology.


    As we moved in, I couldn''t help but think of Isaac Newton''s words. "Every particle of matter is attracted by or gravitates to every other particle of matter with a force inversely proportional to the squares of their distances." Here we were, dealing with particle physics and nanotechnology.


    I muttered to myself, "The impact of nanotechnology is expected to exceed the impact that the electronics revolution has had on our lives."


    While escorting a scientist out, I noticed the doors opened when they detected movement. I figured if I kept my arm in the door frame, it would stay open. But as soon as the scientist passed through, the PA system blared, "Fire Detected," and the door slammed shut on my arm.


    Pain shot through me, but I stayed calm. Grabbing my radio with my free hand, I called out, "Mayday, Mayday, Mayday, this is Squad 769-7. I''m 10-66. Repeat, I''m 10-66, arm trapped in a door."


    In the Fire Department City of Empire, a 10-66 means a member is missing, lost, trapped, or seriously injured and needs extrication. My team would have to get me out of this automated door that had me pinned.


    I knew they''d come through. They always did.


    After what felt like an eternity but was only a few minutes, I heard a voice, "Squad 541 here¡­ Oh, your arm is really trapped in a door."


    It wasn''t my team, but beggars can''t be choosers. I would have preferred my girlfriend''s squad, but Squad 141 wasn''t dispatched to this fire.


    One of the firefighters from Squad 541 got a blowtorch ready. I took off my helmet and put it over my mask as a makeshift welder shield to protect my eyes from the intense brightness. My family has a lot of welders and folks in construction, shipbuilding, and other trades. They''ve always warned me about how bright a blowtorch can be¡ªbrighter than the sun and capable of causing temporary eye damage.


    As the blowtorch flared up, I braced myself. This was going to be one for the books.


    The Lieutenant asked if I could feel my arm. I told him I couldn''t feel a thing in my lower left arm or hand. He suspected it was shock. It took them a while to cut a piece of the door off, only to realize they had to cut through more to free my entire arm.


    When they finally managed to cut through, my lower left arm came off. The Lieutenant radioed for an ambulance, specifying it was an amputation case. The chief on scene had to double-check to make sure he heard correctly. The Lieutenant confirmed, explaining my situation¡ªmy arm caught in the door, now partially amputated.


    I was brought out and placed in an ambulance, positioned to manage shock. A paramedic was in the back with me, but an EMS Supervisor joined because this kind of trauma was beyond a paramedic''s scope. They did their best to stop the bleeding and gave me some medicine to numb the pain, but I was becoming pale from the blood loss.


    They worked tirelessly, doing everything they could to stabilize me. I knew I was in good hands, but the reality of losing my arm was starting to sink in.


    Of course, when the ambulance started to take off, I could hear the EMT radio dispatch that they had an amputation case and to let the trauma center know they should have a team ready for our arrival.


    I overheard the paramedic ask the EMS Supervisor if they could reattach my arm. The EMS Supervisor shook his head and explained that it was too late. Even if they had the proper equipment, the fourteen minutes my arm was stuck in the automatic door had done irreversible damage. The heat on the other side of the door had killed the cells in my arm. Temperatures between 46¡ãC and 60¡ãC cause irreversible cellular damage, and fires are much hotter than that. Our turnout gear can only protect us from so much heat, and the fire on the ceiling was far hotter than fires at eye level.


    The reality of the situation hit me hard. My arm was gone, and there was no getting it back. The paramedics did their best to stabilize me, stopping the bleeding and giving me medicine to numb the pain. I was becoming pale from the blood loss, but they worked tirelessly to keep me stable.


    As we sped towards the trauma center, I couldn''t help but think about what this meant for my future. Being a firefighter was my life, and now everything was about to change. But I knew one thing for sure, I wasn''t going to let this stop me. I''d find a way to keep going, no matter what.


    I couldn''t help but feel a wave of regret wash over me. Putting my arm through that door, hoping it wouldn''t close, was a gamble that didn''t pay off. Sure, it''s great that the doors close automatically in fires to prevent the spread, but I wish they had some way to detect if someone was in the way.


    I''m cross-dominant, so I use both hands, but my left arm and hand have always been my go-to for most tasks. Writing, picking up stuff¡ªmy left hand was my preference. Now, I was going to have to adjust to using my right hand for everything. It felt like a daunting task, but I knew I''d have to adapt.


    As the ambulance sped towards the trauma center, I couldn''t shake the feeling of frustration. I knew better than to put my arm in that door, but in the heat of the moment, I made a choice. Now, I had to live with the consequences. But one thing was clear. I wasn''t going to let this setback define me. I''d find a way to keep going, just like I always have.


    It didn¡¯t help that just a couple of weeks ago, my dad had voiced his fears about me getting injured or killed on the job. I threw his fear right back at him, reminding him of his deployments during Operation: Just Cause and the Gulf War. As a child, I had the same fears for him. It was a cycle of worry that we both understood all too well.


    As we sped towards the hospital, I glanced at the analog clock above the ambulance¡¯s back door. I was trying to time the trip, expecting it to take around ten minutes. To my surprise, we arrived in just four. The paramedics had done an incredible job getting me there quickly.


    Despite the pain and the shock, I couldn¡¯t help but think about how life has a way of throwing curveballs. My dad¡¯s fears, my own stubbornness, and now this¡ªlosing my arm. But I knew I had to stay strong, not just for myself, but for everyone who cared about me. This was just another challenge, and I¡¯d face it head-on, just like I always have.


    As soon as we arrived at the hospital, the paramedics transferred me to the hospital staff. I heard a doctor urgently calling for a trauma surgeon and notifying other departments I wasn¡¯t familiar with. The urgency in their voices made everything feel even more surreal.


    They rolled me into a room, and the first thing they did was remove my turnout jacket. I felt a mix of relief and vulnerability as the weight of the jacket was lifted off me. The next thing I knew, they were administering medicine to knock me out. The last thing I remember was the bright lights of the room and the flurry of activity around me.


    As the medicine took effect, my thoughts drifted to my dad, my team, and everyone who mattered to me. I knew I was in good hands, but the uncertainty of what lay ahead was daunting. I just hoped that when I woke up, I¡¯d have the strength to face whatever came next.


    ___________________


    When I woke up, the first thing I did was ask the nurse what time it was. She told me that seven days had passed. Seven days. It felt like a lifetime. She mentioned that a doctor would be coming to check in with me soon.


    After she left, I stared out the window, trying to process everything. The city outside looked the same, but everything had changed for me.


    Soon, a doctor walked in. "Morning, Ms. Mackenzie," he said with a reassuring smile. "I''ve got some good news. We have two prosthetic arms available for you to choose from. They''ll be brought up later for you to check out."


    I nodded, taking in his words. The idea of a prosthetic arm was both daunting and hopeful. It meant I could regain some of the functionality I''d lost. It meant I could start to rebuild my life, piece by piece.


    "Thank you, doctor," I said, my voice steady. "I''m ready to see them."


    As he left the room, I took a deep breath. This was the beginning of a new chapter, and I was determined to face it head-on.


    After several hours, the doctor returned with a table holding two prosthetic arms under glass lids. One was all metal, probably titanium, and the other looked almost indistinguishable from a real human arm, made of some kind of advanced plastic.


    The doctor explained the differences. The metal one couldn''t get wet without being locked up and needed to be reset and fixed, while the plastic one could function like a normal arm and get wet, but it needed an annual check-up to ensure there was no damage and to recalibrate if necessary.


    I chose the plastic one that looked realistic. For some reason, I always enter the shower on my left side, even though it would be more convenient to use my right. The realistic look of the plastic arm just felt right to me.


    The doctor nodded and said he would inform the team of my choice. Despite everything, a tiny part of me still hoped my real arm could be reattached. I knew it was a long shot, especially after the EMS Supervisor explained how the heat had destroyed the cells. But hope is a stubborn thing.


    As I waited for the prosthetic, I thought about the road ahead. Adapting to a new arm would be a challenge, but I was ready to face it. After all, I''ve never backed down from a challenge before, and I wasn''t about to start now.


    After some time had passed, they prepared me for surgery. I was knocked out for the procedure, and when I woke up, I was back in my hospital room with my new cybernetic arm.


    I slowly moved my arm, hand, and fingers, getting a feel for the prosthetic. It was surreal, almost like learning to use my arm all over again. The movements were smooth, and it responded well to my commands. It felt strange but also empowering. This new arm was going to be a part of me, and I was determined to make it work.


    As I continued to test the range of motion, I couldn¡¯t help but feel a mix of emotions. There was a sense of loss, but also a sense of hope and determination. This was a new beginning.


    ---


    Seven Days Later


    My left arm started acting up a bit, so I decided to visit the Marine-Air Base, home to the Little Birden Third Marine Division, Twenty-First Airborne Division, and the 32nd Multi-role Fighter Wing. Since my cybernetic prosthetic arm is common among military service members, I was referred to see a military specialist.


    When I approached the gate, a Military Policeman stopped me to question my purpose. I explained that I was there to see a cybernetic specialist. The MP gave me directions on where to park and where to go.


    Following his instructions, I parked my car and made my way to the designated building. The base was bustling with activity, and I couldn''t help but feel a sense of camaraderie with the service members. They, too, understood the challenges of adapting to life with a prosthetic.


    ¡°Alright Mackenzie, now move your left arm for recalibration. I¡¯ll run a diagnostic,¡± he instructed, his voice a soothing blend of authority and reassurance. I complied, my arm moving with a practiced ease, despite the unfamiliar weight of the contraption. Three connector pieces, gleaming with an almost futuristic sheen, were embedded in my arm. I moved her fingers, each one a testament to the intricate workings of the technology that now ran through her veins.


    ¡°Making a small adjustment,¡± the scientist announced, his eyes fixed on the readings displayed on a handheld device. I continued to move my arm, my fingers tracing the air, responding to the demands of the calibration process.The scientist, his brow furrowed in concentration, carefully observed the readings, a silent dialogue between man and machine unfolding before them.


    ¡°I think I see the problem,¡± the scientist declared, his voice tinged with a hint of triumph.  He tapped the screen of the device, a flurry of digits and symbols dancing across its surface. ¡°Give me a moment,¡± he murmured, his fingers moving with practiced precision. The device hummed softly, a symphony of data processing resonating in the hushed silence of the room.


    ¡°Alright, you¡¯re good to go,¡± he declared, a satisfied smile gracing his lips.  With a practiced hand, he removed the three connectors, each one a symbol of the intricate connection between technology and human potential.  The contraption, its purpose fulfilled, was gently removed from my arm, leaving me free, but not untouched by the experience.


    ¡°Lieutenant Commander Amore is waiting for you,¡± said the Scientist


    I got up from the seat and started to walk. The machine I had put my arm in reminded me of those blood pressure machines. As I entered another hallway, I met up with Cadenza again. She led me to a 4x4 jeep-like vehicle. I got in behind her while she took the passenger seat, and the driver took off.


    As we rode around, I couldn''t help but marvel at the futuristic technology. Turbofan VTOLs, soldiers and marines with jump jets in their combat boots, allowing them to leap twelve feet and reach areas a normal infantryman couldn''t.


    "What I''m seeing is advanced warfare?" I asked, still in awe.


    "Yup," Cadenza replied with a nod.


    It was amazing to see Marines and Paratroopers testing out their jumpjet boots, using built-in grappling hooks to reach otherwise inaccessible areas.


    "Someone climbing a wall without rope?" I said, pointing to a soldier scaling a metallic surface.


    "Magnetic gloves and boots," Cadenza explained. "They let the wearer climb metallic surfaces. They can be turned off and on, so they''re not always active."


    We soon arrived at a building, and Cadenza and I got out while the jeep drove off.


    "Whenever I go see a doctor, I get some trigger time in," Cadenza said casually.


    I was about to ask what she meant, but we entered a building and headed to an indoor shooting range. Cadenza was the type who didn''t let bureaucracies slow her down. If I asked her if she would try politics, I knew she''d say, "Well, I like to get things done, so¡­ no."


    I looked around, amazed at the firing range.


    "What we do in a few years, other governments take decades to accomplish," Cadenza said. "Unlike other countries with huge bureaucracies, Little Bird gets things done quickly."


    Her words resonated with me. It was inspiring to see such efficiency and innovation in action. As I prepared to test my new arm, I felt a renewed sense of determination. This was just the beginning of a new chapter, and I was ready to embrace it.


    As we walked, Cadenza talked about how the greatest weakness of many countries is the slow speed of their administrations, often due to corruption and sheer size. Little Bird, she explained, is the opposite. With a small bureaucracy, it''s more agile, responsive, and adaptable. Larger bureaucracies get bogged down by complex layers of approval processes, hindering innovation and slowing responses to issues. In contrast, smaller ones allow for more direct communication and quicker action.


    She also mentioned that in Little Bird, justice is served regardless of one''s connections or influence. There''s no "I''m a relative of a high-ranking politician" to get someone off the hook. My cousin once removed, Lieutenant Mitchell "Mitzy" Waterson, and his wife Visala, who is incredibly intelligent in her field of alien tech and reverse engineering, are responsible for a lot of the advancements here.


    We soon arrived at the indoor firing range.


    "So, are these pop-up targets?" I asked.


    "Nope," Cadenza replied with a grin.


    She handed me a pistol and led me to the range. She pressed a button, and a holographic scene appeared, showing the front side of a building with a door and twin window outlines. Holographic targets popped up, and I took aim, firing at them.


    The realism of the holograms was impressive, and it felt like I was in an actual combat scenario. Each shot I took with my new arm felt more natural, and I could feel my confidence growing with each hit. This was more than just target practice; it was a step towards reclaiming my life and my abilities.


    The first set of targets was easy enough since they were stationary. But I knew better than to get too comfortable. Being in a place that garrisons Marines, Paratroopers, and Pilots, I had a feeling things were about to get more challenging. I kept my thoughts to myself, though.


    When Set 2 began, it was a whole different ball game. The targets didn''t just pop up and stay still; they moved left to right or right to left. The red ones were enemies, and the blue ones were civilians. It felt like a police training scenario for a hostage situation. I had to stop and check before I shot, making sure I didn''t hit a blue hologram.


    The added complexity made me focus even more, testing my reflexes and decision-making skills. Each shot required precision and quick thinking, and I could feel my new arm adapting to the challenge. It was tough, but I was determined to get through it. This was just another step in proving to myself that I could handle whatever came my way.


    When Set Two ended, I reloaded my pistol, but Cadenza handed me an assault rifle. It was the Little Bird version of the GAU-5A/A, with a flat top, A1 flash hider, and the sling wrapped around the barrel and receiver.


    I quickly understood why she gave me the assault rifle. Set Three was a lot more fast-paced, with holographic targets popping in and out, or appearing and moving to different locations before disappearing. It was a real test of my reflexes and accuracy.


    The targets moved unpredictably, simulating a chaotic combat environment. I had to stay sharp, quickly identifying and engaging the red enemy targets while avoiding the blue civilian ones. The assault rifle felt powerful and responsive in my hands, and I could feel my confidence growing with each successful hit.


    This was more than just a training exercise; it was a chance to prove to myself that I could adapt and excel, even with my new arm. As the session continued, I felt a renewed sense of determination. This was just the beginning, and I was ready for whatever challenges lay ahead.


    When it was over, Cadenza turned to me with a grin. "You put some rookies to shame," she said. "You make cops look like mall security guards could shoot better."


    I chuckled and replied, "I''m not your stereotypical American who loves guns. I''ve mostly shot historical ones, like the infamous Tommy gun and many others. Not my first time shootin'' a gun."


    Cadenza nodded, somewhat impressed. "Well, whatever your experience, it shows. You handled that like a pro."


    As we started to walk, we picked up our conversation from last month. Cadenza talked about her boyfriend Francis and his extensive adoptive family. She mentioned how some parents in his family have two kids of the same gender but always favor one over the other. This favoritism makes the other child feel like a stranger in their own home. When the neglected one speaks out, the parents and the favored sibling often downplay their feelings or yell at them for ¡°embarrassing them.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s tough,¡± Cadenza said, shaking her head. ¡°Many of them get caught between their two daughters or sons¡ªone they¡¯ve always favored and the other they don¡¯t know how to support without causing conflict.¡±


    I nodded, understanding the complexity of family dynamics. ¡°That sounds really challenging. It¡¯s hard enough dealing with family issues without feeling like you¡¯re constantly being compared or overlooked.¡±


    ¡°Exactly,¡± Cadenza replied. ¡°Francis tries to stay out of it, but it¡¯s hard when it¡¯s your family. He wants to support everyone, but it¡¯s like walking a tightrope. Even though they don¡¯t consider him family unless if it¡¯s important to them¡±


    Cadenza shared more about the challenges she and Francis faced with his extensive adoptive family. One of his cousins had run away and stayed with them until college started. When her parents showed up at Cadenza''s farmhouse, they actually threatened to fight her and Francis. Cadenza, being the no-nonsense type, told them to fuck off, mentioning her half-brother, a cop, who would report them as attempted robbers after she shot them. When they accused her of bluffing, she loaded a shotgun with buckshot shells, making it clear she wasn''t messing around.


    Cadenza also mentioned how she earns significantly more than Francis, which led to his adoptive family coming out of the woodwork, demanding monetary handouts. Francis consistently told them no, in tones ranging from sharp to angry to fierce, because they never truly saw him as family¡ªonly his adoptive parents did. The family even threatened to take legal action against Cadenza for not sharing her money. She reminded them that they had no legal standing, as she wasn''t obligated to give them anything. Her half-brother Mitchell confirmed that they would only make themselves look foolish if they tried.


    I shared with Cadenza how some of my family members, who are stepchildren, have been abandoned by their parents and stepparents. These parents often focus on their new families, leaving their kids from previous marriages with empty promises. They don''t realize they''re unintentionally alienating their own children. Yet, when they need something, they come crawling back without trying to make amends for the past. It''s ironic how they neglect their kids but expect them to be there when it''s convenient.


    I mentioned how some Watersons prioritize their stepkids over their biological children from previous marriages. Many of them see the mistakes they''ve made and try to make amends, believing there''s no "let bygones be bygones." They admit their wrongdoings and work to repair the relationships. Others, however, refuse to acknowledge any fault.


    Cadenza nodded, understanding the complexities of family dynamics. "It''s tough when people don''t see the damage they''re causing," she said. "But it''s good to hear that some are trying to make things right."


    "Yeah," I agreed. "It''s all about taking responsibility and making an effort to mend those broken bridges."


    As we continued our walk, I felt a sense of camaraderie with Cadenza. We both understood the importance of family, support, and the challenges that come with it. It was comforting to know that, despite the difficulties, there were people willing to fight for what''s right.


    I shared with Cadenza how some female Watersons have had spouses who went behind their backs, leaving them just before giving birth to be with their exes for so-called "emergencies." Despite the pressure, these women immediately filed for divorce when their husbands went no-contact for a week or two, only to return acting like nothing happened. The husbands were often shocked to find themselves divorced for abandoning their wives when they needed them the most.


    Our conversation shifted to advanced education. Cadenza mentioned that her "advanced education" is in military theory and military science. She quoted, "Wars may be fought with weapons, but they are won by men. It is the spirit of the men who follow and of the man who leads that gains the victory."


    I smiled and replied, "General George S. Patton."


    I shared with Cadenza how some of my female family members went to college or university while working part-time jobs. They often struggled to balance school and work, finding it hard at first. The low pay of part-time jobs wasn''t enough for them, so they turned to more elusive and dishonorable work instead of asking family for help. To them, the money from such work was more than what they could earn from an honest job, but it came at the cost of their shame and soul. They''d often say, "If my parents ever found out, they''d kill me."


    Cadenza understood what I was talking about. She''d seen signs offering "big money for an hour of work," though they never explicitly said that. We were both raised to value the honesty of hard work, even if it didn''t pay much. At the end of the day, you still have your soul intact and know you won''t run into trouble with the law or bring shame to your friends and family.


    "It''s tough," Cadenza said, nodding. "But it''s important to hold on to your values, even when it''s hard."


    "Absolutely," I agreed. "It''s about knowing that you''ve earned your way honestly, no matter how tough it gets."


    Our conversation reminded me of the importance of integrity and the strength it takes to stick to your principles, even when faced with difficult choices. It was a good reminder that, despite the challenges, staying true to yourself is always worth it.


    I told Cadenza about my time at Arcane University and how some of my classmates got jobs on campus. It was a way to kill two birds with one stone¡ªworking where they were getting their education. The school would take 50-75% of their paycheck, not to steal their hard-earned money, but to help pay off their tuition.


    The job options were limited, tutoring, stocking books in the library, working in the cafeteria, or janitorial/custodial work. While the latter paid slightly more, it was still a moot point because a significant portion of their pay automatically went towards tuition.


    I reminisced with Cadenza about Burger Fridays at Arcane University. The burgers were to die for¡ªthin patties served before lunch started to manage the rush of 20,000 students. They had to pre-make them and finish with the cheese each student wanted. Some students got creative, covering their burgers with white, yellow or red onions or smothering them in ketchup, mustard, or mayo. Right now, a cheeseburger with Havarti cheese and mayo or mustard sounded really good.


    Our conversation shifted to logistics. Even though Cadenza isn''t a Logistics Officer, she emphasized how crucial logistics are to any army. No army can fight without food, water, ammo, and other supplies. I shared my experience working as a grocery store stocker. My hours varied, but I mostly worked Monday, Wednesday, and Friday nights. Monday and Wednesday were lighter, just enough to stock up for two days. But Friday nights were intense, prepping for the Saturday rush when people flocked to the stores with checkout lines feel like rush hour traffic. In Little Bird, 99% of businesses close on Sundays due to Blue laws, except for vital services and some tourist hotspots.


    "Logistics really are the backbone," I said. "Whether it''s an army or a grocery store, nothing runs smoothly without it."


    Cadenza nodded. "Absolutely. It''s the unsung hero of any operation."


    As we continued our walk, I felt a sense of camaraderie. We both understood the importance of hard work and the often overlooked details that keep everything running smoothly. It was a good reminder of the value of dedication and the impact of every role, no matter how small it might seem.


    After that, I decided to leave and made my way over to the Fire Department City of Empire Headquarters. When I entered the lobby, I checked the directory:


    <ul>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Bureau of Operations - 2nd Floor</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Bureau of Administrative Services - 4th Floor</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Bureau of Logistics - 3rd Floor</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Bureau of Fire Prevention - 5th Floor</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Planning Section - 5.5th Floor</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Employee Relations Division - 7th Floor</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Community Liaison Unit - 8th Floor</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Community Service Unit - 9th Floor</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Community Risk Reduction Unit - 10th Floor</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Firestat Section - 11th Floor</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Schools, Churches & Institutions Unit - 12th Floor</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Data Management Unit - 14th Floor</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Uniform Division - 15th Floor</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Public Relations - 17th Floor</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Commissioner and Chief¡¯s Offices - 18th Floor</li>


    </ul>


    I decided to head to the 15th Floor to put in a request for a new turnout jacket.


    When I got to the 15th floor and entered the room, it looked more like a warehouse than an office building floor. Rows upon rows of turnout gear were displayed on mannequins¡ªhelmets, jackets, trousers, and boots all lined up. Each helmet had a color-coded number indicating the company: dark blue for Rescue Co, light blue for Engine Co, and azure or sapphire blue for Ladder Co.


    Each piece of gear was different, some custom-made to fit skinnier and lightweight firefighters, while others were designed for average-built or slightly muscular firefighters. It was clear that they took great care in ensuring everyone had the right fit for their gear, which is crucial for safety and efficiency on the job.


    I approached the desk to put in my request for a new turnout jacket. Despite the thousands of jackets already there, they told me it would take about a week to get mine ready. I provided my size, last name, and badge number¡ªWaterson 198445¡ªso they could find a large jacket and stitch my last name on the back with reflective patches.


    I knew the room held about $6,000,000 worth of turnout gear, with each set costing around $3,000. Each company had at least fourteen sets, if not more. The jackets varied, with some saying "FDE" on the back, while others had "EMPIRE FIRE DEPT" or "FIRE DEPT EMPIRE." In the 18th Battalion, "FDE" is more common, whereas in the 19th Battalion, "EMPIRE FIRE DEPT" and "FIRE DEPT EMPIRE" are the norm.


    As I left the headquarters, I felt a sense of anticipation. Getting my new jacket would be another step towards getting back to normal. It was a reminder of the community I was part of and the support system that was always there, ready to help me get back on my feet¡ªor in this case, back in the firehouse.


    I had to pay $1,500 for my new jacket, which would be shipped to my firehouse instead of my apartment. I had expected it to be free, but that wasn''t the case. The policy is that the first set of turnout gear is free, as many firefighters come from impoverished backgrounds and can''t afford it. Since 1984 or 1985, depending on the town or city, the first set has been covered by the city or town, but any subsequent gear has to be paid for out of pocket.


    ______________


    Next Week


    I arrived at the firehouse and immediately noticed something was off. The apparatus bay door was closed up with a piece of plywood, and a paper taped to it. The note bluntly stated that the firehouse was closed and directed us to Firehouse 47, the next closest station. Just like that, the Eastside district, covering 1.418 square miles and home to 143,000 people, was back to relying on just one firehouse. Firehouse 47? It¡¯s halfway across the district.


    The Captain and some of the guys were standing around, talking about what happened. I joined them, and they were discussing plans for a barbecue later in the week. Mid-October is National Barbecue Week in Little Bird, running from Monday to Sunday. But I couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that this whole situation was a load of baloney. Closing our firehouse and making us depend on one further away felt like a huge step backward.


    A woman approached us, clearly exhausted, probably just off a night shift. She asked what was going on, and the Captain explained that Squad 769 had been shut down by the city. Her reaction was even more irate than ours. It was clear she felt the same frustration many of us did about Eastside being ignored by the city.


    She started venting about the city''s history of neglecting Eastside. Back in the 1980s, the community had built gardens to grow their own fruits and vegetables. But in their so-called "wisdom," the city decided to destroy those gardens to build businesses like bars, aiming to keep impoverished people poor. The community didn¡¯t support these businesses, letting them go out of business. They then tore them down and rebuilt their gardens.


    In retaliation, the city shut off all water to Eastside. It took a massive public backlash to force the city to turn the water back on, but not before many people died in fires because the fire department couldn''t access water from the hydrant system.


    Listening to her, I felt a deep sense of solidarity. The people of Eastside had been through so much, and now they were losing a firehouse that served their community. It was a harsh reminder of the ongoing struggle for basic services and respect.


    The woman nodded, her anger tempered by a shared understanding. We stood there, united in our frustration but also in our determination to keep pushing back against the neglect and injustice.


    She continued, venting her frustration about the city''s decision to relocate Firehouse 47 to Highwood, the city''s wealthy district with hardly any fire reports. She pointed out that the people of Eastside are much smarter than City Hall gives them credit for. They educated themselves on the workings of the fire department, noting every fire box number and timing the response of other fire companies, which was generally over seven minutes. In a job where every second counts, this delay was unacceptable. Firehouse 47, on the other hand, had a response time of around five minutes or less, even during rush hour.


    She explained that the delays were often due to other fire companies not knowing the routes, having to consult paper maps that didn''t account for road construction or other changes. This inefficiency was a stark contrast to the quick and reliable service Eastside residents had come to expect from Firehouse 47.


    The woman went on about how the city always treated Eastside, Westside, and Anderson as afterthoughts. She said "afterthought" was putting it lightly, recalling how City Hall had once referred to these districts as "unwashed poverty hotspots." This derogatory term had deeply offended the residents, who were anything but unwashed or impoverished.


    I''ve been to all three districts and seen historical photos. They are far from the dangerous, dirty ghettos the city makes them out to be. These areas are home to hardworking people who do jobs that everyday folks take for granted. They maintain power lines, communication lines, clean the sewers, and work in the city''s water treatment and reticulation plants to keep the water flowing, making sure everybody has access to water to cook, clean, or shower with, or to be used by the fire department to fight fires. These are the unsung heroes who keep the city running smoothly.


    Listening to her, I felt a deep sense of solidarity and frustration. The people of Eastside deserved better, and it was clear that the fight for fair treatment and respect was far from over.


    Many people here work unglamorous, thankless jobs that others take for granted. They replace light bulbs in street posts, fill potholes, fix roads, work at the dump, and keep the city train stations running. They get up at ungodly hours to bake bread for bakery shelves or work in sanitation, often finishing their shifts just as the rest of the city is waking up.


    One thing I know about Eastside, from what my girlfriend told me, is that the people here are fighters. They take their grievances to City Hall and ask the tough questions that politicians are afraid to answer. They''re not easily swayed by political rhetoric and remember what politicians say, ready to hold them accountable.


    City Hall can¡¯t just send the cops in to deal with these people because that would only reinforce the perception that the police are either useless or vicious bullies. Even though nobody likes being bossed around by the police, it''s their job and they have to do it whether we (or they) like it or not. Some types of policemen, however, are thugs who take pleasure in going after people they don''t like, for petty reasons or, in particularly bad cases, no reason at all. Even though I live in a country where it¡¯s like the 1930s and ¡®40s, where a cop shooting at a fleeing unarmed suspect isn¡¯t considered brutal or excessive, it feels like when you get two stars to six stars in a Grand Theft Auto game.


    The woman also mentioned how the folks at City Hall are the type who would run a war without escalating it for political reasons. She was clearly making a jab at the US Government''s approach during the Vietnam War, treating it more like a police action than a full-scale war. In her view, politicians who can''t make peace or reduce tensions end up letting the military take over, which she believes is a mistake. The military shouldn''t take orders from politicians who don''t understand the situation on the ground but said politicians want to give the military orders on how to fight or destroy without trying to escalate a war.


    As she continued, her disdain for City Hall was palpable. My girlfriend had already filled me in on the people of Eastside, Westside, and Anderson. They''re the kind who challenge bureaucracy head-on. They''re educated and don''t rely on the system or bureaucracy to get things done. They confront City Hall and politicians at every opportunity, saying, "Forget the bureaucracy. If you''re going to fight against City Hall, educate yourself on what you want to say." These are the people who give City Hall and the Police Department a headache, both metaphorically and literally.


    She went on to explain how many times they had fought City Hall and been arrested, only to be released because the police couldn''t find anything to charge them with. They were always within their constitutional rights to hold peaceful assemblies. They went through all the proper channels to get permits for their protests. Even if City Hall denied those permits, they could get them from the Commonwealth of Mountain government, leaving City Hall and the Police Department powerless to stop them.


    If the police did arrest them for peacefully assembling and protesting, it would bring down the wrath of both the Commonwealth''s Government and the top-level government. Little Bird might be a police state, but people still have constitutional rights to peaceful assembly. Arresting them for exercising those rights would trigger serious repercussions from higher authorities.


    Listening to her, I felt a mix of admiration and frustration. The people of Eastside, Westside, and Anderson are fighters, always ready to challenge the system and stand up for their rights. They know the law inside out and use it to their advantage, making sure their voices are heard and their rights are respected. It''s a constant battle, but one they''re determined to keep fighting.


    The people of Eastside, Westside, and Anderson are a tough bunch. Many of them have fought in wars and even participate in local fighting competitions for entertainment. But their real strength lies in their ability to raise hell and get media attention. They know how to leverage radio, television, and newspapers to highlight their issues, even though they¡¯re aware that most media outlets are biased and tend to side with the authorities. Some newspapers, however, strive to present both sides, allowing readers to make their own informed decisions.


    These communities don¡¯t buy into the school-taught notion that "Police Officers are your friends." They¡¯ve dealt with too many cops who shouldn¡¯t be wearing the badge in the first place. Corruption is often hidden in plain sight, and the people here are all too familiar with it. They¡¯re not afraid to challenge the system, and they know how to make their voices heard, whether through peaceful protests, media campaigns, or direct action. They¡¯re fighters in every sense of the word, always ready to stand up for their rights and hold those in power accountable.


    Many people spoke of what the woman said.Soon some other people in the district showed up and well to them they also remember the 1980s. They¡¯re either in their thirties or are old enough to have their hair color start to graying or are now being senior citizens and remember when the city relocated Firehouse 47 and they fought a couple of years to get their firehouse back. Even though some went and got arrested for going the extra mile but well for a while City Hall ignored them but later when their protests weren¡¯t on the local news in the city but later made it to spread across the Commonwealth and later to national news.


    The woman also mentioned that if the city doesn¡¯t take action, the Commonwealth or the higher federal government would step in. Our fire company might be labeled ¡°Fire Department City of Empire,¡± but it¡¯s also part of the Little Bird Fire Bureau, popularly known as the ¡°Fire Department Nation of Little Bird.¡± If the Commonwealth or federal government gets involved, they can threaten the city with budget cuts. The city gets its tax money from its citizens, but higher-up governments collect taxes from each town and city on Little Bird. With almost two million people, the city has different budgets for each service. While the firehouses belong to the city, our gear comes from the federal government.


    The last time the people of Eastside and Westside united over a major issue was the city¡¯s education system. The City of Empire public schools receive $5,500,000, but schools in middle-class and wealthy neighborhoods get renovated during summer vacation. Meanwhile, many schools in Eastside, Westside, and Anderson were built between the 1930s and 1950s and remained outdated and fire-prone. It wasn¡¯t until the late 90s and early 2000s that this negligence caught up with city officials, especially when other government agencies started investigating.


    Modern schools in other districts didn¡¯t like having to share with impoverished students, but those middle-class or wealthy students often talked the talk without walking the walk. In contrast, impoverished students were willing to do both. The anger of the people against the city for letting their kids attend fire-prone death traps was palpable. The mayor wasn¡¯t held accountable because she had raised the issue before other government agencies got involved. She had concrete evidence showing she wanted to build modern schools for impoverished students, but city council members and school board refused.


    My girlfriend told me that the final breaking point for everyone in Eastside, Westside, and Anderson was when the city knowingly let kids attend schools that were death traps. Many parents lost their children, and the firefighters, many of whom were veterans of World War II, Korea, or Vietnam, had to face the unimaginable task of pulling kids out of burning schools. These veterans had seen the horrors of war, but nothing prepared them for this. Back then, talking about trauma was seen as a sign of weakness, and psychological help wasn¡¯t widely available or accepted.


    The residents of Eastside, Westside, and Anderson were on the verge of rebellion against the city until a federal investigation was announced. The investigation revealed that the Fire Department City of Empire, along with other fire departments across Little Bird, conducted school inspections four times a year. Schools in Eastside, Westside, and Anderson were repeatedly shut down by the fire department due to being fire hazards, labeled as ¡°death traps.¡± Yet, the City Council, in their lack of wisdom, decided to reopen them.


    The federal investigation found that modern schools in other districts had Automatic Fire Alarms (AFA) that sent automatic alerts to the fire department in case of a fire. In contrast, the old schools in Eastside, Westside, and Anderson had outdated fire call boxes outside. When the City Council tried to defend their actions by claiming budget constraints, it was a moot point. The city earns about $5-7 billion annually, with 37% of that from tourism alone. Money wasn¡¯t the problem.


    My girlfriend warned me not to trust anyone in the City of Empire because corruption runs deep. She cryptically advised me to be careful who I trust, as anyone could backstab me if given the chance. I responded with my own cryptic message. ¡°In the Military, you deal with the chain of command. Mistakes get made, but you deal with ''em. You know what you''re fighting for, that you''re on the same team. But dealing with corruption is like chasing shadows.¡± It¡¯s true¡ªyou never know who to trust, and the person next to you could be corrupt and willing to betray you for money or power.


    I suspect corrupt Alderman Robert Elephant is behind this. He boasted about having ¡°powerful¡± friends, and it seems his influence extends even from behind bars. In Little Bird, all phone calls in prisons and jails are monitored, just like in the United States. If he makes a threat against me, he¡¯d face additional charges for making threats.


    We were just standing around, trying to figure out our next move, when the Captain came over, radio in hand. He told us that all other fire companies in the city were at full capacity and couldn¡¯t take us in. The northern half of Eastside falls within the 19th Battalion Response Area. Before Squad Companies 541 and 769 were introduced, the district Squad Company was 141, which is my girlfriend¡¯s company, or Squad 525, depending on availability.


    Squad 525 is closer to Eastside because it¡¯s stationed in Uptown. For some reason, Uptown is actually below Downtown on the map. My girlfriend Lusty and my cousin Dave suspect the cartographer was either drunk or had the compass the wrong way. Honestly, it¡¯s probably the latter. I wasn¡¯t around in 1714 when the original map of the City of Empire was drawn, so who knows what was happening back then.


    Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.


    Living in Little Bird is definitely unique. Cities and towns here can provide mutual aid to each other, especially if they¡¯re close enough or during natural disasters like wildfires. The City of Empire, for instance, can extend help to nearby towns like:


    <ul>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Moonlight Cove: A coastal town with breathtaking views of the moonlit sea.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Sunset Vale: Famous for its stunning sunsets over rolling hills.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Wheatstone: A farming town surrounded by golden wheat fields.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Angel Pines: Nestled in a serene pine forest.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Starlight Haven: A hilltop town perfect for stargazing with its clear night skies.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Emerald Hollow: Surrounded by lush green forests.</li>


    </ul>


    These towns can receive mutual aid from Empire in case of natural disasters or tragedies. Across Little Bird, cities and towns often have agreements to provide mutual aid during or after such events. They also have contracts to share services like power, water, garbage pickup, and more, ensuring that everyone gets the support they need when it matters most.


    As I looked around, more and more people were showing up to protest. It struck me that these folks are like those players in video games who say, "Screw the objectives, teamwork is where it¡¯s at." According to Lusty, they are the living embodiment of "Teamwork Makes the Dream Work." If Little Bird had video games, the people of Eastside would be all about those games that require a team to get through a campaign or multiplayer mode. Even in free-for-all games, they''d still stick together as a team.


    I''ve played co-op and multiplayer games before, and I know the frustration of having teammates who run off to do their own thing, only to get mad at the team for not being with them. But the people of Eastside? They get it. They know that sticking together is the only way to make real progress, whether in a game or in real life. Their unity and determination are what make them so formidable, and it''s inspiring to see them come together to fight for what¡¯s right.


    According to Lusty, the people of Eastside have thick skin but very little patience. They¡¯re the type who will take justice into their own hands if necessary, and that¡¯s more common than you might think. Back in the 1980s, the city destroyed their community gardens to build businesses that didn¡¯t benefit the residents¡ªbars, liquor stores, and other places designed to keep people down. The community responded by boycotting these businesses until they went out of business, then tore them down to reclaim their gardens.


    These folks have been through a lot and have learned that unity is their strength. They¡¯d rather stand together than tear each other apart. They often take matters into their own hands, solving their own crimes because they don¡¯t trust the police, who they see as dismissive and corrupt. This has led to a hate-hate relationship between the residents of Eastside, Westside, and Anderson and the authorities.


    I decided to take a walk around the district and texted my dad to update him on what was happening. He replied that he was dealing with his own issues. Apparently, my stepmom''s ex-husband had shown up at their door, demanding to see his two sons. This guy is lucky the State of Alabama even granted him supervised visitation, but now he wants to take my dad¡¯s stepsons to live with him, even though they¡¯re seventeen and about to start college next year.


    My dad mentioned that the ex-husband threatened legal action against him and my stepmom. I couldn¡¯t help but chuckle at the absurdity. The courts had given this guy supervised visits every Saturday, but he never bothered to show up. The last time he saw his twin sons, they were three years old, and then he just walked out of their lives. Now, he has the audacity to try to waltz back in like nothing happened and threaten legal action? It¡¯s pure baloney. He has no legal standing, and it¡¯s laughable that he thinks he does.


    I told my dad how much he¡¯s done for his stepsons in just a year¡ªmore than their biological father ever did. My dad stepped up as a father figure when they were sixteen, always trying his best while respecting their age and maturity. My step brother Jake, the smart one, is allergic to milk. My dad always makes sure to prepare meals that Jake can eat, like making scrambled eggs without milk or cheese just for him.


    It¡¯s clear that my stepmom¡¯s ex-husband has no legal standing to demand full visitation rights. Even if a court entertained his demands, it would be dismissed soon enough. Jake and Alex will be eighteen soon, making them legal adults. In Alabama, the legal adult age is nineteen, but since they¡¯re about to start college, my dad and stepmom already see them as adults.


    My dad has done an incredible job stepping into a challenging role, and it¡¯s obvious that he cares deeply for Jake and Alex. It¡¯s frustrating to see someone who abandoned his kids try to waltz back into their lives and make demands, but I know my dad and stepmom will handle it with the strength and love they¡¯ve always shown.


    My dad probably thinks that my stepmom¡¯s ex-husband might have some friends to back him up. But if he does, they¡¯ll quickly learn that messing with a Waterson is a big mistake. We¡¯re a tight-knit family, and we help each other in ways that don¡¯t attract law enforcement or the authorities. If my dad¡¯s wife¡¯s ex-husband tries to go after him, we Watersons believe in ¡°Eye for an Eye, Tooth for a Tooth.¡± We¡¯re the kind who would gladly go to a Supermax prison to defend our family members.


    If it ever goes to trial, we know how to make our case sympathetic to a jury. We¡¯d say things like, ¡°So when is it a crime to help family?¡± or compare it to school, where a bully has free reign, but if the victim fights back, they¡¯re the one who gets punished. We stand by each other no matter what, and anyone who tries to mess with us will quickly find out they¡¯ve made a huge mistake.


    As I finished my walk around Eastside, I noticed people going about their daily routines¡ªopening up their businesses for the day or heading to work or heading home after a long night shift. Life goes on, even amidst the chaos.


    From what my girlfriend tells me, these folks put in long hours for terrible wages, often earning slightly less than the minimum wage of $1.25/hr in Little Bird. Working 8 hours a day, they make about $9.04/day, or $13.56/day if they work 12 hours. That¡¯s an annual income ranging from $2,350 to $3,525. Despite these low wages, they work in jobs that people take for granted every day.


    No one really stops to think, ¡°I wonder how the city has access to unlimited tap water,¡± or ¡°I wonder where all the garbage and sewage goes?¡± These are the unsung heroes who keep the city running smoothly.


    When I got back to the closed quarters of Squad 769, I noticed most of the people had left. I asked the Captain where about 68% of them had gone, and he told me they went to City Hall. They know that¡¯s where the Mayor and City Council members work, and it¡¯s best to take the fight directly to them. The relationship between City Hall and the city¡¯s impoverished citizens has always been a hate-hate one. Protesting in their own rundown neighborhoods would just be ignored by City Hall and the media unless the protests grew too large to ignore or turned into riots. By going to where city officials work or live, they make them uncomfortable and force them to pay attention.


    According to Lusty, city officials treat Eastside, Westside, and Anderson as high-crime areas filled with abandoned buildings and corruption. But that¡¯s far from the truth. These districts are home to hardworking people who¡¯ve been neglected and mistreated by the city for far too long. They¡¯re not just statistics or stereotypes; they¡¯re real people fighting for their rights and their community.


    To make matters worse, if you look at the crime stats for the City of Empire, you¡¯d see that Eastside, Westside, and Anderson actually have lower crime rates than the rest of the city. This isn¡¯t because of the Empire Police Department or the Island Patrol Empire Barracks patrolling the streets. It¡¯s because the residents take justice into their own hands, doing what the official justice system won¡¯t.


    The media and city officials might call it a ¡°Kangaroo Court,¡± but these communities have their own version of a court and justice system. They¡¯ve found that criminals from other, often wealthier, districts get off scot-free, while those from Eastside, Westside, or Anderson face the harshest punishments if they commit crimes elsewhere. This double standard has led to a deep-seated mistrust of the justice system and the police.


    In the minds of these residents, it¡¯s a case of, ¡°If you come from money, you get a handshake and a pass. But if you¡¯re poor and commit the same crime, you get the maximum punishment short of death row.¡± Many have been falsely arrested and prosecuted, only to receive presidential pardons due to legal abuse and judicial misconduct. In Little Bird, the justice system compensates those who are falsely imprisoned or held beyond their release date with $100 per day.


    These communities have been through the wringer and know how hard it is to have their voices heard. They¡¯ve developed a deep-seated disdain for the justice system and the police, seeing them as biased and corrupt. Their resilience and determination to seek justice on their own terms are a testament to their strength and unity.


    So, that 68% went straight to City Hall to make sure the politicians couldn¡¯t ignore them. They know talking to their District Representative, the Alderman, is pointless because he never actually represents their interests. My girlfriend says that in Eastside, Westside, and Anderson, the Aldermen do the exact opposite of what they were elected to do. Instead of representing the people who voted them in, they help those who can advance their own agendas.


    The residents here have learned not to rely on their Alderman for help. They know he won¡¯t lift a finger for them and will just make excuses. So, they¡¯ve become the kind of people who fight their own battles. They take their grievances directly to City Hall, where they can¡¯t be ignored, and they¡¯re not afraid to make a scene if that¡¯s what it takes to be heard.


    The people of Eastside are like one big family, despite their diverse backgrounds. They¡¯re the kind who will babysit each other¡¯s kids if needed, as long as there¡¯s some form of reciprocation. They have boundaries and won¡¯t bend over backwards to help others all the time. My girlfriend says they¡¯re often distant with their own families who try to use them as free babysitters and treat them as doormats. These families sometimes paint the people of Eastside as the bad guys for not always being available, but the truth is, they just have their limits.


    The folks here don¡¯t sugarcoat things. They¡¯re straightforward and honest, which can be refreshing but also tough for some to handle. They value mutual respect and support, and they¡¯re not afraid to stand up for themselves and their community. It¡¯s this resilience and sense of solidarity that makes Eastside such a strong and united place.


    These people are my kind of people. They challenge authority, speak their minds, and call out politicians and others without hesitation. They don¡¯t hide their emotions and always say what¡¯s on their minds. Back in the ''80s, they fought for years to get their firehouse back and later voiced their concerns about their schools being fire-prone death traps. The city ignored them until tragedies struck, and then City Hall pretended to be innocent. But the Mayor had evidence showing she wanted to build new, fireproof schools with modern standards, rather than relying on outdated buildings with minimal fire codes.


    The then-Mayor, who was also a resident of Eastside, knew the dangers ahead and tried to warn the city council, but they ignored her and the fire department. The people of Eastside, Westside, and Anderson, along with the government of Little Bird, eventually put the city council members in a negative spotlight for their negligence.


    I then just decided to visit my girlfriend¡¯s fire company over in Riverview.


    __________________


    As I approached the firehouse of Squad Company 141 in Riverview, I spotted Lusty, my girlfriend, waxing the officer side door. Lusty is the kind of officer who makes sure everyone pitches in with the chores, even the less glamorous ones. The firehouse has a drain like those at car washes, and it needs to be cleaned regularly. Some of her company members hate doing it because it¡¯s gross¡ªwater and dirt mixed from washing the fire apparatus and bunker gear.


    But Lusty does it herself because she was born and raised in a district where you can¡¯t just sit something out because you don¡¯t like it. In Eastside, everyone is a team player, and each person is important to the community. Lusty often quotes those old 50s Civil Defense films, saying, ¡°You are on an important team. So is your family, and in your community. Every doctor, fireman, policeman, nurse, lineman, and operator and Civil Defense worker is on that team.¡±


    To me, those 50s Civil Defense films are cheesy nowadays, but the message still holds true. Everyone has a role to play, and in Eastside, we all step up to do our part, no matter how unpleasant the task. Lusty embodies that spirit, and it¡¯s one of the many reasons I admire her.


    Living in a country that still feels like the 1940s, 50s, and 60s is definitely unique. Unlike the old "Bert the Turtle Duck and Cover" drills, Lusty mentioned that their civil defense stopped promoting those because people realized that survival from a nuclear explosion is nearly impossible due to radiation, heat, or fire from the atomic bomb.


    Unless you¡¯re far away here in Little Bird, people are taught to use common sense and trust their gut. Lusty always says, "Trusting these feelings of intuition is a way to stay true to yourself." It¡¯s a valuable lesson because people you think are your friends might sell you out or abandon you if you get in their way. You only find out who your real friends are when you''re down. I can get behind that¡ªit¡¯s better to stay true to yourself than follow a crowd that doesn¡¯t care about you or get mixed up with the wrong people.


    I think the idea of "Duck and Cover" faded quicker here on Little Bird than in the United States because people realized there¡¯s no real hiding from nuclear and radiological fallout.


    Before I could say anything, a car pulled up and some people got out. Suddenly, the sound of water hitting the pavement from a high-pressure hose filled the air. Since the Cold War, the Fire Department City of Empire has been using high-pressure water jet nozzles. These nozzles were originally invented in 1853 during the California Gold Rush, but our department adopted them in the mid-1950s to early 60s to fight fires in the then-new midrises and high-rises. These hoses are also used for crowd and riot control.


    Mariana ¡®Avalanche¡¯ Harmony and Madeleine ¡®Dynamite¡¯ Azure were the ones handling the hose. They really enjoy using fire hoses for riot control. It¡¯s a powerful tool, and in the right hands, it can be incredibly effective at dispersing crowds and maintaining order.


    I know the historical context of fire hoses being used in crowd control, especially coming from Alabama. The infamous events of 1963 are a stark reminder. But here in Little Bird, we¡¯re trained to use fire hoses for riot and crowd control defensively, not offensively. Still, with water coming out at 290-1600 PSI, it feels more like offense to me.


    I glanced at my girlfriend, Lusty, who was still meticulously waxing the officer door. She didn¡¯t even flinch at the sound of the fire hose. It¡¯s not just because she¡¯s been on the job for fourteen years; she grew up in a time when the city had a lot of fires. Hearing fire hoses is almost like white noise to her, having been around them since she was three years old in 1982.


    Lusty and my cousin Dave are sticklers for keeping their apparatus clean and professional-looking. They believe that a dirty vehicle reflects poorly on the crew and that maintaining cleanliness prevents damage and ensures longevity. To them, firefighters should look professional 24/7.


    The people who got out of the car and were hit by the fire hose stream quickly got back in and drove off like a bat out of hell.


    ¡°I think you gave them a good wash,¡± said FF/EMT Mariana ¡®Avalanche¡¯ Harmony.


    Mariana¡¯s comment probably stems from her military background as an Army Mountaineer in the First Mountaineer Brigade, and Dynamite¡¯s experience as a former combat engineer in the Little Bird Marine Corps. Despite their tough exteriors, I know deep down they care for each other. They manage to keep their relationship a secret, maintaining professionalism at work. Lusty is willing to overlook their relationship as long as there¡¯s no conflict of interest. They¡¯re the kind of people who know how to separate their personal lives from their work lives, ensuring that both remain unaffected.


    Avalanche and Dynamite often say that ¡°life is a Uroboros,¡± symbolizing the endless cycle of birth and death. The Uroboros, a snake or dragon swallowing its tail, represents wholeness or infinity. They believe that human life is an infinite cycle of rinse and repeat¡ªwhen a new human is born, someone dies, and vice versa. Everything from birth to death is just the in-between.


    It¡¯s an interesting perspective on the meaning of life, seeing it as a continuous loop where every end is a new beginning. It¡¯s a reminder of the interconnectedness of all things and the perpetual nature of existence. It¡¯s one way to make sense of the constant changes and cycles we experience in life.


    I love my girlfriend. She¡¯s more of a Waterson than she realizes. We Watersons are vocal and say what¡¯s on our minds without a second thought. Lusty is the same way. She¡¯ll speak up, even if it¡¯s insensitive, because she believes in saying what¡¯s important. If someone needs a reality check or to be put in their place, she won¡¯t hesitate to deliver the harsh truth.


    Being from Eastside, she¡¯s used to telling people off quicker than a heartbeat. It¡¯s part of what makes her so strong and straightforward. She doesn¡¯t sugarcoat things, and that¡¯s something I really admire about her. She¡¯s not afraid to stand up for what¡¯s right and speak her mind, no matter the situation.


    Lusty comes from a district where the system has consistently failed its people, forcing them to take justice into their own hands. She finds it ironic that when she was first pregnant, she watched the mayor congratulate the Empire Police Department for the low crime rates in Eastside, Westside, and Anderson. The crime maps showed these districts had lower crime rates than the national average. While these areas do have gangs, they aren¡¯t your stereotypical gangbangers. Instead, they¡¯re seen as folk heroes for reducing crime and doing what the cops and justice system can¡¯t or won¡¯t do.


    Lusty found it amusing that whenever these gangs take action, the justice system claims they must answer for their crimes. Yet, the police and justice system don¡¯t go after them for two main reasons. First, it would be bad press to have armed citizens doing the job that cops won¡¯t do. Second, the city doesn¡¯t have enough cops to fight them. Lusty grew up hearing people in Eastside say this all the time.


    She often talks about the irony of the justice system wanting to go after people who defend themselves but not those who break the law. In Little Bird, people are taught from a young age that ¡°The policeman is our friend.¡± However, in Eastside, Westside, and Anderson, people say they respect the badge but not the person behind it. Lusty believes the cops don¡¯t bother these districts much because urban warfare is the most dangerous kind, and the residents are willing to go to extreme lengths to defend each other.


    The men and women of Eastside, Westside, and Anderson have some form of military background, from standard G.I.s to Rangers or Paratroopers, and other military roles, combative or not. Nobody really wants to mess with them because they also have weapons. According to Lusty, many people in these districts saved up to buy weapons and had the barrels and weapons heavily parkerized and blued or blacked to avoid reflecting light. Those who were in the military were able to sign paperwork to bring their service sidearm with them.


    These districts are the living definition of "an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth." Lusty, being part German from her dad''s side and Native Little Birden from her mother''s side (Nightingale tribe), says all of Eastside is her family. They¡¯re the kind who are there for each other, with diverse backgrounds from Austria, Germany, Switzerland, and other European countries.


    To Lusty, she says how the people in Eastside believe in the wheel of fortune and say how the best humans have flaws and how those with poor morals have the capacity for redemption to become a good person. Those people are straight, meaning they¡¯re honest, and I believe that.


    My girlfriend knew I was there because, well, Little Bird considers anybody over 195 pounds to be overweight and anyone under 90 pounds to be underweight, and I fall in the ¡°overweight¡± category at 210 pounds. Lusty always jokes that she can hear me coming a mile away, but I know she loves me just the way I am.


    Of course, I¡¯m not offended by it. Living in a country where people have thick skin and can take criticism, harsh behavior, and learn to take a joke has its perks. Sure, some jokes can go too far, but here in Little Bird, we learn to laugh it off instead of taking offense. I know people back in the States who get their underwear in a twist over the slightest thing. I mean, I¡¯ve seen folks get mad if the cheese on their cheeseburger is off by an inch or doesn¡¯t fully cover the burger. So yeah, being considered fifteen pounds overweight doesn¡¯t bother me. I either ignore the comments or explain how things are different back in America.


    Living here, I know people in the States would hate it because if you make a mistake that you were warned about, folks here will call you out quicker than a New York second. They won¡¯t let you live it down and will definitely say something. It¡¯s a tough-love environment, but it builds resilience and accountability.


    Of course, Lusty knows about those kinds of people because I¡¯ve told her all about them. I remember telling her about the time my father and I went to a fast food joint, and someone wanted to order a ¡°cheeseburger without cheese.¡± The cashier tried to explain that it¡¯s just a hamburger, but the customer insisted on arguing.


    Lusty, who worked as a cashier for her part-time job, said she never dealt with those kinds of customers because she would have jumped over the counter in a heartbeat and whip their ass. She¡¯s always been the type to say what¡¯s on her mind. Most of the people she dealt with were straightforward, ordering something and specifying what to add or remove. If someone had ordered a ¡°cheeseburger without cheese,¡± she would have just written ¡°hamburger¡± on the notepad.


    She explained that the cash registers aren¡¯t automated but had pre-registered buttons for each item, making it easier for the cashier. So instead of pressing 0.15 for a hamburger, she would press the button labeled ¡°HB.¡± Lusty¡¯s no-nonsense approach and quick thinking made her an efficient cashier, and she always had a way of handling things with a mix of practicality and humor.


    Lusty and I often talk about how different life is here compared to the States. On Little Bird, people are straightforward and don¡¯t sugarcoat things. It¡¯s refreshing, really. You always know where you stand with someone, and there¡¯s a sense of honesty and integrity that I appreciate. It¡¯s a place where you can be yourself, flaws and all, and still be valued for who you are.


    Before I got over to Lusty, she stopped waxing the door, put down the rag, and picked up a clipboard with a pen, checking something off her checklist. This is her M.O.¡ªgiving everyone in her company a specific chore list. As a Lieutenant and the highest rank in the firehouse, she ensures that every Firefighter/Emergency Medical Technician or Firefighter/Paramedic has a list of chores to do. This way, everyone has something productive to do instead of just sitting around watching television.


    My cousin Dave runs his company the same way. He assigns individual chores to his team, organizing tasks to either make them go by faster or to ensure everything gets done within the same time frame. For example, he might have three members clean, sharpen, or maintain both manual and automatic tools, while he and another three wash the truck and test the hydraulic piston rod to make sure it¡¯s working. They also test the stabilizers or outriggers to ensure the ladder doesn¡¯t tip the truck over when in use.


    Of course, Dave does it because he practically grew up in a firehouse. As a kid and teenager, he always heard his dad and uncle, who were Captains when he was young and later Lieutenants, emphasizing the importance of chores. They had a rule, everyone had to finish their chores before lunch, or they wouldn¡¯t get lunch. Dave was told the same thing by his father and uncle¡ª¡°No lunch or dinner without doing all of the chores.¡± So, whenever school wasn¡¯t in session, Dave would head to the firehouse and do his chores. His previous captain, Captain Vintion, used to say that Dave could tell you what was in any compartment on a fire engine or truck just by the number, even though Dave never really wanted to be a firefighter. He felt like it was something his father and uncle wanted for him, but in reality, they never pushed him. He chose it of his own accord.


    Lusty is somewhat the same. They had it like a parade with emergency vehicles¡ªSquad 141, Ladder 141, an Airport Crash Tender, and a Mass Casualty Unit¡ªlined up in front of the firehouse, being washed, waxed, cleaned, and having their tools maintained and tested. They also cleaned the apparatus bay floor. Why they replaced the CO2 unit for an Airport Crash Tender is beyond me, especially since this firehouse is on the other side of the city, far from the airport. Ladder 141 is more of an equipment truck than a normal ladder company.


    When I stood next to Lusty, she looked up from her clipboard and asked, ¡°How¡¯s the cybernetic arm?¡±


    ¡°Works fine,¡± I replied. ¡°Locked up only once, but I got that fixed.¡±


    ¡°Well, it should work and not lock up because it cost the Little Birden taxpayer $175k for it,¡± Lusty said, raising an eyebrow.


    ¡°Is that in U.S. Dollars or Little Birden Dollars?¡± I asked.


    ¡°In Little Birden Dollars,¡± she replied.


    I paused, doing some quick mental math. ¡°So that¡¯s... Give me a piece of paper.¡±


    Lusty smirked and said, ¡°In U.S. Dollars, that¡¯s $1,289,182.43.¡±


    I whistled. ¡°That¡¯s a hefty price tag. Good thing it¡¯s working now.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, it better be,¡± she said, giving me a playful nudge. ¡°We don¡¯t want any more taxpayer complaints.¡±


    We both laughed, knowing that despite the cost, the arm was worth every penny for the work we do.


    Even though I remember that day my arm got trapped in that automatic door, it was a painful learning experience. I thought the door would stay open, even in the event of a fire. But nope, once that door sensor detected a nearby fire, it slammed shut a lot faster than I expected. It was a harsh reminder to never assume anything with automatic systems.


    I wasn¡¯t really amazed by Lusty knowing the price and converting it from Little Birden Dollars to U.S. Dollars. Her experience as a cashier taught her to be quick with numbers. She¡¯s seen people try to quick-change cashiers, using big bills for small purchases or trying to keep her off balance with fast-paced timing. Her boss would correct her mistakes politely, not harshly, which helped her learn without feeling embarrassed. Lusty always says her boss didn¡¯t scold her for a couple of reasons. She was a teenager with a developing brain, and it would be bad for business to have an adult yelling at a teenager for making an honest mistake. Plus, it¡¯s a common issue worldwide¡ªsomeone always tries to take more money from a cashier in change or whatnot.


    I¡¯ve overheard Lusty teaching her kids to always make sure they get the correct change back. She knows that some cashiers or vendors might shortchange kids or not give them any change at all. Lusty and I have both taught her daughters how to count money and ensure they get the right amount back. For example, if they buy an ice cream from a truck for a dollar, they should get $0.90 back, or if they go to the movies and use a dollar to get a ticket, they should get $0.75 back.


    Even in a country that feels like a utopian blend of the 1940s, 1950s, and 1960s, with its retrofuturistic Americana and Art Deco influences, it¡¯s important to be savvy about money. Little Bird¡¯s architecture is a mix of Art Deco, Streamline Moderne, Modern, and Googie designs, reflecting a post-war culture minus the Cold War paranoia. The military here even has direct-energy weapons that look like something out of Flash Gordon comics I think or from the Fallout series.


    Of course, I love this country. Little Bird is ranked among the top ten most intellectual, well-fed, well-educated, culturally rich, and technologically advanced countries in the world. People here, according to Dave and Lusty, are taught not to be stupid. In school, they¡¯re told that the stupidest thing a person can do is quit their job without a backup plan. Lusty and Dave have known people who made the mistake of becoming stay-at-home parents while solely relying on their spouse to bring home the money, without considering what would happen if their spouse got sick or fired.


    I see how foolish that is. If someone wants to be a stay-at-home wife or dad, more power to them, but they should have a backup plan in case their spouse loses their job or becomes too sick to work. Here in Little Bird, businesses and corporations offer a certain number of sick days that people can take off and still get paid. But once those days run out, the income stops. It¡¯s important to think ahead and have a safety net.


    Lusty and Dave¡¯s practical approach to life is something I admire. They understand the importance of being prepared and not putting all your eggs in one basket. It¡¯s a mindset that¡¯s ingrained in the culture here, and it¡¯s one of the reasons why Little Bird is such a resilient and forward-thinking country.


    People here are definitely taught to see red flags and not be stupid. Just because something looks or sounds good doesn¡¯t mean it is. It¡¯s a valuable lesson that keeps everyone on their toes.


    I asked Lusty if there was anything that needed to be done, and she told me to get the janitor¡¯s bucket and mop the apparatus bay floor. So, that¡¯s what I did. I¡¯ve been using my right hand more than my left lately, getting used to my cybernetic left arm. Being cross-dominant, I¡¯ve mostly used my left hand for nearly everything, only switching to my right when my left got tired. It feels like I¡¯ve been neglecting my right hand most of my life.


    Following Lusty¡¯s instructions, I grabbed the janitor mop bucket and started by sweeping the floor before mopping it. It¡¯s a simple task, but it gave me a chance to get more comfortable with my cybernetic arm. Plus, it¡¯s always satisfying to see the floor clean and shiny after a good mopping.


    As I was mopping, I couldn¡¯t help but think about the city¡¯s decision a few months back to relax punishments for crimes. It was supposed to be an experiment, but it felt more like a plot from a cheesy crime film. For that month, anyone processed and booked was released before arraignment, no matter how severe the crime. Predictably, crime rates skyrocketed across the board, from misdemeanors to felonies. Firearms sales also went through the roof as people bought guns for self-defense.


    The Island Patrol, however, didn¡¯t follow the city¡¯s lead. They answer to the Commonwealth, not the city, and they continue to arrest, book, and lock up offenders until arraignment or trial. It created a strange dynamic where the city was trying to loosen the laws, but the Island Patrol was doing the opposite. Meanwhile, arson kept the fire department busy.


    To me, the whole experiment was misguided. Cities don¡¯t have the authority to pick and choose which state or federal laws to enforce. It¡¯s like how the Commonwealth or country of Little Bird can¡¯t force a town or city to change its ordinances. For example, the city of Empire has a Carpool Ordinance, a Community CPR Training Program, and Junior Sports Programs. These are local initiatives that the Commonwealth respects.


    I know that the five Commonwealths on Little Bird have their own laws, and they vary per Commonwealth. When the rest of the Commonwealth of Mountain and the other four Commonwealths¡ªStarfish, Cascade, Blueberry, and Strawberry¡ªheard about what the city of Empire did, they all agreed it was a terrible idea. They pointed out that it sent a negative message, essentially telling criminals they¡¯d get a slap on the wrist and not face real consequences.


    I¡¯m actually happy my left arm hasn¡¯t locked up again. I guess that military cyber technician was able to run his diagnostic and fix the problem permanently. Why it locked up the first time, I don¡¯t know. I guess that¡¯s just the unpredictability of future technology. The model I have is indistinguishable from a real human arm, even though it¡¯s made of some kind of hardened plastic. I can thank Visala for that. She brought her alien tech and reverse-engineered it for us after escaping her planet¡¯s destruction. Don¡¯t ask¡ªit¡¯s a long story to explain Visala¡¯s background.


    As I finished mopping, it hit me why the City of Empire is called ¡°City of Empire¡± or just ¡°Empire¡± for short. "Empire City" doesn¡¯t quite have the same ring to it, and our department is officially called the Fire Department City of Empire, not the Empire City Fire Department. It¡¯s a naming convention that¡¯s consistent across Little Bird. All fire departments are named similarly, like Fire Department Town/City of [Town or City Name].


    I guess that¡¯s just what the government decided, or maybe it was something the first mayors and city and town councils voted on. It¡¯s the same with police departments¡ªthey all follow the format of [Town or City Name] Police Department. It¡¯s a unique quirk of our country, but it adds to the charm and consistency of how things are done here.


    Reflecting on this, I appreciate the sense of order and tradition it brings. It¡¯s another example of how Little Bird blends old-school values with modern practices, creating a unique and cohesive community. As I put away the mop and bucket, I felt a sense of satisfaction, knowing that even in the small tasks, we¡¯re all part of something bigger, working together to keep our city running smoothly.


    Of course, this is a country that doesn¡¯t hand out diplomatic immunity like candy. Little Bird will revoke a diplomat¡¯s immunity faster than the blink of an eye if another country presents evidence of wrongdoing. While Little Bird doesn¡¯t care much about how others perceive it, its constitution ensures that everyone has the right to a trial and must face justice. Diplomatic immunity can¡¯t be used to escape crimes here. Little Bird has extradition laws, meaning they will extradite a diplomat back to the country where they committed a crime. Countries have the right to revoke diplomatic immunity, and here, even vehicles with diplomatic plates can get towed or ticketed. I think that¡¯s why not many countries have embassies here¡ªwhile an embassy is technically foreign soil, you still have to follow local rules and laws.


    Why that popped into my head, I¡¯m not sure. But after putting the mop bucket away, I helped Lusty clean the drain. It¡¯s not a glamorous job, but someone has to do it.


    As I was helping Lusty clean the drain, I told her about the time I warned a friend about the health consequences of eating thirty hamburgers in one sitting. Predictably, my friend ended up in the hospital. While I do enjoy cheeseburgers, I limit myself to two or three every other day or once in a while.


    Lusty agreed, pointing out that junk food and greasy food may taste good but have negative health effects. She took home economics in school, and I took culinary classes at Arcane University. We both learned that meals should be balanced. If you have something unhealthy, it should be paired with something healthy. For example, a steak dinner should come with veggies on the side. But Lusty and I are the same¡ªif we get a steak dinner, we¡¯re getting mac and cheese as a side dish, even though they¡¯ll add some broccoli on the side anyway.


    We laughed about it, knowing that while we enjoy our comfort foods, we also understand the importance of balance. It¡¯s all about moderation and making sure we take care of our health, even if it means sneaking in some veggies with our favorite dishes.


    Honestly to me I love this country and while yes I¡¯m an American but to me there¡¯s something about seeing people have common sense, and seeing vintage vehicles has that charm even though this country has it where if a tourist woman is pregnant and goes into labor then well the tourist baby won¡¯t be considered a Little Birden but the baby would be is a naturalized citizen regardless of where she/he was born. The lack of a birth certificate could be a bit of a legal hassle.


    Lusty and I had some interesting conversations while we worked, one of which was about wills and testaments. She told me about a neighbor who had created a will for his sons, leaving them everything once he passed. However, his sons were only interested in the inheritance and got greedy.


    Despite lacking formal education, the people of Eastside are quite intellectual and have a lot of street smarts. They can see things coming from a mile away. Lusty explained how the neighbor, realizing his sons'' true intentions, changed his will on his deathbed. When his sons tried to claim the inheritance, they discovered that their father had altered the will. Upon consulting a lawyer, they found out that the revised will was legally signed and executed, leaving them without a case.


    It was more or less a middle finger and fuck you from the father to his adult sons.


    Lusty mentioned that she created a will for her seven daughters with two conditions: they must finish high school or turn eighteen if she dies in the line of duty. If that happens, her daughters will come and live with me. The will also states that if any of her daughters get in trouble with the law before they turn eighteen, they will be automatically removed from the will and won¡¯t receive a single penny. Given that her daughters are in fifth and sixth grade, they¡¯re not likely to get in trouble with the law anytime soon.


    If they did get into trouble, Lusty would be a good mother and get them out of police custody. However, if they were older, she¡¯d probably say, ¡°It¡¯s easy to get in there but hard to get out¡± or ¡°You get yourself in there, you get yourself out.¡± She¡¯s always been about teaching responsibility and accountability, and it¡¯s one of the many things I admire about her.


    Lusty comes from an impoverished background, so they didn¡¯t have the same legal help, relying mostly on court-appointed public defenders. Unlike in America, where people arrested are appointed a lawyer if they can¡¯t afford one, here in Little Bird, public defenders only defend people in trials.


    Lusty then asked me, as a woman of religion, if I would give up my life to become a nun, living a vow of poverty, chastity, and obedience. I told her that while I would live such a life, my religion doesn¡¯t have nuns. I also shared that as a kid and teenager, I was overly religious to stay out of the house and away from my addict mother. Bible studies on Wednesdays and church on Sunday mornings were better alternatives than being at home. I never had a normal childhood with two loving parents. Lusty, despite growing up in poverty, had both parents who loved her equally and were always there for her.


    As we finished cleaning the drain, I felt a deep sense of appreciation for Lusty¡¯s resilience and dedication to her daughters¡¯ future. It¡¯s these moments and conversations that remind me of the strong values and practical wisdom that define our lives here on Little Bird.


    We cleaned the gloves and put them out back to dry. As we were putting the drain covers back on, I told Lusty about a friend from my high school days in Alabama. His girlfriend had stolen the vacation he paid for to go with "just a friend," and he ended up canceling the whole trip. Lusty agreed that he did the right thing. Going on vacation with your lover is one thing, but having a friend tag along is another, as long as the third person pays for their own expenses.


    I explained how my friend¡¯s girlfriend invited a friend to go on vacation but told him not to come. He had every right to cancel everything¡ªfrom the travel plans to the reservations. Here in Little Bird, people have the right to cancel their plans at any time without paying a fee, unless they cancel on the day they¡¯re supposed to go. In that case, they get a refund, but not a full one, as a small percentage is kept as a last-minute cancellation fee.


    Lusty pointed out that it¡¯s fine to have a friend come along, but telling the person who paid for the entire vacation not to come is a huge red flag. It¡¯s a sign of disrespect and a lack of consideration, and she¡¯s glad my friend stood up for himself.


    As we finished up, I felt grateful for these moments of shared wisdom and practical advice. Lusty¡¯s insights and straightforward approach always help me see things more clearly, and it¡¯s one of the many reasons I value our conversations so much.


    I even helped Lusty push the turnout gear rack outback because well before I arrived they washed their backup pair turnout gear outback for them to dry off because they were washed to make sure any cardigans or anything that can cause cancer was washed off. That¡¯s the one thing about the Fire Department City of Empire that every member has two sets of turnout gear where one they wear and when we come back from a fire we wash the one we wore and wash it and dry it and wear the other set to lower the chance of getting cancer.


    Pushing those racks was a real pain, but nothing in life is easy¡ªeven breathing can be complicated. It might have been simpler to carry each piece of turnout gear outside and set them on something, but here in Little Bird, we believe that hard work is happy work, and that working hard pays off more than taking shortcuts.


    While helping Lusty, I told her about my cousin¡ªmy female cousin once removed. She works in an office where dating between employees is frowned upon. When she and another employee started dating, they informed HR, who was fine with it as long as they kept personal affections separate from professionalism. However, at their wedding, my cousin¡¯s mother-in-law embarrassed her by claiming her son only married her to climb the corporate ladder. My cousin shut her down by saying she was in a higher position and could make her husband¡¯s life difficult or get him fired without breaking any laws. That shut her mother-in-law up quickly. Lusty found it funny because many in-laws don¡¯t know when to shut up and often say their son or daughter should have married someone else.


    Lusty¡¯s parents never played matchmaker. When she came out as bisexual in the early 1990s, they had a mixed reaction and discussed it privately. They came out of their bedroom and gave her the same unconditional love, saying they didn¡¯t understand homosexuality but would support and love her because she was their daughter and only child. My dad was somewhat supportive because I was his only child and he didn¡¯t want to drive me away, while my mother thought it was a phase.


    We kept doing chores, and as we started to move the final rack, I asked Dynamite if we were going to get any action today. While waxing a fire pole, she replied, ¡°I think you just put a hex on us, Macaroni.¡±


    I thought about asking Avalanche about her background, but I already know from what Lusty told me. Avalanche''s parents never got along¡ªher mom worked in a casino in Las Adventure, and her father was a dirty, corrupt cop. He was controlling and never made any attempts to emotionally connect with his daughter, trying instead to mold her into a female carbon copy of himself. Avalanche eventually ran off to become a military mountaineer, earning her nickname. When her time in the army was up, she went back home and became a firefighter, partly to spite her father. When she heard about an opening here in the City of Empire, she put in the paperwork for a transfer and drove 1,020 miles from Las Adventure to Empire.


    Of course, this is all from what Lusty told me, and I take it with a grain of salt. I¡¯m not going to ask Avalanche for her background because it¡¯s none of my business. Everyone has their own story, and sometimes it¡¯s best to let people share it on their own terms.


    I can¡¯t imagine the hell Avalanche went through, especially when her mother disappeared out of the blue one evening. It must have been incredibly tough. One thing I do know is how different the uniforms are. Avalanche once mentioned that the Las Adventure Police Department uniform consists of dark brown shirts with cream trousers, a police cap, and a badge. In contrast, the City of Empire PD uniform is dark blue and includes a shirt, tie, trousers, and cap, with the badge worn on the shirt.


    From what I know, Avalanche isn¡¯t interested in going back to Las Adventure with its casinos. While casino cities bring in a lot of tourists each year, they also attract a lot of crime. The most common crimes in Las Adventure are robbery, embezzlement, muggings, and murder, often because people win big at the casinos. Even though the house always wins, criminals will find a way to get that money one way or another.


    I decided to go and ask Avalanche what it was like being a firefighter in Las Adventure for several years. She asked if I wanted the sugar-coated truth or her actual perception. I told her I wanted her actual perception, not a sugar-coated one. She told me that people there, whether tourists or citizens, didn¡¯t care if she was busy saving someone¡¯s life. If she wasn¡¯t helping them personally, they would still chastise her. As she put it, ¡°I¡¯m saving lives and they¡¯re still chastising me.¡±


    When she asked if her answer satisfied me, I told her it did. It¡¯s believable how selfish people can be, even when trained professionals are trying to save lives. It¡¯s a harsh reality, but it¡¯s one that many first responders face.


    Avalanche shared a story about a ten-car pile-up she responded to. She was treating a badly injured person who needed a trauma surgeon, while another person had a less severe injury that would subside in a few minutes to an hour. She explained that triage prioritizes the most severe injuries over minor ones. In this case, the person needing a trauma surgeon took priority over someone with an injury akin to a scraped knee from falling off a bike.


    I get it. In my Certified First Responder class, we learned that triage means "the most injured and most able to be helped are the first priority, with the most terminally injured being the last priority." It¡¯s a tough but necessary part of the job, ensuring that resources are used where they can do the most good.


    I thought about asking Avalanche about her relationship with her father, but I decided against it. From what she¡¯s shared, her father is dead to her¡ªnot in the literal sense, but because she finally escaped his control. Her father, a Captain in the Las Adventure Police Department, has no jurisdiction in the City of Empire. She mentioned that he put her on a missing person¡¯s report when she left, but she was later "found" by some cops. If her father had threatened her to come back home or taken legal action, he wouldn¡¯t have had a case. Avalanche is a legal adult at 32, and she has every right to move somewhere else to be happy. By law, her father can¡¯t use his connections to force her back, and she¡¯s protected by her right to prioritize her well-being and set boundaries.


    Avalanche once bluntly told me that her father is the kind of parent who demands reimbursement for raising their child, billing them for room, clothing, education, and food. The courts here throw out such suits, stating that parents have a responsibility to take care of their kids. If they didn¡¯t want that responsibility, they should have put their kids up for adoption. Parents feeling entitled to a portion of their kids¡¯ earnings is absurd. If the kids are still living with their parents and paying rent, that¡¯s one thing. But if they¡¯re independent, parents have no claim to their earnings.


    I thought about asking Dynamite about her family background, but I already know she and Avalanche share similar stories of controlling parents. Dynamite¡¯s parents wanted to marry her off to the son of a famous restaurant chain owner. But Dynamite isn¡¯t the cooking type, nor is she really into relationships. I don¡¯t see her as a parent either; she strikes me as the ¡°sink or swim¡± type who would expect her child to figure things out on their own, like learning to swim by being thrown into a pool or figuring out how to ride a bike without help.


    To me, that arranged marriage wouldn¡¯t have worked out. They usually don¡¯t, unless it¡¯s for religious reasons. If it¡¯s for business, forcing a daughter to marry a guy she doesn¡¯t like just for business reasons is a terrible idea. Religious marriages have a shared foundation, but business-driven marriages often lack common ground and feel more like business deals. Those marriages rarely last.


    If my mother had tried to marry me off to some guy I didn¡¯t know, I would have run off too. Dynamite went a step further and legally changed her last name to Madeleine Azure sometime after the turn of the century in the early 2000s. It was her way of breaking free from her parents¡¯ control and forging her own path.


    As I stood there, a car pulled up, but I knew it wasn''t for me. A man and woman, probably in their mid to late fifties, got out and headed straight for Dynamite. Their body language screamed seriousness. I grabbed an ax and a knife sharpener, deciding to focus on sharpening the fire ax instead of eavesdropping.


    The way they approached Dynamite was like parents scolding a rebellious teenager. It was clear they had trouble treating her like the adult she was. Not every parent is like my dad, who always told other parents, "You can''t pamper your children forever. Sooner or later, they''ll have to figure things out on their own." When I was a teenager, he told me I could keep my paycheck from waitressing, but I had to start figuring things out for myself.


    From the start, Dynamite''s parents launched into a tirade. "Do you know how you made us look to your fianc¨¦''s family?! Do you know how much money it cost us to track you down?"


    I overheard Dynamite''s fiery response. "It''s been fourteen years, and you expect me to come crawling back like nothing happened? You expect me to marry a guy I don''t even like? No ''Hi Madeleine, how are you and how have you been?'' Yeah, no wonder I ran away to join the Marines and changed my last name."


    Her parents didn''t stop there. They accused her of tearing the family apart by running away and not following their wishes, even pulling the "parents know best" card. But Dynamite wasn''t having any of it. She called them out, saying no decent parents would ignore their child''s feelings or try to mold them into something they''re not.


    Dynamite laid it all out. "You might be happy in your arranged marriage because you were friends since elementary school and had things in common. But you want me to marry a guy I''ve never even met, just because he''s the son of a famous restaurant chain owner? That''s not happening."


    She stood her ground, making it clear that she wouldn''t be forced into a life she didn''t want.


    I''ve seen this story play out so many times¡ªparents expecting their kids to follow their every command, no matter what. When the kids finally have enough and leave, the parents act clueless, ignoring what drove their child away in the first place. They paint themselves as saints, or worse, blame some outside influence for their child''s desire to forge their own path.


    Parents like that never seem to understand that not everyone is cut out for the family business or tradition. Everyone has the right to carve their own path in life. Take us Watersons, for example. We take pride in hard work and family, but not all of us have families, and some of us choose careers that fit a cozier lifestyle rather than hard labor. It''s about finding what works for you and being true to yourself.


    Hearing Dynamite and her parents argue brought back memories of my own parents'' fights. Those were some sleepless nights. My mom had a knack for escalating things, shouting so loud that neighbors across the street or several houses down could hear her, even in the dead of night. The police were called more than once because of her yelling.


    But there''s something satisfying about hearing Dynamite stand up to her parents. They wanted her to be the "perfect" daughter, but never supported her own dreams. She wanted to do sports, but they shot that idea down. They wouldn''t let her do homework, claiming it interfered with the family business, only to scold her when she failed at something. It''s that double standard that really gets to me¡ªtelling your kid not to do schoolwork because it interferes with the family business, then turning around and scolding them for failing. Dynamite calling them out on their hypocrisy is a breath of fresh air.


    As I continued to eavesdrop, it became clear that Dynamite''s parents were the type to blame others or the media for their own parenting failures, rather than admitting their mistakes. They seemed disappointed that their daughter hadn''t lived up to their expectations.


    Listening to their conversation, it was obvious they weren''t paying attention to a word Dynamite was saying. They even had the gall to ask when she planned to marry the guy they had arranged for her and start a family. It was like everything she said was falling on deaf ears. She made it crystal clear that she wasn''t interested in getting married, having children, or being with a guy she didn''t even know. But her parents just couldn''t¡ªor wouldn''t¡ªhear her.


    I couldn''t help but chuckle when Dynamite told her parents that back alley gun dealers are more trustworthy than they are. It''s a bold statement, but it really shows how deep her distrust runs.


    Dynamite laid it all out for them. She''d done so much to prove her worth outside the family business, but it wasn''t until she joined the Marines that she realized the truth. "If nobody sees your worth, then nobody will." She told her parents that she''s now part of a team that values her skills and has a company officer who appreciates her expertise from her time as a Marine Combat Engineer. She''s in a career where her worth is recognized and valued, something her parents never did.


    That reminds me of something my dad always said, "If someone doesn''t see your worth, someone else will." He usually meant it in the context of romantic relationships, but it applies here too. Dynamite''s parents are the type who never see the worth in anyone, not even their own daughter. During their argument, they kept expressing disappointment in her, their only child.


    From what I could hear, they seemed like the kind of people who think their money entitles them to control others, believing they''re better than those of a lower social status. They strike me as the type who would treat their daughter''s marriage like a business merger, trying to combine their family restaurants with the guy''s family restaurants.


    I know Dynamite''s parents'' type all too well. They''re the kind who always pull the "we''re your parents, so you have to do as we say" card. They act like they''re planning her second wedding before the first husband is even out of the picture, or they hire a fianc¨¦ to keep her in line. They''re the kind of strict, controlling parents who make even strict parents seem normal by comparison.


    Her parents had the nerve to call Dynamite selfish, claiming they gave her everything¡ªdesigner clothes, a sports car for her first vehicle. But Dynamite shot back, saying she never asked for any of that. She''d be just as happy with hand-me-downs or a beat-up car. She never wanted the upper-middle-class lifestyle her parents pushed on her, believing money could fix everything.


    Dynamite''s parents sound like the type who miss important events in their kid''s life and then try to make up for it with expensive gifts. But us Watersons know better. "Money comes and goes. Time missed with family is something you can¡¯t get back." That''s one of the reasons she ran away. Her parents thought they could throw money at any problem, but they missed the point entirely.


    I overheard Dynamite''s mother bragging about the wedding dress they picked out and how they had planned everything down to the names of future grandchildren¡ª150 baby girl names from her mom and 150 baby boy names from her dad. But Dynamite wasn''t having any of it. She told them straight up that she wasn''t going to marry a guy she didn''t even know. If she ever has kids, she''ll name them what she wants, not what her parents want.


    She made it clear that she wants to be an independent woman, not tied down to someone she only knows from supermarket tabloids. She demanded that her parents respect her wishes and her right to live her own life.


    Dynamite and her parents would be perfect candidates for one of those syndicated daytime talk shows in the U.S., where the host dives into family dramas and personal issues.


    As I kept sharpening the ax, I couldn''t help but listen in on their heated argument. Dynamite was laying it on thick, telling her parents she never wanted the upper-middle-class life they forced on her, with a $20/week allowance and a childhood she never asked for. Her parents were taken aback, calling her ungrateful. But Dynamite clarified she wasn''t ungrateful¡ªshe was grateful for the chance to run away and join the Marines as soon as she was old enough.


    Her parents argued that they had saved up for her to attend college or university to get a degree in business and accounting to run the family business. But Dynamite wasn''t having any of it. She told them if she wanted an advanced education, the military would pay for it.


    The argument was really heating up, and I could totally understand where Dynamite was coming from. Her parents seemed like the type who would never admit fault, even if faced with overwhelming evidence. They''d just brush it off, claiming it was blown out of proportion. Even if their business took a massive hit, they still wouldn''t admit any wrongdoing. They''re the kind of family members who get called out on social media under different names.


    As the argument continued, it was clear that Dynamite was metaphorically talking to a brick wall. Her parents weren''t listening, and neither side was willing to budge.


    After a while, I heard Dynamite finally snap. She told her parents to leave and not come back, reminding them that this was exactly why she ran off in the first place. She made it clear that they never loved her as a daughter, only seeing her as a family employee they were legally obligated to care for.


    Hearing Dynamite tell her parents off was something else. She said they shouldn''t even be called parents because real parents wouldn''t force their kids into a business they never wanted to be part of. She called out their double standards¡ªtelling her not to do homework because it interfered with the family business, then scolding her for failing at school. It was a powerful moment, and I couldn''t help but feel a sense of admiration for her courage to stand up for herself.


    Eventually, Dynamite''s parents left, probably realizing they were getting nowhere. A few minutes later, I heard footsteps and saw Dynamite heading out. I put the ax back and followed her outside. She got into her 4x4 4WD SUV, the kind used by militaries around the world, like a HUMVEE.


    I watched as she took her rage out on the steering wheel. It was clear she was finally releasing all the pent-up anger from years of her parents shooting down her dreams¡ªwhether it was playing sports, doing schoolwork, or just being a normal kid. She had harbored a ton of resentment, and now it was all coming out.


    I approached Dynamite''s car, hesitating for a moment. She was like a volcano, her anger erupting as she pounded on the steering wheel. Still, I knocked on the window. After a few seconds, she rolled it down and asked what I wanted.


    I told her I understood how she felt. I shared my own story about my mother, who, despite being an addict while I was growing up, turned into a matchmaker the moment I turned eighteen. She set me up on random dates with men I didn''t know, hoping I''d become a housewife to cook, clean, and have children. Some of those dates turned into friendships because the guys were also pressured by their parents. But others didn''t know how to take no for an answer. I even had a stalker who followed me around during my Navy training and in various European ports like Germany, France, and England or other NATO aligned countries during the war. He showed up here months ago and finally got arrested.


    I mentioned how grateful I am to live in a country with serious stalking laws, especially since celebrities often deal with crazed fans showing up at their homes or publicly declaring their love, only to drag their names through the mud if the feelings aren''t reciprocated.


    I hoped sharing my story would help Dynamite feel less alone in her struggles.


    I told Dynamite that many parents shouldn''t even have children if they can''t treat them right.


    When she asked how much of the argument I overheard, I admitted I heard the whole thing. I shared a story about my cousin Mitchell''s partner, Starlight, who comes from a similar background. Starlight has seven brothers and a twin sister, Ruby. Their parents forced all the kids, except Ruby, to work in the family business in Pine Valley. Ruby got a golden pass from their mother and was never forced to work. Their mother was a full-blown double standard¡ªif Ruby was sick or injured, she could rest until she was fully healed or go to the doctor. But if Starlight or her brothers were sick or had a broken leg, their mother still made them work and made them walk it off.


    I pointed out how unhealthy and unsafe that was, especially in the food industry, where germs from a sick person could easily spread to the food. It was another example of how some parents just don''t get it.


    Dynamite initially thought Starlight was my cousin Mitchell¡¯s romantic partner because I used the term "partner." I had to clarify that Starlight is his partner in law enforcement, not in a romantic relationship. I also explained that Mitchell¡¯s wife and mother-in-law are understanding and don¡¯t jump to conclusions about his female friends.


    I shared with Dynamite how some of my male relatives have gotten into arguments with their wives or girlfriends for performing CPR and Mouth-to-mouth resuscitation on women, with the wives or girlfriends jumping to conclusions about cheating.


    Dynamite found that ridiculous, pointing out that they were just following the Good Samaritan and duty to rescue laws. She asked if those women were the type who think their boyfriends or husbands can''t talk to or be friends with other women, while they themselves can have male friends. I just shrugged my shoulders, agreeing with her frustration.


    Of course, we live in a country with its own double standards laws. But that''s a different story.


    Dynamite mentioned that my mother must be stuck in the 1950s mindset, and my facial expression said it all. "Yeah, no kidding." My mom has outdated views and refuses to accept that it''s the 21st century, where people have far more choices than they did decades ago.


    I told Dynamite how my mother wanted me to become a housewife instead of following my own ambitions, and she hates me for choosing my own path. I believe it''s okay to have dreams, but you have to reach them one step at a time, not try to leap all at once. Life is all about choices. Some people settle down and have families without pursuing their childhood dreams, while others chase their dreams and find happiness. But some reach for the stars and achieve their goals, only to realize they missed out on living life and making friends.


    I shared stories of friends back in the States who started businesses to get rich, only to be forced out by greedy investors. When they tried to start new businesses, they were backstabbed by so-called friends, and banks refused to give them loans because of their previous debts. It''s a tough world out there, and sometimes the path to success is filled with unexpected challenges.


    When Dynamite asked about my dream, I told her how I always wanted to join the Navy. After my studies at Arcane University, I did just that. Getting an advanced education was a spur-of-the-moment decision, but it led me to meet Lusty. If I hadn''t met her, I wouldn''t have come back to Little Bird after my Navy tour. Instead, I might have stayed in Alabama, found a different job, and probably wouldn''t have become a firefighter.


    As we talked, a man in a suit approached and handed Dynamite some papers, saying she had been served. After he left, Dynamite opened the envelope to find that her parents were suing her. I took a look at the papers and reassured her that the lawsuit was frivolous. Parents who decide to have kids and invest in them do so by their own choice. Kids don''t owe them anything in return. There''s no contract involved, so legally, her parents can''t sue her for something so absurd. The court would just laugh it out.


    I explained to Dynamite that while some parents do create contracts with their kids to pay for college, it''s pretty rare. By law, her parents were obligated to take care of her without the government stepping in to remove her and place her in foster care or an orphanage. It''s a basic parental duty to provide for their children.


    I also mentioned a lawyer I had hired to deal with a situation involving Strawberry Arms and offered to give her his contact information. But Dynamite decided she was just going to wing it and ignore the lawsuit, confident that no sane judge would entertain such a frivolous case. She figured if a judge did take it up, it wouldn''t be long before they got fed up with her parents'' nonsense.


    I told Dynamite that her parents'' behavior is their fault, not hers. People often fail to realize that their perceptions and feelings are their own responsibility, especially when things don''t go as planned. Her parents'' short-sightedness and lack of imagination are not her burden to bear. They see her as an object rather than a human being, which is incredibly unfair.


    I also mentioned that if her parents had other children, they might have either focused their attention on them or treated them just as poorly. I shared stories about how some parents unfairly blame one child for all the problems while making excuses for the others. If her parents had other kids, there''s a good chance they would have shielded them from blame, only acknowledging Dynamite when they wanted something from her. It''s a sad reality, but it''s important for her to know that their behavior is a reflection of their own flaws, not hers.


    I shared with Dynamite how some parents are dismissive and never let their kids have peace of mind. They might complain about schoolwork taking up space, even if it''s just a couple of sheets of paper, while ignoring other kids who are loud and disruptive. Some parents even cut their kids out of the will or inheritance, treating them like outsiders. They disown their children for not being carbon copies of themselves, but when those kids come into money, the family suddenly reappears, expecting handouts and using the "we''re family" card.


    I told her about how some families treat one child with disdain while making excuses for the others. If those disowned kids get an inheritance or win the lottery, the family comes out of the woodwork, seeing them as a living ATM. Some even have the audacity to hire lawyers to sue them, but since wills are legally binding, such lawsuits are frivolous.


    I shared a Waterson family saying, "Family isn¡¯t who¡¯s related to you but those who love you for who you are and are there for you when you need them."


    Dynamite nodded, saying her family is the type that won''t respond when you need them but will go to great lengths to track you down when they need something. It was clear she appreciated knowing she wasn''t alone in dealing with such family dynamics.


    I told Dynamite that friendships and family ties often don''t count for much. People you think are your friends and family can easily sell you out or abandon you if you get in the way of something they want. You only find out who your real friends are when you''re down.


    She agreed, noting that many people leave when times are tough and only stick around during the good times. The true test of a friend or family member is whether they stick with you through both the bad and the good. Many people disappear faster than a moth to a light when things get rough, only to come crawling back when you''re back on your feet.


    Dynamite told me to stop sounding like an inspirational video, but I pointed out that it''s true. Real friends and family will stick by you no matter how rough things get, while others will abandon ship faster than rats on a sinking vessel. True friends are the ones who stay by your side, no matter how tough the times are.


    I asked Dynamite if she wanted me to do a background check on the guy her parents wanted her to marry. At first, she said no, but then quickly changed her mind. She figured if there was something her parents wouldn''t like, she''d want to know and use it against them. After all, people often hide things, and most parents wouldn''t want their child marrying someone with a shady past.


    I also told her that some parents, like my mother, hold onto traditional values and outdated gender roles. My mom believes men should be the breadwinners while women stay home, do house chores, and raise kids. I''ve heard of relationships breaking up because one family had traditional values while the other adapted to the 21st century, encouraging their daughter to be independent.


    I shared how my mother still wants me to quit my job, find a man, and be a housewife, but that''s not happening. I''m happy being independent and having self-autonomy. I even told Dynamite about family members who questioned my mom on social media, asking what''s wrong with a woman having her own career and independence. It''s the 21st century, not a time when marriage and kids were required for societal acceptance.


    Dynamite shared a story about how her parents once screamed at her for making a breakfast sandwich that wasn''t on the menu. They hated creativity and ran a diner that sold the same generic items you could find anywhere¡ªcoffee, sodas, milkshakes, and standard breakfast, lunch, and dinner foods.


    Curious, I asked what her breakfast sandwich was. She described it, two slices of rye bread, two slices of smoked ham, and two slices of Gouda cheese. She''d crack three eggs into a bowl, soak the sandwich in the eggs, then fry it in butter until the cheese melted. Despite her parents'' disapproval, they didn''t yell at her in front of customers, knowing it would be bad for business. Some customers even suggested adding it to the menu because it was so good.


    Whenever her parents weren''t around, Dynamite would make the sandwiches for customers. When her parents noticed their profits increasing, they asked the staff what was so popular. Everyone pointed to Dynamite''s breakfast sandwich. It was new, unique, and a refreshing change from the usual fried egg sandwiches. Her parents liked the extra money but still didn''t appreciate the creativity since it wasn''t on the official menu.


    I suggested to Dynamite that if she went along with her parents'' plan, she should act nervous and uncomfortable. She cut me off, saying Marines aren''t uncomfortable. I told her to stop lying¡ªeveryone feels fear in combat or running into a fire, and anyone who says otherwise is lying.


    I got to the point. Go along with her parents'' plan, take over their shares of the family business, and then head to the courthouse to get the marriage voided. I explained that marriages require the legal consent of both parties. If she was under duress from her parents, the court would see it as pressure and coercion, making it possible for a judge to nullify the marriage. It was a strategic way to turn the tables on her parents and regain control of her life.


    Dynamite thought my plan was good but doubted her parents would fall for it. I told her she¡¯d need to sound confident and sincere to win them over, but not saying something like, "I¡¯m getting older and don¡¯t want to miss my chance to have kids." It had to be believable.


    I also suggested she had a few options. She could either go along with her parents'' plan and then take over the business, using the opportunity to get the marriage voided due to duress. Or, she could change her name again and transfer to another fire company in the city of Empire or elsewhere in Little Bird to escape her parents. However, they might just hire another private investigator to find her, restarting the cycle. Because Madeleine is a very rare name on Little Bird where there¡¯s only 69 women on Little Bird named Madeleine or 68 without Dynamite.


    Alternatively, she could go along with their plan under duress, buy out her parents'' shares, and force them into retirement. Given they¡¯re seven years away from retirement and likely don¡¯t have another successor, they might eventually sell the business. If someone else bought it, they might renovate and upscale the place, potentially driving away loyal customers.


    Dynamite has some tough choices ahead, but it¡¯s clear she¡¯s strong and resourceful enough to handle whatever comes her way.


    Dynamite shared that her parents never fully liked her because she was a girl, not the son they wanted. They refused to get an ultrasound 31 years ago and never tried for another child, possibly out of fear of having another daughter or not wanting the hassle of raising two kids.


    I told her that family sizes vary greatly¡ªsome families have one child, others have many, and some choose not to have kids at all. But some parents really shouldn''t have kids if they can''t treat them right.


    Dynamite then told me about a guy she met in the Marines who was put up for adoption because his biological parents wanted a daughter, not a son. Now a high-ranking Marine officer, his biological parents tried to re-enter his life when they found out he was successful. When he turned 18, he met them, but they told him he was a mistake. His adoptive parents supported him through this, warning him that many people who put their kids up for adoption do so for various reasons.


    Now, as a Lieutenant-Colonel making $7,181 a year, his biological parents non-subtly asked for financial help, pulling the family card. He refused, pointing out that they had waived their parental rights when they put him up for adoption. Even when they tried to sue him, the courts sided with him, stating that by putting him up for adoption, they had voluntarily cut ties and had no claim for his support.


    I told Dynamite that this story highlights how some parents only see their children as means to an end, not as individuals with their own worth. It''s a harsh reality, but it''s important to recognize and stand up for oneself, just like that Marine officer did.

 Chapter Twenty-Two

    As Dynamite and I continued our conversation, the fire bell suddenly went off. I sprinted inside, and she quickly got out of her car.


    While I was pulling on my bunker gear trousers, I glanced over at Dynamite. She was kicking off her shoes and slipping into her boots, pulling up the trousers and securing the suspenders.


    ¡°Dynamite, Dynamite. let¡¯s go!¡± I shouted. ¡°All right. Somebody call Madeline a cab!¡±


    Without missing a beat, Dynamite shot back, ¡°Shut up.¡±


    As I climbed onto the ladder truck and we sped down the street, I couldn''t shake the conversation I had with Dynamite. It''s heartbreaking how many parents try to dictate their children''s lives, micromanaging every detail like overbearing helicopter parents. Giving direction is one thing, but controlling every aspect of their lives is another.


    My dad was different. He''d either warn me not to do something or encourage me to try it. If I came crying to him afterward, he''d say, "Well, I told you not to do it, but you still did," or "Well now, you won¡¯t do that again, will you?" He believed in letting me learn from my own experiences, even if it meant making mistakes.


    My dad is a mistake-learning parent, meaning he¡¯s the type who believes that people and kids should make mistakes so they aren''t bound to repeat them. To him parents who shield their kids from the real world then said kids are in for a rude awakening when they try something they shouldn¡¯t


    Parents like Dynamite''s, who go overboard in their attempts to protect and control, often miss the point. It''s about guiding and supporting, not dictating and stifling. As we raced to the scene, I hoped Dynamite would find the strength to keep standing up for herself and carving her own path.


    ____________________


    An hour later, Dynamite and I were combing through a room, looking for hidden hot spots. I told her she wasn''t alone in dealing with crazy family members. I shared that I have some relatives whose parents make you wonder, "What is wrong with you?"


    When she asked for clarification, I explained that I have family members who refuse to attend weddings to avoid hurting someone else''s feelings. Or tell people not to go to a baby shower because another daughter got divorced.


    Dynamite agreed it was messed up, pointing out that some people only have one child, so there won''t be future baby showers, and some marriages last a lifetime, so there won''t be another wedding or bachelor/bachelorette party.


    I told her about relatives who have step-parents that pull the "Postpone or redo the wedding when we get back from vacation" card. They''re not popular in the Waterson family. When asked why they missed the wedding, they lie and say they weren''t invited. In this digital age, many send invitations via paper, text, or email and can prove it with screenshots if someone deletes the message.


    I mentioned how some family members choose to go on vacation during important events, leaving just days before a wedding. It''s frustrating, but it happens. I also shared how some relatives cancel or don''t attend important events, making it clear that family dynamics can be complicated and challenging.


    I even told her about some family members who had fianc¨¦s or fianc¨¦es who hated them for working a job they enjoy. These fianc¨¦s or fianc¨¦es get shocked when they get kicked out and have their ring taken back because they are the kind who work ungodly hours to provide for them. These fianc¨¦s or fianc¨¦es treat their breakup like a game and stay until the Waterson pulls out legal threats. The Watersons also pull the ¡°No wedding, no ring¡± card. Many female Watersons break up with guys who treat them badly because we look for an equal partner, not a jerk. Many male Watersons have dated and married women who have secret diaries saying how they never listen to their wives or ask why they can¡¯t get a normal job.


    Dynamite told me that people usually want to find jobs that make them happy. She said if I have family members who are happy leaving the house around 11 PM to pick up trash and come back home around 8 AM or 9 AM, then their spouse should love them for doing a job to keep the streets clean. Everyone has the right to do what they want to do, and many people have to take jobs they don¡¯t want to do to provide. It depends on the person. But she also said some people fall in love with the idea of someone, not who they really are.


    Dynamite even shared how some people have secret relationships behind their partner''s back, so when they break up, they already have another place to go. She said many people shouldn''t be in relationships because they treat them like games, expecting so much and then just moving on to the next partner when things don''t go their way, restarting the cycle.


    She also mentioned how some people thought she and Avalanche were a couple. While they did have feelings for each other, they talked it through. When they brought it up to my girlfriend, Lusty, she appreciated their honesty but reminded them of the fire department policy: no two firefighters can be in a relationship at the same firehouse. Lusty told them that if they were serious about dating, one of them would have to transfer to another firehouse or switch shifts to B, C, or D.


    After a long discussion, Dynamite and Avalanche decided it was best to remain friends. Lusty took it as them being friends on shift and possibly dating off shift, but she and the department can''t dictate their actions outside of work.


    Dynamite even mentioned how people sometimes saw her and Avalanche having dinner together or hanging out at a bar and grill. Those who saw them had mixed opinions¡ªsome thought they were dating off shift, while others believed they were just friends catching up. There''s no law against two friends going out together, even though many, including Lusty, lean towards the former. But people generally keep an open mind and don''t ask because it''s none of their business.


    I told her that her parents aren''t typical because most parents are the kind their kids can run to if they''re in danger or need support. I shared how some of my family members have a necklace that''s passed down from one woman to another for their first marriage. However, some relatives think the necklace should go to the person getting married, even if the current holder is already married, which can be insensitive. Some even use their "golden child''s" struggles to guilt-trip others, but other Watersons tell them to stop with the guilt trips.


    I also mentioned how some Watersons have spouses who shouldn''t be married to them because these spouses expect their kids to move on immediately after losing a loved one. Family dynamics can be really complicated and challenging.


    Dynamite shared that her entire family is like that. She told me about a time when she got badly hurt and needed to be in the hospital for round-the-clock care. Her parents tried to get her checked out of the hospital and even threatened to sue the hospital for violating their parental rights.


    They did sue, but the judge reviewed her injuries and had a third-party medical expert explain that she needed to stay in the hospital or she could have died. Her family never visited her while she was there, but the moment she was well enough to be discharged, they wanted her to work at the family business and babysit their kids.


    She also mentioned how her family loves to go on vacation but always brings someone along to babysit the kids. She wouldn''t be surprised if she had to watch her cousins, nephews, or nieces while her family enjoyed their vacation. These kids are the type who scream bloody murder if they don''t get what they want and throw tantrums if they''re told no.


    To me, Dynamite¡¯s family overall sounds like they could do four or five seasons of Jerry Springer. She went on about how her entire family needs serious help. Sure, it''s normal for families to bring their kids on vacation, but forcing someone to babysit them while they miss out on all the fun? That''s just wrong.


    I told Dynamite that most of my family members bring their kids on vacation but watch their own kids. If they can''t, they hire a babysitter or a nanny. They don''t drag another family member along just to make them babysit. It''s unfair to expect someone to have fun on vacation when they''re stuck watching other people''s kids.


    I also shared how some Watersons set clear boundaries. They make it crystal clear that they will not waste their time babysitting kids on vacation. Even a newborn would understand that they¡¯re there to enjoy themselves, not to be a free babysitter.


    Soon, Lusty walked into the room to check on our progress with the hotspots.


    ¡°What are you two talking about?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Bad families,¡± I replied.


    ¡°One of my neighbors back in Eastside got remarried and prioritized his new family over his kids. He actually evicted his own kids before they were even of legal age,¡± Lusty said. ¡°The whole neighborhood tarred and feathered the guy for abandoning his own flesh and blood after their mother died. He had the nerve to kick his own kids out.¡±


    I stayed silent, letting her continue.


    ¡°I even had a neighbor who hated when I came out of the closet. She was a homophobic neighbor. She tried to set me up with either her brother or her son,¡± Lusty added.


    Dynamite and I exchanged glances, both of us knowing that family drama can be a real mess.


    Lusty really lucked out with her parents. They loved her for who she was and never did anything to make her mad at them. She wishes they were still around, but they''ve been gone for fourteen years. They were the kind of parents who would literally go to Hell to punch Satan in the face if it meant protecting their kids. They supported her unconditionally, even admitting they had no idea what homosexuality was. Lusty told me it was strange for her to explain to her parents that she likes both genders equally, but they accepted her without hesitation.


    Lusty admitted that her parents voiced their concerns when she said she wanted to be a firefighter. They weren''t negative about it; it was more of an "Are you sure, honey?" kind of tone. They suggested she focus on music because of her name, Lusty, which she chose as a short form for Lyricist. Even though I don''t quite see the connection, I''m not one to argue.


    Her parents thought she should pursue a music career, but Lusty refused. She preferred to be an independent musician rather than work in the music industry where record companies and agents take most of the money. Lusty wanted a hardworking career and wasn''t interested in entering an industry that didn''t align with her values.


    We then finished searching for hot spots as I started to begin to walk down the stairs. There were some cracking sounds in which I turned around and part of the floor that Dynamite was standing on gave away in which I grabbed her hand and was able to pull her up.


    Dynamite thanked me for saving her from falling even through the floor.


    _________________________


    Back at the firehouse, Dynamite asked, ¡°So what¡¯s your plan in more detail?¡±


    I replied, ¡°Basically, follow your parents'' plan to get them to the negotiation table before the wedding. Once they agree to sell you their shares in the business, you take over. Give them what they¡¯re owed for the shares, hand them the check, and get them to sign over ownership to you. They can then retire comfortably, unless they blow through the money quickly. After they accept the buyout, go to the guy you¡¯re supposed to marry, give him the ring back, and tell him it¡¯s not you, it¡¯s him. Then leave faster than a bat out of hell.¡±


    Dynamite shared, ¡°The only creative item I had my parents allow on the menu was a crispy chicken sandwich.¡±


    Curious, I asked, ¡°What¡¯s that?¡±


    She explained, ¡°I get a bag of plain flour, fine cornmeal, curry seasoning, and baking powder. I pre-cook the chicken before frying it. After I precook the chicken, I put individual pieces into the crispy batter I made and fry them up.¡±


    ¡°Sounds good,¡± I replied, imagining the crunch.


    Dynamite continued, ¡°In my time working at the diner, I¡¯ve seen people request sauerkraut on a cheeseburger. But I never judged them.¡±


    I chuckled, ¡°People have some interesting tastes, that¡¯s for sure.¡±


    As we walked around the firehouse, we kept discussing Dynamite''s plan. She''d go along with her parents'' arranged marriage scheme, get them to the negotiation table, and buy them out. Once they agree and sell their shares, she''d pay them back for retirement. After they get their shares turned into a check or cash, she''d break up with the guy and leave.


    I also shared with Dynamite how it''s usually the same with bad family members who suddenly want to reconnect after years or even decades of no contact. They''re either after money or inheritance, or they need a compatible organ donor. It''s rarely about genuinely wanting to reconnect and make amends.


    Dynamite nodded, understanding the harsh reality of such situations. "It''s sad but true," she said. "People can be so selfish."


    "Yeah," I agreed. "But at least you have a plan to take control of your situation. That''s what matters."


    Dynamite shared a story from when she was fourteen. She bought breakfast from a competitor diner, and their doughnuts were better than her family''s. When she mentioned this to her parents, they dismissed it as "hearsay" and almost threatened legal action against her. However, they couldn''t do much because it would violate her free speech rights. Plus, she wasn''t legally bound by any non-disclosure agreements since she was underage.


    She explained that a lawyer could easily tell her that any legal forms she signed were just a bunch of jargon she wouldn''t understand, and her parents could twist the meaning to fit their narrative.


    Dynamite also admitted that her parents'' doughnuts weren''t even that good. She said they were the kind that made store-bought ones, which had been on the shelves for a week or two and tasted better in comparison.


    Honestly, I have nothing to say about that. But Dynamite mentioned that her parents threatened to cut her pay. She recorded that conversation and talked to the company lawyer about it. Even though the lawyer works for her parents, they admitted that her parents would be violating the Fair Wage Act and her rights as a part-time worker. Even kids who work for family need to be paid their fair share, so withholding pay for expressing her voice and opinion is a crime.


    Dynamite mentioned that if her parents had refused to pay her, she could have stopped working until they paid what she was owed. Even as an adult, she could have used that to sue them, since withholding pay violates federal law. The law is clear: people who work must be paid what they¡¯re owed, and withholding pay for unjust reasons is grounds for a lawsuit.


    Dynamite started to like my plan more and more. She realized she could control the narrative, making her parents believe she was willing to go along with their plan. Before the wedding, she could bring them to the negotiating table and convince them to sell their shares and stocks to her, giving her complete ownership. She would pay them what their shares are worth, and once they see that payday and get their money, they could retire. Then, she could break up with the guy and call off the wedding.


    If her parents insisted on the marriage happening before the negotiation, she could get the marriage annulled later, claiming she was under duress. Even though it''s an arranged marriage, it could be annulled or end in divorce anyway.


    Dynamite then said my idea was better because she had considered just changing her first name and transferring to another fire company, either in the city of Empire or somewhere in Little Bird. But she knew her parents might go to the extreme of hiring a private investigator to find her and report her location back to them. This would just repeat the cycle of her parents trying to force her into a marriage she isn¡¯t comfortable with.


    She doesn¡¯t know the guy her parents want her to marry; she only knows he¡¯s rich and next in line to take over his parents'' restaurant chain. Unlike Dynamite¡¯s parents, whose restaurant chain is private, this guy is the successor to a family company. In reality, Dynamite feels like the marriage would be more of a merger, with their union being a contract rather than a genuine relationship.


    By following my plan, she could take control of the situation, buy out her parents, and then break off the engagement. This way, she wouldn''t have to run or hide, and she could ensure her future on her own terms.


    I admitted to Dynamite that I don''t fully understand how businesses work, especially when it comes to merging private and public companies through marriage. It seemed like an ethics violation to me. But Dynamite explained that it would be a reverse merger, where a private company buys a public company and it becomes a subsidiary. Even though it¡¯s more or less a public company merging with a private one, not the private one buying out the public ones.


    Her explanation made more sense and it was clear she had thought this through. The idea of a reverse merger is actually a common strategy for private companies to go public quickly and with fewer complications than a traditional IPO.


    Soon enough, Lusty rounded us up and announced we were heading to the store. We made our way to the Supermarket in the district¡ªthe same one where I used to work part-time as a stocker during my days at Arcane University. Those were some hectic nights, especially Mondays and Wednesdays, often working solo. Even when I had company, we¡¯d be on opposite sides of the store, tackling our own sections.


    So off we went.


    <hr>


    The Supermarket.


    Lusty asked what we wanted for dinner and lunch, and the majority vote landed on stew. We started roaming the aisles, gathering ingredients for our culinary endeavor.


    ¡°Where are the tomatoes?¡± Avalanche asked.


    ¡°In the produce section,¡± I replied.


    I made my way to the deli and picked up eight pounds of provolone cheese, each pound costing 45 cents, along with some other deli meats.


    Then, out of nowhere, a voice called out.


    ¡°You should be out fighting fires!¡± a woman exclaimed.


    I turned around, ¡°And?¡±


    ¡°Well, I pay your salary,¡± she retorted.


    I replied, ¡°So do 1.5 million other people in the city.¡±


    She huffed and puffed at that.


    ¡°Well, since you pay my salary, you shouldn''t have any problem covering $3.60 for the provolone cheese, $2.60 for the Havarti cheese, and $7.50 for the ham, peppered turkey, and salami slices.¡±


    She snapped back, ¡°I¡¯m not paying for that!¡±


    ¡°I thought you said you paid my salary?¡± I shot back, smirking.


    I guess my response took her aback.


    She launched into a tirade about how this was a misuse of her tax dollars, but I had finally had enough.


    ¡°Ma¡¯am, does your job give you lunch breaks?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Yes, it does. I get a one-hour lunch break,¡± she replied.


    ¡°Well, we deserve lunch and dinner as well. We¡¯re human beings, not robots,¡± I said.


    ¡°This is a misuse of my tax dollars,¡± she insisted.


    ¡°How about this¡ªwhen you go to work, skip your one-hour lunch break. Just work straight through until you get off at 5 PM, then go home and have dinner! Or everyday for now just have breakfast and not have lunch and dinner!¡± I snapped back.


    I guess she didn¡¯t appreciate my attitude and launched into another tirade about it. So, I told her, ¡°If you don¡¯t like my attitude, you can file a complaint with the Fire Department of the City of Empire. My name is Mackenzie Nova Waterson, and my badge number is 198445. You have every right to file a complaint, and I won¡¯t hold it against you.¡±


    She was left speechless. By giving her my full name and badge number, I made it clear that she could file a complaint against me for misconduct or unbecoming behavior. I was ready to fight that complaint because of how snobby she was acting. If she did file a complaint, I¡¯d file one right back against her for being snobby and unprofessional.


    She didn¡¯t think I went there but I did and I have no problem with it. But after I got the other few thin sliced lunch meats I then told the woman to take a hike and wasn¡¯t going on a tirade with her but as I started to walk away. She then grabbed my arm but I violently removed it from her grip.


    ¡°Listen, lady, I don¡¯t care who you are, so go ahead and file a complaint,¡± I snarled. ¡°But let me tell you something. I¡¯ve got family members who go to therapists, and their therapists need therapists to deal with what they hear. I¡¯ve got family members who serve our country, only to have their spouses cheat on them while they¡¯re deployed, telling their kids lies that paint them as monsters. I¡¯ve got a cousin who was adopted by parents who constantly compared her to their biological son. She kept her last name, Waterson, and exposed her brother¡¯s fraudulent activities through her journalism job. And I¡¯ve got family members who dated people who seemed nice but only valued them for their possessions. So, I¡¯m not in the mood to deal with you.¡±


    I guess my words struck a nerve because she pulled out a notepad and started writing. I just walked away, figuring she was jotting down my name and badge number. Honestly, I didn¡¯t care.


    I returned to my girlfriend and her company, finding our two shopping carts already half full. I told Lusty about the woman who scolded me for ¡°misusing tax dollars¡± to go shopping. I explained how I told her off, even giving her my full name and badge number so she could file a complaint if she wanted to. Lusty just shook her head, probably amused by the whole situation.


    Lusty and the rest of Squad 141 backed me up, saying that we¡¯re entitled to lunch and dinner breaks just like any blue-collar laborer or white-collar office worker. In this country, it¡¯s a federal law that employers must provide breaks, whether paid or unpaid, and firefighters are no exception. Our jobs are physically demanding¡ªcarrying 75 pounds of gear isn¡¯t easy¡ªand we need breaks to restore our energy.


    Lusty even shared a story about how, in the past, the Fire Department of the City of Empire wanted the firehouses to eat healthier foods like kale. Lusty and many other firefighter officers asked if the city would hire a chef to prepare these healthier meals. When the city said no, they made it clear they weren¡¯t going to survive on just non protein salads and other protein free foods. That¡¯s why some of the veggies in our carts are the ones packed with protein.


    We headed to the checkout, and the total came to almost a hundred bucks. As we loaded up the Rescue Engine and Truck company with groceries, I started chatting with Lusty about family.


    I told her about some of my family members who¡¯ve dated cheaters. You know, the ones who use classic excuses like, ¡°It was only once,¡± or blame-shift with, ¡°Since you were out of town, I thought you were cheating, so I had my fun too.¡± Then there are those who date people glued to social media 24/7. These partners demand the Watersons cancel vacations and take more exotic trips because their ¡°followers need the content.¡± They insist on staying in fancy hotels that make five-star places look like dumps and visiting scenic spots just for the social media clout.


    Us Watersons take that personally. We¡¯re a force to be reckoned with. The female Watersons make a Category 5 hurricane look like a Category 1. We¡¯re not those fake feminists who preach empowerment but secretly compete with other women. No, we¡¯re the real deal¡ªunapologetic and straightforward. The male Watersons are the same way. When we hear about a Waterson lover canceling a vacation because it wasn¡¯t ¡°social media worthy,¡± we call them an ¡°influencer wannabe.¡±


    Trying to explain video games or social media to people in a country where these things are like science fiction is a challenge. It¡¯s like explaining quantum physics or nuclear physics to an infant.


    Of course, some Watersons have broken our personal rule. ¡°You cannot be with a guy¡¯s or gal¡¯s ex-girlfriend, ex-wife, sister, or half-sister, brother, or half-brother without their explicit, crystal-clear permission.¡± When this rule is violated without asking the family member who broke up with them in the first place, it feels like a backstab, especially when they¡¯re going through a rough patch. This kind of betrayal causes family rifts, and those who break the rule often find themselves uninvited to family gatherings.


    Many of us have friends who preach independence and strength, only to backstab us by swooping in on our exes right after a breakup. These so-called friends make calculated moves in orchestrated betrayals, ending friendships in the process.


    Lusty even mentioned that the Fire Department of the City of Empire has a similar unwritten rule. She¡¯s not one to break it, even though she did date Zofia a long time ago. Zofia, on the other hand, is the type who would break that rule in a heartbeat, betraying others in a New York second for her own happiness.


    It wasn¡¯t long before I heard that same woman¡¯s voice again¡ªthe one from the deli who accused us of misusing tax dollars by shopping instead of fighting fires. Lusty didn¡¯t waste any time telling her to hit the road. But when the woman kept on, Lusty handed her the receipt and said, ¡°You can go inside and ask the store to give us our $98 back, and you can pay it.¡±


    Of course, the woman refused, so Lusty told her to mind her own business. She explained that while the fire department is funded by taxes, so are all city services. Lusty even pointed out that this woman was probably the type to berate cops for not patrolling the streets while they¡¯re on their break.


    Of course, Lusty got right up in the woman¡¯s face. I think it was her mother bear side showing. Lusty has seven daughters, and she views her company the same way a mother views her children. She didn¡¯t hold back, though she didn¡¯t go on a tirade. Instead, she made it clear that people like this woman, who criticize everything and everyone around them, make life a nightmare.


    As we finished loading up the groceries, we overheard Lusty telling the woman that we¡¯re taxpayers too. She wasn¡¯t the only one funding the city; there are 1.5 million hardworking taxpayers in the city. Lusty made it clear that if the woman wanted to file a complaint or a lawsuit, she was welcome to try, but it wouldn¡¯t go far because of how ridiculous it was.


    Lusty kept going, telling the woman off. I guess it¡¯s because she comes from a neighborhood where people use their brains. She once told me a story about a neighbor from the Eastside firehouse. They had to leave the checkout line before they could get rung up because of an emergency call. When they got back, they found out that Lusty¡¯s neighbor had paid for their groceries as a form of thank you for what they do every day. But this woman? She wouldn¡¯t do anything like that. All she¡¯s good for is scolding us.


    Lusty finally finished telling the woman off, climbed into the officer¡¯s seat, and slammed the door shut. We headed back to quarters, but the way she shut that door told me she still had a few choice words left in her vocabulary.


    Since I was riding on the ladder truck and not the engine, I couldn¡¯t really ask her about it. But knowing Lusty, sometimes a punching bag is the best way for her to relieve stress.


    ________________


    Back at the Firehouse


    We settled in for lunch, and I made myself a peppered turkey sandwich with provolone and Havarti cheese. I made Lusty the same, minus the provolone.


    While we were out in the apparatus bay, I mentioned that the woman from the store was probably a ¡°Trixie.¡± Lusty asked me what a ¡°Trixie¡± was, so I explained. ¡°Trixies¡± are social-climbing, marriage-minded, money-hungry young women who flock to upwardly mobile neighborhoods. The term originated in the 1990s in Chicago. I also told her it could describe a blonde, late-twenties woman with a ponytail who works in PR or marketing, drives a black Jetta, gets manicures, and orders no-foam skim lattes. Then I cursed National Geographic for making me know the latter part.


    Soon, a car pulled up, and out came the same woman who had been yelling at us earlier about ¡°misusing tax dollars.¡± We just couldn¡¯t catch a break from her. She went on another tirade, but eventually, someone else got out of the car and handed Lusty an envelope before they left.


    Lusty and I weren¡¯t too worried about it. We changed the subject, and she started telling me about how, during the war, she would sometimes hear military broadcasts over her car radio or the firehouse radio. It¡¯s possible to pick up radio transmissions from the far side of the world under certain atmospheric conditions. The signals can bounce off one of the upper layers of the atmosphere, using it like a reflector to bankshot transmissions around the curvature of the Earth.


    She mentioned hearing units say ¡°Shattered Spear.¡± Before she could explain, I asked what it meant. Lusty told me that the Little Bird Armed Forces use two code words: ¡°Broken Spear¡± and ¡°Shattered Spear.¡± ¡°Broken Spear¡± means a friendly unit is in danger of being overrun, so it calls in every available combat aircraft for support, dropping their payloads a safe distance away to prevent friendly fire. ¡°Shattered Spear¡± means an enemy force is about to or is currently overwhelming a friendly force, calling in every combat aircraft to drop their payloads right on top of the friendly position. Her father had told her that in the military, munitions fired by mortars, artillery, and bombs dropped by the air force are indiscriminate. It doesn¡¯t matter which side soldiers are on¡ªfriendly or enemy¡ªthey¡¯ll get hit by shrapnel or fire, depending on the ordnance that¡¯s dropped.


    When I asked Lusty if she was going to open the envelope, she shrugged it off, saying she wasn¡¯t in a rush. She wasn¡¯t worried about it, figuring that if it was a lawsuit for ¡°misuse of taxpayer money,¡± no judge would entertain it. And if a judge did, it would probably be just for amusement before dismissing the case.


    I could see her point. Many people sue out of greed, a desire for revenge, or desperation for justice, often with the help of an ambulance chaser or an amoral attorney. Lusty even mentioned that some people in Little Bird have filed lawsuits against God or Satan. Since these are religious figures without an address or a way to be reliably contacted, the lawsuits go nowhere. Even the religious folks here think it¡¯s ridiculous.


    Lusty mentioned that someone once sued the City of Empire City Council for violating his constitutional right to free speech by having him arrested. The city council was shocked, but Lusty, born and raised in Empire, said three things have remained true since the city was founded in 1710:


    <ol>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Great Cuisine</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Great Culture</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Corrupted Leaders</li>


    </ol>


    I believe it, because it¡¯s like that everywhere. Lusty also told me about a time when the city council wanted to slash the EPD budget. People fought tooth and nail against it because they knew that fewer officers would mean the Commonwealth government might have to deploy active troops to police the city again. The last thing anyone wants is to see military vehicles with armed marines and paratroopers patrolling the streets. They don¡¯t arrest criminals¡ªthey shoot them. If the military has to do domestic policing and follow their counter-insurgency protocol, it¡¯s not pretty. Unlike the United States or any other country, the country of Little Bird doesn¡¯t have any laws or acts that prevents the military from being used as a police force minus the due process and courthouses.


    Soon, the fire bell went off, interrupting my sandwich. I grabbed it and headed out with the team. After some time, we found the street blocked off. I pulled out my cell phone and started recording what was happening.


    Lusty told the people to move their vehicles, but when they refused, she told us to mount back up. Squad 141 moved out of the way, and Ladder Co 141 acted as a battering ram, pushing the vehicles aside. We continued on our way to the house fire.


    When we arrived, Lusty radioed the P.D. for crowd control. It felt like dealing with a bully. I¡¯ve always been told there are different ways to handle bullies, trying to reason with them, standing up to them, or sometimes getting friends to back you up. There are always other ways to handle the situation.


    I kept my phone recording the whole time. I¡¯m not on my phone 24/7, so I¡¯ve got plenty of storage. The people didn¡¯t seem too happy that we smashed through their vehicle blockade, but what did they expect? A forty-seven-ton, all-steel fire truck is going to force a two-ton car out of the way any day, even if the brakes or emergency brake are on.


    It¡¯s our legal right to move vehicles if we need to, and if they try to sue for damages, they¡¯ll look like fools in court. They¡¯ll be painted in a bad light, seen as valuing their vehicle over human life. It¡¯s like saying, ¡°Hey, if I had to choose between saving someone¡¯s life or my car, I¡¯d go for the car.¡± Not a good look.


    I just feel like I¡¯m recording all this because of us being delayed for thirty seconds so if someone died in this house fire and they complain to the city about us slowly steeping our response then I would show the city that they blocked us making us be delayed. If anyone does anything hasty then they would be recorded. When I get done recording then I¡¯m going to share this to my social media and share it to my friends and family and make backups just in case if I unintentionally delete it.


    I kept recording, and after a minute, people started throwing stuff at us. Lusty barked, ¡°Dynamite! Smith! Get them wet! Get more hoses!¡± She then grabbed her radio to call for another Engine company for riot assistance and requested a larger police response. This was turning into a full-blown riot. Dynamite and Smith turned the 1 ? and 2 ? inch attack fire hoses on the crowd of agitators. I provided some social commentary, explaining how we¡¯re trained to use fire hoses offensively or defensively in civil disturbances.


    I also mentioned that many police dogs here were once military attack dogs. When a K-9 officer takes a dog off the leash, it goes after the closest person, biting and holding them until an officer can intervene. These dogs have sharp enough teeth to draw blood and tear skin. I know some friends would call this ¡°excessive force,¡± but here on Little Bird, it¡¯s a double standard. If it happens out of the blue, it¡¯s excessive force, but if people start throwing stuff and attacking us, it¡¯s justified force.


    I know some friends and family would say, ¡°It¡¯s 1963 all over again,¡± even though this isn¡¯t about race. Many of my family members lived through the 1960s and judged people by their actions, not their nationality or ethnic background. It¡¯s hard to explain to my friends and family back in the United States that the country I¡¯m living in has outdated crowd control tactics. They use dogs, batons, tear gas, and mounted police. In the 1980s and 90s, they borrowed and bought outdated military gear to reduce officer injuries in civil disturbances. The riot armor here in Little Bird is outdated Ranger armor that protects the wearer from all forms of damage, making them nearly invulnerable. At $12,500 per armor, it should.


    I kept recording, not caring how long the video would be. If these people got arrested and filed complaints, I¡¯d have the evidence. When some cops arrived, I provided commentary about their wooden batons, explaining they¡¯re made from the same wood as baseball bats¡ªash, maple, or hickory¡ªand are an inch shorter than the side-handle polycarbonate ones.


    More cops arrived, allowing us to finally focus on the fire. But because we had to deal with the crowd first, the fire had grown. After a few more alarms were transmitted, we managed to knock it down and conduct a search. We extracted a victim, but he was DOA. Fury erupted within me, and I yelled at the crowd, ¡°YOU HAPPY NOW? IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT? YOU PEOPLE MAKE ME SICK!¡±


    The people being arrested and thrown into police cars or transport vans had looks of guilt, shame, and remorse on their faces. They were being taken to the precinct for citing civil disturbance, and it seemed like they were having a ¡°My God, What Have I Done?¡± moment.


    Some of us needed medical attention after being pelted with thrown objects. When I finally turned off the video recording, it was an hour, fifteen minutes, and forty-four seconds long. I shared it on social media with the title, ¡°Having to deal with morons who are self-centered for someone they probably don¡¯t like.¡± I backed it up, emailed it to myself, and sent it to friends and family, asking them to save it in case I accidentally deleted it.


    While I was getting treated, my phone blew up with notifications. Once I was done, I checked them out. Most were angry reactions from friends and family, calling the people stupid and expressing sadness that their actions cost someone their life. Many of my friends are the type to skip through videos, so they probably missed the full context.


    Some family members who skipped to action parts commented things like, ¡°These people blocked your company from getting to a fire and it cost someone their life. They don¡¯t deserve any sympathy and won¡¯t get any!¡±


    The woman who heckled us earlier about ¡°misuse of taxpayer money¡± for grocery shopping was in the crowd but didn¡¯t join the chaos, so she didn¡¯t get arrested.


    Back at the firehouse, Lusty radioed Fleet Maintenance for repairs. She requested two loaner apparatus¡ªa spare rescue engine and a spare ladder truck¡ªbecause of the damage we sustained. Lusty prefers to get them fixed before something worse happens, even though the Fire Department of the City of Empire does preventive maintenance on all its apparatus every month. In-service apparatus are taken out of service, and spare apparatus are put in service. After a week or two, the spare rig goes back to the garage at Fleet Maintenance, and the newer apparatus return to full service.


    Linda mentioned that Fleet Maintenance has some obsolete apparatus. When she was on Ladder 18, her ex-boyfriend, who was on Engine 18, was a terrible driver and wrecked so many fire engines that the DMV revoked his Emergency Driver¡¯s License. The spare rig that Fleet Maintenance gave Firehouse 18 was a fire engine dating back to 1914. Why they have an almost 100-year-old apparatus in storage ready to be used if needed is beyond me. I think it¡¯s just for those at Fleet Maintenance to give to someone who has an EDL but can¡¯t drive or believes that driving a 23-ton or 47-ton fire apparatus is like riding a bike.


    I have family members who drive military vehicles for a living¡ªnot just 4x4 off-road vehicles, but supply trucks, tanks, APCs, IFVs, and Armored Recovery Vehicles. To them, driving a heavy vehicle is nothing like cruising down I-65 in a convertible. My family here in Little Bird does the same, but they say it¡¯s even harder because vehicles here are made of steel, not fiberglass and aluminum. This makes them much heavier. While cars back home might weigh around four thousand pounds depending on the make and model, vehicles here can weigh about three tons.


    I also know people who lived beyond their means and ended up deep in debt, about to lose everything during the 2008 recession. Thankfully, my dad taught me the value of money and to live within my comfort zone¡ªmeaning within my means. He always said not to exceed that limit. Even though he lost both of his jobs during the recession, he had saved enough to get by, despite his unholy marriage with my mother.


    I headed into the firehouse kitchen and found Avalanche slicing up some red and yellow jalapeno peppers. She tossed them into a pressure cooker pot where something was already sizzling. After a bit, she poured the cooked jalapenos and onions into a blender, then added beef chunks to the same pot to fry up. Once the onions and jalapenos were well blended, she mixed in hot paprika, sweet paprika, black pepper, a pinch of salt, and ground caraway seeds. She stirred it all together, added a stew pack, and once the beef was done, she poured the blended mixture back into the pot. She moved it to a back burner and started making homemade elbow noodles.


    As Avalanche put the noodles into the pot of water, the news came on. A reporter mentioned that some people were suing the city for our ¡°slow-stepping¡± response. Not long after, some guys in suits showed up. I knew they were from Internal Affairs, here to get our statements. I had a feeling they wouldn¡¯t take us seriously, but I decided to go last. When it was my turn, I showed them the video I recorded. They said they¡¯d have to check if it was ¡°authentic.¡±


    I muttered, ¡°Oh sweet Jesus,¡± as the IA guys left. I decided to call a number my cousin Mitchell, not Mitzy, had given me. I dialed it on my cell phone and spoke to an operator, using a code phrase. The operator responded with, ¡°Hope we didn¡¯t lose you as a loyal customer,¡± like a business trying to retain a customer.


    After that, I got the green light from Lusty to head to the news station, keeping my radio on as instructed. On the way, I reflected on my female family members who supported their broke boyfriends for years, only to be labeled gold diggers by their boyfriends¡¯ families. When they exposed the truth, it often led to breakups, even if the boyfriends promised to change and stand up to their families. Once a Waterson makes up their mind, there¡¯s no changing it, even if the ex¡¯s family tries to buy their silence.


    I also have female relatives who dated or married narcissistic men who wanted to track their every move. These women gave back their rings and left, refusing to be controlled. Waterson women have different ideals of what they want in a partner. Many want someone ambitious who treats them as equals, while others don¡¯t mind if their partners have hard-working jobs or not. What we all want is a partner who respects our decisions, regardless of their ambitions. Some of my female relatives don¡¯t want kids and have broken up with boyfriends who insisted on having babies right after moving in or getting married. Respecting each other¡¯s wishes is crucial in any relationship.


    I know some female Watersons who are a bit chubby because they love their McDonald¡¯s¡ªordering two Double Quarter Pounder with cheese meals, large fries, and a large soda. Back in the day, they would¡¯ve supersized those meals.


    Yeah, some of my family members have married or dated people who seem nice on the outside but are completely different behind closed doors. I actually have a female relative who married a controlling man. He didn¡¯t like it when she hugged her brother, and when he hit his brother-in-law, he got a rude awakening. Her brother-in-law, a Green Beret or Delta Force operator, told him that children hit better than him. Long story short, fighting a Tier One special forces operator is a losing battle for an unskilled fighter.


    I have some family members who are lawyers, and they often find that opposing counsel does their job for them. For example, one of my relatives had a client who sued her landlord for illegally evicting her. The landlord had no valid reason to evict her since she was paying rent on time every month.


    At family gatherings, they love sharing their court experiences, especially when opposing counsel seems to have gotten their legal knowledge from watching a season of Law and Order. They¡¯ve also explained to people that asking for money isn¡¯t illegal in the US, as it would violate freedom of speech. You can ask for money, even over the internet, without providing a return product, as long as you¡¯re not defrauding anyone or lying about why you need the money.


    Unfortunately, I can¡¯t ask for their legal help here in Little Bird because their expertise is limited to the states they practice in. If I needed their help here, they¡¯d have to take time to read up on the local laws, whether they¡¯re Federal or Commonwealth laws (I prefer to say Commonwealth while others say State, Borough, or County).


    I soon arrived at the news station and decided to give them the video for free, even though they were willing to pay me a hefty price for it. I had to sign a contract saying that I couldn¡¯t turn around and sue them for giving them the video for free and then sue them for not paying me. My dad and many grand uncles always told me to read the fine print because sometimes signing or agreeing to something without reading it can lead to trouble.


    They always said, ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter what you¡¯re being offered, read the fine print before signing anything.¡± They also told me, ¡°There¡¯s no such thing as a free product; if something seems too good to be true, it¡¯s either fake or there¡¯s some kind of catch. If you¡¯re getting a free product, chances are you¡¯re the product.¡± In this day of age the latter part of getting a free product sounds like either something too good to be true or someone gets a free product to self promote it because companies down reach out to celebrities and influencers to reach a broader horizon.


    After thoroughly reading through the contract I did sign it but every time I want to sign my nickname and last name of Macaroni Waterson instead of Mackenzie Waterson. In my family there are fourteen other Mackenzie¡¯s and in my family with two people with the same name you more or less need a nickname to stick out.


    I left the news studio and got back in my car, thinking about how my family handles names. If there are two people with the same first name, whether they have the same or different last names, but different middle names, they usually get nicknames to stand out. Imagine going to a family gathering and hearing, ¡°Hey Mackenzie!¡±¡ªboth of us would turn around. Nicknames help avoid that confusion.


    I also thought about my family members who have to deal with narcissistic parents-in-law. These parents, who aren¡¯t Watersons by blood, often demand that their children name their firstborn after them. It¡¯s frustrating, especially when these parents treat their kids poorly. When their kids become successful, these narcissistic parents suddenly pull the ¡°We¡¯re family¡± card. Many Watersons believe in ¡°Family trumps everything¡± and stand up for their family, even against their spouse, to protect their kids¡¯ rights to name their children whatever they want. No one should feel obligated to name their kids after someone just because of family pressure.


    Don¡¯t get me started on Watersons who remarry and have stepkids. Sometimes, the new spouse wants their child to marry their step-sibling. To us Watersons, that¡¯s creepy on every level. It¡¯s pushing boundaries too far.


    If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    As I drove away from the news station, I thought about how some of my family members have parents who are Watersons by marriage. These parents sometimes try to reunite their sons or daughters with toxic ex-lovers. It¡¯s frustrating, especially when the Waterson parent has to step in and tell their spouse to back off, warning them that deceiving their child will have negative repercussions in the long run.


    Some of my female relatives have had boyfriends who don¡¯t take breakups and try everything to get back into their ex-girlfriend¡¯s life, even attempting to break down doors. In those cases, many Waterson fathers or mothers have used deadly force to protect their kids, whether they¡¯re adults or not. These cases usually get dismissed because it¡¯s considered justified use of force. Even though only three members of my family are in law enforcement, we all protect our families fiercely.


    Male Watersons, on the other hand, can take a hint. When a relationship ends, it ends¡ªunless our ex-girlfriend or ex-lover says we can stay friends but not lovers anymore. We respect that and move on.


    My family members back in America live in states with stand your ground and castle doctrine laws for good reasons. They¡¯d rather be judged by twelve people on a jury than have to plan a funeral. My dad was always protective of me in a way that balanced care and freedom. He didn¡¯t mind if I had guy friends, but he made it crystal clear that if any of them hurt me in any way that wasn¡¯t playful, he¡¯d come after them with both barrels. If I got hurt while playing around, he¡¯d turn the other cheek because he wasn¡¯t overprotective. But as his only child, he would go to great lengths to protect me.


    When I was a kid, during his deployments for the U.S. Invasion of Panama and later the Gulf War, he made sure I stayed with family members. No one trusted my mother to watch over me, and even her own family sided with my dad, saying they would¡¯ve done the same.


    My mother is the kind of person who would leave a kid in the car, only for the car to get carjacked and have the carjacker return to scold her for leaving the child in the car. She really needs to take every fuckin¡¯ test known to mankind to see if she¡¯s fit to be a mother. Long story short, she¡¯s unfit because she only cares about herself and getting her next fix rather than helping her own family.


    One time, my mom microwaved a sponge thinking it was a Hot Pocket. She had plenty of time to realize it was a rectangular dish sponge, not a Hot Pocket. She only found out it was a dish sponge when I asked why she was microwaving it. That¡¯s the most ridiculous thing ever. Even then, she defended herself, saying it wasn¡¯t a dish sponge but an actual turnover pizza thing. I told her I¡¯d never seen a yellow and green turnover sandwich before. When my dad got home and walked in as if on cue, he asked why she microwaved a dish sponge. She took a long look and finally realized she had microwaved a dish sponge, not actual food. My friends, extended family, and my girlfriend finds that story hilarious.


    When I told my friends and some family that my mom took my phone and threw it against the wall, breaking it, they were shocked. My dad was furious with her for that.


    Back in the early 2000s, the idea of a teenager having a cell phone was generally seen as being spoiled. My dad said I could get one if I worked hard in school, and he got me one in 2001, the same year I graduated. My parents had a two-hour fight over it, so I just went into my bedroom, put on headphones, and played music on my CD player to drown them out. Once they stopped fighting, my dad took me to get dinner. Getting takeout was mostly for rare occasions or special events, or if my dad wasn¡¯t in the mood to cook. If he wasn¡¯t in the mood to cook, he¡¯d hit up a fast food joint on the way home or just order a pizza.


    I soon returned to the firehouse and found everyone huddled around the TV. They were watching the news, and to my surprise, they were showing the video I had given them. It was being broadcasted nationally across Little Bird. The video showed our side of the story, and any sympathy the public had for those accusing us of a slow response quickly vanished. The footage clearly showed how they blocked us from getting to the fire and threw stuff at us. Their actions spoke louder than their complaints, and any sympathy they had was now gone.


    Those people who complained about our response time claimed that our supposed delay got someone killed. But the video I took showed the real story. It captured how we had to switch from fighting the fire to turning the hoses on the crowd to protect ourselves until police backup arrived with riot gear. During that time, we couldn¡¯t do our job because we were under attack by rocks, glass bottles, and other objects.


    The hour-long video was enough proof to show how we were hindered from doing our job while being under attack. Near the end of the video, some of the people had an ¡°Oh my God, what have I done¡± look on their faces, realizing the gravity of their actions. They acted like fire can¡¯t kill someone and just wanted others to feel bad for their guilty actions. I don¡¯t feel sorry for them, even though they claimed we slowed our response and turned our fire hoses on them for no reason.


    To me, these people should face serious consequences for their actions. Public humiliation or something similar might seem fitting for such terrible behavior. I know they¡¯ll likely feign innocence and shift the blame onto others, but the reality is, they¡¯ve already faced repercussions. Most of them have been fired from their jobs. No company or corporation wants to be associated with individuals who started a fire, blocked the fire department, and attacked firefighters with dangerous objects. It brings negative press and ruins their reputation.


    In the business world, reputation is everything. Companies know that allowing someone who committed arson and assaulted firefighters to work for them would be a PR nightmare. There are always other companies ready to swoop in and steal clients if a company¡¯s reputation takes a hit.


    In the business world, companies are always on the lookout for new clients. When clients leave a company, they usually find another one in the same market, but not with the original company. I have family members in the business game, and a few of them own small businesses that rely on loyal customers returning. They depend on both newspaper advertisements and word of mouth to keep their businesses thriving.


    Some of my middle-class family members have experienced their kids getting married after a divorce, where their ex-spouse remarried someone with more money. When these kids get married, their stepparents, who come from either old money or new money, and their remarried parent, who isn¡¯t a Waterson, attend the wedding. Sometimes, the kids call their Waterson parents and tell them not to show up, claiming they¡¯re not ¡°sophisticated¡± enough. It¡¯s frustrating because welders, truck drivers, farmers, carpenters, and other hardworking blue-collar and white-collar workers who provide for their families are just as valuable. When the non-Waterson parent and stepparent make a scene or ruin the wedding out of jealousy, it becomes clear that it¡¯s better to have people who care about you for who you are rather than using family members for connections.


    One thing I know for sure is that my family would never do something as stupid as blocking the road for first responders. We respect public servants doing their jobs, whether they¡¯re paid or volunteers. Don¡¯t get me started on family members who play favorites with their kids. If two kids get straight A¡¯s in school, the favorite one gets the latest things while the other gets nothing but a pat on the back. Some of my relatives favor their kids to the point where, if they go to college or get their driver¡¯s license, the favorite one gets a new car while the other is told to bike everywhere and save up to buy a dated car from the classifieds. These cars are often on their last legs or old enough to need historic tags soon.


    Now I¡¯m thinking about how some family members violate a core Waterson code: leaving our ex-lover¡¯s family alone and not getting involved with them or a family member¡¯s ex-lover without crystal clear permission. It¡¯s painful when someone breaks up with their lover, only for a family member to swoop in and start dating that ex right after the breakup. This usually causes a huge family rift. While we Watersons believe in finding love and being with your soulmate, taking a family member¡¯s ex-lover or their family member feels like a backstab.


    I¡¯ve seen family members quit their jobs or transfer to a different office or company position far away to put their past behind them. But it¡¯s hard to move on when a family member steals your ex-lover and rubs the new relationship in your face. This causes a lot of tension. Sometimes, the person who got broken up with ends up dating their ex-lover¡¯s sibling of the same gender, especially if their family member did the same thing before.


    Once the news went off, I decided to take a walk with Lusty. I asked her if she had any other family, and she mentioned an uncle on her mother¡¯s side whom she never met but who saved her life. As for her father¡¯s side, they¡¯re dead to her in both a metaphorical and literal sense. They didn¡¯t approve of Lusty¡¯s father dating, then marrying, a woman from a Native Little Birden tribe. On Christmas Day of 1984, they called Lusty a ¡°thing¡± instead of treating her like family. Her father¡¯s parents even said that Lusty¡¯s niece was their first grandchild, despite Lusty being born several months earlier.


    I also asked Lusty about her time as a cashier in a restaurant. She told me an interesting fact. Fries don¡¯t decompose, not because of preservatives or anything scary, but because they have almost no water content. Due to their thin size, high salt content, and the fact they¡¯re deep-fried, bacteria, mold, and mildew can¡¯t grow without water. That¡¯s why a slice of bread in a plastic bag will grow mold, but one left sitting on the counter will merely dry out and get stale. Of course Lusty said how the restaurant gets the same fries that you can get from any recognizable and generic fast food joints.


    Avalanche then went back to check on the stew and announced it was done. She had made easy beef stew, nokedli, and pickled red cabbage.


    Lusty mentioned that here in Little Bird, many men go to college because they have the financial means to do so. Men are required to complete at least one tour of military service, which lasts eighteen months. After that, they can either reenlist for another eighteen months or leave. If they apply to any college, university, or trade school, the military pays for it through military scholarships or the Little Bird version of the G.I. Bill. They have three years to use this money for education before it expires, unless they do another tour to regain the benefits.


    Lusty¡¯s father never used his benefits because he did several tours in Vietnam. His girlfriend-turned-wife, Lusty¡¯s mom, convinced him that she would pay for his advanced education since she was a therapist. However, when she lost her job and couldn¡¯t put him through college, he thought about using his military money. Unfortunately, he was a day late. The military allows soldiers to claim their benefits on the last day before they expire, and Lusty¡¯s dad¡¯s benefits expired on October 27, 1979. He missed the deadline by a day.


    Lusty also shared how her mother¡¯s so-called friends from university tried to get her to break up with her then-boyfriend because he fought in a controversial war. But Lusty and her mother are the kind of women who don¡¯t follow the crowd. Her mother¡¯s friends are the type who go on dates with men and call them broke if they refuse to pay the bill for the woman¡¯s number of friends that tag along as third wheels.


    According to Lusty, these friends can¡¯t hold down a relationship for longer than a month because they expect their boyfriends to spend exorbitant amounts on dinner. Here in Little Bird, the most expensive item in an everyday restaurant is a steak dinner, which costs almost three bucks. So, spending $200+ on a dinner bill is unimaginable.


    Dynamite jumped into our conversation, saying she¡¯s the type who has no problem splitting the bill on dates. She¡¯s also comfortable with her date paying the bill in full as long as she leaves a tip, and she has no problem paying the bill herself either.


    I asked Lusty, Dynamite, and Avalanche how they felt about open relationships. They all hated the idea, even though some people claim it ¡°makes relationships stronger.¡± Lusty went on a tirade about her neighbor who was in an open relationship. The wife hated it because her friends told her that another woman was giving her husband joy and happiness that she couldn¡¯t. When the wife asked her coworkers or friends for help to win back her husband and close their marriage, those friends turned out to be toxic, more like relationship wreckers than builders.


    When they asked me what I thought about open relationships, I told them it¡¯s a stupid idea. I mentioned a female family member who was in an open marriage that led to a divorce. Her daughter hated her for it and banned her from the wedding. Long story short, those who pay for weddings can also ask for a refund and cancel the wedding.


    One thing about us Watersons is that we¡¯re like those WWII propaganda posters that say, ¡°Loose lips sink ships.¡± We don¡¯t blab our mouths off. If we¡¯re told a secret, we take it to our graves. If we know about a canceled wedding, we won¡¯t say a word, even under pressure or pain.


    The stew was actually good, but I¡¯m used to country-style food. My dad and I were born and raised in the Southern United States, and many of my family members make homemade, country-style food. My dad and most of my family make homemade sausage and gravy for breakfast, and it¡¯s way better than the bland stuff.


    Dynamite then asked me what my family does for a living. I told her it varies, but it¡¯s primarily blue-collar labor and military service. I knew why she was asking¡ªshe had shared about her family, so she was curious about mine in return. I explained that many of my family members find their own career paths or find a lover who shares the same career.


    For example, I have some family members who are truck drivers. They have their lover or spouse ride with them, and they take turns driving. One drives for eight hours during the day, then they stop for dinner and switch. The other drives for eight or nine hours through the night. They wake up, have breakfast, and switch again. It¡¯s a win-win for them because they¡¯re together, doing their job, and sharing the same income. They¡¯ve got a system that works, with one awake during the day and the other at night, making team driving efficient and enjoyable.


    I told them about some of my female relatives who date mama¡¯s boys. They don¡¯t mind it at first, but it becomes a problem when their boyfriend or husband¡¯s mothers start to micromanage their lives. These mothers often want to name their grandkids and override the daughter-in-law¡¯s choices. While tradition is important to us, many Watersons break from it. For instance, military service is a tradition, but some Watersons are labeled as 4F, meaning they¡¯re denied military service due to physical, moral, or mental standards.


    I also mentioned how some of my female relatives have dated mama¡¯s boys whose boyfriends or husbands always side with their mothers, even over minor things. When these families have only had sons for generations, and a daughter is born, the in-laws often accuse the mother of cheating. They get into their son¡¯s head, causing relationship problems. Even after a paternity test proves the child is their son¡¯s, they demand more paternity tests even going to get a court ordered one, refusing to accept the truth.


    I shared how some family members, whose Waterson parent dies and their spouse remarries, face rejection from their new step-parent. The remarried parent might say the child is a reminder of past mistakes and refuse to include them in the new family. This often happens despite the kids supporting their parent¡¯s desire to remarry.


    That revelation got them all looking at me like I had just mentioned a hidden cardinal sin.


    Dynamite, who had been telling me earlier about how selfish and self-centered her family is, was shocked by what I shared. Her family is the type that, if working on group projects, would take the project, remove everyone else¡¯s names, and take full credit. They¡¯re also the kind who, if in high positions, blame their mistakes on subordinates and then demote or fire them.


    Given that her family wants her to marry a man she only knows from supermarket tabloids, I can see why she¡¯s frustrated. Dynamite then shared how some of her family members even tried to get a $150k loan from the bank she uses. The banks here in Little Bird have an automatic verification process. When someone tries to get a loan from someone else¡¯s account, the bank calls the account holder within seven business days to verify. If the account holder declines, the bank calls the police because it¡¯s usually a case of forged signatures. In Little Bird, that¡¯s both identity theft and attempted monetary theft, which are federal offenses. The local PD won¡¯t investigate, but the Little Bird version of the FBI will step in. Since 1974, every dollar and cent in the bank has been fully insured by the government¡ª$40,000 per individual account and $80,000 for joint accounts for married couples.


    When I tried to do the math in my head to convert 150k Little Birden dollars to US dollars, Lusty quickly helped out, saying it¡¯s $1,105,013.51 U.S. Dollars. That¡¯s a lot of money!


    I then asked Dynamite if her parents approved of her going to the military. She said no right off the bat. Then she turned around and asked me how it feels to be related to a legendary fighter ace. I knew she was talking about my grand uncle Jimmy ¡°James¡± Richard Waterson, a Little Bird Navy Fighter Pilot Ace with 114 confirmed kills.


    He often talked about how different things were back in the 1940s. Aircraft carriers didn¡¯t have the same technology they do today. Sometimes, the carrier wouldn¡¯t be going fast enough to generate enough wind for a proper launch, causing planes to fall into the water. He used to say, ¡°Turning a 60,963-ton aircraft carrier ain¡¯t like turning a bike.¡± When the carrier turned to avoid hitting a plane, sometimes the side of the carrier would still clip the wing, bringing the plane underneath.


    Back then, Naval Aviation was still in its infancy when World War II broke out. Many Naval Officers, including his future wife, believed that naval combat would still be dominated by battleships and other capital ships like heavy cruisers and battlecruisers. It¡¯s incredible to think about how much has changed since then.


    I told Dynamite about the ¡°Hammer and Anvil¡± tactic my grand uncle Jimmy used to talk about. It involved two or more squadrons of torpedo bombers dropping their torpedoes on both the starboard and port sides of an enemy ship. In theory, it sounds straightforward, but under heavy anti-aircraft fire, it was a different story. The enemy ship would be forced to face torpedoes from both sides, making it nearly impossible to turn without hitting the torpedoes on the bow and stern. If the ship tried to go in reverse, it would have to stop first, making it vulnerable.


    However, with the advent of anti-ship missiles in the 50s and 60s, this tactic became outdated, and torpedo bombers became obsolete and with the introduction of multirole aircraft in the 60s and 70s.


    I also mentioned how my grand uncle talked about the differences in Little Bird Naval Carriers back then. The main twelve carriers¡ªCadence, Flurry, Apple Pie, Blueberry Pie, Mackenzie, Aurora, Nightingale, Mountaineseses, Cascade, Blueberry, Empire, Ft. Sunction, and Ft. Bluejay¡ªhad their islands on the starboard side (right). Meanwhile, the twelve reserve carriers and the Flurry Class Escort Carriers, used by the Blister Canyon Navy, had their islands on the port side (left).


    The naming conventions for Little Bird Naval ships are quite interesting. Destroyers and other light screen ships are named after towns, and battleships are named after stars, like BB-01 and BB-02 being named after the Northern Lights and Southern Lights. However, the carriers have a mix of names, from popular female names on Little Bird to food, Native tribes, and city names. It seems like they were trying to confuse enemy intelligence or make it seem like there were more carriers and ships than there actually were and make them think they were running out of names.


    Avalanche asked what I was doing to her stew, and I told her I was just getting more elbow noodles with some stew sauce and a bit of beef. I added that at least it wasn¡¯t like when my so-called mother microwaved a dish sponge. That got everyone laughing because it was the first time they¡¯d heard of someone microwaving something non-food that wasn¡¯t metal.


    I explained that some fires here are caused by people putting a bowl or plate into the microwave but leaving a fork, knife, or spoon in it. They say not to microwave anything metal because:


    <ol>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Arcing and sparking: The microwaves bounce off the metal object, causing sparks and potentially damaging the microwave.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Fire risk: Sparks can ignite flammable materials inside the microwave.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Microwave damage: The electrical arc can harm the microwave¡¯s magnetron.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Explosion risk: In rare cases, metal objects can explode when exposed to microwave radiation, releasing dangerous shrapnel.</li>


    </ol>


    Since some fires here are caused by that, I decided to tell them a story.


    _____________________


    July 8th, 2002, Alabama


    After a long shift at the diner, I finally made it home, ready to collapse. The post-4th of July rush had everyone scrambling back to their routines, and I was caught in the whirlwind. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner service were a blur of orders, drinks, and food deliveries. We even ran out of coffee, which was no surprise given that many folks had taken July 5th off, turning the weekend into a marathon of barbecues and cookouts.


    I had just returned from visiting family in Virginia, where we watched the fireworks light up the sky. After church yesterday, today was my first day back at work, and it felt like I hadn¡¯t stopped moving since I got off the bus.


    As soon as I got home, I headed straight to my bedroom. My room isn¡¯t your typical girly space with pink decor or boy band posters. Instead, it¡¯s a tribute to World War II, with posters like ¡°JOIN U.S. ARMY AIR CORPS¡± and others for the U.S. Navy, USMC, and U.S. Army. Some of these were passed down from family members who served, while others I picked up at yard sales.


    I collapsed onto my twin-sized bed, setting my glow-in-the-dark watch alarm for a couple of hours. When I woke up at 5:40 PM, the house felt like an icebox. I slipped on my fuzzy slippers and checked the thermostat¡ªit was set to 45 degrees! ¡°What the heck!¡± I muttered, adjusting it to a more reasonable 66 degrees.


    Then I heard the microwave in the kitchen. Assuming Dad was reheating leftovers, I wandered in, only to find my mom standing there. The microwave beeped, and she pulled out a steaming rectangular object. To my horror, it was a dish sponge.


    ¡°Mom, what are you doing?¡± I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.


    ¡°I made you a Hot Pocket, sweetie,¡± she said, smiling.


    I squinted at the object in her hand. It wasn¡¯t a Hot Pocket. It was a dish sponge, slightly melted and emitting a strange odor.


    ¡°Uh, Mom, that¡¯s not a Hot Pocket. That¡¯s a dish sponge,¡± I said.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be silly, Mackenzie. It¡¯s just a new flavor,¡± she replied.


    I shook my head, bewildered, and took a step closer, pointing at the sponge. ¡°Mom, seriously, look at it. It¡¯s a sponge.¡±


    Just then, the front door opened, and my dad walked in, tired from a long day at work. He set his hat down and headed to the kitchen, drawn by the unusual smell.


    ¡°What¡¯s that smell?¡± he asked, peering over my mom¡¯s shoulder. He immediately recognized the mistake. ¡°That¡¯s a dish sponge, not food.¡±


    My mom¡¯s face turned red with embarrassment. ¡°Oh my goodness, I didn¡¯t even realize!¡±


    ¡°Next time, take a hard look, maybe even a double look, before you microwave anything,¡± Dad said, shaking his head.


    I chuckled, shaking my head as I grabbed a real Hot Pocket from the freezer. ¡°I¡¯ll handle lunch from here, Mom.¡±


    The family shared a laugh, the kitchen filled with the warmth of our bond despite the mishap.


    ¡°Cooking is definitely Dad¡¯s territory. Remember back in 2000 when you tried to reheat leftover pizza in the oven?¡± I said.


    My mom¡¯s face turned even redder. ¡°Oh no, not that story again!¡±


    ¡°You left the pizza box in the oven, and it caught fire. I came home from school to find smoke everywhere and had to use the kitchen landline to call the fire department,¡± I said.


    Dad shook his head, smiling.


    Soon after, my phone rang, so I ran back to my room to answer it. It was one of my friends. I told him about my mom microwaving a dish sponge. As I walked by the kitchen, my mom grabbed my phone and threw it against the wall, which sparked an argument between my parents. I quickly grabbed the Hot Pocket from the microwave and scampered back to my bedroom. I put on my headphones and played the top hits of the 1980s to drown out their arguing.


    Even though my mom broke my phone over microwaving a dish sponge, I didn¡¯t feel ashamed. Us Watersons don¡¯t take things badly and don¡¯t put up with other people¡¯s nonsense. Many of us have yo-yos for two reasons: to mess around with and to use as a makeshift weapon if needed.


    After two hours of my parents¡¯ arguing, the house finally fell silent. I emerged from my bedroom, and Dad suggested we escape to McDonald¡¯s. He ordered a hamburger and small fries, while I went all out with a Double Quarter Pounder meal, large Coke, and large fries.


    As we waited in the drive-thru line, we talked about family. Dad shared some relationship advice, warning me to be cautious about who I get involved with. He said some people might seem nice on the outside but are the Devil on the inside. He talked about how many people cheat, and their kids might unknowingly help tear apart a marriage or relationship. Sometimes, kids think it¡¯s all fun and games until they find themselves stuck with the cheating parent and their new partner, realizing too late that they made a mistake.


    I also opened up to him about coming out as bi a few years back. I had a short-lived boyfriend, and we broke up over it. It wasn¡¯t me; it was him. He was a jock who used girls to help him with schoolwork, and once they outlived their usefulness, he¡¯d break up with them. We never had any official dates or anything. While breakups can be heartbreaking, this one was just another day for me¡ªit didn¡¯t hurt much. I think I knew what he was doing or sensed that it wasn¡¯t a real relationship because he never asked me out on a date. Whenever I asked him out, he always came up with a random excuse, and I knew it was bullshit. I didn¡¯t have concrete evidence to call him out, but I did kick him in the balls at our high school graduation for it.


    Dad prefers listening to the news and talk shows over music so he can stay informed locally, nationally, and globally. He believes that whoever drives has full control over the radio. If I ever tried to change it to music, he would immediately switch it back to a news talk show. So, I never bothered changing it. About a decade ago, during our move from Ft. Liberty, North Carolina to Alabama, I rode with other family members who played music on the radio, but mostly, I rode with Dad.


    We got our food, and Dad and I ate our French fries on the ride home. He advised me that if I ever got back into a relationship, I shouldn¡¯t sign a prenup. He explained that some couples sign a prenup before marriage, but their spouse¡¯s family might want to dissolve it if they find out their son-in-law or daughter-in-law is worth a lot more money. However, the couple might refuse to dissolve the prenup.


    When I asked Dad what a prenup was, he explained that it¡¯s an agreement made by a couple before they marry, concerning the ownership of their respective assets should the marriage fail. He mentioned that he and Mom have a prenup, which is more aligned with Dad¡¯s assets, while Mom has next to nothing.


    We ate dinner when we got home, minus the fries we ate on the ride back. Despite everything, I¡¯m grateful for my supportive family, minus Mom, who¡¯s the opposite of supportive. I have female family members who have dated and even married men richer than them. Their boyfriend-turned-husband¡¯s friends and family often accuse them of being gold diggers, only in it for the money or a higher social status. However, when their husband¡¯s business fails or hits a rough patch, these same people are shocked when the female Waterson doesn¡¯t leave. It¡¯s a testament to the fact that many people attract those who are there for money, not actual love, while some marry out of love, not caring about the money.


    Many of us female Watersons are married to people who work long hours, like public servants. We¡¯re used to family members being away for long hours, like in the military, so we find ways to cope or just face the facts.


    I also have family members who call out their parents for favoring one child over the other. It¡¯s hypocritical when parents lecture about how family is there for each other but aren¡¯t there for the one who needs it. For example, if the spoiled golden child takes their sibling¡¯s car and totals it, the parents are more worried about the golden child than being frustrated at them for taking someone¡¯s car. They have the nerve to call the neglected child ungrateful and say how the family supports each other, rewriting history to fit their narrative. The parents always side with the spoiled, entitled golden kid.


    To us Watersons, it¡¯s funny when parents who neglect their kids draw lines and set up boundaries, then pull the ¡°family supports family¡± card. They push one kid away while spoiling the other. When the neglected kids start their own lives and move away, these parents get mad. Some of those kids who get ignored by their own family find it scary when they meet people who support their family and actually show love. When their neglectful family finds out that the kid they pushed away is dating or married to someone who values them, the hypocritical parents and family members think they deserve to be back in their lives. When their spouse tells the hypocritical in-laws to hit the road, the family throws a hissy fit because someone won¡¯t bend over backward for them.


    At eighteen, I find it funny when neglectful parents call out their neglected kids for alienating their family and tearing it apart. Those adult kids who date or marry into the Waterson family see what a supportive and loving family is like. We¡¯re even willing to take up arms to defend our own family, including Watersons by marriage. Some family members have yelled at and scolded neglectful parents, and when they start to cry, we tell them to stop with the crocodile tears because they¡¯re only crying because they¡¯ve been called out.


    It¡¯s tough when family dynamics get messy, especially with cheating and the fallout that comes with it. It¡¯s heartbreaking when kids side with the cheating parent and then get upset when the other parent, a Waterson, cuts them off. But we Watersons don¡¯t pretend things are fine when they¡¯re not.


    As Dad and I ate our dinner, I looked through some photos from our NYC trip last year, which was my high school graduation present. We had such a blast! There are pictures of us on the observation deck of the Empire State Building, the World Trade Center, and 40 Wall Street. There¡¯s one of us with the Statue of Liberty in the background and another of me with the USS Intrepid. We also have shots from Central Park and the New York City Fire Museum.


    Mom didn¡¯t come with us on that trip because she was worried about getting lost, but honestly, it might have been better if she had. Dad accidentally got three plane tickets instead of two, so he called around to see if any family members wanted to join us. Most couldn¡¯t make it on such short notice, but one of my cousins, who was touring colleges across America, decided to come along. She used the trip to check out universities in all five boroughs, killing two birds with one stone.


    For a whole week, we explored every corner of New York City. I even got photos with New York¡¯s Bravest in all five boroughs: Engine 21 in Manhattan, Rescue Company 2 in Brooklyn, Engine 273 in Queens, Engine 82 Ladder 31 in The Bronx, and Engine 160 in Staten Island.


    It was such a fun trip, despite the traffic being a real witch. Thankfully, Dad rented a car instead of relying on cabs. I¡¯d love to go back someday¡ªit was an unforgettable experience!


    Honestly, I never really thought about going to college or getting an advanced education. It feels like I¡¯m taking a sabbatical from school, and I¡¯m not following the clich¨¦ that women only go for higher education. Some of my male friends went off to college or university last year, a few months after high school graduation. A few got in on sports scholarships, while others had backup plans in case their dream schools didn¡¯t work out. They were realistic about their chances, knowing that Ivy League schools like Harvard aren¡¯t for everyone.


    At least they had a practical approach, understanding that rejection is a possibility. As for me, I might do a tour in the Navy before considering college or university. Maybe I¡¯ll do several tours before settling down to live a more ¡°normal¡± life. It feels like a good way to gain some life experience and figure out what I really want to do.


    Honestly, I never really thought about going to college or getting an advanced education. It feels like I¡¯m taking a sabbatical from school, and I¡¯m not following the clich¨¦ that women only go for higher education. Some of my male friends went off to college or university last year, a few months after high school graduation. A few got in on sports scholarships, while others had backup plans in case their dream schools didn¡¯t work out. They were realistic about their chances, knowing that Ivy League schools like Harvard aren¡¯t for everyone.


    At least they had a practical approach, understanding that rejection is a possibility. As for me, I might do a tour in the Navy before considering college or university. Maybe I¡¯ll do several tours before settling down to live a more ¡°normal¡± life. It feels like a good way to gain some life experience and figure out what I really want to do.


    While we were eating, Dad asked me about my plans to join the Navy. I told him I had considered other branches of the U.S. Military just in case I didn¡¯t get accepted into the Navy. I wouldn¡¯t mind doing any job, even becoming a culinary specialist. Honestly, I don¡¯t care what Navy career I get if I do go in.


    Dad reminded me that I can¡¯t be a Navy SEAL, which is true. I told him I plan on being on a ship, not in a special operations force. The roles of special operations, direct action, counter-terrorism, special reconnaissance, amphibious reconnaissance, unconventional warfare, hostage rescue, foreign internal defense, counter-proliferation, counter-narcotic operations, and underwater demolition aren¡¯t for me.


    I¡¯d rather be on a Submarine Tender, Destroyer Tender, or Auxiliary ship¡ªany ship that supports combat ships. It¡¯s better to be realistic and have other plans. I¡¯m not one to bite my tongue; I¡¯d rather be open-minded than closed-minded.


    My grand-uncle Stanley Waterson, who was with the 101st Airborne in World War II, wished for combat and got his wish when he was dropped with the rest of the division on D-Day. Later, when he found his brother Charlie, who was with the 82nd, he asked how combat was. Stanley told him it wasn¡¯t what he expected. Charlie, who had previous combat experience in Italy during Operations Husky and Avalanche, told his brother not to wish for something and then get it in a way he didn¡¯t expect.


    The lesson I learned from that is to be careful what you wish for. Stanley wanted to fight in the war, and his first combat experience came when the Allies turned the tide in their favor, even though that shift started in 1942 and continued through the summer of 1943.


    I remember the first time I played Call of Duty with Charlie. We were playing the first mission, and he couldn¡¯t help but point out all the inaccuracies. He said no paratrooper would carry two weapons and a pistol because it would be too heavy. Pistols were typically given to officers, scouts, and a few specialists, not to every paratrooper.


    When he asked what unit I was in, I told him it was Baker Company, 506th PIR of the 101st. He immediately corrected me, saying Ste-Mere-Eglise was for the 82nd, not the 101st. The character in the first mission should have been dropped in Dropzone C near St-Marie-du-Mont.


    Charlie went on about how, according to the Table of Organization and Equipment (TO&E), the character should have been equipped with an M1 Rifle. Since the character was a Pathfinder, he could have been allotted an SMG, either a Thompson or a Grease Gun. He also debunked the myth that many paratroopers carried pistols; only a few did. When I picked up a BAR in the mission, he pointed out that the BAR wasn¡¯t in the paratroopers¡¯ TO&E at the time¡ªonly Glider troops had them.


    It was a real eye-opener playing with Charlie. He had so much knowledge about the actual history and equipment, which made me appreciate the real stories even more.


    In the second mission of the game, Charlie pointed out more inaccuracies. He said the timing of the counterattack was off¡ªit was 0730 hours in the game, but in real life, it was 0900 hours. He also mentioned that it wasn¡¯t German Fallschirmj?gers who attacked, but Ost Battalion 795 of the 709th Infantry Division. He explained that there was an HQ at St. Marie-du-Mont, primarily for the 4th Infantry Division, but the game¡¯s date and time were wrong because the village hadn¡¯t even been secured yet.


    Charlie also laughed at the car chase, saying it never happened and would be ridiculous. Driving several miles to St. Marie-du-Mont in a civilian car, dodging German soldiers, was just not realistic. He said walking would have been better. He also pointed out that the 101st¡¯s mission was to secure Carentan, not help defend St. Mere Eglise¡ªthat was the 82nd¡¯s job, reinforced by the 507th and 508th PIR.


    When it came to the Brecourt Manor mission, Charlie called it baloney. That operation was carried out by Dog and Easy Companies of the 101st Airborne, not the 82nd Airborne.


    Playing with Charlie was like getting a history lesson. He had so much knowledge about the actual events, which made me appreciate the real stories even more.


    Charlie had a lot to say about the last mission in the game, too. He pointed out that a squad of American paratroopers fighting Germans in a POW camp might be realistic, but doing it covertly was totally fake. That kind of mission would be more suited for the OSS, British SOE, or SAS, not a random squad of paratroopers. He also mentioned that the character we saved would have been executed under the German Commando Order, which mandated the execution of Allied commandos. The character was a Major in the British SAS, and Charlie noted that ¡°Chateau¡± is French, while in Germany and Austria, it would be called a ¡°Schloss.¡±


    While Charlie might sound like one of those people who nitpick historical inaccuracies in video games, he had firsthand experience¡ªminus the assault on Brecourt Manor and the fake POW camp raid. He didn¡¯t comment on the British and Soviet missions because he didn¡¯t serve in those armies and wasn¡¯t present for battles like Kursk or the Belgorod-Kharkov offensive, or the SAS raid at Capo Murro di Porco. Of course this was in 2003 and 2004 though.


    It was interesting to hear his perspective, even if it did make the game seem less realistic. His insights gave me a deeper appreciation for the real history behind the events.


    ______________________


    Present Day, 2010


    ¡°With the things I¡¯ve done in the living I¡¯m not afraid to burn in Hell and I¡¯m not afraid to burn here on Earth,¡± I said as I ate the stew.


    I just finished eating my stew, breaking up each piece of meat and making sure to get plenty of elbow noodles and stew juice with every bite.


    Dynamite and Avalanche, on the other hand, had already cleaned their plates. Those two are ex-military, so they eat like they¡¯re still in combat zones¡ªfast and efficient, no time to wait for food to cool. It reminds me of farm life, where you eat quickly because the crops and animals won¡¯t wait.


    In our firehouse, Dynamite and Avalanche are the only ones with their nicknames stitched onto their turnout jackets instead of their surnames. Well, except for Lusty. When she was a Probationary Firefighter and then a Firefighter, she had both her nickname and surname on her jacket. But once she became Captain and later Lieutenant, it just became Captain Johnson and Lieutenant Johnson. ¡°Lusty¡± wouldn¡¯t fit, and honestly, she got tired of explaining her nickname. People who don¡¯t know her think it means she¡¯s hypersexual, but really, she just loves to sing. She even put a piece of tape on her locker with her nickname, despite warnings from the department about its inappropriate connotations. But Lusty explained it to HQ, and they never really gave her trouble over it.


    Of course, Avalanche, Dynamite, Lusty, and I all fall into two categories for our nicknames:


    <ol>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Identification: To distinguish us from others.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Convenience: Because our full names can be tricky to use all the time.</li>


    </ol>


    For Dynamite and Avalanche, their first names are rare, so their nicknames help with identification. For me, it¡¯s mostly about identification too¡ªthere are fourteen other Mackenzies in my family, so nicknames are a must at family gatherings. Lusty, on the other hand, probably chose her nickname for both identification and convenience. Claire and Johnson are common names, and she wanted something that made her stand out. And it definitely does!


    I now joke that Lusty should change her nickname to ¡°Keep messing with me and you¡¯ll find out why that¡¯s a bad idea,¡± but that would be a bit long.


    Dynamite, who had just come back with another plate of beef stew, shared a story from a few years ago. It was a week after I left Little Bird and returned to the States. They responded to a car accident in the rain, and Lusty had to deal with an arrogant guy who just wanted to get home after a hard day. Lusty let two parents through because they were worried their kids might be involved in the accident. The guy didn¡¯t like that and started yelling at Lusty, saying he didn¡¯t care about the accident or the blocked road. He even threatened to file a complaint against her and the fire department.


    Lusty snapped back, telling him that if he wanted to look like an inhumane jerk, he could go ahead and file the complaint. She pointed out that everyone, including his coworkers, would see him as someone who didn¡¯t care about two families losing their kids in a tragic accident. When the guy did file the complaint, everyone, including his coworkers, gave him dirty looks for being so insensitive. All because he wanted to go home and watch TV.


    But to me it doesn¡¯t surprise me that people like him exist in the world and I really don¡¯t care and that he would just have to deal with people who don¡¯t like that not everyone will bend over backwards. But I think him filing that complaint several years back didn¡¯t make him win any popularity awards or anything to make him popular but probably made him unpopular and look like a monster of not caring how two families were torn apart because their kids got into a car accident that left them DOA and well I just know here stuff like that isn¡¯t something to laugh about.


    But I know my Clairebear¡ªshe¡¯s unapologetic and tough. Growing up in a neighborhood where people backup their words with actions, Lusty always tells her daughters to stand their ground. If someone hits them, they should hit back, not run to a teacher. Lusty knows how useless schools can be with bullies; they often don¡¯t care until the victim fights back, and then the victim is the one in trouble.


    Lusty once shared a story with me about dealing with a bully herself. When she defended herself, the school got mad, and the bully¡¯s parents even threatened to sue her family and the school. But Lusty¡¯s dad shut them down, saying they¡¯d look ridiculous in the media because it was clearly self-defense. He reminded them that all five Commonwealths on Little Bird have self-defense laws, making it an open-and-shut case in the eyes of the law and the courts.


    But I know the people of Eastside too, and they¡¯re unapologetic. They¡¯re the living definition of ¡°show dominance or the world will eat you alive.¡± Many folks there are disabled due to military service, injured in combat or training accidents. Some can¡¯t work, so they live off disability and their military pensions. According to some of my family members in the Little Bird military, once they leave active service and move to the reserves or leave the military altogether, they get a monthly stipend. For some, it¡¯s enough to live on comfortably; for others, it¡¯s just scraping by.


    I also have family members who, despite knowing better, refuse to ¡°just walk away¡± and end up facing the consequences. Sometimes it¡¯s better to avoid trouble, but the people of Eastside often don¡¯t have that choice. The justice system and police don¡¯t take crimes in Eastside seriously. Police dispatchers report crimes there like they¡¯re bored out of their minds. So, the people have to become vigilantes, doing what the cops won¡¯t.


    Lusty started talking about an incident that happened after I left Little Bird and headed back to the States. A couple demanded a public apology from her and wanted her to pay them three times the value of their house, claiming the Fire Department City of Empire (FDE) failed to save it. They were playing the victim card, calling the loss of their home a ¡°tragedy.¡±


    If this had happened in America, they probably would have set up a donation thing and tugged at people¡¯s heartstrings, even if it was total nonsense. But Lusty, being Lusty, refused to apologize or pay them. They threatened to take her to civil court, but she stood her ground. She even threatened to resign from the Fire Department because she felt HQ cared more about saving face and positive PR than saving lives, to the point of entertaining extortion.


    During a meeting with HR at the Fire Department, Lusty was told that my cousin Dave couldn¡¯t sit in. Lusty told them they were leaving and would see the Fire Department in court. As she put it, not allowing a union representative to participate in an interview that could result in disciplinary action would lead to her suing the City of Empire and becoming a millionaire by the end of the day.


    Of course, my cousin Dave is a Union Representative for the Firefighters here in the City of Empire. He can¡¯t represent me, his wife Linda, or his brothers-in-law and sisters-in-law because of conflict of interest rules due to family relations. But with Lusty, there¡¯s no family tie, even though he did help her have kids. To the public, it just looks like a male friend helping a female friend have kids with someone she trusts.


    Everyone, including me, knows it was just one friend helping another to have kids without going through a list of potential fathers she didn¡¯t fully know. Lusty chose Dave because she had known him for several years and trusted him. Her reasoning was that anyone can write a list of pros, but in reality, they might have nothing but cons. People can easily present themselves as the opposite of what they truly are, so Lusty went with someone she already knew and trusted.


    Soon, my phone buzzed with a notification from my mom. She¡¯d posted again, saying that if I ever have kids, she¡¯d throw out any masculine clothing so my nonexistent daughter could wear only feminine clothes. I left a comment reminding her that it¡¯s the 21st century, not the 20th, and that I¡¯d let my daughter wear whatever she¡¯s comfortable in. I even threw in a historical tidbit about the first dress being made between 3482-3102 B.C. in Tarkhan, Egypt.


    I muted my phone because I wasn¡¯t in the mood for a comment war with my mom. Instead, I shifted the conversation to family. Some people have extended families, while others don¡¯t, and for me, it¡¯s complicated. I have some nice extended family members, some not-so-nice ones, and some who get taken advantage of.


    I shared a story about another female cousin of mine. Her selfish husband kept inviting his family over during her pregnancy, expecting her to cook for them. She finally snapped and told him to ¡°do it yourself¡± when he asked her to serve dinner. He painted her as the villain for ¡°disrespecting¡± his family and trying to isolate him. I explained to everyone at the table that she has a medical condition called preeclampsia, which means she can¡¯t be on her feet all the time and needs more breaks than usual because of high blood pressure.


    The guys at the firehouse didn¡¯t know what preeclampsia was. Here in Little Bird, sex education and childbirth are taboo topics for anyone under eighteen. Even though we¡¯re Certified First Responders, and some are trained as EMTs or paramedics, we¡¯re not taught about conditions like preeclampsia. That¡¯s more for pediatric doctors. Unless we¡¯re in a dire situation and need to consult a pediatric doctor via radio or phone, we don¡¯t get that kind of training.Of course, we''re trained for all sorts of medical emergencies like cardiac arrest, respiratory arrest, shock, drowning, choking, CPR, using AEDs, and treating burns, scrapes, and cuts. Some of us are even trained to handle hypoxia and other advanced medical cases in pre-hospital care. Take Avalanche, for example. She was an Army Mountaineer, so she has specialized training for dealing with hyperthermia, cold-related injuries, and other mountain-related emergencies.


    But here''s the thing¡ªsome of the medical stuff we have, we can''t use without approval from a doctor, either over the phone or radio. Sometimes, we need an on-duty emergency doctor to come out and supervise us. But doctors are often too busy to drop everything and guide us over the phone or radio, especially if they''re already dealing with other patients. That''s why we have emergency doctors who can leave the hospital and come to the scene in a fly car if needed. They can take over, treat the patient, and stabilize them for transport to the hospital by ambulance or helicopter.


    Dynamite, on the other hand, was a Combat Engineer in the LBMC. Her medical experience is limited to basic first aid because her training focused on military engineering, tunnel and mine warfare, and construction and demolition duties in and out of combat zones¡ªnot providing medical aid.


    When I mentioned ¡°Corpsman,¡± Dynamite quickly corrected me, pointing out that Corpsmen belong to the Navy, not the Marines. That¡¯s true for the U.S. Marines, who share Hospital Corpsman with the Navy. But in the LBMC, they have Battlefield Medics, Combat Medics, and Combat Surgeons. They also have teams providing behind-the-lines medical aid, similar to MASH units (Mobile Army Surgical Hospitals)¡ªnot the book, 1969 movie, or 1972-1983 TV show, but the real deal.


    Actually, that¡¯s how my cousin Mitchell¡¯s parents met back in 1965. His mom was an Army nurse, and his dad was an American G.I. They met through their work, and married two years later, and the rest is history.


    Dynamite and Avalanche both agreed that if they were ever married to men who expected them to act like housewives, it would be a hard no. They¡¯re not the type to let anyone, not even family, dictate their lives. Dynamite mentioned that if she ever had kids, she¡¯d teach them how to shoot with the M1905 Bolt-action rifle. This rifle is Little Bird¡¯s answer to the American M1903 Springfield and the German Mauser Gewehr 98. It¡¯s notorious among inexperienced shooters because it tends to shoot high.


    For example, if you aim at an enemy¡¯s upper torso, expecting to hit the chest, the bullet will actually hit the throat or chin. Different models like the Sniper, Carbine, Naval, and National Match versions have their quirks, with the National Match introducing adjustable rear sights.While the Naval and Carbine are the same but the Naval variant was created for the Marines and Little Bird Naval Infantry and made in a way to prevent it from being corroded by salt water and that the sniper variant is made in a way that the receiver is bent to the right or left so instead of it being blocked by the scope the user can load a five round striper clip into the rifle.


    Both Dynamite and Avalanche made it clear that if they were married to someone who wanted them to be housewives, they would leave. They refuse to be treated as housewives or slaves, or be with someone who expects them to cook, clean, and have babies all the time.


    We then switched gears to talk about technology. Back at the dawn of the 21st century, some scientists here on Little Bird developed a highly advanced digital information system to manage the infrastructure of a metropolitan region. This system, known as mcjiggy, was designed to control various aspects of the city, including:


    - Blockers and road spikes


    - Bridge access


    - Electric grid


    - Lights and traffic lights


    - The Subway trains


    - Underground and above-ground steam pipes


    - Crime prediction system


    - Security cameras


    - ATMs and bank accounts


    - TVs and video adverts


    - Citizens'' private information


    - Cellular communications


    - Internet-connected devices


    - Facial recognition


    - Power transformers


    However, the system''s capabilities were misappropriated for purposes like invasions of privacy and data collection, highlighting its enormous power and security flaws. The "Crime Prediction System" is especially problematic. A skilled hacker could manipulate the system to label an average person as a criminal, issuing fake warrants and sending cops to arrest someone who isn''t actually wanted. It''s like something straight out of "Nineteen Eighty-Fou.r¡±


    Sure, the system is supposed to help city services run more smoothly, but there are definitely some issues. For example, my girlfriend''s old neighborhood is labeled as both a "high crime" and "high risk" area, which feeds into the stereotype that low-income areas are always high crime. The real risk, though, is that a skilled hacker could hack into the system and hold the city hostage until they get paid a ransom.


    Thankfully, hospitals here aren''t part of this advanced technology network, so a hacker can''t hold a hospital hostage. The machines in hospitals operate on a different system, so even if a hospital gets hacked, the hacker wouldn''t have control over anything critical.


    As they say, you have to take the good with the bad. While this advanced tech does make life easier in many ways, people often don''t think about what happens when it falls into the wrong hands.


    We''ve created all this advanced tech¡ªcomputers, unmanned aircraft, vehicles, even entire unmanned armies¡ªwithout fully considering what happens if the enemy gets control. It''s a huge risk. The military here is definitely aware of this and takes serious measures to protect their systems from being hacked or stolen.


    For instance, there are strict protocols and advanced cybersecurity measures in place to safeguard unmanned systems. These include encryption, secure communication channels, and constant monitoring for any signs of intrusion. But even with these precautions, the risk is never zero. A skilled hacker could potentially exploit vulnerabilities, which is why ongoing assessments and updates to security protocols are crucial.


    It''s a bit like a high-stakes game of cat and mouse, where both sides are constantly trying to outsmart each other. The key is to stay one step ahead and ensure that our defenses are as robust as possible.


    Not adding that with AI and that nobody ever stops. What if it stops doing as programmed and goes rouge? Well from what I heard that this country has naive AI to help out with military logistics to make a field army¡¯s logistics be easier than normal but the naive AI are very smart in their pre-programmed field of expertise, but cannot learn anything outside of it¡¯s pre-programmed field of expertise. So there¡¯s not a chance of them going rogue and turning against their creators. But I guess whoever created AI here has seen a lot of those futuristic horror films where AI takes over the world and enslaves humanity or said films being about said AI trying to to enslave humanity because the Three Laws compel our protection at all costs.


    But so far I haven¡¯t seen anything gone wrong with this tech in reality yet or the people here who created the advanced tech here have seen many science fiction films where that happens and have put safety measures in place to prevent that from happening.


    Advanced tech is a wild ride, and not every country is going to have the latest gadgets. I won¡¯t pretend to know everything about tech, though. It took me a couple of years to figure out how to properly use a smartphone. I was a kid when mobile phones were the size of cinder blocks, and my first phone was a clamshell flip phone. Even then, I rarely used it¡ªjust to talk to friends, family, or my dad.


    I never added my mother to my contacts. The day she decides to get help and actually becomes a better person is the day all religions admit their respective Gods and Devils have a P.O. Box and can be contacted like normal beings. Or when some religions admit they¡¯re either a sham or a cult.


    But honestly, I respect other people¡¯s religious beliefs or lack thereof. I won¡¯t force my views on anyone who isn¡¯t interested. My girlfriend is both agnostic and atheist, and I respect her non-religious ideals. She respects my religious views, even though she thinks all religions are a scam. We make it work because we respect each other¡¯s perspectives.


    Out of the blue, Lusty asked me how jumping with the 39th was. That was a few months back, so I told her I paid $180 for the experience. I mentioned how Luna, the CO, really knows her stuff because of her experience. Unlike the stereotypical army officers you see in war movies¡ªpetty, spiteful, authoritarian, and egotistical¡ªLuna is the real deal. She¡¯s strict about gun safety, too. When she holds her X16 (M16A1), her trigger finger is always on the trigger guard, not the trigger. Same with her pistol; her trigger finger is either on the guard or the grip with the rest of her fingers.


    All soldiers are trained in gun safety. Always treat every gun as if it¡¯s loaded, never point a gun at something you don¡¯t intend to shoot, keep your finger off the trigger until you¡¯re ready to shoot, and always be aware of your target and what¡¯s around and behind it.


    I also told Lusty how Luna looks out for my cousin Mitchell. It might be because Mitchell is married to Luna¡¯s niece, Cadence, or maybe she sees him as the younger brother she never had. Or it could be because he¡¯s the 3rd platoon¡¯s RTO. Probably a mix of all three reasons why she¡¯s so protective of him.


    I asked why their uniforms are a darker green than the usual Dark Olive Drab. Dynamite explained that each uniform is coated with an anti-chemical layer to protect soldiers from chemical, biological, and gas attacks. So, while the standard uniform is Dark Olive Drab, the coating makes it appear darker.


    Dynamite also mentioned she only knows Luna through scuttlebutt (gossip). Apparently, Luna holds the record for the shortest marriage ever¡ªjust eight hours! That¡¯s because gossip has it that her husband left to go get a loaf of bread but used that as a cover for him to cheat on her on their wedding day after they got married. No run to the store to get a loaf of bread takes about ten to twenty minutes not eight hours not adding that Luna followed him because gossip still has it how she still had half a loaf left so she wanted to make sure he was going where she was actually going. Gossip has it that Luna got married sometime after her sister divorced her husband butl the gossip continued with that Luna shot her then husband in the nuts with a handgun but the thing is that Luna¡¯s husband wasn¡¯t her ex brother in law but another guy.


    Dynamite mentioned that according to gossip, Luna is the kind of soldier-turned-officer who says, ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it,¡± meaning we don¡¯t have control over life. She¡¯s the type to reinforce that plans can go wrong. Dynamite and Luna are opposites in many ways¡ªDynamite is an ex-Marine, while Luna is still an Airborne officer. But they share a practical approach to combat, taking ammo and supplies off dead allies and enemies. They both say, ¡°They don¡¯t need it anymore.¡± I agree with that; a dead soldier won¡¯t need weapons, ammo, or supplies.


    However, Dynamite talks about taking supplies without respect or remorse, while Luna does it respectfully, without disturbing the dead. Despite neither being religious, Luna sees the enemy as humans, just like her, whereas Dynamite saw them as monsters.


    I told Dynamite that when I looked Luna in the eyes, I saw someone who accepts death as inevitable in war. She believes there¡¯s no point in worrying about dying in combat. No amount of training can fully prepare you for the real deal¡ªcrawling in mud under barbed wire with machine guns firing overhead in boot camp is one thing, but actually getting shot at is another story.


    Luna is a professional, plainspoken officer who inspires respect and deference from everyone junior to her. She¡¯s a model leader¡ªcalm, unflappable, caring about her men, an excellent tactician, and can hold her own in combat. I can see why Dynamite stayed enlisted in the Marines and didn¡¯t become an NCO. Her nickname, Dynamite, reflects her explosive nature and short temper, which wouldn¡¯t have made her a great NCO or officer.


    I also mentioned how Luna has an Edelweiss on her uniform, a mark of a true soldier. Avalanche said those flowers grow at least 1,000 feet up in the Alps. Luna must have gone through a lot to get it, probably between 1999-2000, taking her time to climb the Alps and put it on her combat fatigues.


    I mentioned to the table that Luna is the opposite of her sister, who happens to be my cousin Mitchell¡¯s mother-in-law. When Avalanche asked what Luna means, I told her it¡¯s Latin for ¡°Moon.¡± Dynamite chimed in, saying Luna has more myths than facts surrounding her and suggested I ask Mitchell to confirm or debunk them. I shot down that idea for privacy reasons.


    When they asked why Mitchell is always around Luna, even though he¡¯s the Third Platoon¡¯s RTO, I explained that historically, in the Little Bird Army, a platoon RTO is always by the Lieutenant, and a Company RTO is always with the Captain. This has been the case since 1942.


    Dynamite brought up an ambiguous situation involving Luna executing several captured Soviet soldiers in cold blood. I defended Luna, explaining that as paratroopers behind enemy lines, they had no way to handle prisoners on an active battlefield. In such situations, they can¡¯t afford to take prisoners with them.


    I also think Luna gives special treatment to Mitchell, not just because he¡¯s her nephew-in-law, but because they had a bond long before Cadence and Mitchell got married.


    I mentioned how Mitchell says Little Bird Army Paratroopers have explicit permission to execute surrendering soldiers because they¡¯re behind enemy lines with nowhere to send prisoners. Captivity would tie up precious resources, and there¡¯s always the risk that POWs could turn on their captors during a firefight, taking their weapons and rejoining their army.


    When I jumped with the company, I paid for the experience. I noticed the 1st Platoon Lieutenant seemed to have watched too many war movies. He thought he had to yell all the time, like those stereotypical officers in films. Sure, yelling makes sense when guns are firing and explosions are going off, drowning out normal voices. But in calm situations, a normal tone works just fine. Unlike Hollywood¡¯s portrayal, soldiers and Marines aren¡¯t always yelling 24/7.


    Dynamite and Avalanche both pointed out that in war, both sides operate in morally gray areas, doing questionable things to achieve victory. Here in Little Bird, war films are unique because they don¡¯t shy away from showing the complexities and horrors of war. They present both sides¡ªAllies and Axis¡ªin a neutral light, highlighting how many soldiers were just doing what they had to do, while others took advantage of the chaos to justify their actions.


    Avalanche summed it up well. There are three kinds of soldiers in war. First, those who revel in the chaos and commit every war crime under the sun. Second, those who do what they have to do, hoping to make it home. Third, those who don¡¯t want to be there at all but are either there because of family tradition, to be with friends, or because they were drafted.


    The war films here on Little Bird are different from Hollywood¡¯s. They don¡¯t just focus on the American perspective. They have the budget to hire actors from different countries or use archival footage to show various perspectives. If a film is set in 1942 or ¡®43, you¡¯ll see footage from the American, British, Canadian, other Commonwealth, French Resistance, Soviet, Japanese, German, Italian, and other countries¡¯ points of view. They cover battles like the Battle of Stalingrad and the Malayan campaign, making it clear that World War II was fought on many fronts, not just the American vs. Axis narrative. This approach throws out the trope that ¡°America won World War II¡± and shows the global scale of the conflict.


    War movies here on Little Bird really drive home the point that there are no clear ¡°Good vs. Bad guys.¡± They show both sides in a neutral light, highlighting that even soldiers on the ¡°good¡± side can commit war crimes. These films don¡¯t shy away from the moral gray areas, showing how some people in war are morally good, while others take advantage of the chaos to do whatever they want without rules. One film I saw even depicted friendly soldiers executing POWs near their command center, with no attempt to hide it.


    The military uniformity here is also quite striking. Everyone has to do at least one tour, which is eighteen months, and they¡¯re disciplined about their appearance. Men and women both have to keep their clothing clean and straight, with no bags or folds. Men are more strict about it, wearing jeans, loafer shoes, socks, a white undershirt, a tucked-in buttoned-up flannel shirt, and a leather belt. Women can wear dresses and skirts, but the same rules about neatness apply. Baggy clothing is a no-go, and the only time I¡¯ve seen men wear shorts is if the sport or activity requires it.


    Dynamite mentioned feeling sorry for the Soviet VDV and Spetsnaz soldiers who captured Anderson Island. When I asked what she meant, Lusty explained that throughout the 1930s, Little Bird Naval Planners were busy drawing up plans for a new class of battleship. They aimed to build a ship that could outrange the American Colorado, Tennessee, New Mexico, Pennsylvania, Nevada, New York, Wyoming, Florida, Delaware, South Carolina, Mississippi, Connecticut, Virginia, Maine, Illinois, and Kearsarge class battleships, as well as the Kriegsmarine Bismarck and Scharnhorst class battleships, and the IJN Fuso, Ise, Kawachi, and Nagato classes. They even inadvertently planned to outmatch the American Iowa and Japanese Yamato battleships, which they didn''t know about at the time.


    The Aurora class battleship was designed to outshoot its American and Japanese counterparts, long before guided missiles were a thing. This was a significant leap in naval warfare capabilities.


    Dynamite shared how the Soviets launched a surprise invasion on Anderson Island with two companies of VDV Airborne troops and Spetsnaz. They aimed to capture the island''s two airfields, but friendly artillery destroyed the northern airfield, and bombers took out the southern one to prevent Soviet use. According to Dynamite and Avalanche, Little Bird Military doctrine dictates destroying anything of military value to keep it from enemy hands. Once the Soviets captured the island, the Little Bird military made their lives a living hell with constant airstrikes and naval bombardments. A 20-inch H.E.A.P. (High Explosive Armor Piercing) round can obliterate a fixed position and anything within its blast radius. Dynamite mentioned LGBs, 20mm and 30mm cannons, and those massive 20-inch guns, along with cruise missiles. I told Dynamite I know the difference between a cruise and ballistic missile from my time in the U.S. Navy.


    When the Soviets occupied Fort Suction via surprise attack, the Little Bird Military treated it like shooting fish in a barrel. The Soviets couldn''t break out and faced an enemy that willingly charged their muzzles, running through artillery and gunfire. Some Soviet officers admitted they weren''t going to run the Little Bird soldiers back home¡ªthey were already home. The Soviets were overconfident and had never fought an opponent with such a will to fight. They compared it to a "Modern Vietnam," with the Soviets in the role of the Americans and the Little Birdens as the Vietcong and NVA. The terrain on Little Bird¡ªmountain peaks, extensive forests, deep rivers, and rich soil¡ªwas unfamiliar to the Soviets, making their situation even worse.


    Some Soviet officers radioed that they were fighting a different, insane enemy who wouldn''t hesitate to call down artillery or an airstrike on their own position and keep fighting like nothing happened. Many Soviet officers thought the invasion would last a few months or years, but the reality was far different. The Fort Suction Police and Militia fought to slow down the invading army, buying time for civilian evacuation until the main army mobilized. The air force blew up three road bridges and four railroad bridges to deny the Soviet advance.


    Dynamite summed it up perfectly, ¡°How do you fight an enemy who is willing to come to fight? And fight an enemy that is willing to fight and die?¡± Here, many people join different special forces branches like the Army Rangers, Army Airborne, Special Forces Group, Mountaineers, Marine Commandos, and Navy Tridents. They don¡¯t sign up for the bonus pay, which they nickname ¡°blood money,¡± because the missions they undertake would get a normal infantryman killed.


    According to Dynamite, basic training is tough, but special forces training is designed to weed out those who can¡¯t make it. Interestingly, it¡¯s often the physically fit who drop out, while those who aren¡¯t as fit usually pass. Instructors instill in their recruits the mindset to ¡°accept that you¡¯re already dead.¡±


    My cousin James the 4th¡¯s wife told me about her time as a partisan fighter during an occupation. She used a scoped version of the M1905 rifle, which is infamous for its bullet trajectory going above where the user aims. She had to aim lower than her intended target to hit it accurately. So if she wanted to hit the head and go for a headshot then she would have to aim where the neck and torso meets.


    Dynamite then went on to say how since 1938 the Little Bird Army Corps of Chemical, Biological, Radiological, Gas, and Nuclear Defense have been making military uniforms in an anti-chemical layer. But said that Pre-1950s that it was just called Corps of Chemical Warfare before being renamed.


    Dynamite asked what my cousin¡¯s wife did during the war. From what I vaguely know, she sniped Soviet soldiers. The day after she rescued James the 4th, who had been shot down, they were hiding in a bombed-out building. When James asked why she wasn¡¯t shooting, she explained she was waiting for a loud sound, like an explosion, to cover her shot. She masked her shot with a nearby artillery shell explosion. She targeted officers and non-comms first, then relocated after every shot, making a hasty retreat through the sewers. Here on Little Bird, manhole covers are 300 pounds of steel, so they¡¯re not easy to lift. You need a specialized bar, a few people, or a vehicle with reinforced rope to yank them off.


    Urban warfare is a deadly game of cat and mouse with snipers and infantry. In cities with many high-rises and skyscrapers, any window on any floor, even rooftops, can hide a sniper. Towers are a different story; military doctrine usually dictates shelling towers from afar because they can be used for sniping and reconnaissance.


    Dynamite, after taking a sip of coffee, explained that Little Bird Military doctrine usually states to either shell or capture any building with a tower. The primary goal is to capture it so a forward observer can call down artillery strikes from a clearer vantage point or turn it into an observation post (OP).


    She then shared a personal story about how the Marines banned her from calling down artillery. Even though she was a combat engineer, she acted as a forward observer and ended up calling artillery strikes everywhere. She almost brought a building down on another Marine platoon, and 80% of the places she targeted weren¡¯t even near the enemy but close to allies or unoccupied areas.


    Dynamite mentioned that Rangers and Airborne units are usually tasked with clearing out areas due to their specialized training.

 Chapter Twenty-Three

    As I was pacing around my apartment, there was a knock on the door. Expecting my stepmom, I opened it, but to my surprise, it was Star. Her name always sounded more like a codename than a real one to me, but hey, who am I to judge?


    Star wasted no time getting to the point. She reminded me of the favor I called in from Mitchell and now she needed my help. I thought about saying something sarcastic like, ¡°A government spook needs help from a civilian?¡± But then I remembered Mitchell¡¯s warning. Star, his mother-in-law, knows a hundred ways to kill someone and make it look like natural causes. So, I decided to keep my sarcasm in check.


    I had a hunch Star was asking for my help because of that call I made the other day. The operator sounded like a customer service rep trying to keep a customer happy, which left me clueless about what was really going on. So, I asked Star directly, but she kept it vague, speaking in that cryptic way that made my brain spin. It felt like she was pulling the ¡°I helped you twice, now you owe me¡± card.


    I don¡¯t know Star well, but since my cousin Mitchell is married to her daughter, I figured she must be pretty relaxed and nice. Maybe it¡¯s that grandmotherly trope¡ªwomen who are tough as nails with their kids but turn into softies with their grandkids. Some of my friends say their parents were strict, but their grandparents were lovable. Maybe it¡¯s age, or maybe they just don¡¯t want to overstep their boundaries as grandparents.


    Star struck me as someone who might have wanted more kids but ended up with just one. A quick glance showed no engagement or wedding ring, which made me think she might have been married once, a one night stand, had a fling, or a short-lived relationship. But honestly, her personal life isn¡¯t my business. She just seems like the kind of woman who would have wanted a big family. But again, that¡¯s not for me to say.


    I agreed to help Star because, well, she had helped me twice before. In this country, if someone calls in a favor and you help, you¡¯re expected to return the favor. If you refuse, you can¡¯t ask for their help again without repaying your debt. So, I figured it was best to help her out.


    Star strikes me as the kind of mother who supports her daughter¡¯s life choices. Cadence, her daughter, is a stay-at-home mom. Some of my friends back in the States might not approve of that, but to me, it¡¯s all about personal choice. From what I know, Cadence is a great match for Mitchell.


    I¡¯ve seen some women back home who get caught up in messy situations, like wanting to marry an old fling while pregnant with their ex¡¯s child, and then putting their current fianc¨¦ on the marriage certificate. It¡¯s a recipe for disaster, especially in the age of social media where everyone shares their side of the story. People end up calling each other crazy for thinking such things are okay.


    But Star, she seems different. She¡¯s supportive and understanding, which is probably why Cadence is so happy. And honestly, that¡¯s what matters most.


    People have choices, and what they choose to do as a career is up to them. In my country, since the end of the First World War, women have outnumbered men. The ratio was 1.5:1 before the Second World War, and it became 2:1 before the Army allowed women in combat roles to fill vacant spots.


    I told Star I¡¯d help because she had helped me twice before. It was time to repay the favor.


    After turning off the lights and locking my apartment door, I asked Star what was going on. She mentioned the corrupt cops that Mitchell and Starlight work with. They had targeted Cadence as payback against Mitchell and Starlight. They couldn¡¯t get to Starlight because her family lives far away, and she¡¯s the only one in Clearlake.


    I shook my head and asked how Mitchell was handling it. Star told me that Mitchell¡¯s best friend, Jack, had locked Mitchell in an empty spare room at his house. In his rage, Mitchell had caused $1,000 in damages to the room, which had nothing in it but walls and a door. Star translated that to $7,366.76 in US dollars. Clearly, Mitchell wasn¡¯t taking it well. If someone can destroy an empty room, it speaks volumes about their state of mind.


    I think they took Cadence because she¡¯s a pacifist, someone who believes in non-violence, and she¡¯s married to Mitchell, who is trained in the use of violence due to his military background. It¡¯s a stark contrast that might have made her an easy target.


    I asked Star what Jack and Sam were up to, and she was blunt. They thought locking Mitchell in an empty room at Jack¡¯s wife¡¯s house was the best way to handle him. Star mentioned that Jack is a lucky man because his wife is a Little Bird Marine instructor who trains the next class of Marines. Even though Jack and Sam are Little Bird Marine Commandos, Jack knows he has to keep his wife happy. She has a short temper, and the house actually belongs to her father, who bought it as a wedding gift for them. Her father, a mafioso, put her name on the lease.


    It¡¯s quite something that Jack¡¯s wife is a Marine Drill Instructor and his father-in-law is a mafioso. I remember seeing military recruitment posters at Arcane University, and the Little Bird Marines one said, ¡°Marines are the backbone of the Little Bird Armed Forces, either for national defense or first in any military offense.¡± It¡¯s a tough world they live in, and it seems like everyone has their role to play.


    I told Star that Jack was lucky his wife wasn¡¯t home. She¡¯s away for Marine training, which lasts fourteen weeks because the Little Bird Military avoids the number thirteen. If she were home, I¡¯m sure she¡¯d have some choice words for him.


    Outside my apartment, I noticed another woman standing by Star¡¯s car. I recognized her as my cousin by marriage, Emily, who¡¯s married to my cousin Jimmy ¡°James¡± Richard Waterson IV. Their marriage is like a match made in heaven. Emily comes from a toxic family, and James IV had an abusive mother and stepfather. Their similar but different backgrounds seem to have brought them closer together.


    James IV¡¯s story is quite something. His mom planned to take her then-husband¡¯s military life insurance money, but James III knew about her infidelity with her boss. Tragically, James III died in an experimental aircraft accident, but not before changing his life insurance beneficiary to his son. Fourteen years later, James IV received $10,000 from the Air Force and another 17k from a person''s life insurance, despite his mom and stepdad suing him for the money. It¡¯s ironic how abusive parents want their kids¡¯ money.


    James IV¡¯s mom and stepdad even tried to change his name to match his stepdad¡¯s. Legally, they succeeded, but James IV kept signing his name as ¡°Jimmy Richard Waterson IV.¡± They also got rid of everything his dad had given him, except for a luxury watch worn by military pilots. It¡¯s the one thing they couldn¡¯t take away, and he still wears it proudly.


    I climbed into the backseat of Star¡¯s car, a classic blue 1958 Wasp Air, which looked just like a 1958 Chevy Bel Air.


    ¡°So, who¡¯s watching Rose, Platinum, McKinney, and Rose?¡± I asked.


    Star replied, ¡°Their aunts Ashley, Lucy, and Natalie. I would have Luna watch them, but she¡¯s not really into kids. She¡¯s two years younger than me and doesn¡¯t want to have kids, which is her decision.¡±


    ¡°Is it because she¡¯s getting too old?¡± I asked, a bit curious.


    Star replied, ¡°I¡¯m thirty-eight, she¡¯s thirty-six.¡±


    I was taken aback. I had always thought Star was in her late forties. I started doing the math in my head, but Star clarified, ¡°I was born in 1972, and it¡¯s 2010 now. So that¡¯s thirty eight years.¡±


    As Star started to drive, I broke the silence. ¡°So, what do you two want to talk about?¡±


    Emily chimed in, ¡°We can talk about carriers.¡±


    ¡°Like aircraft carriers or disease carriers?¡± I asked, half-jokingly.


    Emily smirked, ¡°What do you think?¡±


    Given our backgrounds, I figured she meant the former. Aircraft carriers are always a fascinating topic, especially with our military connections.


    As Star drove, Emily started talking about how, in late 1943 and early 1944, the Little Bird government gave Blister Canyon two C-Class Carriers. Back then, Blister Canyon didn''t have the resources to build massive ships like battlecruisers, battleships, or aircraft carriers. They didn''t realize how fragile carriers could be, even though Little Bird Naval Planners had considered hypothetical scenarios like rockets and planes crashing into ships, which became a reality during the Second World War.


    In the summer of 1944, the Blister Canyon Navy made a critical mistake. They positioned an ammunition ship between the two carriers, and when the ammo ship exploded, it took out both carriers with it. It was a devastating loss.


    I knew Emily was referring to the Cadence-Class carriers, but she just called them "C-Class Carriers" because Star''s only daughter is named Cadence. It was a subtle nod to Star''s family, and it made the conversation feel a bit more personal.


    ¡°Hey Star, if you don¡¯t mind me asking, were you ever married?¡± I asked, curiosity getting the better of me.


    Star glanced at me through the rearview mirror. ¡°Besides that being a personal question, yes, I was. But I left him faster than dropping a hot potato.¡±


    I thought about probing further, but Star continued. She explained that she wasn¡¯t going to stay married to someone who believed his word was law. Her husband never let her get a word in edgewise; it was always his way or the highway. Star decided to divorce him so she could raise Cadence in an environment where she wouldn¡¯t grow up thinking the husband is always right and she should just do as he says.


    I felt there was more to the story, but I decided not to press further. Star had her reasons, and I respected that.


    Star then shared how her husband had told her that if she came home on her hands and knees, begging for forgiveness, he might consider letting her off the hook. He even threatened her with signed divorce papers, saying he could send them out and leave her on the streets. But the joke was on him¡ªStar had already signed the divorce papers herself and sent him another copy. Somehow, she managed to keep the house.


    It sounded like her husband wanted to mold her into a 1950s housewife or something out of a religious cult where women are seen as second-class citizens, expected to cook, clean, have kids, and obey their husbands. The husband would have the final say in everything.


    It reminded me of some friends who are in religious cults that preach gender unity and a happy married life, but behind closed doors, it¡¯s a much harsher version of a 1950s nuclear family. It¡¯s a tough situation, but Star raising Cadence in a healthier environment is commendable.


    I asked Star how she managed to keep the house, and she explained that it was under her name alone. By law, the house was hers. Even though she and Cadence moved out, she rented it out. As long as the bank got their monthly payments, they didn¡¯t care, as long as the cops weren¡¯t involved.


    Curious, I asked if she would have put Cadence through college. Star said she would have, if Cadence wanted to go. She would have preferred a college with a high acceptance rate over a prestigious one. But she also mentioned that she didn¡¯t care if Cadence went to college or not, pointing out that many people have successful lives without a college education. I agreed with her. Back at Arcane University, many of my classmates had parents who insisted on a college degree for a successful career. My dad, however, always said a college degree is a 50/50 shot¡ªit might lead to a great career, or it might just land you a minimum wage job outside your field.


    My professors echoed this sentiment. They said a college degree could be a golden ticket to your dream job, but it¡¯s not a guarantee. Some jobs require experience or a degree within a certain timeframe. For example, becoming a therapist requires a degree in mental health and a license, but not everyone is hiring mental therapists. My girlfriend¡¯s mother was a therapist for a while, but that¡¯s another story.


    Emily shared that she has a degree in business management, which she earned in just two years. She¡¯s been helping her boss run his business since she was fifteen, back in 1995, and she¡¯s still his employee. Her parents had forced her to go to college, but after a car accident with her friends, they saw it as a sign and refused to let her continue. So, she ran off to the Army and used her benefits to pay for college. Her boss never let go of her position and welcomed her back after four years, holding her spot.


    He had considered replacing her, but most candidates were focused on rapid expansion¡ªopening new cafes before the existing ones could pay off. Emily and I share the same mindset; open a place, make it profitable, and only then expand. It¡¯s about ensuring each new venture is sustainable before moving on to the next. This approach ensures long-term success rather than quick, unstable growth.


    Emily shared how, after she left the Army, her family came out of the woodwork demanding her ¡°Army money.¡± She refused, and even when they sued her, their case fell apart because she wasn¡¯t legally obligated to support them. She mentioned that she and James IV don¡¯t have kids yet, partly because Ft. Suction is still under reconstruction from the war, and they¡¯re not in the mood to have kids at the moment.


    Then, Emily decided to tell the story of how she and James IV met. But she said that the moment she and James decided to marry she changed her surname faster than a heartbeat.


    I then asked Emily to share how she and James IV met so she started a story starting on July 21st, 2005 starting at 8 AM but Emily did warn that she would be saying her maiden name not her husband¡¯s last name. To me I didn¡¯t care either way but to me it says something when a woman changes her maiden name to her husband¡¯s name quicker than someone can blink or more faster than a millisecond that says how messed up her family is.


    _________


    Emily Thompson¡¯s POV, July 21st, 2005


    As I walked towards my job at the caf¨¦, the distant sound of gunfire barely registered. Just another skirmish between the police and gangsters, I thought, something that had sadly become all too common.


    But then, everything changed. The ground shook as artillery shells began to rain down, exploding with deafening roars. War might seem fascinating on TV, but up close, it¡¯s a nightmare. People around me stood frozen in shock and disbelief. Imagine your workplace reduced to rubble, your car flipped over like a toy, and your friends lying lifeless in the streets.


    The terrifying rumble of a tank echoed down the street, only to be silenced by a direct hit to its turret. I watched as members of the Ft. Suction Militia scrambled out of their damaged tank, abandoning it in a hurry. These militia members, often deemed unfit for active military service due to physical disabilities, were equipped with outdated gear from the early Cold War era, relics from 1945-1957.


    The reality of war hit me hard that day, shattering any illusions I had about its distant, impersonal nature. It was a stark reminder of the fragility of life and the chaos that can erupt without warning.


    The tank exploded moments later, likely due to a fire reaching the wet ammo storage or a self-destruct mechanism. The Little Bird Military trains its armored units to destroy abandoned vehicles to prevent them from falling into enemy hands, so it could have been either or both.


    Soon, the sky was filled with the roar of multirole jets from the Little Bird Air Force. They performed gun runs, unleashing their 30mm Gatling guns, dropping cluster munitions, and firing guided and unguided missiles. The chaos was overwhelming.


    Instead of heading to work, I decided to run back to my apartment, dodging falling bombs and artillery shells. It was unclear whether the artillery fire was from the Ft. Suction Militia or the invading army.


    I used the buildings as cover, sprinting down the street. Suddenly, a loud, terrifying sound echoed as a building collapsed nearby. I kept moving, knowing that what was happening was beyond my control. It was clear this wasn¡¯t a live-fire exercise; it was real, and it was terrifying.


    After a while, I made it back to my apartment building. I told my neighbors to go back into their apartments, lock themselves in, and stay away from windows and anything glass to prevent injuries from concussion blasts. I warned them to stay away from the glass to avoid getting hurt.


    I finally made it back to my apartment and headed straight to my bedroom. There, I pulled out my M1905 Bolt-Action rifle, the standard issue for the Little Bird Military from 1905 to 1935. The sniper variant, which has been in service since 1907, is still used today. This rifle is notorious for overshooting, requiring the shooter to aim lower to hit the target accurately. Fortunately, I was well-versed with it from my time as a Little Bird Army sniper from 2000 to 2002.


    I enlisted for 36 months and used the Army money to go to college. However, an accident caused me to miss my college application finalization, including decisions about living arrangements. My friends and I were in a car accident, and while I was in the hospital, the police and hospital staff tried to contact my parents and other family members, but no one responded. The hospital asked for my consent for surgery, and I agreed because it was either get surgery to keep the ability to walk or delay it and risk permanent paralysis.


    After the surgery, my parents found out and sued the hospital for "violating their wishes." They weren''t religious, so it wasn''t about that; they just wanted control. The case was thrown out because I was eighteen and legally an adult. Missing my college application deadline, my family claimed it was "a sign." Once I recovered, I decided to join the Army.


    When I left the Army and started college for business management, I received a salary of $75 a week from the Army. Suddenly, my parents and the rest of my family reappeared, demanding my "government money" and Army benefits. It was clear they were only interested in what they could get from me.


    I pulled open the bolt of my rifle, and a 220-grain Full Metal Jacket 7.62¡Á63mm round ejected. I caught it mid-air and slid it back into the chamber, closing the bolt with a satisfying click. Little Bird Army snipers favor high-grain bullets for their extended range, and standard issue for all soldiers is FMJ ammo, except for CQB specialists who use double-ought buckshot.


    As I grabbed a box of ammo, memories of my job at the caf¨¦ flooded back. My parents had tried to convince me to put their name on the caf¨¦ for "tax purposes," but I refused. I was just an assistant manager, not the owner, and even if I were, I wouldn''t have agreed. They didn''t understand the struggle of getting that job when the caf¨¦ first opened, barely scraping by with few customers. The owner couldn''t afford ads in newspapers, radio, or TV. My cousin, who briefly worked there, hated the job and was fired after two weeks for demanding pay without doing any work.


    Opening the ammo box, I thought about how my family always wanted more without putting in the effort. Many of their businesses failed because they were built on fraud and deceit. They even tried to convince me to "borrow" money from my boss, but I refused, knowing they would misuse it.


    With as much ammo as I could carry, I prepared to fight the invaders. Living on the top floor of my apartment building provided a perfect sniper''s perch. It was time to put my skills to use and defend my home.


    The skyline was now a haunting orange, with smoke billowing in the distance¡ªa stark contrast to the clear blue sky from earlier. I waited, rifle in hand, for the invaders to appear. Soon, I spotted soldiers accompanied by Infantry Fighting Vehicles. I took aim and began firing well-aimed shots.


    As I fired, my mind wandered to my family. Some of them flaunted brand new luxury cars, while my parents, during my high school years, only got me a one-month bus pass, citing "financial hardships." Yet, they had no problem buying a vacation home. They even used wedding funds meant for one child to remodel another''s house or fund their vacations.


    In the Army, my true family was the men and women of E Company, 14th Infantry Regiment, 31st Infantry Battalion, 5th Infantry Division. We used the World War II Military Alphabet, so E stood for Easy, not Echo. Those bonds were forged in the toughest of times, and they meant more to me than any blood relation ever could.


    As I continued to fire, I knew I was defending not just my home, but the values and camaraderie I found in the Army. Living on the top floor of my apartment building gave me a perfect sniper''s perch, and I was determined to make every shot count.


    The sniper variant of my rifle was ingeniously designed. The bolt was bent in a way that allowed me to load a five-round stripper clip without the scope getting in the way, making reloading much faster than loading individual rounds. Whoever came up with this design was a genius. If someone tried to put a sniper scope on a standard model, they¡¯d have to load each round individually, which would be a nightmare in a firefight.


    As I lined up my shots, aiming to hit two invaders with one bullet, my mind wandered to how inhumane and insensitive my family could be. Some of them, when they become grandparents, demand that their child and in-law give up their newborn to an infertile sibling. To me, that¡¯s fifty shades of fucked up.


    Each shot I took was calculated, with some bullets ricocheting off the armor of the Infantry Fighting Vehicles. When I reloaded for the third time, I heard running outside my apartment. I took cover behind my kitchen¡¯s granite wall and aimed at the front door. When it was kicked open, I didn¡¯t hesitate. I fired and cycled the bolt like it was second nature. There weren¡¯t many invaders, just a few who had taken advantage of my reloading time to storm the building and run up the stairs.


    It was time to move. Sniper training drilled into us the importance of relocating after each shot. My patio had been the best position, but now it was compromised. Shooting from the kitchen window would have been uncomfortable and exposed me too much. I grabbed my Phoenix pistol, the Little Bird licensed version of the M1911A1, a weapon issued only to Officers, Scouts, NCOs, Vehicle crews, Mechanics, Pilots, and snipers.


    I closed my apartment door behind me, the sounds of gunfire and explosions still raging outside. As I made my way out, I couldn''t help but think about how life throws us curveballs. My family has always been a source of frustration. They all showed up at my college graduation last year, demanding tuition money. I remember it like it was yesterday. I told them I worked hard, joined the military to get into college, and my job at the caf¨¦ paid the bills and groceries, leaving me with some money for myself.


    I had consulted a lawyer, who confirmed that I wasn''t obligated to help my family financially. If I chose to, it would be of my own accord. They couldn''t force me to give them money; legally, that would be extortion.


    With these thoughts swirling in my mind, I made my way out of the building, ready to find a new position and continue the fight.


    When I reached the front door, I opened it just in time to hear the unmistakable rattle of a machine gun firing up the road.


    "To hell with that," I muttered, quickly closing the door. I decided to head out the back, slipping into the alleyways to navigate around the chaos.


    As I made my way through the alleys, I was stopped on the street by an Army guy on the back of a truck.


    "Hey you! With the rifle! Hop in if you want to help!" he shouted.


    I climbed onto the truck, joining several other civilians. As the truck started moving, the soldier introduced himself. "Alright, listen up. I¡¯m Sgt. Carther, Ft. Suction Militia. I¡¯m not keen on using untrained civilians, but the Soviets didn¡¯t give us much time to mobilize."


    After a few minutes, we arrived at a barricade near a subway station. The truck backed up, and Sgt. Carther gave us a choice: head down into the subway to grab a weapon and fight, or get on the subway train that would depart soon.


    I chose to join the Ft. Suction Militia at the barricade. Some civilians joined us, even though here in Little Bird, men are required to serve in the military unless assigned to different careers. Regardless of their roles, everyone goes through the same basic training, so even military cooks and intelligence officers have fired a rifle.


    With my rifle ready, I prepared to defend our position. The camaraderie and determination of the militia reminded me of my time in the Army, and I knew we had to stand together to protect our home.


    In front of us were abandoned cars and trucks, engines still running, their occupants having fled in a panic. Luggage and personal belongings were left behind, scattered in the rush to escape. From what I know about military evacuations, people are told to ¡°bring the important stuff¡±¡ªidentification and essential documents like birth certificates. The open doors of these vehicles were a testament to the chaos and fear gripping the city.


    Many people likely ran down into the subway, hoping to catch a train south to Fisher Island. The island, 6.91 miles across, houses 25,730 people in prefabricated homes and apartments. The only ways to reach Fisher Island are via I-15 or the underground subway trains.


    My time in the Army taught me that the Little Bird Armed Forces are trained to flood subway tunnels to slow down an enemy¡¯s advance, a tactic reminiscent of the Germans during the Battle of Berlin. Flooding the tunnels would prevent the enemy from using them to move troops and supplies. Additionally, the Little Bird Air Force would likely use laser-guided bombs or strategic bombers to destroy the three asphalt bridges and four railroad bridges, further hindering the enemy¡¯s progress.


    As the invaders came into view, I took each shot with precision, but my mind kept drifting back to my toxic family. I remembered my short-lived relationship with a boyfriend who aspired to be an author. My family pressured us to break up, constantly saying, ¡°Authors and writers don¡¯t make a lot of money.¡± They ignored the fact that successful authors can earn a lot, especially if their books turn into movies. Ironically, many of the fantasy movies my parents enjoy originated from books.


    Despite the breakup, my ex and I remained friends. He even used my first and middle name in a book series about a woman in a toxic family. Naturally, my family sued him, but they didn¡¯t get far. Since he changed everyone¡¯s names and details, and because of ¡°freedom of speech¡± laws, they had no case.


    Each shot I fired was a reminder of the battles I¡¯ve fought, both on the battlefield and in my personal life. The invaders were just another enemy to face, but the real struggle was dealing with the people who were supposed to support me. As I continued to defend our position, I knew that my strength came from overcoming these challenges, and I was determined to protect my home and my future.


    I know exactly how much I despise my toxic family. No matter how far I run or how much I try to stay under the radar, they always find a way to show up and cause trouble. I live a quiet life, and I''m well aware of how messed up they are. Thankfully, I don''t have anything they can use as collateral, like a house or a car. They''re the type to take out loans and put their property up as collateral without telling anyone. Worse, they take out loans in their kids'' names, ruining their credit.


    At least I live in an apartment and use public transit, so they can''t use anything of mine for collateral. Plus, I''ve set up safeguards to protect my credit. I get notified if someone tries to use my credit, and I have two-factor verification in place. My bank also calls me to confirm if someone tries to take out a loan in my name.


    Some of my family members have even had visits from the feds because here in Little Bird, taking a loan out in someone else''s name without their knowledge or permission is a federal offense, treated as seriously as bank robbery. It''s a small comfort knowing that there are consequences for their actions, but it doesn''t erase the frustration and anger I feel towards them.


    Sgt. Carther informed us that we needed to buy the Engineers at least fifteen minutes. They were double and triple-checking the wires, which meant they were preparing to cave in the tunnels and flood them with water from the river that connects to the Pacific. The Engineers had also turned off the pumps that normally prevent the tunnels from flooding.


    Even though I joined the Ft. Suction Militia as part of a hasty defense, some civilians had also taken up arms with outdated military weapons. It reminded me of the Volkssturm, the German national militia formed during the last months of World War II. However, unlike the Volkssturm, these civilians already had military training unless they were labeled as 4F, unfit for service.


    Here in Little Bird, every city and town has a Militia composed of men and women unfit for active military service. The Militia is similar to the British Home Guard during World War II. Little Bird used to have a Home Guard for each of its five Commonwealths, but they were disbanded and reorganized into individual town and city Militias.


    We held the line, and a Militia member brought up an M241 General Purpose Machine Gun. That thing is heavy, but it''s a beast¡ªair-cooled, gas-operated, electrically fired, and linkless-fed, firing 7.62mm rounds. The Militiaman set it up in a position with a wide field of view, perfect for suppressing a large group of enemies. Machine gunners are trained to suppress multiple targets, not waste ammo on just one.


    As I reloaded my sniper rifle, my thoughts drifted to my family. Some of my male relatives served their wives with divorce papers after accidents left them quadriplegic or needing help to move. My family shows their true colors eventually¡ªthey might seem charming, but they''re like trolls under the bridge. Despite my toxic family background, I stayed friends with their ex-wives, showing them my true, kind nature.


    Many of my family members are unfaithful spouses. In Little Bird, an "At Fault" country, divorce due to adultery leaves the cheater with nothing. Some of my female relatives are on the "false accuser" list, accusing others of serious crimes without proof. I''ve seen good men in the Army have their lives ruined by false accusations. The problem is, if someone transfers to a new command, even if they''re found guilty of lying, it doesn''t follow them.


    I know men who deliberately hurt themselves to avoid military service because the military wouldn''t act against false accusers under a new command. Some even sued the military, and it got so bad the government had to mediate. Little Bird has limited conscription in peacetime and extensive conscription during wartime or crises. If it got out that accusers could ruin lives and escape consequences, more men would injure themselves to be deemed unfit for service.


    That''s the thing about my brain¡ªno matter how busy I am, something from my past always manages to creep in. When I was in the Army, Military Police Investigators often asked one-sided questions, clearly biased against the accused. They didn''t like answers that painted the accused in a positive light. If it ever got out that an investigator asked misleading questions to make a false accuser look good, it would be a scandal. A skilled investigator should gather evidence from both sides and make informed decisions, then pass it up to the military equivalent of a District Attorney to decide on pressing charges. Watching old cop shows at friends'' houses, I saw detectives doing thorough, unbiased investigations, unlike the biased questioning I experienced.


    Just the other day, while closing up the caf¨¦, my parents stormed in, demanding I pay for their vacation and house renovations. I told them to hit the road¡ªliterally. Things got heated, but my boss, a genuinely nice guy, stepped in. He warned my parents that if they didn''t leave me alone, he''d get the company attorney involved. They weren''t scared until he mentioned that the attorney charges $4k just for a consultation and $2k per hour. That got them to back off because they couldn''t afford a legal fight against such a high-powered attorney.


    My boss also pointed out that if the lawyer got involved, my parents might have to take out a loan to pay my legal fees. Given their credit, the bank would turn them down immediately. In fact, 99% of my family is blacklisted by every bank in Ft. Sunction. While it might sound like discrimination, banks are businesses that need to make money, not lose it. If a bank refuses to service someone, it''s because they know they''ll lose money, not make it. My entire family is in debt, the kind that¡¯ll make a global recession blush in embarrassment.


    Soon, the invaders brought up tanks and other vehicles. "T-55s!" Sgt. Carther shouted. Instead of waiting for the engineers to finish checking the wires, he ordered us to head down into the subway and get on the train. I refused, but then the two trucks we arrived in blew up. The Militia was following the Little Bird Military doctrine; destroy your own equipment rather than let it fall into enemy hands. Radios, vehicles, medical supplies, food, water, ammo¡ªanything valuable to the enemy must be destroyed. I''ve heard stories of Little Birden soldiers throwing thermite grenades into their own artillery to make them inoperable, welding the guns shut.


    While the Militia members and armed civilians headed for the subway, I decided to take a different route. I went underground through the sewers. It was a risky move, but I knew the sewers well enough to navigate them. As I moved through the dark, damp tunnels, my mind kept drifting back to my family and their relentless attempts to control and exploit me.


    I thought about how they always managed to show up, no matter how far I ran or how much I tried to stay under the radar.


    As I made my way through the sewers, I knew I was fighting not just the invaders, but also the ghosts of my past. The toxic family dynamics, the constant manipulation, and the relentless attempts to take advantage of me¡ªall of it fueled my determination to survive and protect my home. The sewers were dark and treacherous, but they offered a path to safety and a chance to regroup and continue the fight.


    I could hear the chaos above¡ªgunfire and explosions echoing through the streets. But that¡¯s the unpredictable nature of life; no two days are ever the same. The muffled explosions against the walls signaled the tunnels caving in, just as I suspected. The river water was flooding the Orange Subway line, cutting off a crucial route the invaders could have used to send troops and supplies to Fisher Island. With the tunnels flooded and the bridges soon to be destroyed by the Air Force, the invaders¡¯ advance would be significantly hindered.


    I had a feeling the Militia would try to bog down the invaders on the bridges, creating a perfect target for the Air Force to strike. Destroying the bridges while they were packed with enemy forces would be a devastating blow, killing two birds with one stone.


    A few days later, we found ourselves holed up in an old mechanic shop, where we had set up a TV. The news was grim; the city now had a collaborator mayor who sided with the Communists. He was trying to make the Soviet invaders seem more palatable, urging resistance fighters and Militia members to lay down their arms, promising they¡¯d be treated well if they surrendered voluntarily. To me, that was a load of baloney. The Soviets were broadcasting propaganda, encouraging us to surrender, but the guy doing the broadcasts sounded bored out of his mind. I wasn¡¯t buying any of it.


    The collaborating mayor also mentioned that those who surrendered would be held at the city¡¯s detention center. Whether it was a slip or deliberate, it gave us a target. Now we knew where to strike to liberate those who surrendered or were captured.


    I couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that if the Soviets won, it would be like one of those late-night alternative reality shows where the USSR wins World War II and turns against the Western allies, forcing occupied populations into ¡°re-education camps.¡± Those shows touch on non-family-friendly subjects like PTSD and the true horrors of war, things that daytime war shows and movies sanitize. They show the real, gritty side of conflict, which is why they¡¯re aired late at night, away from young eyes.


    I even read comics with an Adults Only rating because they depict the lawlessness of the wasteland and cover topics that most stores wouldn¡¯t dare to sell. Mostly because said comics deal with things like with narcotics and nonconsensual sex.


    I set up in a deserted office building, ready to provide sniper overwatch for our hit-and-run rescue raid. This time, I wouldn¡¯t have the luxury of loud explosions to mask my shots. At least the sunlight wouldn¡¯t reflect off my scope, unlike the unrealistic glints often shown in movies and fiction.


    The plan was for me to take out the south-facing machine gunner first. I aimed carefully, and when I fired, the bullet pierced through the Soviet soldier, ricocheted off the asphalt, and hit the north-facing machine gunner in the leg, likely severing an artery.


    That first shot signaled the assault to begin. Our team moved swiftly, overwhelming the two barricades with ease. The element of surprise and our coordinated efforts paid off, allowing us to free the captives and disrupt the Soviet forces.


    Once both barricades were secured, I quickly joined the team, using a rope to navigate up and down an elevator cable. The Little Bird Air Force and Army Artillery had executed a scorched earth strategy, destroying fuel silos, electric substations, gas stations, and anything related to telecommunications, rail, and industrial resources. If the enemy could use it, we made sure it was destroyed.


    I joined the assault teams as we stormed the place. The coordinated effort and the element of surprise were on our side. We moved swiftly and efficiently, taking down any resistance we encountered. The goal was clear: liberate the captives and disrupt the Soviet forces.


    As we advanced, the chaos of battle surrounded us, but our determination and training kept us focused. Every step brought us closer to freeing those held by the Soviets and striking a blow against the invaders. The fight was far from over, but each victory, no matter how small, fueled our resolve to keep pushing forward.


    We continued our systematic approach, clearing the building room by room to ensure each one was secure before moving on. In some rooms, we found captured Ft. Suction militia members tied to chairs. We freed them, one by one.


    In one room, I found a guy dressed like an airman. I went behind him and used my knife to cut the ropes binding his wrists and arms, then moved to the front to cut the ropes around his legs.


    ¡°You okay, airman?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m fine. Fingers started to go numb,¡± he replied.


    I knew he was a pilot when he put on a black leather jacket, the kind only Air Force pilots wear. He grabbed a pistol, the standard issue for pilots since cockpits are too cramped for long guns like carbines. Some might have compact submachine guns, but those are usually reserved for senior crew members on bombers or helicopters, not fighter pilots.


    With the airman freed and armed, we continued our mission, determined to clear the building and rescue as many captives as possible. Each room we secured brought us closer to our goal and strengthened our resolve to keep fighting.


    ¡°What¡¯s your name, airman?¡± I asked.


    ¡°4th, Waterson, Jimmy. Senior Airman, 32nd Multirole Fighter Wing, service number 77741980. I just need to get back up there,¡± he replied.


    ¡°You know how to use a gun?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Went through basic just like a normal infantryman,¡± Jimmy said.


    ¡°Sarge, we got company,¡± a resistance fighter called out.


    I handed Jimmy an assault rifle.


    ¡°I got control of the stick now, Senior Airman. You¡¯re just along for the ride,¡± I said with a no nonsense face expression.


    ¡°Yes ma¡¯am,¡± Jimmy said, taking the rifle.


    ¡°What kind of Reds are we fighting?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Intel reports the Soviet 5th Shock Army. But with the rail tunnel flooded and bridges blown, the 5th Shock Army is stuck. The Air Force sank the ships they arrived on before they could unload much of their equipment, so they¡¯re severely lacking in artillery and infantry support vehicles,¡± Jimmy replied.


    That was good to know. The enemy wouldn¡¯t be fully supplied and would have to make do with what they had, which was rapidly dwindling.


    ¡°Well, at least you haven¡¯t said anything about getting out of here yet,¡± I said.


    Jimmy sighed. ¡°Lost some friends in the past and my father by tempting fate. Friends who were boots on the ground, saying they¡¯d make it home from the war, only to be taken out by a mortar, artillery, or sniper strike. No points for guessing what happened to them. I¡¯d rather keep my mouth shut. I¡¯m the kind who just wants to see where today takes me, not make plans for a future I might not see. Had friends who always talked about their plans, and I¡¯d just say, ¡®We¡¯ll see.¡¯ Why make plans if you¡¯re not sure you¡¯ll make it back?¡±


    His words resonated with me. In the chaos of war, the future was uncertain. All we could do was focus on the present and fight to survive another day.


    I can make sense of that because why make plans for after a war if you don¡¯t know that at any moment you can die in it. Yeah it¡¯s good to have better thoughts but at the same time it¡¯s better to think not too far ahead. Because nothing is set in stone.


    Instead of engaging the enemy reinforcements, we opted for a tactical retreat, weaving through the urban jungle to lose any tails before making it back to our hideout.


    I told Jimmy we could get him back across the river to rejoin the Air Force, but it would have to wait until nightfall to make the crossing easier. As darkness fell, we set out, navigating the shadows and avoiding patrols. Once we reached the river, we helped Jimmy regroup with the Army, ensuring he could be sent back on his way.


    The night provided the cover we needed, and as we watched Jimmy disappear into the night, I felt a sense of accomplishment. We had managed to rescue captives, disrupt the enemy, and get one of our own back to safety.


    Before Jimmy left, he shared some startling news. The President of Little Bird, who was asleep at the time, received a rude awakening from the General of the Army, who happens to be his half great-granduncle. The General informed the President that Soviet soldiers had used cargo ships to invade. He also delivered the shocking news that the Army was severely understrength because many soldiers were on furlough. The Army had to issue a massive recall, sending Military Police Officers to revoke furloughs and passes.


    The President faced two tough options: pull the 15th to 19th Infantry Divisions from Europe, leaving their European allies defenseless, or use the available forces to barricade the Soviets in Fort Suction until the Army and other units could reach full combat strength for a counterattack. The President chose the latter, especially since the 15th, 17th, 18th, and 19th Divisions had already made an unapproved offensive move across the Iron Curtain from Southern West Germany into East Germany.


    Jimmy mentioned that Little Bird¡¯s allies have offered to send volunteers. Blister Canyon and Lava Falls, being in a military alliance with Little Bird, form a defense pact that I like to think of as ¡°The Pacific response to NATO and the Warsaw Pact.¡± While NATO was founded in 1949 and the Warsaw Pact in 1955, the Blister Canyon Lava Falls Blister Canyon Defense Force (BCLFLBDF) was organized much earlier, around 1904. To me, the BCLFLBDF operates like a tactical game of rock, paper, scissors: Lava Falls specializes in heavy armor and weapons, Blister Canyon excels in electronic warfare and high-speed operations, and Little Bird focuses on precision fire, fast deployment, stealth, and robotics.


    I do feel bad for the men and women of the Army who were on furlough or had approved passes only to have them revoked. I can imagine a guy walking out of a church with his bride, only to be approached by a 4x4 vehicle with Military Policemen informing him that his furlough or pass has been canceled. It¡¯s a tough situation, but necessary given the circumstances.


    As we continue to fight and adapt, the support from our allies and the resilience of our forces give me hope. Every decision and action we take is crucial in defending our home and ensuring a future free from oppression.


    Jimmy handed me a radio, explaining that it could be used by the resistance to call in artillery strikes, precision artillery, airstrikes of all kinds, and request supply drops. I mentioned how friendly artillery had been landing all around the city, to which he replied, ¡°No duh.¡± He explained that forward observers can only see what¡¯s in their line of sight, so many shells land in parks or other unseen areas based on educated guesses from maps.


    He also mentioned another option: paradropping the Tridents, Little Bird Navy¡¯s equivalent to the American Navy SEALs, or the 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 4th, and 5th Special Forces Groups, and Operation Department Specialized Troopers also known as Silent Serpents. These elite troops can carry small walkie-talkie radios to call in direct artillery strikes in small areas, like parks or baseball fields.


    With the radio in hand. We had powerful tools at our disposal, and every bit of coordination and communication could make a significant difference in our fight. The chaos of war was ever-present, but with allies like Jimmy and the resources we had, we stood a fighting chance.


    But he also said not to be around where Soviet Artillery is because of Counter Battery fire because the Soviet artillery can reach and hit the Little Birden 105mm and 155mm guns and those guns can fire back at the Soviet guns but the Soviet artillery lack the range to hit the Little Bird Army and Marines 190mm and 210mm artillery guns which do have the range to hit the Soviet batteries.


    Of course he also said how the military won¡¯t give them a GPMG because some of them used captured American Machine Gun, Caliber .30, Browning, M1919A6 from World War 2 to Vietnam and that many of the GPMG are the type not used for covert action for obvious reasons.


    ________


    Mackenzie ¡°Macaroni¡± Waterson POV.


    ¡°So, Star, Mitchell tells me you have a file on me,¡± I said, curiosity piqued.


    Star nodded, ¡°That¡¯s true.¡± She handed me a folder, and I opened it. The top paper read in bold:


    LITTLE BIRD OFFICE OF INTELLIGENCE AND STRATEGIC ACTIONS


    PERSONNEL FILE


    LAST NAME: Waterson


    FIRST NAME: Mackenzie


    MIDDLE NAME: Nova


    NICKNAME: Macaroni


    GENDER: Female


    COUNTRY OF BIRTH: United States, North America


    DATE OF BIRTH: May 17, 1984


    PLACE OF BIRTH: Ft. Bragg, North Carolina, USA


    PLACE OF RESIDENCE (1992-2003): Killen, Lauderdale County, Alabama, USA


    PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION:


    <ul>


    <li>Skin Tone: 02 (Caucasian, slightly sun-tanned)</li>


    </ul>


    <ul>


    <li>Height: 5¡¯10.5¡± (179.07 cm)</li>


    </ul>


    <ul>


    <li>Weight: 210 pounds (95.25 kg)</li>


    </ul>


    <ul>


    <li>Eye Color: Emerald Green</li>


    </ul>


    <ul>


    <li>Hair Color: Dark Brown</li>


    </ul>


    <ul>


    <li>Hairstyle: Short Pixie</li>


    </ul>


    <ul>


    <li>Blood Type: AB- (AB Negative)</li>


    </ul>


    NATIONALITY: American


    CITIZENSHIP: American-Little Birden Dual Citizen


    MILITARY BACKGROUND:


    <ul>


    <li>Branch: Navy, U.S.</li>


    </ul>


    <ul>


    <li>Role: Fire Controlman</li>


    </ul>


    <ul>


    <li>Assignment: USS Tricongdona</li>


    </ul>


    PSYCHOLOGICAL PROFILE:


    <ul>


    <li>Personality Type: Lone Wolf</li>


    </ul>


    <ul>


    <li>IQ: 103</li>


    </ul>


    EDUCATION:


    GENERAL GRADES IN ELEMENTARY, JUNIOR HIGH AND HIGH SCHOOL: B and A minus


    GENERAL GRADES IN ARCANE UNIVERSITY: B and A+


    HONOR ROLL: EIGHT TIMES, FOUR BACK TO BACK FOR ALL FOUR QUARTERS IN SEVENTH GRADE.


    I glanced up at Star, wondering what else was in the file and why she had it.


    ¡°Lone wolf?¡± I asked, raising an eyebrow.


    Emily explained, ¡°Lone wolf means someone who works alone.¡±


    ¡°I have no problem working with a team,¡± I countered.


    Star chimed in, ¡°It¡¯s because you¡¯re not in a relationship where your girlfriend lives under the same roof. Hence the ¡®lone¡¯ part.¡±


    ¡°How do you have such detailed information on me?¡± I asked, genuinely curious.


    Star replied, ¡°The Office of Intelligence is more effective than the CIA and KGB/SVR RF combined. Mitchell probably mentioned how the Little Bird Office of Intelligence and Strategic Actions has eyes and ears everywhere.¡±


    ¡°Mitchell did vaguely say something about a ¡®robust network of informants¡¯ and how the country knows if an ally or neutral country is working against Little Bird interests. Sounds like something out of a bad CoD plot or if the Cold War was still going,¡± I said.


    Star nodded, ¡°Well, it¡¯s like that because those who are close to you, those you think are your friends, can hurt you the most. As they say, keep your enemies close but your friends closer.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m pretty sure it¡¯s the other way around¡ªkeeping your friends close but your enemies closer,¡± I corrected.


    Emily jumped in, ¡°No, it¡¯s about who you associate with. Many so-called friends I had welcomed the Soviets as friends when they came to Little Bird back in ¡®05. They quickly jumped ship and sided with the enemy, cheering them on. When they were later rounded up by Military Police from the 2nd, 5th, and 19th Infantry Divisions, they were executed for treason. They had been feeding intel to the Soviets, claiming to be resistance members. Aiding the enemy is a capital offense here in Little Bird.¡±


    I was about to say something when Emily cut in, ¡°Mac, you live in a country that has the death penalty for a lot of things¡ªaggravated murder, the death of a peace officer, treason, aiding the enemy in time of war, contract killing, trying to or actually killing a high-ranking official. And that¡¯s just the tip of the iceberg.¡±


    I hate when people call me ¡°Mac,¡± but I¡¯ve learned to live with it.


    ¡°So, Star, do your parents approve of you being a spook?¡± I asked.


    Star replied, ¡°My father died before I was born. When my parents crossed the Berlin Wall in 1971, my dad was shot in the back by an East Berlin border guard. My mom used the money they had to take a boat to New York City. Eight months later, in May of 1972, I was born. Two years later, in 1974, my sister Luna was born. We don¡¯t know who Luna¡¯s father is¡ªeither our mom didn¡¯t want to say or just didn¡¯t care. Luna doesn¡¯t lose any sleep over it. She always thought we had the same father, but in reality, we¡¯re half-sisters.¡±


    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    ¡°My entire family, except for my husband and his extended family, is beyond toxic,¡± Emily began. ¡°Calling them toxic doesn¡¯t even do it justice. They do whatever they please, and when you need help, whether it¡¯s mental or not, they don¡¯t care. Seriously, they¡¯re the kind who will ruin their kids¡¯ lives for their own pleasure¡ªtaking loans out in their kids¡¯ names and ruining their credit, or taking their vehicle without permission. When they get into an accident or do something that makes their kids¡¯ car insurance premiums go up, they don¡¯t care. They¡¯ll do anything drastic to ruin their kids¡¯ lives.¡±


    Emily paused, her voice heavy with emotion. ¡°I¡¯ve got family members who escaped the toxicity by either going to a mental hospital or assaulting a cop just to get locked up. Instead of getting legal help, they¡¯d refuse a trial by jury, admit to assaulting an officer, and ask for the maximum punishment just to escape. And just to make sure they don¡¯t get out on good behavior they do the opposite like start fights with other inmates or attack Corrections Officers to keep adding charges to make their sentence as long as possible and if they were going to get parole they would do something to make the parole board revoke their parole,¡±


    Emily shared more about her family, mentioning that some of her cousins, nephews, and nieces are in medium security prisons. She explained that in Little Bird, the guard-to-inmate ratios vary; one guard to eight prisoners in minimum security, one-to-one in medium security, eight guards to one prisoner in maximum security, and twenty guards to one prisoner in supermax. Her family members in prison for assaulting peace officers often pick fights to extend their sentences, but they¡¯re smart enough not to mess with murderers or prison gang members.


    It¡¯s a drastic way to escape a toxic family¡ªeither by going to a mental hospital or assaulting a peace officer. Emily also mentioned how her parents would interrupt her and James IV¡¯s dinners or outings, insisting that their future kids be named after them. But Emily and James IV aren¡¯t rushing to have kids. They¡¯re still deciding if they want children at all.


    I suggested that Emily could live on base with James IV. From what I¡¯ve heard, visitors on military bases need a month¡¯s approval from the base commander and must wear a badge indicating they have permission to be there. Sneaking onto a military installation is a terrible idea, as it¡¯s considered a serious offense, often resulting in being shot on sight. Only troublemakers and spies would attempt something so reckless.


    Emily mentioned that any ¡°disagreements¡± in her family are handled internally, much like how some churches, colleges, and police departments protect their own. She explained how accusations are often retracted through gaslighting or involuntary commitments to psych wards, similar to how dirty cops are shielded by the blue wall of silence and families protect abusers.


    Emily also pointed out that colleges with low crime stats are often viewed suspiciously because many just sweep student reports of crimes under the rug. Fraternities and sororities, with alumni on the board, often get protected. I shared that Arcane University has the same problem. Senior students advise newcomers to go directly to the police instead of campus security, who often dismiss complaints and gaslight victims. Campus security is paid by the college, so they tend to follow the directives of those who sign their paychecks. In contrast, police officers are paid by taxpayers and generally held to a higher standard.


    Star explained that she convinced Cadence not to go to college or university, not because she¡¯s overprotective, but because she knows Cadence won¡¯t fight back in tough situations. Cadence relies on her mother or husband for protection. Star mentioned that while she has the authority to use a $50,000 UAV drone with precision missiles, Mitchell¡¯s response would be far more severe. He would make the wrath of God look mild in comparison. Star likened Mitchell¡¯s potential reaction to the deluge myth, where a deity destroys civilization as an act of divine retribution.


    Star shared a story about Luna trying to force Cadence to shoot a gun. The gun accidentally went off in Cadence¡¯s hand, and the bullet hit Mitchell in the foot. Luna¡¯s handgun uses frangible .45 rounds. Cadence apologized profusely, but Mitchell wasn¡¯t mad at her. He supported Cadence, understanding that she wasn¡¯t comfortable with guns.


    Emily chimed in, saying, ¡°Every yin has a yang.¡± Cadence is a pacifist who refuses to fight, even to protect herself, while Mitchell is the opposite¡ªready to fight anyone who threatens his family. Despite their differences, their relationship works because they love each other deeply. It¡¯s a perfect example of how opposites can complement each other.


    ¡°How did Mitchell and Cadence meet?¡± I asked.


    Star smiled, ¡°They¡¯ve been friends for a long time, since 1994 when they were four. They met in kindergarten. Their birthdays are close too¡ªCadence was born on January 20th and Mitchell on January 17th. They were friends for years but didn¡¯t start dating until high school. Cadence had a boyfriend before Mitchell, but¡­¡±


    ¡°Let me guess, he used Cadence as arm candy?¡± I interjected.


    Star nodded. ¡°Yeah, Buck Withers was a jock who never really cared for her. Cadence had a lot of fake friends because she was dating a popular jock. When she broke up with him and started dating Mitchell, those fake friends disappeared. Mitchell and his friends were better football players than Buck anyway. Have you seen his friend Jack throw a Hail Mary? He can throw it 68 yards, while Buck can¡¯t even manage two. Mitchell was a wide receiver in high school, and once he had the ball, he was gone like greased lightning. Buck, on the other hand, was such a terrible runner that the defense could walk and still catch up to him. Seriously, the defense could leave the game, get milkshakes, come back, and the same play would still be going on.¡±


    I told Star that my dad and the rest of my family would hate Buck. They¡¯re huge NFL fans, and many people here in Little Bird love to watch and play football too, often placing bets on games or the Super Bowl. If Buck had gone to college and tried to get scouted for football, no scout would have picked him. No one wants a player who can¡¯t throw a football two yards or run so poorly that a snail could catch up.


    Star laughed, ¡°A four-year-old could do better than a 5¡¯9.4, 195-pound man like Buck.¡± She went on to explain how the coach had to deal with Buck¡¯s father, who was the principal and wanted Buck on the football team. The coach only selected players who showed real skill, so Buck ended up on the sidelines. The coach told the principal, ¡°Buck is on the team, but nobody said he had to play.¡±


    Emily explained that in Native Little Birden culture, particularly among the Aurora and Mountaneses tribes, kids have to earn their own merit rather than relying on their parents¡¯ status. Being the son or daughter of the chieftain doesn¡¯t grant any special privileges. In the Nightingale tribe, the culture is different: sons live with their mothers and daughters with their fathers, but they still have to earn their own merit.


    I mentioned that my girlfriend¡¯s mother is from the Nightingale tribe but didn¡¯t bring that part of their culture into their household. She married a Caucasian man, and they decided to raise their daughter, Claire, together, respecting each other¡¯s cultural beliefs.


    Emily noted that the Nightingale tribe is the most militaristic of the four tribes and are always ready to fight. I agreed, adding that my girlfriend had told me the same thing, and it definitely shows in her personality.


    ¡°I know all about your girlfriend,¡± Star said. ¡°Like how her daughter Lily had a bully, and Lusty went straight to the bully¡¯s house to confront the parents. When they threatened to call the cops, your girlfriend told them that by the time the cops arrived, it would be 5-10 minutes, and if she got arrested, she¡¯d make a public statement about how schools and the justice system turn a blind eye to bullies but blame the victim when they fight back. She¡¯s from a district where people don¡¯t just talk¡ªthey act. They¡¯re not afraid to stand up to anyone, even the cops or the military.¡±


    ¡°How did that go?¡± I asked.


    Star continued, ¡°Lily¡¯s bully never bothered her again. When you have 60,000 people ready to back you up and go to the media, it grabs attention. The kind of attention that makes even powerful people look foolish. Eventually, when the bully kept at it, Lusty¡¯s old neighbors and friends from Eastside followed through on their threats. The bully¡¯s parents were laid off from their jobs, and their social circle shunned them.¡±


    Emily added, ¡°Lily¡¯s bully¡¯s parents are the type who believe in being friends with their kids and never putting their foot down. When their kid turns out spoiled or entitled, they get a rude awakening when others enforce boundaries. Because that spoiled or entitled kid their parents pulled the ¡®They¡¯re kids¡¯ card or pull the ¡®Kids will be kids¡¯ card and because those parents think it¡¯s funny when their kids do it when they¡¯re young but it¡¯s not fun when they get older and by then it¡¯s too late to punish because their parents normalized of not setting rules and saying what¡¯s wrong and right until it¡¯s too late.¡±


    ¡°Lily¡¯s former bully sounds like the type who will grow up expecting everything handed to them,¡± I said. ¡°Parents who don¡¯t set boundaries often end up with kids who expect the world. They¡¯ll want the most expensive car when they get their driver¡¯s license and a hefty allowance that¡¯s more than their parents make in a month.¡±


    Star nodded in agreement. She mentioned that she never had to set strict rules for Cadence. Cadence was the kind of child who preferred staying indoors, which suited her well as a stay-at-home mom.


    I told Star that many parents in America face the opposite problem now. They want their kids to go outside instead of staying in all day playing video games. Star laughed and said, ¡°Parents got their wish, but now it¡¯s biting them on the ass.¡±


    Star mentioned that their mom was the opposite, always wanting them out of the house. Star admitted she loved hanging around the local firehouse as a kid and teenager, while Luna had her own crowd of tough kids. Star wasn¡¯t sure why she was so drawn to the firehouse, but she just liked being there, especially at Engine 209 and Ladder Company 102.


    I suggested to Star that it might be the classic trope of kids wanting to become firefighters. Firefighters are often seen in a more positive light than cops because they run into burning buildings to save people, doing things most people would run away from. It¡¯s a heroic image that resonates with many children.


    I asked how they felt about people who hoard things. Emily shared that she still lives as if wartime rationing is in effect. She drives exactly the speed limit, buys small amounts of sugar, and makes T-bone steaks out of ground beef. She prefers to save resources like synthetic rubber used for tires rather than speeding down the road. Emily also mentioned that she often makes cakes without eggs, using a wartime cookbook with recipes designed for rationing.


    Even though wartime rationing ended almost a year ago, Emily¡¯s habits persist. She recalled how fresh items like milk, fruits, and vegetables weren¡¯t rationed because they were available daily and couldn¡¯t be easily sent to troops far away without spoiling. It¡¯s interesting how those experiences have shaped her approach to everyday life, emphasizing resourcefulness and conservation.


    Star was pretty clear about her feelings on hoarding¡ªshe thinks there¡¯s a special place in hell for people who hoard things from others. She believes it¡¯s unfair, even though life isn¡¯t always fair. She and Emily both agreed on this point.


    They explained how, during the war, the government issued ration stamps similar to food stamps, but with a crucial difference, these stamps expired every month. This meant you couldn¡¯t save them up. The number of stamps varied depending on the household size¡ªa single person got twenty stamps, while a family with two kids got eighty. Each item had a point value, and you needed the corresponding number of stamps to buy it, along with actual money or food stamps. For example, a steak costing 12 points required 12 stamps. If you didn¡¯t have enough stamps, you couldn¡¯t buy it, even if you had the money.


    Emily mentioned that booklets were created to simplify the process, explaining how many stamps were needed for each item. This system ensured that resources were distributed more evenly, preventing hoarding and encouraging fair use.


    Emily explained that during rationing, the most expensive items were meats like pork, chicken, and ground beef, which cost 7 points, while sausages and bacon were around 10 points, and all kinds of steak were 12 points. Fruits, veggies, butter, canned goods, and cheeses ranged from 1 to 10 points, with canned goods being more expensive than fresh items. Fresh milk and bread weren¡¯t rationed because they arrived at stores regularly. Any unsold fresh milk would be given a point value after a few days. Evaporated and powdered milk were mostly sent to troops on the front lines. Eggs were scarce, with people only allowed one tin or packet of powdered eggs or one box of dried eggs every two months. Many people kept chickens in their backyards to get around this.


    Star mentioned how she missed having bacon, sausage, and egg sandwiches for breakfast but found oatmeal to be a good alternative. She also noted that soldiers had to wait for food because, although it was grown locally, most of it had to be freeze-dried and flown out to them. The food was then distributed equally among the divisions and companies.


    ¡°Well, Emily, I know you¡¯d hate it back home where I¡¯m from,¡± I said, shaking my head.


    Emily raised an eyebrow. ¡°Why¡¯s that?¡±


    ¡°Back in the States, driving can be a nightmare. I¡¯ve lost count of how many times I¡¯ve been cut off or nearly crashed because someone was on their cell phone, doing 105 MPH on the Interstate. And now, with touch screens, people are texting and driving even more. It¡¯s terrifying how often I¡¯ve been cut off by speed demons who don¡¯t even bother using their turn signals,¡± I explained, frustration creeping into my voice.


    Emily nodded knowingly. ¡°Let me guess, they end up having blowouts or flipping their cars?¡±


    ¡°Mostly, I see cops pulling them over. My dad used to want to do a PIT maneuver to stop them and go after them with a bat. But he¡¯s not a cop, and that would be assault with a deadly weapon, so he never did it,¡± I said with a wry smile.


    ¡°I¡¯ve seen people speeding like that too,¡± Emily said. ¡°Sometimes they blow a tire and flip their car. By law, bystanders have to help because just standing around is a violation of the Duty to Rescue law.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, but I have a feeling that back home in America, with everyone having cell phones with cameras, people would just stand around recording instead of helping. They probably think it would make good video content,¡± I said, shaking my head in disbelief.


    Emily¡¯s expression turned cold. ¡°People like that can burn in Hell for all eternity. The world¡¯s a bad enough place without folks just standing around when others need help. I don¡¯t like speeders, but if they get into an accident, I¡¯ll still help them until Fire, Police, and EMS arrive. If they try to sue me, they don¡¯t have a case because I¡¯m following the Good Samaritan and Duty to Rescue laws.¡±


    Star was on a roll, ranting about how some people are just too clueless to get involved. But then she switched gears, saying how glad she was to have brought her daughter and husband here. She mentioned how her husband had handled all the paperwork to make both her and Cadence legal citizens. Before I could chime in, Star added that Cadence was born in Queens, New York, so she¡¯s already an American.


    Star went on about how if her daughter worked, she¡¯d probably land a job with long hours but be home most of the year. I figured she meant Cadence would end up working at a food stand in a football, baseball, or soccer stadium. Football games here in Little Bird have 15 games in 18 weeks before the championship, similar to the NFL back in the States during the 1967-1977 seasons. Baseball has 162 games, and like football and soccer here, there are seven teams each, with teams often playing each other twice until a winner emerges at the end of the season.


    I pointed out that while regular restaurants have a whole year to make money, those at stadiums have to rake in their earnings during games. The season finales are their big money-makers because of the larger crowds. They have to sell a ton of food and drinks in a short time, and each stadium¡¯s capacity varies. Typically, they need to hit around $135,744.95 in sales to stay profitable.


    Emily asked how they decide what kind of food to serve, and I explained that it¡¯s a lot like running a convenience store with a concession stand. They focus on food that can be cooked quickly and served fast because speed is key. Most of the food is pre-made and packaged, so they just hand it out to customers within a minute or two. It¡¯s not like a regular restaurant where you can wait for your meal to be prepared.


    Each year, they have to estimate how many people will show up and adjust their food supply based on what sold quickly and what didn¡¯t. Typically, they cater to about 18,000 people per game, but on holidays and for the final game, that number can skyrocket to around 100,000. They have to make educated guesses on what people will want, but it¡¯s usually hot dogs and burgers because they¡¯re quick and easy to prepare.


    Star and Emily mentioned that in Little Bird, hot dogs are seen as kids¡¯ food. Adults prefer juicy burgers and will only opt for hot dogs if there are no burgers or other alternatives like chicken tenders available.


    Star and Emily also said how each one has a role to do from the burger stand to the hot dog stand to the chicken stand and the beverage stand. Each one is different but do it in a way to make the service faster than having a few people run around trying to do everything at once. So everything is more or less streamlined to be fast service but Star also said how if you want something on it or not then the customer has to say what they want because if you just say hot dog then you get ketchup, mustard, relish, pickle slice, and onion on it or just say hamburger you get a plain hamburger or say cheeseburger you get a cheeseburger with onion and pickles on it so you have to say what you want on it or remove it or I put it as every fast food joint because they already throw what they want onto it and the customer has to say what to take off or to add.


    I decided to lay down on the seats to get some rest.


    ________


    Several hours later, the darkness had settled in. I woke up to the sound of the car transitioning from asphalt to dirt. Star brought the car to a halt, and we all got out¡ªStar, Emily, and me. We met up with Jack, Sam, Mitchell, and two women I didn¡¯t recognize.


    ¡°So, Sam? Jack? Did you two do any recon on the defenders?¡± Star asked.


    Sam shook his head. ¡°Nope, it was these two. Jack and I have been busy holding Mitchell back from charging in there like a one-man army.¡±


    ¡°Sounds like something out of a multiplayer game but it¡¯s a broken secondary,¡± I quipped.


    Star turned to the newcomers. ¡°Alright, Sergeant, what do you have?¡±


    The woman stepped forward. ¡°Just a ragtag group, nothing much. They¡¯re armed with low-caliber, low-capacity weapons.¡±


    I raised an eyebrow. ¡°And who the hell are you two?¡±


    Sam introduced them. ¡°Macaroni, meet Sergeant Sonata Jackson from the 1st Special Forces Group and Private First Class Julia Vance from the 5th Special Forces Group.¡±


    From what I¡¯ve heard, the Little Bird Army Special Forces Group is not to be trifled with. These men and women are top-tier operators, trained in everything from assassination and reconnaissance to intelligence gathering, sabotage, and search and rescue. They¡¯re skilled trackers who can navigate by the stars, using techniques that date back to the Renaissance.


    Sonata continued, ¡°Sam and I will head up the hill to provide sniper overwatch. We¡¯ve also got weapons.¡±


    My phone buzzed, and I glanced at it. A friend was asking me to cover a $6,000 bill at a fancy restaurant and wanted my card info. I texted back, telling her to hit the road¡ªno way that was happening.


    ¡°My dad captured a Fusil semi-automatique 7 mm 5 M. 49 during his time in the Marines in ''Nam,¡± Sam said.


    Jack cut in, ¡°So, what¡¯s the tactic?¡±


    ¡°Teams of two will hit them before they know what¡¯s coming,¡± PFC Julia Vance briefed us. ¡°PFC Skybolt will lay down suppressive fire straight down the center, while CPL Hartstock snipes from a distance. Sgt. Waterson and I will flank left, and you two will flank right. No heroics. No prisoners.¡±


    Just then, the bushes rustled, and out stepped Twilight¡ªMitchell¡¯s sister.


    Sam and Sonata headed up the hill, Sonata pulling out a spotter scope. They were the perfect sniper-spotter team.


    Julia popped open the car trunk. ¡°Take what you need,¡± she said. Inside were S-System and S-System Commando rifles, two snubnosed .44 magnum revolvers, a combat shotgun, and several submachine guns. I grabbed the shotgun.


    ¡°Reminds me of hunting with my family back home the day before Thanksgiving,¡± I said, picking up the semi-automatic combat shotgun. I performed a brass check, pulling back the slide. The shell flew out, but I caught it and slid it back into the chamber.


    Star and I moved to the right flank while Mitchell and Julia took the left. Twilight stayed with Jack. We waited for Sam to take the first shot. After a tense moment, he did.


    The moment Sam took the shot, Jack opened fire, suppressing our opponents. It was like clockwork¡ªthe four F¡¯s of combat in motion. We found the enemy, Jack fixed them with suppressive fire, and Star, Mitchell, Julia, and I flanked them to finish them off.


    We eliminated the bad guys outside. They had only slightly fortified one way, leaving their flanks exposed. We dealt with them quickly and made our way to the front door of the rundown plantation house. Mitchell and Julia went around back. After a few seconds, we heard nine loud bangs¡ªlike a Nine Bang, used by Little Bird Army Special Forces and police departments. It temporarily blinds and deafens targets, making snatch-and-grabs smoother or disorienting targets to speed up room clearing without them shooting back.


    As soon as the Nine Bang went off, we stormed in. Star and I cleared the living room and non-side rooms, while Mitchell and Julia handled the side rooms. We regrouped at the stairs, where Julia expertly bounced another Nine Bang off the ceiling. It reminded me more of a frag grenade tactic, but it worked.


    When the second Nine Bang detonated, I couldn¡¯t help but wonder if the bad guys had called for reinforcements. I voiced my concern, but Julia reminded me that we were Special Forces, and unconventional warfare was their game. She and Sonata planned to booby trap the dead after the rest of us¡ªStar, Mitchell, Sam, Jack, Twilight, Cadence, and I¡ªhad left.


    I was about to argue about the legality and the Geneva Convention, but the looks from Star and Julia said it all. ¡°Illegal and against the Laws and Customs of War? Like we cared.¡±


    Living in a country that calls out Germany¡¯s hypocrisy in World War One, I can¡¯t help but think about how Germany condemned the U.S. for using shotguns while they launched chlorine gas shells. History books here often highlight how Germany argued that shotguns caused unnecessary harm, all while using chemicals that led to inhumane deaths.


    When the Nine Bang finally went off after a delay, we stormed the second floor. We moved quickly, clearing each room methodically, saving the last room for, well, last.


    Mitchell kicked the door open, revealing a guy holding his wife, Cadence, hostage. He had her positioned so we couldn¡¯t get a clear shot without risking her. But then, as if the universe aligned, Cadence managed to move just enough for Mitchell and Julia to take a clean shot without hitting her.


    Star rushed over to Cadence, taking her outside. I figured either she, Sam, or Sonata would check on her. My theory is that since Jack, Sam, Julia, and Sonata are Special Forces, they don¡¯t have designated medics. Instead, each one is trained to be a medic in their own right, probably carrying two medkits and four bandage packs each. Here in Little Bird, military medics wear an unremovable white armband with a red cross, respecting the law of not shooting a combat medic unless they¡¯re actively engaging in combat, which would revoke their non-combatant status. Soldiers here honor the cross but target RTOs (Radio Operators) since they¡¯re combatants and not protected by the Geneva Convention.


    Mitchell emptied his clip into the hostage taker, ensuring he was eliminated. When he ran out of ammo, he didn¡¯t stop¡ªhe used the butt of his gun, hitting the body repeatedly until he finally stopped.


    We left the scene, and I got into the back seat of Star¡¯s car with Mitchell, Twilight, and Cadence. Jack and Sam had their own ride home on Army Scouts¡ªmotorcycles from the 1930s used for scouting enemy positions. Those bikes are slick and have a low profile, perfect for staying under the radar.


    ¡°Dad died near the beginning of the year. I had a feeling he really wanted to walk me down the aisle. Well, I don¡¯t really plan to walk down there either, so I guess maybe one day I¡¯ll have to ask my brother to do so,¡± Twilight muttered.


    Sonata and Julia did as they said, setting the traps before getting into their vehicle. This beast of a machine is 20 feet long, 10 feet high, and weighs about 3 tons. It¡¯s powered by a 14.0 L engine and serves multiple roles: internal security, military patrol, rapid transport, reconnaissance, anti-armor, anti-aircraft, and anti-personnel. There are variants equipped with a chain gun, a gauss cannon, rockets, or just used as a troop transport.


    Thanks to my cousin Visala, we have the gauss cannon here in Little Bird. It fires a hyper-velocity, high-density projectile at 13.7 kilometers per second¡ªor 30,645.91 miles per hour. Yes, the Little Bird Military uses the Imperial system, not Metric.


    Julia and Sonata¡¯s vehicle is the troop transport variant, ready to carry us wherever we need to go.


    As we drove, I decided to ask Mitchell about his and Cadence¡¯s kids and their first words. Mitchell couldn¡¯t say because he wasn¡¯t there, but Cadence filled in the blanks. Platinum and McKinney¡¯s first words were ¡°Mama.¡± Rose, on the other hand, was a late talker. Mitchell speculates that Rose might be gifted, as Star mentioned that late talkers often have brains focused on learning other things. Rose¡¯s first word was ¡°Daddy.¡±


    Star speculated that their first words might define whom they would love the most. She guessed that McKinney and Platinum are a Mommy¡¯s Boy and Girl, while Rose is destined to be a Daddy¡¯s Girl. When I asked about their youngest, Flurry, Cadence mentioned that she¡¯s only five months old, born back in May¡ªon my birthday, actually. So, Flurry hasn¡¯t said her first word yet.


    Star mentioned she could see Rose becoming a football player like her dad. Mitchell, feeling old at just 20, joked about how what¡¯s cool now will be outdated when they get older. Cadence, however, was firm that Rose, Flurry, and Platinum would never be soldiers or cops.


    Mitchell pointed out that while there are many cops, it¡¯s not as many as people think. He explained that Little Bird¡¯s justice system focuses on rehabilitating criminals rather than just locking them up. Here, inmates have the title ¡°Ex-Convict¡± and are given opportunities to work¡ªlaundry, cooking, cleaning, groundskeeping, workshops, and more. They earn a small wage, about 10 cents an hour for eight hours, which isn¡¯t forced labor but a choice, making it far from slavery. They¡¯re also learning a skill that also gets put on their record.


    Mitchell found it hypocritical of Cadence to say Rose and Platinum can¡¯t be cops or soldiers but had no issue with Rose playing football, despite the risk of concussions or torn muscles. Cadence felt their kids might inherit Waterson''s knack for bait-and-switch comments. Whenever Cadence is at the store and friends come over, Mitchell would say, ¡°If only Cadence was still with us. But she left for the store/doctor¡¯s/dentist a few minutes ago.¡±


    Mitchell said he¡¯s fine with whatever their kids choose to do as long as it¡¯s legal, even if they become soldiers. Cadence, however, views soldiers as mass serial killers. I chimed in, saying war is legalized murder that only psychopaths and sociopaths enjoy, but reminded her that even in war, there are rules and laws soldiers must follow.


    When I asked Cadence if she saw her aunt, a Lieutenant, or her husband Mitchell, a Sergeant, as mass serial killers, she said no because they¡¯re family. But when I asked about Mitchell¡¯s half-sister, Cadenza, she said, ¡°In another life,¡± and admitted that Cadenza is scary. That¡¯s true¡ªCadenza is the type who would throw someone into a wall or send them to a shock trauma center.


    I then asked how she viewed Nataline ¡°Nat,¡± Lucy, and Ashley Waterson, her sisters-in-law who are also soldiers. Cadence had mixed feelings, even though they¡¯re Project Phoenix supersoldiers.


    When I asked why Cadenza and Francis weren¡¯t with us, Mitchell explained that Cadenza went to another place, and Francis had a family dinner with his adoptive parents. Francis had offered to cancel, but Mitchell insisted on the importance of family.


    As we talked, Jack and Sam flew by on their motorcycles. Mitchell mentioned he had to pay for the repairs he did to the empty room in Jack¡¯s house¡ªone thousand dollars worth of damage.


    We finally made it back to Mitchell and Cadence¡¯s place. It was late, but we still managed to have pork chops for dinner. They were a bit chewy but still good enough to enjoy without needing a steak knife. I even made a pork chop sandwich with some bread and dipped it in the juices¡ªdelicious.


    I asked Mitchell and Cadence if they were planning to pick up their kids from Mitchell¡¯s older sisters. Mitchell quickly shut that down, saying Natalie, Lucy, and Ashley were already in bed. They need their beauty sleep unless there¡¯s an emergency. He figured it was best for the kids to stay with their aunts since it was already a quarter to ten. The kids usually go to bed around 9:30, so they were probably already asleep.


    We then shifted the conversation to careers. Cadence mentioned she could never be a network censor. They have to decide what¡¯s acceptable for TV or movies, avoiding anything controversial like narcotics or non-family-friendly values. War shows wouldn¡¯t show gore or swearing, and censors have to watch pre-final copies of episodes and movies, deciding what needs to be edited or cut. They avoid showing things like adultery, open marriages, drinking, gore, swearing, depression, divorce, or sex, focusing instead on happy marriages and other family-friendly themes.


    I get why they avoid showing open marriages. To me, open marriages are just a way for couples to cheat without feeling guilty. If people don¡¯t want to be committed, they shouldn¡¯t be married. Open relationships mean someone or both partners are together but also seeing other people. Sure, it¡¯s the 21st century, but if someone wants to date others while in a relationship, they shouldn¡¯t be in one.


    Mitchell and Cadence agreed, saying open marriages are a sham. It¡¯s not really a marriage if you¡¯re dating or seeing others and being unfaithful. Many people here, and many I know, are in traditional relationships, loyal to their partners and not dating behind their backs. I do have some friends who want open relationships but only on their terms¡ªthey can date others, but their partner can¡¯t. That just doesn¡¯t sit right with me.


    Mitchell and Cadence have a traditional relationship, like a family from a ¡®50s sitcom. Mitchell works, and Cadence is a stay-at-home mom by choice because that¡¯s where she feels most comfortable. I noticed a board on the kitchen wall with the week¡¯s meals planned out:


    <ul>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">MON: Meatloaf</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">TUES: Breakfast</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">WED: Salisbury Steak with Mac and Cheese</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">THURS: Pork Chops</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">FRI: Leftovers</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">SAT: Veggie Stew</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">SUN: Leftover Stew</li>


    </ul>


    ¡°That¡¯s new,¡± I said, pointing to the calendar. Mitchell explained they got it a few weeks back while I was still in the hospital. The calendar helps them plan their shopping trips, making it easier to know what they need for the week instead of wandering the store wondering what to have for dinner.


    Mitchell mentioned that Cadence¡¯s IQ is in the early 90s, meaning she¡¯d be a semi-skilled worker (like a truck driver or factory worker). But she¡¯s the type who spends a lot of time at the store on Saturdays, comparing prices to get the best deals for the following week¡¯s meals.


    I can see why the calendar is helpful. It makes shopping quicker and more efficient because you know exactly what you need. Studies here in Little Bird show that the longer people spend in stores, the more money they tend to spend. If you don¡¯t know what you want, you end up wandering the aisles longer. So, by planning their meals, they avoid overspending. Mitchell said Cadence might be naive, but she¡¯s smart about planning around sales and getting the best deals. Sometimes, name-brand items on sale are cheaper than generic brands, which is a nice bonus.


    Cadence thanked her mother for teaching her how to shop smart. She remembered her father, who was around until she was four, as the kind of guy who grabbed the first thing he saw without checking the price. He often bought the most expensive items. Cadence recalled him buying a pack of ground beef for around $2.50, which made me nearly choke. Here in Little Bird, a three-pound pack of ground beef costs 86 cents, so $2.50 must have been for a much larger amount.


    When I asked about snacks, Cadence explained they buy family-sized products because they¡¯re 10 cents cheaper than the regular-sized ones. She gets chips and pretzels in family-sized packs for $3, whereas the normal-sized variants would cost around $4 or $5. She buys them every other Saturday since their eldest three kids, who are in kindergarten, don¡¯t eat much and spend more time napping.


    I mentioned that as the kids get older, those naps will turn into running around with friends, being more physically active, and eating more. Mitchell agreed but said he would enforce a rule of not eating 30 minutes before dinner. It¡¯s a rule his mother, aunt, and uncle all had¡ªno eating half an hour to an hour before dinner.


    When I asked Cadence what happened to her father, she said her mother gives her a different story each time. One story is that he got into a car crash, another is that he did something stupid like climbing into a lion exhibit, and yet another is that he wanted a separation from Star instead of a divorce to be with someone else. The story changes every time, so Cadence gave up asking. I actually agree with Star¡¯s approach¡ªgiving different stories might be her way of protecting Cadence¡¯s feelings and preserving her image of her father.


    Mitchell chimed in, saying that sometimes not speaking the truth is better. While us Watersons prefer the harsh truth over a comforting lie, there are times when we even lie, depending on who we¡¯re talking to. Sometimes lying is a better alternative, but other times, the truth is necessary. It all depends on the situation.


    When I asked Cadence about her dad, she said he wouldn¡¯t win any ¡°Dad of the Year¡± awards. He was the kind of father who let her have whatever she wanted¡ªjunk food and candy. He often forgot about her dentist and doctor appointments, preferring to crack open a soda and watch TV. Cadence said Mitchell is a much better father. He would leave work without telling his boss to take Rose, McKinney, and Platinum to the doctor or dentist, even if he had just gotten home from work. He¡¯d refuse to relax until the visit was over.


    Cadence also mentioned that her dad never got her up on time for school. She nearly had to repeat kindergarten, first grade, and second grade because of his poor time management. He would wait until the last minute, making it impossible for her to change from pajamas to day clothes, eat breakfast, or brush her teeth without missing the bus. The house was too far for her to walk to school without being an hour late. Her only option was to change and walk to catch the bus or walk to school without breakfast or brushing her teeth. Her dad would get mad at her for not doing both. Cadence said it was bad when a four, five, or six-year-old had better priorities than a man in his late 20s.


    I said that¡¯s how parenting is¡ªwhen people become parents, life is no longer all about them. Many parents live like their life is more important than their kids and do everything a normal parent wouldn¡¯t do. Mitchell added that there are two kinds of family members; those who want their kids or other family members to do what they want at the cost of others¡¯ happiness, and those who put their own happiness and well-being over anyone else.


    I countered, saying there are two kinds of people; those who like me, and those who can go to hell. But Mitchell had a valid point about those who want others to make them happy at the cost of their own happiness and those who want others to make themselves happy and live their own life.


    When I asked Cadence about her morning routine, she mentioned that Mitchell gets up at 5:00 AM sharp, while she wakes up an hour and a half later to prepare the kids¡¯ school supplies and make their lunches. She makes a variety of sandwiches¡ªturkey, bologna, ham, or PB&J¡ªbut has to keep the peanut butter away from Mitchell due to his allergy. Although Mitchell is careful, there was an incident in school where his bully, Buck, smeared peanut butter on his cheese sandwich. Mitchell had a severe allergic reaction and was lucky the school had EpiPens.


    Despite Mitchell¡¯s aunt claiming he was faking it, no one else believed her. Cadence mentioned that Mitchell and Twilight¡¯s eldest sisters said the school could have faced a lawsuit if they hadn¡¯t administered the EpiPen. Mitchell¡¯s friends, Sam and Jack, noted that he avoids anything with nuts unless someone sneaks it into his food, which is considered a felony of attempted poisoning or even attempted murder in Little Bird, depending on the severity of the reaction.


    Mitchell explained that the allergic reaction was so severe it could have been classified as attempted murder. He had to be taken out of school and monitored by a doctor for the rest of the day. The doctor said that if Mitchell hadn¡¯t received the EpiPen when he did, he could have suffered an asthma attack or cardiac arrest within thirty seconds. As a precaution, the doctor prescribed him an inhaler, even though Mitchell doesn¡¯t have asthma, because of how close he was to having an asthma attack.


    Cadence shared that Buck once tried to sue Mitchell for ¡°taking¡± her from him. Legally, Buck had no case since Cadence broke up with him and chose to be with Mitchell on her own. Mitchell summed it up perfectly. ¡°Suing someone because their girlfriend left you for someone who treats them better is like suing for slavery.¡±


    It¡¯s a ridiculous lawsuit because you can¡¯t sue an ex-lover for moving on, even if you offer to pay their new partner to give them back. Mitchell told Buck, ¡°I didn¡¯t realize we were at a slave auction. Last I checked, buying and selling human beings is illegal in this country.¡±


    Cadence described her time with Buck as a literal nightmare. He was such a narcissistic jerk that calling him narcissistic doesn¡¯t even do it justice¡ªhe made narcissists look likable.


    I mentioned that most shows in Little Bird portray people in stereotypical ways. The positive ones are hardworking, love their jobs, and have great time management. The negative ones love to fight and have short tempers. But people here just laugh and don¡¯t get their underwear in a bunch.


    Cadence mentioned how ironic it is that she and Mitchell are friends with Buck¡¯s mother and sister. Buck¡¯s mother married into old money, but instead of splurging, she took over her husband¡¯s business and made him work, eventually becoming the school principal. This might be because the town didn¡¯t require many qualifications for the role, or he was simply the best option available.


    Buck¡¯s sister, Sarah, is the complete opposite of him. While Buck uses his family¡¯s money and power to get out of trouble, Sarah is kind, lovable, and prefers to make her own way in life. She doesn¡¯t rely on her father¡¯s position or the family¡¯s wealth to bail her out. She believes in taking responsibility for her actions and working for what she wants.


    It¡¯s quite amusing how the father and son use their money and influence to avoid consequences, while the mother and sister are all about hard work and accountability. It¡¯s a stark contrast that makes you appreciate the different paths people choose, even within the same family.


    When I asked Cadence about her and Mitchell¡¯s wedding, she told me her mother walked her down the aisle. She doesn¡¯t know where her father is, but she knows he¡¯s not at Clearlake Cemetery. She visits the cemetery with Mitchell on his birthday and whenever he goes to put flowers on his mother¡¯s grave, which he does twice a month¡ªon the first and in the middle of the month.


    Mitchell shared that his mother and stepfather died on his sixth birthday. At that time, Lucy and Natalie were 27, Ashley was 23, Mitchell had just turned 6, Twilight was almost 4, and their half-sister Mackenzie was 1. After their parents¡¯ death, Ashley, Mitchell, Twilight, and Mackenzie were taken in by their Aunt and Uncle Orange. Lucy was undergoing a psych evaluation to stay in the army, and Natalie was off the grid, honing her survival skills.


    Mitchell mentioned he would have preferred living with Lucy because she¡¯s the cool, supportive sister. She always puts her siblings¡¯ mental health first, letting them talk to her about anything and offering a shoulder to cry on. When Mitchell and his friends played baseball in junior high and football in high school, Lucy, who works at a little pizzeria, would treat them to freshly made pizza bagels or give them two XL pizzas for half the price, often covering the rest herself.


    Lucy only had one serious boyfriend, and they were supposed to marry. However, she broke up with him because he would defend her against others but always bent to his parents¡¯ whims. The final straw was when she overheard him telling his mother that if they had a child, he would give the baby to his sister to raise. That was too much for Lucy. My dad always said, ¡°When you marry someone, you also marry their family, so be careful who you marry.¡± Lucy definitely dodged a bullet there. She even got an indefinite restraining order against her ex-boyfriend and his entire family.


    In a small town like Clearlake, where everyone knows each other and the town center is the hub, it¡¯s hard to avoid running into people. The roads are designed to lead to the town center, where the town hall and main stores are located. With a population of 5,500, everyone passes through the town plaza, whether by car, on foot, or by bike.


    Absolutely, the layout of Clearlake really does make it a close-knit community. With Main Street, 2nd St, 4th St, and 5th Street surrounding the town plaza, and connecting roads like Bacon St, Blueberry St, and 7th St linking everything together.


    In a town of 5,500 people, rumors and truths spread like wildfire. When people heard about a man wanting to give his future child to his sister, it definitely stirred up some negative gossip. But the folks in Clearlake are smart¡ªthey don¡¯t blame products for bad outcomes. They understand that it¡¯s the actions of individuals that matter. They won¡¯t blame a car for vehicular manslaughter or a violent video game for someone¡¯s actions. As Mitchell puts it, ¡°We¡¯re not the top species on the planet because we¡¯re nice. We¡¯re the top species on the planet of fighting and killing.¡±


    Mitchell shared that his father, a Vietnam veteran, was quite different from his grandfather and uncles. While his father was pro-war, he didn¡¯t want his medals and got rid of them, which offended some people. However, his grandfather, a veteran of World War I, World War II, and the Korean War, along with his brothers who fought in World War II and the Korean War, supported his decision. They believed that if he wasn¡¯t comfortable with the medals, he had the right to get rid of them. They even said that medals should be awarded for playing sports, not for killing others. They wore their medals with pride, seeing themselves as part of a larger effort to fight tyranny.


    Mitchell has mixed feelings about medals. He believes that while many soldiers do the same things, medals and trophies should be reserved for achievements in sports.


    When I asked Mitchell and Cadence about loans, they both emphasized the importance of getting everything in writing. In Little Bird, verbal contracts aren¡¯t valid in court because they can lead to confusion and disputes. Cadence, despite her IQ being in the early 90s, wisely pointed out that oral contracts are difficult to enforce and can lead to inconsistent outcomes. Mitchell agreed, noting that recorded oral contracts are valid, but it¡¯s always better to have things in writing.


    I brought this up because my stepmom, Martha, wanted me to help pay for my stepbrother¡¯s college tuition. I took her to a lawyer to get a written contract, with the lawyer acting as a third party. Mitchell said that was a smart move, ensuring everything was clear and legally binding and having a witness and an unbiased third party.


    I asked Mitchell about his experience in the military, and he had some strong opinions. He appreciates the uniformity but dislikes the fanaticism among leaders. He explained that squad, platoon, company, battalion, and regimental leaders often push their soldiers to fight to the death, even against stronger units. This fanaticism means that soldiers who flee without orders can be executed for desertion, which is considered a capital offense.


    Mitchell also talked about the cooperation between the different divisions in Little Bird. Infantry protects armor, armor protects infantry, and air supports both. He emphasized, ¡°For plans to work, cooperation must be perfect.¡± However, he noted that armored vehicles and aircraft are prohibited from firing on buildings unless engaged by enemy combatants inside, to prevent civilian casualties.


    Cadence likened this cooperation to a ballet, but I pointed out that soldiers aren¡¯t dancers.


    Mitchell mentioned the capabilities of Little Bird¡¯s tanks. The M1 and M1A1 Main Battle Tanks have a firing range of one mile, while the M2 and M2A2 can fire up to two miles. However, in urban combat, this range isn¡¯t as impressive since enemy combatants can be hidden in any building, making it difficult to distinguish between combatants and civilians.


    I switched the conversation back to shopping and asked why they go on Saturdays. Mitchell explained that he¡¯s been in Clearlake for twenty years, and when he used to shop with his mom before she passed, they noticed that items not sold from Monday to Friday get marked down for the weekend. This helps clear out inventory for new stock arriving on Friday nights. People take advantage of sales like ¡°buy two, get one free,¡± making their money go further. For example, canned goods usually cost 12 cents each, but sometimes they drop to three cents, allowing people to buy four cans for the price of one. Mitchell summed it up, ¡°Saturday is the best¡± because that¡¯s when grocery stores want to sell off their remaining stock, and people do most of their shopping after getting paid on Fridays.


    Mitchell and Cadence are savvy shoppers, comparing prices to get the best deals. Little Bird¡¯s currency is backed by gold, which limits the government¡¯s ability to print money and keeps the national debt in check. This makes the dollar here worth more than elsewhere. Specialists work to keep inflation low, even during wartime, ensuring prices remain realistic. No one wants to pay three bucks for a loaf of bread or twenty bucks for a pound of ground beef.


    Emily, who had been quiet, chimed in, mentioning that in the comic book she reads, money is backed by water because it¡¯s set in a wasteland.


    I asked Emily about the comic book she reads about the wasteland. She says it¡¯s a good comic book but it touches on touchy subjects like narcotics so it¡¯s not sold in comic book stores or anywhere else that sells comic books. Only a select few places are willing to sell anything with the AO rating then if a store does sell anything with the AO rating then no one under eighteen is allowed to enter without a parent or legal guardian for obvious reasons.


    I shifted the conversation to school, and Emily, Cadence, and Mitchell shared their thoughts on the education system here. They acknowledged that while it¡¯s not perfect, it¡¯s different. Schools teach basic life skills and general knowledge, preparing students who enter the workforce right after high school. They explained that the education system caters to different learning speeds¡ªfast learners, slow learners, and those in between. Teachers here encourage creativity rather than strict adherence to instructions.


    Mitchell added that education is a lifelong process. People teach their babies, teachers educate kids and teenagers, and adults continue learning through work or further education. Emily emphasized that it¡¯s okay to think creatively and learn from failure. She mentioned that famous scientists, artists, and musicians never gave up on their ideas, even when they faced setbacks.


    Emily also shared a historical tidbit about Little Bird experimenting with ¡°salted bombs¡± in the late 1930s for homeland defense. However, the idea was shelved due to the inability to control radiation. Mitchell explained that during the final months of World War II, Little Bird¡¯s military and government were working on nuclear weapons prototypes. Experts had to convince military leaders about the dangers of radiation, explaining it in simple terms like, ¡°Radiation blowing onto enemies is good. Radiation blowing onto our own troops is bad.¡±


    Mitchell and Emily went on about how Little Bird tried to create an atomic bomb in the 1930s but lacked enough educated people in radioactivity and nuclear theory. Near the end of World War II, efforts were made to capture German nuclear secrets, equipment, and personnel. The LBIAOSA (Little Bird Intelligence Agency Office of Strategic Actions) was ahead of the Soviets in retrieving or eliminating Nazi scientists. They warned the scientists that the Soviets would likely kill them once they were no longer useful. Of course they didn¡¯t know at the time that the Soviets sent said scientists to East Germany in the early 50s.


    Mitchell also mentioned that the LBIAOSA isn¡¯t as incompetent as the media portrays. They¡¯re cautious about defectors, ensuring they¡¯re trustworthy and not relaying information back to their own troops.


    I changed the subject to family. Cadence only knows her mom and aunt, with little knowledge of her father¡¯s side. Mitchell¡¯s family, the Watersons, are close-knit. Emily described her family as toxic, sharing how her aunt wanted her to let her niece, her deadbeat boyfriend, and their eight kids move into the penthouse she shares with James Waterson 4th. Emily refused, pointing out that James is the main renter and breaking the lease would incur hefty fines. She also mentioned that some family members have been institutionalized or imprisoned, highlighting the dysfunction.


    I was shocked, ¡°A family of ten people begging to live rent-free and be 100% financially supported?¡±


    Emily replied, ¡°Yes, my aunt called me a few times wanting me to take in my niece, her deadbeat boyfriend, and their eight kids because their house is too small. If they stopped having babies every eighteen months, they¡¯d have the space. Just because someone runs out of space in their house doesn¡¯t mean they should keep having kids.¡±


    Mitchell believes that people should only have kids if they can support them. He pointed out that constantly having children, especially if one parent refuses to work and the other is frequently on maternity leave, isn¡¯t sustainable. In Little Bird, maternity leave typically starts between the 20th and 30th week of pregnancy and lasts until two months after the baby is born, depending on the company. Most companies start leave around the 25th week and extend it for a month after birth. To prevent abuse of this benefit, there¡¯s a ¡°Cooldown effect¡± in place, which dictates how long an employee must wait before they can use the benefit again. This ensures that employees, regardless of gender, can¡¯t misuse their paid time off (PTO).


    When I asked about their living space, Emily explained that her niece and her family live in a starter apartment. It¡¯s a small, cramped place meant for one or two people, with a narrow kitchen and combined laundry room. It¡¯s the kind of place people get when they first move out of their parents¡¯ house, saving up until they can afford a house.


    In Little Bird, apartments are a cheaper alternative to houses and are often the first step towards independence. People save up to either put a down payment on a house or cover the security deposit and first month¡¯s rent. Houses are seen as the big leagues, offering more space and privacy but also more responsibilities, like lawn care. Apartments, on the other hand, are more affordable and practical for those starting out.


    When I asked Emily about their living space, she shared that her niece and her family are in one of those classic starter apartments. You know the type, small, cramped, meant for one or two people. It has a narrow kitchen and a combined laundry room. It¡¯s the kind of place you get right after moving out of your parents¡¯ house, a stepping stone until you save up for something bigger.


    For me, apartment life isn''t just about cost. I have my deluxe apartment with its black-and-white tiled kitchen floor, hardwood elsewhere, and wallpapered rooms. It¡¯s designed for a small family, but my extra room is my armory since I''m not married and don¡¯t have kids. I love how low maintenance it is compared to a house. Plus, everything''s within walking distance. My building even has an on-site laundromat in the basement.


    Emily and James? Their apartment''s got a laundromat just across the street and they''re lucky enough to live across the street from a strip mall with a bank, laundromat, gas station, warehouse supermarket, and an appliance store. Their building has this little club where everyone swaps tips on bulk shopping to make things last longer.


    I just shook my head, thinking about how different everyone is. Emily went on about her messed-up family, mentioning relatives in mental hospitals or prisons for various offenses. She explained that some got locked up for attacking peace officers, like throwing coffee at a cop, which is considered assault. Her family members in prison often extend their sentences by attacking weaker inmates or corrections officers before meeting the parole board.


    Emily said the women in her family are even worse than the men. When I asked how bad, she compared them to Veruca Salt from ¡°Willy Wonka,¡± but even more insane. They¡¯re mean, evil, and will defend each other¡¯s crimes, committing perjury without a second thought. Emily considers herself the only sane one, with a career and a clean record. Her family, on the other hand, acts without thinking about consequences, doing illegal and stupid things just because they can.


    She shared a story about a cousin who robbed a convenience store to impress friends. The store was packed, and customers jumped him, calling the cops. When he broke free, he ran straight into the waiting police. Emily said her family makes amateur criminals look like pros, which is saying something.


    I nearly burst out laughing at the absurdity. The idea of someone being so foolish as to rob a store full of people, only to get caught immediately, was just too much. It really highlighted the lack of planning and sheer stupidity involved.


    Emily also shared how insensitive her family can be. Some of her nephews met her husband, Jimmy ¡°James¡± Richard Waterson IV, and they cruelly reminded him of his father¡¯s tragic death. James IV lost his father, Jimmy ¡°James¡± Richard Waterson III, in 1984 when an experimental aircraft he was testing exploded on the runway. Her nephews even suggested that if Emily and James IV had kids, they might meet the same fate. Emily had to stop James IV from responding harshly, but she warned her nieces that next time, she wouldn¡¯t hold him back.


    Emily¡¯s family also keeps suggesting baby names, but she and James IV don¡¯t care if they have children or not. If they do, they¡¯ll choose the names themselves.


    Emily emphasized that her family doesn¡¯t teach accountability. They get a rude awakening when society holds them accountable, which isn¡¯t pleasant. Kids fighting is one thing, but when they start assaulting others, it becomes a serious issue. Her family doesn¡¯t care about morals or consequences, and many of them end up in trouble with the law. Emily considers herself the only sane one, with a career and a clean record. She shared a story about borrowing a pencil from her 5th-grade teacher and returning it a year later, highlighting her sense of responsibility.


    Her family, on the other hand, acts without thinking about the consequences, doing illegal and stupid things. Emily mentioned a cousin who robbed a convenience store to impress friends, only to get caught immediately. It¡¯s a stark contrast to her own approach to life, where she values accountability and responsibility.


    Emily shared how her family expects her to take in her niece, her lazy boyfriend, and their eight kids. They live in a one-bedroom starter apartment, which is meant for people just starting out, not for a family of ten. Mitchell asked what the boyfriend does all day, and Emily said he just sits at home watching TV, not even helping with chores. He was classified as 4F by the military because he can¡¯t walk straight, but he uses his supposed disability as an excuse to avoid work, even though he can walk normally.


    Cadence pointed out that there are genuinely disabled people who still work and live independently. She mentioned a girl from school whose father, despite having only one hand, works as a groundskeeper at a cemetery. Mitchell, Cadence, and I all agreed that the boyfriend just wants people to feel sorry for him, while truly disabled people don¡¯t seek pity and live their lives as normally as possible. Mitchell mentioned that many men in his platoon had to leave the military due to injuries that required them to use wheelchairs.


    Emily also mentioned that her niece is on food stamps to get more food, but they still go to the store every other day because the boyfriend eats most of it. It¡¯s frustrating to see someone take advantage of the system while others genuinely need help and make the most of their situations.


    Mitchell and I suggested that Emily¡¯s niece and her boyfriend look into public housing or housing projects, which are half the price of normal rent. They might also qualify for subsidized housing.


    Curious, I asked Emily about her and James IV¡¯s rent. She explained they live in a fancy apartment building with on-site security, reception, and CCTV. The basic rent is $90/month, but their penthouse costs $105/month. The extra cost is worth it for the security and monitoring. Recently, Emily¡¯s mother called to say her niece and her lazy boyfriend broke into Emily¡¯s house. Emily laughed it off, saying they were lucky the homeowner didn¡¯t press charges. Her actual house is in the forest, requiring a half-hour hike from the parking lot, and her family doesn¡¯t know where it is.


    Mitchell remarked that Emily¡¯s niece and her boyfriend were lucky. He would have pressed charges. Emily told her family that if they want her to take in her niece and her family, they should do it themselves. They always stutter or hang up because they don¡¯t practice what they preach, even though they have space.


    Emily shared that some family members lost their businesses due to poor decisions, like showing up drunk to meetings with high-paying clients. When they sued the clients who pulled out, they made fools of themselves in court.


    For her bachelorette party, some female family members took Emily to a luxury restaurant. They wanted a single bill, hoping Emily would pay for everyone. When the $6,000 bill came, Emily only paid for her portion. The others walked out without paying and were arrested for dine and dashing. Mitchell joked, asking if the food came on gold platters. Emily explained that her family ordered multiple expensive items.


    Before the dining fiasco, her family tried to convince her to cheat on James IV, saying it was her last chance before marriage. Emily refused, sticking to her principles. They claimed James IV was cheating during his bachelor party, but Emily didn¡¯t care as long as he didn¡¯t cheat. She later found out they just had a few drinks, watched a sports game, had some chicken wings, chips, dip and a few cold beers, and had no inappropriate interactions.


    I tried to wrap my head around the $6,000 bill, but Mitchell pointed out that Emily¡¯s family members committed grand larceny. In the Boroughs of Mountain, Starfish, and Cascade, grand larceny is anything over $50. Emily lives in Starfish, which is about a 12-hour drive from here, depending on traffic and weather. Mitchell added that in the Boroughs of Bluejay and Strawberry, grand larceny is $25 and $60 or higher, respectively.


    Mitchell found it amusing that Emily¡¯s family expected her to pay the entire bill for her bachelorette party. In their town, it¡¯s customary for the friends and family to cover the cost so the bride or groom can save for their honeymoon. It¡¯s the opposite of what Emily¡¯s family did.


    When we asked about Mitchell and Cadence¡¯s bachelor and bachelorette parties, Mitchell said he was just playing football and baseball with friends and family. Cadence spent hers at home playing board games with her mother.


    I shared how, back in America, I used to watch tabloid talk shows filled with controversial topics, profanity, fights, and scantily clad guests. Mitchell, Cadence, and Emily were taken aback. In Little Bird, TV shows focus on family-friendly values, and anything as controversial as those American shows wouldn¡¯t fly here. While shows here might depict fighting, it¡¯s never as extreme as what I used to watch.


    The pork chops were so good that I wanted more, but Mitchell said they were all gone. I thanked Cadence for making them, but she told me it was actually Mitchell who cooked them, using his mother¡¯s recipe for tender and juicy pork chops. I have no idea what¡¯s in that recipe book, but it must be something special. His mother had years of experience, cooking from 1961 at the age of seventeen until her death in 1996 at fifty-two.


    Maybe one day I¡¯ll try to make them myself, either diving in headfirst or asking Mitchell for the recipe. It would be nice to recreate that delicious meal.


    Mitchell shared how his mother loved to cook and experiment with new recipes. She worked as a cook at his friend Sam¡¯s father¡¯s restaurant and was often up at 2 or 3 in the morning trying out new dishes. One of her experiments was a steak and pork chop mix, which Mitchell said was just okay. However, her Salisbury steak with mac and cheese was a hit, especially with the mac and cheese covered in Salisbury steak gravy. We all agreed that it was a delicious combination.


    Emily mentioned that she still lives as if wartime rationing is in effect. She sometimes makes a T-bone steak out of ground beef, which ends up tasting like meatloaf. She¡¯s eco-friendly but not a vegetarian, and she likes to make more out of less. Emily still uses her wartime rationing cookbook and believes in making things last longer, unlike many people who quickly replace what they run out of.


    Emily also talked about how, during the war, gas was rationed. Single people or those without kids got an ¡°A¡± sticker for 4 gallons of gas per week. Workers in the military industry got a ¡°B¡± sticker for up to 8 gallons, and essential personnel like doctors got a ¡°C¡± sticker. Clergy, police, firemen, and civil defense workers had ¡°X¡± stickers for unlimited supplies. Little Bird has issued rationing before, learning from the UK and the US to make the process smoother.


    Emily likes to live as if wartime rationing is still in effect. It helps her drive more carefully, saving fuel and tires. She¡¯s seen too many people speeding, getting pulled over, or blowing out their tires from reckless driving. She mostly buys fruits and veggies, with a few meat products, because meat is expensive. This forces her to think about whether to spend more on meat or find cheaper alternatives. It¡¯s a way to shop more logically, using ration stamps and cash wisely.


    Emily and Cadence talked about how, during the war, meat and canned goods were the most expensive because they were also sent to the troops. People even gave their grease and fats to the military to make glycerin for explosives. Mitchell added that wars are fought by public opinion, especially since the mid 20th century that war can be broadcasted from the front lines into people¡¯s homes. This connection makes those working in defense factories and on farms feel more involved in the war effort.


    Mitchell mentioned how, before TV, citizens had to rely on government-controlled newspapers, which often censored information to keep morale high. Even if the war was going poorly, the government would claim they were winning to maintain public support. Nowadays, even with some censorship, the horrors of war can be broadcasted directly into people¡¯s homes, allowing them to see the reality and judge the government¡¯s truthfulness. I added that Vietnam was the first televised war, and we all know how that ended.


    When we talked about holidays, I shared how, back in America, my family would eat Thanksgiving dinner quickly to catch the football game. Kids and teenagers ate in the dining room, while adults could eat in the living room with the game on.


    Little Bird has ¡°Little Bird Unification Day,¡± which sounds like something from a horror show but actually celebrates the unification of the five tribes. It¡¯s a mix of Thanksgiving and the Fourth of July, celebrating unity and independence.


    One thing I love about Little Bird is the emphasis on economic value and skill. At Arcane University, I learned that sports teams pay more for skilled players, just like businesses value experienced employees. We were also taught the importance of independent thinking over tribalism. It¡¯s better to form your own opinions rather than just going along with the majority, much like how Galileo challenged the belief that the Sun revolved around the Earth.


    Living in Little Bird feels like being in a superpower country, similar to the United States before World War I and in the Interwar period. Little Bird has a strong military, a robust economy, and abundant resources. The country is always prepared for war, with ten million soldiers, half of whom are regular soldiers and marines, and the other half are militia. The industrial capacity to replace anything is impressive, ensuring readiness at all times.


    Emily asked me about my time at Arcane University, and I couldn¡¯t help but share the reality check it provided. Many of my classmates quickly learned that excuses like ¡°My dog ate my homework¡± didn¡¯t cut it. Balancing classes and part-time jobs was tough, and when they asked for extensions, professors would often respond with, ¡°It¡¯s not my problem that you can¡¯t manage your time.¡± It was a stark reminder that in the real world, deadlines are strict, and extensions aren¡¯t always granted.


    In high school, we were used to having plenty of free time after classes. But at Arcane University, it was a different story. Between classes, work, and for some, sports practice, free time became a rare luxury. It was a tough adjustment for many who struggled to balance everything.


    My professors also emphasized the importance of not surrendering too much power to the government during crises, as it often leads to a long-term loss of freedoms. They taught us to rely on our communities rather than the government to get through tough times. This lesson was tied to the causes of many revolutions and civil wars, where people rise up against oppressive governments.


    I really felt for the student-athletes. Their schedules were brutal¡ªpractice on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Saturday, with a game on Friday. If it was a home game, they had a warm-up game, but no real rest unless they were on defense. For away games, at least they could rest on the bus.


    I also encountered a few entitled students who thought they could slack off and rely on their parents to bail them out if they failed. They expected their parents to pressure the school into changing their grades or letting them retake tests. Some professors were kind enough to offer make-up tests, but that was rare. At Arcane University, you needed an 80% to pass, and some entitled students scored as low as 5% because they didn¡¯t take it seriously. While some students were allowed to retake the final before grades were finalized, the entitled ones weren¡¯t. They couldn¡¯t make up for all the missed tests and the finals within 48 hours.


    I had professors who dealt with parents feeding into their child¡¯s entitlement, demanding to know why their son or daughter wasn¡¯t passing. Some professors were willing to let students redo tests for a better grade, but not for those who skipped every Friday to avoid tests and only showed up for the final. These entitled students learned the hard way that the real world doesn¡¯t cater to them. If you don¡¯t play by the rules, you face the consequences.


    On the first day, my professors emphasized that tests were 30% of our grades, classwork was 20%, and finals were 50%. There were five finals¡ªone for each semester and one comprehensive final at the end of the year.


    I was about to say something, but Mitchell jumped in, explaining that once a grade is entered into the system, it can¡¯t be changed. If it were altered to make a student look better without doing the work, that would be a crime. My father always says, ¡°Once it¡¯s done, it¡¯s done. Nothing you can do about it,¡± and that¡¯s true. Some of my professors were kind enough to let students take missed tests in the hallway, but many entitled students blew off these opportunities, thinking they didn¡¯t need to do the tests.


    Even almost a decade later, I remember how tests and finals made up the majority of our grades. Most professors weren¡¯t lenient; if you missed a test or final, it was held against you. Some professors allowed make-up tests on Monday for those who missed Friday¡¯s test, but it was up to the students to take advantage of that. Refusing to take the make-up test meant losing 30% of their grade.


    I told them about some guys who tried to flirt with me into doing their schoolwork. I told them to beat it because balancing university work, a part-time job, and life was already hard enough. I worked as a grocery store stocker, either at night or during the day, depending on the schedule. I mostly studied during lunch breaks or on the bus to and from work and my great-granduncle Jimmy ¡°James¡± Waterson I¡¯s villa, which he let me use to live off-campus. Balancing school, work, and life was tough, but I managed.


    I shared a story about missing a test due to being under the weather. Despite having a doctor¡¯s note, my professor pulled me aside and gave me the option to make up the test or skip it and fail. I chose to take the test, sitting in the hallway for an hour. It was better than being distracted in the classroom, and my classes were two hours each.


    I really disliked my entitled classmates. Their parents spoiled them, giving them money and buying them whatever they wanted without considering the consequences. Some even made fun of me for working as a supermarket stocker. Thankfully, some parents called out their spoiled kids for mocking those who worked to put themselves through school, but others didn¡¯t care.


    I appreciated everything I earned through hard work. Some entitled kids eventually had their parents cut them off, forcing them to get jobs. They quickly learned that making money is hard, but losing it is easy. Many business owners here in Little Bird and across the world went to school for business and finance while working part-time jobs. When entitled kids finally got jobs, they realized the pay wasn¡¯t as high as their allowance and learned the value of money the hard way.


    I knew entitled kids at Arcane University whose parents gave them credit cards for emergencies with $5,000 or $10,000 limits. They blew through that money in a single day, showing their lack of money management. In Little Bird, where prices haven¡¯t changed since 1960, that¡¯s a lot of money to waste so quickly.


    Mitchell, Cadence, and Emily said in unison that if their professor allowed them to make up a missed test, they would take it. They wouldn¡¯t just say ¡°Oh well¡± and skip it, especially since tests and exams made up the majority of their grade.


    Cadence, despite having a low IQ, said she would try to catch up on what she missed instead of slacking off. When report cards came out, she wouldn¡¯t lie to her mother, saying she wanted to do it but the professor wouldn¡¯t let her. At a university where many professors say, ¡°Well, it¡¯s your fault,¡± and won¡¯t let you make up missed work, it¡¯s crucial to take advantage of any opportunity to catch up. Those who blew off these chances learned the hard way that the real world doesn¡¯t cater to them.


    Cadence shared that she couldn¡¯t lie to her mother because her mom was like a human lie detector. If she ever tried, her mom would be on her case for a week. Despite her low IQ, Cadence¡¯s mom was always ready to drop everything to help her. She even offered to pay for Cadence¡¯s college or university education, but Cadence chose not to go. She felt more comfortable staying at home rather than being out and about.


    Mitchell, on the other hand, loved seeing entitled kids get a reality check. He appreciated when people were given second chances, like some of my professors who allowed students to make up missed tests. Some professors even let students retake tests if they weren¡¯t satisfied with their grades, as long as they asked by the following Friday. Mitchell pointed out how lucky my classmates and I were to have such understanding professors. He had teachers in elementary, junior high, and high school who were strict¡ªonce you turned in a test, that was it. No second chances.


    At Arcane University, 98% of the professors were strict about missed work. If you missed something, you had to rely on your classmates or a tutor to catch up because it would be on the test that Friday. Some students just winged it, hoping for the best.


    Mitchell emphasized how fortunate we were to have professors who allowed us to catch up or make up missed work. He said that in his experience, once a grade was entered, it was final. Having professors who were willing to give second chances was a rare and valuable opportunity.


    When Cadence asked how I managed to get through university, I explained that while my dad covered the tuition, I still took on a part-time job to help with expenses. I earned $27 a week, which added up to $1,404 a year. I categorized students into four groups:


    <ol>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Those who work and pay for their own tuition.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Those who work but have their tuition paid by their parents.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Those who receive scholarships and don¡¯t work.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Those who are entitled and have their parents pay for everything but are a huge pain.</li>


    </ol>


    I fell into the second category. Many students worked various jobs¡ªsome honest but low-paying, others higher-paying but soul-draining or even illegitimate. Personally, I believe that if someone takes pride in their job, that¡¯s what matters.


    I also mentioned that some of my classmates had parents who were even worse. These parents would get their kids into Arcane University, pay the tuition, and then drop them off without a second thought, essentially abandoning them to learn life on their own. To me, that¡¯s fifty shades of fucked up beyond all repair. These parents often neglected their kids, only to reappear when their children became successful or wealthy, hoping to benefit from their success.


    When these parents tried to sue their successful children, my classmates would hire the best lawyers to dismantle their parents¡¯ cases and expose their lies. In Little Bird, liars are often exposed because their stories don¡¯t match the truth. This experience taught me a lot about resilience and the importance of standing up for oneself.


    Mitchell often says, ¡°All children deserve parents, but not all parents deserve to have kids.¡± It¡¯s a harsh truth that resonates with many of us. I shared with him how some students I know have family members who seem to have never read "The Boy Who Cried Wolf." These family members often claim to be sick, using excuses like ¡°I have cancer¡± to gain sympathy, even when they¡¯re perfectly fine. Over time, this constant lying backfires.


    I explained that, just like in the story, the moral is clear. ¡°This shows how liars are rewarded, even if they tell the truth, no one believes them.¡± When people repeatedly lie about being sick, eventually, no one believes them, even if they genuinely fall ill. It¡¯s a sad reality.


    After giving my plate to Mitchell I went to lay down on Rose¡¯s bed while Emily went and slept on Mckinney¡¯s bed.

 Chapter Twenty-Four

    Sleeping in a bed meant for a four-to-eleven-year-old was a trip down memory lane. It had been ages since I slept in a child¡¯s bed, but here I was, feet dangling off the edge. I had to turn the blanket lengthwise to cover myself, but it still only reached from my ankles to my upper chest. Surprisingly, it was as cozy as a bug in a rug.


    The room wasn¡¯t too cold, which was a relief. When I got up to use the bathroom, I checked the thermostat¡ªit read 72¡ãF. Perfect for me. Back in Alabama, Dad kept it at 68¡ãF year-round. In North Carolina, he adjusted it with the seasons: 79-84¡ãF in autumn and winter, and 65-77¡ãF in spring and summer, depending on the weather.


    Living in Little Bird, though, was a whole different ball game. The country¡¯s tropical monsoon climate means it rains non-stop from June 1st to June 21st. The downpour could reach up to 5 inches per hour, and in ''81, it hit a record 470 inches over those 21 days while normally it¡¯s 105 inches within those 21 days. Quite the contrast to my childhood homes.


    At 6:50 AM, I rolled out of bed and opened the bedroom door, greeted by the mouthwatering aroma of chocolate chip waffles, sausage, and freshly brewed coffee. The night before, my mind had been buzzing with thoughts about Emily¡¯s bachelorette party. Her female relatives had racked up a staggering 6,000 Little Bird Dollars bill. When I did the math, that translated to a jaw-dropping $44,200.52 in USD.


    It got me thinking about the currency conversion and the cost of living here in Little Bird. The average income is 5,500 Little Bird Dollars, which equals $40,517.16 in USD. That¡¯s quite a chunk of change. I paused to consider how much money that really is, especially since the priciest item on a restaurant menu here is a steak dinner for just $3.50, or $25.75 in US dollars. It¡¯s fascinating how different the economies are.


    Living in Little Bird has given me a deep appreciation for our unique economic system. Unlike many countries, our government can¡¯t just print money whenever it wants because our currency is backed by gold. This prevents the kind of inflation that happens when money is backed only by trust and faith in the government, which can be easily manipulated.


    The only times our currency isn¡¯t widely used are during wars and crises, thanks to our rationing system. It¡¯s a far cry from colonial times when the Little Bird Crow¡ªour gold and silver coins¡ªwere backed by water.


    I remember asking an economics professor at Arcane University why our currency is still backed by gold. He explained that it provides long-term price stability, prevents deficit spending, and forces the government to be more disciplined. He went on a passionate tirade about how printing money can lead to inflation. He also mentioned that the Little Bird Federal Reserve has a system where old currency is destroyed every seven years, and only the same amount is reprinted, maintaining a stable money supply.


    Back in colonial times, the government didn¡¯t have much experience with managing money. During recessions, they would shave down gold and silver coins to create more coins, which decreased their value. It¡¯s fascinating to see how far we¡¯ve come since then.


    I remember how the same economist professor said how it forces the country''s ability to wage war too and forces the country to have a balanced defense budget and well he said and I quote, ¡°A gold standard puts limits on government power by restricting the ability to print money at will and increase the national debt.¡±


    The professor also pointed out that, unlike the rest of the world, the Little Bird Dollar isn¡¯t backed by the faith of the government. He explained that one major risk of fiat money is that governments can print too much of it, leading to hyperinflation.


    When he mentioned Germany¡¯s hyperinflation, I chimed in, noting that it was largely due to war reparations. The Reichsbank¡¯s response was to print unlimited notes, which only sped up the devaluation of the mark. By 1923, banknotes had become so worthless that people used them as wallpaper.


    Reflecting on that conversation, the professor did reassure me that our government employs financial experts to keep things running smoothly and maintain price stability. Sure, prices here in Little Bird fluctuate, but that¡¯s normal everywhere. One day, three pounds of ground beef might cost 86 cents, and the next day it could drop to 70 cents or rise to a dollar. It¡¯s just the nature of market dynamics.


    I went downstairs to join Mitchell and Cadence for breakfast in which they¡¯re still making it in which it¡¯s not ready. But I just went over to the coffee pot that¡¯s made of steel but it gently slopes inwards but it¡¯s wide and unlike a glass coffee pot well the one that Mitchell and Cadence has well as said it¡¯s made of steel and it can be used on a stove top to make coffee. My guess is that water is in the bottom and the coffee grounds are on the top and the heat makes the grounds come down into the water without the need for a filter.


    I went over and got a coffee cup to pour the coffee in and it was steaming hot shows that it¡¯s fresh.


    As Mitchell started making the waffles, he began making whooshing sounds. I figured it was a habit from his time in the army. The Little Bird Military is unique in its variety of tanks. They have everything from regular main battle tanks to rocket launcher tanks, flamethrower tanks, and armored recovery vehicles.


    The rocket launcher tanks, in particular, have a fascinating role. During the war, their primary purpose was to wreak havoc on large areas of enemy defenses. The sheer firepower they could unleash was designed to break through fortified positions and create chaos among enemy ranks. It¡¯s quite a sight to imagine, and it makes you appreciate the strategic diversity of Little Bird¡¯s military forces.


    As I sat at the kitchen table, sipping my coffee and munching on a dinner roll, I overheard Mitchell and Cadence discussing plans for Star¡¯s 39th birthday next year. Cadence was considering frozen appetizers for their convenience but wondered if they were cost-effective. Mitchell explained that while some frozen appetizers can be budget-friendly, it often makes more sense to do it yourself. Depends on the party.


    He suggested that they should plan for guests to eat about five to eight pieces each and calculate the cost per piece to avoid any budget surprises or running out of food. For example, making a DIY veggie tray is much cheaper than buying pre-cut ones, which can cost around three bucks each. Similarly, homemade wraps are a great option. By buying turkey, lunch meat, and Swiss cheese, and using a bag of thirty soft tortilla shells, they could make about two hundred wraps once cut up.


    Mitchell pointed out that many people go over budget because they rely on premade items, essentially paying for the convenience. Catering is another option, but it often leads to higher costs because people just want everything done for them. He emphasized the importance of sticking to a budget if they decide to throw a party for his mother-in-law.


    Then, Mitchell mentioned he would call Sam¡¯s father to check the cost of renting a spot for Star¡¯s birthday party in 2011.


    ¡°Hey Mitchell, Cadence, if you don¡¯t mind me saying,¡± I chimed in, ¡°We¡¯re related, even though Mitchell and I are cousins. But we¡¯re the same when it comes to planning our shopping trips. I always plan what¡¯s on sale and decide what I want for dinner, lunch, and breakfast. I¡¯ve got a question, do you two track common items over a few weeks to see the prices go up and down? And when they¡¯re at their lowest, do you buy in bulk because it¡¯s cheaper?¡±


    Cadence and Mitchell nodded, sharing that they do exactly that. Sometimes they wait until prices drop before stocking up, ensuring they get the best deals.


    Cadence shared that she took home economics, and her teachers had some great advice. They emphasized that it¡¯s better to buy items when they¡¯re at their lowest price. Around holidays, grocery stores often have signs at the entrances highlighting what¡¯s on sale for that holiday, along with the total price for all those items.


    Her teachers also stressed the importance of comparing prices to save money. They advised against buying packaged veggies because you¡¯re essentially paying extra for the convenience of someone slicing it up for them. Instead, it¡¯s more cost-effective to buy whole veggies, wash, and slice them yourself. The same goes for meats¡ªunsliced versions are almost always cheaper than pre-sliced ones. Additionally, they recommended opting for frozen foods over fresh ones, as fresh foods tend to be more expensive. Cadence said how she¡¯s not a fan of pre-sliced meat because of how people like different cut slices like thicker or thinner slices.


    Mitchell said it started with his mother. Every Saturday, she would arrive at the store at 7 AM sharp and wouldn¡¯t leave until 3 PM. She treated it like a treasure hunt, spending those eight hours scouring for the cheapest deals and planning the week¡¯s dinners based on what was on sale. Then came his mother-in-law, just like her, treating the store like a battlefield where every penny saved was a victory.


    Shopping with Star, on the other hand, was a completely different experience. Star always had a clipboard with a meticulously detailed list, complete with the aisles where each item could be found.


    Here in Little Bird, without the internet, people still rely on Sunday papers and the like to get their coupons. Those who took home economics in school were taught how to shop strategically, not just throw random items into the cart. Schools here drill into students the importance of discerning right from wrong and making decisions based on personal values rather than blindly following a team.


    In history classes, they emphasize the dangers of blindly following a group without questioning. They talk about the September Conspiracy and the July 20 plot, events that happened when people got tired of their team and decided to take action and overthrow their government or leader. They teach us that when dissent finally occurs, it¡¯s often too late because so many remain loyal to their faction, ignoring the truth.


    Mitchell¡¯s stories about Little Bird¡¯s presidents were equally fascinating. His father, for example, didn¡¯t stick to one political party for too long. Whenever a party lost sight of its principles, he¡¯d move on to another. From 1968 to 2010, he navigated through various parties like the Militarists, Loyalists, and Nationalists. Mitchell explained that Little Bird¡¯s political landscape included parties like the Capitalists, Industrialists, Intellectuals, Globalists, and Environmentalists.


    The Loyalists were especially interesting¡ªthey were fiercely loyal to their country and kept a vigilant eye on the military. Back in 1946, there was a major clash when many military officers opposed the government''s decision to offer refuge to Italian and German scientists and soldiers who weren¡¯t war criminals. These mutineers captured a research facility containing terrifying tech like single-stage ballistic missiles with atomic warheads.


    "I know how they do it," Mitchell said confidently.


    "Do what?" I asked, curious.


    "When companies run promotions, they want people to keep buying and buying to try to win. Most people stick to buying the common and popular flavors, ignoring the unpopular ones," Mitchell explained. "It''s a common trick. Companies know people will keep buying the popular flavors, so they place the winning parts in the unpopular, poor-selling ones. Only after a while do people start to realize that the lesser-known flavors hold the key to winning."


    It was a clever strategy and it made perfect sense. The companies created a game where people¡¯s habits worked against them, making them spend more money chasing the most obvious choices while the real prizes were hidden in plain sight.


    ¡°Guess the military has done some intellect on your brain, Mitchell,¡± I said with a smirk.


    Mitchell chuckled, ¡°The Little Bird Military has two main strategies: ¡®divide and conquer¡¯ and ¡®death from above.¡¯ The latter involves using Paratroopers, Paramarines, Marine commandos, Army Rangers, or Naval Tridents to launch surprise attacks behind enemy lines. They set up hidden bases close to the enemy, using stealth aircraft and maintaining radio silence. These bases allow troops to paradrop right onto the enemy¡¯s position, catching them off guard. The NCOs and Officers are highly motivated, inspiring their troops to fight fiercely, no matter the odds.


    The ¡®divide and conquer¡¯ tactic is all about misleading the enemy. Officers devise fake-out plans to shift the enemy¡¯s focus. If the enemy has a strong central defense but weaker flanks, they¡¯ll launch a fake offensive in one area, drawing the enemy¡¯s attention and resources. Once the enemy takes the bait, the real offensive strikes from the opposite flank, catching them off guard and effectively reversing the balance of power.¡±


    As the waffles and sausages were cooking, I decided to ask Mitchell about the ¡®46 mutiny. Mitchell explained that in response to the Great Mutiny of 1946, President Abigail Orange, the second female president of Little Bird, faced an incredibly tough decision. She issued an ultimatum to the loyalist forces. Either launch a pre-emptive strike against the mutineers or risk the mutineers using their captured atomic warheads to devastate half the country.


    The loyalist forces, comprising the Little Bird 1st Army and the Little Bird 2nd Army, were mobilized for this critical mission. The 1st Army included:


    <ul>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">12 Infantry Divisions: 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 4th, 5th, 7th, 8th, 9th, 10th, 11th, 12th</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">2 Armored Divisions: 1st and 2nd</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">12 Mechanized Cavalry Divisions: 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 4th, 5th, 7th, 8th, 9th, 10th, 11th, 12th</li>


    </ul>


    This force totaled 480,000 troops: 220,000 infantrymen, 40,000 tankers, and 220,000 mechanized cavalry.


    The 2nd Army included:


    <ul>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">9 Infantry Divisions: 14th, 15th, 17th, 18th, 19th, 20th, 21st, 22nd</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">2 Armored Divisions: 3rd and 4th</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">12 Cavalry Riflemen Divisions: 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 4th, 5th, 7th, 8th, 9th, 10th, 11th, 12th, 14th, 15th</li>


    </ul>


    This force totaled 460,000 troops: 420,000 infantrymen and 40,000 tankers.


    Both armies were supported by:


    <ul>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">516 artillery guns</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">1,032 anti-tank guns</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">12,000 tanks across the four armored divisions</li>


    </ul>


    The combined might of these forces, totaling 940,000 troops, was a formidable response to the mutineers. The pre-emptive strike was launched with precision, targeting the Eagle¡¯s Nest Research Facility to neutralize the threat. The mutineers, despite their fierce opposition, were significantly outmatched. They had a modest force of 5,500 soldiers, 65 heavy guns, and seven outdated light tanks from the early stages of the war. These tanks had become obsolete by 1942-43 with the introduction of heavier Panzer IVs and Tiger Is.


    Blocking their retreat was the formidable First Marine Army, consisting of:


    <ul>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">9 Marine Divisions: 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 4th, 5th, 7th, 8th, 9th</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">10th Marine Regiment</li>


    </ul>


    This force totaled 165,500 Marines, supported by:


    <ul>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">120 artillery guns and rocket artillery</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">2,000 tanks</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">120 anti-tank guns</li>


    </ul>


    The mutineers'' only escape route was to marshlands, a terrain where the Little Bird Marine Corps excelled due to its training in amphibious landings and marshland combat. The loyalist forces'' strategic positioning ensured that the mutineers were effectively trapped, with no viable means of retreat.


    The combination of overwhelming force and strategic advantage allowed the loyalist forces to swiftly neutralize the mutineers, securing the Eagle¡¯s Nest Research Facility and preventing any further threat to the nation. This decisive action not only restored order but also demonstrated the strength and preparedness of Little Bird¡¯s military. The loyalist forces were strategically positioned in camps named after historic battles, reflecting their readiness and resolve:


    <ul>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Camp Thermopylae: Home to the First Army, symbolizing the legendary stand of the Spartans.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Camp Alamo: Base for the Second Army, evoking the spirit of the defenders at the Alamo.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Camp Nelson: The First Marine Army¡¯s camp, named to honor a colonial-era Little Bird military camp that changed hands between Little Bird Army and Marines and the country of Blister Canyon during the Little Bird-Blister Canyon war of 1700-1705.Before it was razed to the ground by the Little Bird Marines as a final ¡°fuck you¡± to the country and military of Blister Canyon</li>


    </ul>


    These camps served as the staging grounds for the loyalist forces¡¯ decisive actions during the Great Mutiny of 1946. The historical significance of the names underscored the gravity of the situation and the determination of the loyalist troops to protect their nation.


    Mitchell also mentioned that the research facility created a couple of super heavy tanks at the beginning of the war. These tanks were hybrid vehicles, somewhere between a tank and a tank destroyer. Originally designed to breach static defenses like the Siegfried Line, their powerful 105mm smoothbore gun could be loaded with either AT (Anti-Tank) or HE (High-Explosive) shells, making quick work of any kind of armor, buildings, or concentration of troops. The super heavy tanks could sustain many hits thanks to their thick armor but lacked a turret and couldn¡¯t fire while moving. They were later remodeled to include a turret, allowing them to face German tanks like the Tiger I, Tiger II, and tank destroyers like the Jagdtiger, or Soviet heavy tanks like the IS-2 or IS-3.


    I was not expecting a history lesson at 6:55 AM.


    Emily soon joined us, still in her pajamas, and asked what we were talking about. We all had different answers; Cadence said ¡°family,¡± Mitchell said ¡°history,¡± and I said ¡°both.¡± Emily got herself a cup of coffee and sat down with me at the table.


    ¡°You three should¡¯ve seen James¡¯s mom and stepdad,¡± Emily started. ¡°Once they found out that James and I got married, they hounded us to redo the wedding, even offering to pay for it or have a private ceremony because they missed it. My entire family was the same, minus wanting us to redo the marriage. When my parents found out, they crashed the wedding, saying how ungrateful I was for not inviting anyone from my side of the family.¡±


    I replied, ¡°If people don¡¯t invite someone to an event like a wedding, there¡¯s usually a reason behind it.¡±


    Emily sighed, ¡°My family makes those strict religious cults look better. Seriously, they don¡¯t practice what they preach. They want James and me to take in my niece, her lazy deadbeat boyfriend, and their eight kids because their starter apartment is cramped. Well, no duh it¡¯s cramped! Those apartments are for people just starting out, not for families with eight kids. They¡¯re meant for 18-20-year-olds to save up for a down payment on a house or a bigger apartment. But my family tries to gaslight and manipulate me into taking them in because our apartment is more spacious. When I suggest they take in my niece, her boyfriend, and their kids, they either stutter or hang up the phone. James lets me handle it because he has a few choice words that would make even a thick-skinned person cry.¡±


    I replied, ¡°Let me guess, he wants to tell your family it¡¯s not your duty to take care of your niece, her boyfriend who fakes a disability, and their eight kids because they made poor life choices?¡±


    ¡°He says he¡¯s got half a book of things he wants to say, and 97% of it isn¡¯t positive,¡± Emily said.


    Mitchell chimed in, ¡°There are people with actual disabilities who work like everyone else unless their disability is so severe they can¡¯t. They don¡¯t use their disability as an excuse because they don¡¯t want sympathy; it¡¯s just life to them. People like Emily¡¯s niece¡¯s boyfriend want others to feel sorry for them because the army labeled him 4F for not being able to walk straight. He can walk, just not in the way the army requires, so he blows it out of proportion.¡±


    ¡°Does he get money from the State or Government for his disability?¡± Cadence asked.


    Emily sighed, ¡°He just sits at home all day watching TV and eating. He doesn¡¯t clean or do dishes. When my niece gets home from her job, he points out the full sink, and she ends up doing the dishes after an exhausting day. She works in the administrative wing of a place that handles special needs and troubled kids, and the paperwork is draining. They have to go to the store every day because he eats most of the food. He refuses to look for a job, claiming he¡¯s too disabled because the Army 4F¡¯d him for not walking straight, even though he can walk. They rely on food stamps, but 40% of their grocery bill goes to snacks, 50% to meals, and 10% to beverages. He eats more than their four kids who are in elementary school.¡±


    Mitchell chuckled, ¡°A simple yes or no would have sufficed.¡±


    ¡°If my dad met him, he¡¯d give him an earful,¡± I said. ¡°He¡¯d point out that there are people with real disabilities who need help, like those in wheelchairs or on crutches. He¡¯d tell him that if he¡¯s going to sit at home all day, he should at least do the dishes, sweep, mop, and vacuum. Sure, here in Little Bird families can live on a single income, but the other partner should handle domestic chores so the place isn¡¯t a pigsty. My dad would be speaking from experience because his first wife, my mom, was the same¡ªsitting at home all day doing nothing.¡±


    Emily went on a tirade, ¡°That will never happen. There¡¯s a bus stop right in front of their apartment building, and their apartment is on the ground floor, so it¡¯s not that hard. The newspaper¡¯s job section lists jobs with qualifications, hours, pay, and contact numbers. Most of these jobs don¡¯t require many qualifications, and 98% don¡¯t need advanced education. They¡¯re usually 8-4 or 9-5 jobs that pay well. You can call up and ask for an interview. The worst they can do is say no, but they¡¯ll find a time to meet and give a courtesy call to let you know if you got the job or not. They¡¯re not going to pull the ¡®oh you need experience¡¯ card unless if said job position requires experience like a sales manager needs some experience in sales but it¡¯s not crazy like wanting an eighteen year old needing 20+ years of experience usually a couple of years but it¡¯s pointed and directed at people who have done that job at a lower position to try and get them an advanced position.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s sad,¡± I said. ¡°But from what I read in the newspaper, companies and people do take out ads looking for workers or offering short-term jobs, like helping others move. People are willing to pay for these ads because it¡¯s better than nothing. Small businesses use newspapers to advertise their jobs, listing their number and address so people can call or show up to get a paper application.¡±


    Emily sighed, ¡°My family is so messed up. Some of my female relatives claim James cheated on me with them, but that¡¯s absurd. He¡¯s on an Air Force Base for eleven months out of the year and only leaves once to be with me. Plus, he wears a purity ring and never had sex like those people who save their virginity until they get married. James and I hate it when we give people love and affection, and they throw it back in our faces. I¡¯m a cynic who sees the world as a place where bad things happen, while James believes ¡®everything happens for a reason.¡¯ When his father died testing an experimental aircraft, he saw it as the universe¡¯s way of revealing his mother¡¯s true nature. She remarried within two weeks of his father¡¯s death, and it turned out she was cheating on him with her boss.¡±


    Emily continued, ¡°James¡¯s stepdad hated him because he wasn¡¯t his kid, and his mother called him ¡®a mistake from her previous relationship.¡¯ They tried to change his legal name to his stepdad¡¯s, but he always refused. Even when they did change it legally, he kept signing his name after his father, who spent a lot of time with him. His father was a military man who, despite his busy schedule, always made time for James. He taught him not to charge into things headfirst, saying that people with a hero complex can cause more harm than good. Just because you do a good act now doesn¡¯t mean it¡¯ll have a good effect. Like if a person runs into a burning building to save someone that¡¯s seen as both honorable and stupid because it¡¯s great to help others. But at the same time you can become a victim yourself or while trying to save someone you can get hurt or take a route where the person you¡¯re trying to save can get hurt by the heat or fire and how there is a group of people called ¡®firefighters¡¯ who do this for a living,¡±


    Emily laughed, ¡°Some of my male relatives thought James could prevent their adult sons from joining the military. The joke¡¯s on them because James was a Senior Airman and now he¡¯s a Senior Master Sergeant in the 96th Fighter Squadron, 32nd Multirole Fighter Wing. Not a high ranking military official like a Lieutenant General or a Brigadier General.¡±


    She continued, ¡°It¡¯s so hypocritical. James¡¯s mom and stepdad called him a troubled child, but no duh! They forced him to live a life he didn¡¯t like without trying to understand why. Instead of understanding, they just pushed harder. They don¡¯t get that everyone processes things differently. James¡¯s teachers and school counselors were more understanding. They knew nobody just moves on after their spouse dies, especially not within two weeks like his mom did.¡±


    Emily wrapped up by sharing how James 4 found his father¡¯s journal a decade later. His father knew his wife was cheating on him with her boss and had changed his life insurance policy for a bigger payout. So, he got the last laugh by changing his life insurance and military life insurance to benefit James 4. This meant James 4 received $10,000 from the Air Force and another $17,000 from life insurance. His mother had expected to get $27,000 ($198,902.43 USD in 2010) but got nothing. His father had planned this without any signs, except for spending more and more time with James 4, taking him to throw a football or baseball around, camping, hiking, and encouraging him to try new things like sports.


    Cadence laughed at how James 4¡¯s mom was expecting the money but got nothing. James 4 had to wait until he turned eighteen to get the checks. His mother and stepdad tried to sweet-talk him into giving them the money, but he told them to drop the act. They had treated him like dirt his entire life and were only being nice because he had money. They even used his step-siblings to tug at his heartstrings, but he wasn¡¯t buying it. His mom and stepdad wanted to look acceptable to their friend circles, presenting themselves as the best parents in the world. They were like actors in a stage play, exiting stage left when their role was done.


    Emily said that¡¯s why she thinks James 4¡¯s mom and stepdad want them to redo the wedding¡ªto look good to their upper-class friends. But she and James 4 always say no because they believe weddings should be magical and special, not something to be redone just because terrible people weren¡¯t invited the first time.


    Emily then mentioned how James 4 always jokes about his stepfather¡¯s terrible cooking. I was tempted to say it reminded me of Sims with low cooking stats, but I kept my mouth shut.


    Mitchell went to check on the waffles, pulling them out of the oven and plating them.


    ¡°So, James¡¯s mom and stepdad wanted you two to redo your wedding?¡± I asked.


    Emily nodded, ¡°Yup, they offered to cover all expenses and even wrote us a $7,000 check for the wedding or a down payment for the church or venue, catering, and photographer. But James and I cashed the check and used the money to renovate his apartment. We got the landlord¡¯s approval and repainted the walls, replaced the Mahogany hardwood floors with Hickory, and put tiles in the kitchen and bathroom. His mom and stepdad tried to sue us, but the check didn¡¯t specify it was for the wedding. It was written ¡®For good faith,¡¯ which can be used for anything, like donations to a church or the Fire or Police Departments. Any leftover money went to an environmental group to save the ice caps and polar bears.¡±


    I chuckled. ¡°That¡¯s their fault. If the check was meant for the wedding, they should¡¯ve specified. I would¡¯ve done the same thing. But Emily, you said your in-laws can keep pushing, but you won¡¯t redo the wedding?¡±


    Emily sighed, ¡°Exactly. My parents, on the other hand, keep setting me up with random men and planning weddings. I go along with it but never show up. Here in Little Bird, if you cancel an event within 24 hours, you get 25-75% of your money back. On the day of, you get nothing. So, I let them plan and spend money, then I don¡¯t show up. It¡¯s my way of making a point. They spend all that money, and the bride doesn¡¯t show, leaving the groom at the altar. It¡¯s a reverse of the groom leaving the bride.¡±


    Mitchell handed us two blue ceramic plates with waffles and sausage, complete with forks and knives. He then went back to get his own plate and joined us at the table with Cadence. We continued talking about family, and Emily had nothing positive to say about hers. She mentioned that her family, much like James 4¡¯s mom and stepdad, would leave if put in an awkward position, only to return once things had calmed down.


    Cadence and Mitchell speculated that James 4¡¯s mom and stepdad were trying to sneak back into their lives because they saw Emily and James as a source of grandbabies. They were more interested in protecting their image and reputation than genuinely caring about their kids.


    Mitchell asked if Emily had family members who owned businesses but ran them into the ground by being morons. Emily nodded and, after swallowing a piece of waffle, explained that some of her relatives had businesses but ruined them by showing up drunk or hungover to meetings with high-paying clients or by having female family members flirt with clients. This often led to clients pulling out of deals because they saw them as untrustworthy. Also it was unprofessional.


    Emily continued, ¡°Some of my male relatives in the design business would take someone else¡¯s work and present it as their own, or praise one gender while putting down the other. In fields like architecture, no one likes it when their boss takes credit for their drawings or gives promotions based on gender. Those who were sexist against females saw a mass exodus of employees who went to work for competitors who recognized their worth. Clients can tell the difference between a detailed blueprint and one that looks like it would blow away in a 1 MPH wind.¡±


    Cadence remarked that it fits them perfectly¡ªbeing arrogant and hostile, not liking one over the other, and then losing those talented individuals to competitors who appreciate their work. Emily added that in the State of Starfish, there are no non-compete laws, so employees can leave one employer and work for another in the same industry without any restrictions.


    We all found it amusing that people who are disliked or mistreated leave to work for competitors who recognize their worth. As they say, one mistake can be your downfall. Mitchell commented that if these people were military officers, they would¡¯ve been killed either by the enemy or fragged by their own troops. He noted that while many Little Bird military officers are fanatics who inspire their troops to fight to the death, soldiers prefer such officers over those who are tactically inflexible, glory-hungry, ambitious, and unable to take responsibility for their actions. Officers who demand salutes in no-salute areas, risking sniper fire, and insist on orders being followed to the letter regardless of the situation are a major no-no. Mitchell and I agreed that such rigidity removes personal initiative, which is crucial in the military.


    We finished breakfast in peace and quiet, then put the dishes in the sink. Mitchell gave us a ride to the train station. On the way, Emily asked him about the weirdest thing that happened to him on patrol. Mitchell shared a story about pulling over their boss¡¯s daughter. He and his partner, Starlight, usually saw traffic tickets as a scam for the local government to make money, so he was just going to give her a warning. But when she offered Mitchell a blowjob in order to get out of a traffic ticket, it earned her a ticket instead. Mitchell said that if she kept her mouth shut for another twenty seconds she would¡¯ve gotten nothing but a verbal warning.


    Mitchell dropped us off at the town train station. I bought a one-way ticket to the City of Empire and grabbed a newspaper to read on the train ride home. Emily bought a one-way ticket to Ft. Suction. I boarded the train, found a seat, and settled in. The train had a radio system that played news from across the Commonwealth of Mountain.


    As I sat on the train, flipping through the newspaper and listening to the news, I couldn¡¯t help but notice the increasing chatter about businesses shutting down. The Commonwealth of Mountain and our own Government of Little Bird aren¡¯t stepping in to help, which might seem harsh at first glance. However, there¡¯s a deeper reason behind this decision. Financial experts in Little Bird caution that subsidies can distort markets. When the government injects money into a specific industry, it allows those businesses to lower their prices, making it difficult for competitors to keep up. While the intention behind subsidies is to keep prices low and boost production, they can inadvertently drive competitors out of the market.


    I recall a conversation with an economics professor at Arcane University who shed light on this concept. He explained that government subsidies can stifle competition. He cited an example from the early 1920s when Little Bird faced a severe drought. To ensure bread production, the government subsidized wheat farming. This led farmers to focus solely on wheat, causing other crops to wither away. As a result, there was a shortage of other crops, prompting people to buy seeds from flower stores to grow their own in their backyards. The government eventually incentivized the growth of other crops, but only temporarily until the start of the Second World War when the government needed every penny to train troops, pay said troops and to fund the war effort. So only money that the farmers were getting were from the government to send food to the soldiers and from the stores to pay said farmers.


    The professor also shared a historical anecdote from British-ruled India. To control the cobra population, the British offered a bounty for each dead cobra. People began breeding cobras to turn them in for money. When the British stopped the payments, the cobra problem worsened as the cobras were released. This unintended consequence highlighted how well-meaning policies can backfire.


    These examples underscore the complexities of government intervention in the economy. While subsidies might offer short-term relief, they can lead to long-term market distortions and unintended consequences. It¡¯s a delicate balance that requires careful consideration and strategic planning.


    As I continued reading the newspaper and overhearing the news on the train, I couldn¡¯t help but notice a woman nearby loudly voicing her opinions. She was going on about how the minimum wage in Little Bird should be raised to ten dollars an hour, despite the fact that it hasn¡¯t changed since 1960. Her constant criticism was starting to grate on my nerves.


    Eventually, I couldn¡¯t hold back any longer and told her to quiet down. I pointed out that in many parts of the world, people wouldn¡¯t even understand the concept of civil liberties and rights. For them, poverty isn¡¯t just an issue¡ªit¡¯s a way of life. I reminded her that dissatisfaction isn¡¯t new. Many of my grand uncles, for instance, grew up during the 1930s and witnessed people lining up for jobs or seeing quarantine signs on neighbors¡¯ doors due to scarlet fever, whooping cough, diphtheria, or polio. We¡¯re much more educated and healthier now than previous generations.


    I also told her that the modern generation¡¯s desire for quick fixes to complex problems is part of the issue. Thousands of people die in car accidents globally, and there are no instant solutions to such tragedies. Since the baby boomers, each generation has grown up with instant communication, entertainment, transportation, and financial transactions. While every generation has had its challenges, they learned to live with them and often pushed back against their parents¡¯ ways of governance.


    In the end, I hoped she understood that while it¡¯s easy to criticize, it¡¯s much harder to appreciate the progress we¡¯ve made and the complexities of the issues we face.


    As I continued reading the newspaper and overhearing the news, I couldn''t help but think about how people in the 1800s tackled transportation challenges. Back then, log rafts were the primary means of navigating rivers. To speed up travel, inventors developed paddle steamer boats, which revolutionized river transport. These steam-powered vessels allowed for faster and more efficient movement up and down rivers, leading to the growth of towns and cities along these waterways.


    The development of paddle steamers wasn''t the only innovation. Bridges also played a crucial role in improving transportation. In the early 19th century, the construction of bridges across rivers allowed people to travel by horseback or horse and buggy, bypassing the need for multiple boat rides. This advancement made travel quicker and more convenient, fostering economic growth and connectivity.


    Bridges have been around since ancient times, with early humans using simple log structures to cross rivers. However, the 1800s saw significant advancements in bridge technology, particularly with the introduction of iron and steel, which provided greater strength and durability.


    I remember a conversation with an economics professor at Arcane University that really opened my eyes. He explained how government subsidies can actually stifle competition. He gave an example from the early 1920s when Little Bird faced a severe drought. To ensure bread production, the government subsidized wheat farming. This led farmers to focus solely on wheat, causing other crops to wither away. As a result, there was a shortage of other crops, prompting people to buy seeds from flower stores to grow their own in their backyards. The government eventually incentivized the growth of other crops, but only temporarily until the start of the Second World War when every penny was needed to train and pay troops and fund the war effort. During that time, farmers received money from the government to send food to soldiers and from stores to pay for their produce.


    Reflecting on my time at Arcane University, I realized how different the teaching approach was compared to my experience in America. Back in the States, many of my teachers discouraged free thinking, insisting that their way was the only correct way. At Arcane University, however, students were encouraged to find their own methods to solve problems. For instance, in math classes, while I preferred writing down numbers and using basic operations, my classmates had various approaches, such as using square roots, geometry, algebra, or calculus. This diversity in problem-solving methods highlighted how different people think and learn in unique ways.


    Each person has their own way of arriving at answers. For me, I would write the number down, add the operation sign, and then the next number, drawing a line to solve it step by step. I was taught that smaller numbers can be added to bigger ones, but not the other way around. My classmates, on the other hand, had their own techniques that worked for them. This experience showed me the value of encouraging different ways of thinking and problem-solving, something that was often stifled in my earlier education.


    Here¡¯s how I write my math problems:


    82


    + 12


    ____


    94


    This straightforward method works for me, but I appreciate how Little Bird¡¯s education system encourages different approaches to reach the same answer. Schools here start with basic math concepts like 2+2 and 4x9, ensuring a strong foundation before moving on to more advanced topics. Studies have shown that this method has a lasting impact on students¡¯ understanding and retention of mathematical concepts.


    Little Bird¡¯s approach to education is thoughtful and progressive. They don¡¯t just throw students into advanced classes like Algebra 1, Algebra 2, or Calculus without ensuring they have a solid grasp of basic math and Pre-Algebra. It¡¯s like expecting a non-swimmer to dive into the deep end of a pool¡ªit¡¯s bound to have negative effects.


    My girlfriend¡¯s kids, who are in 5th and 6th grades, are still learning basic math like 1+1=2. According to her, the school curriculum in elementary school includes Writing, Basic Math, Art, Reading, Social Studies, and Physical Education. As they move into middle and high school, the subjects expand to include Writing/English, Arithmetic, Art, Science, World History, Shop or Home Economics, and Physical Education.


    This comprehensive and gradual approach ensures that students build a strong foundation before tackling more complex subjects, fostering a deeper understanding and appreciation for learning.


    I appreciate how in Little Bird, sex education is primarily reserved for those pursuing medical careers, particularly in pediatric care. This approach stems from the belief that sex education is an ¡°adult topic¡± and remains somewhat taboo. My girlfriend shared that when she was younger and asked her parents where babies come from, they simply told her, ¡°You¡¯ll find out when you¡¯re older.¡± This was a common response from neighbors and others in the Eastside district as well.


    In Little Bird, teachers are given the freedom to teach their subjects in ways that encourage students to discover things for themselves and foster creativity. History teachers, for example, present both sides of conflicts, providing a more balanced perspective. This approach contrasts sharply with my experience in America, where teachers often enforced a single way of thinking.


    The education system in Little Bird hasn¡¯t changed much since the Cold War and the Space Race. There was a recognition that not everyone would become rocket scientists. Advanced subjects like rocket science and higher mathematics are reserved for college, ensuring that students first master basic concepts. My girlfriend likens the education system here to a snowball. You start small, learning foundational skills, and gradually build up to more complex topics.


    Economics is a great example of this approach. While not inherently a branch of mathematics, economics relies heavily on mathematical concepts like differential and integral calculus, matrix algebra, and other computational methods. These tools allow economists to develop meaningful, testable propositions about complex subjects, which would be difficult to express without a solid mathematical foundation.


    This methodical and progressive approach to education ensures that students are well-prepared for advanced studies and can think critically and creatively about the problems they encounter.


    In older times, goods were often distributed via barter, but for most of the last several thousand years, money has been the primary medium of exchange. When I was at Arcane University, I delved into modern economics, which dates back to 1776. That year, Scottish philosopher Adam Smith published his seminal work, ¡°The Wealth of Nations.¡± In this book, Smith argues that the free market is the most efficient means of assigning values to and distributing goods and services.


    Smith contended that a totally free market would automatically produce the right amount of goods at the right price. He believed that any government interference or regulation distorts the market, making it less efficient and more wasteful. Smith was also a strong proponent of self-interest, arguing that when individuals pursue their own self-interest, they inadvertently promote the good of society as a whole. In essence, Smith believed that pure capitalism is the best economic system available to a civilization.


    This perspective has had a profound impact on economic thought and policy. It underscores the importance of allowing markets to operate freely, without excessive government intervention, to achieve optimal outcomes for society.


    Honestly, that book was a real page-turner. But for now, the newspaper is the closest thing I have to read. I¡¯m saving the best part for last¡ªthe comic section. I just finished going through the rest of it, catching up on the current status of the world, sports updates on which teams won or lost, and everything in between. Most of it was about town events, and the classifieds were filled with people selling things they no longer need, like vehicles they¡¯ve replaced with new ones.


    I¡¯ve also overheard some interesting conversations. Some folks are excited about going on family vacations with their extended families, as long as they¡¯re not roped into babysitting duties that ruin their own vacation while everyone else gets to relax. Some said how they stopped going on road trips and camping trips with their extended families because they always end up being the ones to watch the kids, unload vehicles, and set things up while everyone else sits around doing nothing or goes off to enjoy themselves.


    Others were talking about how they¡¯re fed up with the ¡°keep the peace¡± mentality that sacrifices them to placate their relatives. They said that wanting to keep the peace is just a way to make someone suffer in silence because no one wants to deal with the real issues.


    Some others mentioned how they have family members who decided to become stay-at-home parents. While they respect that choice, they believe stay-at-home parents shouldn¡¯t feel entitled to ¡°a break¡± because they chose that lifestyle. They chose to stay at home, do domestic chores, and raise the kids, so they should have understood the responsibilities that come with it.


    Aunts and uncles also shared their frustrations about siblings who expect them to be free babysitters, using the ¡°But they¡¯re your nephews/nieces!¡± excuse. These folks are quick to respond with, ¡°They are your children!¡± They believe it¡¯s unfair to force someone to babysit just because the parents want a break. Some even talked about how they¡¯ve had to confront their manipulative family members, essentially saying, ¡°For the love of God, stop. We can¡¯t take the retaliation.¡±


    Others love their stupid family members because they said, ¡°If my family stops giving me ammunition then I won¡¯t have nothing to say to others¡± then their family does something stupid or narcissistic to give them said ammo. Some said how they got siblings who treat them like a slave or a butler instead of compensating them for their time.


    To me, if someone is going to babysit someone else¡¯s kids, then it¡¯s polite and courteous to compensate them for their time. Leaving some money for food is one thing, but actually paying them per hour or for the overall time they watched the kids should be standard. Not just playing the ¡°We¡¯re family¡± card. I can¡¯t stand people who ask their friends and family for help in their time of need, promise to pay them back, and then never do.


    I really dislike when people choose to be stay-at-home parents but then complain about how hard it is to feed all their kids on just one salary. Well, no duh¡ªone person working to support eleven kids is going to struggle. Even when others point out that they¡¯re not really friends, and show evidence of how they¡¯ve never helped back after receiving help, it¡¯s clear they¡¯ve just taken advantage of others¡¯ generosity. They¡¯re nothing but parasites.


    It¡¯s frustrating to see people not taking responsibility for their choices and expecting others to pick up the slack. Everyone has their own challenges, and it¡¯s important to respect each other¡¯s time and effort. If you need help, be honest about it and make sure to show appreciation and reciprocate when you can. That¡¯s how you build genuine, supportive relationships.


    Some other people are talking about how glad they are to be out of a war economy because things were more expensive during crises and war. The government of Little Bird had two options to raise funds for wars or humanitarian aid: raise taxes, which nobody likes, or engage the public through creative means like three-way baseball games or using actors and actresses to raise funds and encourage people to buy war bonds. Many are relieved that factories have reverted back to making consumer goods. For instance, a factory that once made computers and typewriters was converted to manufacture precision munitions, car factories were transformed to make military vehicles, refrigerator factories were repurposed to produce ammo, and even factories making baseball bats for both little league and major league baseball were converted to produce plastic explosives.


    Back in 1940, the Commonwealth of Mountain, where I live, saw a significant population increase due to many people moving to work in factories because of the global tensions at the time. Many also left the cities to work in agricultural centers. The Commonwealth I live in saw a 40% population increase, the Commonwealth of Cascade saw a 51% increase, and the Commonwealths of Starfish and Blueberry saw a 49% increase. This was because the Little Bird War Production Board designated which Commonwealths had the types of jobs that could support the war effort, from working in defense factories making tanks and planes to other essential roles. It felt like God picked up the country and shook it like stove-made popcorn, like Jiffy Pop.


    During the war, the country produced an astounding 41 billion rounds of ammo, 100,000 tanks, 300,000 aircraft, 20 million small arms, and 4 million mechanized and motorized vehicles.


    Of course from what I know from Little Bird Military History is that the air forces is that they didn¡¯t take their defense of their bombers seriously because well the Little Bird Air Force, Army Air Force, Marine Air Corps and Naval Aviation were taught in both World Wars is that fighter pilots were trained to shoot down bombers by going for the engines to make it easier or to go for the gunners on said bombers leaving them utterly defenseless.


    I just listened to some other conversations that were quite interesting. Some folks were talking about how they lost money on last night¡¯s baseball game. They had placed bets on which team would win, who would have the best pitch, or which team would hit the most home runs, and unfortunately, things didn¡¯t go their way.


    Others were discussing their strained relationships with their in-laws. One woman shared how her in-laws, who had always disliked her, suddenly became nice when she found out she was pregnant. However, after the baby was born, her husband gave their baby to an infertile couple without her consent. Here in Little Bird, it¡¯s a crime if both parents don¡¯t sign off on such a decision. If one parent signs away their parental rights but the other doesn¡¯t, it counts as human trafficking. Both parents must sign away their rights through the courts or a family lawyer. If only one parent does and gives away the child, they can be charged with human trafficking and kidnapping.


    The woman said the police were lucky to retrieve her baby because she reported the child as stolen. Since she didn¡¯t know about the arrangement, it was considered a crime. The town¡¯s prosecutor charged those involved with bribing a medical official, human trafficking, kidnapping, medical malpractice, lying on a medical form, and lying about the welfare of a newborn. Needless to say, they¡¯re not very popular with the maximum-security prisoners now. Most likely a pin cushion for shivs.


    I knew this was going to be a long train ride¡ªcovering 560 miles with four stops in Cozy, Arourafall, Midnight Cove, and Sunset Vale before finally reaching the city of Empire. It¡¯s going to take about seven hours.


    Some folks were talking about how they helped a family member or friend through a divorce because their spouse crossed an unforgivable line. They shared stories of spouses who, when faced with divorce, would get angry and demand their soon-to-be ex to take it back, thinking it was a joke or that they wouldn¡¯t actually leave. It¡¯s baffling how some people can¡¯t comprehend the seriousness of the situation. I¡¯ve heard of spouses threatening divorce just to scare the other, but never intending to follow through, holding onto their pride as if it¡¯s more important than their marriage.


    Others mentioned how their friends or family members ended up marrying people who treat their marriage like a game, more interested in boosting their own egos than in building a genuine partnership. It¡¯s sad to see relationships where one person¡¯s pride and need for control overshadow the love and respect that should be at the core of a marriage.Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    One important page I read mentioned that Madeline Azure and the guy she was telling me about the other day got married. The papers even said that Madeline is now the full owner of her family restaurant. It also described how grand the wedding was, combining two restaurants¡ªone private, which Madeline is from, and one public, which her husband is from.


    Looks like Madeline went with my plan, agreeing to marry the guy if her parents would come to the negotiation table, retire, and hand over the reins of the family business to her. Smart move on her part! She¡¯s probably getting the marriage annulled at this moment.


    But as I continued to read the newspaper and overhear other people¡¯s conversations, I found myself lost in my own thoughts. I remembered my time at Arcane University studying fire science. My classmates and I were randomly assigned to shadow three different firehouses for either twenty-four or seventy-two hours overall. The officers at the companies I shadowed were adamant about the importance of following orders. They emphasized that in firefighting, there are no second chances. This is why firefighters must listen to their officers, who have the experience and authority to direct rescue operations and firefighting efforts.


    Different emergencies require different specialties. For example, an Engine company deals with fires but only has manual tools and medical gear. A Truck company handles situations an Engine company can¡¯t, like car accidents, and performs forcible entry, search and rescue, ventilation, and ladder-pipe operations. If a Truck company can¡¯t handle it, a Squad Company is called out. They can operate as either an Engine or Truck company but with half the tools of a Rescue Squad. If a Squad Company can¡¯t manage the situation, it¡¯s passed on to a Rescue Company. Beyond that, there¡¯s no one else to call unless it¡¯s a HAZMAT incident, which falls under HAZMAT jurisdiction.


    Of course, during my shadowing at firehouses Sixteen, Thirty-Three, and Squad Five-Two-Five, one thing that stood out was the use of gallows humor. The firefighters often cracked dark jokes, usually followed by, ¡°I¡¯m going to Hell for saying that.¡± But the truth is, there¡¯s a healing power to comedy. If you can make fun of yourself, talk about your problems, and have someone laugh with you, it makes you feel better and your problems don¡¯t seem quite so bad anymore.


    Some of the men who were in the military as pilots would say, ¡°Any landing you can walk away from is a good landing. A ¡®great¡¯ landing is one where you can use the airplane again.¡± Those who served in the Navy or as submariners had their own versions: ¡°Any ship can be a minesweeper. Once.¡± or ¡°Every ship carries at least one torpedo.¡± and ¡°A submarine is a ship for which the number of sinkings is equal to the number of surfacings. Hopefully.¡± That last one took me a while to understand until I realized it referred to how submarines submerge and surface.


    I think the reason they use gallows humor is because they probably feel like they shouldn¡¯t talk to a therapist. Maybe they don¡¯t want to open up to someone who gets paid to listen to other people¡¯s problems and actually don¡¯t care. Instead, they find solace in humor, sharing a laugh with their peers who truly understand the weight of their experiences.


    Honestly, I can understand why they refuse to see a therapist. You sit on someone¡¯s couch, they write down what you say, charge you for the session, and if you start talking about something they don¡¯t want to hear, they can just say, ¡°And that¡¯s time in our session,¡± even if there¡¯s time left.


    My great-granddad and most of his sons came from a time when it was seen as weak for a man to talk about his feelings or trauma. In the 19th and early 20th centuries, mental health wasn¡¯t fully understood. The only way people got the ¡°help¡± they needed was by being institutionalized in insane asylums, living apart from the rest of society. These institutions were seen as places of treatment, where people could receive specialized care, but they were also places of segregation. For my great-granddad and millions of others, it was the Great War from 1914-1918 that left deep scars.


    Back then, talking about mental health was taboo, and the stigma was immense. Men were expected to be stoic, bottling up their emotions. It¡¯s no wonder that humor became a coping mechanism for many, a way to deal with the harsh realities they faced without appearing vulnerable. It¡¯s a tough legacy to break away from.


    It¡¯s interesting how Little Bird¡¯s political system works. Even though the country has democratic elections, some presidents have had incredibly long terms. For instance, Abigail Orange served from 1936 to 1955, a total of nineteen years. My grand uncle¡¯s term was even longer, spanning from 1968 to 2010¡ªalmost 42 years. Other presidents have served between 10 and 35 years. It does sound a bit like a Hereditary Republic when you consider that some of their eldest children run for president or other political positions.


    Other people on the train were talking in code, which I managed to decipher. They were discussing the kind of operations they carried out during the war¡ªmissions so secretive that they¡¯ll never see the light of day. These actions are covered in black ink, put in a file, and locked away forever. Their stories will die with them due to the secrecy of their missions.


    Meanwhile, others were proudly talking about how well their kids are doing in school, especially in writing or English class. They mentioned how many educators find that creative writing can boost students¡¯ academic performance and resilience. Completing small goals consistently, rather than leaving big goals unfinished, creates a sense of pride and releases dopamine in the brain, which increases motivation. It¡¯s been shown to build resilience in students by allowing them to document and analyze their experiences. This gives them a new perspective on old situations and helps them sort through their emotions.


    Others are saying how wonderful it is that their kids are out trying new things like sports instead of just playing tag, throwing water balloons, or walking through the woods playing soldier with friends. They¡¯re encouraging their kids to try new activities because you never know if you¡¯ll like something until you give it a shot.


    That¡¯s so true. When I was younger, I didn¡¯t eat a lot of foods like pork chops and ribs. My dad would always say, ¡°There are starving people in the world who would enjoy what you¡¯re eating.¡± I also have family members who would say they didn¡¯t slave over a stove or grill just for people to refuse to eat because they don¡¯t like it, even though they¡¯ve never tried it.


    To me It¡¯s important to step out of our comfort zones, whether it¡¯s with food, activities, or experiences. You never know what you might end up loving until you give it a try. Plus, it¡¯s a great way to build resilience and adaptability, qualities that are valuable throughout life.


    To me, it¡¯s great to have comfort zones, but sometimes staying in them can feel like insanity because you¡¯re doing the same thing every day without trying anything new. If someone enjoys that, more power to them, but many people I know prefer to stay in their comfort zones. On the other hand, some people thrive in their optimal performance zones, trying new things even if they make them uncomfortable at first. They might try something again later down the road because people¡¯s tastes and interests change over the years.


    For example, I know people who hated baloney as kids but like it as adults. Some people who disliked being creative with their hands eventually found joy in woodworking or other trades and ended up getting jobs in those fields after graduating high school. It¡¯s amazing how stepping out of your comfort zone can lead to discovering new passions and skills. It¡¯s all about being open to new experiences and giving yourself the chance to grow and evolve.


    I also read about other people who said they were snipers during the war. They talked about their kill counts and their nicknames or callsigns, which were either feared by the enemy or uplifting to their comrades. Pre-Vietnam era Little Bird snipers operated as one-man armies, with one sniper per company. From 1864 to 1962, the Little Bird Military described these sharpshooters as ¡°These men are the best shots in the company, devastating against enemy officers.¡± This was updated in 1914 to include machine gun teams, emphasizing their ability to choose their targets from afar.


    Since the 1960s, snipers have been required to have a spotter with them. The sniper focuses on long-range combat, while the spotter handles mid-range combat. This partnership enhances their effectiveness and safety, allowing them to cover more ground and support each other in various combat scenarios.


    Ears wide open, I soak in the train''s chatter. To my left, someone''s planning a fancy dinner, all romantic vibes. On my right, a group¡¯s buzzing about their recent family park trip. But the real kicker is this lively bunch ahead, raving about their upcoming vacation. They''ve booked rooms, saved up, and are set for a grand amusement park adventure¡ªwith one ironclad rule; no dumping kids on others. Everyone''s there to have fun, not play unpaid babysitter. Fair point, right?


    As for me, if I were on vacation, I''d be all about enjoying it too, not getting roped into watching someone else''s kids. Picture this: me, lounging at a beach resort, margarita in hand, waves splashing at my smelly feet. Beats being an unwilling nanny any day. My family and I, we''re the type to tell parents saying, "We deserve a break," that parenting''s a full-time job. You can''t just clock out and expect someone else to pick up the slack. If you don¡¯t want to be parents or want someone else to handle your kids, then maybe rethink having kids in the first place. Harsh, but hey, that¡¯s life.


    I mean, can you imagine? My great-granddad was a legend. He and his first wife had a whole lot of kids: Terrence Jr. in 1919, Charles in 1920, Kevin in 1922, twins Stanley and Charlie in 1923, Diamond and Lily in 1924, Benny in 1927, Jackson in 1928, Paul in 1929, and Bill in 1942. Through it all, they never asked for a break. Not once.


    Great-granddad was a full-time New York City fireman from 1921 to 1966, and he still managed to fight in both World Wars and the Korean War. Yet, the stories passed down from my grand-uncles? They always say how he and his wife took care of them all, no complaints, no asking for someone else to step in. They just did it.


    So, yeah, when it comes to watching kids on vacation, I¡¯m with my great-granddad. You take on that responsibility, you see it through. No dropping your duties on others so you can have all the fun. If you can''t handle it, maybe rethink the whole having-kids thing. Harsh? Maybe. Real? Absolutely.


    Of course, my great-granddad and his first wife came from a time when kids were supposed to be seen, not heard, and parents were the type to say, ¡°My way or the highway.¡± Some folks on this train are talking about calling a service to watch their kids so they''re not chasing after them when they decide to go sightseeing without their parents. But their friends pointed out how hiring a service can be pricey. In this country, economic value is everything, so you have to decide; do you want to shell out more money for a skilled sitter or save by getting someone with next to no experience? Decisions, decisions.


    Then there''s this bunch right across from me, engrossed in the wildfire situation sparked by the heat. That''s the nature of the place¡ªsporadic rain that leaves weeks of dryness, especially after June¡¯s deluge. They¡¯re saying the fire is mostly contained, thanks to the resilience of the trees. These trees have faced wildfires for centuries. Fire actually plays an essential role in forest ecology, clearing out old, less productive materials and creating openings for new flora. It¡¯s like nature''s reset button.


    Some trees even have seeds that can only be opened by fire. When these seeds fall, new trees and plants grow, making the forest more resistant to future high-severity fires. In Little Bird, the government has a policy of letting wildfires burn for a while before putting them out. This approach allows the fire to clear the forest floor, promoting new growth. Native Little Birdens have long used prescribed burns to clear land for cultivation, and now urban, town, and wildland firefighters do the same. They create backburns, removing fuel so that when fires meet, they burn out due to a lack of fuel¡ªpart of the fire triangle of oxygen, fuel, and heat. These controlled burns also clear the canopy, letting sunlight hit the ground to support new growth.


    And when I was at Arcane University, my science teacher had a lot to say about the Urban-Wildland interface. Since 1962, the government has banned this mix because it''s simply impractical. On paper, it might sound like a quaint idea to blend homes with wildland. In reality? A disaster waiting to happen. When fires start, they have more fuel to burn, and let¡¯s not even get started on people¡¯s stubbornness. They always wait until the last minute to evacuate, often until it''s too late. The fire cuts off escape routes, and they¡¯re stuck because they refused to leave until surrounded.


    Here in Little Bird, if the police issue an evacuation, most folks have time to pack a bag or two and leave in their own vehicles. But if the military steps in, it''s a different story. They don''t mess around. They¡¯ll grab people, shove them onto military trucks, and evacuate them¡ªno time to grab anything. You leave as you are with the clothes on your back. It¡¯s harsh, but it¡¯s about saving lives in the face of wildfires that can turn deadly fast.


    Just then, the train intercom crackles with a news update. Last night, a domestic flight malfunctioned and crashed into a river. It was nighttime, and most people were already at home, getting ready for bed, so emergency response was slow. Turns out, the crash happened during a shift change at Air Traffic Control. The new controller thought the plane had just gone off radar and out of the capital of Little Bird''s airspace. No one knew what had happened until a night-time walker spotted the wreckage and called for help.


    That¡¯s the thing about disasters¡ªthey''re unpredictable and can strike out of nowhere, catching people off guard. Human judgment often makes things worse. Look at Chernobyl; it could¡¯ve been prevented. In my 27 years, I''ve seen that most disasters come down to good old-fashioned corruption and cutting corners on safety. High-ranking officials trying to save a buck usually end up costing lives.


    I mean, look around this train. My gut says some of these folks are the type to ignore warnings on TV and do whatever they please. Coming from North Carolina and Alabama, I know a thing or two about staying alert, especially with thunderstorms and tornadoes. Tornadoes often develop from supercell thunderstorms. If it was storming at night, I''d keep my bedroom TV on to the news or weather channel. Being a light sleeper, I''d hear any warnings. My dad didn''t like it, but he knew I¡¯d be the first to know if a tornado was coming, so I¡¯d get up in the dead of night to warn him. My mom? Different story. She¡¯d scold me, but our relationship was always rocky. I¡¯d tell her I¡¯d rather ask God and Satan for advice before her.


    When there was a tornado watch, I''d head straight for the basement with my trusty teddy bear and a radio, waiting until it was safe. But some folks, here in Little Bird or back in the States, are the kind who¡¯d go outside during a tornado warning, waiting to see it with their own eyes. To me, that''s just plain stupid. Stay safe, be prepared, and don¡¯t gamble with your life is a better solution than play daredevil.


    My girlfriend, back when she was a probationary firefighter, faced a tornado hit in Empire in ''97. Her district caters to off-campus college students and senior citizens, so their response plan included checking on at-risk folks, shutting off gas lines, and cutting electricity. They''d rescue and stabilize those trapped until ambulances arrived. Unfortunately, some were DOA because they didn¡¯t seek shelter or took it seriously too late. Tornadoes are fascinating from a safe distance but terrifying up close.


    I''ve seen a few, always making sure to keep a safe distance. That myth about the funnel being the only dangerous part? Totally false. Tornadoes are among nature''s most awe-inspiring yet deadly displays. They can strike anywhere, anytime, causing devastating loss of life and property. When friends and family who''ve never seen one ask, I just say, imagine a windy day, then crank that up about fifty times. Or imagine a hurricane but instead of blowing away it¡¯s sucking you in. It¡¯s no joke.


    Disasters have a way of testing our mettle.


    My girlfriend and I are pretty practical when it comes to taxes. We get up on January 1st or 2nd and file them right away. Unlike those who wait until April 15th and scramble to mail them at the last minute, we like to get it done and out of the way. I''ve seen people underestimate their taxes and end up paying more later. By filing early, we avoid that hassle.


    Many folks don''t even know what an accountant is, and some, like my dad, just go to a tax professional for convenience. It''s about what works best for you, I guess. Most of my family, except my mom, prefer to file their taxes in the first couple of months of the year. They write zero dependents on the tax form but put the number of kids they have under eighteen on the tax return. It¡¯s not illegal; it''s just the way things are done. My girlfriend does it too¡ªzero dependencies on the form, but seven for her seven daughters on the return.


    When the train pulled into Moonlight Cove, I decided to hop off even though my destination was the city of Empire. The train is an all-metal, streamlined beauty with four carriages¡ªlocomotive/passenger cars on the ends, and two passenger carriages in the middle. Accordion joints link the carriages, making it easy to move between them during transit. Each carriage has exits on both sides, and the locomotive''s cockpit even has an emergency exit at the nose.


    I figured it was a good chance to visit my cousin Mitchell "Mitzy" Waterson and his wife, Visala. I have two cousins named Mitchell, but the elder one got the nickname "Mitzy" from his mom. The other Mitchell, whom I stayed with for the night, doesn¡¯t really have a nickname¡ªunless his wife has one she keeps to herself, which honestly, I don¡¯t care much about.


    Mitzy works at the town''s military supply depot, starting his day at 5 AM and wrapping up by 1 PM. Visala, on the other hand, works at the town science lab from 8 AM to 2 PM. It¡¯s always a mix of early mornings and intriguing conversations with them, blending the routine with the unexpected.


    I made my way to their house, where the flag of Little Bird was gently flapping in the light breeze. I walked up to the wooden door and knocked once with my right hand. Visala opened the door, but she was in disguise.


    "Oh, I thought you were the delivery man," she said, thinking I was one of those shipping and supply chain guys. To be honest, I can''t imagine myself in shorts, driving around dropping off packages to strangers.


    Visala''s got this thing about human greed. When disasters strike, she¡¯s always quick to point out how some people profit from others'' suffering. It''s true¡ªthere are always those who scam and exploit in times of need instead of helping out.


    Visala does cut funeral homes some slack. She figures they at least help people lay their loved ones to rest, whether it¡¯s through burial or cremation. Her culture leans heavily towards cremation.


    Visala also believes modern humans are soft compared to our Neanderthal ancestors. She¡¯s convinced we couldn''t hack it in the Neolithic era. Back then, when the ice retreated and megafauna went extinct, people didn¡¯t have the luxuries we do. They couldn¡¯t just run to the store if they were hungry or flick on the heat or AC. Farming was grueling labor with wooden hoes, turning fields every spring.


    In her culture, they only visit the burial sites of truly legendary figures¡ªwarriors or influential politicians. Ordinary visits to burial mounds are for honoring and drawing strength from their ancestors. It¡¯s about maintaining a connection to the past to boost their morale.


    I feel strongly that once someone dies, they should be allowed to rest in peace without any disturbances. The Bible condemns spiritism, mediums, the occult, and psychics, but my stance comes from a place of respect for the deceased. They deserve eternal rest after a lifetime of challenges and triumphs, and any attempts to disturb that, like s¨¦ances or mediums, feel deeply disrespectful.


    Many people I know encourage communication with the dead for guidance. To me, that''s the realm of ghosts¡ªbeings who remain in the physical world to avenge, help, or punish the living. The idea of drawing strength from ancestors or using mediums just doesn''t resonate with me. It seems to disrupt the peace they¡¯ve earned.


    I mean, many people like me don¡¯t bother the dead unless it''s to pay our respects. Others, though, fork out hard-earned cash to those s¨¦ances and mediums, who I think are whack jobs. I know a lot of folks who refuse to disturb the dead unless it¡¯s out of sheer respect.


    Take my great-granddad, for example. He fought in both World Wars and Korea. According to family stories, he refused to visit his second eldest son''s grave for over 30 years. Terrence Waterson Sr. felt no need because his son was one of thousands who died in the Second World War, fighting alongside 156,000 Allied soldiers to free Europe on D-Day. To him, Terrence Jr. died a hero, trying to save millions under brutal occupation. It''s heartbreaking, though, considering they landed in different sectors on the same beach¡ªmy great-granddad on Dog Green, his son on Dog White.


    He didn¡¯t want to visit Terrence Jr.''s grave because he saw each soldier as a cog in a vast machine. To him, his son''s sacrifice was part of a greater effort, not an individual loss.


    I looked around Visala and Mitzy¡¯s house¡ªit¡¯s cozy but minimalist. They¡¯re usually out and about, and the kids are outside when not in school. Visala mentioned Mitzy was at work, and the kids had left for school an hour earlier. When she asked why I stopped by, I explained I just wanted to check in on my family. She was alone, so we got to chatting.


    Turns out we¡¯re both the type who can''t stand people ignoring weather warnings. Like, if a tsunami is coming, get told that it¡¯s coming  and you still head to the beach where it¡¯s going to hit, that¡¯s on you. There are systems for all sorts of disasters¡ªvolcanoes, earthquakes, thunderstorms, hurricanes, tornadoes. If a warning¡¯s issued, we take it seriously, whether it¡¯s a watch or an warning. No waiting until the last minute; being prepared is key.


    We also reminisced about how things have changed from the 1920s to the ''50s. Back in the ''50s, construction was cheaper and cars were everywhere. Prefabricated buildings weren¡¯t a thing yet¡ªthere were pre-cut buildings where everything was pre-measured for you to assemble. Prefabricated buildings came about in the late ''40s and early ''50s, mostly due to returning G.I.s after the war.


    Visala also shared that on their first date, she and Mitzy went to the town¡¯s Bistro. It¡¯s a bit pricey, but worth every penny. They had a little hiccup when the waitress brought them the wrong order, but they kindly sent it back, and she quickly corrected it with apologies.


    I told Visala how Empire¡¯s restaurants often have dress codes. Many establishments offer options from a single course to a full three-course meal. My girlfriend and I usually stick with mozzarella sticks for appetizers, and while the main course varies, I often go for steak with a side of mac and cheese. Dessert is typically goth lasagna. I mean chocolate cake or a milkshake. Empire, once a sleepy town, transformed into a nightlife hub when the film industry moved in, attracting actors and actresses. It¡¯s no wonder restaurants enforce formal dress codes.


    I told Visala that about 90% of the rich folks in Empire are in the film industry. You''ve got your A and B list actors, the faces everyone knows. Then there are the C list actors¡ªrecognizable but nameless to most¡ªand the D listers, barely known and often holding down regular jobs while waiting for a big break. Directors typically want A and B listers, believing that known faces will draw bigger box office sales. Funny thing is, all those A and B list actors started off as nobodies, D listers grinding their way up. Some A listers even got a head start thanks to family connections.


    Take my cousin Twilight, for example. She dreams of being an actress. Many actors start as background extras or by helping out on set, fetching food orders instead of splurging on catering or craft services. Craft services, by the way, is the department in film production that provides snacks, drinks, and other assistance to the cast and crew.


    Visala talked about how she could never be a Storm Chaser. Chasing storms is incredibly dangerous. But, she and I agree that people should follow their passions, despite the risks. Just, you know, take a moment to observe your surroundings.


    When I asked Visala about family members who are one-sided, she didn''t hold back¡ªshe absolutely despises them. I shared my own experiences with family members who manipulate situations to their advantage. It''s like siblings setting up the eldest or youngest, and the family blindly believes the lying child.


    Blind trust can ruin relationships. I''ve known people who got kicked out by their parents over a sibling''s lie. When other Watersons hear about it, they voice their opinions, wanted or not, emphasizing how blind trust damages relationships. Parents who truly love their kids should act like detectives to find the truth, not just believe one side without evidence. If parents kick out a child based on a lie and that child moves on, starts a new life, and then gets married¡ªit''s often the parents and the lying sibling who want to show up uninvited. If they give an ultimatum, "include the lying sibling or none of us will come," many choose to go without them.


    It¡¯s true, you find out who your real friends are when you''re at your lowest. Fake friends disappear when times get tough. Real friends and true family stick.


    I even shared with Visala how I had friends back in Alabama, ones I met in middle and high school, who were kicked out by their parents over a single lie. When they showed up at our doorstep, my dad and I would take them in for a few nights. My dad would call their extended family to explain, but many were rude and sided with the parents. Others were sympathetic but couldn''t take them in due to space. Eventually, my dad would reach out to our own extended family, explaining the situation, and we Watersons would band together, doing our best to provide stability for these kids.


    My dad always said rumors are often stronger than the truth, and people are quick to believe them. But once these kids found stability in a supportive environment, they slowly began to heal. Though, as my dad noted, people are never quite the same after such experiences. When their original families, who had kicked them out, wanted to re-enter their lives, it felt like they were trying to play happy family or when it¡¯s convenient for them after so much time had passed.


    Visala''s reaction was spot o.: "So the parents ''can''t abandon their son or daughter'' by going to the wedding or any other event alone, but they could abandon their other child for years over lies? They deserve to go to the grave knowing how badly they messed up."


    It''s a tough pill to swallow, seeing how deep family betrayals can cut. It really makes you appreciate those who stand by you, through thick and thin. But the thing is that you only know who will stick by you when you¡¯re at your lowest.  People you think are your friends will happily sell you out or abandon you if you get in the way of something they want. You''ll only find out who your real friends are when you''re down.


    Of course I told Visala that in my eyes that those fathers are sperm donors not fathers and the mothers are egg donors not mothers.


    To Visala, parents like them can go to hell and still wonder why the child they kicked out doesn¡¯t show up to their funeral. It¡¯s because people tend to remember bad things when there¡¯s nothing good to balance it out. If you¡¯re always put in bad situations, you remember the bad and have nothing good to hold on to. It¡¯s especially true in family dynamics where ¡°the people you are closest to tend to be able to hurt you the most.¡± That hurt runs deep when it comes from those we love and trust.


    My friends who were kicked out by their parents over lies know this well. When their parents want to reconnect years later, they often say no. They¡¯ve spent years without contact, disowned and abandoned. Then suddenly, the parents want to reconnect because a lying sibling is in the hospital, calling it ¡°a sign¡± to move on as a family. But those wounds are deep, and they¡¯d rather move on with their lives than be dragged back into negativity. Their parents and siblings can¡¯t understand what it¡¯s like to have their name dragged through the mud, given the cold shoulder by everyone.


    Those friends found refuge with other families, ones who believed in evidence over blind trust. It''s ironic and sad how some parents believe lies without question but demand proof when their kids tell the truth. It''s a double standard, and it''s destructive.


    I even told Visala how some of my friends moved on to greener pastures, landing good-paying jobs and better positions due to their experience. But now, their parents and siblings, who once abandoned them, want back in. They think it¡¯s socially acceptable to look like a happy family or expect them to use their position to give jobs to the sibling who lied and ruined their lives, or to other siblings.


    But my friends said no. They¡¯re not going to abuse their positions, and they¡¯re certainly not going to play favorites. They''d rather hire an inexperienced person than any family member who left them high and dry over a lie.


    Visala and I left the house and strolled through Moonlight Cove, a charming coastal town cradled by mountains on three sides. It¡¯s a unique blend of modern and futuristic architecture mixed with the nostalgic charm of 1950s American suburbs. The town has its own school, police station, library, art gallery, and movie theater.


    We headed to the store, taking a detour through the park. It''s not a supermarket, just a small store with everyday essentials¡ªperfect for a quaint town like this. As we walked, we talked more about our views on life and family, soaking in the serene atmosphere.


    Visala shared some wild stories about the worst kinds of parents¡ªthe ones who demand their failing kids get passed, accusing teachers of violating educational rights. But teachers just grade based on the work they see, no special favors. Many of them have military backgrounds and combat experience, so dealing with entitled parents is like water off a duck¡¯s back. When they snap back, it''s a whole different level, because these folks have faced real-life danger.


    I mentioned to Visala that my girlfriend has met those types at PTA meetings. Teachers often tell these entitled parents that if parenting had grades, they¡¯d score an F minus. It¡¯s tough dealing with people who can¡¯t face the reality of their own shortcomings.


    I told Visala about my girlfriend''s encounters with entitled parents who think the world revolves around them. They want their failing kids to pass, but here in Little Bird, there¡¯s no ¡°No student left behind¡± policy. Students need to have the appropriate grade-level reading and writing skills. Every year, from elementary to high school, schools perform summative assessments to determine how many students are reading at grade level, who needs extra support, and who has serious difficulties requiring further assessment.


    I also mentioned how my girlfriend''s daughters, who are in fifth grade, have a sixth-grade reading level. Her eldest twins, who are in sixth grade, tutor their younger sisters. Lusty, my girlfriend, even bribes her eldest daughters to help their younger sisters with schoolwork and prepare them for middle school. It¡¯s all about more advanced schoolwork now, with no more recess before or after lunch.


    Visala and I agreed that education is crucial, and it¡¯s important to ensure kids are truly learning and not just being pushed through the system. It¡¯s about preparing them for the future, not just the next grade.


    Visala shared that when she was in elementary school, recess came before lunch from first to fourth grade, but in fifth grade, it was lunch first and then playtime. I told her that according to my girlfriend, it varies by grade¡ªgrades 1, 3, and 5 have recess before lunch, while grades 2 and 4 have lunch first. I asked Visala where she was from, but she said I wouldn''t believe it and chose not to elaborate. I''ve learned to give people space until they¡¯re ready to open up.


    People often never fully heal from traumatic events, even with closure. My girlfriend, Lusty, for example, lost her parents in an apartment fire when she was a probationary firefighter. She feels she never got to say goodbye. She convinced her company officer to go to the tenement building, which canceled Squad Co 525''s response. Fifteen years later, she still blames herself 98%, with the remaining 2% on her mother¡¯s former client. This client filed a fake lawsuit in 1980, causing her mother to lose her therapist license. Her parents took on backbreaking, low-paying jobs to support the family, working long hours on very little sleep, which affected their senses.


    Lusty told me more about her parents, a mixed couple¡ªCaucasian father, Native mother¡ªhence she''s mixed too. Her father''s parents never accepted her mother or her. They even called Lusty a "thing" instead of acknowledging her as their granddaughter. That was the final straw for her dad. He cut ties without losing sleep over it because his real family was his wife and daughter.


    On her mother''s side, her grandparents were skeptical but respected their daughter''s choice, treating her future son-in-law as family. They never saw Lusty¡¯s mother as their in-law or Lusty as a family member. It wasn''t until a decade after her parents'' deaths that her father''s family wanted to reconnect. Lusty shut them down, telling them her parents were dead and they should leave. Her father spent years wanting his family to accept his wife and daughter, but once they called Lusty a "thing," he was done and burnt that bridge beyond repair.


    Visala said they made their bed and now they have to lay in it, never accepting my girlfriend or her mother. We suspect they''re like those strict religious families insisting on opposite gender, same-skin-color, same-religion marriages. Visala pointed out how my girlfriend''s mother struck gold. So many people cave to family pressure and leave their partners when their parents disapprove. But my girlfriend''s father stayed with his girlfriend-turned-wife, even when his entire family opposed it. He ignored them and stood by her side. My girlfriend¡¯s mother found someone who had a spine, who stood up to his entire family¡ªsomething not everyone can do.


    I told Visala how people make their choices and have to live with the consequences. Like my dad and cousin Mitchell''s half-sister Cadenza always say, "Choices have consequences." Some choices are definitely better than others, though. Take my girlfriend''s father''s family¡ªthey didn¡¯t like him dating someone of Native background, and when they had a child, they never accepted her. Calling my girlfriend a "thing" was the nail in the coffin. They alienated my girlfriend¡¯s mother and her, and there was no fixing what was broken.


    When some of her father¡¯s family reached out to reconnect, my girlfriend gave them the same treatment they had given her and her mother. They didn¡¯t like getting a taste of their own medicine. They claimed race had nothing to do with it, but when she challenged them, they froze and stuttered. She knew she¡¯d hit the mark. When they called her "stubborn like your father," she simply responded, "I¡¯ll take that as a compliment."


    Visala laughed at the irony of my girlfriend''s father''s family alienating him just because he chose to marry someone they didn''t approve of, yet he stood by his significant other against all odds. She called it tribalism, explaining how it''s often easier to follow your group¡ªeven if it means conforming to opinions that conflict with yours¡ªthan to stick to what¡¯s right. Tribalism can override reason, making risky times even riskier, either by feeding into dangerous actions or encouraging behavior one wouldn¡¯t normally engage in due to peer pressure.


    My girlfriend, being part Native Little Birden and from the Nightingale Tribe, understands this dynamic well. Her tribe, known for its militaristic culture, emphasizes earning individual merit rather than relying on ancestral achievements. Lusty delved into her heritage, earning her own Native name and discovering that her mother¡¯s family included military legends. In their portraits, the rifles were customized to reflect their cultural identity.


    Lusty shared how, historically, four out of the five Native Little Birden tribes had no concept of total war before 1697 in which then all five tribes united under a single banner. They engaged in minor skirmishes but avoided major conflicts. The Nightingale Tribe, however, introduced the brutal concept of total war, inflicting casualties and damage within days that the other tribes might have faced over a century. The other tribes typically had women perform domestic tasks, but the Nightingale Tribe included female warriors skilled in archery and specialized roles like "Thieves" and spies who infiltrated enemy territories to sabotage their finances by razing crops and stealing valuables.


    I told Visala how Lusty shared with me the structured roles within the Nightingale Tribe. Everyone has a role, with able-bodied people primarily serving as fighters, while others handle farming, hunting, and educating the next generation. Lusty had embarked on a quest to uncover her mother¡¯s heritage, which led her to retrieve a special rose that grows high on vines to get sunlight.


    When she asked a Chieftain about the Nightingale Tribe''s contributions to the Little Bird military, he explained, "Raiders mostly. We''d raid enemy lines at night or in urban combat, using our battle cry to terrify the enemy. Initially, we used wooden spears, then upgraded to spears with bone heads and bow and arrows. When settlers arrived, they thought their muskets would scare us off, but we''d raid them at night, capturing their muskets and black powder. Our cultural identity remains strong; we carry tomahawks instead of knives and decorate our helmets or wear headdresses instead of military caps. And we always speak in our native tongue in the military."


    I also told Visala about how Lusty discovered her spirit animal, a wolf, symbolizing courage, strength, loyalty, and success in hunting, even though she doesn¡¯t hunt. Her mother¡¯s spirit animal was a dog, which guided her as a Stalker and Hunter, following her to hunt for meat.


    ¡°So, how¡¯s it been being married for the past twelve years?¡± I asked.


    ¡°It¡¯s been nice and quiet,¡± Visala replied. ¡°I¡¯m still more used to city life than rural, but that¡¯s just me.¡±


    We wrapped up the shopping and headed back to her and Mitzy¡¯s place. She¡¯d grabbed just a few things, planning to cook a fancy meal because, back where she¡¯s from, royalty dines on luxury food. As we left the checkout line, our conversation shifted to how some people hate others just for existing or for superficial reasons. But the irony? When those same people come into money¡ªwinning the lottery or inheriting cash¡ªeveryone they know shows up with their hand out. They try to guilt-trip them emotionally or legally for a quick handout, then disappear when the money runs dry.


    I shared with Visala how I have friends who are like cheesy rom-com characters, dating people who are their total opposites. I said, ¡°The Cobbler has the worst shoes.¡±


    She agreed, noting, ¡°Most experts in their fields do not take their own advice to heart.¡± It¡¯s true; many experts don''t follow their own advice.


    Visala and I both get mad that people with strong morals and good intentions often get punished by the petty and corrupt. She mentioned knowing families who enable adultery, choosing to keep it a secret when they find out.


    It¡¯s frustrating to see good people getting the short end of the stick because they won¡¯t compromise their values.


    Visala mentioned encountering some truly mean and toxic people. She talked about how other housewives called her tradition of honoring her dead mother and ex-fianc¨¦ stupid. Twice a year, on April 25th and May 1st, she takes time out of her schedule to honor their memory by doing activities they used to do together. These women even planned lunches on those days, knowing about her traditions, and then criticized her for not showing up.


    Visala said, ¡°Honestly, I wasn¡¯t even sad when they stopped coming around. It showed where their priorities lie.¡±


    To me It¡¯s disheartening how some people can¡¯t be respected.


    Visala takes immense pride in her work as a scientist, often called upon to study alien technology and reverse engineer it for human use. Whether it''s making alien laser weapons more practical for humans or developing advanced medicines to shield from harmful radiation, she¡¯s deeply passionate about her contributions.


    I asked her about her parents and ex-fianc¨¦. She said their deaths were something I wouldn''t believe¡ª"out of this world" was how she put it. As for her ex-fianc¨¦, she explained that her culture sees dying on the battlefield as the ultimate honor, far better than hiding in cowardice. He was at a crossroads and chose to sacrifice himself to save what little remained of their culture, thus regaining his honor. Despite his brilliance and strategic mind¡ªoperating with ¡°subtlety and minimum expenditure of lives and resources¡±¡ªhe made the ultimate sacrifice, following a lineage of fearlessness from his father, grandfather, and beyond.


    When we got back to their house, I asked Visala more about her culture. She made me promise to keep it a secret, and I gave her my "Scout¡¯s honor" vow, even though I was never a girl scout. I believe in honorable standards and standing by my promises.


    Visala shared that her home is literally out of this world, with sleek buildings in light colors, primarily white. The cityscape had many green spaces, non-grid boulevards, and sunken parks. Fountains were everywhere, and there were underground plazas with thick glass roofs. The city centers are interconnected with an L-Train system and subway stations, and the road network accommodates cars, buses, and trucks. There was a bus system for city or cross-province travel, with buses emerging from tunnels around the cities.


    Her world¡¯s technology is leagues ahead of what we have here. And, as it turns out, Visala was a princess.


    Visala shared how advanced her world was¡ªso advanced that they had cures for many diseases now lost to time. I told her that if her culture had the cure for cancer or other human ailments, she would¡¯ve won a Nobel Prize, ironic since those prizes are named after the inventor of dynamite.


    Visala¡¯s story took a somber turn when she mentioned she left her world to escape its destruction. She was among the few who managed to flee while everyone else couldn¡¯t. It¡¯s a heavy burden to carry, knowing you survived when so many didn¡¯t.


    When I delicately asked Visala how many people were on her planet, she said there were 7.9 billion. Out of that, only 1,000 managed to escape alongside her. It¡¯s a somber reality, knowing that billions perished while only a handful survived. I asked where the others were now. Visala explained that they¡¯ve blended into human society. Some, like her, are married, have kids, and hold jobs. Others live off the grid.


    Visala then asked how¡¯s my prosthetic left arm, in which I told her that it¡¯s fine and how it works like how it¡¯s supposed to but for a while I had problems but went to a specialist who worked out the bugs and got it fixed so it works good. Visala said that I was welcome because it was her knowledge that could create prosthetic arms that look realistic to a real human arm but just filled with circuits and connect to the bone.


    Visala shared that over her twelve years on Earth, she¡¯s learned it¡¯s okay to disappoint others, but never disappoint yourself. I couldn''t agree more. I told her that I actually enjoy disappointing others if it means staying true to myself.


    My mindset is simple. ¡°There¡¯s two kinds of people in the world; those who like me and those who can go to hell.¡± I¡¯m not changing for anyone who wants me to be someone I¡¯m not.


    My mother tried to mold me into her ideal of an obedient 1950s housewife¡ªcooking, cleaning, having kids, and listening to my husband without question. When I came out as bi, she dismissed it as a phase. Thankfully, my dad supported me, even when acceptance of homosexuality wasn¡¯t as common. To Visala, someone¡¯s sexuality is their own business. I totally agree¡ªeveryone¡¯s different, and those differences should be respected.


    I shared with Visala the irony of my mother wanting me to be an ideal 1950s housewife while she herself was an addict, lying around watching TV, and constantly fighting with my dad over minor things like a messy house, despite his long work hours.


    When Visala asked about my job, I told her it¡¯s fine. I plan to be the kind of firefighter officer who vets potential newcomers to ensure they can handle the job''s stress. Like my girlfriend, who¡¯s nicknamed the ¡°Ghetto firefighter¡± because she''s comfortable in any situation¡ªwhether it''s a fire, a mass casualty incident, or specialized rescues like rope or building collapse, she''s scared but comfortable with it all.


    Lusty¡¯s from a district that middle and upper-class people would call a ¡°ghetto.¡± It¡¯s rundown and at the bottom rung of the social and economic ladder. Banks and other places often redline this area, denying loans or insurance due to perceived danger.


    I even told Visala how the city of Empire burned from 1968-1995 with increased fires, mostly arson for profit. There¡¯s debate about when it started, some say 1967, others 1968. The Fire Department City of Empire fire commissioner attributed it to poor families from rural areas crowded into unfamiliar environments, leading to accidental fires. But in reality, the old tenement buildings were obsolete, a century old by now. The electrical systems couldn¡¯t handle new appliances, causing fires when people used TVs, blenders, microwaves, or electric stoves.


    Looking at fire department incident reports, 94% of those fires were labeled as ¡°Suspicious fire¡± rather than ¡°Cause of Fire: Unknown,¡± which requires an Arson Investigator. The city only has 40 arson investigators in the Fire Department, with the Police Department having their own Arson Squad. Both are considered the most boring and lowly departments because there''s often not enough evidence to investigate thoroughly. Many investigators believe arson is typically insurance fraud, with people setting fires to claim on their insurance. Fires are most destructive when they burn longer, and many start at night, delaying the fire department''s response.


    I also told Visala how in this country, turning eighteen means fighting a metaphorical war. Take my job, for example¡ªeach class has 100-120 men and women training for one spot. It¡¯s all about performance in training and exams. My girlfriend and I are in specialized units acting like miniature rescue squads but operating as Engine or Ladder Companies. She advised me to take HAZMAT Tech A, Building Collapse One, and Vertical Rescue courses to be eligible for a Squad Company. You have to show you want it, giving 200% and going the extra mile even when exhausted.


    Of course, I told Visala that we have to really bust our rear ends to get picked for more dangerous jobs in firefighting. It''s a tough gig, especially when dealing with hazardous goods like explosives, flammable and poisonous gasses, flammable and nonflammable liquids, and dangerous solids. We also handle water rescues in white water and rapids, dealing with classes four to six on the international river difficulty scale. We''re all certified divers, even though the city has its own Dive rescue unit.


    I shared with her how my girlfriend had Thalassophobia for a long time. When she was six, she was with her grandparents on a rainy day, and a truck hydroplaned, hitting their car and sending it into the river. Her grandparents were killed instantly, but she was still alive and terrified. She didn¡¯t know the city had a specialized water rescue unit until someone in a dive suit appeared, used an Oxy-Hydro cutter to get her out, and saved her. The city brought in one of those cranes or wrecker cranes to pull the car out of the water.


    I told Visala how, in the academy, taking classes to join a Squad company made other trainees talk behind my back. It made me feel like I''d done something wrong. Seeing their looks, I could imagine what they were saying. But I kept reminding myself that ambition makes people uncomfortable, and I wasn¡¯t doing it for them¡ªI was doing it for me. Lusty and my dad always said that ambition is seen as a threat. Taking those advanced classes rubbed some trainees the wrong way since we were all still just trainees, not even fully-fledged firefighters.


    I also shared with Visala that I carry two chips on my shoulder: being a woman in a male-dominated field and being related to two highly respected captains, plus dating a highly respected lieutenant. People expect me to act entitled because of my connections, but I just keep my head down and do as I''m told, showing my worth through my actions, not my associations. My cousin Dave who¡¯s a Captain, his wife Captain Linda, and Lusty all say I¡¯m the type of person every officer wants¡ªsomeone who can keep their mouth shut and follow orders. In the academy, we learned ¡°Not to run but walk with a purpose.¡± It¡¯s about making informed decisions.


    I told Visala about others in my class who¡¯d run to a door without checking if it¡¯s hot, often triggering a backdraft. They¡¯d get chewed out by Backdraft Specialists¡ªexperts who know the signs of a backdraft and teach us how to avoid or neutralize one. These specialists would demonstrate using a metal trash can, lighting a fire inside with the lid on, then quickly removing the lid to show the blast of smoke and fire when oxygen rushes in, simulating a hot, oxygen-depleted environment.


    I told Visala how, after getting injured on the job, I was temporarily assigned to an arson investigation under Captain Daniella Vinton. Her first words to me were, ¡°I know your cousin and your girlfriend¡ªthey¡¯re helluva firefighters and they have a reputation. But Dave and Claire¡¯s reputation doesn¡¯t mean anything here.¡± Captain Vinton was actually Dave¡¯s first Captain, and she said there was little she could teach him because, ¡°Dave was already trained before getting on the job.¡±


    Dave¡¯s father and uncle were firemen from 1968-2003, and Dave was pretty much raised in a firehouse. Captain Vinton told me that Dave¡¯s mindset was such that if you gave him a number of a compartment on any fire engine or truck, he¡¯d tell you every tool in there and describe each tool''s role. He spent most of his youth in the firehouse, absorbing everything around him. Despite that, Dave says he never really wanted to be a firefighter but ended up taking the civil servant exam and became one out of his own will.


    Visala noted how many people end up pursuing careers they initially didn¡¯t intend to, often because of tradition, being around it so much, or just to stay with friends. She also knew about Dave¡¯s father and uncle, who were ahead of their time in the early ''70s. They were the type of firefighters who¡¯d leave you more knowledgeable after every conversation, always eager to try something new. Born and raised in Greenwich Village, Manhattan, their father was a Manhattan fireman. They volunteered in Queens and Staten Island but faced rejection when trying to go professional. They even tried to fight in Vietnam but were denied, so they moved to Little Bird and finally got accepted as firefighters. This was during New York¡¯s decline, with economic stagnation, industrial decline, and high unemployment leading to increased crime rates.


    Bobby and Clark Waterson were known in Little Bird for being tough on business owners to install sprinklers and on building contractors to use fire-resistant materials. They lobbied for new fire safety laws and better technology, foreseeing the need for more comprehensive fire department roles, long before the first accredited paramedic training. They believed that as first responders, they needed medical training to provide proper aid until ambulances arrived.


    I mentioned how my girlfriend recounted a female mayor of Empire who merged the city EMS with the Fire Department to reduce response times. She argued that if a bomb went off in the City Council room or a major earthquake happened, rescue units would arrive within minutes, but independent and hospital owned ambulances would only transport the injured to another waiting doctor, often too late. The Fire Department could provide some first aid but lacked the comprehensive medical training needed on the spot. She emphasized how crucial it was to have fully integrated emergency services to stabilize victims faster and improve their survival chances, taking into account traffic and roadblocks. She convinced the City Council, and the merger passed.


    Visala asked about my public school experience. I explained it was fine, but I was mostly a reserved kid, sticking to the shadows, blending in with the crowd. I preferred being a nobody over being someone constantly craving attention.


    I shared about how some students were picked on for their religious views, especially those that prohibited celebrating holidays and birthdays. High school was the toughest for me, especially with puberty and coming out as bi. Some of my friends belonged to a cult that didn¡¯t accept outsiders. They claimed to accept everyone, but behind closed doors, anyone who wasn¡¯t straight and not in their cult isn¡¯t welcome.


    In high school, I got a lot of unwanted attention from guys, and how many fellow female classmates were jealous of me having bigger breasts than them but to me that¡¯s more of a curse than a luxury, and my refusal to go out with a popular guy sparked rumors spread by some girls. I do like guys, but I prefer women. I was in a rebellious mood mostly against my mom. Some of my friends in the cult were discouraged from befriending outsiders because we could give them a reality check. If someone left the cult, they were cut off by all their friends faster than a blink.


    I explained to Visala that I¡¯m a non-practicing Baptist. In my religion, if someone leaves, we remain friends but avoid talking about religion with them but still friends with them. However, my friends in the cult are cut off entirely if they leave.


    Continuing our conversation, I shared more with Visala. I explained how some of my friends in a cult had to deal with isolation because their group hates them having friends outside the cult. They fear that outsiders like me could give their members a reality check, exposing the cult¡¯s flaws or showing there¡¯s more to life than dogma.


    Visala asked how much of a non-practicing religious person I am. I told her it¡¯s been over two years since I attended church, and I haven¡¯t read the Bible in three and a half months. My last participation in religious activities was missionary work from 2001-2003. I stopped because it felt like forcing my beliefs on others, and I wasn¡¯t comfortable being far from home for extended periods even though I did enjoy being far from my mom so guess you can say that¡¯s a double edged sword. Honestly, I¡¯d rather work as a waitress for 96 hours straight than go on another mission trip.


    In high school, I was a waitress part-time and got decent tips. But I was shy and more of a loner. I doubt my teachers even remember my name because I was just another face in the crowd. In contrast, many of my friends had spoiled siblings who were involved in sports or after-school activities and were widely known. Teachers often talked to them about their siblings'' successes.


    Visala told me that back home, she attended what we humans call a private school, exclusively for royalty and influential families, like her ex-fianc¨¦¡¯s, renowned for their brilliant tactics. Despite being an arranged marriage, it could¡¯ve worked because they were long-time friends, familiar with each other¡¯s strengths and weaknesses.


    Visala shared that her mother would never have forced her to marry a stranger, as they both have a knack for seeing people¡¯s true colors early on. She told her fianc¨¦ multiple times not to feel pressured by family tradition if he wasn''t comfortable with it, even though he was supposed to be the next military commander, following in the footsteps of his father, grandfather, and so on. He had no interest in that path, and Visala herself never wanted to be a princess. Her mother being a queen meant they were thrust into roles they didn''t want. Visala is more of a scientist at heart, and on Earth, she studies xenoarchaeology. Her ex-fianc¨¦ was more comfortable behind a desk, doing paperwork, stargazing, and studying the weather rather than making military strategies and playing wargames.


    Visala shrugged when I asked about her father, as she never met him, and her mother never really talked about him. She assumed he either died when she was too young to remember or was a qualified donor who vanished after conception. With her home world destroyed, he¡¯s likely gone unless he was among the few who escaped. Visala never lost sleep over it, believing her dad was just "sleeping," as her mother used to say about the deceased.


    Visala mentioned how kids in her home world are seen as smarter than adults often give them credit for. They understand more than people realize. As a child, she didn¡¯t grasp the concept of death fully but knew her mother¡¯s "sleeping" meant something more permanent, which she called "forever sleep" until learning about death later in life.


    I agree with Visala. Children have incredibly active imaginations and can understand far more than adults think, often picking up on subtleties that are overlooked.


    Visala used to speculate that one of the Royal Guards protecting her and her mother could''ve been her father, but she dismissed this theory. The Royal Guards were strictly professional, ensuring that those they protected knew who to allow access. Any romantic relationship between a royal and a guard would¡¯ve caused a scandal and led to the guard being fired for breaching contract and ethical violations. Visala asked me to visualize a medieval hierarchy pyramid: the Royal Guards were akin to medieval knights, and the royalty of her world held the same status as medieval royals.


    She explained that while her species has more or less human anatomy, she and Mitzy¡¯s kids are half-human hybrids. The kids don¡¯t know this because her species¡¯ mothers can add or remove certain traits from their newborns. Visala ensured their alien heritage was concealed. Some of her DNA is human, but it¡¯s a long story.


    I asked Visala how old she is when Visala revealed she''s twenty years old and was nineteen when she arrived on Earth. She explained that ten Earth years equate to just one year on her homeworld. It''s mind-blowing to think one Earth decade is merely a year where she¡¯s from. The technology from her world is so advanced that modern human tech looks like it belongs to the Classical era, and anything from a century ago appears to be from the Neolithic era.


    Visala said how one Earth century is a decade from where she¡¯s from so she has to work four hundred Earth years which is forty years where she¡¯s from.


    Visala told me I would¡¯ve loved her planet, but words couldn¡¯t do it justice. She showed me photos of her homeworld before its destruction. It looked like one of those planets in sci-fi movies¡ªlush jungles and forests, a popular tourist destination. Her planet was almost nine thousand miles in diameter, with gravity at 1.04, an atmosphere of 1.5 nitrogen and oxygen, and temperatures ranging from 63¡ãF to 125.6¡ãF during the day, dropping as low as 20¡ãF to 62¡ãF at night.


    The planet was covered in dense, lush forests and jungles. It had tropical plant species like small palms, ferns, and various broadleaf plants, similar to date palms and banana plants. The culture of her people was peaceful and thriving.


    It¡¯s incredible to think of such a vibrant, advanced world that once existed. It must¡¯ve been a beautiful place to call home.


    Visala reminisced about the advanced tech on her home planet. Hover cars, mind-bending engineering, and trains that make Earth¡¯s high-speed trains look like antique coal engines. They had robots programmed for specific fields: firefighting models that could withstand 24 million degrees Fahrenheit and used cryo guns; police models equipped with shockers; construction models with built-in hammers, nail guns, and welding tools. There was no military robot version, though. Their culture believed in the honor of flesh-and-blood sacrifices in war.


    It''s astonishing to think of such technological advancements, making our modern world seem primitive in comparison. Visala¡¯s descriptions paint a vivid picture of a world we can only dream of.


    Her world sounds like something straight out of a science fiction show. Faster-than-light capabilities, military pulse weapons, lasers, and plasma weaponry, and advanced armor. Visala even remade their powered exoskeleton assault armor for human use. It''s fascinating and mind-blowing to think about the advanced technology they had.


    As one in the afternoon rolled around, Mitzy came home. He asked what I was doing there, and I told my cousin once removed that I was just visiting. He didn''t push it and went over to the fridge. I noticed his uniform had a Major insignia, which surprised me because last I checked, he was a Lieutenant back in the late 90s, early 2000s.


    When I asked what he does in the military, he shrugged and said, "It¡¯s a supply depot. What do you think?" I guess that means he''s a supply officer who spends his days at a desk, on a computer or typewriter, or walking around doing inventory.


    Mitzy just said he got his hands full at the battalion level, ensuring every little detail is documented thrice over. I can¡¯t imagine the patience required for that much paperwork.


    Mitzy¡¯s response about the bureaucratic nature of logistics work was enlightening. ¡°Everything has to be done in triplicate. If you need just one bandage, then you and that soldier need to fill out three pieces of the same paper. And if you want your pay early, you need to do that paperwork in triplicate as well.¡±


    Talk about meticulous. It¡¯s a far cry from the more hands-on, immediate action of firefighting. But I guess every role has its own challenges and necessary precision.


    I said about how in firefighting well to me that the city I work for that only officers do the paperwork unless if it¡¯s a major emergency or one of those situations that they needed everyone¡¯s point of view. Like if someone accused a company of theft at an emergency then they would want us to write out paperwork from what we did, what our position is and if we saw anything like what was stolen or not. But mostly it¡¯s the Captains and Lieutenants who get stuck with the paperwork and I told Mitzy and Visula how my cousin Dave and girlfriend Lusty said how you need to be 100% accurate on said reports no detail left out no matter how small of course it¡¯s kinda difficult of writing an report on the effort of six others or seven overall of what they done to the letter. Of course I said about how my cousin Dave doesn¡¯t do that because while yes he¡¯s a captain but he can¡¯t supervise six others at the same time because having two guys on the roof to ventilate the roof while another two performing search and rescue while another two performing forced entry along side with the search and rescue team.


    I explained to Mitzy and Visala that in firefighting, paperwork is usually handled by officers unless it¡¯s a major emergency or when everyone¡¯s point of view is needed, like in cases of theft accusations during a response. Captains and Lieutenants mostly bear the brunt of the paperwork, and both my cousin Dave and girlfriend Lusty emphasized the need for 100% accuracy¡ªno detail too small.


    It¡¯s challenging to document the precise actions of six people. Dave, even as a captain, can¡¯t supervise all tasks simultaneously¡ªhaving two guys on the roof ventilating, another two performing search and rescue, and another two handling forced entry alongside the search and rescue team.


    I told Visala how my cousin-in-law Linda, married to Dave, has it even tougher. She handles calls a normal fire company can¡¯t manage. According to Dave, once Linda was so backed up with paperwork it would make a school teacher pull their hair out. From 7:30 AM at shift change, she was called to an underwater rescue, then at 8:15 AM to a high-rise building spewing scalding steam onto a boulevard. By 9 AM, she was dealing with a third alarm fire, and at 11 AM, she was dispatched to a 200-ton crane that broke a water main. All this before lunch! And back at quarters had to write a detailed report of each one and that each one had to be written.


    I told Visala that Linda¡¯s father was a highly respected battalion chief, and still is. Linda and her siblings practically grew up in the firehouse, learning the ropes. They know how crucial it is to write up accurate incident reports. Miswriting or miscalculating can cause serious issues. They¡¯re trained to classify incidents correctly and record times down to the second. They report from their own perspective but cover their company¡¯s actions in the third person. They start with the initial response details and classify the fire, whether it¡¯s:


    Fire (with cause)


    Suspicious Fire


    Cause of Fire: Unknown


    I explained to Visala  that those who didn¡¯t go home at shift change could at least file for overtime. In Empire, the Fire Department has a system where at shift change, if one member comes in for their company, one person can leave until all seven off-shift report in, then the on-shift can go home.

 Chapter Twenty-Five

    November 1st


    I had a chat with Dynamite. She followed my advice to the letter. Her parents had pressured her into marrying this guy before they could finalize their retirement plans and cash out their stocks. So, she went through with it, tying the knot just to keep them happy.


    But here¡¯s where it gets interesting. As soon as her parents got their money and retired, Dynamite marched straight to the courthouse. She got the marriage annulled, claiming she was under duress the whole time.


    The twist? The guy she married was right there with her. Turns out, he didn¡¯t want to marry her either. He had his eyes on someone else, not Madeline. So, they both agreed to call it quits.


    Dynamite mentioned that getting an annulment was way cheaper than a divorce, and it got their parents off their backs. Now, she''s running her family''s restaurants, and the guy she married is managing his family''s restaurant chain. They''re both free from that forced marriage.


    Interestingly, the guy didn''t want to marry her either. He went along with the annulment because he was also under pressure from his parents. Madeline, or Dynamite, likes Marinia, and the guy had someone else in mind too. So, in the end, it all worked out for the best.


    I think Dynamite and Avalanche have a unique bond because of their shared experiences in the military. Dynamite, as a Marine Combat Engineer, had one of the most dangerous roles, dealing with explosives and torches in the heat of combat to build or destroy as needed. Avalanche, on the other hand, was a military mountaineer, facing the perilous task of climbing snow and ice-covered mountains.


    Both roles required immense bravery and skill, and the constant danger they faced likely forged a deep connection between them. It''s no wonder they understand and appreciate each other so well. Their shared history of navigating life-threatening situations has probably created a strong foundation for their relationship.


    Dynamite and Avalanche have chosen not to date because they work in the same firehouse, even though my girlfriend was willing to overlook it as long as they could maintain a clear boundary between their personal and professional lives. She was open to the idea of them being a couple off duty and just colleagues on shift. However, they decided it was best to remain friends.


    My girlfriend made it clear that if they couldn''t keep their feelings in check, she would have had to transfer one of them out of the firehouse. Dynamite, being the selfless type, would likely have volunteered to transfer to maintenance, where she could repair the gear and apparatus. She''s the kind of person who might forget personal milestones like weddings or birthdays but would remember every detail about the equipment she serviced.


    My girlfriend''s firehouse is like a tight-knit family. They''re the "Vault" type¡ªtrustworthy to the core, keeping secrets safe forever. It''s a stark contrast to some other firehouses in the city, where you find the "Nickel and Dimer" types. These are the folks who, if you ask them to cover your shift, will remember it and expect you to return the favor. They''re also the ones who, if they chip in ten bucks, will want exact change back.


    My cousin Dave often deals with the "Back in my day" crowd. These are the firefighters who reminisce about how different the job was back in the late ''70s to early ''90s. Dave and his wife Linda come from a family with a rich firefighting history. Dave''s grandfather, father, and uncle started at a time when breathing apparatus and automatic tools were either rare or non-existent. His granddad, my great-granddad, was a firefighter for forty years before hydraulic rescue tools were invented. Most of the guys he served with were veterans of the World Wars or the Korean War.


    When I was at Arcane University, I shadowed three different fire companies. They gave me a lot of reasons why I shouldn''t become a firefighter or an arson investigator. First, they said it wouldn''t make me rich, even with overtime. Second, it''s tough on your health, especially your sleep. Calls can be so spaced out that just when you get back to quarters and cozy in bed, you have to get up again.


    They also pointed out that if you''re not a people person, this job isn''t for you. You have to work closely with others and interact with the public regularly. From day one of training, you''re put into groups, and you''ll be living with other men and women for eight days a month on a California Roll schedule.


    My girlfriend Lusty and my cousin Dave really hit the nail on the head. We often deal with issues that the rest of society ignores, and civil servants are frequently blamed for not solving problems without being given the necessary resources. Every civil servant occupation is asked to do an impossible amount of work and then scapegoated when they can''t pull it off.


    Take the Empire Police Department, for example. They have to maintain a good relationship with City Hall, which can cut their funding at any moment if they feel the police aren''t performing well. This, in turn, hampers the police''s ability to perform effectively.


    For the fire department, it often ends up in lawsuits. Many officers, like Lusty and Dave, don''t hold back. Once, their respective companies responded to a fire where someone died, and one of the survivors sued the fire department for a slow response. During the hearing, both Lusty and Dave voiced their opinions bluntly.


    When Lusty''s parents died, she received sympathetic condolences from friends, neighbors, and even her Lieutenant, who gave her time off to plan the funeral. But Lusty only gives sympathy to those who deserve it, not to ungrateful jerks. Dave is the same way. They both believe in being straightforward and honest, especially when dealing with people who try to blame them for things beyond their control.


    Even fourteen years after her parents'' death, Lusty still talks to her former Lieutenant, now a Battalion Chief. She admits that even at thirty, she sometimes breaks down crying because she never got to say a proper goodbye to her parents. She was just seventeen, almost eighteen, at the time. She regrets asking her Lieutenant to go back to quarters instead of sending Squad 525.


    Lusty learned the hard way that in firefighting, you can''t save everyone. There will always be emergencies you can''t reach in time or fires that are too intense and fully involved. When a structure is fully involved, it''s often too dangerous to send in a search and rescue team, as the chances are high that everyone inside is already dead.


    Both Lusty and my cousin Dave, now officers, were taught that the number one priority is to protect their crew. They also learned the principle of "save little, do little," meaning that when dealing with abandoned buildings, it''s safer to surround and drown the fire with water rather than risk sending a crew inside. Sending a team into an abandoned structure is considered a major mistake for any officer.


    I love my work, and while Lusty and Dave are passionate about their careers too, they don''t sugarcoat the realities. They''ve lost colleagues to senseless deaths and injuries in the line of duty, and it takes a toll. Dave and his wife Linda, both Captains, seem like the perfect couple on the surface, but they have their struggles. Linda uses her job trauma as an excuse to bury herself in work, while Dave takes out his frustrations on a punching bag.


    In this city, firehouses have bulletin boards with resources for talking about problems, whether job-related or not. There are counselors available, but many firefighters, especially the men, are too prideful to seek help. They prefer to cope with gallows humor. My girlfriend and I believe that talking about our problems is crucial, even though the experiences never truly leave us.


    One way to get on everyone''s good side in a firehouse is by being a good cook. My cousin Dave quickly earned respect at Firehouse Sixteen by cooking homemade meals, a skill he learned after his father, who was married three times, had to cook for the family following the deaths of Dave''s mother and stepmother.


    I admire Dave not just because he''s family, but because he''s a clear and decisive officer. He makes it known that if someone disobeys orders and gets hurt or killed, it''s on them. He''ll tell the next candidate exactly how their predecessor died, like Linda''s sister Sarah, who didn''t listen to Dave and had a window washer platform slip out from under her and she fell fifteen stories to her death.


    I remember when I shadowed Firehouse Sixteen, which I saved for last¡ªdon''t ask me why. Dave put me through a cutting drill with a thick wooden pallet. When the saw failed, he handed me a fire ax and said, "Machines fail, men don¡¯t." It''s true; machines like saws can fail, but manual tools like axes don''t.


    During my time there, they got a call for a stuck elevator. I thought it would be interesting, but they assured me it was boring, and it was. Dave is the kind of officer who never sits idle. He constantly drills his company until they know every tool and compartment inside out. He even has them practice retrieving tools until they can do it blindfolded. Dave believes everyone should be comfortable with every tool, regardless of their position. He runs his duty roster like a lottery, drawing names and positions randomly, unlike other officers who just write down surnames next to the spots on a duty roster.


    Dave is the only officer I''ve met who truly emphasizes versatility in his training. Both he and Dynamite are the only firefighters I know who are trained to use explosives. Dynamite, with her background as a Marine Combat Engineer, and Dave, with his military training in explosive ordnance disposal and improvised explosive device disposal, bring unique skills to the table.


    Dave also teaches his company how to safely shut off electricity without waiting for an electrician, engineer, or utility worker. This is especially important in urgent situations, like when a dam breaks and floods the area, bringing down live power lines. His high mechanical and handiness skills are well-known, and people often call him off-shift to fix things, paying him for his time.


    Honestly, I should encourage Dave to take the Lieutenant¡¯s exam. It would make his dad proud, and he deserves the recognition. It''s odd how in our fire and police departments, Captain comes before Lieutenant, but I didn''t design the rank structure.


    I think Dave hasn''t taken the exam because his father and uncle were Lieutenants until their line-of-duty deaths in the mid-1980s. Dave still wears obsolete turnout gear¡ªa black rubber trench coat with yellow stripes, hip boots, and a traditional fireman¡¯s helmet¡ªto honor them. He couldn''t avoid the ranks of Probationary Firefighter and Firefighter, but he chose not to climb higher because of his family''s legacy. His granddad, my great-granddad, never wanted the responsibility of leadership, so he stayed a Firefighter. Dave¡¯s father and uncle took the officer¡¯s exam just to see if they could become officers.


    Dave says he doesn''t want to be a Lieutenant because he has more enemies than friends at HQ. He became a Captain just to spite a chief who couldn''t legally deny his promotion because you can''t be denied a promotion because somebody doesn''t like you. Dave believes the firehouse is part of the neighborhood, so their doors are always open, just like his father would have said.


    My girlfriend, Lusty, took the officer¡¯s exam twice¡ªfirst to become a Captain and then a Lieutenant. She didn''t want to be a white shirt because many white shirt officers only look out for each other. She prefers being a blue shirt, staying closer to the action and her team. Both Lusty and Dave are known for making enemies rather than laying low until the storm blows over. They embody the saying, "better to die on your feet than live on your knees." Lusty comes from a tough background where you had to fight to survive, and Dave has always been a fighter, even if it meant taking the fall for his friends, like when he covered for them after they took his father''s car for a joyride.


    But honestly, I don¡¯t know if the crew I¡¯m with realizes that I have a knack for seeing people for who they really are. To me, a lot of politicians aren''t as trustworthy or nice as they make themselves out to be. This is especially true here in the city of Empire, which has a long history of corrupt mayors and aldermen.


    Empire has always had a problem with corrupt officials. Take the 1960s, for example, when the mayor was caught siphoning city funds for a beach house. That scandal broke at the height of the Vietnam War, when the anti-war movement was gaining momentum and diverting police attention away from local issues.


    Of course, it didn¡¯t help that it was an election year for both the Mayoral and Presidential races. The cops, from an American perspective, would be seen as using "excessive force." But back in the ''60s, during an election year, the police in the City of Empire and across the country of Little Bird were given carte blanche to maintain order.


    Calling it "heavy-handed" doesn''t do it justice. From a modern perspective, it looked like a clash between social classes. The cops, often from poor blue-collar backgrounds, had to work hard for everything they had. In contrast, many activists came from middle-class families, getting what they wanted by asking their parents. Many of the police officers were veterans of World War II or Korea and their sons fighting in the war as well, adding another layer to the tension.


    While also thinking about it my granduncles were born throughout the 1920s. Most of them, when I''ve talked to them, have said they wish there was a reset button so they could relive their experiences but try it in a different way. They fantasize about being in the Devil¡¯s Brigade, Paramarines, Underwater Demolitions, Marine Raiders, Rangers, or Marines instead of just regular G.I.s. They knew they couldn''t join the OSS because living undercover with a fake backstory didn''t appeal to them. But rushing a machine gun nest armed with an M97 Trench Gun, an M1 Garand or a M1 Carbine or a Tommy Gun or a Grease Gun? That was thrilling to them.


    I''ve seen a couple of photographs of my granduncles during World War II. They looked like the kind of men who would have been bachelors, the type fathers would want their daughters to marry. They eventually did marry in the early ''50s. Many of them were officers in the military, and their commanding officers often told them, "You¡¯re shaping up to be a fine leader." They proved their integrity, collaborated with their men to accomplish missions, led courageously by example, formulated strategies, and effectively organized their soldiers.


    Honestly, even though I''m stationed in my girlfriend¡¯s old district, I can see how they would make the Ancient Greeks proud with their version of ostracism. In Ancient Greece, ostracism was a temporary banishment from the city by popular vote. Since paper was expensive, they used broken pottery to cast their votes. If someone "won" this vote, they had to leave Athens or the community for ten years. The idea was to identify and remove anyone who was seen as a threat to the stability of the community.


    In Eastside, they have a similar approach. If someone is causing trouble or disrupting the harmony of the district, they find a way to push them out. It¡¯s their way of maintaining order and ensuring that the community remains stable.


    Living in a country where the military, according to Mitchell and Cadenza, uses ancient discoveries for training in archery and navigation, and medieval tech like the compass and Renaissance-era astronomy, is fascinating. Some of my friends back in America might say, "Yeah, I''m sure all Special Forces are trained in wilderness survival," but I''m not talking about Special Forces. I''m talking about the average infantryman, your typical G.I. Mitchell and Cadenza explained that they''re trained to use the natural world for guidance instead of relying on computer maps. This is crucial because, in a battle where an EMP (Electromagnetic Pulse) or if a solar storm knocks out all electronics, soldiers trained to navigate by the stars will fare much better than those who rely on electronic devices. Computers, vehicles, red dot sights, holographic sights, and anything else electronic can be rendered useless by an EMP, but the stars will always be there to guide us.


    I was in the Navy, so if an EMP went off, the ship I was on would be dead in the water¡ªliterally. The last place you want to be is on a ship in the middle of nowhere, not knowing if you¡¯re going to be rescued or if the ship will drift aimlessly until power is restored or a friendly ship comes by.


    But thinking about it now, my family had its own kind of civil war during the First World War. My great-granddad and his brothers fought for the British military because they were born and raised in the United Kingdom. Their father, who is a "Forgotten Waterson," went back to Germany to fight in the Imperial German Army. Meanwhile, other Watersons volunteered from the United States when it was still neutral until 1917. I often wonder what was going through my great-great-granddad¡¯s mind, knowing he was fighting for Germany while his sons were fighting for Britain, and extended family members were on the side of the Americans.


    My great-granddad said there was no humane way out for his father and hoped his death was slow and painful. He still finds it hypocritical almost a century later how the Germans protested the Americans using shotguns, calling them inhumane, while they were the ones who introduced chemical warfare.


    The complexities didn''t end there. My great-granddad¡¯s first son, Jimmy "James" Richard Waterson I, saw his half-brother die in the war. They were both pilots, and during a mission in late ''44, an enemy fighter came down on them. His half-brother never saw it coming, and when James looked over, he saw his brother''s face hit the dashboard of the dive bomber and said the plane dived down to the ocean. By that point, the Axis powers were like a cornered rattlesnake¡ªdesperate and unpredictable, trying anything to turn the tide of the war in their favor. The one thing I know about cornered animals is that they will do anything to get out of that situation.


    Actually, my great-granddad told me about his brother in the Royal Flying Corps during WWI. Pilots back then weren''t issued parachutes because the plane cockpits were too cramped. They had three options if things went south: bail out thousands of feet in the air, stay in and burn up, or take the painless way out.


    My dad explained that the "painless way out" was to crash land in no man''s land. It was a grim choice, but sometimes it was the only one. No man''s land was littered with mines and caught in the crossfire between two armies. It was a desperate measure, but for some, it was better than burning alive or jumping to certain death. But to me, it sounds like it¡¯s the other way.


    The fire bell rang, signaling a crane had toppled over. We rushed to the scene, and as soon as we arrived, it was clear what had happened. The crane had been set up on soft dirt, and the recent rain had turned the ground into a muddy mess. One of the supports had sunk into the mud, causing the crane to collapse and hit some scaffolding.


    "Lord Almighty," I muttered. After assessing the situation, I quoted Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, "Three things are to be looked to in a building: that it stands on the right spot; that it be securely founded; that it be successfully executed."


    Why the workers were out in the rain is beyond me. Maybe they were trying to avoid falling behind schedule. In a city like Empire, anything can happen. People get stuck, trapped, or have things fall on them, and that''s when they call us.


    My cousin Dave always says, "PD is a patrol agency, and anything they can''t handle falls under the Fire Department''s jurisdiction."


    When I shadowed the fire department for three days during my time at Arcane University, the guys at Truck Company Sixteen had a lot to say about Dave. They called him a tense officer, but firefighting is his life. He knows every tool and piece of equipment inside out. To him the job isn¡¯t 196 hours per month or 96 hours every other week. He''s a real cosmopolitan guy, always reading the newspaper¡ªnot for world news, but to stay updated on local happenings like roadwork and building construction. It''s no wonder, given that he was more or less raised in a firehouse.


    Even though he said how different being in a town vs being in a city is a huge difference because the average call that my cousin Dave his company goes on is 7400 calls a year. While where he¡¯s from the average calls per year for the Fire Department Town of Clearlake calls per year is 15-20 per year with 90% of them being medical runs or car accidents and additional 9% of said medical calls are those that they¡¯re canceled to return to quarters and the other 1% is to mutual aid calls to other towns.


    Heck my cousin Dave said in this job that you have respect for the men and women you¡¯re working alongside and know that if you get hurt and trapped well you know that they¡¯re coming in to rescue you no matter what. Unless if you¡¯re Dave¡¯s father-in-law who¡¯s an retired battalion chief who had to issue an order to prevent other men of going into a burning factory and how that it been almost thirty years but back in 1983 but he had to issue an order leaving those trapped to die even if it meant that three of his own brothers would¡¯ve been killed and have died.


    But according to Dave that his father in law had to issue said order was either risk several who couldn¡¯t be saved or risk and lose many more including his eldest son who was a probationary firefighter at the time so Kai he went with the latter even having to tackle his eldest son to the ground and a fireball burned through the back of Kai¡¯s canvas jacket giving him third degree burns on his back to prevent his son from running in to get killed as well. Dave said he couldn¡¯t ever be a Battalion or Division chief because of having to make tough decisions like that and that he¡¯s happy being a Captain even though he doesn¡¯t want to be a Lieutenant because his father and Uncle were Lieutenants and died on the job. But Dave and his wife say that the 2823 that died on the job back in 2003 that they won¡¯t ever be replaced because you replace a window but you cannot replace another human being and their experiences are lost.


    Dave often reflects on the stark contrast between firefighting in a bustling city and a quiet town. In Empire, his company handles around 7,400 calls annually, a staggering number compared to the 15-20 calls per year in Clearlake, where most incidents are medical emergencies or car accidents. The difference in call volume and types of emergencies is a testament to the unique challenges faced by urban firefighters.


    Dave always emphasizes the camaraderie and trust among firefighters. "In this job, you have to respect the men and women you work alongside. If you get hurt or trapped, you know they''re coming in to rescue you, no matter what," he says. This bond is crucial, especially in life-or-death situations.


    One story that haunts Dave is about his father-in-law, a retired battalion chief. Back in 1983, he had to make an agonizing decision during a factory fire. He ordered his men not to enter the burning building, knowing it meant leaving some trapped workers and fellow firefighters to die. This decision saved many lives, including his eldest son, who was a probationary firefighter at the time. His father-in-law even had to tackle his son to the ground to prevent him from running into the inferno, resulting in third-degree burns on his back from a fireball.


    Dave admits he could never be a Battalion or Division chief because of the tough decisions required. He''s content being a Captain, even though he avoids the rank of Lieutenant due to the tragic deaths of his father and uncle, both of whom were Lieutenants. The loss of 2,823 firefighters in 2003 is a constant reminder of the irreplaceable value of human life and experience. "You can replace a window, but you can''t replace a human being," Dave and his wife often say. Their experiences and sacrifices are forever etched in the history of firefighting.


    I just went over to help a worker and I just removed some of the scaffolding off of him and I had to move him just in case any more scaffolding would come down and rather have said scaffolding come down and fall and hit the pathway instead of a human being.


    But I¡¯m not going to question them why they were working in the rain in which many people work in the rain like football players. But we got the few injured workers away from the building and that the Paramedics were able to stabilize them and took them to the hospital and another member of the company that I¡¯m on put out a fire in a barrel. Just like there was divine intervention after the fire was put out another piece of scaffolding fell knocking over said barrel and if the fire was going it would¡¯ve most likely spreaded. But I guess that the men that I serve with are the kind who are living the saying of ¡°Expect the unexpected¡± and that these people have years of experience on the job so they rather put out a fire that¡¯s burning for someone¡¯s work than let it spread if it gets knocked over or something like that.


    We then went back to quarters. But as we were heading back, our radio picked up another company getting dispatched. I wouldn''t want to be in their shoes. They were called to deal with a psychiatric emergency. In my opinion, that''s not really a job for the fire department or the police. Bringing in folks who use dark humor to cope with the job might not be the best choice for such sensitive situations.


    The city has four emergency services: Fire, Police, Medical, and Technical Services. Technical Services, in particular, handle a wide range of disasters, from traffic accidents and industrial mishaps to earthquakes. They also focus on technical threat prevention, infrastructure support, command and communication, logistics, environmental protection, and provision for the population.


    As we settled back into the station, I couldn''t help but think about the diversity of emergencies we face. Each service has its own expertise, but sometimes the lines blur, and we all have to step up in unexpected ways. It''s a reminder of the complexity and unpredictability of our work, and why we need to be prepared for anything.


    But I love the group of guys that I¡¯m with. We have drills, we train together, we¡¯re all tight and hang with each other. We love it and we want more of it. But to us we all make sure we all go home at the end of shift that what it comes down too.


    But I just do know that many of the guys on the job have tension in their relationship at times especially given the danger of the occupation. But the one thing is that I know that the guys that I¡¯m with hate being depicted as miracle workers who can pluck anyone from a burning building and make it out seconds before the places collapses, but real Firefighters are a highly trained bunch who are always understaffed, exhausted, and working in one of the most dangerous professions in the world. In a documentary that I¡¯ve seen a decade back circa 1997 saying how this job is the second most stressful job with the top one being the president.


    But now as I thought about it for a bit I thought our telephone alarm would be just a one location of calling and request what emergency service that you need in which there are four numbers with one being the fire department, the second being for police department, the third being for medical services and the fourth is all three but the fourth one which is answered by Empire Police Department operators.


    The EPD operators will then transfer the call to a fire department communications office if it¡¯s a fire department emergency. But according to Lusty, the second most common way that the people call the fire department is by fire alarm boxes located on certain street corners and in certain public buildings, such as schools and hospitals, as well as along highways, on bridges, etc. These boxes primarily consist of two types: The first is the mechanical box (also commonly called a pull-box) The second type is the "Emergency Reporting System" (ERS) box that is equipped with buttons to notify the FDE, allowing the department''s dispatcher to have direct voice communication with the reporting party. And the second type was made to help combat false alarms but the first type is still in service because of people who are hard of hearing or people who are mute.


    Of course, the district I¡¯m in, the people are considerate enough not to pull the box for a false alarm. Many folks here in Eastside grew up during a time when the Fire Department City of Empire was handling nearly a million calls per year from 1967-1995. A staggering 99% of those calls were for fires, mostly in low-income areas due to arson for profit. During those years, the city was even considering cutting the fire department budget. Back then, the department only had thirty-four firehouses to protect a city that, if I had to give people a visual reference, is like the Borough of Brooklyn¡ªthough Brooklyn was its own city until 1898. I often tell my friends, "Imagine the Borough of Brooklyn, but with a retro futuristic vibe. Or a ¡®50s and 60s Pax Americana world like,"


    People here understand the importance of not calling in false alarms because it wastes our time and resources. When a fire box is pulled, we have to search the area around the box, usually a block or two in each direction. If we don¡¯t see any smoke or fire, we head back to the rig. The officer radios in that it was a false alarm, and then the PD comes out. Officers go door to door, and the fire company officer radios the dispatcher with a 10-92, which means ¡°Malicious false alarm.¡± The fire alarm boxes clearly state that those who call in a false alarm will be tried and prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.


    I love this district because, while the folks here are tough, they genuinely look out for each other. It''s a place where people understand that everyone is unique and deserves respect. They don''t buy into the lie that "everyone is the same." Here, people know that those with mental illnesses are still people, deserving of love, kindness, and respect just like anyone else.


    Lusty often says that the community here is more helpful than clinics and therapists, which rely on funding and can disappear when the money runs out. Even when her mother lost her license and couldn''t legally provide mental health support, she never stopped helping people. She understood that teenagers aren''t always what adults expect; they can be irritable and not necessarily sad, just lacking joy.


    My girlfriend''s mother also knew how people change, especially after major life events. Take my girlfriend, for example. She lost her parents fourteen years ago, and she says she was once a happy, cheerful girl. But since that day in ''96, she hasn''t been the same. Now, she''s almost thirty-one, and the loss still affects her deeply.


    I mean, Lusty says a lot of folks here in Eastside need help, but they''re getting it from people who genuinely care and won''t just jot down notes. The men and women here, 99.9% of them, have PTSD from their military days. They were in combat roles, but they find solace in being around others who understand their state. They prefer walking and talking over sitting face-to-face because it''s just easier that way.


    In my opinion, the people of this district are like a real-life version of "Fight Club" with the rule "First rule of Fight Club is don¡¯t talk about Fight Club." These guys have been through combat, and they don''t freely talk about their military time. Lusty also mentions that many people here come from families who exclude them from trips and gatherings, making up excuses on the fly. When they call out these lies, their families often turn the tables, accusing them of ruining everything.


    Parents that these people had can be the worst, breaking out the waterworks to gain sympathy and acting like they haven''t done anything wrong. They think their kids are spoiled for asking for or accepting help, but that''s not true. Lusty says many people here come from families who might even forget their child at the grocery store. It''s a tough environment, but the community here sticks together and supports each other in ways that outsiders might not understand.


    According to Lusty, many people here came from middle-class or affluent backgrounds. It makes you wonder, "How did they end up at the poverty line?" The truth is, they embody the saying "Money can''t buy happiness." They had financially privileged upbringings but chose happiness over wealth.


    Many of them come from families who say things like, "All of this could have been avoided if you didn¡¯t drag others into it." What they really mean is, "Since you told the truth, we can''t bully, gaslight, or manipulate you into thinking you''re the bad guy for us treating you like shit." But the people here aren''t the type to betray you when you''re at your lowest. They''re the kind who will give you the shirt off their back.


    Lusty says the community was supportive of her parents after her mother lost her license to practice therapy. Instead of believing what was in the papers, they asked her mother what was going on. Lusty''s mother explained that one of her clients had feelings for her, but she didn''t reciprocate because she was happily married. The client, knowing this, filed a fake lawsuit against her for hitting on him, even though it was the other way around.


    Despite Lusty being just a baby at the time, the community listened to her mother''s side and believed her. They saw through the inconsistencies in the client''s stories, which varied from one newspaper to another. This community values truth and loyalty, and they stand by each other through thick and thin.


    But while the district looked unlivable in the past, the people did what they had to do to make it inhabitable. The city never cared, and when they finally did, the city council refused to help. The Mayor in the 1990s, who grew up in the district, tried to transform it into "glass towers, clean streets, and nobody at the poverty line." She wanted to help the people, but the city council refused because it meant helping the current residents instead of driving them away to bring in middle-class and richer people.


    The city council wanted gentrification to attract more affluent residents, but the Mayor wanted to improve living conditions for poor families. She didn''t want them living in deathtraps where watching TV for more than thirty seconds could cause a fire, or opening the fridge for more than twenty seconds was a risk. She fought for the people, but the council''s resistance made it an uphill battle.


    Despite these challenges, the community''s resilience shone through. They banded together, supporting each other and making the best of their situation. It''s this spirit of solidarity and determination that defines the district today. The people here have always looked out for one another, and that''s something no city council can take away.


    Of course, back in ''07, the city hired a contractor who essentially ran a housing scam, trying to buy people out of their homes in Eastside, Westside, and Anderson. But 99% of the people refused because of the memories and connections they had to their homes. The contractor resorted to using fire to drive them out, forcing them to take the money just to put a roof over their families'' heads.


    Eventually, this situation gained national attention, and not the good kind. Local radio talk shows picked it up, and soon it was on national news. When people in the executive and legislative branches saw what was happening, they were furious. Having the entire country looking at you like the Eye of Sauron is never a good look. Especially with a war going on.


    But the thing is, the people in this district are real heroes. People often talk about sports heroes and cartoon figures, but the folks here are the ones who keep society running. They ensure we have fresh drinking water, tap water, and proper sewage systems¡ªthings most people take for granted. Many of them have taken what they learned in the military and applied it to their civilian careers, continuing to serve their community in essential ways.


    Of course, this district does have problems with the cops. The people here have formed their own gangs¡ªnot the stereotypical kind, but groups that act as vigilantes to keep the peace. They do this because calling the cops often doesn''t help; the police are rarely around when they''re needed.


    From 1967 to 1995, Eastside had a red line around it, marking it as a "High fire zone." Historically, a red line also meant financial services were withheld from the neighborhood. Even now, people here struggle to get loans or any financial help. According to Lusty, many residents don''t have private insurance; they rely on government insurance for five bucks a month. They face denial of credit, insurance, and healthcare from private companies, which prefer clients who can pay more. The government, on the other hand, will get its money back either way.


    As my girlfriend puts it, people here just go for government help because it''s cheaper than dealing with private companies. Despite these challenges, the community remains resilient. They support each other and find ways to make things work, even when the system seems stacked against them. This district is a testament to the strength and solidarity of its people, who continue to fight for a better life despite the odds.


    Heck, according to Lusty, when the fires started in ''67 or ''68 depending who you ask, many of the men were older because they had fought in World War II and Korea. By then, they were in their forties or fifties, while their sons were fighting in Vietnam. These men saved up to send their daughters to university so they could have better lives, even though many of them returned because it was the only place they could call home.


    People argued that the fires weren''t the residents'' fault. How could they enjoy the latest consumer appliances if they caused fires every five minutes? Yet, folks at Fire Department HQ and City Hall blamed the residents. I remember going to the Fire Department HQ with my girlfriend to look at the call volume from 1967 to 1972. The department was handling 14-18 calls a night, and on bad nights, it was 30-50 calls. Even on good nights, it was around 10 calls.


    My girlfriend says 1967 was when social tensions were high. Baby boomers clashed with their parents'' way of life, and opinions on the Vietnam War were divided. Before the ''60s, many cops had never faced protests, and their training focused on using force for crowd control rather than avoiding it. People were taught that authority figures¡ªcops, parents, the government, teachers, priests¡ªwere always right and shouldn''t be questioned. But the younger generation began to question everything their parents never did.


    But now that I think about it, I can see why my girlfriend¡¯s mother became a therapist. She wanted to help people, even though her culture, the Nightingale tribe of the Native Little Birdens, deals with traumatic events by keeping them inside and moving on. Their culture is centered around warfare and fighting. If you ask them the meaning of life, their answer is very militaristic: fighting and dying on the battlefield, passing down their experiences to their kids if they have any.


    The Nightingale tribe shames modern medicine, expecting their warriors to die on the battlefield. Those who survive go back out to fight day in and day out. According to my girlfriend, their way of fighting sounds medieval, with their own version of chivalry. They fight honorably but also use raiding tactics to weaken their enemies. Lusty says their methods include espionage, far before the Renaissance era when philosophers began to discard the ideals of honor and decency, and nations realized that everything is permitted in war to achieve victory.


    This cultural background makes my girlfriend¡¯s mother¡¯s choice to become a therapist even more remarkable. She broke away from the traditional norms of her tribe to provide support and healing to others, showing incredible strength and compassion.


    Of course, Lusty mentioned that when her mother showed her tribal, militaristic side, it was like a mama bear protecting her cub. Any sane person would see it as a mother fiercely defending her child. Lusty''s mother was the human version of a mama bear. Despite being sweet and kind, she could be incredibly fierce when it came to protecting her family. Lusty''s father, a Little Bird Marine trained to fight to the last man and specialized in amphibious invasions, seemed peaceful in comparison.


    Lusty would describe her mother as "Sweet as pie but twice as deadly." There were times when her father would just keep quiet and let his wife handle things, especially when it came to protecting their daughter. For instance, when Lusty had a bully in middle school, she reported it to the teachers and the school, but nothing was done. When Lusty finally stood up to her bully, they ended up in the principal''s office. Lusty''s father stayed silent while her mother put the principal on full blast, criticizing the school for failing to protect her daughter. She argued that if Lusty had to defend herself because the school wouldn''t stop the bully, then Lusty wasn''t the bad guy¡ªthe real culprits were those who stood by and did nothing while the bullying continued.


    Honestly, the principal was lucky that Lusty¡¯s grandparents didn¡¯t get involved. Her granddad, a sniper in World War II, had 408 confirmed kills, with half of them up close and personal. In the Little Bird Military, snipers serve two roles: eliminating enemy infantry from long ranges and acting as scouts. The last thing you want is to pick a fight with a veteran who has 204 confirmed kills up close with his bare hands.


    Lusty¡¯s grandmother was equally formidable. She essentially created what we now call an Infantry Fighting Vehicle by reworking a light tank to carry a ten-man squad into combat with protection. This vehicle, equipped with an autocannon, could protect infantry as they embarked or disembarked and could be used for reconnaissance as well.


    Lusty¡¯s grandparents would have fought fiercely to protect their grandchild. Unlike her father¡¯s side of the family, who saw Lusty as a "thing" rather than a human, her mother¡¯s family saw her as a beloved family member, even though she¡¯s mixed. They would have grabbed a bat wrapped in concertina wire and fought for her without hesitation.


    Honestly, I once asked my girlfriend how her mother''s side of the family felt about her being a firefighter. They called her a "Fire Breather." I had to ask what that meant, and Lusty explained that in the Nightingale Tribe, a "Fire Breather" is someone who starts fires for warmth and cooking. It also has two other meanings: a soldier armed with a flamethrower (an outdated term since 1980) and a person who fights fires.


    Lusty can pronounce it in her tribe''s language, but I don''t try because I don''t want to offend her cultural background. She understands; it took her eight years to pronounce it correctly. She was raised speaking English, so her tribe''s language was foreign to her, even though she heard her mother speak it. Most of the time it was cusswords.


    Lusty got help from her uncles, her mother''s brothers, who are from the Nightingale Tribe and speak English as their second language. Her mother never introduced her to them, fearing their militaristic views would influence Lusty. But Lusty reached out on her own, and her aunts and uncles understood. They have no hard feelings about the situation.


    Heck, Lusty says her uncles didn¡¯t like the idea of their only sister dating someone outside the tribe. They would have preferred her to date within the tribe, but they never forced her. They saw she was happy with someone from a Caucasian background, even if he knew nothing about their culture except for the militaristic aspects. One of her brothers would even tag along on dates, not as a third wheel, but to keep an eye on things. Lusty¡¯s mother never stopped talking about her then-boyfriend, and her brothers never interfered with her love life.


    According to Lusty, her mother¡¯s brothers were the kind who always roughhoused, either for fun or over the last slice of food. It¡¯s easy to see why Lusty¡¯s mom didn¡¯t introduce her to them, but brothers will be brothers, and siblings fight. Lusty, however, wanted her daughters to meet them so they could know about their tribal heritage and view it with pride instead of disdain.


    As I walked through the firehouse, I overheard two guys talking about a Battalion Chief in Las Adventure who tried to get his entire firehouse to go vegetarian. Predictably, the guys retaliated by covering his office in meat and pork. It wasn¡¯t just about being omnivores; the chief wanted them to eat veggies that lacked protein and fiber. Telling firefighters not to eat food that gives them energy, especially in such a physically demanding job, was a disaster waiting to happen.


    I¡¯ll probably ask Avalanche if she knows that firehouse since she¡¯s from Las Adventure. If I had to guess, it¡¯s probably in a part of the city where the guys don¡¯t have to wear 75-100 pounds of gear.


    To me, it¡¯s either a slow house or they mostly go on EMS and MVA calls instead of fires.


    Yeah, our bunker gear is heavy. For example, our helmet is four pounds, the hood is 0.25 pounds, turnout pants are 15 pounds, the turnout jacket is 10 pounds, gloves are 1 pound, boots are 10 pounds, and the radio is 2 pounds. That¡¯s 38.25 pounds right there, and that¡¯s not even adding our breathing apparatus, which is another 30 pounds, TICs another two pounds, Irons (Axe and Halligan bar) are 14 pounds combined (eight for the axe and six for the Halligan bar), and a flashlight is two pounds. Overall, that¡¯s 86.25 pounds of gear. Now imagine wearing all that in a building that¡¯s on fire. So yeah, saying you can¡¯t eat food to give your body energy back would¡¯ve ended in disaster.


    Unless this is back in 2003 for the City of Chocolate for their fire department and several towns around the city who came for a major emergency, the kind that was all hands on deck, calling in all off-duty members for duty as well.


    My cousin Mitchell''s friend Jack Skybolt''s older brothers were there, and some did die on that day. Jack¡¯s eldest brother said that his company was already at their quarters, getting their turnout gear and other tools, long before their phone rang, calling them back in for duty. The City of Chocolate Fire Department set up a command post a block away and began the arduous process of evacuating remaining survivors and fighting the fire.


    However, the fires presented an unprecedented challenge; they were so high up that they were completely beyond the reach of any ladder truck the City of Chocolate FD had to offer. With the elevators either out of order or unpredictable, there was only one way up to the location of the fires: the stairs. Still, the brave firefighters began their climb, many carrying upwards of 40-50 pounds of firefighting gear. And the heat caused them to cave in, trapping many thousands, including emergency personnel sent to evacuate. The damage to the surrounding area was severe, with cars and other vehicles flipped over, crushed, and some on fire like potato chips.


    It was so bad that several towns had to send their own fire companies as mutual aid because it was something unprecedented. Many towns and most of the city lost a century''s worth of knowledge in the blink of an eye. You can¡¯t total up the loss, even though it¡¯s horrible, and everybody was affected in different ways. Some of Jack Skybolt¡¯s eldest brothers who survived say they just go on with life and respond to any emergency they get called to. According to my cousin Mitchell, Jack''s older brothers who survived say that their brothers who died that day were happy to die on the job and with their friends.


    The same goes for my cousin Dave''s father and uncle, who died on that day too. Dave said that his father and uncle lived and breathed firefighting. He''s glad his dad and uncle died on the job instead of retiring because they would''ve been bored out of their minds in retirement. According to Dave, it was something they never expected, but they died doing what they loved, surrounded by their brothers in the fire service.


    Of course, back in 2007, when I asked Dave how he goes on with doing his job four years after losing his dad and uncle, he just said he does the job like anybody else¡ªgoing to the aid when someone calls for help. Every other day, he puts on his turnout gear and helps others, whether it¡¯s diving in the water, fighting a fire, or performing a rope rescue, whatever the emergency calls for. At that time, back in ''07, he had been on the job for twelve years. Now, it''s been fifteen years.


    Dave is a third-generation firefighter, and I think I''m second because my great-granddad, or his granddad, was the first one in our family to be a firefighter. Dave''s father and uncle were second-generation, but they are my granduncles. So, that''s a bit of a mess for me with genetics and generations.


    But honestly, I¡¯m just wondering why the city has our company quarters in a retrofitted motorcycle clubhouse. The bar area and office were removed and slightly remodeled to create sleeping quarters, a kitchen, and showers¡ªall on the first floor. But look at the other houses, except for 136, 137, and 138. They all have two floors, poles, and different rooms. Unless it¡¯s 136, 137, and 138, which are more eco-friendly, modern single-story buildings with walled-off areas and doors for each room, except for the maintenance room, which is just behind the apparatus bay.


    But now I¡¯m thinking about Madeleinie and Marnia¡ªI mean Dynamite and Avalanche. They¡¯ve been on the job long enough to be officers, but I can imagine them saying, ¡°I decided that the big guy put me on this planet to swing an axe and drag a hose, not make higher-level decisions.¡±


    Dynamite and Avalanche are prime examples of that. They¡¯ve got the experience and the skills to be officers, but they¡¯re happiest where they¡¯re doing what they do best. It¡¯s that kind of dedication and passion that makes a team strong. That everybody knows where they are, knows their roles, and can do their job without needing their officer to micromanage. When I shadowed the firehouse where my cousin works, I saw this firsthand. Dave¡¯s company and Capt. Nova¡¯s company, Engine 16, have trained their teams so well that they don¡¯t need to micromanage. Each member knows how to stay on top of the situation without constant oversight. Micromanaging sounds more like something people do when they play RTS games, not when commanding a company of six people, not including the officer.


    But my great-granddad put in thirty-seven years with the New York City Fire Department, only leaving to fight in the Second World War and Korea. When he got on the job back in 1921, most of the guys were veterans of the First World War. Dave¡¯s father and uncle put in thirty-six years on the job with the town of Clearlake, starting in 1967. I say thirty-seven years because they were volunteers for a year back in 1966.


    I have a feeling that Dave and I will get to at least forty years on the job before retiring. That¡¯s a long way off for us, though. Dave is at fifteen years out of forty, while I¡¯m only at one year out of forty. But I¡¯m twenty-eight, and he¡¯s thirty-three, so we¡¯ve got time.


    But honestly I do like the people here in this district because they¡¯re not those people who think that saving up to spoil yourself for a vacation and helping someone financially are two different things. To them that people saving up for something is a reward for them saving up but when their family asks for help then it¡¯s them being unreasonable.


    That¡¯s the thing about the people here¡ªthey often go against family expectations. According to Lusty, many residents are living at the poverty level. Some of the old tenement buildings still have outdated wiring, yet families are expected to host holiday gatherings like Christmas. Their middle-class relatives want them to host because these tenements have larger living and dining rooms, originally designed for families with five to ten kids. It makes sense to have gatherings in a bigger space, but it¡¯s not fair to expect those who are just scraping by to bear the financial burden.


    Many people here work a lot of overtime just to make ends meet. They earn about 3500/year ($25,783.65 a year USD), while the middle class earns around 5500/year ($40,517.16 USD). They don¡¯t have much left over after covering the basics. Most don¡¯t own cars and rely on public transit or carpooling to get to work. Hosting family gatherings can be a significant financial strain, especially without any help from their relatives.


    Unless you consider my girlfriend¡¯s tribal heritage, where family gatherings aren¡¯t really a thing. They do celebrate holidays, but not in the usual way. In the Nightingale Tribe, the eldest child is expected to marry by the age of 25 if they¡¯re still single. The tribe has two main roles: People of War (warriors) and People of Production (those who make healing powders, farm, and create weapons).


    In times of war, fathers often wanted to marry their daughters off to local heroes or highly decorated warriors. If the warrior was female, fathers would want their sons to marry her. Even centuries ago, when warfare was predominantly male, the Nightingale Tribe used female warriors in roles like archery, spying, and assassination.


    Their officers, equivalent to modern-day Lieutenants, Captains, Majors, and Generals, often have intimidating titles. A high-dread general is always eager for battle and loves to see their enemies crushed. Lusty explained that in her native culture, warriors are expected to die on the battlefield. To become a leader, you need to survive many battles¡ªten at the very least. Her great-granddad, a Chieftain, earned his role by surviving the entire First World War, where the life expectancy of a soldier was just six weeks.


    Chieftains are usually elected based on leadership skills, often passed down from the current chieftain to their offspring, similar to a monarchy. Another way to become a Chieftain is by surviving a war. Despite their fierce reputation, many of their officers appreciate the arts and are popular governors.


    Lusty said that their way of life is considered taboo or outdated because every clan member is expected to marry and have kids. It¡¯s frowned upon if they don¡¯t. Highly skilled warriors who survive many battles are almost forced to marry and have children, as the tribe believes their offspring will inherit their resilience.


    In contrast, the country I live in teaches chivalry, much like the Knights of the Middle Ages. Here, chivalry means courage, honor, and courtesy for both genders. For men, it¡¯s also about being a gentleman to women. The district of Eastside embodies this chivalry, with people being courteous and supportive of each other.


    Honestly, I think the Nightingale tribe members would love medieval castles. Castles were built for defense, not luxury, and didn''t have hallways like palaces. They were strategically located and fortified to protect against attacks. Palaces, on the other hand, were designed to showcase wealth and power, with elaborate architecture and decorations.


    According to Lusty, many men and women in Eastside were military officers before retiring to civilian life. These officers were true "Officers and Gentlemen." No matter how savage the fighting, they never let their base nature take over. They remained polite and retained their sense of propriety, even in the worst situations. They rarely cussed, especially in the presence of a lady, and seldom drank to the point of inebriation. Both genders were very protective of each other.


    I guess these people read stories by Homer¡ªnot Homer Simpson, but Homer the poet. They read stories like the "Iliad" and the "Odyssey." In the "Iliad," Achilles knows he has a short time to live and spends a lot of time thinking about what is worth living for. The "Iliad" explores themes of heroism, pride, revenge, and honor. The "Odyssey" is about Odysseus coming home from war and readjusting to civilian life. At one point, a goddess offers to make him immortal if he stays with her. Throughout his journey, Odysseus learns numerous lessons about humility, the dangers of pride, and the value of home and family. His arrogance, particularly in revealing his identity to the Cyclops Polyphemus, incurs Poseidon''s wrath, teaching him about the consequences of hubris.


    I know this because when I was at Arcane University studying ancient and medieval poetry and mythology, we had to read those poems. They show how the Ancient Greeks thought and saw the world, and they ask important questions that encourage us to think about things we¡¯ll have to face sooner or later in life.


    Of course, this country¡¯s culture is different, but it feels like something out of the Ancient, Classical, and Middle Ages. According to Lusty, when someone dies, they place a coin¡ªlike a quarter, nickel, dime, half dollar, or even a dollar bill¡ªin the deceased''s mouth or hand. This is so they can pay the ferryman to cross over to the afterlife; otherwise, they would wander the earth forever. Even though Lusty is agnostic and an atheist, she did this for her parents so they could have eternal peace and not wander indefinitely. It wasn¡¯t about religious beliefs for her; it was about ensuring her parents could rest in peace. So they could pay the ferryman like Charon.


    Her parents really needed that rest. Her father worked as a janitor, putting in fourteen-hour days, and her mother was a temp, often working at bars on short notice for slightly under minimum wage. They worked long hours, just enough to pay the bills and feed their only daughter. Lusty¡¯s parents had planned on having more kids, but after her mom lost her therapist license due to a fake lawsuit, they only had the time and money to raise one child. Lusty once overheard her parents talking about having another child sometime between her graduating high school and joining the fire department so somewhere between the third week of June and the fourth week of July of 1996, but that never happened. Lusty remained an only child.


    However, Lusty says she has siblings, even though she¡¯s technically an only child. She formed sibling-like relationships with other kids around her age in Eastside. They got to know each other and supported one another, creating a strong bond that felt like family.


    I get why Lusty loves Eastside. It¡¯s not just because she grew up here. The people are the kind who let their kids run around and play without a worry. Doors stay unlocked at night, and no one frets about break-ins. Folks here are well-read, diving into works by Homer, Socrates, Aristotle, Plato, and Diogenes and other Philosophers of the Ancient, Classical and Medieval eras.


    When it comes to elections, they¡¯re pretty cynical. They believe that once a country sets up an electoral system, the rich and powerful will always find a way to game it, ensuring they dominate the government.


    Lusty told me that even though Ancient Greek poetry and other poetry isn¡¯t directly related to English class, high schoolers here spend all four years reading it. These old poems make students think about life¡¯s big questions and what it means to be a good person. It¡¯s about understanding the traits that make someone valuable and decent. They pose questions that everyone will have to consider one day because everyone has different answers to what they want out of life. Some people want a quiet, settled life with a significant other and a few kids, while others seek different outcomes and pursue what makes them happy, even if it means going against the grain.This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    Of course, my family members here in Little Bird often say, "Cowards die a coward''s death. Keep that in mind and you will do well." They¡¯re speaking from a military perspective, emphasizing courage and honor. This mindset is deeply ingrained in the culture here, where bravery and resilience are highly valued.


    In Eastside, these values are reflected in the way people live their lives. They face challenges head-on and support each other through thick and thin. The community¡¯s strength lies in its diversity of thought and the shared commitment to making life better for everyone. Whether it¡¯s through education, mutual support, or simply being there for one another, the people here embody the principles of courage, honor, and decency every day.


    Of course, many of Lusty¡¯s friends from this district are no longer among the living because of the war. According to Lusty, her male friends who died didn¡¯t always know the difference between being courageous and being reckless. Some were laconic and competent warriors who acted rather than spoke, while others were arrogant and careless. Many of them started their military careers at seventeen to avoid blue-collar work after high school.


    Lusty wanted to join the military, but motherhood came first. By the time she considered enlisting, she was already a mother to twin daughters. She knew her parents would have mixed feelings about it¡ªher mother would worry, while her father would be supportive but hope she got a non-combat role. Her father was a Marine Artillery Radio Officer for the Ninth Marine Division, Twelfth Artillery Company during the twilight years of the Vietnam War. He had PTSD from a fire mission where two Marine units were pinned down. After receiving two fire mission orders, an urgent voice radioed to cease fire because they were shelling their own Marines. Initially, they thought it was the NVA or VC.


    Lusty¡¯s father¡¯s job was to write down grid coordinates and the type of fire mission needed not to ask fifty questions. He never expected to be shelling their own side. When the Marines radioed to cease fire, he wrote it down and gave it to the company commander, who yelled for the gunners to stop. To make matters worse, the artillery companies in the Little Bird military use incendiary and white phosphorus rounds to deal with entrenched enemies, not just high explosive shells.


    The people in Eastside found out about this incident, but they didn¡¯t blame him. They understood he was just doing his job, following orders, and writing down coordinates without questioning them. This understanding and support are part of what makes the community here so strong.


    But I know my cousin Mitchell and his friends Jack and Sam, who are also in the Little Bird Marines, would probably say that my girlfriend¡¯s deceased father was likely put in as an artillery radioman at a firebase, despite being trained as specialized infantry for wet terrain and amphibious invasions. Military training doesn¡¯t turn recruits into cold-blooded killers; it brings out the brutality that was already there. The Little Bird Marines embodies, "We''re not the top species on the planet because we''re nice. We are a very aggressive species; it is in us." When you¡¯re trained for an amphibious landing, there¡¯s nowhere to go except forward into the enemy¡¯s line of fire.


    According to Lusty, her father kept the few medals he received in a box because he saw them as medals of dishonor. She speculates that he didn¡¯t hang them up because he didn¡¯t want her to revere him. To her father, simply being a vet was a mark of shame. Despite his girlfriend sticking by him, he felt lucky compared to many other Marines who weren¡¯t accepted back home due to the war¡¯s unpopularity. When he returned in 1975, he had to navigate through a hostile mob of protesters.


    The only people who accepted him for being in a controversial war were his girlfriend¡¯s parents, who were World War II veterans, and her brothers, who were also Vietnam veterans. While Lusty¡¯s uncles wore their medals with pride, her father locked his away in shame. They respected his decision and told him they would back him up if anyone gave him trouble over it. This was long before Lusty¡¯s parents got married.


    As I sat down on the steel bumper of the fire engine, thinking about how unique this district is, my phone vibrated. I looked down and saw a text from an unknown number flashing across the screen: "Stay away from Alex. He''s still my husband."


    I know Alex¡ªa nice guy who had a short-lived relationship with a woman named Jessica. She¡¯s a bit on the looney end. Their relationship only got to the point where they were comfortable living together, but Jessica started passing herself off as Alex¡¯s wife without him even proposing. She drove away his female friends, thinking she was the only woman he needed, and couldn¡¯t accept it when Alex broke up with her and kicked her out of his apartment. Jessica has since made every effort to make life difficult for him, accusing him of infidelity and scheming to steal his business.


    I think she messaged me because I¡¯m friends with Alex. In her twisted mind, she thinks Alex and I will get together, even though we¡¯re just friends. I texted back telling her to fuck off and if she wants a fight she can come and face me and fight me because nobody can tell me who I can and can¡¯t be friends with because I¡¯m a grown ass adult.


    I also got a cousin named Alexander Sterling whom we call Alex for short because he says how he prefers Alex over Alexander because one reason why he joined the Army is because of the history of the Ancient world with Alexander the Great. But to me I think it¡¯s because many people would rather be called Alex over Alexander. But if he says that he chose to be called Alex instead of Alexander because of Alexander the Great but if he says it¡¯s because of that it¡¯s that.


    According to Lusty, people here in Eastside understand that once a relationship ends, it¡¯s over. It¡¯s better to move on than to hold onto the hope that an ex will come back. Jessica needs to learn this lesson from the people here. They know how to let go and move forward, valuing their peace of mind over clinging to a past that¡¯s better left behind.


    Lusty and I have male friends, and we don¡¯t mind each other having them. Our male friends know we¡¯re a couple. Many of Lusty¡¯s male friends aren¡¯t around anymore because they died in the war. On the job, Lusty views her male colleagues in a brotherly way. In our line of work, we trust each other with our lives. We might not always like each other, but there¡¯s a deep bond and love that comes from risking our lives for others. It takes a selfless act to put yourself in harm¡¯s way to save someone else, and we¡¯re definitely not paid enough for what we do.


    I¡¯ve told Alex and my other friends that if they want to understand my job, they should heat their ovens to 500 degrees, put on boots, overalls with suspenders, and their heaviest jacket, then open the oven door when it¡¯s hot. That¡¯s a glimpse of what it¡¯s like to be a firefighter.


    Many of my friends respect different occupations, but some people, like Jessica, my stepmom Martha, and my mother, think all jobs are easy. They wouldn¡¯t dare try firefighting themselves. Wearing almost a hundred pounds of gear, dealing with fire and heat, and carrying equipment slows you down. The heat and sweat make your body work overtime, halving the oxygen in your breathing apparatus. A thirty-minute bottle really lasts between twelve to sixteen minutes.


    The people here know how tough the job is. In the early 1980s, the City of Empire moved Firehouse Forty-Seven to a low-fire area, leaving Eastside, a high-fire district, without adequate coverage. The community protested and brought back bucket brigades. They¡¯d pull fire alarm boxes or call in fires via payphones, then use buckets and garden hoses to fight the flames. It wasn¡¯t easy, especially since many garden hoses didn¡¯t have nozzles, so they had to use their fingers to direct the water. They got close enough to feel the heat, gaining a special insight into what firefighters face daily.


    Back then, the Fire Department of the City of Empire was transitioning from canvas to rubber turnout jackets in the 80s, before switching to modern Kevlar-Nomex turnout gear in the 90s. For the City of Empire, that switch happened in 1997. The community¡¯s efforts and understanding of the job¡¯s difficulties highlight their resilience and solidarity, making Eastside a unique and supportive place to live and work.


    Of course, Lusty says that the people here don¡¯t take any career for granted because of the age-old saying, ¡°Walk a mile in their shoes.¡± People here support the fire department more than the police department. They know that if they pull the fire box, they¡¯ll get help¡ªwhether it¡¯s for a fire, childbirth, fights, or tenant-landlord disputes. The Fire Department of the City of Empire gets most of its calls for issues outside its jurisdiction because people know that calling for an ambulance might take twenty minutes, and the cops might not show up at all. According to Lusty, when someone pulls the fire box on the corner, they know they¡¯ll get help. It might not be the help they want or come with sympathy, but help will arrive.


    The people here are very fire safety conscious. Every other month, we do fire inspections of the buildings, and they keep everything flammable away from heat sources. My cousin Dave and Lusty, who work in two middle-class districts, see a different story. People there take advantage of the fire department¡¯s obligation to respond to every call. During building inspections, they find houses filled with trash like old magazines, which would turn into giant tinderboxes in a fire. Lusty, raised around people who taught her the destructiveness of fire, knows that a clean place reduces the chances of a fire spreading rapidly and causing extensive damage.


    Many people here, back in their army days, were full of vigor and energy. According to Lusty, a lot of them were patriotic soldiers, loyal to their homeland, doing whatever was necessary to fulfill their country¡¯s needs, even if it meant questionable actions or war crimes. They hoped wars wouldn¡¯t end too soon, wanting them to last forever or a very long time. Others, while loyal, knew the importance of restraint and hoped wars wouldn¡¯t last too long to avoid unnecessary suffering for their troops and families.


    This creates a cultural clash because Little Bird military officers are taught to inspire their troops to fight to the last man or even to the death instead of retreating. Lusty says about 25% of the men here in Eastside embody this fanaticism, doing any order without question. The other 75% believe in winning wars quickly and treating the enemy as human beings. As my cousin Dave puts it, "The thing about war is that when you''re fighting the enemy, just remember the enemy has a name, a life of his own before the war, and a family. We''re all the same but just fighting for different beliefs and ideologies."


    This perspective highlights the complexity and humanity of those who serve, reminding us that even in conflict, there¡¯s a shared human experience that transcends borders and ideologies. The people of Eastside, with their diverse backgrounds and experiences, embody this understanding and resilience, making their community strong and united.


    I¡¯ve met some of the people here, and when I asked them about their time in the military or war, they just said, ¡°War hit home... and then you have to consider that nearly EVERY war occurs in someone''s home, in their schools, their streets, their backyards.¡±


    These people are living proof of fighters who keep their word. Keeping your word shows the enemy that you can be trusted, even in the midst of conflict. During the stalemate between the Soviets and Little Birdens, despite being the defenders, the Little Bird military used loudspeakers and propaganda broadcasts to encourage Soviet soldiers to abandon their posts and surrender, promising humane treatment. Those who surrendered were treated humanely and were promised they could go home when the war ended. When the Little Bird military recaptured the city of Ft. Sunction, they conducted a prisoner swap, sending the Soviet soldiers back to their country.


    During the Soviet occupation of Ft. Sunction, many officers refused to retaliate against the civilian population despite the resistance. They understood that harsh, draconian measures would only increase resistance and lead to more ambushes. These officers chose to be humane and kind, even in hostile territory, showing restraint and what they were willing and not willing to do. Many people here in Eastside were those kinds of officers in the Little Bird military, showing restraint and not resorting to barbaric ways.


    Of course, I told my friends how in Little Bird, the military will recall retired officers if needed because officers are prime targets for snipers aiming to hurt morale. Many of the men and women here despise the 25% of fanatical officers. When faced with a strong adversary, these fanatical officers would respond with, ¡°We need to be STRONGER!¡± Lusty and the people here see these officers as less sympathetic towards both their enemies and their own soldiers. They blame the enemy for retaliating or their own soldiers for requesting emergency transfers to escape their command.


    People want to be treated like human beings. If you order someone to do inhumane things, push them far outside their comfort zone, or treat them like dirt, don¡¯t expect them to like you. Many of these fanatical officers were either demoted back to grunts or reassigned to non-leadership roles, like culinary specialists, because their extreme views made other fanatical officers seem humane by comparison.


    These fanatical officers were often power and fame-hungry generals. They fought in wars to earn glory and fame, willing to do anything to achieve it. They lacked concern for troop morale and were ill-tempered, with poor strategic positioning. They would send their troops charging into enemy lines with almost no support, leading to unnecessary deaths. Eventually, they were put in roles where they couldn¡¯t lead soldiers.


    Of course this country besides following rules of war and honoring the cross that medics wear but this country doesn¡¯t go after units leaving the field of battle because of them routing and not really posing a threat until the next battle or if a enemy armored vehicle or aircraft is downed but they radioed for a evac well they won¡¯t fire upon the evac vehicle because the person or people being evacuated out of battle are usually too injured to pose a threat.


    Of course, some officers, like my cousin Midnight, are exceptional. She¡¯s a Lt-Col in the Rangers and can stand in the middle of a battlefield, bullets flying by, and have a normal conversation. She¡¯s been in the military since ¡®87, and it¡¯s now 2010. The Rangers, along with the Marines, are not to be messed with. They were the first special forces of Little Bird, originally men who lived in the wilderness or the frontier.


    Midnight treats her officers with respect and warmth if they¡¯re competent and brave. But she shows disdain for those who are cowardly, glory-hounding, or incompetent. During the war, when the Soviets occupied the city of Ft. Sunction, officers like Midnight were given a one-month deadline to recapture the city or face a thermonuclear strike. Little Bird Military doctrine states that nuclear weapons can only be used if there are no other means to stop the enemy.


    According to Midnight, the Little Bird military offers various support to its soldiers in combat, from mortar bombardments to heavy artillery barrages, napalm drops, and carpet bombing by C-15s (their response to the B-52s). Tactical nuclear strikes are forbidden unless they are the last resort for desperate defenders or if the radioactive fallout would deter the enemy.


    I mean, from Ft. Sunction to the City of Chocolate, the capital of Little Bird, the route is a straight shot with towns along the way. The Little Bird military would dig in at each town to inflict severe casualties on the invaders. Any of those towns before the capital would likely be struck by a friendly nuke, using radiation as a barrier, especially if the enemy brought up more troops and vehicles that could overwhelm the defenders. The Little Bird military will fight to the death for their homeland and will only call down a nuclear strike if absolutely necessary. If the military can¡¯t hold, they know they can¡¯t all retreat without alerting the enemy. At least a battalion-sized element, about eight hundred soldiers, would stay behind to ensure the attackers remain unaware of the impending nuclear strike. Once the rest of the units are at a minimum safe distance, the strike would be called.


    According to Midnight, the Little Bird Air Force provides round-the-clock close air support (CAS) missions to protect friendly soldiers on the ground, but they shouldn¡¯t be relied upon to turn the tide. The last known nuclear weapon test in Little Bird was back in the 50s when they tested an atomic bomb. Fortunately, the military was quick enough to mobilize and block the enemy, trapping them and preventing a breakout.


    Past invaders have written about the Little Bird military¡¯s tenacity. In ''05, some Soviets wrote, "They pushed thousands of men through artillery, mortar fire, and they came willingly. They charged through the muzzles of our rifles and they came willingly. They came willingly and would come again even if they knew they couldn''t win. How are you supposed to fight an enemy who comes willingly and won¡¯t stop until either they or their enemy is dead?" This is true because how do you fight an enemy that¡¯s willing to run through gunfire, artillery, mortar shells, napalm, or even a minefield as if it never existed?


    Most of the soldiers they were talking about were young adults either just out of high school or college age with their whole lives ahead of them, willing to throw it all away to defend their homeland from a foreign power. This fierce determination and willingness to sacrifice everything for their country are what make the Little Bird military so formidable. It¡¯s a testament to their unwavering commitment and the deep sense of duty that drives them.


    Or when I talked to Starlight once, she shared how deadly the battles were. In one instance, they fought a Soviet force outnumbering them three to one. Her regiment, the 7th Infantry Regiment of the 2nd Infantry Division, went into battle with 5,500 soldiers. After three days and four nights of non-stop combat, only fifteen survived. When they returned to their encampment, they marched straight through it, dirty and exhausted, having not eaten in three days. The clean-faced recruits and other soldiers stopped what they were doing to watch these fifteen survivors walk down the road. Many of the replacements were just eighteen to twenty-two years old.


    Starlight said that many in her regiment weren¡¯t killed by gunfire but in hand-to-hand combat, and many others were killed by friendly fire. My girlfriend¡¯s father would have said, ¡°Those artillery and mortar rounds, and those napalm and cluster munitions, don¡¯t care what side you¡¯re on if you¡¯re friendly or not.¡± They¡¯re indiscriminate strikes, not caring what side soldiers are on.


    Starlight also told me that the Soviets learned a hard lesson; they were fighting an enemy willing to die and not hesitant to call down an airstrike or artillery strike on their own position if needed, even if it caused friendly fire. Many companies radioed ¡°Shattered Spear,¡± a Little Bird military term for a friendly unit being overrun, requiring all artillery and air support to fire on their current position. If it was ¡°Broken Spear¡± then it means a friendly unit in danger of being overrun and requires all types of fire support to more or less to shield them from being overrun.


    Honestly, I wonder how I would feel if I were charging an enemy position and they called down artillery right on top of their position. It makes you think you¡¯re not fighting sane people but those who will fight to the death to drive foreign invaders out of their homeland.


    That¡¯s why many people here were compassionate officers. They knew their soldiers could die any day and wanted them to feel their lives meant something before they died, not see themselves as expendable pawns. Fanatical officers, on the other hand, viewed their soldiers as expendable, lacking the empathy and understanding that make a true leader.


    But I do know that most people here are glad the military doesn¡¯t have political officers. It¡¯s not because Little Bird has different political parties, but because it¡¯s nearly impossible to ensure troops'' blind obedience to the party line and unwavering loyalty. People here have diverse views¡ªsome are political, while others couldn¡¯t care less about politics. Many soldiers join the military out of patriotism to defend their country, while others join to get money for advanced education or to tour the world.


    In the Nightingale Tribe, according to Lusty¡¯s research and family heritage, they have two types of Commissars: a War Commissar and a Political Commissar. They serve similar but distinct roles. The War Commissar ensures warriors live up to the warrior code, often yelling patriotic or bloodthirsty encouragement and executing those who flee from battle in cowardice. The Political Commissar, besides being the right-hand person of the Chieftain, keeps their clan in line with their ideals. Both types of Commissars are the only ones who can change the Chieftain¡¯s mind, even more so than the Chieftain¡¯s advisors.


    I can see why the Little Bird military doesn¡¯t have Commissars. Political differences could lead to abuses of authority, with Commissars targeting those who don¡¯t share their views. Well, technically, the Little Bird military does have Commissioners, but they¡¯re not political officers. They¡¯re soldiers who work in Military Commissaries, which are grocery stores for soldiers and their families living on military bases.


    You know, in Little Bird, we''ve got quite the mix of groups, each with their own unique views and conflicts. There''s the Loyalists, Militarists, Intellectuals, Capitalists, Environmentalists, Industrialists, Nationalists, and the Religious. It''s a real melting pot of ideologies, and trust me, the clashes are as frequent as they are intense.


    Take the Loyalists and Nationalists, for example. You''d think they''d be allies, right? Both seem to have a strong sense of patriotism. But nope, not even close. The Nationalists are all about Little Birden-centric policies. They reject anything foreign¡ª foreign goods, aid, you name it. They want Little Bird to stand alone, proud and unyielding. On the other hand, the Loyalists put their faith entirely in the President and elected leaders. They believe these leaders are the only ones fit to rule and are fiercely opposed to any form of dissent. They''re easy to win over if you play your cards right, but once you lose their trust, good luck getting it back.


    Then there''s the classic feud between the Industrialists and Environmentalists. It''s pretty straightforward: Industrialists push for more factories, more production, more progress. They see industry as the backbone of our economy. Environmentalists, however, are all about preserving nature. They despise anything that harms the environment, which puts them at constant odds with the Industrialists. It''s a battle of progress versus preservation, and neither side is willing to back down.


    The only groups that really get along are the Capitalists, Industrialists, and Militarists. It''s a symbiotic relationship: Capitalists are all about making money, Industrialists provide the jobs and goods, and Militarists rely on the Industrialists for their supplies. Capitalists favor business interests, industrialization, for-profit enterprises, and a booming economy, including tourism.


    Industrialists, on the other hand, have demands that benefit the country''s economy in the long run. Since the Cold War, they''ve pushed for an educated workforce. Back in the ''50s, kids could stay in school longer instead of dropping out to support their families. This shift has been ideal for developing an advanced and wealthy export economy.


    However, the hardest group for the government to please is the Militarists. Representing the interests of Little Bird''s armed forces, their demands are non-negotiable. The government often gives in to them because, let''s face it, they need the military''s support in case of a hostile attack, rebel uprising, or foreign invasion.


    The Religious group is the only sane faction that tends to stay out of the others'' way. They''re a significant cultural bloc, focused on meeting the spiritual needs of Little Bird''s people. They emphasize social welfare and ensuring that everyone''s basic needs are met. Despite their peaceful nature, they sometimes clash with the Militarists. Little Bird is a religious country but also a secular state, allowing all types of beliefs without officially endorsing any.


    Navigating these factions is like walking a tightrope. Each group has its own vision for Little Bird, and balancing their interests is a constant challenge. But that''s what makes our nation so dynamic and, well, interesting. It''s a delicate dance of keeping everyone happy while steering the country forward.


    Of course, back in 1946, the Militarists were split in half. Some remained loyal to the Little Bird government, while others mutinied. The cause? The government''s own version of Operation Paperclip. Those who mutinied were swiftly put down because, in Little Bird, mutiny is on par with treason. The military has strict orders to quell any such uprisings.


    The mutineers had captured a research facility that housed some terrifying weaponry. We''re talking ballistic missiles with atomic warheads and superheavy tanks that would make the Panzerkampfwagen VIII Maus look like a toy. They also had advanced armored self-propelled anti-aircraft guns, heavy rocket launcher vehicles, and a new armored recon vehicle equipped with a 105mm cannon designed to ambush heavier tanks like the Soviet IS-1, IS-2, and IS-3.


    The loyal Militarists had their own arsenal of fearsome weaponry, including a heavy tank with a field howitzer-grade cannon meant to destroy fortifications like the Siegfried Line. During the mutiny, the mutineers set up makeshift fortifications. But without the support of their superheavy tanks, they were no match for the loyalists. In a twist of irony, simple country folk with a bulldozer tank managed to breach the fortifications by going over by pushing dirt and outmaneuvering the mutineers.


    Reflecting on it now, only seven of those superheavy tanks were ever made. Three were scrapped when their service was no longer needed, and two were destroyed during testing. The loss of those two tanks was a significant blow to the Militarists, who spent years searching for them. Unlike the Americans, who produced fifty thousand Sherman tanks and wouldn''t miss one, losing two superheavy tanks was a big deal. It turns out that some tank crews had gotten drunk and taken the tanks for a joyride, leading to their disappearance for fifteen years.


    Many of those loyalist Militarists were battle-hardened veterans of World War II. For them, a normal Tuesday might involve charging machine gun nests with no cover, taking out enemy positions, grabbing a bazooka to knock out a few tanks and half-tracks, and then personally carrying their injured comrades back to safety. They lived by the mantra, "I can do more," constantly pushing themselves to new heights. Whether it was becoming pilots, tunnel rats, or door gunners, these soldiers were always looking for the next challenge. Despite starting out young and inexperienced, they accomplished feats that left others in awe.


    On the other hand, many of the mutineers were young and naive. The Second World War was still fresh in everyone''s minds when the mutiny occurred in early 1946, just seven months after the war ended. Historians often remark on how lucky the mutineers were. If the government had deployed the Little Birden airborne units, the outcome could have been far more brutal. These airborne units were trained for fast strikes and commando-style operations. They were motivated volunteers, equipped with automatic weapons and assault grenades, making them fierce close-combat fighters.


    Deployable behind enemy lines, these airborne troops were masters of concealment and ambush, a constant threat to the enemy. They had strict rules about not taking prisoners because being behind enemy lines meant they couldn''t afford to be slowed down. Their training ensured they were battle-ready the moment their feet touched the ground. Many of the veterans instructed the paratroopers to undo their harness when they''re a few feet off of the ground so by the time they hit the ground they will be battle ready, main weapon drawn and feet on the ground.


    Of course, my cousin Mitchell, who is a paratrooper, remembers a particularly harrowing experience. They were supposed to rendezvous with the 28th Infantry Regiment of the 7th Infantry Division, but instead, they were met by a caravan of defeated soldiers. When Mitchell pulled one aside to ask what had happened, the traumatized soldier gave a chilling reply. "They came out of nowhere. They slaughtered us. You gotta get out of here and get out of here fast very fast."


    Mitchell and his regiment, the 39th Airborne Regiment, quickly realized the gravity of the situation. They began taking what little ammo the retreating soldiers had. One soldier didn''t even resist, simply saying, "Take it. You''ll need it." When another traumatized soldier from the 28th Infantry Regiment asked where they were going and warned that they would be cut off and surrounded, Mitchell''s commanding officer replied, "We¡¯re Airborne; we¡¯re meant to be surrounded." With that, the regiment pushed forward, heading straight into the fight, even if it meant being surrounded and facing bad weather that would prevent airdrops of supplies.


    According to Mitchell, being part of the Airborne, which is considered Special Forces in Little Bird, means being trained to fight behind enemy lines, often with limited supplies without knowing when the next resupply is. They''re also trained to endure harsh weather conditions and to keep fighting no matter the odds. This flexibility and adaptability are what make them such a formidable force.


    Of course, here in Little Bird, when the Soviets came in ''05, at least two regiments managed to break out, not realizing that the Little Bird military had allowed them to do so before sealing their exit and blocking their retreat. The Soviets fought fiercely, believing they had the upper hand against an understrength force. They thought they could gain a foothold and establish a defensible position behind enemy lines.


    During a battle at a town housing the families of soldiers from a nearby fort, the Soviets initially had the upper hand. When they pushed reinforcements to break the defenders, the defenders decided to retreat. However, they left behind two companies¡ª240 men¡ªto delay the Soviet advance long enough for the rest to retreat to safety. Once the defenders were far enough away, the Little Bird Army Air Force (LBAAF) dropped several thermobaric bombs on the remaining two companies. These munitions created a vapor cloud of highly explosive fuel, which then ignited, causing a massive blast and a large smoke cloud.


    While it was a Pyrrhic victory, the surviving Soviets were deeply disturbed and terrorized by the lengths the Little Birdens were willing to go to slow down their advance. The use of fuel-air bombs on their own town and troops was something even the Soviets would only consider as a last resort. The Little Bird Air Force and Army Air Force had various means of slowing the enemy, including napalm strikes, 20mm or 30mm Gatling gun runs designed to destroy tanks and other armored vehicles, cluster bomb munitions, and carpet bombings. Fuel-air bombs and Tactical nuclear weapons were a last resort, but both the Air Force and Army Air Force could deploy 17,000-pound bombs that created massive blasts, effective at clearing forests for helicopter landing zones and artillery emplacements.


    The Militarists viewed that battle and the sacrifice of those two companies as a pyrrhic victory and willingness to fight to the last man. It was seen as a heroic last stand, embodying the spirit of resilience and determination that defines Little Bird''s military ethos.


    That brings us to the Soviets fighting on Little Bird soil. Every foreign invader has faced fierce resistance here, and the Militarists believe that the best soldiers are forged through rigorous training. It''s like a modern version of Spartan training for adults, though not as brutal. According to Mitchell, they undergo wilderness survival and astronomy training. Given that much of Little Bird is covered in thick forests, this terrain is perfect for infantry but a nightmare for vehicles, making it ideal for setting up ambushes.


    Back in ¡®42 the U.S. Army''s introduction of the bazooka, the first rocket-propelled grenade launcher, was a game-changer despite its early issues. It required a well-trained two-man crew and was large and easily damaged. Germany''s response was the Panzerfaust, a one-man, single-shot launcher that was cheap and required no special training, making it highly effective against tanks during the last days of World War II.


    Since the 1960s, the Little Bird military developed its own one-man, lightweight, single-shot anti-armor weapon. By 1964, each division had a company of Anti-Tank Infantry Squads. According to my cousin Midnight, these squads consist of eight anti-tank soldiers, one rifleman, and one medic. They were created to meet the Militarists'' demands for highly trained soldiers to deal with armored threats. However, these squads are less effective against infantry or aircraft. Since the early ''70s, the average Infantry, Marine, Ranger, and Airborne squad includes five automatic riflemen (two with grenade launchers), one anti-tank soldier, one soldier with a heat-seeking surface-to-air missile, and a machine gunner, with one of the automatic rifleman also serving as a medic.


    You have to thank the Militarists for pushing the use of new technology to modernize the army and protect soldiers from both armored and aircraft threats. Back in the day, most anti-aircraft protection came from static positions or armored self-propelled anti-air guns, which had limited range and couldn''t follow infantry through difficult terrain. Roads and fields damaged enough to be unsafe for vehicles required engineers to fix or fill in craters, as armored vehicles are heavier at the front but weaker on the sides, rear, top, and bottom.


    The Militarists'' emphasis on advanced training and technology has ensured that Little Bird''s military remains a formidable force, capable of adapting to various threats and terrains. Their dedication to modernization and preparedness has been crucial in maintaining the country''s defense and resilience against any invader.


    The Intellectuals are more or less in charge of educating people, and according to my girlfriend, they focus on teaching useful skills for the real world. Many people don''t pursue a college education, so the emphasis is on practical knowledge. Lusty, my girlfriend, mentioned that in both history and English classes, they learned about the Ancient world. They studied figures and structures like the Parthenon, Pericles, Socrates, and playwrights such as Aeschylus, Sophocles, Euripides, and Thucydides. In English class, they read works by Plato, Aristotle, Diogenes, Socrates, and Homer, along with other writers and philosophers from the Ancient world.


    Lusty recalled reading the Iliad and Odyssey in 10th grade. Curious about the themes, she asked her parents about it. Her father responded with a thought-provoking question; if she were a soldier returning from war, what would she want? Does she want to be with a God if he would make her immortal if she stayed with him like how Odysseus just wanted to return home to Penelope and more or less told Calypso that he has a wife and child back home and how Gods like Zeus had to intervene. Or would rather be with said God instead?


    Of course, while the government is a mix of different ideals, each faction fighting for their group''s interests, they all make sure to placate the Natives. When settlers arrived in Little Bird back in the early 1700s, the Natives helped them set up and later form a government, as long as they could secure a majority vote. The five tribes, each with different clans and ways of life, had significant influence. One notable aspect they could vote on during the colonial era was women''s rights. Women in Little Bird could be citizens, own property in their own name, inherit property, run businesses, hire lawyers, and bring suits in court. They enjoyed a greater degree of freedom than women in many other parts of the world at that time.


    In the colonial era, Little Bird''s government was mixed, with 75% Native representatives and 25% colonial settlers. When the settlers arrived, the Native Little Birdens were already engaged in a war against Blister Canyon. During this conflict, the Natives made it clear to the settlers that they were not to be trifled with. The Nightingale tribe, in particular, demonstrated the true meaning of total war. While the other four tribes engaged in occasional raids and kidnappings, the Nightingales went further, destroying buildings, murdering enemies in graphic ways, kidnapping valuable individuals, killing livestock, razing crops, and looting anything of value. Their brutal tactics were a stark warning to anyone considering challenging them.


    The Intellectuals speculate that if it weren''t for the Nightingale tribe''s brutal warfare and willingness to cross lines that many others wouldn''t, the settlers might have tried to take the land without hesitation. The Nightingales'' fierce reputation ensured that they were seen as formidable adversaries, not to be underestimated. This reputation made them the kind of allies you wanted on your side, not against you.


    Many Militarists in Little Bird trace their roots back to the Nightingale tribe, known for their focus on warfare and maintaining a strong army. In contrast, many Intellectuals come from the Aurora tribe, which values intelligence and education.


    My girlfriend, while not a Militarist herself despite her Nightingale tribe roots, certainly embodies some of their fiery spirit. Her mother¡¯s influence means that getting under her skin can quickly bring out that Nightingale temper. She often wonders what her life would have been like if she had joined the military instead of becoming a mother. But for her, motherhood came first. Still, her quick temper and fierce protective instincts are very much part of her heritage.


    Although she isn''t a Militarist, she strongly supports having a robust military. She believes in the importance of fighting on enemy territory rather than defending on home soil, favoring military interventionism. This is quite a contrast to Little Bird''s general stance of isolationism, reminiscent of the pre-World War II United States. Little Bird prefers not to meddle in other nations'' conflicts, avoiding the complications and losses that come with such involvement.


    Interestingly, even the Militarists appreciate this isolationist approach. It conserves manpower, which is crucial in their strategy. The Little Bird military operates on the principle that "Our manpower is precious, but our bullets are cheap." This means they prioritize saving soldiers'' lives over expanding ammunition. You can always produce more bullets, but the experience and skills of a fallen soldier are irreplaceable.


    Honestly, I think that¡¯s a double-edged sword. The Little Bird Military operates on the principle that ¡°Our manpower is precious, but our bullets are cheap.¡± This is true because you can always buy another box of 7.62mm ammo at a gun store, but when a human dies, their experience and knowledge are lost forever. Even if you can train someone else, that individual is gone for good.


    The average Little Birden soldier is fanatical, driven by an "inner fire" to keep fighting to the last consequence. They will fight to the death, and fleeing soldiers are considered deserters. Back in ''05, the Soviets learned this the hard way. They encountered young men and women, aged 18-22, who came willingly to fight to the death. Soviet officers documented their shock. "They pushed thousands of men through artillery, mortar fire, and they came willingly. They charged through the muzzles of our rifles and they came willingly. They came willingly and would come again even if they knew they couldn¡¯t win. How are you supposed to fight an enemy who comes willingly and won¡¯t stop until either they or their enemy is dead?¡±


    The Soviets realized they were facing ordinary soldiers, not elite or battle-hardened troops. This revelation was unsettling. Some officers noted, ¡°If these were just inexperienced soldiers willing to give up their lives to defend their home, what would the elite and battle-hardened soldiers be like?¡± The Militarists capitalized on this, using it to instill horror and terror in their enemies.


    This fierce determination and willingness to sacrifice are both a strength and a vulnerability. It ensures that Little Bird''s enemies know they are up against a force that will not back down, but it also means that every loss is deeply felt.


    But I think the Militarists and Loyalists are allies in one way or another. Many soldiers here are swept up in patriotic fervor, believing their country is always right, and that any country siding with theirs is also right. Conversely, those who oppose or are against their country are seen as wrong. From the war footage I''ve seen, these soldiers and marines, whether Militarists or Loyalists, exhibit incredible bravery. They jump out of helicopters several feet off the ground to be battle-ready faster, rather than waiting for the helicopter to land or using fast ropes, unless the situation demands it.


    That''s just my opinion, though. I consider myself a Militarist because I come from a family where serving in the military is a tradition, even if it means fighting against our own family. For example, during the American Civil War, I had family members on both sides. In World War I, my great-granddad and his brothers fought for the British, while their father returned to Germany to fight in the Imperial German Army. I''m the last Waterson to serve in the Navy, with the previous one serving back in ''75.


    This deep-rooted tradition of military service shapes my perspective. The sense of duty and honor passed down through generations is something I carry with pride. It''s not just about fighting; it''s about protecting our way of life and ensuring that the sacrifices of those before us were not in vain. Whether it''s jumping out of helicopters or standing firm in the face of overwhelming odds, the spirit of resilience and dedication runs deep in our veins.


    But I do like how all of the groups¡ªthe Militarists, Loyalists, Industrialists, Environmentalists, and Capitalists¡ªappreciate the Artists. The Artists love culture and art, and they want people from other nations to come to Little Bird for culture and fun. However, the Nationalists abhor the Artists because they don''t like outsiders coming in.


    Interestingly, many Artists in the Artist faction come from these other groups. For example, many Militarists who are also Artists use their military earnings to go back to school, like art school. Many Loyalist Artists get hired to do portraits of the country¡¯s leaders. When we talk about Artists, we don''t just mean painters. We''re talking about musicians, performers, stage performers, opera players, playwrights, philosophers, writers¡ªanyone involved in the arts.


    This blend of backgrounds enriches the artistic community in Little Bird. Militarists bring a unique perspective to their art, often reflecting themes of resilience and sacrifice. Loyalists might focus on national pride and leadership. Industrialists and Capitalists might explore themes of progress and innovation, while Environmentalists could highlight the beauty and fragility of nature.


    The Artists serve as a bridge between these groups, fostering a sense of unity through their work. They celebrate the diverse heritage of Little Bird and invite others to experience it, despite the Nationalists'' resistance. This cultural exchange not only enriches Little Bird but also helps to build a more inclusive and understanding society.


    In essence, the Artists play a crucial role in Little Bird, not just in preserving and promoting culture, but also in bridging divides and fostering a sense of community. Their work transcends boundaries, bringing people together and showcasing the rich artistry of Little Bird''s identity to the world.


    But the Artists and Intellectuals act like best friends because Artists create works like philosophy, and the Intellectuals educate people on these arts, whether they were created recently or thousands of years ago. For example, here in Little Bird, students in middle and high schools are taught philosophy and other works from the Ancient, Classical, Medieval, Renaissance, and Industrial eras. According to my girlfriend, her 10th and 11th grade English classes included readings from Pericles, Socrates, Homer, Plato, Aristotle, Diogenes, Cicero, Plutarch, Ambrose, Aeschylus, Sophocles, Euripides, Thucydides, Augustine, and Boethius for example


    When I attended Arcane University in the City of Empire, I had a funny moment. I had to read works by Homer, and at first, I thought they were written by Homer Simpson from "The Simpsons," not realizing they were by Homer, the Greek poet whose works are widely studied and praised for their educational value. In my philosophy class, we were taught how these ancient texts reflect how people saw the world back then and how they pose questions that we eventually have to answer ourselves. Or teaches us things like how if someone¡¯s a compulsive liar then they shouldn¡¯t cry when nobody believes them any more like in the story ¡°The boy who cried wolf.¡±


    I¡¯m just sitting by the window of the firehouse apparatus bay door window, watching the rain pour down, and it got me thinking about my future. I''m almost thirty, and living in a place where people turn to ancient poems to reflect on their lives and dreams. It''s fascinating how Little Bird is a country where folks live in the moment, not stressing about tomorrow because, well, it''s not here yet. Yesterday is in the past.


    But as I ponder, I can''t help but compare it to the societal expectations of the 1940s and 50s in the United States. Back then, it was almost a given that you''d join the military at eighteen, get married, and have kids by twenty-two. This rush to the altar was fueled by the end of World War II, with young couples and returning G.I.s eager to start their lives together.


    Of course, now that I think about it, when people read those ancient poems from writers and philosophers, they ask questions that we eventually have to ask ourselves. These are questions only we can answer, without anyone else''s perspective, because everyone has different desires and dreams. Some people want a quiet, solitary life, while others dream of getting married and starting a family as soon as possible. Here in Little Bird, the age of consent is eighteen, a decision made by the government, even though the five commonwealths have different ages for various things like drinking, which ranges from 16 to 18. But for marriage, it''s eighteen, even for religious reasons.


    It''s true that everyone has different aspirations and ways they want to fulfill their lives. Some dream of becoming successful scientists or astronauts, while others aim to be superstar athletes or five-star chefs. Some want to climb the corporate ladder, while others aspire to be the modern-day Da Vinci. There are those who want to be famous directors, forensic specialists, or profilers for law enforcement. Some people want to be gold diggers, explorers, or heartbreakers with numerous relationships but no serious commitments. Others dream of composing hit movies, becoming illustrious authors or artists, spies, or jacks of all trades. Some want to lead the free world, live in luxury, or become famous mixologists. There are those who want to turn their homes into private museums, become professional authors, rockstars, star news anchors, or popular figures with many friends. Some want to be superstar actors or actresses, have lots of children, rescue animals, or have a variety of pets. Others aspire to be world-renowned doctors, famous singers, visionaries, or simply win the lottery, whether it''s the mega millions, powerball, or just a scratch-off.


    Take my girlfriend, for example. Her question was, "Will I live like my parents?" She grew up poor and impoverished, without much money, in a part of the city filled with American and Axis power weapons like the Model 1928 Thompson, M1A1 Thompson, MP40, and Beretta Model 38. Even though she''s middle class now, she still considers herself poor because of her background. She''s learned to appreciate what she has instead of constantly buying new things. In her part of the city, people didn''t have the money to buy the latest consumer appliances, so many still used blenders and other appliances from the 1930s or 1940s, passed down from parents to children. Many of her dresses and heels were passed down from her mother. While she''s a tomboy, the only time she wore masculine clothing in her youth was for gym class because her parents couldn''t afford to buy her jeans, belts, undershirts, loafers, and flannel shirts.


    Of course, where my girlfriend is from, people are taught to repair things and make them last beyond their expected lifespan. Take a blender, for example. Typically, a blender''s lifespan is about 3-5 years, but in her community, they manage to double or even triple that time. They prefer to keep using items until they can no longer be repaired. Many people there learned their mechanical and handyman skills in shop class during middle and high school, while others expanded their skills during their time in the army as mechanics or engineers.


    This resourcefulness is an exemplification to their ingenuity. It''s a way of life that values sustainability and self-reliance, something that seems increasingly rare in today''s throwaway culture. My girlfriend embodies this spirit; she can fix almost anything and always finds a way to make things work. It''s one of the many things I admire about her.


    Living in Little Bird, where the focus is on the present, contrasts sharply with the mindset of her upbringing. Here, people might not worry about tomorrow, but they certainly know how to make the most of what they have today. It''s a blend of living in the moment while also respecting and preserving the past.


    Of course, while thinking about the Militarists and Loyalists, they come in two forms. The first kind are those who are blindly loyal to their country, doing whatever is necessary to fulfill Little Bird''s needs without question, even if their actions are questionable or borderline war crimes. The second kind are those who are loyal to some extent but have mixed feelings about war. They hope wars don¡¯t last too long to spare soldiers and their families unnecessary suffering and even show sympathy to their enemies.


    According to my girlfriend, the first kind believes in harsh retaliation against their enemies. For example, if a resistance force ambushes them, they think the appropriate response is to retaliate against the civilian population, not realizing this will increase ambushes. The second kind of Militarists and Loyalists, however, are more discerning. They know what actions are necessary and which ones cross the line. They understand that being a defender in war is less morally ambiguous and know where to draw the line.


    Many of the second type fall under the saying, ¡°the old man knows what he is doing,¡± while the first type are often young and over-eager, thinking that their zealousness will get them noticed positively. However, many of these young, blindly loyal soldiers eventually mature into the second type, realizing the dangers of blind loyalty. They learn that many officers in the Little Bird military achieved their ranks by asking questions and critically evaluating plans and ideas.


    According to my family members who are officers in the Little Bird military, their military schools teach them to be unpredictable and encourage questioning others'' judgments when necessary. They say officers usually get promoted by using logic and thinking strategically. They are taught that "A predictable officer is a defeated officer." If the enemy can predict your movements, they have already defeated you. Being unpredictable forces the enemy to constantly guess your next move, allowing you to strike when they are distracted or by launching multiple fake offensives to divide their attention and hide the real attack.


    I mean, my family members who are military officers always emphasize the difference between officers who ask questions to learn or find better solutions and those who are simply incompetent. The latter often make poor decisions on the battlefield, driven by a desire to prove themselves to their peers and family, which usually results in disaster. Their decisions are often based on self-preservation or self-interest, making them highly predictable and ultimately ineffective.


    My family is like a game of UNO or Blackjack¡ªyou never know what cards your opponents have until they lay them on the table. I have family members who are officers in various fields, from Mechanized Infantry to an armored company. They understand that urban combat is particularly dangerous because they must constantly protect their flanks, and buildings can hide civilians or enemies waiting to ambush them.


    Many of my family members who are officers say the Soviets were caught off guard because of innovations like the special camouflage created by my cousin Mitzy¡¯s wife, Visuala. This active camouflage dynamically adapts color and luminance, and the ceramic-composite armor makes getting shot feel like getting a tattoo¡ªmildly uncomfortable rather than feeling like a kick in the chest. My family members always say, ¡°Remember, always be the hunter, not the hunted.¡± They have incredible patience, which I admire because I would have lost mine dealing with subordinates who question orders every five seconds or complain about missing the battle because they want fame and glory.


    As they say, ¡°Those who are the nicest are the meanest.¡± This patience extends to their personal lives, where they deal with spouses who sit around all day if they don¡¯t get past the interview stage, and then call them manipulative or financially abusive when asked to do chores.


    Of course, I do have a cousin, Captain Alexander Sterling, who had quite the experience back in ''05. His company had to fight a delaying battle against a Soviet task force in the foothills of the Mountain''s Range. Their objective was to slow down the Soviet advance to give the defenders around Fort Aroura time to dig in. His mechanized company secured two fords before another company came in to hold them, allowing his company to move on and hold a bridge until engineers could rig it to blow.


    During that battle, his soldiers, a mix of Loyalists and Militarists, were shouting anti-communist slogans. Alexander had to remind them to stay off the radio and only report useful information, sparing the company their comments. He mentioned that some members of his company are deeply religious, living with beliefs reminiscent of the Medieval era. They even think animals should be tried and convicted of crimes, believing them to be possessed by Satan.


    Alexander comes from a strict religious family¡ªhis mother is a Waterson, and his father is not. His parents are devout and self-righteous, often twisting religious teachings to suit their views. However, Alexander isn''t as devout. He finds their interpretations and actions off-putting, which has led him to distance himself from their strict beliefs.


    I decided to check social media to see what my friends were up to. Most of them are living pretty routine lives¡ªgoing to work, coming home, and not having much of a social life like we did back in high school from 1998-2001. Many of them turned their part-time high school jobs into full-time gigs after graduation, and they''re still at it.


    Then there are my other friends who were disowned and kicked out by their families over lies their siblings told. They made some not-so-subtle jabs about how my family took them in without hesitation. My family asked what happened, gave them space to adjust, and supported them through the transition. Meanwhile, their own families couldn''t care less and abandoned them in their time of need.


    These friends often throw shade at their families, pointing out how "real family" doesn''t abandon you when things get tough. Now, some of their parents want them back in their lives because they see them as financially successful. But my friends are standing their ground, telling their parents they have to live with the consequences of their actions. Their parents disowned them over a lie, believed without question, and now they want back in because of money. It''s a harsh reality, but my friends are stronger for it.


    Of course, the ones who were disowned and kicked out also post about how their family members, who hadn''t spoken to them in years, suddenly remember their existence now that they have successful careers and are financially stable. These friends either invested their money wisely or saved diligently, and after ten years of hard work since their teens, they''re now doing well.


    They often highlight on their timelines how their families, who once abandoned them, are now trying to reconnect. They acknowledge that family is family, but they also make it clear that there''s a big difference between family members who are there only for the good times and those who stick with you through thick and thin. For my friends who were disowned, their entire family falls into the former category, and the "family is family" card doesn''t work on them. It''s like the saying goes, "You''ll only find out who your real friends are when you''re down."


    Of course, my friends who were taken in by my family always talk about how my family showed their true colors by helping a stranger in need. They remember those late-night calls between 12 AM and 3 AM from my father, asking if they could take someone in because their parents had disowned them over a lie. Some family members couldn''t help, but those who could stepped up without hesitation. They even spoke to my friends'' parents, who were more than willing to sign away their parental rights, making my family the legal guardians. This was crucial because they knew that if a sibling could lie to their parents, they could easily spread those lies at school, and one juicy rumor can destroy a life.


    My friends also mention how they tried to repay my family members who took them in, even though it wasn''t necessary. My family either donated the money to charity, saved it for a rainy day, or put it into their 401k. Despite this, their disowning families would preach about family loyalty and the importance of helping out. But when my friends asked, "Where was this family when my sibling destroyed my life over a lie?" they were painted as the villains¡ªungrateful sons or daughters who turned their backs on their family in their time of need. Their families only saw one side of the story and couldn''t understand why they refused to help.


    Their families would often pull the "Sometimes you have to forgive" card, saying life is too short to hold grudges. But my friends would snap back, "I''m not forgiving them, and I''ll hold my grudge until the day I''m put in the ground." It''s a harsh stance, but after everything they''ve been through, it''s understandable. They learned the hard way that true loyalty and support come from those who stand by you through thick and thin, not just when it''s convenient.


    Heck, my friends also shared how they initially feared my extended family would turn on them when their own families reached out. But they were pleasantly surprised to find support. My extended family showed their true colors by defending them in their time of need. We''re the type who, when we make mistakes, at least own up to them.


    I do have family members who think they''re doing what''s best for everyone but end up driving their kids away. Later, they realize their actions were one-sided and try to make amends. Many of their kids, however, feel it''s too little, too late. The damage is done, and nothing can fix what''s broken. Some might let their parents back into their lives if they receive a sincere, heartfelt apology and only meet up in neutral locations that don''t benefit either/or, but most have moved on and don''t want to reconnect. Pressuring them to forgive only makes things worse, sometimes leading to restraining orders or protection orders.


    My disowned friends who lived with my family learned a different family lifestyle based on love and support. My family offers support in a way that''s neither too intrusive nor too distant. They know they have our support without us encroaching on their lives. They also saw how close-knit we are and how we''re willing to stand up for each other. For example, when some family members by marriage tried to force others to babysit their kids so they could party, we stood firm. We believe that being a parent means life isn''t all about you anymore; you have to take care of your children.


    My friends learned that we don''t subscribe to the "keep the peace" mentality that sacrifices one person to placate another. Saying you want to keep the peace often means you want a victim to suffer in silence because you don''t want to deal with the conflict. My family believes in standing up for what''s right, even if it means ruffling a few feathers.


    Of course, to me, my family is both a bad and good influence. When my disowned friends got into fights, their parents always blew it out of proportion. But in my family, if one of our kids gets into a fight, the first thing we ask is, "Did you fight back or run away?" Depending on the answer, the response varies. If they ran away, they get a lecture about how running away won''t solve problems because eventually, they''ll have to stand up for themselves. But if they fought back, they get praised for standing their ground. We believe that running away only makes things worse, while fighting back shows you''re not a pushover.


    If our kids ask if they can get someone else to fight their battles, we explain that it''s a mixed bag. That person could be bought out by the enemy, as many people will switch allegiances for the right price. It''s better to fight your own battles and not rely on others who might not have your best interests at heart.


    So, my disowned friends learned that it''s okay to fight their own battles and that it''s important to stand up for themselves without it being blown out of proportion. This mindset was influenced by some of the male Watersons who took them in, many of whom were veterans of the Gulf War or Vietnam. They come from families where fighting, even in self-defense, is seen as a cardinal sin, while we Watersons believe in standing up for ourselves where to us if someone wants to fight you with their fists but you have a baseball bat then it¡¯s still fair game or if someone has a baseball bat and you have a chainsaw then to us that¡¯s still fair game.


    As I continued to scroll through my social media feeds, my disowned friends shared more about their experiences. They described living with their biological families as living in purgatory, and they would rather endure Hell than go back to those who couldn''t care less about them. To them, their biological families are dead in a metaphorical sense. They learned from me that if people aren''t there for you during your toughest times, they shouldn''t be there when you''re celebrating your best moments. As my dad used to say, "If they''re not there for you when you''re at your worst, then they shouldn''t be there for you when you''re at your best." My friends had to learn that the hard way.


    Living with my family taught them the true meaning of support and loyalty. They saw firsthand how we stand by each other, no matter what. It was a tough adjustment, but they learned that real family is about being there through thick and thin, not just when it''s convenient. They found a new sense of belonging and realized that sometimes, the family you choose can be more supportive and loving than the one you''re born into.


    My disowned friends took those lessons and applied them to the dating world, figuring out who was interested in them for their money or influence and who was there for true love. They learned that not everything that glitters is gold. They got advice from my family members of the opposite gender, who warned them that everyone is different, so their words shouldn''t be taken as gospel. Some family members want a partner who is active in sports and wants their kids to be the same, while others just want someone who accepts them, flaws and all. Everyone''s wants and needs are different.


    Many of my disowned male friends learned that my female relatives aren''t interested in money. To them, a one-dollar bottle of water is better than a three-dollar canned soda, and a family heirloom wedding ring is more valuable than a five-carat diamond.


    Some of my disowned friends also saw firsthand that my family has its own problems. When they stayed with my extended family, they learned that what looks like a perfect marriage on the surface can be very different behind closed doors. Many of my female relatives have careers and families, working ten-hour days and still coming home to cook for their families. Their husbands often get cranky over minor things, are ungrateful, and don''t help out, not caring that their wives also work. These husbands complain about nagging and crying kids but never think to ask how their wives are doing or feeling.


    Many female Watersons work minimum wage jobs, putting in fifty-hour weeks with unappreciative bosses, then come home to take care of their kids, clean the house, and cook dinner. They''re tired and stressed, but just because their husbands complain all the time doesn''t mean they''re not miserable too¡ªthey just don''t show it. My disowned friends learned that every family has its struggles, and it''s important to recognize and appreciate the effort and sacrifices made by each member.


    Of course, my disowned friends learned quickly that my female relatives with ungrateful husbands had a strong support system. Those husbands knew better than to cross a line because many of my granduncles, who served in World War II and Korea, were tough as nails. They were the kind of soldiers who''d share a smoke with captured enemies, then grab their Thompson M1 or M1 Garand and handle business. My friends would often say, "If they were willing to do that after Pearl Harbor, imagine what they''d do if someone messed with their family."


    My friends were amazed that my granduncles, in their eighties, could still read maps to navigate. It wasn''t just because they grew up before computers; as officers, they had to read maps to lead their platoons or companies in unfamiliar territories across North Africa, Europe, and the Pacific. Meanwhile, most of my friends rely on GPS just to get to work and back.


    When it came to homework, my disowned friends didn''t just reword textbooks. They asked my family members who served in World War II, Korea, Vietnam, and the Gulf War for insights, always careful not to reopen old wounds. They couldn''t ask about being attacked directly, as my granduncles, born in the early 1920s, had a different perspective. They had to drop out of school to support their families and later used the G.I. Bill to get their diplomas and GEDs. Back then, only about 45% of U.S. soldiers had high school diplomas; the rest were dropouts. My friends realized how lucky they were to stay in school from kindergarten through high school.


    This gave my friends a new perspective on how different life was for previous generations. While we have video games and endless entertainment options, my granduncles had to make do with movies, outdoor play, or listening to the radio¡ªif they could afford the batteries.


    My disowned friends also learned about the struggles of past generations, especially during the Great Depression. Back then, many people were unemployed and didn''t trust banks, so they hid their money in mattresses. This was before the government insured banks, meaning if a bank went under, all the money deposited was lost. This gave my friends a new perspective on how lucky they are today, knowing their money is safe and insured by the government.


    Now, ten to twelve years later, their families want to come back into their lives, either because they see financial benefits or because it''s socially acceptable now that my friends are doing well. Some of my friends are even on the verge of getting married, and their families, who once abandoned them, are trying to re-enter their lives. My friends worry that these family members will act like stage actors¡ªeither leaving right after the wedding or sticking around to turn the day against them, painting themselves as saints and their disowned kids as the bad guys.


    Some of my disowned friends even refer to their parents as nothing more than both sperm and egg donors. They¡¯ve made it clear they want nothing to do with them. They skip any ceremonies or family events their parents invite them to, like weddings or funerals, because they see their biological family as strangers who treated them the same way. As my family says, they''re "giving them a taste of their own medicine." People tend not to like that because it forces them to feel the neglect they once inflicted.


    My friends believe that if their families weren''t there for them in their time of need, they won''t be there for their families now. It''s a harsh lesson, but it¡¯s one they¡¯ve learned well. They¡¯ve built new lives and new families with people who genuinely care about them, and they¡¯re not willing to let the past drag them down. They¡¯ve found strength in the support and love they received from my family and others who stood by them, and they¡¯re determined to move forward with those who truly matter.


    Of course, my family taught them the Golden Rule. "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you." They explained to my disowned friends that this means treating others how you want to be treated. If you treat others like dirt, you shouldn''t be surprised when they treat you the same way. My family also introduced them to the concept of Karma, explaining that "what comes around goes around."


    Many of my disowned friends'' parents lost some friends over their actions. These friends couldn''t take them in because they had no room, unless they wanted to spend the rest of their high school years sleeping on a couch. A few months might be manageable, but three or four years is a different story. They politely declined, knowing that their siblings would likely spread false rumors around high school, making their lives even more difficult. Moving miles away, even to different states, seemed like the better option to start anew.


    My friends learned that sometimes, starting over is the best way to escape a toxic environment. They found new beginnings and built new lives, supported by people who genuinely cared about them. They realized that true family isn''t always about blood but about those who stand by you through thick and thin. They took these lessons to heart, applying them to their relationships and daily lives, always remembering the importance of treating others with kindness and respect.


    My family also taught my disowned friends that sometimes, what seems like a good idea can have unintended consequences or even be a crime. For example, some of my family members knew people who thought they were helping by delivering mail when their mail carrier got hurt. They ended up delivering mail to the wrong recipients, including important documents like jury duty summons, and even hijacked mail trucks to deliver more mail. They got arrested because tampering with the mail and impersonating a mail carrier are federal crimes.


    The moral of that story is that just because something seems like a good idea in your mind or on paper, it doesn''t mean it will have the desired outcome. In fact, it can have the opposite effect. My family taught my friends that it''s often better to let time play out rather than rush into actions that could have unforeseen consequences. They learned that what sounds good on paper doesn''t always work out in reality.


    This lesson helped my friends understand the importance of thinking things through and considering the potential consequences of their actions. They realized that sometimes, the best course of action is to be patient and let things unfold naturally, rather than trying to force a solution that might backfire.


    Heck, most of my disowned friends made their money by investing, either in the stock market or in a friend''s startup. My extended family, who took them in, always encouraged them to invest but also warned them about the risks. They explained that many startups fail, and investing can be a roll of the dice. They emphasized that while investing can lead to great rewards, it can also result in significant losses and debt. It was up to my friends to decide, but they were advised to think carefully about the consequences and make informed decisions.


    My family taught them to base their decisions on facts and to ask questions to understand what they were getting into. They also stressed the importance of reflecting on their actions. They warned that some people, thinking they''re high and mighty, can go overboard and alienate others. By the time they realize their mistakes, it might be too late, and they could find themselves all alone, having driven everyone away with their overzealous behavior.


    This advice helped my friends navigate their financial decisions and personal relationships more wisely. They learned the value of humility, careful planning, and the importance of maintaining good relationships. They understood that success isn''t just about making money but also about building and maintaining trust and respect with those around them.


    But to me, I love seeing my disowned friends make those not-so-subtle jabs at their families who weren''t there for them. They often express how grateful they are that total strangers stepped in and supported them at their lowest points, doing more for them in a few years than their own families did in fourteen. Their families only did the bare minimum to avoid government intervention, and my friends see them as cult-like in their behavior.


    The family that took them in taught them valuable lessons that still pay off a decade later. They learned to appreciate what they have instead of discarding things, and they even started naming items that bring them joy. For example, many Watersons are vehicle enthusiasts who appreciate the craftsmanship of a fine ride and understand the value of a dependable vehicle. Their relationship with their vehicles is special and name their vehicles.


    For us Watersons, it''s practically a cardinal sin to eat lasagna without breadsticks! My friends also saw how my family helped them improve their grades. Instead of settling for D''s and C''s, they started getting B''s and A''s. My family encouraged them to participate in after-school activities and other extracurriculars, opening up new opportunities and experiences for them.


    Seeing my friends thrive and make these jabs at their families is a reminder of how far they''ve come and how much they''ve grown. They found a new sense of belonging and learned to value the support and love they received from those who truly cared.


    Of course, some of my disowned friends mentioned how the Waterson kids they stayed with initially scared them a bit. They were slightly taller and more well-built, thanks to regular exercise from participating in sports like wrestling, baseball, football, or other physical education activities. Many of them live on farms, where being in good physical condition is essential for tasks like repairing fences. I often say it''s like how the Ancient Greeks valued physical fitness as a sign of strength and goodness.


    My friends also formed strong brotherly or sisterly bonds with the Waterson kids. They''ve known each other long enough that any romantic relationship is out of the question¡ªthey see each other as siblings and respect that boundary. They understand what each other is comfortable with and won''t push those limits. They know that if someone declines something and gives a reason, that decision should be respected. Persistently asking after being told no only worsens the relationship. It''s important to recognize the difference between a small and a big task and respect each other''s boundaries.


    These experiences taught my friends the value of mutual respect and understanding in relationships. They learned that true family and friendship are built on trust, respect, and knowing when to step back and honor someone''s comfort zone. This has helped them navigate their personal relationships with more empathy and consideration.


    My extended family also encouraged my disowned friends to catch up on classic literature, like the works of Shakespeare. While they explored the Elizabethan era, my interests go back even further to the Ancient era.


    A clap of thunder startled me, and I almost dropped my phone. I tightened my grip just in time, knowing that if I had dropped it, I''d need to make a trip back to the United States to get the screen fixed.


    I also read about how grateful my friends are for having people who showed them the ropes and taught them how to navigate life. They learned to avoid certain types of people, like some of the male Watersons who are mama''s boys. While being close to your mother isn''t inherently bad, many of my female friends have dated mama''s boys who insist on bringing their mothers on every date and trip. These guys get all high and mighty when my female friends suggest bringing their own parents along, leading to heated arguments. It''s a double standard where the boyfriend can bring his mother without question, but when my female friends want to do the same, they''re painted as the bad guys.


    These experiences have taught my friends valuable lessons about relationships and boundaries. They¡¯ve learned to stand up for themselves and recognize when someone¡¯s behavior is unfair or hypocritical. It¡¯s all part of the journey of finding genuine connections and building a life surrounded by people who truly care.


    Some of my female friends have dated my male relatives who are mama''s boys, but these relationships have clear boundaries. They let their mothers meet their girlfriends to get to know them, not to dictate their lives. For those who married my male relatives, their mothers understand the importance of maintaining a respectful distance. They know not to overstep by asking to join honeymoons or vacations meant for couples. They realize that crossing such lines could lead to being excluded from important milestones, like the birth of grandchildren.


    Many of my female friends are open to dating mama''s boys as long as their mothers don''t dominate their lives. They want partners who prioritize their relationship over their mother''s influence. Most of my friends are estranged from their biological families and have found solace in people who genuinely care and listen. They value friendships with those who are truly there for them, not just in words but in actions.


    These experiences have taught my friends the importance of setting boundaries and finding people who respect them. They¡¯ve learned to appreciate the support and love from those who stood by them, and they strive to build relationships based on mutual respect and understanding.


    Of course, some of my female relatives have sibling-like relationships with other family members of mine. It''s best to think of them as brother and sister or sister and sister. Nine times out of ten, just when you think they''re about to show some kindness or decency, they''ll remind you how siblings often don''t get along.


    Many of my male relatives refuse to date my female friends, and vice versa, because they''ve known each other for too long, and it would feel weird. However, some are willing to give a relationship a try, especially since many of my friends were disowned by their families over lies. They''ve learned that family isn''t just about blood; it''s about those who love you as their own. As Maya Angelou said, "Family isn¡¯t always blood; it¡¯s the people in your life who want you in theirs: the ones who accept you for who you are, the ones who would do anything to see you smile, and who love you no matter what."


    Of course, some of my disowned friends did try to reconnect with their families, but it mostly ended badly. Their toxic families called them childish or just wanted money from them. When my friends told their biological families that they had a new life and didn''t want to be bothered, their families didn''t take it lying down. They started calling, emailing, and when my friends blocked their numbers and email addresses, their families just changed their phone numbers or bought burner phones to keep contacting them.


    Many of my friends can''t change their phone numbers because their jobs require them to be reachable 24/7 and if they change their number then their bosses will be mad for them being unreachable until the moment they update their number. If they did change their numbers, their families could still find them through their jobs. Some of my friends work on-call jobs or contracts where clients need to get a hold of them, so changing their numbers isn''t an option. The moment their families started bothering them, they blocked the numbers and changed their own numbers, but it was a constant battle.


    My disowned friends also shared how my family, who took them in, taught their kids not to judge others until they''ve walked a mile in their shoes. Some of my extended family even made their own kids experience what my friends were going through to show them the reality of the situation. This helped shut down any judgmental attitudes and fostered empathy.


    It''s normal for people not to talk about their experiences, especially those who have been through combat or other traumatic events. Many of my older family members, who were in their fifties to seventies back in the late 1990s to early 2000s, came from a time when trauma and mental health weren''t fully understood. People who talked about their experiences were often incarcerated or locked away, subjected to treatments that would be considered human rights violations today.


    My disowned friends are grateful to have people who listen and make them feel like it''s not their fault. They learned that people are different and that there are families who are there for you no matter what, and others who should probably take tests to see if they should become parents. They found solace in knowing that they have a support system that genuinely cares about them and understands their struggles.


    These experiences have taught my friends the importance of empathy and the value of having a supportive network. They¡¯ve learned to appreciate those who stand by them and to be cautious about opening up to those who might not understand or care. It¡¯s a tough journey, but they¡¯ve found strength in the love and support they received from my family and others who truly care.


    Of course, my disowned friends embody the wisdom of Socrates, who famously said:


    <ol>


    <li>¡°For I was conscious that I knew practically nothing¡­¡± This quote highlights Socrates¡¯ awareness of his own ignorance. He recognized that despite his knowledge, there was still much he did not know. This humility and acknowledgment of his limitations are central to his philosophical approach.</li>


    </ol>


    2. ¡°The ancient Oracle said that I was the wisest of all the Greeks. It is because I alone, of all the Greeks, know that I know nothing.¡± According to the Oracle of Delphi, Socrates was the wisest man because he was aware of his own ignorance. Unlike others who believed they knew everything, Socrates understood that true wisdom comes from recognizing one¡¯s own lack of knowledge.


    My disowned friends proudly admit when they don''t know something. They understand that lying or pretending to know can lead to more harm than good. They''d rather acknowledge their ignorance than be ignorant. This humility and willingness to learn have made them wiser and more open to new experiences and knowledge.


    They''ve learned that true wisdom comes from recognizing one''s limitations and being open to learning from others. This mindset has helped them navigate their lives with more clarity and understanding, appreciating the support and love from those who genuinely care about them. They continue to grow and learn, always striving to be better and more knowledgeable, while staying grounded in the reality of their experiences.


    Of course, most of my friends live in states that don¡¯t require a license to be a contractor. They often find themselves in apartment buildings with people who claim to know how to fix things because they¡¯re groundskeepers, but they lack the proper training to be electricians or plumbers. These individuals often take the job just to get reduced rent, preferring to live in ignorance rather than gaining the necessary knowledge and skills.


    This situation highlights a broader reality; many people would rather remain ignorant and pretend to know something they don¡¯t. They don¡¯t recognize their own limitations or seek to learn from others, missing out on new experiences and knowledge. Despite the age-old saying, ¡°knowledge is power,¡± they choose to live in a bubble of false confidence.


    My friends, on the other hand, have learned the value of admitting when they don¡¯t know something and seeking out the knowledge they need. They understand that true wisdom comes from recognizing one¡¯s limitations and being open to learning. This mindset has helped them navigate their lives more effectively, appreciating the support and love from those who genuinely care about them. They continue to grow and learn, always striving to be better and more knowledgeable, while staying grounded in the reality of their experiences. And know who to avoid and who to let in as well.


    I¡¯m now thinking about how some of my disowned friends, despite their gut feelings, chose to reconnect with their biological families out of curiosity. Some of them faced demands to break up with their current significant others to go on blind dates with people their families could manipulate and control. They quickly realized their parents'' intentions and regretted not following their instincts.

 Chapter: Twenty Six

    The Next Day


    My phone buzzed on the table, and I saw it was a call from my dad. I picked it up with a smile.


    ¡°Hey, Macaroni! How have you been?¡± he asked, his voice warm and familiar.


    ¡°I¡¯m doing well, Dad,¡± I replied. ¡°I hung out with Mitchell and Cadence the other day. Yesterday was pretty intense, though. We had to respond to a collapsed crane at work. A few workers got hurt. I still can¡¯t figure out why they were working in the rain.¡±


    ¡°Sounds like they were behind schedule,¡± Dad said thoughtfully. ¡°My friends in construction never work in the rain unless they¡¯re really pressed for time or working indoors.¡±


    I nodded, even though he couldn¡¯t see me. ¡°Yeah, that makes sense. It¡¯s just frustrating to see people get hurt because of deadlines.¡±


    ¡°So what happened?¡± my father asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.


    ¡°One of the supports sank into the mud, and the crane toppled over onto an apartment building under construction,¡± I explained.


    ¡°Yeah, mud can be a real problem,¡± Dad said, chuckling. ¡°It¡¯s like how it tries to pull your shoes off when you walk through it. You¡¯d think they¡¯d find firmer ground or add extra support.¡±


    I sighed. ¡°I don¡¯t know much about construction or cranes, especially tower cranes like the one we dealt with. But they¡¯re working for the city, and it all ties back to that housing scam from 2007. Remember? The city started buying up old tenement buildings, offering money to the residents. Only about 1% took the offer, so they resorted to arson to force the rest out. It was a huge scandal when the radio stations picked it up, and then it went national. The whole country of Little Bird was watching the city of Empire like the Eye of Sauron.¡±


    Dad nodded. ¡°I remember that because you told me. The government of Little Bird stepped in and made the city of Empire pay for the rebuilding, right?¡±


    ¡°Exactly,¡± I said. ¡°What the city and Echelon Enterprises did was illegal. They were trying to buy up old buildings and burn out those who refused to sell, planning to replace them with cheap, poorly constructed apartments. But the government forced them to pay for proper construction with strict oversight. Even minor infractions result in hefty fines¡ªfive thousand Little Bird Dollars, which is about forty thousand US Dollars minimum. That¡¯s the average income for the middle class here.¡±


    Dad whistled. ¡°That¡¯s some serious oversight. Hopefully, it means better safety standards now.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, let¡¯s hope so,¡± I agreed. ¡°It¡¯s just frustrating to see people get hurt because of past mistakes and tight deadlines.¡±


    I took a sip of coffee, letting the warmth settle me.


    ¡°Yeah, I remember that,¡± I said. ¡°Twice I went with my girlfriend to fight those fires, even though I was just a college student at the time. Seeing entire streets ablaze, with flames on both sides, was surreal. It was so hot that the paint on the fire apparatus started to chip off.¡±


    I paused, and I could imagine seeing him shaking his head at the memory. ¡°My girlfriend, whom you and Martha know well, was from one of the three districts targeted. She told her Battalion and Deputy Division Chief, ¡®Listen up, people! Let me tell you what¡¯s north of us; just more homes. If we turn and run now, they¡¯re going to be defenseless! You don¡¯t like my plan? That¡¯s good. Give me another plan, but don¡¯t tell me we¡¯re leaving them defenseless.¡¯ She had just lost the tenement building she grew up in a couple of nights before that.¡±


    I continued. ¡°The fires were so intense that even the mightiest streams from the fire department¡¯s arsenal were no match. It got so bad that they had to authorize the use of air tankers¡ªboth helicopters and planes designed for wildland firefighting, but using water instead of chemicals. During those nights, the Fire Department issued a Level 4 Mobilization. That meant everyone off duty had to come back, no matter what they were doing. They even called back retired firefighters because they needed all the manpower they could get.¡±


    ¡°What about those fire suits that y¡¯all wear?¡± my dad asked.


    I replied, ¡°Those silver suits, also known as fire proximity suits, come in three types: Approach suits, Proximity suits, and Entry suits. Only specialized companies get them because they deal with high-heat situations. My squad company has the Entry type of the Proximity suit. But if you¡¯re talking about Firehouse Eighteen and Sixty-Eight, they¡¯re in the city¡¯s industrial district with factories, so they have all three types.¡±


    Dad nodded, intrigued. ¡°So, what¡¯s the difference between them?¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± I began, ¡°Approach suits are designed for short-term entry into flaming environments and are used for rescue operations. Proximity suits are for situations where firefighters need to get close to intense heat and flames, like aircraft firefighting. Entry suits, which we use, are for direct entry into extreme heat and are often used in industrial settings. They¡¯re made of multiple layers of heat-resistant materials, including aluminized fabric to reflect radiant heat.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s fascinating,¡± Dad said. ¡°I never realized there were so many types.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s pretty specialized,¡± I agreed. ¡°And it¡¯s not just the suits. We also have different breathing apparatuses and tools depending on the situation. It¡¯s all about being prepared for anything.¡±


    Dad smiled. ¡°Sounds like you¡¯ve got a handle on it. Just be careful out there, okay?¡±


    ¡°Always, Dad,¡± I assured him. ¡°Safety first.¡±


    My dad then asked me about my arm, and I told him that my cybernetic arm is doing fine. He then joked about how I was a cyborg because of my cybernetic arm. Of course, I chose that arm because it looks so realistic and like a human arm from a distance.


    ¡°Oh, Martha wants to speak to you,¡± my dad said.


    I rolled my eyes so hard that it felt like they were about to fall out. I wasn¡¯t in the mood to talk to my stepmother, but while she and my mother are the same, at least Martha took a step back and knew what she was doing was wrong. She gave up on that without driving me away because both she and my mom want me to marry a guy, have kids, and be a ¡®50s housewife.


    But while my mother started to double down, Martha, on the other hand, gave up on being a step grandmother. She stepped back and realized what she was doing was wrong and found out that if she continued her path, then I would¡¯ve cut her off in a New York second. At least Martha came to her senses. Unlike my mother, who tried to double down but already alienated everybody in her family because she''s an addict, a manipulator, and a gaslighter. If the Olympics had a section for manipulation and gaslighting, then my mother would''ve won gold.


    Martha changed. She started by asking how I was doing and all that jazz. I was bracing myself, thinking she was going to ask when I was going to have kids. But nope, it turned back on me. She actually apologized for wanting me to leave the woman I love and be with a guy I don¡¯t know. She said she had been thinking for a couple of months and realized that if she kept forcing her way, I wouldn¡¯t be there for her and my stepbrothers.


    It was a surprising and heartfelt moment. Martha admitted that she had been wrong and that her insistence on me getting married and having kids was misguided. She understood now that her actions were pushing me away, and she didn¡¯t want to lose me or the bond we had. It was better than having people constantly pressuring me to marry some guy I don¡¯t know and have kids. At least she came to her senses.


    I felt a weight lift off my shoulders. It was a relief to hear her acknowledge her mistakes and genuinely apologize. It made me hopeful that we could move forward with a better understanding and respect for each other¡¯s choices.


    Of course, while I¡¯m on the fence about having kids, at least Martha respects that. But my mother, on the other hand, is relentless. She started setting me up on blind dates the moment I turned eighteen with guys I didn¡¯t know. Some of these guys admitted they were pressured by their families to find a girlfriend, but they respected my decision when I said I wasn¡¯t interested. They understood.


    Then there were the manchildren¡ªguys who had clearly never been told "no" in their lives. They¡¯d throw hissy fits and talk about how they imagined our future together, with me as an obedient housewife and a few kids. My response to their fantasy was always, ¡°Yeah, if this was the 1800s.¡±


    One time, my granduncle Charlie actually scared one of those guys away. I was with him, showing him Call of Duty when it first came out. One of those guys who couldn¡¯t take no for an answer showed up at his house. Charlie, being the no-nonsense WWII and Korean War vet he is, showed him his M1A1 Carbine and said, ¡°I haven¡¯t fired this at another person since Korea¡­ 1953.¡± That guy ran off and never came back. Charlie told me he wasn¡¯t going to add to his kill count unless necessary, but the way he said it, you knew he meant it. If he got arrested for it, people would probably say, ¡°So you arrested an eighty-year-old man for defending his grandniece from a guy who couldn¡¯t take no for an answer?¡±


    After scaring away that guy, Charlie said people used to be much more civilized back then. I reminded him that he and millions of others fought against a guy who had seventeen million people killed for being different.


    Despite all this, my mother kept setting me up on blind dates, not realizing how uninterested I was. I just went to tell the guy I wasn¡¯t interested in dating. It was exhausting, but I had to stand my ground.


    Of course, my family is supportive of me being on the fence about being a parent. They understand that I would have to give up what I like doing and that it¡¯s not all about myself anymore. Many of my family members have kids of their own, and some don¡¯t. They know that it¡¯s a decision for the individual to make, and they respect that. To me, that¡¯s true because the first thing about being a parent is that you can¡¯t go out and do whatever you wish anymore.


    I have family members with spouses who have kids but don¡¯t want to take care of them. For us Watersons, once we become parents, we know we can¡¯t just go out willy-nilly like we could when we were younger. We¡¯re sick of the whole ¡®keep the peace¡¯ mentality that sacrifices one person to placate another. Saying you want to keep the peace is just saying you want a victim to suffer in silence because you don¡¯t want to deal with it.


    For us Watersons who are parents, whether the kids were planned or unplanned, we believe it¡¯s the parents¡¯ responsibility to take care of them. We say, ¡°You chose to have kids; they¡¯re your responsibility, not anyone else¡¯s.¡± My family¡¯s overall stance is, ¡°If you can¡¯t handle kids 24/7, don¡¯t have kids to begin with.¡±


    Not to mention, I help my girlfriend with her seven daughters, so I have some experience around kids. Her kids are both in the sixth and fifth grades, so I¡¯m pretty familiar with the challenges and joys of raising children. It¡¯s a lot of work, but it¡¯s also incredibly rewarding.


    Of course, while some of my girlfriend''s daughters call me ¡°Aunt Macaroni,¡± others call me ¡°Mama¡± because of my relationship with Lusty. I don¡¯t mind either way, even though her kids are related to me through their father, my cousin Dave. Lusty wanted to experience motherhood and didn¡¯t have many male friends alive and those who are still alive well the military won¡¯t grant them a furlough so they can help their female friend have a kid, so she chose Dave. Honestly, I don¡¯t care if they call me Aunt Macaroni or Mama because I¡¯m like a second mother to them. I buy them gifts and help them with schoolwork if Lusty is busy or if I¡¯m over at her penthouse.


    Lusty doesn¡¯t ask for help unless she really needs it. The only time she did was when her daughters were infants. She asked one of her old neighbors to watch them and compensated them for their time. Lusty says it was a nightmare for her, being away from her babies for 96 hours every other week. She would spend an hour at the firehouse talking to the neighbors who were watching her babies until they got old enough for her to feel confident they could take care of themselves.


    Martha respects me being on the fence about having kids because she understands it¡¯s a big decision. If I do have kids, it¡¯s a decision that takes away my free time. The only free time I¡¯d get would be in the shower and sleeping, and even that would be a roll of the dice. It¡¯s a huge commitment, and I appreciate that Martha gets that.


    My dad, on the other hand, doesn¡¯t care if I have kids or not. He understands that I¡¯m a woman and respects my perspective.


    I wish my biological mother could see things the same way, but she insists on me having kids and marrying some guy I don¡¯t even know. I had one guy who couldn¡¯t take no for an answer and stalked me during my Navy training. He followed me to Germany, England, and a few other NATO countries. I filed police reports in Germany, France, and England, but he managed to get out each time. I¡¯m not sure how, but I guess he made bail. I don¡¯t know the laws in those countries, but here in Little Bird, what he did was a felony. They found those other reports, and felony stalking here means having a record of stalking but still doing it. He got locked up for that.


    At least Martha is different. Yes, she¡¯s my stepmother and a few years older than me, and she¡¯s fourteen years younger than my dad. But my dad hasn¡¯t forced me into a daughter-mother relationship with her. Martha knows that while I¡¯m an adult, she can¡¯t force me into that kind of relationship. She respects my boundaries, and that makes a big difference.


    When Martha asked how her sons, Alex and Jake, were doing, I told her that I didn¡¯t know because I¡¯m not their mother or babysitter. They¡¯re in university now and have to take care of themselves. I work 96 hours every other week with 24-hour shifts, so I have a life of my own. Martha mentioned that they haven¡¯t called her and she couldn¡¯t get a hold of them. I pointed out that university students have a lot of schoolwork and many have part-time jobs. They¡¯re busy with their studies and responsibilities.


    I explained that being at Arcane University is giving them a preview of real life. They have deadlines, professors who won¡¯t let them borrow a pencil, and no extensions on projects. It¡¯s a taste of how many employers won¡¯t grant extensions and how unpredictable real life can be. It¡¯s all part of growing up and learning to manage their time and responsibilities.


    Martha seemed to understand, but I could tell she was still worried. I reassured her that Alex and Jake are probably just caught up in the life of university life. They¡¯ll reach out when they can. It¡¯s a big adjustment for everyone, but they¡¯ll find their way.


    I could hear my dad in the background saying how Jake is probably being himself, keeping his nose to the grindstone, studying, and doing schoolwork. He probably hits the sack early to adjust to different time zones and realizes that there¡¯s no more doing normal schoolwork, some studying, and having free time. While Alex is probably out partying because he¡¯s the type who doesn¡¯t take any responsibility and passes his failures onto others instead of taking the rap for his misdeeds.


    I then asked if they put me on speakerphone, and they said in unison, ¡°Yes.¡±


    I chuckled. ¡°Well, that explains why I can hear both of you so clearly. Look, Martha, I¡¯m sure Alex and Jake are just busy with their own lives right now. University is a big adjustment, and they¡¯re figuring things out. Jake¡¯s probably buried in his books, and Alex... Well, he¡¯ll have to learn responsibility sooner or later. It¡¯s part of growing up.¡±


    Martha sighed. ¡°I know, it¡¯s just hard not hearing from them. I worry, you know?¡±


    ¡°Of course you do,¡± I said gently. ¡°But they¡¯ll be okay. They¡¯ve got good heads on their shoulders, even if Alex needs a bit more time to figure things out. Just give them some space, and they¡¯ll come around.¡±


    Dad chimed in, ¡°Macaroni¡¯s right. They¡¯re young and finding their way. We just have to trust that we¡¯ve raised them well enough to handle it.¡±


    Martha seemed to relax a bit. ¡°Thanks, both of you. It helps to hear that.¡±


    ¡°No problem,¡± I replied. ¡°And hey, if you need anything, you know where to find me. Just don¡¯t expect me to keep tabs on them¡ªI¡¯ve got my hands full with my own life and work.¡±


    We all laughed, and the conversation shifted to lighter topics. It felt good to connect and reassure Martha, even if just a little.


    ¡°So how¡¯s life for you two?¡± I asked.


    My dad didn¡¯t beat around the bush. He started telling me about one of Martha¡¯s friends who had a birthday recently. Martha gave her a $250 dress, which she thought was a better gift than what my dad had in mind¡ªa fifty-dollar gift card.


    Then things got a bit weird. Martha¡¯s friend told them to give her a baby for her next birthday. My dad and Martha shut down that idea real quick. They explained that they have no control over the baby¡¯s gender and that Martha¡¯s friend is the type who wants a kid but doesn¡¯t want to take care of it. She said she¡¯d give the baby back to them whenever it cried, needed feeding, or a diaper change. My dad and Martha made it clear they¡¯re not having a baby for someone who would treat it like a living doll.


    However, my dad and Martha have been talking about having a kid together. With Martha¡¯s twin sons in university and me living my own life, they feel they have a good twenty years before my dad reaches retirement age and Martha gets close to it. They think it might be the right time to consider expanding their family.


    I was a bit surprised but also happy for them. ¡°Wow, that¡¯s a big decision. But if it¡¯s what you both want, then go for it. Just make sure you¡¯re ready for all the sleepless nights and diaper changes.¡±


    Martha laughed. ¡°We know it¡¯s a lot of work, but we¡¯ve been thinking about it seriously. We¡¯ll see how things go.¡±


    ¡°Just make sure you¡¯re doing it for the right reasons,¡± I added. ¡°And remember, I¡¯m here to support you both, whatever you decide.¡±


    It was a good conversation, and it felt nice to be included in their plans and thoughts. It¡¯s moments like these that remind me how important family is, especially with family who are there for you no matter what and not there when it¡¯s convenient for them.


    Of course, since I¡¯m Martha¡¯s stepdaughter, Jake and Alex are my father¡¯s stepsons. They decided to have a child together so they could raise one together, even though my dad raised me for eighteen years by himself because my mom was an addict who just laid on the couch watching TV, not helping. Martha raised her twin sons for seventeen years by herself after her then-boyfriend walked out, not wanting to be a parent. He did try to come back when they were seventeen, claiming he was going to take them and raise them his way. But he backed out because Martha would¡¯ve proved in court how he walked out and never saw his sons for seventeen years, never sent birthday or holiday cards.


    I wish Martha was my birth mother because she raised Jake and Alex by herself, just like my dad raised me. They had something in common¡ªhaving partners who didn¡¯t help raise their kids. But they didn¡¯t meet until I had already moved out.


    It¡¯s funny how life works out sometimes. Despite all the challenges, they found each other and built a new life together. They¡¯ve both shown incredible strength, and I admire them for that. It¡¯s comforting to know that they¡¯re considering having a child together, not just to fill a void but to share the experience of raising a child with someone who truly understands and supports them.


    I heard my dad say he hopes if they do have a child, it¡¯s a son, while Martha said she hopes it¡¯s a daughter. I couldn¡¯t help but chuckle and say, ¡°Dad, don¡¯t jinx yourself. According to my family on both your side and my mother¡¯s side, you wanted a son but got a daughter instead.¡±


    My dad replied, ¡°Yeah, and I love you for being you and not a carbon copy of your mother.¡±


    That made me smile. ¡°Thanks, Dad. I appreciate that.¡±


    Martha chimed in, ¡°Well, whatever we have, boy or girl, we¡¯ll love them just the same.¡±


    ¡°Absolutely,¡± I agreed. ¡°And they¡¯ll be lucky to have you both as parents.¡±


    We talked a bit more about their plans and how they¡¯re preparing for the possibility of a new addition to the family. It was nice to hear them so excited and hopeful. It reminded me of how important it is to have supportive and loving people in your life, no matter what challenges come your way.


    As we wrapped up the call, I felt a sense of warmth and connection. Family can be complicated, but moments like these make it all worthwhile.


    Of course while I¡¯m thinking about it after I hung up the call I just thought of how when something goes wrong or if we get something later than expected we say ¡°Well Goddamnit and here it is today a day late and a dollar short.¡±


    _______


    Lusty¡¯s apartment


    I knocked on the door, and Lusty opened her apartment door, inviting me in.


    ¡°Hey there, Macaroni,¡± said Lusty. ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡±


    I replied without missing a beat, ¡°My dad and stepmom plan on having a child together.¡±


    ¡°So you¡¯re going to be a sister,¡± Lusty said with a smile.


    ¡°Yeah, it looks like it,¡± I said, feeling a mix of excitement and curiosity. ¡°It¡¯s kind of surreal to think about, but I¡¯m happy for them.¡±


    Lusty nodded. ¡°That¡¯s great news. They must be really excited.¡±


    ¡°They are,¡± I agreed. ¡°They¡¯ve been talking about it a lot. It¡¯s nice to see them so hopeful and planning for the future.¡±


    Lusty led me to the living room, where her daughters were busy with their homework. ¡°Girls, Aunt Macaroni is here!¡± she called out.


    The girls looked up and greeted me with smiles and waves. ¡°Hi, Aunt Macaroni!¡± they chorused.


    I waved back. ¡°Hey, girls! How¡¯s the homework going?¡±


    ¡°Good,¡± they replied in unison, then went back to their work.


    Lusty and I sat down on the couch. ¡°So, how do you feel about becoming a sister?¡± she asked.


    ¡°I think it¡¯ll be interesting,¡± I said thoughtfully. ¡°It¡¯s a big change, but I¡¯m looking forward to it. Plus, it¡¯ll be nice to have a little one around again.¡±


    Lusty smiled. ¡°You¡¯ll be a great sister. And who knows, maybe you¡¯ll get some practice for when you decide if you want kids of your own.¡±


    I laughed. ¡°Maybe. For now, I¡¯m just taking it one day at a time.¡±


    I then noticed a letter on the table in which it¡¯s in Lusty¡¯s handwriting in which she wrote:


    Dear Assholes,


    To all of you who have declined my father¡¯s love of a Native woman. You will not be missed. And to my dad¡¯s parents, congratulations, you will NEVER meet your great-grandchildren and please go to Hell and fuck off.


    Hate, Claire Johnson.


    I know that when Lusty puts hate instead of love in a letter you know when you fucked up.


    ¡°At least you might become a sister if your dad and stepmom have a child,¡± Lusty said. ¡°You¡¯re going to be something I always wanted to be¡ªa big sister. But at least if they do have a child, you can be that cool big sis.¡±


    I smiled at the thought. ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s kind of exciting. I never really thought about it before, but I guess I could be a pretty cool big sister. I mean, I¡¯ve had plenty of practice with your girls.¡±


    Lusty laughed. ¡°You¡¯re already a great role model for them. Any sibling of yours would be lucky to have you.¡±


    ¡°Thanks, Lusty,¡± I said, feeling a warm glow of appreciation. ¡°It¡¯s nice to think about. And who knows, maybe it¡¯ll be fun to have a little one around again.¡±


    We chatted a bit more about the possibilities and what it might be like to have a new baby in the family. It was comforting to share these thoughts with Lusty, knowing she understood and supported me.


    Lusty looked at me with those eyes that always seem to see right through me. "Why do I have a feeling there''s something nagging at you?" she asked. "Is it because everyone around us is starting their own families?"


    I sighed, feeling the weight of her words. "Yeah, it''s been on my mind. It''s just... so many of my old friends, the ones I had to let go, are now dating or engaged to my family members. They''re finding their happily ever after. My family took them in, taught them to help those in need, to spread a little love in the world. It''s something I really admire about my family. We''re not perfect, but we''re always ready to defend others, especially those who are struggling. We might come off as gruff, but we don''t tolerate people being assholes to those who are down. We can''t stand glory hounds, but we also won''t let anyone kick a man while he''s down."


    I paused, looking at Lusty. "It''s just a lot to process, you know?"


    Lusty replied, ¡°Yeah I do know. But remember to carve out your own life. Just because your friends are getting dates or getting engaged or getting wed. But that¡¯s their life that they carved out because they had a support system to build them up and give them the self esteem they needed because their toxic family who disowned them spent fourteen or fifteen years tearing them down. But once their parents disowned them and your extended family took them in and gave them the support to build them up and give them the nudge in the right direction. But what you want to do it¡¯s your life.¡±


    I nodded, taking in Lusty''s words. "You''re right. It''s just hard sometimes, you know? Seeing everyone else moving forward with their lives while I''m still figuring things out."


    Lusty smiled gently. "It''s okay to feel that way. But remember, your path is unique. You''ve got your own journey to follow, and it''s okay if it looks different from everyone else''s. You''ve got a lot of love and support around you, and that''s what matters."


    I smiled back, feeling a bit lighter. "Thanks, Lusty. I guess I just needed to hear that."


    She nodded. "Anytime, Macaroni. Just keep being you, and everything will fall into place."


    ¡°I just do know that I¡¯m glad my parents made me get a part time job when I was in 9th grade,¡± Lusty said after taking a sip of water.


    I replied, ¡°Yeah I know what you mean but for me it¡¯s different.¡±


    ¡°Yeah because getting everything handed to you isn¡¯t always the best option. My parents told me how me getting a part time job will give me ¡®the tools I¡¯ll need later in life¡¯ and that¡¯s true,¡± Lusty said. ¡°And my parents always said how there¡¯s a difference between giving your kids freedom and giving them too much freedom are two different things.¡±


    I replied after taking a sip from Lusty¡¯s bottled water, ¡°Yeah I know because my disowned friends and their siblings who lied about them to get them disowned they got too much freedom from their parents and that led them into the kind of trouble there¡¯s no walking away from. And from me working as a waitress I learned the value of hard work and how hard it is to earn money but quick it goes.¡±


    Lusty nodded thoughtfully. "Exactly. My parents always emphasized that balance. They wanted me to have freedom, but also to understand responsibility. It''s a tough line to walk, but it''s so important."


    I leaned back, reflecting on her words. "Yeah, I get that. My disowned friends, their siblings who lied about them to get them disowned¡ªthey had too much freedom. It led them into trouble they couldn''t escape from. Working as a waitress taught me a lot about hard work and the value of money. It''s crazy how fast it goes once you start earning it."


    Lusty smiled. "It''s those lessons that shape us, though. They make us stronger and more resilient. You''ve got a good head on your shoulders, Macaroni. Just keep doing what you''re doing, and you''ll be fine."


    I smiled back, feeling a sense of camaraderie. "Thanks, Lusty. I appreciate that. It''s good to know I''m not alone in this."


    She raised her bottle in a mock toast. "To figuring it out, one step at a time."


    I clinked my imaginary glass with hers. "One step at a time."


    Lusty leaned back, her eyes thoughtful. "After all, Macaroni, you''re living in a country where tomorrow isn''t here yet and yesterday is in the past. Just focus on today because today is here. Tomorrow hasn''t arrived yet, and yesterday is just today in the past. Unless you''re talking about those people who say we should forget about traumatic events that happened a long time ago. Those people I can''t stand."


    I nodded, feeling a surge of agreement. "Yeah, me too. I told Linda a while back that it''s not about forgetting traumatic events. It''s about not living like they happened yesterday. Remembering and admitting what happened is one thing, but using it to push others away is another. Take my cousin Dave, for example. His wife, Linda, takes her traumatic events to the next level to alienate herself from her family. Dave went through the same tragedy that killed his father and uncle, but he handles it differently. He doesn''t sit around crying about it every day. He goes to work, helps others on the worst days of their lives, and remembers his dad''s words. ''We can''t sit around crying about it. Cry when you''re not working because people count on us when they need help."


    I paused, taking a sip from Lusty''s bottled water. "Linda, on the other hand, uses her trauma as an excuse to neglect her family. It''s like she''s stuck in that moment, while Dave honors his father''s memory by moving forward and helping others. It''s a tough balance, but it''s important."


    Lusty nodded, her expression serious. "It''s all about how we choose to handle our past. We can let it define us or we can use it to grow stronger. You''re doing great, Macaroni. Just keep focusing on today and the rest will follow."


    Lusty even admitted how when she lost her parents back in 1996 when she was seventeen how she was broken on the inside but she admits that even fourteen years later she still misses them. She said how she still has a lot of things she still wanted to talk about with her parents and show them their grandkids but that never and still won¡¯t ever happen because of their untimely deaths. But it made her to be a better mother and how it¡¯s just how they would¡¯ve wanted her to be and how she can do what they couldn¡¯t because of her father being a low wage janitor earning pennies on the dollar and her mother being a temp worker who was paid pennies on the dollar and didn¡¯t get any benefits for those who hired her for temp work. But even though they didn¡¯t like the work they had to do because of both of them coming from a middle class family but having to work in low paying jobs with bosses who couldn¡¯t care less about them. They did the work with a smile because it made them keep a roof over their head and to take care of their daughter even with limited income but Lusty was raised with appreciation for what she had.


    Lusty shook her head, a mix of frustration and sadness in her eyes. "It''s funny how ''family comes first'' only seems to apply when it benefits the villains, losers, or jerks, and not the victims. That''s why I don''t even invite my father''s side of the family to anything. They never realized how they drove him away. They wanted to reconnect eleven years after his death, but I told them, ''Too late. Twenty-six years too late.''"


    I nodded, feeling the weight of her words. "Yeah, I get that. Your dad cut them out of his life after they called you a ''thing.'' That was the final straw. And then, twenty-three years later, they wanted to reconnect? It''s just too much."


    Lusty sighed. "On Christmas Day of 1984, they called me a ''thing,'' and my dad had a huge fight with his parents and siblings. They said I wasn''t their granddaughter, but another child born months after me was their first grandchild. That was it for my mom too. She didn''t try to placate them. She stood by my dad, especially after he came back from Vietnam. His own family turned their backs on him, but his girlfriend¡ªmy mom¡ªwas there for him. Her college friends told her to break up with him, but she never did. They got married in ''75, and I was born in ''79."


    I felt a lump in my throat. "That story gets harder to hear every time. Families who say ''family comes first'' but only apply it to those who are troubled or manipulative... it''s just wrong."


    Lusty nodded. "It''s about who truly stands by you, not just when it''s convenient for them. Your family, Macaroni, they stand by you. And that''s what matters."


    I smiled, feeling a sense of solidarity. "Thanks, Lusty. It''s good to know we''re not alone in this."


    She raised her bottle once more. "To the real family¡ªthe ones who stand by us no matter what."


    I clinked my imaginary glass with hers. "To the real family."


    ¡°Have your father¡¯s side of the family tried to reconnect with you?¡± I asked.


    Lusty sighed. ¡°Yup.¡±


    ¡°And your response?¡± I pressed.


    ¡°Either slamming the door in their face or just hanging up the phone,¡± Lusty replied. ¡°It¡¯s gotten to the point where I told the switchboard operators not to connect calls from certain people because it¡¯s just a waste of time.¡±


    ¡°Have they tried getting between you and your daughters?¡± I asked, concerned.


    ¡°Damn straight. Twice,¡± Lusty said, her eyes narrowing. ¡°And I did what any sane mother would do. They nearly got the same reaction a mama bear gives when someone gets too close to her cubs. I told them that if they ever got between me and my daughters again, what I¡¯d do would be considered a felony, and they¡¯d end up in a trauma center. I guess they finally learned I want nothing to do with them. I made my bed and chose to lay in it without regret. They even threatened to take one of my daughters, but I told them that¡¯s a line they can¡¯t uncross. When I¡¯m at work, my old neighbors watch my kids. They¡¯re like your granduncle Charlie who says, ¡®I¡¯m not willing to add to the kill count unless I have to.¡¯ My neighbors were in combat roles in the military and have weapons loaded with match grade or subsonic ammo, or double-ought buckshot if they have shotguns.¡±


    ¡°And don¡¯t forget about Dave because he¡¯s the father of your daughters,¡± I added.


    Lusty nodded. ¡°I told them their father has connections. The kind of connection that if any of my daughters is missing a single hair, Dave can use his connections to have them placed in front of a firing squad.¡±


    I raised an eyebrow. ¡°What¡¯s with this country¡¯s obsession with firing squads?¡±


    Lusty shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s considered the only humane option. People on death row can choose execution by hanging, electric chair, or firing squad because here, lethal injection is considered too humane. People on death row aren¡¯t seen as humane because many on death row aren¡¯t humane.¡±


    Lusty took a sip of water, gathering her thoughts.


    ¡°But I find it hypocritical of my dad¡¯s family,¡± she began. ¡°When my mother lost her therapy license due to a fake lawsuit, my dad, even though he was a grown adult, swallowed his pride and asked his parents for help with college tuition in 1980. They agreed, but only if he broke up with my mom, left us, and married a woman they approved of. My dad said he¡¯d think about it, which meant he¡¯d talk to my mom. You¡¯d think she¡¯d say, ¡®Not a chance in hell,¡¯ but instead, she told him to play along and go No Contact once he finished college. In the end, my dad just said, ¡®Thanks but no thanks.¡¯¡±


    ¡°Didn¡¯t your father get money from the Marines?¡± I asked.


    ¡°He did, but his benefits, including money for school, expired on October 26th, 1979, and this was in 1980. Funny thing, his friends said he wasn¡¯t really a man because my mom, who was a therapist, made more money. But my dad didn¡¯t care about who made the most money. To him, money is replaceable, but a partner who loves you and sticks by you is irreplaceable. He didn¡¯t use his military benefits for advanced education because he was fine with my mom paying for it. When she was sued for bogus reasons, they weren¡¯t prepared for the downgrade from middle class to working class. But they were glad they raised me in a working poor class rather than an entitled middle class.¡±


    ¡°When your parents died, did they leave you any money?¡± I asked.


    ¡°They did,¡± Lusty said. ¡°But I used that money, which they had planned for retirement, on baby care¡ªdiapers, clothing¡ªand what I didn¡¯t spend, I put into my savings account.¡±


    I nodded, absorbing her story. ¡°It¡¯s amazing how they managed to keep everything together despite all that.¡±


    Lusty smiled. ¡°Yeah, they were tough. And they taught me to be tough too.¡±


    ¡°Couldn¡¯t your dad ask his in-laws to help him with his college funds?¡± I asked.


    Lusty shook her head. ¡°Macaroni, my mom¡¯s side of the family, doesn''t believe in advanced education. They come from the Nightingale tribe, which has two kinds of people: People of War and People of Production. The warriors protect the tribe and engage in battles, while the producers make healing powders, farm, and create weapons. They have teachers, but advanced education isn¡¯t in their vocabulary. Plus, they were saving for their own retirement. My dad had a job lined up that required a college education, but he decided to face the music, drop out, and take a low-paying janitorial job.¡±


    ¡°Why do I have a feeling that your dad¡¯s family tried different ways to get him to break up with your mom?¡± I asked.


    Lusty sighed. ¡°They did. They called my mom a ¡®golden wife¡¯ he didn¡¯t want to upset. My dad told them he favored her because she was there for him at his lowest. His family turned him away, but she let him in. They hadn¡¯t seen each other since 1967, and this was in 1975. He knew the saying ¡®A happy wife equals a happy life.¡¯ She tried to make them like her, but they never accepted her. They always held money over his head, but he didn¡¯t jump. He was going to marry the woman who stood by him, even after an eight-year gap. On Christmas Day of ¡¯84, he announced he was going no contact with his family. They¡¯ve been trying to find him for almost thirty years but refused to check Eastside, Westside, and Anderson because they view those districts as dangerous ghettos. They¡¯re the type who¡¯d never park their car there nor walk through them. Golden wife is a play on Golden child but instead of parents favoring one child it¡¯s a person who favors their wife.¡±


    ¡°Why don¡¯t some people in your dad¡¯s side of the family just divorce those who are in your dad¡¯s side of the family by marriage?¡± I asked.


    ¡°That depends on the state,¡± Lusty replied. ¡°Some states like Cascade, Starfish, and Blueberry have strict divorce laws, while others like Mountain and Strawberry have more lenient ones. My dad¡¯s family is very controlling, using manipulation, gaslighting, and tugging at heartstrings to get what they want. They tried to use their children¡¯s puppy eyes on me, but I wasn¡¯t moved. I told them I¡¯m always there for my daughters and won¡¯t force them to choose family over love.¡±


    ¡°They should take a playbook out of my family,¡± I said. ¡°We have our own version of the Commission. If we have disagreements, we get together and abide by some rules. We have extended family members act as third parties to make a peaceful solution. If someone wants a fight, we have a rule: the first one to cry or hit the ground loses.¡±


    Lusty chuckled. ¡°That sounds like a solid plan. Maybe I should suggest that to my family.¡±


    I smiled. ¡°It¡¯s worth a shot. Sometimes, a little structure can make all the difference.¡±


    After Lusty and I shared the same bottle of water, I asked, ¡°And your mother¡¯s brothers couldn¡¯t help your dad with financial means for college?¡±


    Lusty shook her head. ¡°My mother¡¯s brothers, or my uncles, are the type who bum rush a minefield, take out a machine gun nest, kill the enemy, knock out a few tanks and armored vehicles in forty-five minutes, personally carry injured allies to safety, and then say, ¡®This is just another day for me.¡¯ They won¡¯t retire until they¡¯re hurt enough that they can¡¯t be soldiers anymore. And the type who when they get old enough and close enough to retirement age they will continue working even if it means training new recruits or working in an office and not retire even when they hit 65 they won¡¯t retire until they die.¡±


    I chuckled. ¡°I think my granduncles would like your uncles.¡±


    Lusty looked intrigued. ¡°How¡¯s that?¡±


    ¡°If the Hungarians, Bulgarians, Romanians, Finnish, Croatians,  Italians, Japanese, and Germans and other people who sided with the Axis Powers with machine guns couldn¡¯t stop them from flying the American flag in the 1940s, what do you think anyone is going to do to stop them now? They¡¯d gladly charge those machine gun nests if it meant planting Old Glory,¡± I said with a grin.


    Lusty laughed. ¡°Sounds like they¡¯d get along just fine. It¡¯s that kind of determination and loyalty that makes all the difference.¡±


    I nodded. ¡°It¡¯s about standing up for what you believe in and protecting those you care about, no matter the cost.¡±


    Lusty raised her bottle in a toast. ¡°To family and the ones who fight for us.¡±


    I clinked my imaginary glass with hers. ¡°To family.¡±


    ¡°No wait I take that back because I had two family members in the USN and another family member in the USAAF in World War 2 but the same but different problems but the same that they did what they thought they thought needed to be done. But well my granduncles they were the kind who were prone of fighting of course having rules though of when it comes to fighting well while they never fought a woman because how they fought women that if a woman bullied them then they would retaliate by going for that woman¡¯s brother or boyfriend, fiance¡¯ or husband. Talk about getting hurt by proxy.¡± I said


    Lusty chuckled. ¡°That¡¯s quite a strategy. It¡¯s like they had their own code of honor, even in the chaos of war.¡±


    I nodded. ¡°Yeah, they believed in standing up for themselves, but they had their limits. They wouldn¡¯t hit a woman, but they¡¯d make sure her brother or boyfriend got the message. It¡¯s a different kind of justice, I guess.¡±


    Lusty took another sip of water. ¡°It¡¯s interesting how different families handle things. Your granduncles had their way, and my uncles had theirs. But in the end, it¡¯s all about protecting the ones you love and doing what you think is right.¡±


    ¡°Exactly,¡± I agreed. ¡°It¡¯s that sense of loyalty and duty that keeps us going, no matter what.¡±


    Lusty smiled. ¡°And that¡¯s something we can both be proud of. Our families might have their flaws, but they taught us to be strong and to stand up for what we believe in.¡±


    I raised my imaginary glass once more. ¡°To our families and the lessons they¡¯ve taught us.¡±


    Lusty sighed. ¡°At least your family is brave. My dad¡¯s family talks the talk but won¡¯t put their money where their mouth is.¡±


    ¡°Well, some of my granduncles who were both World War II and Korean War vets might have thought fourteen years in the military was enough and settled down. But others stayed until the late ''60s or ''70s, serving as advisors in Vietnam. Even though many of them thought the war in Vietnam was pointless, my Granduncle Charlie wrote in 1966 about how U.S. draftees were sent to fight a hopeless conflict. He said if Vietnam fell to the communists, no one would care, but the soldiers would return home to suffer from PTSD or see their lives change for the worse. They were fighting impoverished farmers, most of whom didn¡¯t even have shoes.¡±


    Lusty nodded, listening intently.


    ¡°Charlie came from a time when PTSD wasn¡¯t fully understood,¡± I continued. ¡°He fought two wars and didn¡¯t fully support Vietnam, even though he and Mia¡¯s sons went there. Most of them didn¡¯t come back, and a couple came back severely traumatized. The harsh thing is, Charlie¡¯s generation was welcomed as heroes, while his son¡¯s generation was ostracized and scapegoated for an unwinnable war. Charlie and his generation got government support, education benefits, and a monthly living stipend under the GI Bill. But his sons had a hard time getting enough compensation to cover their living and education expenses. Bureaucracy, red tape, and cutbacks led them to avoid the VA. Charlie wrote in his journal about the difference between fighting a justified war and fighting a war because of politics¡ªDemocracy vs. Communism. He knew because he fought in Korea.¡±


    Lusty shook her head. ¡°It¡¯s heartbreaking. The sacrifices they made, only to be treated so differently.¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± I agreed. ¡°It¡¯s a stark reminder of how much we owe to those who serve, regardless of the politics behind the wars they fight.¡±


    ¡°To those who serve,¡± Lusty said, raising her bottle.


    ¡°To those who serve,¡± I echoed, clinking my imaginary glass with hers.


    ¡°So he actually wrote that in a journal?¡± Lusty asked, intrigued.


    I nodded. ¡°Yeah, the entry was dated March 1966, right when the escalation for more soldiers started. He talked about how his generation had to fight the enemy to push them back home. He fought the Germans in Italy, France, the Netherlands, and Belgium before getting into Germany. He pointed out the difference between being attacked, which unites a country, and sending soldiers to fight an enemy on their own turf. When you¡¯re fighting on someone else¡¯s homeland, you won¡¯t push them back because they¡¯re already home. Defenders will fight tooth and nail to protect their home, doing whatever it takes to drive out invaders.¡±


    Lusty nodded thoughtfully. ¡°That makes a lot of sense.¡±


    ¡°He wasn¡¯t popular with those who thought the war was justified because of the Domino theory,¡± I continued. ¡°Even though his wife, a religious woman, opposed the war too. She shared his mindset about fighting a justified war versus fighting as invaders. Another entry from September 1957 talked about how wars are shaped by public opinion. If people support a war, they¡¯ll do whatever it takes to fight. If they oppose it, they¡¯ll do whatever it takes to end it. This was written when people trusted the government without question, believing authority figures were always right.¡±


    ¡°Wow, that¡¯s deep,¡± Lusty said.


    ¡°It stemmed from his and his twin brother Stanley¡¯s experience in Operation Market Garden. They were told they¡¯d be fighting third-rate outfits¡ªold men and young boys¡ªwhen in reality, they were up against the SS. Charlie was in Nijmegen, and Stanley landed near Best. That¡¯s when they started distrusting the higher-ups, who knew the truth but didn¡¯t tell the soldiers on the ground.¡±


    Lusty shook her head. ¡°It¡¯s amazing how much they went through and how it shaped their views.¡±


    Lusty and I then changed the subject but still talking about family.


    ¡°How¡¯s Midnight?¡± Lusty asked


    I replied, ¡°She still loves being a ranger. After all the Army Rangers are given missions that are normal infantrymen. One story that Midnight told me how they were suppose to take an objective well the air force dropped a lot of bombs and it was so loud where they couldn¡¯t hear themselves think and how one ranger yelled into her ear and shouted ¡®I wonder if they know we¡¯re coming.¡¯ And well no shit when the air force multirole jets and dropping 1000 pound bombs and those laser-guided bombs I have a feeling the enemy will know that you¡¯re coming unless they''re deaf and deep underground and can¡¯t feel the explosions.¡±


    I also told Lusty about Midnight''s friend who worked in her family restaurant since she was fourteen. When her father retired, he named his novice son as the successor instead of her, despite her being fully trained and respected. Here¡¯s what happened:


    1. He chose a complete novice to take over a legacy business instead of a fully-trained and respected staff member.


    2. Publicly declared his intent to support the novice in front of the staff and family.


    3. Publicly shamed and humiliated his daughter by declaring she would need to be her younger brother''s minder instead of running the business herself.


    4. Threw his son under the bus when the kid screwed up and caused a legal backlash.


    5. Tried to gaslight his daughter into returning by "offering" her the position he had carelessly handed over to a complete idiot.


    He had the nerve to say she was asking for too much when she demanded an apology in front of the same people he had humiliated her in front of, as well as admitting his mistake in choosing his son over her.


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s her father¡¯s mistake,¡± Lusty said.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± I replied. ¡°Midnight said her friend¡¯s father made a huge mistake.¡±


    Lusty shook her head. ¡°It¡¯s unbelievable how some people can¡¯t see the value in their own family members. It¡¯s his loss, really.¡±


    ¡°Absolutely,¡± I agreed. ¡°Midnight¡¯s friend deserves better. It¡¯s a tough situation, but she¡¯s strong. She¡¯ll find her way.¡±


    Lusty nodded thoughtfully. ¡°Do you think Midnight enjoys being in the Rangers, taking on commando roles for special operations or acting as shock troops against specific targets? Elite commandos and infantry whose jobs are to clear out objectives and handle specialist operations before the main army arrives. They¡¯re versatile and can be called upon reliably.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s more of a challenge than the Marines,¡± I said. ¡°So yeah, she enjoys it. The intensity and the variety of missions keep her engaged and motivated.¡±


    Lusty smiled. ¡°That¡¯s great to hear. It¡¯s important to find a role that not only challenges you but also brings a sense of fulfillment.¡±


    ¡°Absolutely,¡± I agreed. ¡°Midnight thrives on the challenge and the sense of purpose it gives her. It¡¯s inspiring to see her so dedicated and passionate about her work.¡±The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    After taking a sip, I continued, ¡°Yeah, Midnight really enjoys being a Ranger. She told me about her first mission where they had to destroy enemy artillery. After completing the task, she radioed for reinforcements and more ammo but was told to ¡®deal with it¡¯ because Rangers have to make do with what they have. The enemy launched a probing attack to find the weakest point, and their only support was naval fire with guns so big that the Rangers had to keep their heads down to avoid being blown off the face of the earth.¡±


    Lusty¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°That sounds intense. It must have been a real test of their skills and resilience.¡±


    ¡°Absolutely,¡± I said. ¡°Midnight thrives in those high-pressure situations. It¡¯s what makes her so good at what she does. She¡¯s always ready to face whatever comes her way, no matter how tough it gets.¡±


    Lusty replied, ¡°What tough battles did she partake in?¡±


    I smiled, knowing how proud Midnight would be if she heard this. ¡°Lusty, Midnight is a Ranger. Every battle they get sent into is considered impossible for the average soldier. Imagine a town surrounded by machine gun nests, anti-armor emplacements, and anti-air fortifications. It¡¯s a vital position, and sending in an infantry division would be a disaster. But send in a Ranger battalion, and they¡¯ll take their objective. So every battle she partakes in is a tough one. Choosing just one is like looking for a needle in a haystack. Every mission she and the 1st Ranger Battalion get called into is a tough battle, so picking one is impossible.¡±


    Lusty nodded, clearly impressed. ¡°That¡¯s incredible. It takes a special kind of person to handle those kinds of missions.¡±


    ¡°Of course, they¡¯re put through hellish training,¡± I continued. ¡°From wilderness to urban environments and everything in between, they¡¯re tough. The military isn¡¯t corporate and doesn¡¯t do corporate-style headhunting or make corporate-style salary offers. While Army Rangers are paid slightly more for being elite commandos, Midnight says she was scouted by a Ranger officer. She was offered a spot in the Rangers while she was just an enlisted Marine. If she completed Ranger training, she¡¯d become an NCO. She took the offer, and now she¡¯s a high-ranking officer¡ªa Lieutenant Colonel.¡±


    Lusty¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°That¡¯s impressive. It¡¯s not every day you hear about someone rising through the ranks like that.¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± I said, pride evident in my voice. ¡°She¡¯s worked incredibly hard to get where she is. It¡¯s due to her dedication and skill.¡±


    I even told Lusty how the First Ranger Battalion¡¯s motto is ¡°Swift, Silent, and Relentless.¡± They¡¯re taught not to trust plans too much because of the old saying, ¡°The best laid plans.¡± Even the most detailed plans can fall apart.


    Then I mentioned Midnight¡¯s short-lived boyfriend. Us female Watersons don¡¯t mind dating mama¡¯s boys, but we draw the line at those who need their mother to dictate every aspect of their life. When her then-boyfriend called Midnight ¡°cocky¡± and ¡°unruly,¡± it was no surprise. She had a strict mother and a relaxed father, and in the Rangers, they¡¯re deployed behind enemy lines with carte blanche to do what¡¯s necessary. You can¡¯t make an omelet without cracking a few eggs.


    Her boyfriend and his mother didn¡¯t like it when Midnight gave her opinion. He didn¡¯t want her to voice her thoughts, insisting that his mom¡¯s word was final. When they moved in together, he expected her to get up early every morning to make breakfast for his mother, clean the house spotless, and buy whatever his mom wanted on the spot. Midnight, being a Waterson, just said no.


    The final straw was when he took her credit card to take his mother on a vacation. Midnight, using her brains and common sense, had her card frozen and reported the transactions as fraudulent. That¡¯s several felonies right there¡ªtaking someone¡¯s card and money without permission is treated the same as a bank robbery. Midnight had planned to use that money to take her adult daughters on a vacation and had enough points for a couple of free airfare tickets. The guy got mad, claiming he was the breadwinner, even though they weren¡¯t sharing a roof, engaged, or married. Midnight, who saves what she doesn¡¯t spend, wasn¡¯t having it.


    He wanted to fight her¡ªnot a verbal fight, but a fistfight. He backed out at the last minute because he was nervous. Midnight¡¯s look said, ¡°Another fight? Bring it on. Fighting is my life. You¡¯re just somebody who¡¯s going to end up on the ground within five seconds.¡±


    The guy didn¡¯t like Midnight because she uses a fork to cut food instead of a knife. In the field, rations only come with a fork, and if something needs cutting, they¡¯d use a fighting knife or bayonet, but they don¡¯t due to sanitary reasons.


    Lusty shook her head, clearly impressed. ¡°Midnight¡¯s got some serious backbone. It¡¯s no wonder she¡¯s such a great Ranger.¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± I agreed. ¡°She¡¯s tough, smart, and doesn¡¯t take any nonsense. It¡¯s what makes her so good at what she does.¡±


    After taking another sip.


    ¡°Not to mention,¡± I continued, ¡°her eldest daughter visited that guy and basically told him that if a tank doesn¡¯t scare her mother, he doesn¡¯t pose a threat. She explained that what her mother did was the right thing to do¡ªshe wasn¡¯t going to approve any transaction from a stolen card. Only the cardholder is allowed to use it.¡±


    Lusty nodded. ¡°Some married couples do share their cards, but that¡¯s different. It¡¯s usually done with permission. Even if he tried to fight her mother, he¡¯d lose. Bringing friends as backup would only make things worse. Even if they got her arrested for assault and battery, the charges wouldn¡¯t stick. The military and government have her back. Midnight is not just a female officer but an influential one. She inspires other women to think, ¡®If she¡¯s a high-ranking officer, maybe I can be one too.¡¯ If she goes, a majority of the women might follow. The Little Bird Military has had women since 1910 in clerical roles, and in 1937, they allowed women in combat roles to fill vacancies from the First World War. The Rangers were the last to allow women in the 1990s because they want soldiers who can fight for a minimum of three days with very little ammo, no food, no water, and no sleep, and still give 110%.¡±


    ¡°Exactly,¡± I said. ¡°Midnight is the type of leader who gives 100% if you give her 100%. When her Rangers complained about the terrible food, she sent the cooks back to culinary school. When the food still wasn¡¯t good, she sent them back again. One Ranger mentioned he didn¡¯t have a watch, so Midnight gave him hers from the Marines. She¡¯s a visionary. She knows there will be battles where they¡¯ll have to use enemy weapons. The military denied her request to train with foreign weapons, so she used the black market to get them and trained her Rangers on how to use them. She knows they might run out of ammo and need to use enemy weapons.¡±


    I paused, letting it all sink in. ¡°Midnight has several medals¡ªthe Little Bird equivalent of the Medal of Honor, Distinguished Service Cross, two Bronze Stars, and three Silver Stars. Her ex-boyfriend wanting to fight her wouldn¡¯t have ended well. According to Midnight, she wasn¡¯t even trying to earn those medals. She was just doing her duty.¡±


    After I thought about it for a bit, I said, ¡°I think the toughest battle she partook in was the Battle of Shadowfen Forest.¡±


    Lusty looked intrigued. ¡°How¡¯s that?¡±


    ¡°Because the Shadowfen Forest in Northern Little Bird is a dark and impenetrable place. Even off-road vehicles get stuck there. The terrain is characterized by plunging valleys and broad plateaus, thickly forested with trees that can trap even tanks with bulldozers to knock over trees. Fighting in it means you can forget about air and artillery support due to the high canopy. Defenders inside the forest can turn it into a meat grinder, slowing down an attacking army¡¯s advance. Artillery shells have a 98/2 chance of hitting the treetops instead of the ground, and air support is almost useless because JDAM missiles and laser-guided bombs mostly hit trees. The only way to give attackers a fighting chance is to firebomb the forest, but that destroys its defensive advantage. The forest is a double-edged sword. Attackers have to fight without support, not knowing where the enemy is, while defenders can wait until the attackers are right in front of them before opening fire. And if it rains, the mud gets so thick it can literally pull your boots off.¡±


    Lusty¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°That sounds like an absolute nightmare to fight in.¡±


    I said. ¡°Midnight and her battalion had to navigate all of that. It was one of the toughest battles because of the terrain and the lack of support. But they managed to push through and complete their mission.¡±


    Lusty replied, ¡°What unit did Midnight and her battalion face?¡±


    ¡°The Soviet 1382nd Rifle Regiment,¡± I said. ¡°They also had a hill under their command with some artillery guns on it. The 1st Ranger Battalion went in directly, while the rest of the 1st Ranger Regiment¡ª2nd, 3rd, 4th, 5th, and 7th Ranger Battalions¡ªencircled the hill. The 1st Battalion went in at 10:01 AM, the 2nd at 10:02, and so on. The 2nd Ranger Regiment, consisting of the 8th, 9th, 10th, 11th, 12th, and 14th Ranger Battalions, were held in reserve. If one battalion got battered, they could retreat and be replaced by a battalion from the 2nd Regiment. The 8th Battalion backed the 1st, and so on.¡±


    ¡°This was when the Rangers were first deployed to fight the Soviets in Little Bird. They wore dark olive green armor with built-in gas masks and red lenses. The battle took three days to drive the Soviets up the hill. All seven battalions took the hill, but then the 2nd Ranger Regiment was ordered to pull out and go elsewhere for whatever Godforsaken reason. The 3rd, 4th, 5th, and 7th Battalions moved out, and the 2nd Battalion formed a perimeter. Another Soviet regiment came and fought the 1st Ranger Battalion for an entire week. On days 5, 6, and 7, only Midnight and 17 other Rangers remained because the rest were injured and had to be MEDEVACed out. They had almost no ammo but held off an entire regiment until relieved by friendly artillery and air support.¡±


    Lusty replied, ¡°Well, Macaroni, this country is a mix of the United States and Axis powers of World War II¡ªmaking a ton of armor but also relying on accuracy by volume.¡±


    ¡°At least you had a family member who made a mistake,¡± I said.


    Lusty nodded. ¡°I had a granduncle from my dad¡¯s side who was in the Little Bird Navy in World War II. In early 1942, the 2nd Fleet had the President of Little Bird and other high-ranking officials onboard CV-03. During a torpedo drill, a torpedo that didn¡¯t have its primer removed was accidentally fired. They used a signal lamp to warn the carrier and BB-03 Constellation, but the message was confusing. The ship¡¯s captain broke radio silence to warn them, causing other destroyers to think there was a submarine in the area. After the torpedo passed, the Constellation and Flurry turned their guns on the destroyer in which for the Constellation is¡¯s 12x 20in/50 cal guns and ten dual 5in/55 cal guns while the Flurry it¡¯s dual purpose 5in/55 cal guns. They were ordered back to port for an investigation into an attempted assassination of the President and other officials. The crew was pardoned by the high-ranking officials onboard, who said, ¡®We shouldn¡¯t punish people because we couldn¡¯t properly train them.¡¯ The destroyer was reassigned to ASW for the rest of the war. Of course at the time the war was still going in the Axis favor.¡±


    ¡°Sometimes you¡¯ve gotta fight fuck ups with fuck ups,¡± I said, ¡°But now I¡¯m wondering why this country, when numbering down for both military and civilian stuff, goes from 12 to 14 and skips from 665 to 667, 667.5, and so on.¡±


    Lusty shot back instantly, ¡°Because of people¡¯s superstitions about thirteen being an unlucky number. And I thought you were a religious woman?¡±


    ¡°I am, but I¡¯m a non-practicing one,¡± I said.


    Lusty nodded. ¡°Why they skip 666 is because many people see that number as a sign of the Devil. In the military, they don¡¯t want to be in a vehicle or use a weapon with the serial number 666, fearing it¡¯ll bring bad luck.¡±


    I chuckled. ¡°Makes sense. Superstitions can be pretty powerful, even in modern times.¡±


    Lusty smiled. ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s funny how some things never change. People will go to great lengths to avoid what they believe brings bad luck. After all Dave, Linda and their kids live on the thirteenth floor of an apartment building but it¡¯s actually marked as fourteen with the actual fourteenth floor marked as 14A.¡±


    I replied, ¡°Well, I do appreciate how this country has a system in place to prevent non-compatible people from being in positions they¡¯re not qualified for. It¡¯s like having a third grader on a factory floor telling guys who¡¯ve been doing it for ten years what to do. By having people who know what they¡¯re doing, they can lead more effectively than bringing in somebody who doesn¡¯t know their ass from their elbow.¡±


    Lusty nodded. ¡°Back in the 1930s, many blue-collar laborers hired managers on the factory floor to help and micromanage the workers. But the problem was, these managers didn¡¯t have the experience they needed. Many of them were college or high school students with no experience, making a lot of avoidable mistakes. Companies preferred hiring inexperienced people at minimum wage over promoting experienced workers because promotions came with a slight pay increase. Why pay a guy or gal who¡¯s been working there for ten years more when you can hire someone fresh out of school for the same pay as a floor worker, even if they don¡¯t have the experience?¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°It¡¯s frustrating how short-sighted that approach is. Experience and knowledge are invaluable, especially in roles that require leadership and decision-making. It¡¯s good to see that there are systems in place now to ensure the right people are in the right positions.¡±


    Lusty smiled. ¡°Absolutely. It¡¯s all about recognizing and valuing the skills and experience that people bring to the table. It makes a huge difference in the efficiency and morale of any team.¡±


    Lusty and I took a sip together.


    ¡°Actually, once a steel factory here got a contract because of the war,¡± Lusty started.


    I cut her off, ¡°Let me guess, something bad happened and I want to say a lot of labor law violations.¡±


    ¡°You know it,¡± Lusty said. ¡°The factory¡¯s owners and stockholders broke nearly every labor law in the books. They made workers go from eight-hour to fourteen-hour days but only paid them for eight. They cut benefits¡ªno more PTO, dental and healthcare plans, maternity leave, disability income protection, retirement benefits, sick leave, vacation. They even removed breaks¡ªno lunch, coffee, smoke, or bathroom breaks. Just fourteen hours of work. Predictably, people got hurt, and some even got killed. The company blamed the workers, saying ¡®It was his mistake,¡¯ or ¡®her mistake¡¯ if the worker was female. Eventually, the workers had enough and launched a boycott and strike against the company. They said, ¡®If we¡¯re not working, the government will pull their contract, and the stockholders won¡¯t like that because they¡¯re not getting money.¡¯¡±


    Lusty continued, ¡°Some stockholders and higher-ups knew people in the government and pressured the police to fight the strikers. They even had the militia come in on the side of the steel company. When the President of Little Bird and the Military Council ordered the City of Empire Militia to be federalized, the Militia commander refused. The militia can¡¯t say no to the President and the Military Council without expecting consequences. Refusing meant they were rebelling, and Little Bird had strict orders to quell mutineers.¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°That¡¯s intense. It¡¯s amazing how far people will go to protect their interests, even at the expense of others.¡±


    Lusty nodded. ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s a harsh reminder of the lengths people will go to for power and money. But it also shows the strength of those who stand up against injustice.¡±


    After a moment, I said, ¡°Kinda reminds me of the 1995 miner strike when a few mining companies started replacing human labor with automation. They were like, ¡®We need to make money faster,¡¯ and fired many workers faster than automation could replace them. The striking miners got the last laugh because the machines overheated quickly and had long cooldown periods, so the companies weren¡¯t making as much money. They used threats to get the miners back to work, but the miners held out until they were promised job security. The companies refused to make those promises and wouldn¡¯t come to the negotiating table, preferring to keep their pride and act like everything was fine.¡±


    Lusty nodded. ¡°Some of them used their influence to have the police crack down hard on the striking miners, like the police and anti-war protesters in the late ¡¯60s during the Vietnam War. They tried to get the military involved but were denied because the military answers to the country, not corporations. The President and the War Department refused to mobilize federal troops to attack peaceful protesters. The military is used when the police can¡¯t maintain law and order, and when they¡¯re called out for riot control, they¡¯re given live ammo to fire a short volley over the protesters¡¯ heads to scare them into going home. The government preferred to sit on the sidelines rather than intervene and make things worse. The companies lobbied the government to send in active military troops, but those who could authorize it shut it down because they didn¡¯t have command over troop movements.¡±


    Lusty continued, ¡°The companies didn¡¯t realize the striking miners were willing to fight back. When it was broadcast live nationwide, showing the militias and police as the provocateurs, people saw the miners fighting back in self-defense. The government eventually deployed federal troops domestically to keep the peace and acted as a barrier, protecting the miners. Some miners who caused trouble and riots were fair game for the police, militia, and military. Those in riots who threw stuff at the fire department learned the hard way how painful 290 PSI of water from a firehose can be. But peaceful protesters were protected by the government, and any harm to them would result in treason charges.¡±


    Lusty sighed. ¡°I was a high school senior when it was happening. It was an everyday battle. On my way to and from school, I¡¯d pass a store with TVs in the front window, so people could watch the news. I didn¡¯t partake in the protests because my parents, being impoverished, said if I got arrested, they wouldn¡¯t bail me out. They¡¯d say, ¡®It¡¯s easy to get in there; it¡¯s hard to get out,¡¯ and ¡®You got yourself in there, you get yourself out.¡¯ By November 1995, over 485,000 battle-hardened soldiers and marines were protecting peaceful protesters.¡±


    I chimed in, ¡°At least my cousin once removed, Christopher, and his wife, Vivian, a fifth-generation Austrian-Little Birden, did something positive. Vivian owns her own mining company, passed down to those most eligible for running it. She offered many of those striking miners jobs at her company with better benefits than their former employers. She provided employer-furnished housing with free utilities, group insurance (health, dental, life, etc.), disability income protection, retirement benefits, daycare, Social Security, and a pension. Retirees get a monthly stipend, and those injured on the job who can¡¯t work again still receive a monthly stipend. They live in a company town but don¡¯t have to pay for rent or utilities because a portion of their earnings covers those costs. Vivian¡¯s company branches out into new markets and makes enough money to cover all of that and still have some cash left over.¡±


    Lusty smiled. ¡°That¡¯s incredible. It¡¯s great to hear about companies that actually care about their workers and provide for them. It¡¯s a stark contrast to those other companies that only care about profits.¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± I agreed. ¡°Vivian¡¯s approach shows that it¡¯s possible to run a successful business while taking care of your employees. It¡¯s all about finding the right balance and valuing the people who make the company thrive.¡±


    ¡°To companies that value their workers and do the right thing,¡± Lusty said, raising her bottle.


    I replied, ¡°Yeah, and what I know from the business world is that many businesses will do whatever it takes to keep employees, especially those with experience and knowledge. Once they¡¯re gone, it¡¯s hard to replace them. Some of those mining companies rehired their striking miners but made their lives a living hell. According to Vivian, she either got calls in the middle of the night asking if her offer was still on the table, or people called her up asking for job interviews because they needed the money to provide for their families. They were getting paid next to nothing and couldn¡¯t make ends meet. The other three companies were doing things that were technically illegal. They charged for rent and utilities, forced workers to pay for heating and AC based on usage, and made them pay rent daily instead of monthly. If they missed a day, they had to pay double the next day plus a late fee.¡±


    ¡°That is illegal,¡± Lusty said. ¡°Heating and AC fall under the electric bill. Forcing someone to pay for both and threatening to cut it off if they don¡¯t pay is illegal.¡±


    ¡°At least they found someone willing to take them in and work for a boss who values their worth,¡± I said. ¡°Vivian¡¯s company takes some money out of their checks to pay for rent and utilities, so they can have a work-life balance and not worry about paying bills. Her company has a lot of miners, so they don¡¯t have to work long hours and can spend time with their families.¡±


    Lusty and I spent hours talking, and before I left, we shared a kiss. As I walked out, my mind wandered to the era we''re in, post-Cold War. Despite the peace, we still conduct joint drills with the Police, Medical, Technical, Homeland Defense, Civil Defense, and Military teams. These drills cover scenarios like Nuclear Detonation, Biological Disease, Biological Attack, Chemical Attack, Radiological Attack, and Nerve Agent Attack.


    The most unsettling part is when some units are "taken out" during drills to simulate casualties within the affected area. It drives home the reality that in a real attack, those in the immediate zone would be unrecognizable.


    Everyone has a role: Firefighters battle blazes and rescue people, Police and Military maintain order, Medics provide care, and technical services handle the tech side of things. Only specialized units like Squad Companies, Rescue Companies, and HAZMAT teams can enter the "Hot Zone" where the strike occurred. The realism of these drills is intense, especially with the Air Force''s specialized aircraft supporting military units to prevent follow-up attacks. It¡¯s a stark reminder of the importance of being prepared for anything.


    The government documents detailing these scenarios are chillingly precise. They outline every possible detail, ensuring we''re prepared for anything. When a Level 4 mobilization is issued, it''s all hands on deck. It doesn''t matter if you''re in the middle of getting married; everyone from the fire department, police, medical, technical, and military must report back immediately. It''s a serious event, and everything else gets put on hold.


    Civil servants have specific roles, but the Fire Department''s task is not just to help people but also to locate and rescue government personnel until the military arrives with specialized units. These units assist the police in maintaining law and order, help medics provide aid, and support the fire department in search and rescue operations.


    The drills are incredibly realistic, using mannequins to simulate victims with fourth-degree burns from a nuclear blast or blisters from chemical or biological emergencies. You name it, they have it for the drills.


    Plans vary from city to city and town to town, but they generally follow the same framework. However, in the capital, the plans are more detailed, considering the presence of the President, Civilian Congress, Military Congress, and other branches of government. There''s always an element of the unknown, especially since the Cold War, with threats from those who might go to great lengths to harm a country they dislike. Humans are adept at securing what they don''t want others to take.


    Protocols are in place to get outside resources for help, but the unknowns can complicate things. If outside resources are far away, they need to be flown in, but weather conditions can ground planes. Other factors, like blocked roads or the local airport being in the path of the wind, also come into play. Designated points are set for outside resources to distribute additional manpower and equipment if needed. AEMR forces, for instance, are directed to medical facilities like hospitals and clinics, and police stations, which are considered hotspots. Firehouses aren''t on the list because they''ll be empty and lack the necessary space.


    The Agency of Emergency Management Response (AEMR) is another Civil Defense agency. Unlike Civil Defense volunteers, who are everyday people not getting paid, AEMR workers are paid professionals, similar to a FEMA. Each city and town has an AEMR responsible for creating the detailed documents and instruction booklets we review. These plans ensure everyone knows their role and is prepared for any situation.


    Of course each AEMR unit is organized like a Little Bird Military Infantry Squad of ten soldiers with members, one with a rifle with grenade launcher, one anti-tank soldier who¡¯s armed with both an semiautomatic rifle and an light anti-armor weapon, another one armed with a submachine gun also a automatic rifle, a machine gunner who lays down suppressive fire on enemies, and a medic, and another five with automatic rifles. Of course that¡¯s because if they have to go into dangerous areas with unruly people who would attack or shoot at them either out of fear or thriving in chaos. Why they are armed with automatic weapons is just because sometimes they would have to go into areas without police or military support. Of course they are also trained not to go into areas without support though because of how people can quickly form raider gangs and take advantage of the chaos while the police, military and government having bigger fish to fry and how their firearms training is primarily defense only of self defense and to protect those who cannot defend themselves not offensive.


    _______________


    Clearlake, Little Bird


    I decided to visit Cadence today, though I¡¯m not entirely sure why.


    As I drove, my thoughts drifted to my mother. She was the kind of person who should never have been a parent. To me, she¡¯s as good as dead. She never supported me, always tearing me down. When I came out as bi, she dismissed it as a phase and still does. I¡¯ve cut off most of my mom¡¯s side of the family without a second thought. Some of them even thought I was possessed by demons. Thankfully, my dad stood up for me. He told them to fuck off and, ¡°If you don¡¯t like her for who she is, don¡¯t expect her to help you when you need it.¡±


    Honestly, that¡¯s true. You can¡¯t change how people see you, and those who try to change you are just trying to mold you into someone you¡¯re not. Women like my mom, who exploit their husbands and take them for granted, deserve to be miserable. People who cheat on those who truly love them often end up surrounded by fake friends who only pretend to care. They push you to do things you¡¯d never normally do, and eventually, you realize how good you had it before you messed up. Some people crave loving relationships, while others just want to drain their partners dry and then leave them.


    But Cadence and Mitchell are different. They¡¯ve found a way to make their relationship work despite their differences. Cadence hates guns, but Mitchell loves them. Cadence wants a big family, while Mitchell doesn¡¯t want kids. They¡¯ve made compromises: Cadence allows Mitchell to keep guns in the house as long as they¡¯re out of sight, and Mitchell has agreed to have kids with Cadence. They¡¯ve managed to balance their dislikes and find a way to make it work.


    When I got to their house, Cadence let me in.


    ¡°Hey, Cadence,¡± I said. ¡°Where¡¯s Mitchell?¡±


    ¡°At work,¡± she replied. ¡°Since the ''90s, the country of Little Bird has required all government workers to be audited, no matter who they are. An independent third party comes in and reviews their finances. There¡¯s no way out of it. If you skip it, you lose pay and other benefits because you need to explain any anomalies in your finances. It¡¯s a way to see who¡¯s making more money than they should. Some people have two jobs, which is fine, but others, like some of Mitchell and Starlight¡¯s coworkers, are making two or three times what a cop should make. Of course, many corrupt people come up with believable excuses to keep their jobs. But I know Mitchell will get through it because he only has two jobs and he¡¯s honest about his money. It¡¯s not that hard to explain your finances if you¡¯re not corrupt.¡±


    Cadence also mentioned that Mitchell doesn¡¯t mind the audits. ¡°After all,¡± she said, ¡°if you have nothing to hide, you have nothing to worry about. And Mitchell has nothing to worry about.¡±


    Cadence also shared a story about Mitchell¡¯s visit to a school for Public Safety Day. Being Mitchell, he ended up telling the elementary school kids that confronting strangers isn¡¯t always the best idea. He explained that people can be aggressive or on narcotics and behave unpredictably. He even mentioned that the police might not always be helpful and could turn on you for reporting altercations, possibly arresting you for self-defense.


    Mitchell isn¡¯t exactly the best person for PR. Someone else should have been sent to talk to the first through fifth graders. Even Francis'' adoptive father told Mitchell¡¯s boss that sending him was a bad idea. Sure, Mitchell and Cadence¡¯s eldest three kids, who are triplets, are in First Grade, but Mitchell lets Cadence handle the kids because she¡¯s better at it. Cadence took home economics throughout high school and middle school, only taking shop class once in sixth grade to get it out of the way. Mitchell, on the other hand, took home economics in sixth grade but spent the rest of middle school and high school in shop class.


    Cadence also mentioned how Mitchell¡¯s boss¡¯s daughter couldn¡¯t keep her mouth shut and ended up talking herself into getting a ticket. She went on to describe Captain Jack Sheridan¡¯s daughter as naive, more concerned with superficial things like personal appearance and materialism than with intellectual or personal accomplishments. If she worked for a company that provided corporate cards, she¡¯d likely use them for personal expenses. Mitchell considers that fraud¡ªusing someone else¡¯s money for personal gain without intending to pay it back.


    Cadence also shared how Mitchell told her that many people in corporate jobs have corporate credit cards and use them for personal gain. Some pay it back before the company finds out, while others don¡¯t. When companies discover this, they might scold the employee if they repay the money, but those who don¡¯t often lose their card privileges and see their paychecks docked to cover the expenses.


    ¡°Do you think Mitchell will become a detective?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Nope, he likes it here,¡± Cadence replied. ¡°If he were to become a detective, he¡¯d be transferred to either Las Adventure or Empire. But Mitchell likes it here in Clearlake. It¡¯s a peaceful town, and the only detectives here are Traffic and Bunco detectives.¡±


    ¡°Do you even know what kind of detectives those are?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Nope,¡± she admitted.


    ¡°Traffic detectives handle hit-and-runs, felony driving, and car burglaries. They also investigate vehicular manslaughter and murder cases, and serious injury or fatality collisions involving cars,¡± I explained. ¡°Bunco, also known as the Fraud Division, investigates fraud and other white-collar crimes.¡±


    I glanced at some of the photos on the living room wall.


    ¡°And judging by the look on Mitchell¡¯s face on your wedding day, he doesn¡¯t seem entirely happy wearing a suit while his face is saying how he¡¯s happy to be with the woman he loves,¡± I said with a smile.


    ¡°He¡¯s not a suit person,¡± Cadence admitted. ¡°If you see him on his days off, he¡¯s usually in a short-sleeve button-up shirt with a white T-shirt underneath, blue jeans, and black dress shoes, with the shirt tucked in.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, just fitting into what he finds comfortable,¡± I replied, ¡°wearing socially acceptable clothes that aren¡¯t a suit or combat fatigues.¡±


    ¡°And you¡¯re never going to see Mitchell wear shorts,¡± Cadence added. ¡°Not even in gym class did he wear gym shorts, and I highly doubt he wears shorts in the military for PT.¡±


    I shot back, ¡°And you¡¯re never going to see me in a dress unless it¡¯s for something formal. I¡¯m more inclined to wear a casual suit over a dress. The only time I wore a dress was for picture days at school, and that was only because my dad asked me nicely, unlike my mother who demanded it. But you, you love wearing dresses, and that¡¯s fine. We all have our favorite outfits. I know some people who wear baggy clothing even though it doesn¡¯t look good on them.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, well, everyone is different in how they want to dress,¡± Cadence said. ¡°Some people wear casual suits on their days off instead of casual clothes meant for around the house or running errands, not the office. My mom never wore a dress either. She always wears a short-sleeved button-up shirt, slacks, and penny loafers. Or wears anything to make herself blend in with the crowd.¡±


    ¡°So, what do you think about Mitchell?¡± I asked.


    Cadence replied, ¡°Besides being my husband and us being friends since Kindergarten, I love how he values loyalty and the past. I think it¡¯s because of his military background. He values the men and women he served with and the bonds they formed. They faced dangerous, often combat-related circumstances together, which created a deep loyalty and bond. Mitchell always says you have to rely on the guy on your right and the guy on your left. All that stuff about pie and home is nonsense; you go because you want to be with your buddies. That¡¯s according to Mitchell. And if my aunt ever gets promoted, she¡¯d probably make Mitchell her platoon¡¯s new leader or keep him as her XO, whatever that means.¡±


    ¡°Executive Officer,¡± I explained. ¡°An XO is the second-in-command, reporting to the commanding officer. The XO manages day-to-day activities, freeing the commander to focus on strategy and planning the unit¡¯s next move.¡±


    I then asked about her mother. Cadence explained that Star and Luna¡¯s mother favored Star because she was the eldest, which led to a rocky relationship between the sisters. If Star accused Luna of something, their mother believed it without question and punished Luna. But if Luna accused Star of something, even with undeniable evidence, their mother wouldn¡¯t believe it. The worst punishment Star ever got was a slap on the wrist, followed by their mother scolding Luna.


    Their mother loved to boast about Star¡¯s achievements while pointing out Luna¡¯s flaws. Star didn¡¯t have any friends because she was socially awkward and didn¡¯t really want any. Luna, on the other hand, had several friends, but their mother forced Luna to have her friends hang out with Star. When her friends refused, their mother said Luna couldn¡¯t hang out with them anymore.


    Cadence also mentioned that her aunt Luna has third-degree burns on her back. Back in 1989, after Star graduated high school and got pregnant¡ªhence Cadence is here¡ªLuna wanted to drop out of school and avoid a few more years of education. During an argument in the kitchen, their mother grabbed Luna, lifted the back of her shirt and poured hot cooking grease down her back in retaliation for her talking back and Cadence said how even her mother says that was extreme and was a disproportionate retribution.


    I told Cadence how I admired the infrastructure here in Little Bird, which is in much better shape than what we have back in the United States. Infrastructure is so intrinsic to society. Cadence hand waved it, saying it¡¯s because they need the roads for mass military mobilization. If the roads aren¡¯t good, it slows down the military response.


    That didn¡¯t really answer my question since she only talked about roads. But she added that, according to Mitchell and her friends, most of the work is done at night. My girlfriend also mentioned that infrastructure maintenance¡ªroads, electrical grids, water pipelines, and more¡ªis done at night to avoid disrupting people. Roadwork is done at night because there are fewer drivers, and the same goes for railroads since trains don¡¯t run at night. It¡¯s all about minimizing inconvenience since most people are asleep and not using the infrastructure.


    I then asked Cadence if she likes it here. She said she does but recalled how, when she and Mitchell got married and moved into this house, her fake friends were quick to comment on how she wasn¡¯t living in a big, fancy house but a farmhouse. When she told Mitchell about their comments, his response was to grab a baseball bat. He also told Cadence not to let them get to her because not everyone can live in a mansion. That made Cadence feel a lot better.


    Mitchell basically told her to ignore what they said because not everyone can afford luxury. Cadence said she¡¯d rather live in a farmhouse built in the early years of the Cold War than in a mansion with unused space. Their farmhouse has four bedrooms, three of which are used by their kids, making them appreciate the space they have without cluttering it with luxury items. Cadence isn¡¯t a gold digger¡ªshe¡¯s happy with a middle-class life and a family who loves her for who she is, not what she is.


    Cadence even laughed at her fake friends'' struggles. They found people they thought could support them forever, but either couldn¡¯t or broke up with them because they spent more money than they had. Her fake friends are entitled, taking everything for granted. Their breakups often stem from living unsustainable lifestyles. Some of Cadence¡¯s fake friends are the type who, despite the average income in Little Bird being $5,500 a year, can blow through that money in half an hour and then complain about being broke.


    I told Cadence that $5,500 is equivalent to forty thousand US dollars, which is a lot of cash. Blowing through it recklessly is their fault. Cadence said she¡¯s careful with the money Mitchell gives her to provide for the family.


    Cadence also mentioned that some of her fake friends, regardless of gender, buy lottery tickets out of desperation after becoming broke. Sometimes, they win, whether through divine intervention or sheer luck. When they win, even if it¡¯s just a few hundred bucks, their exes want to come back because they have money again. When they refuse, the exes file motions with the courts, claiming they have a right to half of the lottery winnings. Cadence¡¯s ex-friends are also petty; when they break up over money issues, they go the extra mile to cancel credit cards and close joint accounts out of spite. They claim that if they were married, they wouldn¡¯t be entitled to any assets. This shows where Cadence¡¯s fake friends'' true intentions lie¡ªprioritizing money over love.


    Cadence said she¡¯d rather marry into a strict religious family than be with someone who values money over love. With Mitchell, they prioritize love over money. If they lose something, they don¡¯t snap at each other because they know they can just buy it again. Mitchell might sigh, but it¡¯s more of a ¡°Those were my things too. Why do you think I work? So we can buy things¡± kind of sigh. He¡¯s a DIY guy, always trying to fix things before throwing them away. If he can¡¯t fix it, then they¡¯ll buy something new.


    I can see Mitchell not wanting to waste money on something that can be fixed, while Cadence would rather just throw it away and buy something new. She usually sets it aside for Mitchell to look at first. If he can fix it, they save money, which they can use for groceries or buy a coloring book or crayons for the kids. Rose loves to draw, and the fridge is cluttered with drawings from Platinum, Rose, and McKinney from their kindergarten days.


    I wasn¡¯t going to ask Cadence why she named their eldest triplet after a precious metal. It¡¯s not my place to question what people name their kids. Names often come from spur-of-the-moment decisions, and maybe Cadence and Mitchell were expecting one child or twins, not triplets. So, I kept my thoughts to myself.


    ¡°So how are they doing in first grade?¡± I asked.


    ¡°It¡¯s an adjustment for them,¡± Cadence replied. ¡°They have to read and write more, but they still have nap time. It¡¯s more about reading and doing actual schoolwork now, rather than just sleeping, drawing, and learning the basics.¡±


    ¡°How¡¯s Mitchell and his boss?¡± I asked.


    Cadence sighed. ¡°Captain Jack Sheridan calls Mitchell and Starlight incompetent because they don¡¯t listen to him. Well, no duh, when you tell cops not to give people tickets, ignore calls, and not to give the Captain¡¯s daughter a traffic citation. Mitchell and Starlight see traffic tickets as scams to get more money for the government. When they pulled over their boss¡¯s daughter for almost running someone over by running a red light, they were going to give her another verbal warning. But she ran her mouth and talked herself into getting a ticket by offering to sleep with Mitchell or by giving him a blowjob on the spot. It¡¯s partly Mitchell¡¯s fault because he doesn¡¯t wear his wedding ring on his left finger; he keeps it on his dog tags under his shirt.


    "When they got back to the precinct, their boss chewed them out and said he was going to void the ticket. Mitchell told him, ¡®If you do that, the Bureau of Law will find it interesting that your daughter gets a ticket and her dad, a police captain, voids it. They¡¯ll have questions for you.¡¯ And that¡¯s true because the ACT (Anti-Corruption Team), IAC (Integrity and Accountability Commission), and Bureau of Law (Little Bird¡¯s version of the Department of Justice) will have questions that you can¡¯t dodge. Captain Sheridan asked if they do ticket fixing for friends and family, but they bluntly told him no. They give verbal warnings to friends and family, and if necessary, they issue citations.¡±


    I told Cadence that the reason Mitchell doesn¡¯t wear his wedding ring is because it¡¯s a golden ring passed down through generations. He keeps it on his dog tags to avoid getting it dirty or misplacing it. Plus, being in the military, he worries about the sunlight reflecting off it since gold is highly reflective.


    I then asked about their cars. Mitchell drives a 2-door convertible ¡®57 Azure blue T-Bird with a 312 cu in (5.1 L) engine and a three-speed manual transmission. I¡¯ve seen it, and it¡¯s nice. Cadence showed me her car, a four-door sedan with a 430 cu in (7.0 L) engine and a three-speed automatic transmission.


    I can see why Cadence has a four-door sedan. As a mother, she needs the flexibility for grocery shopping, paying bills, getting the kids to school, making meals, and more. She¡¯s a housewife by choice and helps around the orchard. Her mother always said it¡¯s her choice to do what she wants, and Cadence has a mother and husband who support her 100%. Cadence chose to be a stay-at-home mom because her own mother, who worked for the Little Bird Office of Intelligence and Strategic Actions, missed many of Cadence¡¯s milestones. Cadence wants to be there for every milestone, raising four kids¡ªwell, technically three, since the fourth is still an infant. Mitchell¡¯s car is for his independence and for him and Cadence, while Cadence¡¯s car has room for all the kids.


    Cadence is happy where she¡¯s at, unlike some of her fake friends who have important careers but try to control everything about their companies. They fire employees for not using pre-approved words when talking to the press, bug the entire building, and blame everyone else for their problems. Cadence admits she makes mistakes, but Mitchell doesn¡¯t care because he knows mistakes happen.


    Like the time Cadence burnt one of Mitchell¡¯s ties while ironing his police uniform. She thought he¡¯d be upset, but he just said, ¡°Accidents happen.¡± In contrast, Cadence¡¯s fake friends would sue a dry cleaner for an honest mistake, even though the court would dismiss the case without evidence of intentional wrongdoing. Because you can¡¯t just sue somebody without evidence because stuff like that the courts would see it as a mistake that happened and the plaintiff is being a baby over a mistake.


    In a town like Clearlake, the court system is quite different from a city¡¯s. There¡¯s only one court handling both civil and criminal cases, with just two judges¡ªone for civil cases and one for criminal cases. This means any case has to be worth the court¡¯s time since they don¡¯t have the luxury of multiple courts and judges.


    I mentioned that if Mitchell¡¯s boss¡¯s daughter wants to get her ticket voided, she¡¯d have to go to a traffic court, which is only in cities. She¡¯d need to find the nearest one and put in a request. If the ticket was issued for running a red light and almost running someone over, there would likely be photographic or video evidence. No judge would void the ticket just because her father is a boy in blue.


    I had to explain to Cadence that ¡°boy in blue¡± is a term for the police.


    Cadence told me her fake friends are toxic people who change their behavior when a breakup or divorce is on the table. They love bomb their partner to stop the breakup, then revert to their old ways. Her fake friends want good people to stay with them despite treating them badly for so long. Cadence and Mitchell, on the other hand, are big on family values. Mitchell helps around the house and doesn¡¯t take Cadence for granted. Her fake friends claim to value family but don¡¯t show it.


    When Cadence was pregnant with Flurry, Mitchell picked up many of her chores to avoid stressing her and their unborn baby. Her fake friends called him controlling, but Cadence knew he was just looking out for their well-being. Cadence¡¯s mother, Star, worked and did chores while pregnant with Cadence because she wanted to stay active. Cadence did some things but not a lot during her pregnancies. It¡¯s funny because her fake friends accused Mitchell of trying to isolate her from her family, but Star was sitting in the living room. Mitchell even suggested Cadence live with Star during her second pregnancy so her mother could help her.


    Cadence said she was happy that Mitchell let her stay with her mother and take the kids to see her. He trusts Cadence completely and believes their kids should have a healthy relationship with their grandmother. From my perspective, Mitchell and Cadence¡¯s relationship is built on trust, understanding, and being there for each other. Even though it¡¯s a traditional monogamous marriage, they love each other and make decisions together. They¡¯re like yin and yang¡ªCadence is a pacifist, while Mitchell is a fighter. Mitchell is the type who brings an automatic shotgun or a flamethrower to a knife fight while Cadence is the type who runs away to call the cops.


    Cadence also mentioned that they agreed their kids will get part-time jobs as teenagers to understand the value of hard work. They don¡¯t want to spoil their kids and make them entitled. Earning their own money will teach them the importance of hard work and make them better, more empathetic people. Cadence¡¯s fake friends and Mitchell¡¯s bully had everything handed to them on a golden platter. Their parents gave them designer clothes, luxury cars at fifteen, and credit cards at sixteen. No wonder they turned out the way they did.


    Mitchell and Cadence value hard-earned money. Mitchell had a part-time job that paid him $529 every three months. He used that money to take Cadence out on dates and saved most of it in a bank account his Uncle Orange co-signed for him. His aunt and uncle helped him open the account because they knew he trusted Cadence and her mother more. Aunt Orange gave him his car as an apology, and Mitchell spent sixteen hours getting it into working order.


    When I asked Cadence if she was bullied in school, she said she had a short-lived bully. She told her mother, and Star put a stop to it by confronting the bully¡¯s parents. Star wasn¡¯t going to hurt a minor but warned the bully that if she harmed Cadence again, her parents would face worse consequences. The case was thrown out because the judge saw it as a mother protecting her daughter. It was just another case of a parent protecting their child. The jury most likely would¡¯ve been men and women who are parents themselves who would be on Star¡¯s side from the start.


    I noticed Cadence was wearing a Diamond Orchid earring. She mentioned that she loves orchids and that Mitchell is the kind of guy who pays attention to the small details. Many guys only notice the big things, but Mitchell is different. Cadence¡¯s female friends often tell their boyfriends what flowers they like, only to receive the wrong ones. If they prefer milk chocolate over dark chocolate, their boyfriends still get them dark chocolate.


    I respect that Mitchell pays attention to the small things. It¡¯s about having a partner who appreciates the beauty of everyday life rather than just focusing on the big things. It reminds me of the saying, ¡°You¡¯ve got to learn how to walk before you run.¡±


    Cadence even mentioned how her mother, Star, would go with them on dates. Despite being a spy, Star could have changed her hair color to blend in, but she didn¡¯t. She¡¯s the only woman in Clearlake with auburn hair, while most other women have some shade of brown, black, or blonde hair. In diners, Mitchell and Cadence always knew she was there because she¡¯d sit at the counter or the farthest booth. They never confronted her because, in Little Birden society, it¡¯s traditional for a female family member to supervise dates. This tradition dates back to the First World War when many men were drafted, and families needed someone to watch over their sisters or daughters.


    Even though women were allowed to join the military in combat roles in 1937, the tradition persisted. Family members would go on dates to ensure nothing inappropriate happened, like kissing without permission. In Little Bird, it¡¯s generally socially acceptable for couples to ask for a kiss, whether to give or receive one.


    I know the history of Little Bird well. One reason women were allowed in combat roles is because many were country gals used to shooting weapons. They didn¡¯t have the luxury of nearby stores, and many farmers only had horse and buggy for transportation. Ammo was expensive, but they needed to hunt for food, harvest crops, and feed animals. Back then, the military had snipers described as ¡°the best shots in the company, devastating to enemy officers and machine gun teams.¡±


    Many military officers and soldiers doubted women¡¯s abilities, but those who got to show their skills often outshot the best male snipers. Women had to learn shooting on their own after losing fathers and brothers in the First World War, with no immediate male family members to teach them. Phones in homes were rare, and people had to find payphones or go to stores to make calls. Phones in homes didn¡¯t become popular until after World War II, as materials were needed for military radio telephones.


    Talking to Cadence, it¡¯s clear she abhors fighting and wars because she¡¯s a pacifist. She understands that no matter how civil humans are, we all have a violent side, and many people choose to fight rather than seek peaceful solutions.


    I even told Cadence about the 21st Airborne Division, whose first motto was ¡°All Female Division.¡± Depending on the source, it¡¯s said that for every five female paratroopers, there was one male paratrooper, a ratio of 5:1. Out of that ratio, 16,666 were females while 3,334 were males. Cadence mentioned that they were all motivated volunteers, some driven by the higher pay¡ª$100 a month for paratrooper privates compared to $50 for regular privates¡ªwhile others were excited by the new kind of combat.


    Many of them got hurt because they wore their rifles on their torsos, with the stock close to their jaws¡ªsolid wood and jaws don¡¯t mix well. Sometimes their leg bags would come undone and fall, leaving them dependent on their knives. Pistols were only issued to pilots, officers, and scouts and weren¡¯t mass-produced for the entire army until after Vietnam.


    Many soldiers, both male and female, bought handguns from gun stores. The Phoenix pistol (licensed M1911) cost $97.99, while other pistols ranged from $97 to $110. Each division issued rifles to 90% of its soldiers, costing $249 each, while the remaining 10% received submachine guns and automatic rifles, costing $470 each and a division is 20000 soldiers and that quickly adds up and you¡¯re talking about an army that¡¯s five million strong.


    Cadence said her aunt Luna would make a great drill instructor. According to Mitchell, when Luna drills her platoon, she tells them, ¡°The tickle fights and pillow fights stop now,¡± even though most of Third Platoon are seasoned vets, not greenhorn recruits. Luna doesn¡¯t sugarcoat war. When she meets recruits, she says, ¡°You will see things you won¡¯t like to see. You will see fellow men killed in ways you never imagined.¡±


    I told Cadence that I¡¯ve met her aunt, and she¡¯s a nice gal but not a pushover. Luna is a no-nonsense Lieutenant who will shoot first and ask questions later. She got to her position through battlefield promotions, not by going to OCS. She believes that battle-hardened soldiers prefer to take orders from officers who have seen combat and know what they¡¯re doing. Luna started her military career as a submachine gunner and worked her way up to Lieutenant, gaining leadership experience as a Sergeant.


    I also told Cadence about the drills that happen every three months involving the Fire Department, Police Department, Medical Services, Technical Services, Civil Defense, and AEMR (Agency Emergency Management Response). They conduct mock scenarios with high-tech mannequins that talk. For nuclear attack drills, the mannequins say things like they¡¯re blind and feel nothing but heat over most of their body. The Chemical, Biological, and Nerve Agent mannequins are also creepy, with blisters to simulate exposure. These mannequins represent all stages of life, not just adults. Having areas set to different scenarios and the nuclear one being looked like an enemy strategic bomber flew overhead and dropped it¡¯s payload but said mock place for the nuclear one represents a nuclear blast even though with all of the rubble and ruin looks like if enemy bombers bombed a place instead.


    Cadence just said, ¡°Thanks but no thanks.¡±


    But for me that¡¯s not an option because since October of this year I¡¯m a Firefighter/Certified First Responder so even I have to do so drills with them and how we¡¯re trained to be undersupplied and mostly understaffed to simulate how we would either be understaffed after said attacks and also to simulate that they would have to deal with the influx of the injured and having to label mannequins in four colors of Green, Yellow, Red, and Black by using triage tags with Green meaning walking injured aka minor injuries, Yellow means injured, Red means need immediate medical help and needs help right now, and finally being Black means that person is dead or that if given help they¡¯re still going to die. But I told Cadence that the most painful thing is that how the mannequins are all walks of life from all stages and you have to label them and have to accept the fact that it might be a reality one day and have to face and accept the fact that the youth and elderly won¡¯t be spared and that many people who have to do this training are slightly more hesitant when using triage tags on people and that many people are hesitant because of their own families. Not adding that some of the mock towns have audio speaker things to play sound effects from wind to building crumblings and gunfire and well the mannequins are very creepy.


    As we walked back into the house, we heard Flurry start to cry. Cadence went to take care of her and Mitchell¡¯s daughter. When she came back holding Flurry, she mentioned that Flurry doesn¡¯t cry much¡ªonly when she¡¯s hungry or needs a change. Otherwise, she¡¯s either sleeping or cooing at the mobile attached to her crib.


    ¡°I can see her working at a convenience store,¡± I said.


    ¡°Yeah, I can see her being a cashier or working in retail,¡± Cadence replied.


    ¡°If she does work in a convenience store, I¡¯d hate for her to have to work the morning shift, arriving at 7:00 AM. That¡¯s zero hour because at 8:00 AM, everyone¡¯s heading to work, stopping in for gas, coffee, and maybe a breakfast sandwich. Convenience stores are a gauntlet of temptation, with freezers at the back and everything else in between, making people buy things on impulse,¡± I said.


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t work,¡± Cadence replied.


    ¡°Supermarkets do it all the time,¡± I said. ¡°Convenience stores and supermarkets get people to buy more by making them think they¡¯re getting a bargain. Instead of pricing a breakfast sandwich at a dollar, they price it at $0.99. They also play calming music to put people at ease. Before checking out, customers are hit with the final enticement¡ªhot food like hot dogs, pizza slices, and sandwiches, along with chips or candy. They place items strategically, from the height of the product to what it¡¯s next to, and have sales to make people feel like they¡¯re getting more for less.¡±


    I even told Cadence how convenience stores sell what supermarkets won¡¯t or offer the same items but faster and cheaper. Convenience stores cater to people heading to and from work and those on road trips since many are also gas stations. Across all five commonwealths of Little Bird, gas stations are full service, meaning an attendant pumps the gas, wipes the windshield, checks the oil and tire pressure, collects payment, and sometimes gets a small tip. If you need something, you tell the attendant, who fetches it for you. Many people just go inside to get what they need, and by the time they come back out, the attendant has already taken care of everything.


    I told Cadence that when I first came to Little Bird, it felt like I was Marty McFly going back to 1955 in the movie Back to the Future. I then spent the next ten minutes explaining the movie to Cadence.


    Soon, Mitchell¡¯s sister Twilight came down the stairs and casually said, ¡°I wonder if a combat helmet can stop a hollow point 7.62mm bullet.¡± I explained that hollow-point rounds expand on impact, making them great at wounding fleshy bits but very ineffective against armor.


    I told Cadence how back in 2003, when I first came to Little Bird for my college tour and orientation, I was surprised by what I saw at Empire International Airport. The taxi cabs outside were from the ''60s and even some from the late ''50s. Men were wearing short-sleeve button-down shirts, jeans or slacks, brown belts, and shoes. Others wore tailored three-piece suits or casual suits, and many women wore similar outfits or random-colored laundered dresses with heels.


    At the airport, the cops wore dark blue uniforms, helmets with grey goggles, black balaclavas, knee pads, and tactical vests with "POLICE" decals. Soldiers were also present, wearing white undershirts, dark olive green uniforms, body armor, webbing, and dark olive drab combat helmets. Some had their weapons drawn, while others had them holstered but were still at attention.


    I had to show my papers twice¡ªonce to a customs agent and later to an army officer. I handed over my passport, access permit, education visa, and work visa. Both times, I was told my bags needed to be checked. I agreed because I wasn¡¯t going to argue with someone carrying an M16A1 and another soldier with a shotgun. Some people who refused to let their bags be thoroughly searched were detained.


    At the time, I didn¡¯t know that Little Bird was at Alert Stage Orange, meaning a high risk of an attack. Many people might see this as a violation of civil liberties, but Little Bird prioritizes stopping attacks over informing the public, which can cause panic and allow attackers to adjust their plans to strike when there¡¯s people trying to flee. I just agreed to the searches and went through a metal detector and body scan because I had nothing to hide, unlike those who refused and were detained.


    I told Cadence how I had to go through four metal detectors and three body scanning machines before even talking to the custom¡¯s agent and another set of metal detectors and body scanning machines before having to talk to that army officer guy. I just had to answer a series of questions to see what I said matched up with my access permit, education visa and my right to work visa and for my access permit it said:


    Name: Mackenzie Nova Waterson


    Purpose: Education and Work


    Duration of stay: four years


    Height: 5¡¯10.5


    Weight: 220 lbs


    Physical appearance: Caucasian, female, dark brown hair, green eyes


    Expiration date: November 1st, 2007


    Nationality: American


    I then asked Cadence about her aunt Luna. She said Luna could be a division commander if she wanted, but she¡¯s happy where she is. Luna believes her platoon is the best in the 39th Airborne Regiment, even though their company has had a series of incompetent leaders. These leaders suffer enormous losses without achieving any objectives and blame others for their failures, claiming they faced more enemies and only managed to push them back a couple of miles without securing the sector.


    Out of the blue, Cadence mentioned my cousin Midnight. She leads a battalion of Rangers, elite commandos and infantry whose job is to clear objectives and conduct specialist operations before the main army arrives. They are versatile and reliable.


    Third Platoon¡¯s company has incompetent officers who blame others for their mess-ups and lack of progress in war. But Cadence said officers like Midnight can push the enemy back a hundred miles with minimal losses.


    I added that if the Little Bird Army Rangers are in a fight, don¡¯t expect them to play bait and hide-and-seek tactics. When the Rangers are called into battle, they go from bait to prey. They get first priority for any fire support, whether bombers or artillery, especially in tough terrains like mountains. Leaders like Midnight know how to get the most out of their troops and tell them that if they give 100%, the officer will do everything to support them.


    I told Cadence that, according to Midnight, Special Forces always get their fire support prioritized. Rangers, Marine Commandos, Marines, and Paratroopers are usually placed in strategic and vital locations because they are better trained. Even if they are being mass-attacked along the entire front, they get top priority for support. These units are often put in crucial positions, so they receive priority even though they operate as independent Intelligence and Recon (I&R) teams. Mitchell mentioned that they are all trained in Intelligence and Recon because they can¡¯t always rely on their S2s (Battalion Intelligence Officers). The intel from S2s can become obsolete quickly or be heard through radio deception or deliberate leaks. The one thing about war it¡¯s about deception of deception of the enemy to make them make decisions that would turn them against them.


    I told Cadence that there are two kinds of families: those who are there for you and those who aren¡¯t.


    Cadence shared that the Watersons are the supportive kind. After she and Mitchell got married, those who couldn¡¯t attend the wedding sent checks or thoughtful gifts, usually requiring a signature from either her or Mitchell.


    However, her father¡¯s side of the family yelled at her for not inviting them to the wedding, even though they had called her a mistake. This really got to her, so she told Mitchell. His response was, ¡°Nobody who makes my wife cry is going to get away with it.¡± Mitchell and his friends, Jack, Sam, and others, were raised to treat women with respect and be gentlemen, a reflection of Little Bird¡¯s own version of chivalry. They grabbed baseball bats, ready to play ¡°Batter up,¡± because they all played baseball in middle school. That ¡°Batter up¡± is their term for beating people with a bat.


    Twilight, who was in the kitchen, mentioned that she doesn¡¯t like Cadence for ¡°stealing¡± her brother but at least respects her as family. She doesn¡¯t do anything to harm Cadence because she knows Mitchell would tell her off, reminding her that fighting someone who didn¡¯t do anything to you isn¡¯t an option.


    I told Cadence how many of my disowned friends have families that want to come back into their lives after ten to twelve years of no contact. These families kicked them out over a lie, but now that their disowned children are successful and starting families, it¡¯s convenient for them to swoop back in. Some of my friends were even on national news for their success, and their parents want to be credited for it. However, their disowned kids give credit where it¡¯s due and openly share on national television or radio how their parents beat them down and discouraged them from having fun or trying new things. When they were disowned, my extended family took them in, encouraged them to explore, and try new things, proving their parents wrong.


    After seeing their success, their toxic families want back in because of the money and prestige. They even had the gall to call my family, who took them in, trying to talk sense into them. But the Watersons told them, ¡°You made your bed, now lie in it.¡± I told Cadence how we Watersons believe, ¡°If they¡¯re not with you at your lowest, they shouldn¡¯t be with you at your best.¡±


    It¡¯s obvious why their toxic families want back in¡ªit¡¯s convenient for them. Some of my disowned friends are dating or engaged to my family members, planning or starting families. Their toxic families want to meet them at OB/GYN appointments, see ultrasounds, and know the baby¡¯s gender to buy clothes and toys. But many female Watersons prefer to be surprised by the baby¡¯s gender.


    Some toxic families even offer to pay for their disowned child¡¯s wedding to get back in their good graces, hoping they¡¯ll forget the past. But my friends don¡¯t fall for it and say, ¡°Thanks, but no thanks.¡±


    They know what their toxic families want and keep them at arm¡¯s length. They hate when their toxic families pull the ¡°We¡¯re family¡± and ¡°Family forgives family¡± cards because their entire family believed a lie without hearing their side. They¡¯re living proof of how one lie can ruin someone¡¯s life.


    Twilight chimed in, ¡°People like them should rot in Hell for all eternity.¡±


    I even told Cadence how their toxic extended family has apologized for their way of throwing them under the bus without hearing them out but they just say ¡°Too late. Eleven years too late¡± or ten years but it¡¯s the same. But they can¡¯t fight their disowned kids significant other if it¡¯s a Waterson because when their toxic family says how they respect their significant other well that¡¯s a lie because the male or female Waterson says ¡°You respect me because I¡¯m a threat¡±  and make it worse the female Waterson¡¯s are twice as more dangerous than their male counterpart. To make it worse that us Waterson¡¯s tell my disowned friends how everybody is apologizing except for their parents and sibling who lied.


    My disowned friends learned how my family is willing to protect them and my friends learned how my family are living embodiments of two of the Seven Deadly Sins which are:


    Pride: We think about others but we compete in sports to boost our pride because our pride makes us compete for achievements like in sports we compete and our pride makes us want to do so and earn medals and trophies.


    Wrath: We are the last people you want to fight because many of us were either in the military, are in the military or loves to fight. We¡¯re the type of people who brings a gun to a knife fight.


    I also told Cadence how some of my disowned friends have reconnected with their family but on their terms and conditions and tell them to meet up for dinner but not to bring the sibling who lied about them to said dinner and no other family member¡­ only for their toxic family to bring other family members including said sibling who lied about them. When they try to leave they get blocked by said family who tries to gaslight them into staying but if it¡¯s one of my disowned male friends who is dating or engaged to a female Waterson and they call said female Waterson that they¡¯re dating or engaged to well saying ¡°All Hell broke loose¡± would be a understatement.


    I also told Cadence about how some of my disowned friends, who have done well for themselves, take the Watersons who took them in on luxury vacations. They treat them like family because that''s what they are. These friends learned the hard way that family isn''t just who you''re born into¡ªit''s those who stand by you and love you.


    Some of my friends tried reconnecting with their toxic families by inviting them on luxury vacations. But their toxic families excluded them from everything, saying they weren''t really family because they had been disowned. My friends got the last laugh by canceling their toxic family''s plane tickets and separating the hotel bill. Their toxic families ended up with a huge bill they couldn''t pay, or their credit cards maxed out. Some friends even downgraded their toxic family''s plane tickets from business class to economy while upgrading their own to first class.


    Cadence said, ¡°Well, that¡¯s what happens when you bite the hand that feeds you.¡± She explained that her mother taught her this saying, meaning you shouldn''t be ungrateful or harmful to those who help you. Some people think it''s harsh to separate the hotel bill or cancel return flights, but we Watersons don''t placate to keep the peace. We''re not doormats. If you treat us terribly, don''t cry when we do the same in return. People who say it''s harsh have never been in that position before.


    I also told Cadence about some of my disowned friends who work minimum wage part-time jobs, with some even working forty-hour weeks. When their disowned kids leave them with the hotel bill and cancel the flight in retaliation for excluding them, their wives tell their husbands to get a second or third job to improve their financial situation. They end up degrading each other for not having an income level that matches their taste for luxury, wanting their significant other to work over 50 hours a week, even though they don¡¯t want to work more hours themselves. After experiencing luxury, they want to live that way all the time.


    The Watersons who went on these vacations didn¡¯t care about the luxury; they just wanted to have a good time. For my family, sitting in a motel room watching a sports game, either live or a rerun, or going out to play a round of golf and then grabbing a bite to eat is better than staying at a hotel with a spa and all the extras. Many of my family members were born and raised in big families where having food on the table every night was a luxury they often didn¡¯t have.


    We Watersons have a strong sense of fairness and can¡¯t stand hypocrites. Many of us have seen just about everything and have a cynical outlook on the world and life in general. But we know what truly matters: loyalty, trust, and being there for each other.


    We definitely hate people who say, ¡°Family helps family,¡± but turn their backs when you need them. My girlfriend¡¯s father knows this all too well. His family wanted him back from Vietnam, but when he returned after eight years, they abandoned him. At least he had a supportive girlfriend, despite her friends trying to convince her to break up with him because of the unpopular war.


    I told Cadence how my disowned friends¡¯ parents believed their lying child without any evidence but refused to believe the truth, even with undeniable proof. Their minds were already made up. Many of my disowned friends had part-time jobs and needed prescribed medication, but their siblings accused them of being addicts. If they saved money, their siblings claimed they were involved in shady dealings, even though they had legal jobs at bookstores, grocery stores, or mowing lawns. They were just saving up for things like a new CD player, a bike, or a used car.


    Cadence understood, especially after hearing how my disowned friends were taken in by my extended family and raised. Now that these friends are successful, their toxic families want back in, drawn by the money and connections to influential people in various states. But Twilight and Cadence both agreed that people like that will abandon you in a heartbeat and come back only when it¡¯s convenient.


    Many of my disowned friends told their parents there¡¯s no chance of reconciliation, while some are open to it but only on their terms. If any condition is broken, they¡¯re gone. Those dating or engaged to my family members tell their toxic families to back off, especially when it comes to OB/GYN appointments or knowing the baby¡¯s gender. Many female Watersons prefer to be surprised, and my disowned female friends keep the baby¡¯s gender to themselves, sharing only with those they trust.


    Twilight mentioned she¡¯s about to start school to become an actress. She knows that if she becomes famous, people will come wanting handouts or to be friends. She plans to hire lawyers to protect herself from slander and those who might drag her name through the mud. She reiterated that parents like those can rot in Hell for all eternity.


    Twilight strolled out of the kitchen, a frosty bottle of root beer in hand, the condensation glistening in the light. She took a sip and then looked at me with curiosity.


    "What''s the difference between Scouts and Recon?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with interest.


    I leaned back, thinking about how to explain it in a way that made sense. "Well, Twilight, Scouts and Recon are pretty much two sides of the same coin. Scouts are the ones who gather Recon. Think of them as the eyes and ears of the army. These soldiers aren''t meant to get into heavy fights. Instead, they engage in minor skirmishes, just enough to get a feel for the land and spot any potential threats or opportunities."


    I paused, making sure she was following along. "An army that doesn''t know what''s happening around it is like a blindfolded boxer¡ªvulnerable and missing out on chances. Scouts aren''t really there to attack; their main job is to gather intel on the enemy and report back. If they come across important looking documents, they grab those too. Battalion Intel then analyzes this information, helping the Division or Regiment to make informed plans based on what the Scouts have discovered."


    Twilight nodded, taking another sip of her root beer. "Got it. So, they''re like the detectives of the battlefield."


    "More or less," I said, smiling. "Without them, we''d be stumbling around in the dark."


    Twilight asked, ¡°So what they see and report back that¡¯s how objectives for the main army to do?¡±


    ¡°Yup,¡± I said, ¡°They report back and any objectives are created by the operations officers who label what needs to be done. Like what needs to be taken and held, what needs to be destroyed and what not.¡±


    Twilight''s eyes lit up with a mix of nostalgia and intensity as she began recounting one of her experiences. "Like one battle I was in, our objectives were to secure a town hall, destroy three SAM sites, and then assist another unit pinned down by well-trained combatants. That was one of the few battles I fought in before the Army found out I was underage. I was in the 2nd Infantry Division, 7th Infantry Regiment, 4th Battalion, 2nd Company. Basic training for PT was brutal as hell."


    "How brutal?" I asked, genuinely curious.


    Twilight took a deep breath, as if reliving the exhaustion. "The 2nd Infantry Division is garrisoned in a place where we had to run up and down a mountain¡ªthree miles up, three miles down. The Drill Instructors and Company officers are impossible to please. Even a minor infraction could get your weekend pass revoked. They made it clear that mutiny was considered treason, punishable by death. They''d threaten court-martial for the smallest things, but it often backfired when trainees called their bluff, demanding a trial. The DI would then have to prove the charges, which wasn''t always easy unless it was a serious offense."


    Twilight smiled, a hint of pride in her eyes. "Yeah, but it made me stronger. And it taught me the importance of discipline and loyalty. Those are lessons I''ll never forget."


    Cadence found it amusing that my disowned friends'' parents and families now want to rejoin their lives because they¡¯re successful. She said it¡¯s funny how they¡¯re ¡°regretting¡± their decision. I explained that it¡¯s all about money and public recognition. Since 2008 or 2009, these toxic families have been calling up my friends, saying how proud they are. Some even had the gall to ask when my friends would publicly credit their families for their success and when they could expect the first check or money order.


    Twilight pointed out that public recognition is a double-edged sword. She said it¡¯s hypocritical for these families to expect everything to go back to normal as if nothing happened. The world doesn¡¯t work like that. They¡¯re crawling back now because of the money, not because they genuinely care.


    I told them both that some of my disowned friends'' families even threatened lawsuits for money. But these threats rarely materialize because they either know they don¡¯t have a legal leg to stand on or they¡¯re just trying to see if my friends will cave in and send money. Of course, my friends just send back a letter that basically tells them to bite it. Many of my disowned friends have the resources to hire the best lawyers and tear their families apart in court. Plus, legally, their parents signed away their parental rights, disowning them on paper. Some were almost sent to military school, but my extended family took them in before that could happen.


    These ex-families hate my friends because they can¡¯t control them anymore. My friends are smart enough to create a paper trail to hold their families accountable. If they do send money, it¡¯s clearly documented as a loan that needs to be paid back. But their toxic families don¡¯t want loans¡ªthey just want free money.


    I also mentioned how their ex-families use money to buy flashy things, while my disowned friends invest their money, save for a rainy day, or put it into savings accounts. My friends drive old cars that need a kick to open the door, cross the wires to start up, or a flathead screwdriver to start because the ignition is broken. They know the value of money and how to make it work for them.


    I shared a story about my great-granduncle Jimmy ¡°James¡± Richard Waterson 1st. After his first dogfight, he got shot at by a kid on the carrier he was assigned to. James 1st just said to the guy, ¡°Hey kid, if a plane has its landing gear down and you¡¯re on an aircraft carrier, it means that plane is coming in to land. It¡¯s not an enemy. Why would you shoot at it?¡± don''t know why I shared that.


    Twilight said that it¡¯s smart to create a paper trail so if my friend¡¯s ex-family pulls the ¡°We never agreed to that¡± or ¡°We were told that it was a gift not a loan¡± well having it written down and having it say clear as day of if it¡¯s some kind of loan they expect to be paid back with interest or just being paid back without interest.


    I told them how some of my friends started their own businesses and make a good salary but live modestly to avoid gold diggers or people who want to be with them for money. Their ex-toxic families claim their other siblings are starting similar businesses, boasting about their business school education. But clients prefer businesses with experienced employees, not ones where staff need to watch a YouTube video to change a tire. So nobody is going to hire a Real Estate Agent or a HVAC Tech or a Gas & Plumbing person if they need to watch a Youtube video on how to do their job.


    Twilight asked what kinds of businesses my disowned friends run. I told her it varies, but some examples include Real Estate, HVAC, Renovation/Painting, and Gas & Plumbing. They¡¯re all accredited, licensed, and experienced, thanks to my extended family encouraging them to pursue careers they love.


    Those who started businesses often lived with the Watersons who took them in, paying rent like roommates. They thanked my family for pushing them in the right direction, learning from their mistakes, and understanding that success comes from trial and error. I mentioned how Steve Jobs started Apple in a garage, emphasizing that success doesn¡¯t come overnight¡ªit¡¯s an uphill battle that requires perseverance that many people give up on while some people keep going.


    I also shared how some of my disowned friends had significant others who betrayed them by sharing business plans and investor lists with their toxic families. Any sane person would end a relationship over such betrayal, and they did. But my friends dating Waterson family members face bribes from their ex-toxic families for business information. We Watersons see how wrong that is and refuse, standing by our partners no matter what.


    I also told them how some of my friends have credit cards with no spending limit, which shocked Cadence and Twilight. In Little Bird, credit cards have a limit up to $35k, so the idea of an unlimited card was surprising. I explained how some of my disowned friends'' parents got ahold of their credit card details¡ªeither through a significant other sending the card info, taking a photo, or outright stealing the card and mailing it. But my friends aren¡¯t stupid. They have alerts set up for every transaction, so they get notified immediately if their card is used. Any sane person would report the transaction as fraudulent, cancel the card, and get a new one.


    My friends say they¡¯re not responsible for their ex-families'' poor financial decisions. Their toxic families would rather buy a brand-new $120,000 car than a used $4,000 car. My friends know better and protect themselves from such financial recklessness.


    Twilight mentioned how easy it is for the wrong person to get ahold of someone else¡¯s finances and mess them up. She also shared stories about her friends whose parents are financially irresponsible. These parents emptied their savings accounts, took out loans, remortgaged their houses, and even cashed out their retirement funds, all to give their kids the best education money could buy. Despite everyone warning them about the financial consequences, they wouldn¡¯t listen, insisting their kids deserved the best.


    I find it laughable because parents who do that often end up with kids who fail university or college. Why should the kids care if their parents are paying for everything? They¡¯ll do whatever they want on their parents'' dime until they either drop out, get expelled, or kicked out. It¡¯s ironic because many of my classmates at Arcane University lived off ramen noodles and worked multiple jobs just to cover tuition, determined to make their own way. Some had parents who paid for tuition but still had to get part-time jobs for spending money. I told Twilight that I can see those friends failing and blaming the school instead of looking in the mirror.


    Heck, I told them that while my dad paid for my tuition, he only covered that. If I wanted to eat out or do something fun, I had to get off my butt and get a job to earn spending money. That¡¯s what many parents do when their kids go off to university¡ªthey tell them to get a job. But I had classmates who were entitled and never worked a day in their lives because their parents spoiled them with designer clothes, a credit card at fifteen, and a car at sixteen. Now, giving a kid a car isn¡¯t entirely spoiling them if it¡¯s a rundown used car from the classifieds. But these spoiled kids had the latest luxury cars with all the bells and whistles.


    Some of them who dropped out were so entitled they were willing to lie, manipulate, and even break the law to get what they wanted. Meanwhile, their siblings worked multiple jobs to put themselves through college, and their hard work paid off. They own their homes because the average cost of a house in Little Bird is quite affordable for the middle class $90 down and $58 a month for a two-bedroom, one-bath house with modern amenities. A two bedroom one bath house here in Little Bird varies between $5140-11000. Many people save their money for a year and use their salary to buy a house.


    But those entitled students who dropped out would show up at their siblings¡¯ doors, wanting help. Their parents would suggest that the successful sibling take in their loser sibling or sign the house over to them, thinking they could just get a new house. They don¡¯t realize that many people save every penny for a year to buy a house. In Little Bird, people are taught to have a rainy day fund and only tap into savings for emergencies, so they don¡¯t have to use their main income for things like a blown head gasket or if a tree fell on their house.


    Their parents are quick to consult lawyers for legal options to force their successful child to share the house or sign it over. They claim they want to look out for all their children equally, bution Little Bird, that¡¯s an uphill battle. In court, it¡¯s a ¡°they said-they said¡± situation without evidence. The homeowner can just bring the deed and paperwork to prove they own the house 100%. Entitled parents and siblings think they can move in and claim squatter rights, but Little Bird doesn¡¯t have squatter rights. The police can evict people on the spot, court-ordered or not.


    Many of my entitled classmates would say, ¡°Losers work to put themselves through school,¡± but a lot of people believe in earning things through hard work.


    We all agreed that people¡¯s true colors show sooner or later. Some entitled students drop out and ruin their parents financially. In Little Bird, colleges and universities refund tuition for any semester not attended, but once a semester is started, the tuition isn¡¯t refunded. Courts have upheld this policy because it¡¯s clearly stated in the terms.


    Entitled classmates who dropped out often wear thin their extended family¡¯s patience, especially when they repeatedly ask for money or loans to pay bills, promising to pay back but never do. They even show up uninvited to family events like weddings, making scenes and asking for job opportunities. They go to job interviews but decline positions they deem beneath their qualifications, despite not having a degree. The irony of someone without a degree being picky about jobs isn¡¯t lost on us.


    Some of these entitled kids¡¯ extended families try to guilt trip the successful ones into loaning money or helping their siblings find jobs. But the successful ones refuse, not wanting to risk their reputation. Their families pull the ¡°Family is family¡± and ¡°Family helps family¡± cards, but when asked where they were when help was needed, they make excuses or get cold feet and hang up.


    I even told Cadence and Twilight about my orientation and first day at Arcane University. They emphasized that while a college degree can be a golden ticket, we need to be open-minded. Not all jobs require a degree, and we might have to take modest, hardworking jobs that don¡¯t need one. Many companies won¡¯t hold a spot for someone to get a degree; they operate on a ¡°first come, first serve¡± basis. They interview candidates with degrees or experience and hire the most qualified. Many corporate jobs start at the bottom, like sorting mail or being a coffee courier, before moving up to more important positions. Twilight said, ¡°You have to learn to walk before you can run,¡± which is true¡ªyou have to start somewhere.


    I find it funny how many people expect their college degree to guarantee them a job without realizing that companies also value experience. Many students I knew had to take any job they could get, even if it meant being a street sweeper or a garbage collector. It¡¯s not what they wanted, but they understood the saying, ¡°Beggars can¡¯t be choosers.¡± They¡¯d rather work and make a living while waiting for an opportunity that matches their degree, even if it¡¯s rare. Some just wait for that perfect opportunity, but most know they have to start somewhere.


    I told them how I have friends who weren¡¯t disowned but are approaching thirty and working at fast food joints or jobs typically for teenagers. They were laid off during the recession and had to take any job they could find, even if it meant working longer hours for less pay. Instead of cushy desk jobs, they¡¯re now cashiers or making fries at McDonald¡¯s, earning $7.25 an hour instead of $15. They knew the bills wouldn¡¯t stop, so they took what they could get.


    Twilight mentioned that many people have to take whatever job is available because they need to put food on the table and pay the bills. Cadence agreed, saying that people often don¡¯t have much choice and will take what¡¯s available, while others wait for opportunities that might not come for months or years. High turnover jobs are uncommon, so many people end up waiting in vain.


    Twilight also pointed out that some people are lucky if their family has a business, but giving a novice a position can sink the business. She mentioned our cousin Midnight, whose friend¡¯s family owned a restaurant. Midnight¡¯s friend was a capable leader who knew the business inside and out. But when the reins were passed to a novice who made poor decisions, like getting rid of vegan options and dairy alternatives, it backfired. People with dietary restrictions were left without options, leading to a lawsuit. The father fired the novice son and offered the position to his daughter, but she told him he got himself into the mess and could get himself out.


    Cadence said that¡¯s a perfect example of a family ignoring their own child¡¯s worth and giving a position to someone who can¡¯t handle it, messing everything up. It¡¯s like throwing someone who can¡¯t swim into the deep end of the pool and expecting them to figure it out. She pointed out that if people can¡¯t see someone¡¯s worth, others will. Midnight¡¯s friend¡¯s father came crawling back, offering her the position because he knew she was the better candidate, needing a lifeline after realizing his mistake.


    Twilight mentioned that, according to our cousin Midnight, her friend was told the father was securing the son¡¯s future, even though the son had no idea what he wanted to do. Cadence added, ¡°The son was in way over his head, making risky business decisions no owner would make, and now the family is paying the price.¡±


    Midnight¡¯s friend¡¯s brother was out of his depth, making impulsive decisions, cutting corners, and alienating customers. Cadence also noted that vegans won¡¯t eat a steak, and giving a vegan a steak will end badly, resulting in bad reviews. In a society with word-of-mouth and newspaper reviews, alienating one type of customer to save a few bucks won¡¯t work in the long run. Businesses need to make money, and losing potential income by alienating customers is a big mistake.


    Cadence mentioned that her and Mitchell¡¯s friend, Samuel (aka Sam), has a father who owns a restaurant in town. He took his experience as an Army Battalion Mess Officer, cooking and running a battalion mess in the ''70s and ''80s, and applied it to his business. Mitchell always says, ¡°The one thing about the military is to never make mad the people who are in charge of your food,¡± and Twilight agreed, noting that those in food service can make you regret it if you cross them.


    Twilight explained that Sam¡¯s father¡¯s military experience involved feeding eight hundred soldiers, which is no easy task. According to Sam¡¯s father, they would get up at 0300 hours (3:00 AM) to start preparing breakfast, which typically included scrambled eggs, bacon, hashbrowns, and omelet bars. In the military, meals are often repetitive, but they learn to adapt and get creative. Every other day, they served oatmeal, ready by 0500 hours (5:00 AM), because soldiers would get up at 4:00 AM for physical training and be hungry by 5:00 AM. By 6:00 AM, they would clean up and start preparing for lunch. Unlike a fast food joint, burgers were rare, served only once every three months.


    Sam¡¯s father took his military experience and applied it to running a restaurant, understanding the importance of breaking even, paying bills, and managing employees. In the military, he was paid monthly, but in the civilian world, he had to ensure the business earned enough to cover expenses and make a profit. This transition from military to civilian business operations taught him valuable lessons in efficiency and resource management.

 Chapter: Twenty-Six.5

    Twilight mentioned how different Midnight is, and I agreed, noting it¡¯s because she¡¯s a Ranger. Twilight explained that in the Army and Marines, Battalion Commanders are usually behind friendly lines at an HQ far from the fighting. But in the Rangers, Battalion Commanders set up their HQ near the fighting and are often in direct combat. They prefer to be in the thick of it when their HQ is threatened because Rangers are trained to take the fight to the enemy, not wait for the enemy to come to them. According to Midnight, ¡°The Rangers are taught and only have the training to take objectives, not hold them. We take objectives and move on.¡± This means they attack the enemy and keep moving before the enemy can organize a defense or launch a counterattack.


    Twilight also mentioned that Midnight encouraged her twin daughters to join the military if they want an advanced education. She suggested they do one enlistment, take their papers, and leave, using the money from the military to go to school. An eighteen-month enlistment can provide the funds needed for education.


    I shared how some of my disowned friends¡¯ toxic ex-families tried to use adverse possession laws and squatter rights to take over their property. However, these attempts usually fail because the ex-families don¡¯t have their names on the paperwork and can¡¯t prove anything in court. Squatter rights backfire because my disowned friends often live with my family members. The Watersons they¡¯re dating work night shifts while my friends work during the day, ensuring the house is never empty. This prevents the toxic families from trying to claim any rights to the property. My family members chase them away, making it clear they won¡¯t tolerate such behavior.


    Soon Mitchell came in after who knows how long he was with IAC, carrying a few vanilla folders. He didn¡¯t mind that I was there.


    ¡°Hey Mitchell, got a question,¡± I said.


    He replied, ¡°Shoot.¡±


    ¡°Hypothetically, if a trucking company had six accidents within six months and the Bureau of Transportation found nothing wrong with the truck, the driving record was clean, qualifications were in order, driver logs and inspections showed nothing, what would your gut say?¡± I asked.


    Mitchell replied, ¡°Corruption. Truck drivers are regulated to drive eight hours per day, and their time is monitored. They have to go through driving qualifications every other year to retain their CDL license. If nothing shows, then that¡¯s corruption because companies can pay inspectors to look the other way and write it up as if the truck driver or the company isn¡¯t at fault.


    "Unless it¡¯s my mother-in-law, then she would light a fire under someone to make sure they do their job. Oh, and if one of my coworkers harmed my wife, Star could have them lose their job, have all their money gone in a heartbeat, and make sure they can¡¯t even get a job as a meter maid, parking cars, or washing cars. Yeah, Star has the authority to light fires under other government agencies to make sure they do their job. Her job is an Intelligence Agency Field Agent.¡±


    Mitchell also mentioned that his coworkers, except for Starlight, are the kind of cops who want public trust but end up making the job difficult for those who actually do their job. As the saying goes, ¡°One bad apple spoils the bunch,¡± or in Mitchell and Starlight¡¯s case, ¡°Fourteen bad apples spoil the bunch.¡±


    Mitchell can¡¯t stand corruption because it allows bad people to thrive. He explained that officers in the Anti-Corruption Team (ACT), Integrity and Accountability Commission (IAC), and the Elite Operations Detachment (EOD) are responsible for investigating corruption. According to his friends Sam and Jack, 50% of the EOD is mobilized in chasing down ¡°ghosters.¡± I looked at him, Cadence, and Twilight in confusion, so Mitchell explained that ¡°ghost driving¡± is when people including trucking and train companies report having two drivers so one can take over when the other sleeps. While many truck drivers do have partners and take turns driving, which is legal and common, ¡°ghost driving¡± involves one person working two shifts but reporting it as two people. This means they¡¯re lying on forms, saying there are two drivers when there¡¯s only one.


    Twilight mentioned that some Watersons became truck drivers after World War II to enjoy traveling up and down the East Coast of the United States. They never had partners to switch with at night. Instead, they would pull over at a truck stop, get a motel room, and start again at five in the morning. This way, they could rest properly and continue their journey safely.


    I said how this country loves to have fun with acronyms.


    Mitchell asked what we were talking about, so we talked about family. Mitchell mentioned his adoptive friend Francis, who hates the word "family" because his adoptive parents'' families don¡¯t consider him family due to the lack of a biological connection. They see his adoptive parents raising another person¡¯s child. While his adoptive parents love him and raised him as their own, their respective families don¡¯t like him. However, Francis is dating Mitchell¡¯s half-twin sister, Cadenza, and his extensive adoptive family now sees him as part of the family because he¡¯s dating a Lieutenant Commander who makes a lot of money. Francis¡¯s adoptive parents love him no matter what, but their families want into Francis¡¯s life now because he¡¯s dating a woman who is both attractive and wealthy due to her rank.


    Some even had the nerve to move into Cadenza¡¯s farmhouse to take over. Cadenza had two minds about it: either let Francis deal with it or handle it herself. When Francis deals with it, he calls the cops and has them thrown out because Cadenza has all the proper paperwork proving it¡¯s her farmhouse. When she turned eighteen, her father signed over the deed to her, and she has it all notarized. Cadenza, being a fighter and a highly trained, biologically enhanced, and insanely skilled super-soldier, would throw them out without a second thought. She takes orders from high-ranking officials without question, but she¡¯ll question orders if she knows something is very, very wrong.


    Mitchell said Francis gets letters full of guilt trips and family obligations, claiming they don¡¯t understand why he turned his back on them. Those letters meet Cadenza¡¯s reusable metal flip lighter and get burned.


    ¡°Talk about being hypocritical,¡± I said. ¡°They didn¡¯t consider him family because he¡¯s adopted, but now that he¡¯s dating a high-ranking officer with money, it¡¯s convenient for them.¡±


    Mitchell also mentioned that Cadenza¡¯s father is a General of Special Operations. Francis¡¯s extensive adoptive family wants to be on good terms with him, hoping to get favors, like asking Cadenza¡¯s father to write letters to keep their kids out of the military. But Francis isn¡¯t going to do that. He knows they¡¯re the type who disappear after getting a favor or keep asking for more, treating people like doormats.


    Mitchell shared how he once heard Francis burst out laughing on the phone when his extensive adoptive family pleaded for help, pulling the ¡°As a family we should have each other¡¯s backs¡± card. Francis laughed at their preachings and asked where this ¡°family¡± was when he was growing up, treated as unwanted. When they came to him in person and started crying, Francis just said, ¡°Your crocodile tears aren¡¯t helping here.¡± Cadenza told Francis he had to decide whether to help those who are truly with him or those who see him as a living ATM.


    It¡¯s always funny how people who never saw someone as family suddenly come out of the woodwork, trying everything to manipulate them into giving help. Francis just tells them no because they never treated him like family, but now they want to because it¡¯s convenient. Some backed off because Cadenza threatened legal action if they bothered her and Francis. With her salary of $22,000/year ($147,335.14 USD), she can afford a lawyer to bring a restraining order or file a suit for emotional damage on Francis since the age of four. Some of Francis¡¯s extensive adoptive family knew when to back off, but others kept poking the dragon. Cadenza doesn¡¯t have a fight-or-flight mentality¡ªonly fight. She loves to fight, not in a courtroom but in a WWE style. She¡¯s the type you only have to tell once, and if she says no, the best response is ¡°Okay, thanks¡± and leave. Don¡¯t keep pushing because Cadenza is like a sleeping giant.


    I mentioned how I have friends who play arcade games but aren¡¯t very good at them. I had to explain to them that in games like Space Invaders, you have to lead the target. My friends always shot at where the spacecrafts were, and they used the universally hated tactic of shooting through their own shield.


    Mitchell said they¡¯re trained to lead targets that are fifty feet or more away. I find it interesting that Little Bird¡¯s military uses the Imperial system instead of Metric, but I¡¯m not going to question it.


    Cadence said she didn¡¯t play a lot of action arcade games. She preferred action-adventure games or racing games with a steering wheel and pedals, like you see in a normal car.


    Mitchell mentioned that he and his friends weren¡¯t into arcade games. They were the kind of kids and teens you¡¯d see at the park playing football or baseball, or sitting at a table playing cards or looking at comic books. The only time they played arcade games was on rainy days, and they preferred physical arcade games like the punching bag, basketball, or skee ball because they required both hand and eye coordination.


    Mitchell also mentioned that besides Francis feels bad for Sam because of his mother, who threw away a perfectly good relationship for fun. The funny thing is, Sam¡¯s father kind of predicted it and had a prenup with several clauses. Infidelity is one of those clauses. Sam¡¯s mother wants him back in her life to meet his half-siblings, but Sam just says no. He points out that he is a grown adult and married. His mom is sad that he didn¡¯t marry the woman she wanted and that he and his wife aren¡¯t having babies yet. Sam and his wife have agreed to have kids but are saving up for their future kids'' education and other expenses first. They want their kids to have enough money to move out and live comfortably for a while, not indefinitely. Sam¡¯s father doesn¡¯t care if they have kids or not; he just advised Sam to make sure everything is fine before rushing into a situation that could end in separation or divorce.


    I asked why Sam¡¯s father told him that. Mitchell explained that Sam, being smart, knew his mother was being unfaithful but only had circumstantial evidence, like another man¡¯s jacket on the couch. At first, he assumed it was a present for his father, but he started noticing more things. Sam learned the hard way to gather evidence before jumping to conclusions because most of what he found could be explained away. He documented everything like a police detective. One day, he came home, and his mother tried to give him money to go out, but he just went to his room. The next day, his world fell apart when he came home from school to find his parents getting a divorce.


    Sam¡¯s mother tried to buy his love and affection, wanting him to choose her over his dad to bond with his soon-to-be stepdad. In the Commonwealth of Mountain, Sam was old enough at fifteen to choose without a court battle. His first response was to run away, but the police brought him back. Sam¡¯s father handled it differently, telling Sam it was his choice and that he would still love him no matter what. When the divorce lawyer explained that Sam had to write down whom he was going to live with, Sam immediately chose his father. Despite his ten-hour workdays, Sam¡¯s father always put his well-being first and never missed any milestones, unlike his mother, who tried to buy his affection.


    Sam¡¯s mother believed she could miss milestones and make up for it with gifts, not realizing that time with family is irreplaceable. When Sam ran away to join the Marines, he wrote to both parents. His mother responded by saying he threw his life away and was dead to her, while his father expressed heartbreak but still supported and loved him, wishing he would come back.


    Mitchell also mentioned that Sam isn¡¯t the type to apologize because in Little Bird, apologizing is seen as an admission of guilt. When Sam came back from the Marines, he tried to apologize to his father, but his father told him there was no need. He was proud of Sam and happy for him, saying he did nothing wrong.


    Mitchell went on to say that Sam¡¯s mother actually filed a lawsuit against him for emotional damage and anguish. Sam, being a unique and bright kid, documented everything his mother did that could be considered emotional damage. His mother even had the nerve to claim that his salary as a Corporal in the Marines was enough for monthly payments to her for emotional damage. No judge bought her act, and the case was dismissed. After the third attempt, Sam filed a countersuit for defamation because his mother started spreading rumors about him. The judge granted his counterclaim and warned Sam¡¯s mother that if she bothered the court again with a fake lawsuit, she would be thrown in jail.


    Sam also found out that his mother wanted more money from him because she wasn¡¯t housewife material. She had a history of squandering money on frivolous things and just wanted Sam¡¯s salary of $67 ($493.57 USD) a month from the Marines. Sam refused because he knew she had no intention of paying it back. Mitchell described Sam¡¯s mother as the kind of person who asks for money as a loan but never pays it back, spending it instead.


    Mitchell also mentioned that Sam is a Designated Marksman in the Marines and has a computer chip in his head to enhance his accuracy. All his shots never miss because Designated Marksmen in Little Bird with the M85 DMR have a fifteen-round magazine with three more magazines in reserve, so he has to make every shot count. Sam is the kind of guy who has a loving and caring father but a mother who broke his trust.


    Mitchell mentioned that Sam¡¯s family from his mother¡¯s side supported his father during the divorce because they couldn¡¯t stand cheating. Sam¡¯s grandparents disowned their adult daughter, setting clear rules that cheating and adultery are unforgivable.


    Sam often says he should¡¯ve seen the signs earlier, but Mitchell and friends reassure him it¡¯s not his fault. Sam clarified that he wishes he had told his father sooner. Mitchell explained that Sam¡¯s mother, a socialite, asked Sam¡¯s dad to open a caf¨¦ for her to socialize and read books. Sam¡¯s dad refused, explaining that businesses need constant supervision and aren¡¯t like games where you can stop and pick up later. He advised her that running a business requires breaking even and attracting enough customers to stay afloat. Businesses that lose money won¡¯t last long. Just loving coffee and reading isn¡¯t enough to run a successful caf¨¦.


    Sam¡¯s mother told people that Sam¡¯s dad was insecure, toxic, and controlling, but they called her out, saying running a business isn¡¯t a game. If a business doesn¡¯t make enough money to pay bills and employees, people lose their jobs. Catering to only one type of customer and driving away others is bad for business, especially in a small town like Clearlake with a population of 5,500 and the people that Sam¡¯s mother wants to cater to is five people. Most people buy coffee at the store and make it at home, using thermo cups to keep it hot. During lunch, they go to restaurants, and those pressed for time might visit a caf¨¦. But a caf¨¦ that only caters to socialites reading books won¡¯t survive in such a small market.


    Mitchell also shared how his bully had one arm in the cookie jar because his father, the school principal, encouraged his son to fight others. When Mitchell fought back, the bully¡¯s father wanted to expel him. But Mitchell and Twilight¡¯s older sister, Lucy, stepped in. She told the principal that if he expelled Mitchell, she would go to the press, sticking microphones in his face and demanding comments on why the bully always got a free pass while the victim got in trouble. The principal thought Lucy was bluffing, but she challenged him with a tone that clearly said, ¡°You want to risk it?¡± and ¡°You wanna find out?¡±


    Mitchell mentioned that Star wiretapped his bully¡¯s house, and even the bully¡¯s mother and sister said it was wrong. They pointed out the consequences, including Lucy¡¯s threat of going to the media. In a town of 5,500 people, where 98% are parents, they wouldn¡¯t see the school as a safe place if a bully could run around protected by his father, the principal.


    The principal bought into Lucy¡¯s threat because he knew that saying ¡°No Comment¡± to the media wouldn¡¯t work if he got summoned before the Bureau of Education. He would have to answer questions that ¡°No Comment¡± wouldn¡¯t cover, and those questions wouldn¡¯t be pre-selected. He could prepare for fifty different questions but be asked ones he wasn¡¯t ready for. So, he decided to go along with Lucy¡¯s threat and kept his son on a tight leash. Mitchell also said that when people are hauled in front of the government, they automatically waive their constitutional rights and have to answer questions, incriminating or not. The principal knew that if he didn¡¯t comply, his own family¡ªhis wife and daughter¡ªwould throw him under the bus because they were tired of his actions.


    Mitchell also mentioned that his bully is now afraid of him, embodying the saying ¡°The hunter becomes the hunted.¡± Mitchell describes himself as a combat pragmatist, willing to do whatever it takes to win a fight. He¡¯s ambidextrous, meaning he can use both hands equally well. He speculates that his bully doesn¡¯t want to fight anymore because he knows he¡¯ll lose.


    To me, that¡¯s the perfect example of ¡°The hunter becomes the hunted.¡± Bullies who love to fight others for no reason eventually find someone who fights back and gives them a taste of their own medicine.


    Mitchell put the vanilla folders down on the coffee table and talked about how people like his bully, Buck Withers, and his father love power. They think it makes them untouchable, but when confronted with a fight, they¡¯re likely to cut and run.


    Twilight said her brother always plays it smart, looking at all options. If the best play is to silently neutralize all the muscle in covert warfare, that¡¯s what he¡¯ll do. She mentioned that the biggest weapon isn¡¯t worth anything if your enemy can steal it from you. Mitchell is the type to trade blows and make brutal examples out of others if needed. The last place you want to fight Mitchell is in a fistfight because he¡¯s willing to fight and claw to stay alive, doing what nobody else is willing to do. If an enemy is vulnerable from afar, no amount of guards can protect them from a strike they never see coming. If shock and awe is needed, nobody has seen what Mitchell can do, and he¡¯ll call up his friends for assistance if necessary.


    Cadence added that Mitchell can align the most unlikely of allies. Most of his friends are the type who would¡¯ve been enemies under different circumstances.


    Mitchell said his friends Sam, Jack, Gary, Mackenzie, Franklin, Red, Michael, Fleur De Lis, and a few others are the type you can trust and count on in a fight. They¡¯re the kind of friends who are there when you¡¯re down, pulling you up after losing a fight and saying, ¡°I didn¡¯t hear a bell ring,¡± meaning the fight isn¡¯t over until you win.


    Mitchell told me about his friend Mackenzie Rose, and the irony isn¡¯t lost on me. The Little Bird Marine Corps excels in fighting in marshlands, forests/jungles, and specializes in amphibious operations, yet Mackenzie Rose is a naviphobe¡ªa Marine with a phobia of ships.


    Mitchell said most of his friends have extended families who bring them along on family vacations and pay for them, but they can¡¯t do what they want because the ¡°family vote¡± always vetoes their ideas. It¡¯s just a fancy way of saying the rest of the family doesn¡¯t want to do things like tour an art gallery or walk up and down a boardwalk, getting fries and feeding seagulls. When they book their own room and say they¡¯ll drive themselves, their family starts to stutter, saying they¡¯ll voice their grievances. Mitchell¡¯s friends gladly voice their grievances, pointing out that they¡¯re part of the family, but their ideas always get vetoed before they can even finish.


    Mitchell also mentioned how Mackenzie Rose has a niece who tries to pass off babysitting duties to her so she can relive her college years by partying. One year during a family vacation, her niece asked, ¡°Can you watch my kids for a moment?¡± Mackenzie Rose responded, ¡°Hell no, I know what you¡¯re doing. You¡¯re going to say you¡¯ll be gone for a moment, but you¡¯ll be gone for three to seven hours!¡±


    That¡¯s a prime example of what we Watersons would say, ¡°If you can¡¯t handle your kids 24/7, then you shouldn¡¯t have kids.¡± Or, ¡°So Ms. Rose is part of the family, but when it comes to the family vote, what she wants to do automatically gets denied before she can finish saying it? And if it¡¯s what one of you wants to do, it¡¯s A-OK, but if she wants to do something, it¡¯s an automatic no?¡±


    I then asked how Fleur De Lis and Mackenzie Rose look like in which Twilight¡¯s answer caught me off guard seriously.


    "Trust me," Twilight murmured, her own hand still on the ice cold root beer, ¡°They have those big, juicy tits and that round ass of theirs are like a neon sign saying ''breed me.'' that¡¯s them in a nutshell of how their body type is."


    I asked about Fleur De Lis and Mackenzie Rose. Mitchell explained that Fleur De Lis is an LBMC Logistics officer, and logistics is her area of expertise. Like Sam, logistics is her game, and everything has to be signed out. You can¡¯t just walk in and get something; you have to sign for it. This way, if something expensive like a gun goes missing, they know who checked it out. The military has replacement weapons for when grunts need their weapons cleaned and repaired, especially for issues that field stripping can¡¯t fix, like a broken firing pin or a malfunctioning weapon with ammo that cooks off or has a hang fire.


    Mitchell explained that a cook-off means the ammo explodes prematurely due to heat in the surrounding environment, while a hang fire is an unexpected delay between triggering a firearm and the ignition of the propellant. Sometimes, Fleur De Lis has to deny requests because they don¡¯t have the items in stock and have to wait for the next shipment.


    Cadence mentioned she doesn¡¯t mind that Mitchell has female friends because she¡¯s not the type of wife who gets jealous. As a cop, Mitchell has to talk to both men and women, and his partner is a woman. When I asked Mitchell about it, he responded, ¡°I¡¯m not answering that question. I¡¯m a happily married man that isn¡¯t wishing death on myself,¡± meaning he¡¯s happily married and doesn¡¯t look at other women except for their faces.


    I then asked about college. Mitchell said he and Cadence aren¡¯t the college type, while Twilight plans on going to college and acting school.


    Twilight said she¡¯s determined to make a name for herself, not just as an actress, but by making her own way and not living off others. She emphasized that she¡¯s not disabled and won¡¯t live off the government, believing that support should be for those who are actually disabled or retired. Mitchell added that many people don¡¯t rely on government money for retirement. Instead, they put money into a retirement fund or savings account, letting it build up interest. For example, putting in $10 a month with a 4% interest rate over forty years would amount to $23,094.04. By retirement age, people would have paid off their mortgage, and that $23k would go a long way.


    Mitchell explained that many retirees turn hobbies into careers, like knitting or making clay items, and sell them at arts and crafts fairs for extra income. This way, they can use that money for groceries without tapping into their retirement fund. Some people add more money to their savings if they can, while others add less. Many banks offer up to 3% interest, with 4% for their best customers, but it varies.


    Mitchell also pointed out that many people don¡¯t plan for retirement until they¡¯re sixty, which is poor money management. Everyone has to face getting old and not being able to work full-time anymore. In Little Bird, 65 is the prime retirement age, but many people work past that and never get to enjoy retirement. Some retire before 65 to spend time with family before they pass away, believing everyone has a biological clock that¡¯s set in stone.


    Mitchell shared that his friend Jack¡¯s grandfather literally worked himself to death. He retired at 71 and passed away in his sleep just eight hours into his retirement.


    Mitchell also mentioned his buddy Jack Skybolt''s family. He said they''re the worst kind of controlling¡ªalways telling Jack what to do, who to be friends with, and even what kind of woman he should marry. They just can''t stand that Jack''s found his own path to happiness, thanks to friends like Mitchell who taught him that true happiness comes from within, not from others'' expectations.


    Jack''s a Little Bird Marine Machine Gunner and a field agent in the Elite Operations Detachment. He''s married to a Marine Drill Instructor, which his parents initially thought was just a cover for him being in the closet. But nope, Jack''s happily married to a female Marine DI. Now, his family is pressuring him to have kids, but Jack''s more of the "maybe someday, maybe not" type.


    Mitchell also mentioned that Jack and his wife live in a mansion on the outskirts of town, a gift from Jack''s father-in-law. Jack''s family keeps trying to crash there, but he always says no. It''s not Jack they should be worried about, though¡ªit''s his wife. The Little Bird Marines live by "shoot first, ask questions later," and thanks to the castle doctrine, she''s legally protected if she has to defend their home.


    Jack''s family is a big reason why people lose faith in humanity. They believe false accusations without a second thought, even when there''s undeniable proof to the contrary. They accuse others of serious crimes at the drop of a hat, but when they''re exposed in court, they end up on the "False Accuser List." Little Bird keeps this list to warn others about people who make false accusations out of spite.


    Mitchell shared a story about Jack''s cousin accusing him of siphoning money from the family business¡ªa business Jack wasn''t even involved in. The family believed the cousin''s fake bank statements without question. Jack''s response was classic, "Don''t worry, I''ll call the cops to investigate." His cousin''s face went white because embezzlement cases are handled by the Island Patrol or the National Police, who have the resources to dig deep and find the truth. Anyone can print a fake bank statement, but the authorities will uncover the real story.


    I told Mitchell there had to be more to the story. He nodded and said, "Oh, definitely." He went on to explain how one of Jack''s cousins tried to break into their house. It started with a knock on the door. Jack''s wife answered and told him to leave, but he didn''t listen. Instead, he tried to force his way in. She warned him that she had a weapon and wasn''t afraid to use it. Despite the warning, he kept trying to break in. She did the right thing by reporting it, but since their mansion is on the outskirts of town, the local PD couldn''t respond. The Island Patrol had to step in. They brought her in for questioning and reviewed the CCTV footage. The detective saw it was an open-and-shut case of self-defense under the castle doctrine.


    In Little Bird, there are three self-defense laws: "Duty to Retreat," "Stand Your Ground," and "Castle Doctrine." The castle doctrine overrides the duty to retreat, especially when it comes to defending one''s home.


    Mitchell also mentioned that Jack''s family filed several lawsuits against his wife for unlawful death, but they were all thrown out. In criminal court, the jury saw the audio and video evidence showing Jack''s wife politely asking the cousin to leave. When he tried to break in, she warned him she had a firearm and was willing to use it. He ignored her, and the law was on her side. The people in Clearlake and 98% of the Commonwealth of Mountain supported her. Only 1% were against her, and another 1% were undecided.


    Cadence chimed in, adding that Jack''s family harassed him for a while because he sided with his wife over them. Jack needed protection, so he and Starlight stepped in. Mitchell even offered Jack a place to stay with him, Cadence, and their kids, but Jack politely declined. He didn''t want to impose on a family of five with a newborn on the way¡ªthis was back in March 2010, before Cadence and Mitchell''s fourth child, Flurry, was born. Instead, Jack stayed with Starlight on her couch for a while. Jack didn''t feel safe at home, and Starlight didn''t mind having him, nor did Jack''s wife.If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    Jack''s family found other ways to harass him, like throwing rocks at the glass of the building where he worked. They got arrested for vandalism of a Federal Government Building. They even set Jack''s car on fire, leading to charges of arson, vehicular arson, and arson within a government building. They went the extra mile by torching the unmarked sedan Jack and Sam used, resulting in charges of destruction of government property and vehicular arson.


    Yes, Little Bird has different classifications for arson.


    Jack''s parents tried to guilt-trip him with the "You''re tearing the family apart" card, but it didn''t work. Jack knew his family brought this on themselves through their own actions. They should have known that vandalizing a government building, destroying government property, and starting a fire in a government building''s parking garage would have serious consequences, not just a slap on the wrist.


    Twilight mentioned that Jack talked to the town''s prosecutor to have his family''s bail either denied or set so high it would be unaffordable, even if they put everything they had up for collateral. The prosecutor agreed, noting that Jack''s family was a flight risk. Mitchell explained that whenever Jack''s family gets into legal trouble, they post bail and immediately book a train or plane ticket under a false name to lay low. But that never works. Failing to appear in court results in a bench warrant, and law enforcement across Little Bird eventually catches them.


    Cadence finally added that Jack''s family are literal wedding crashers. They crashed Jack''s wedding, and when Mitchell told them to leave, one of them actually hit him. That guy got arrested on the spot. Mitchell''s response was priceless. "I''m a police officer. I have to be on duty 24 hours a day." Cops are expected to intervene in a crime, even if they''re technically off the clock.


    Jack''s family threw a pity party, claiming they paid for everything and had receipts to prove it. Mitchell said he managed to make two arrests in one minute. The receipts they had were poorly done and clearly fraudulent. In a small town of 5,500 people, news of what Jack''s family did spread like wildfire.


    Mitchell mentioned how Jack hates when his family controls the narrative, painting him as the troubled family member while they play the victims seeking sympathy. Jack doesn''t care about their attempts to manipulate the story. He told them to stop calling, stop sending letters, and stop sending flowers and other romantic gestures to lure him back. Mitchell said Jack avoids public outings and the grocery store like the plague because he knows his family would corner him there. He lives a low-profile life to avoid attracting attention.


    Jack''s family even set him up on a date with a woman once. When Jack said he wasn''t interested, she took it as a challenge and kept bothering him with calls, letters, and visits to his house. Mitchell said Jack eventually got a restraining order against her.


    I actually feel sorry for Jack because he comes from such a controlling family. I asked Cadence, Mitchell, and Twilight more about him.


    Mitchell shared that Jack''s parents always favored his younger sister over him. When Jack saved up to buy a BMX bike, his sister threw a fit, and their parents bought her a better bike. In middle school, Jack played baseball as a third baseman, but his parents never showed up for his final games. Yet, if his sister had a minor role in a school play with no lines, they were always there, making excuses for missing Jack''s games. When Jack got straight A''s and made the honor roll, his parents didn''t care, but if his sister got a B+, they threw a party for her.


    It got worse. Jack''s father is a huge football fan, so when Jack made the high school football team, you''d think his dad would be proud. But no, he wasn''t. Jack learned early on that respect is earned, not given, and he couldn''t trust anyone, not even his family. Since he was eleven, Jack understood that those who wanted his respect had to earn it, regardless of family ties.


    Mitchell said what really blew Jack''s lid was how he worked hard for everything he wanted, while his sister got everything handed to her on a silver platter. She was treated like a queen for the smallest achievements, while Jack''s hard work went unnoticed. On his birthdays, Jack wanted his favorite food and cake, but his sister always decided what they ate. His parents claimed they didn''t know his preferences, but the truth was they didn''t care. Jack''s favorite cake is chocolate ice cream cake, and his favorite food is a cheesesteak with egg rolls. His sister''s favorite food is spaghetti stew, and her favorite cake is strawberry sheet cake. Jack loves R&B music, while his sister prefers disco.


    I asked what spaghetti stew is, and Mitchell explained that according to Jack, it''s spaghetti made with stew seasoning. I couldn''t help but say how disgusting that sounds.


    Mitchell continued, explaining how Jack''s parents finally crossed a line by sending him an invoice for his upbringing. They demanded a specific amount within a certain timeframe, threatening to take him to small claims court if he didn''t pay. Jack didn''t take it seriously until he actually got summoned to court. But the judge didn''t let his parents get far. After reviewing the invoice, the judge tore into them, stating that feeding, clothing, and educating their child is what every parent is supposed to do. Jack added that his parents had only done the bare minimum to avoid government intervention.


    The judge threw out the case, making it clear that suing their own son for basic parental responsibilities was absurd. Jack''s parents tried to argue that they could have put him in foster care, but Jack retorted that many of his favorite musicians grew up in the foster care system. He pointed out that many people foster or adopt children and love them as their own, not seeing them as a meal ticket.


    Mitchell also mentioned how Jack''s parents try everything to bring him back into the fold, but Jack isn''t naive. He recognizes the red flags and avoids family reunions and gatherings. When they invite him for Christmas dinner and to stay the night for breakfast, he "politely" declines. They guilt-trip him about being alone for the holidays, but Jack just says he deals with it by watching TV. In reality, Cadence says Jack spends Christmas with them. Their kids, McKinney, Rose, and Platinum, call him "Uncle Jack" because he and Mitchell have been friends for so long that they''re like brothers.


    I asked Mitchell what Jack investigates as an EOD agent. He explained that Jack handles federal crimes, which in a town like Clearlake often means dealing with insurance fraud and theft of medicines. People here sometimes look for quick cash, and insurance fraud is a federal offense after the second offense. Medicine theft is common because the town''s clinic, with its fifteen rooms, lacks security. Thieves often steal prescribed pain pills and medicines for the elderly, young people, cancer patients, and others in need. Doctors usually assume the missing medicines were used but not recorded. Thieves are careful to take small amounts to avoid detection, but when larger quantities go missing, it attracts police or federal agents like Jack.


    I commented that this is why doctors advise taking medicines only as needed and following the directions on the label. Mitchell agreed but pointed out that the clinic operates more like a typical doctor''s office and doesn''t have the budget for extensive security. With only two security guards, they can''t monitor the two doctors and a few nurses effectively. Guards aren''t trained medical staff, so they can''t question doctors or nurses about why they have certain medicines, as they can always claim a patient needs it immediately.


    Mitchell said insurance fraud is rampant in Clearlake because many out-of-towners come in, set up businesses, and bring in outsiders to commit fraud. I was about to suggest that drivers should get dash cams, but Mitchell explained that most of these scams happen near intersections to catch drivers off guard when making turns. Fortunately, these intersections have both traffic and video cameras.


    When Jack interviews the ringleaders, they often have one of two responses: they either claim they want to set a world record for the fastest healing or for serving the most patients. Jack always tells them that cheating to get a world record undermines their point. The real motive is always quick money. Mitchell noted that many people don''t have private insurance but rely on government insurance because it''s cheaper.


    Mitchell also mentioned that Jack doesn''t believe in the "redemption pyramid," where bad people try to clear their karma by seeking forgiveness from those they''ve wronged. Jack''s B.S. meter goes off when people try to come back into his life seeking forgiveness, not realizing that many people don''t forgive easily and want proof of genuine change.


    Mitchell finally admitted that the only time Jack helped his family was when his sister got into serious trouble with the mafia due to her gambling habits. Jack agreed to help, but only on his terms. He demanded that his parents admit how terrible they were to him growing up, acknowledge how they favored his sister while giving him the bare minimum, and give him a public apology for being terrible parents.


    At first, his parents tried to get him to help without meeting his conditions. Jack reminded them of what the mafia does to people who don''t repay their debts. The mafia operates like a bank but is far scarier. If you repay your loans on time, they don''t care. But if you don''t, they send tough guys to remind you, often with threats or violence. The least worrying consequence might be broken fingers, but the mafia will get their money back one way or another.


    I asked what Jack''s parents did next. Mitchell said they initially refused, but once they received a threatening letter in the mail, they realized it was serious. The letter''s font alone made it clear it wasn''t a joke. They asked Jack if he would help if they met two out of his three conditions. Jack agreed, so they admitted how they favored his sister and gave him the bare minimum, and they publicly apologized for being terrible parents.


    I told Mitchell that Jack didn''t need to honor his word. He could have pretended to help, then come back a few days later with a believable excuse. But Mitchell said Jack actually met with the loan shark and arranged for his sister to work off her debt. The money she earned would go directly to the mafia to repay the loan. Jack''s parents and sister hated the deal, but Jack made it clear it was better than the alternative¡ªbeing killed or kidnapped and forced into servitude or being forced as a street walker. Unlike banks, the mafia doesn''t just repossess your car or foreclose on your house; they get their money back by any means necessary.


    Jack''s parents and sister complained it was the worst deal possible, but Jack pointed out that working to repay the debt was better than being kidnapped or killed. When they suggested he could have arrested the loan shark, Jack explained he had no charges to arrest them on. Even if he did, the loan shark would be out within an hour because there wouldn''t be any charges that would stick. Loan sharks don''t leave obvious paper trails, and they hide their records in places law enforcement wouldn''t think to look. Even if the police or EOD did a surprise raid, they need concrete evidence to mobilize a tactical team, which takes time. Mafia loan sharks don''t advertise their operations with neon signs.


    Mitchell finally admitted that Jack''s parents had set up a trust fund for both him and his sister. Jack, being the practical one, took the money out of his trust fund and put every penny into a savings account he calls his "retirement fund." His sister, on the other hand, opened her trust fund on her seventeenth birthday and blew through $11,000 in just two hours. Jack''s fund, which started with the same amount, has now grown to somewhere between $13,873.22 and $14,906.99.


    I remarked that this was the opposite of the stereotype of men spending money recklessly. Mitchell explained that Jack is cautious because "the future is unpredictable." Jack''s family, however, believes they have all the time in the world and can predict what''s around the corner. According to Mitchell, some of Jack''s family members have lost their jobs and don''t have the financial security to pay bills while job hunting. Jack wants a financial safety net in case something happens, especially since he''s home alone 90% of the year while his wife is training Marine recruits. He knows we can''t predict what will happen tomorrow.


    Mitchell also admitted that Jack and Sam are the kind of guys who go above and beyond for others. They understand that you never know who you might be helping¡ªthe guy at the coffee shop or your mailman could be someone you don''t want to mess with. That is how the world needs many people to help others even if they don¡¯t get a benefit out of it.


    Mitchell then shared that Jack would rather marry a strict, devout religious woman than someone his family wants him to date. Jack knows his family would choose someone who would act as a spy, keeping them updated on all his activities. Instead, Jack married a female Marine Drill Instructor who believes that spying and espionage are dishonorable. She feels soldiers should engage in direct combat without resorting to spying. Most of her trainees end up in Recon Companies, but she has no say in their assignments. The Little Bird Military has a department that evaluates each class and assigns roles based on their assessments.


    Jack''s parents want him to have children, but both he and his wife are ambivalent about it. They often say, "Will we have kids? Maybe we will, maybe we won''t." Jack''s parents are hypocritical and traditional, expecting both their children to marry and have large families. However, they pressure Jack to have kids while not wanting their daughter to marry and have children, which is clearly hypocritical.


    Twilight said Jack¡¯s family is seriously messed up. In their family, when someone breaks up, another family member swoops in and starts dating the ex, without caring about the feelings of the person who just went through the breakup. Then, they have the audacity to ask the heartbroken family member to be the maid of honor or best man at the wedding, expecting them to put on a facade of happiness and acceptance, even if they¡¯re still hurting.


    That makes me so glad to be a Waterson. In our family, you can¡¯t date a guy¡¯s or gal¡¯s ex-girlfriend, ex-wife, sister, or half-sister, or a guy¡¯s or girl''s ex-boyfriend, ex-husband, brother, or half-brother without their explicit, crystal-clear Goddamn permission. You never know if they¡¯re okay with it, and it¡¯s important not to rub salt into the wound.


    While us Watersons are no better than anyone else, we live by the saying, "When someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time." In other words, when we see someone''s true colors, we don''t ignore, deny, reframe, or make excuses for what we see. It''s like the saying, "What happens in the dark always comes to light."


    Many Watersons know not to say something hurtful during an argument because you never know if it might be the last thing you say to that person. Some Watersons have said things in anger to their parents, only to lose them in a car accident or something similar, and the regret of those last words haunts them. So, we watch what we say during arguments, knowing it might be the last time we see them.


    But from what Mitchell, Twilight, and Cadence have said about Jack''s family, they''re the type who say things they can''t take back and feel proud of it.


    But while we Watersons don¡¯t usually talk bad about other families, when a family messes up so badly that we do, it shows just how bad it is.


    Mitchell¡¯s stories about Jack¡¯s family highlight that Jack is living proof that no matter how terrible a family can be, there¡¯s always one child who can rise above and become a pillar of the community. Jack¡¯s parents tried to mold him into their image until his eighteenth birthday and still try to this day.


    We Watersons tell new parents in our family, ¡°Children are living proof that no matter how great of a parent you are, one child can and will be a jerk just to be spiteful.¡± Many parents try to guide all their kids until they turn eighteen, but once they do, they often give up, knowing they can¡¯t control them anymore and just relax.


    It¡¯s true that in many families, there¡¯s always one person who loves being spiteful and causing trouble for no reason, blaming others instead of making an effort to be better. When they turn everyone against them, they blame others instead of looking in the mirror. We Watersons aren¡¯t strangers to that either.


    But Jack¡¯s family? They¡¯re the type who gladly blame others for their problems, turn people against them, and then blame those same people for their issues instead of taking responsibility.


    ¡°I guess I found where most of the entitled snobby brats at Arcane University come from,¡± I said. ¡°Many university students are the type who blame others for their problems instead of taking responsibility.¡±


    ______________________


    Clearlake, EOD Building


    I decided to meet Jack David Skybolt in person. He was the opposite of what I imagined. I pictured him as a skinny guy, but he turned out to be slightly muscular, the kind of guy who looks like a jock that girls chase after or should be a male model or a male stripper.


    When he asked how he could help me, I cut straight to the chase. Jack appreciated that, saying I was the first person outside his circle of friends who got straight to the point. He mentioned that most people he knows either beat around the bush or make conversations so long that he wants to shake them until they get to the point.


    I told him I had been talking to Mitchell, Cadence, and Twilight, and they all said he¡¯s a great guy who comes from a terrible family. We went to his cubicle to continue the conversation.


    Jack explained, ¡°My family is the type that, if you let them stay with you after being evicted and losing their job, they will take over and not clean or help out. When they get a job and move out, they¡¯ll trash talk you, saying you didn¡¯t help them, until you finally get fed up and either sue them for defamation or crash their housewarming party to expose their ingratitude.


    "I have family members who started their own businesses because they have business degrees and are overconfident. They don¡¯t have enough savings or capital, but they throw their money into a business without any connections. In some businesses, you need connections to get your name out there. I¡¯ve told them they need money and connections to stay afloat, but they don¡¯t heed my warnings or practical advice. Predictably, they end up going broke. Some even had the nerve to ask me to talk to government officials for connections. Yes, I¡¯m a government agent, but I investigate federal offenses, not talk to congressmen on a daily basis.¡±


    I asked Jack if his family would turn everyone against the person who exposes their ingratitude. He confirmed it, saying it''s a common trait in his family to turn people against you for telling the truth.


    "People prefer a comforting lie over the hard truth," I said.


    "That''s true and always true," Jack replied. He shared a story about a fraud case he worked on where someone faked their death to move in with their mistress. Sam and I  went to inform the wife, who was in denial, insisting her husband wasn''t dead. She was right¡ªthe blood was from a dead pig. They tracked him down and brought him in. Although it wasn''t a federal offense, it was a learning experience for them. Later, the wife visited her husband in the interrogation room, handed him divorce papers, and made him sign them, threatening to expose his affair to the whole town if he didn''t. In Clearlake, a town that values monogamous marriages, this was a big deal.


    Jack also mentioned how his family is similar. For his 10th birthday, he wanted a new bike and dropped hints everywhere. He didn''t get the bike, but his sister did, just two and a half weeks after his birthday. He learned not to ask for anything for his birthday or Christmas. When his parents called him ungrateful for not loving the presents they bought him, the truth was that the gifts were last-minute purchases, not thoughtful ones planned weeks or months in advance.


    Jack also mentioned that if his birthday fell on a school day, his parents would wait until after work to buy him a birthday or Christmas present, often during the holiday rush. But if his sister wanted something, they would get it months in advance, whether it was for her birthday or Christmas.


    Jack shared that even Mitchell and Twilight¡¯s Aunt and Uncle Orange, who don¡¯t particularly like Mitchell, at least swallowed their pride and got him a Christmas gift, even if it was just one thing from his list.


    Jack continued, explaining that when he got a part-time job to save up for college¡ªhe wanted to study criminal studies and forensics¡ªhis sister found out and cried about it. Any good parent would have told her to wait until she was old enough to get a part-time job or given her an allowance. But no, Jack''s parents demanded he give 50% of his paycheck to his sister or quit his job. Jack''s part-time job was at the supermarket, bagging groceries.


    He also said that when he made the honor roll, his parents gave a lukewarm "That''s nice," even if he made the honor roll all four quarters. But if his sister made the honor roll for just one quarter, their parents would throw a lavish party, invite the entire family, get catering, and even hire a live band. Jack added that birthday dinners were another can of worms altogether.


    "I was going to say something, but I''m just going to keep my mouth shut," I said.


    Jack replied, "If you want to criticize and say how messed up my family is, go ahead. If you talked to Mitchell, Cadence, and Twilight, then they already told you how I don¡¯t care if I have kids or not, but I¡¯m leaning towards not having them. My entire family keeps bugging me to have kids with my wife, not respecting our boundaries. But honestly, that¡¯s partly my fault. Once, I mentioned the name ''Melody,'' and my parents thought it was my daughter¡¯s name, and my sister thought it was her niece¡¯s name. But nope, Melody is actually a female friend I had back in school who helped me maintain good grades. My wife and I do plan that if we have a daughter, we would name her Melody."


    I told Jack that it¡¯s his and his wife¡¯s decision, not anyone else¡¯s. I shared how I know some people who get married, and their in-laws insist that their grandchild should be named after a grandparent or great-grandparent, often resulting in names that sound like they¡¯re from the 1700s.


    Jack acknowledged that some of his family members are cunning and smart, giving credit where it¡¯s due. When he and his wife were planning their wedding, they made sure the wedding coordinator, venue, and other details were password protected. One day, Jack got a call from his soon to be wife and the wedding venue about someone claiming to be his wife wanting to add a few names to the guest list. Jack told the venue and coordinator that he would talk to his wife first. After confirming with his fianc¨¦e that she hadn¡¯t made any such call, Jack informed the venue and coordinator that the people wanting to be added were not on his soon-to-be wife¡¯s list, as she had no idea who they were.


    Jack even said how he hates his family because they always tell him to do things "just to keep the peace," which to Jack is a cop-out used by people who don''t really care about your situation or what you''ve been through.


    Jack also mentioned how his parents threatened to cut him out of their will if he didn¡¯t invite them and his sister to his wedding. They said, ¡°We''ll cut you out of the will if you don''t invite us!" Jack''s response was classic. "Oh, you mean I''m still in it? You haven''t had it rewritten so Lily gets everything and all I get is a kick in the ass and a ''better luck next time''?"


    Jack admitted that Lily is so entitled and spoiled that she feels she can get away with anything without consequences. Mitchell and Starlight once arrested her for DUI. When Mitchell gave Lily a field sobriety test, she fell face-first out of the car before he could even start. Her blood alcohol level was 4.5, way over the Commonwealth of Mountain¡¯s legal limit of 0.8, so she was arrested. Jack said his parents bailed her out, and Mitchell issued an ¡°I-Bond,¡± meaning Lily couldn''t be in a vehicle without a designated driver or a cab. If she drove before her court date, she would be rearrested, her I-Bond revoked, and her bond revoked, meaning she would sit in jail until court. If she drove without a designated driver, it would be upgraded to a felony.


    According to Starlight, when Mitchell explained the I-Bond to Jack''s parents, they seemed to understand but didn''t really care. Mitchell told Starlight he gave it one business week before Lily was back in jail, while Starlight gave it half a month. They were both wrong. Jack said it took only an hour before Lily was arrested for DUI in the town of Cozy. When they ran her name, they found out she had an I-Bond, so it was now a felony. In violation of the I-Bond, she had to sit in jail until court. When Jack¡¯s parents got a lawyer to try to get her a bond, the court took into account that she broke the I-Bond within an hour and saw her as a flight risk, denying her bond.


    Jack said his sister took a plea deal with the DA, agreeing to plead guilty in exchange for eighteen months instead of five years. She took the deal because she preferred eighteen months over sitting in jail until her trial and potentially getting five years or more from a jury.


    Jack admitted that his sister, instead of serving the full eighteen months, only served fourteen months and got out on good behavior. I was about to say something when Jack pulled up Lily¡¯s criminal record on his computer. It showed that Lily Skybolt was sentenced to eighteen months on February 4th, 2009, at the age of eighteen, but was released on April 7th, 2010¡ªexactly fourteen months later. Jack explained that getting out on good behavior is different from parole. With parole, you still have to report to someone and follow their rules, and breaking one can get you thrown back in prison. Good behavior, on the other hand, reduces your sentence time.


    Jack also mentioned that his sister was in a minimum-security co-ed prison. These prisons house inmates with felonies but shorter sentences, usually a couple of years, and the inmates are less likely to cause trouble because they have something to lose¡ªtime. Many would rather serve two years than ten.


    I asked Jack what a co-ed prison is. He explained that it¡¯s a prison with both men and women, but in Little Bird, the entrances to both sides are heavily secured for obvious reasons.


    I was going to ask how Jack has access to this information, but as a federal agent, he likely has some level of access for case-related information. The level of access varies, but he probably has a classification of confidential or something similar, which isn¡¯t public knowledge.


    I got information straight from the source, and Jack shared more about how messed up his family is. He mentioned that some family members aren''t biologically related but married into the family. During divorces or property disputes, both sides use mind games to break the other. However, the courts in Little Bird don''t entertain these games. They require evidence to back up any allegations, not just he said-she said. Courts here don''t rely heavily on witnesses because many are bribed to make one party look good and the other bad. When bribed witnesses are exposed, their credibility is shattered. Lying in court is a misdemeanor in Little Bird, and not many people are willing to risk it because any lawyer can poke holes in inconsistent stories.


    Jack said that politicians are the only ones who can lie and get away with it. He told his parents he''s willing to end his side of the family bloodline because he doesn''t care about having kids. When his parents said Lily would have kids to give them grandkids, Jack told them Lily isn''t marriage material and is more inclined to be a gold digger and if she does have kids she most likely does not even know who the father is.


    Jack also mentioned that he''s the only one in his family who supports the women who marry into it. Often, when these women are pregnant, their husbands demand they pay rent while not working, then kick them out. When the baby is born, the husbands want them to come back so they can meet the baby. Jack advises these women to document everything and either get a divorce or separation and seek full custody. As a federal cop, Jack works with lawyers and district attorneys who won''t prosecute a case without concrete evidence. Circumstantial evidence can be easily torn apart by any lawyer, even one fresh out of law school. Many DAs in Little Bird won''t accept a case without solid evidence because they don''t want to ruin families just to improve their win-loss ratio.


    Jack admitted that his family accuses him of tearing the family apart and overreacting. He just wants the women to have a thorough paper trail in case they need to take his male family members to court, giving them a leg up if it goes to trial.


    Jack admitted that his job involves a lot of paperwork. He has to write reports when he''s right, when he''s wrong, when he''s unsure, and even reports on those reports. He joked that he feels like he''s going to fill a library with all the paperwork. His job is 50% writing, 40% investigating, and 10% talking to others.


    Jack shared a story about one of his cousins who expected him to help out when she got married, pulling the "It''s time to step up to help the family" card. He pointed out how they never cared for him but remembered his existence when they needed money or help. Jack also mentioned a crime he partially investigated that involved a family member. He asked his boss to pass the case to another pair of federal agents due to the conflict of interest. His family tried to guilt him into retaking the case with typical gaslighting tactics like "But we''re your family" and "You owe us for everything we''ve done for you." Jack wasn''t moved by it and reminded them how his parents kicked him out at seventeen. Sam''s father let Jack stay with them until he and Sam graduated high school and joined the Marines. They used their military money and savings from part-time jobs for down payments on their properties. Jack''s father-in-law gifted him and his wife the mansion they live in now, so Jack put his savings into his account. Sam used his money for a down payment on his house.


    before heading back to the city of Empire. They thanked me for stopping by.


    Clearlake is one of those towns that feels like a step back in time. Picture this: folks waving and saying "howdy" from their front porches every morning. It''s the kind of place where everyone knows everyone else''s business. If you''re the type who thinks cheating in a relationship is fun or you go through partners faster than a sick person goes through tissues, trust me, everyone will know.


    Sundays are a big deal in Clearlake. After mass, the whole town heads to the church for a potluck. These potlucks are open to everyone, even if you''re not religious. They have raffles and use the funds to support town services. For example, they might raise money for the fire department to replace old wooden lockers or buy new gear. The town''s budget is tight, only enough to pay the three Captains, one Lieutenant, and twenty-four firefighters, plus some maintenance. Anything extra has to come from fundraisers or the potluck funds.


    Mitchell told me that nothing can make life hell like getting a whole group of religious folks mad. Back in October 2003, the middle school got involved in a public-private venture with the federal government. They decided that only NAPP (Nutritionally Approved Program Products) would be served to students and staff. No outside food was allowed, and anything brought in was thrown out.


    Mitchell summed it up perfectly; "Just one phone call from a religious woman rallied the entire religious community of Clearlake and nationwide. They were furious that the school was feeding their kids something they hadn''t approved, violating their parental rights and religious views. Instead of fighting amongst themselves, people of different religious backgrounds united under a common cause."


    Mitchell even mentioned that Clearlake is one of the few towns used by the military for training. It''s unexpected because one minute it''s calm, and the next, there are troop transport helicopters with soldiers fast-roping down. The town has a military base, and not every base on Little Bird has decoy urban settings for training.


    Clearlake''s heart is its park, where people can have picnics, go fishing, or take a stroll and maybe meet someone new. There''s also a local cinema, a gym, restaurants, shops, pools, and other recreational facilities.


    The town is a unique blend of modern and futuristic building ideas mixed with nostalgic architecture and design rooted in the American suburbs of the 1950s.


    Cadence said Clearlake is the kind of town where if you''re not a good person, everyone will know. She shared a story about a couple who were supposed to get married. The bride''s mother promised to cover all the expenses, but she gambled away all the money. When the couple called the vendors, they found out that no deposits had been made and nothing was paid for.


    After some digging, the couple discovered that the bills were past due and the bank was about to foreclose on the house. The bride''s mother skipped town without facing the consequences of her actions. Word spread quickly around Clearlake, and people had nothing but contempt for what she had done.


    Mitchell even said that when NAPP had them eat paste and other food that was so terrible that military discontinued MREs taste a lot better and here in Little Bird that when an MRE is discontinued it¡¯s because taste has a huge factor in it.


    Cadence shared how she once went to the town church with Mitchell and Twilight to see if it was a good fit for her. That day, the sermon was about the importance of forgiving but not forgetting. Another key lesson was to be wary of newspapers, as they often alter the truth to sell more copies. The pastor explained that "bad news sells" and how newspapers can vilify someone for a minor mistake. He emphasized that everyone is fighting their own battles, which others know nothing about. Many people, including journalists, capitalize on this by using sensational headlines over factual news to capture attention.


    To Cadence, this showed that the church in Clearlake teaches respect for others. It encourages people not to judge others until they''ve walked a mile in their shoes, recognizing that everyone has their own struggles.


    Mitchell mentioned that folks in Clearlake mainly read the newspaper for a few specific reasons:


    <ul>


    <ul>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Check Weekly Events: They look for local happenings like chess tournaments, eating contests, and more.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Community News: The paper shares updates on families moving in or out, births, deaths, and details about upcoming festivals, fairs, or carnivals.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Find Discount Classes: People can find information on classes that offer discounts.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Clip Coupons: The newspaper includes coupons for local shops, available for a limited time.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Hotspots: It highlights popular spots around town.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Adoptions: Residents can check for neighborhood adoptions or adopt a pet from the shelter.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Weather Forecast: Although the forecast is less accurate than TV, it¡¯s still a go-to for many. The newspaper is published on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, so weather updates are only available on those days, whereas TV news provides updates every 45 minutes.</li>


    </ul>


    </ul>


    <ul>


    <li>Sports: People here love sports and if they miss a sport on radio or tv then reading about it is the next best thing. And are the type who are glad of instant replays during sports. </li>


    </ul>


    Mitchell¡¯s insights paint a picture of a town that values community and staying informed about local events and opportunities.


    Mitchell mentioned that his half-twin sister, Cadenza, prefers reading supermarket tabloids. She believes they offer "the best investigative reporting in the world." According to Cadenza, local newspapers might get lucky sometimes, but tabloids dig deeper.


    Twilight explained that Cadenza''s point is about how mainstream media often avoids certain stories for various reasons. Independent media outlets, on the other hand, are more likely to cover these stories. When mainstream media does pick up such stories, it''s often because someone in charge is too busy to notice and accidentally approves a story they normally wouldn''t.


    I decided to head back home to the City of Empire. But when I got back to the City of Empire I decided to check in on Alex and Jake and so I texted Martha that they¡¯re fine in which she texted back saying that she¡¯s glad but to tell them to call her once every other week so I did and they both agreed that they would so they wouldn¡¯t have their older step sister come and pay them a visit even though Alex was as himself of studying while Jake was sleeping in and missed some classes.


    Jack also shared that Sam''s family is a bit crazy. Sam and his wife Hailey have a daughter, and Sam''s mother and stepfather demanded that they give their daughter to them, claiming Sam and Hailey neglected her because they both work in law enforcement. When they threatened legal action, Sam and Hailey told them they''d see them in court. The family court judge ruled that their daughter was in a loving environment with a full-time sitter and was well taken care of. Sam''s mother did this because she''s very traditional and believes Hailey should quit her job to be a housewife, even though the case was dismissed.


    Jack told me about a time he warned a family member that their new wife had a history of scamming people. Predictably, his warnings went unheard. When that family member got scammed, lost every penny, and went into debt, they showed up at Jack¡¯s door or cubicle begging for help. Their new wife had plunged them into substantial debt, and the bank seized their home for repayment. Jack didn¡¯t offer much help¡ªjust a business card or the number of a federal agent specializing in fraud cases. He told them that¡¯s as far as he was willing to go and added, ¡°If you want to get out of the hole you dug yourself into, you¡¯ve got to put down the shovel first.¡±


    Jack admitted that his parents have tried to arrange marriages for him multiple times, but he never showed up. As a federal agent, Jack can do background checks on the women his family wants him to marry. His parents try to arrange these marriages for business connections and to have a daughter-in-law who would spy on him and report back to them. Jack often thinks about moving to another town or city, but he refuses to let them win. He believes that staying in Clearlake and ignoring them is his way of winning the battles. Moving away would feel like giving in to them, so he prefers to pretend they don¡¯t exist.


    Some of his family members use his career as a federal agent as a bargaining chip, thinking he has connections to people in the government. They don¡¯t realize that his job involves investigating serious crimes like mail fraud, aircraft hijacking, carjacking, kidnapping, lynching, bank robbery, credit card fraud, identity theft, computer crimes, federal hate crimes, animal cruelty, obscenity, tax evasion, counterfeiting, violations of the Espionage Act, illegal wiretapping, art theft from museums, damaging or destroying mailboxes, electoral fraud, immigration offenses, and assassination attempts on the President or Vice President. They mistakenly believe his job involves socializing with politicians and other important figures, but he only interacts with them if they are victims of crimes, which is rare. Most of the crimes he and Sam investigate are white-collar crimes.


    Jack¡¯s family wants him to use his career for business opportunities to make more money, but he distances himself from them as much as possible. He even says his entire family is ¡°coo coo.¡±


    Sam then came to get Jack for an investigation, so I left, not wanting to stay inside a government building longer than necessary. I decided to visit Mitchell, his wife, and his sister