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—shoplifters, 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—8 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—too 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—slow 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—that's my girlfriend's nickname—remembers 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—if 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—just 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—those who served in Vietnam, Panama, or Iraq—avoid 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—jeans, 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 – 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—there'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.

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

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—that’s her real name, not a codename—did 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—questions 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—quiet 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:

* 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.

* 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.

* 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.

* 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.

* 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.

* 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.

* 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.

* 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.

* 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.

* 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.

* 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.

It’s been a busy day, but nothing too serious—just 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—arrogant 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—nine 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—a 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—Clearlake 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—it 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—they 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:

* 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.

* M1918A2 B.A.R: Complete with a bipod and muzzle brake. This one had history—it was used by Mitchell’s grandfather, my great-grandfather, in World War II and the Korean War.

* Military Semiautomatic Combat Shotgun: Equipped with a box magazine holding twelve 12-gauge shells.

* X16 Rifle: Based on the M16A1 but with the reliability of an AK47.

* Bolt-Action Hunting Rifle: Classic and reliable.

* Scoped Bolt-Action Hunting Rifle: For those long-range shots.

* .22 Rifle: A versatile and handy firearm.

* Several Handguns: Chambered in both .45 and 9x19 rounds.

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—a 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—printing 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—either 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—plausible 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—like 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—it 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—hard 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—we'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:

1. 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.

2. 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.

3. 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.

4. 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.

5. 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.

6. 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.

7. 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.

8. 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.

9. 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.

10. 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.

But what I wasn’t expecting to see was:

1. 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

2. 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.

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 – 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:

1. 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.

2. 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.

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 – 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—the 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—the 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—where 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—either 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—that'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—ammo and first aid supplies—until 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—having 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."