Seven hours later, I groggily rolled out of bed and glanced at my phone. 10:05 AM. Great, just six and a half hours of sleep. My cousins had to swoop in and save my bacon again, this time from a fake police escort. Talk about a close call!

Instead of crawling back under the covers, I decided to seize the day. My mom wasn't back yet, but honestly, that was the least of my worries. We've been at odds since day one, so her absence was almost a relief.

I threw on my usual tomboy gear—jeans, a t-shirt, and my trusty sneakers—and headed out. The world was waiting, and I was ready to face whatever came my way.

I brewed a small pot of coffee and savored a cup before heading out for my morning run—my usual routine when I'm not working. The fresh air and the rhythm of my feet hitting the pavement always help clear my mind.

As I jogged through the familiar streets, I unexpectedly bumped into an old classmate from Arcane University.

"Mac, is that you?" he called out.

I muttered under my breath, "I swear, the next person who calls me Mac is getting a knuckle sandwich."

I can't stand being called Mac. I much prefer my nickname Macaroni or my birth name Mackenzie. Mac, Mac and Cheesy, Kenzie, Ken, Enzi, Mackie, Kenzie-Pie, MacKitty, K-Mac and Cheese—ugh, the list goes on. But Mac? That's where I draw the line.

Even my dad calls me Macaroni because he knows I'm comfortable with it. I don't mind if someone calls me Mackenzie or Macaroni, but those other nicknames? No, thank you.

"Hey there, John," I greeted him with a smile.

"So, Mac, what have you been up to?" John asked.

I sighed internally but kept my tone light. "Actually, I did an enlistment in the Navy, completed a deployment, and now I'm in the US Navy Reserves. But my main gig? I'm a firefighter."

John looked surprised. "I thought you'd end up in writing or poetry, given your degree in Ancient Greek and Medieval European poetry and philosophy."

I chuckled. "Nope, I joined the fire department. You see, people coming out of the military usually have three paths: A. Join a career with a paramilitary structure like law enforcement or the fire department, B. Get a blue-collar or white-collar job, like a typical 9-to-5, or C. Turn to crime. I chose A because I wanted a career with a paramilitary structure that's also physically demanding."

John nodded, seemingly impressed. "Well, that's quite a journey, Macaroni."

I smiled, appreciating the use of my preferred nickname. "Yeah, it's been a wild ride, but I wouldn't have it any other way."

"Anything else that happened to you, Macaroni?" John asked, curiosity evident in his voice.

I took a deep breath before replying, "Well, my mom is staying with me while she's going through rehab. It's been... challenging, to say the least. And get this—I had a masked assailant break into my apartment, but thankfully, one of my cousins came to the rescue."

John's eyes widened. "Wow, that's intense."

"Yeah, and if that wasn't enough, for the past 24 hours, I've been dealing with people dressed up as cops who aren't actually cops. Their badge numbers are too short, they're wearing vests over their uniforms, and sporting fancy watches that no real cop could afford—not even the corrupt ones."

John shook his head in disbelief. "Sounds like you've had quite the adventure, Macaroni."

I nodded, a wry smile on my face. "You could say that. Life's never dull, that's for sure."

John looked concerned. "Do you need a place to stay to stay safe?"

I shook my head. "Nah, I'm good. I'm going to talk to my landlord about reinforcing my door for extra security. Honestly, I have no idea how the masked assailant got into my apartment—there was no sign of forced entry."

John reached into his business coat pocket and handed me a business card. "My mom runs a place for people who feel threatened or unsafe in their own homes. They take in anyone, regardless of gender. If you ever feel like you don't feel safe at home, give my mom a call. She'll get you a room until you feel secure. You don't have to take it, but it's there if you need it."

I took the card, appreciating the gesture. "Thanks, John. I'll keep it in mind. It's good to know there's a backup plan if things get too crazy."

He nodded, giving me a reassuring smile. "Stay safe, Macaroni."

I smiled back. "You too, John. Thanks again."

We went our separate ways, and I tucked the business card into my pocket for safekeeping. Feeling a bit peckish, I headed to a street vendor and grabbed an Italian sausage on a hot dog bun with sauerkraut. That's one of the things I love about Little Bird and the city of Empire—everyone has unique tastes. I've even seen people put macaroni and cheese on a hot dog! But hey, who am I to judge? When I was younger, and even now, I still put syrup on my bacon, sausage, and scrambled eggs. To each their own, right?

I also got a soda to wash it all down. Just as I finished my brunch, things took a turn. I ended up in a scuffle with someone. It was self-defense on my part, but that didn't stop someone from calling the cops. Before I knew it, my attacker and I were both taken down to the 10th Precinct.

Life in Empire is never boring, that's for sure!

________________________________________

At the tenth precinct, I was asked if I wanted to file a police report on the assault. Before the officer could even finish his question, I firmly stated that I wanted to press charges. I wasn't about to let my attacker get away with it.

After filing the report, I was led out to the lobby. That's when I saw my attacker being released. His lawyer had shown up in record time, and the way the Precinct Captain and the lawyer were chatting, it was clear they were old pals—probably poker buddies or something. It felt like a favor was being called in.

"What's going on?" I demanded.

The officer informed me that my attacker was being released.

"And this is why everyone finds the justice system a joke," I said, frustration boiling over. "The victims are the ones who need the justice system, but it's the perpetrators who always seem to get off scot-free. Meanwhile, innocent people or those who commit minor misdemeanors end up with felony charges because they can't afford a good lawyer. The prosecution steamrolls them, while the rich or knows an influential walk out like nothing happened."

I left the precinct feeling disillusioned but determined. If the system wouldn't protect me, I'd find a way to protect myself.

I remember the stories my girlfriend, Lusty, used to tell me about the injustices in her old district. One time, a convenience store got robbed, and the fire department was the first to arrive on the scene. It took a patrol car two hours to respond, and another two years for the robbery detectives to investigate the crime. In the end, they had to close the case due to a lack of cooperative witnesses and the store owner's inability to recall the details of the robbery because the victim suffered brain damage.

Lusty also mentioned how she was interviewed by the detectives, but her parents had to be present. In Little Bird, it's a law that a minor cannot be interviewed by law enforcement, detectives, prosecutors, or lawyers without a parent, guardian, or family lawyer present. This is to prevent detectives from using complex language that a child might not understand, potentially leading them to say things they didn't mean or were persuaded to say.

Lusty always says, "The only government system that people believe in is the fire department." She elaborated, "The only organization you cannot do without is the fire department. You can do without the police and bring in the military to control traffic and such. But you can't bring in outside fire companies to small towns outside of Empire because there aren't enough of them." People in Eastside often say, "When you call the fire department or pull the box, you're going to get help, regardless of the time of day. We might not get any sympathy, but we know they'll respond."

Lusty also points out that in Eastside, Westside, and Anderson, the fire department responds to any emergency, including tenant-landlord disputes and other situations that typically fall under police jurisdiction.

I headed over to my girlfriend's apartment, and her daughter Lily let me in.

"Is your mother home?" I asked.

Lily nodded. "Yes."

"So, how's sixth grade going so far?" I inquired.

Lily shrugged. "It's going fine. I failed my math test, though."

I gave her a reassuring smile. "It's alright. Math isn't everybody's cup of tea. But the math you're learning now will help you in the real world."

Lily looked curious. "How so?"

"Let's say you ask me for a dollar, but I give you five bucks because I don't have a dollar," I explained. "How much money do you give back to me?"

Lily thought for a moment. "Four bucks."

"Exactly, Lily," I said, pleased. "See? You're already using math in practical ways."

Lily smiled, feeling a bit more confident. "Thanks."

"Where's your mother?" I asked.

"She's in the kitchen, making us grilled cheese," Lily replied.

As I walked into the living room, I saw Lusty's other daughters—Rose, Margaret, Mabel, Bella, Chloe, and Charlotte—busy with their activities. Rose was diligently working on her homework, while Margaret, Mabel, Bella, Chloe, and Charlotte were engrossed in a board game. Lily had returned to the kitchen table to continue her homework.

"Hey there, Lusty," I greeted her as I entered the kitchen.

"Afternoon, Macaroni. How are you?" Lusty replied, flipping another slice of cheese sandwich in the pan to make grilled cheese.

"Fine. Just came back from the Tenth," I said, leaning against the counter.

"Why?" she asked, her brow furrowing with concern.

"After my morning run, I grabbed a hot dog and soda for brunch. But right after I finished, some guy assaulted me. I filed a police report, but the guy walked free because of who he is," I explained, frustration evident in my voice.

Lusty sighed, shaking her head. "That's just ridiculous. I'm glad you're okay, though."

"Yeah, me too," I said, appreciating her concern. "It's been a day, that's for sure."

Lusty replied, "Have you thought about talking to Dave about it?"

"Dad?" Lily chimed in, looking up from her homework.

I sighed. "I thought about it, but I'm not in the mood to escalate things. Yeah, I could ask Dave, and he could probably have the guy thrown in jail where his influence or money can't get him out so easily. But I'm just not up for taking it to that level right now."

Lusty nodded, understanding. "Lily, all of you will be going to be with Dad next weekend."

Lily's face lit up. "Really? That's great!"

I smiled at her excitement. "Yeah, it'll be good for you all to spend some time with him."

Lusty replied, "Lily, you and your sisters spend every other weekend with your father. That's the custody agreement we made before any of you were brought into the world. I have custody, but every other weekend from Friday night to Sunday night, you all stay with your dad."

"I know, Mom, but I like spending time with Dad, Linda, and their kids," Lily said. "I still wish we could've gone to that festival earlier this year."

I smiled at Lily. "You didn't miss much, Lily. It was pretty boring. I just went for the food and beverages. That's the main reason adults go to festivals and carnivals—the food and maybe the games. We bring kids so they can run off to ride the rides or play the games, even though those games are usually rigged."

Lily giggled. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

"No, seriously, those games are rigged," I said, recalling a frustrating memory. "Once, I hit a target dead-on, but it didn't fall down. If it wasn't for my dad, I would've jumped over that counter and put the game guy in an intensive care unit. He calmed me down with a funnel cake topped with powdered sugar."

Rose looked up from her homework. "Hey, Mom, can you help me with my history assignment? I'm doing the history of entertainment. Where did funnel cake come from?"

"No need, Lusty, I got this," I said, stepping in. "Rose funnel cakes have an interesting history. The concept dates back to the early medieval Persian and Arab world as zalabieh, where similar yeast-risen dishes were first prepared. This idea spread to Europe, and Pennsylvania Dutch immigrants brought the yeast dish, known as drechderkuche, to America. Around 1879, they developed the baking powder version and gave it the name 'funnel cake.' Pennsylvanian Germans call it 'Drechderkuche.' In the U.S., funnel cakes were originally associated with Pennsylvania Dutch Country. It's one of the first North American fried foods, linked to the Pennsylvania Dutch, German immigrants who came to Pennsylvania in the 17th and 18th centuries. Today, it's a staple at amusement parks and fairs all over the country. The name 'funnel' comes from the technique used to make the cakes, where the pancake-like batter is poured into hot oil through a funnel."

Rose diligently wrote that down. "How do you know all that, Macaroni?" she asked, impressed.

I smiled. "Knowledge is power. And those politicians and bureaucrats are afraid of knowledgeable people because they can expose the flaws in the system."

I went over to Rose and noticed she was struggling with her math homework.

"Oh, multiplication," I said, understanding her frustration. "I can see why you're having trouble."

Lily chimed in, "First it was addition, then subtraction, and now multiplication."

"And finally, division afterwards," I added with a smile. "Multiplication can be tricky. Here's an easy way to think about it: If I have four bags, and each bag has three marbles, how many marbles do I have in total?"

Lily didn't answer right away. Instead, she used her fingers to count by threes, writing down 3, 6, 9, 12 on her paper. She looked up and confidently said, "Twelve."

"That's right, Lily!" I said, proud of her effort. "See, you're getting the hang of it."

"Four times three is twelve," I said. "But what separates us is that when I was in school, we had to use calculators to get our answers. You all have to use your brainpower to figure it out. I guess those teachers were right when they said we wouldn't have a calculator with us all the time. Well, I do because of my smartphone, but you and everyone else in Little Bird have to think about it and work it out on paper."

Lily sighed. "I don't like my math teacher."

I chuckled. "Nobody does."

Lusty chimed in, "I liked mine. He was a pretty relaxed guy. It was my third-grade teacher I hated. I remember we had to do a report on what we wanted to be when we grew up. I said I wanted to be a musician or a firefighter, but Ms. Johnson just said, 'You're going to be laying on your back collecting welfare checks.' She was a real nuisance. Never supportive and always hostile, not caring that her students were only in the third grade. She treated us like we had crashed the family car into a tree!"

I shook my head. "That's awful, Lusty. Teachers like that can really impact a kid's confidence."

Lusty nodded. "Yeah, but it made me more determined to prove her wrong."

Lusty went to the cabinet and pulled out seven ceramic plates in blue, white, and red, along with a single yellow one.

"Alright, girls, it's lunch!" Lusty announced, placing two grilled cheese sandwiches and a small scoop of tomato soup on each plate.

I took Lily's notebook and flipped to the back. When she returned, I handed it to her.

"Here, Lily, I made you a cheat sheet of sorts," I said, showing her the multiplication chart. "It goes from 1x1 to 12x12, so you can always look up the answer if you're stumped. But remember, not during a test. Think of it as a helper. And whatever you do, don't cheat. Cheaters never prosper and always get caught in the end. I knew people back in Alabama who cheated on a test and had to repeat the grade all over again."

Lusty nodded in agreement. "In the long run, it's better to do things the right way. Cheaters always get caught one way or another."

Lily looked at the chart and smiled. "Thanks, Macaroni. I'll use it to help me study."

Lusty and I went to her bedroom to talk privately.

"So, are you sure you don't want Dave's help?" Lusty asked, concern evident in her voice.

I nodded. "I'm sure. I can fight my own battles, and asking Dave or any family member for assistance is a last resort for me. If I did ask Dave for help, what the guy did to me would be nothing compared to what Dave would do."

Lusty sighed. "Just saying, asking family for help never hurts. When I was in a medically induced coma, a doctor was going to euthanize me because I didn't have any immediate family around. The people of Eastside saw me as family, but they couldn't do anything. Luckily, they found an uncle I never knew I had because my mom didn't want him around me."

I looked at her, feeling a mix of gratitude and sadness. "I'm glad they found him, Lusty. Sometimes, family isn't just about blood—it's about the people who care about you."

She smiled softly. "Exactly. Just remember, you don't have to go through everything alone."

"But do you think one of your family members can help out in different ways?" Lusty suggested. "Like put enough pressure on the police department to get your attacker?"

I sighed. "Like what? Have one of my high-ranking family members tell the police commissioner, 'A guy who attacked a vital government agent gets to walk free because the Precinct Captain and his lawyer are poker buddies or close enough?' Yeah, I could, but since I'm not a vital government agent, what would they say?"

Lusty looked thoughtful. "I get it, but sometimes it's not about the title. It's about the influence and the connections. Maybe they could at least get the police to take your case more seriously."

I nodded, considering her point. "You might be right. I'll think about it. It's just frustrating to see justice slip through the cracks like this."

Lusty placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "Whatever you decide, just know you have support. We're all here for you."

As I was deep in thought, Lusty broke the silence. "Remember when Linda, Dave's wife, was facing legal troubles because of that arrogant jerk? Do you know how Dave got the guy to back off?"

I shook my head. "How?"

"Dave argued that if Linda went to prison and a terrorist attack happened in Empire during that time, it would be the arrogant guy's fault. That got him to back off and drop the case," Lusty explained.

I raised an eyebrow. "And he fell for it?"

Lusty nodded. "When his lawyer asked for more information, Dave told the judge that the details were above top secret. He said if they found out, the judge, the arrogant guy, and his lawyer would become 'un-persons'—every trace of their existence erased and they would be lined up executed by firing squad or electric chair because of how secret the information was. It was a matter of national security, the kind that, if leaked, would lead to charges of treason, which is a capital punishment."

I couldn't help but be impressed. "Wow, that's intense. Dave really knows how to play hardball."

Lusty smiled. "Yeah, he does. Just remember, sometimes you have to use the tools and connections you have to protect yourself and those you care about."

"And if I went to Dave about it, what do you think he would do?" I asked, genuinely curious.

Lusty thought for a moment. "Well, you do have several cousins who are high-ranking officers in the military. If they find out, I'm sure they'll talk to the War Department. Imagine if the son of a CEO or COO of a corporation that supplies the military with its gear attacked someone. What do you think the War Department would do? They wouldn't want to do business with a company whose higher-ups' offspring think it's okay to attack others for no reason. Yeah the military may kill people but at the same time they only do so when told too and we have a Professional Conscripted Army not thugs for hire. The military would cancel their contract and find another corporation to make their equipment."

I raised an eyebrow. "How do you know the guy who hit me is related to a higher-up in a defense contractor?"

Lusty smiled knowingly. "Macaroni, in Little Bird, the rich and influential usually fall into a few categories: movie stars, celebrities, vehicle manufacturers, arms manufacturers, or defense contractors. If it was a celeb or movie star, they or their agent would have contacted you by now to apologize and try to settle out of court before the case goes to court. Vehicle or weapons manufacturers know how bad press can ruin a business. Defense contractors, on the other hand, don't care until the military pulls the contract from under their feet. I've seen celebrities and movie stars give heartfelt apologies, even offering to buy a new car for the person or their family as an apology for their or their child's actions. They know the power of word of mouth, and if one person says they're going to boycott a celebrity, it spreads like wildfire."

I nodded, taking it all in. "That's a good point. Maybe I should consider reaching out to Dave after all."

Lusty placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "Just remember, you have options and support. You're not alone in this."

"At least we're not back in America, where Corporate America ruins everything, and social media is a breeding ground for people doing stupid things for clout," I said. "Someone back in America would probably ruin a wedding just to get their fifteen minutes of fame. Corporations lobby politicians in Washington D.C. for this or that, essentially bribing them."

Lusty looked at me with a knowing smile. "Macaroni, are we in the United States?"

"No," I replied.

"Are we in a country with corrupt politicians?" she asked.

"No," I said again.

"What do you think happened to the last politician here on Little Bird who got bribed?" Lusty continued.

"Had to deal with the Anti-Corruption Team," I answered.

"Exactly," Lusty said. "You're in a country without corrupt politicians or corporations running the show through lobbying. Here, we have systems in place to keep things fair and just."

I replied, "So if I find out who the guy is, and if he's rich or influential—or heaven forbid, both—and his parents used their money or influence to get him released, making the EPD kick him to the curb like nothing happened..."

"You're getting it, Macaroni," Lusty said. "Then you can call the Anti-Corruption Team, and they'll put the Police Department under a microscope. They'll find something—they always do. What do you think the Police Department will do?"

"Try to save face and act like favoritism didn't happen so the ACT can go away," I said, using the initials for the Anti-Corruption Team.

"Exactly," Lusty nodded. "The last time the Empire Police Department was investigated by the ACT, they arrested a Police Captain on bribery charges because he had a lot more income than a Police Captain should. He didn't say anything until he was on trial, and then he spilled the beans about working with his brother as a contractor and landscaper on the side."

I shook my head. "I'm sure he wishes he had come forward with that information and added it to his tax forms. It would have saved him from going through all that with the ACT and the entire city believing he was corrupt."

Lusty replied, "Yeah, well, go and talk to Dave or another cousin who can find information like dialing up 411 or an operator when you need a phone number for a place."

"Yeah, I have cousins who can find information out quickly," I said. "But to change the subject, you know what I don't like about works of fiction? It's when they try to make characters relatable."

Lusty nodded. "Yeah, I know what you mean. While you were away, there was a short-lived show about a group of recent college grads who got degrees but couldn't find jobs in their fields. They had to take modest, hard-working jobs earning minimum wage while living in a penthouse way outside their price range. Out of the five characters, two were burger flippers, one was a mascot holding a sign outside a building, and the other two worked part-time in a bar. They were earning about $250 a month, but the penthouse looked like it should be $500 a month. They also had to pay their bills and student loans, often missing payments and accruing interest."

"I can't relate to that," I said. "Yes, I went to university, but my dad paid my tuition each year, so I didn't have to take out a loan. The only part I can relate to is working a job, but I lived in my great-grand uncle's villa and only had to pay the electric bill. I had no loans to pay back. And I worked as a part-time supermarket stocker."

Lusty chuckled. "Yeah, it's hard to relate to those fictional struggles when our experiences are so different."

I gave Lusty a small kiss on the forehead and told her daughters I'd see them later. Then I left her penthouse, which is both beautiful and affordable.

______________________

Outside Lusty's apartment, I ran into the same guy who had attacked me just an hour ago. He was flaunting his supposed untouchability, thinking he was better than everyone else.

I took out my smartphone and snapped a photo of him. "Thanks for the perfect photo," I said sarcastically, putting my phone away.

Before I could fully pocket my phone, he tried to snatch it from me but failed. He then attempted to fight me again, but I defended myself. Like before, someone called the cops, and we were both taken to the Ninth Precinct.

_______________________

At the Ninth Precinct, I was released without bail. As I entered the lobby, I saw the same lawyer talking to the desk sergeant, demanding his client's release. The desk sergeant firmly told the lawyer that it was the Captain's orders not to let a criminal walk out without being fully processed, regardless of their power or influential friends.

I decided to wait in the lobby to see how it would play out. Soon, the Captain of the Ninth Precinct arrived because the guy was causing a scene. The Captain didn't waste any time defending her rules and actions. She wasn't afraid of the lawyer's boss or his client's influential friends and family. She shared my views on the justice system, recognizing that it often fails the people who need it most while letting the real culprits off with a slap on the wrist.

I decided not to loiter at the precinct and left, knowing I had other things to do. I headed to my mother's job to see if she was there, and to my surprise, she was.

"Why didn't you come home last night?" I asked her quietly, not wanting to cause a scene.

She looked at me nonchalantly. "Because I went home with my boss last night. I'm not a kid, Mackenzie. I'm a grown adult."

I took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. "That's strike one. Strike two, I'll drop you off and pick you up before and after work. Strike three, you can go back to Kansas City for rehab, and you and that place can forget my number because next time, I'm not coming to get you."

She looked taken aback but didn't argue. I hoped she understood how serious I was.

It's tough dealing with family issues, but sometimes tough love is necessary to help them get back on track.

"If you were going to stay out, at least give me a call so I'm not worrying!" I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "I'm putting my neck on the line here. You may not care, but I do. Do you have any idea how hard it is to convince my landlord to let my estranged mother move in without raising the rent or making me sign a new lease?"

My mother opened her mouth to say something, but I cut her off.

"No, you don't get to say anything. Since you were a young adult, you've been used to always playing the victim card," I continued, still trying not to make a scene. "You never know what it's like to put in the effort because you never cared to try. And when you do try, what do you do? You go out with your boss without even giving me a courtesy call or leaving a note to say where you'd be."

She looked taken aback, but I hoped my words would sink in. It was time for her to understand the impact of her actions.

"Do you want to know why your family, siblings and extended family didn't come to get you?" I asked, looking her straight in the eye.

My mom shook her head, indicating she didn't want to know.

"It's because when they tried to help you in the past, you always gaslighted and manipulated them by playing the victim card," I explained. "They wanted you to be a solid citizen, but you twisted things around making them feel like they were the bad guys. They were genuinely trying to help you get clean, but you manipulated and gaslighted them until they finally said no."

I took a deep breath, trying to keep my emotions in check. "To them, you're like the shepherd from 'The Boy Who Cried Wolf.' That's why Dad didn't come to get you—he knows you would do the same thing. You're lucky I did, even though I shouldn't have."

She looked down, and I hoped my words would make her realize the impact of her actions.

I picked up a loaf of bread, a couple of packs of bologna, and a squirt bottle of mustard, paid for them, and left the store. After stopping by my apartment to put away the groceries, I headed over to my cousin Dave’s place.

________________________________________

I made my way to Apartment 14C at 451 Heliconia and Rhizome’s Blvd. Dave opened the door with a warm smile.

“Hey, Macaroni! How can I help you?” he asked.

"Some idiot attacked me twice. The first time, the cops let him go without even processing or booking him," I said, frustration evident in my voice.

Dave raised an eyebrow. "The easiest thing I can do is red flag his credit or debit card, mess up his credit score, and make it so he can't get money out of an ATM or from the bank for a couple of days."

"Is that even legal?" I asked, skeptical.

Dave shrugged. "It's what the Little Bird government does to those suspected of financing terror groups. They cut off their source of income."

I narrowed my eyes. "I feel like there's an 'and' in there."

Dave nodded. "There is. Usually, the people whose bank accounts and cards get red-flagged are indeed financing terror groups. Then either I and my pals or someone in this family and their SOCOM unit go and deal with them."

I sighed, considering his offer. "Well, I guess it's worth a shot. Thanks, Dave."

It's always good to have a family who can offer creative solutions, even if they operate in the gray areas.

“Let me take the photo and show it to a few people. I can get a positive ID within a few hours,” Dave said. “Got some buddies who owe me a favor, and I want to say they can ID the guy.”

I replied, “What are you planning on doing?”

“I’ll just get a PID to make sure, and if need be, I’ll tell you so you can make the next decision,” Dave said.

I replied, “I have no idea what ‘PID’ means.”

“It means Positive Identification,” Dave explained.

I was about to ask more when Dave continued, “Done some missions here and there that required our targets to be PID to make sure we can scratch them off the list.”

Curiosity got the better of me. “What do you do anyway? Besides firefighting.”

Dave grinned. “I can disarm a thermonuclear warhead with a blindfold and a paperclip.”

“No, seriously, what do you do?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

I knew that Dave was one of the few members of the Fire Department City of Empire qualified to use explosives, but he had no record of serving in the military. It made me wonder if he was part of a secret society of sleeper agents—fully autonomous field operatives trained to restore order to communities suffering from catastrophic events, institutional collapse, and societal breakdown. These agents could be deployed as “Civilian Contractors” in areas too hot for the military, where a uniform would give away their presence. They lived normal lives until called upon, and they weren’t an elite unit in the traditional military sense. They probably had the authority to do “whatever is necessary” to restore order or maintain safety by doing sanctioned and unauthorized missions, including the “elimination” of all threats to their mission.

But I didn’t ask him. If he wasn’t part of it, he’d just say no. If he was, he might have to silence me for knowing. Some questions are better left unasked or unanswered.

I was going to ask what he would do but to me I was the one to call the next shots once getting a positive identification on the guy but I was just thinking about what it would be.

I soon then left after sending that photo to Dave so he can show it around.

________________________

As I was walking down the street, I was soon stopped by the police and arrested. They brought me back to the Tenth Precinct.

Turns out, I was being arrested for assault even though the only thing that could be considered assault was actually self-defense.

When we got to the precinct, I kept my mouth shut and didn’t say a thing to them. I just sat in the cell, thinking.

It wasn’t long until I heard some chaos until it wasn’t long until I saw someone in a black battle dress uniform. Whoever it was began to lockpick the cell.

I had no idea what was going on. But I did know that I was being rescued… again. Not that I was going to complain.

“Our decoy is in place,” said the guy. “So all of the good cops in the precinct are chasing a decoy while all of the dirty ones are here.”

I interpreted it as all of the cops who do their jobs were out going after a decoy, while the ones being bribed by the criminals were being dealt with here.

“Are they?” I asked.

The same guy replied, “They’re fine, but when they wake up, they’re going to have a headache like getting hit on the head with a sledgehammer. The good ones who are chasing our decoy aren’t being harmed though.”

I knew how painful those headaches could be.

Outside, I met Dave again.

“How did you know I was in trouble?” I asked.

Dave replied, “Saw it from my patio.”

I felt stupid for asking that question.

“I know in an hour or so the Mayor is going to call the Police Commissioner, and the Police Commissioner is going to call and scream at the 10th Precinct Captain,” said Dave.

I asked, “How?”

“The city of Empire didn’t get its nickname of Empire Arms Defense for nothing,” Dave said. “In 1941, the city’s population was around 500,000 people but rose by one million. A majority of those people came into the city to work in the defense factories making military vehicles, tanks, armored cars, half-tracks, jeeps, bombers, fighters, fighter-bombers, and munitions, just to name a few. And I mentioned how you’re a vital informant in the fight against terror and how a certain somebody just jeopardized the main source of income for this city.”

I quickly pieced it together. The main source of income for the city of Empire is those defense plants. If the military pulls out of their contract and finds other defense contractors outside the city, Empire will lose several billion dollars.

I know all about the city of Empire nicknames of them being: Bay of Prosperity

Fortune Bay

Defense Harbor

Tourist’s Haven

Empire’s Edge

The Financial Fortress

Harbor of Wealth

The Bay of Innovation

Empire’s Shield

The Golden Bay

But I feel like the city of Empire motto that's in Latin “The Garden by the Sea” also should be a nickname due to the amount of agriculture around the city.

“So you’re more or less coercing the city?” I asked.

Dave replied, “Nope, just putting pressure on the city without going to the media or going to Westside or Eastside. Little Bird may be a police state but many people distrust the police for one reason or another.

"Yes schools may teach us that the ‘Policeman is our friend’ which is partially true but at the same time, many cops are our enemies because they’re no better than the criminals they swore to arrest. Oh if you read history about the Empire Police Department Anti-Gang Unit 9 out of 10 you’ll find out those cops aren’t even doing their job and are acting like a gang themselves.

"I’m from a small town where the town police department is on the take of criminals because smaller towns are more easily bribed by criminals not big cities. And you want to know why gangs and the Mafia don’t go after cops? Because then their protection money would be useless. While big city cops don’t go after the Mafia and Gangs because it’s better to let the status quo go on the moment the cops go after a gang or a mafia family a new one will just spring up to replace the old one it's easier to let the status quo be unless something significant happens.”

I replied, “And the Mayor… How do you know what you said? How will he take what you said?”

“When he asked for evidence to back up what I said,” Dave began, “I told him that if I showed him then he would be tried for knowing national security information that not even the President knows of. That’s how secret it is.”

I replied, “Even though you said it in public.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Dave said.

I was about to say something but soon came to the conclusion of what Dave said that I’m not actually an important person to national security that’s so high up that not even the President of Little Bird knows. Only a small group of people have access to ‘More Secret than Top Secret’ and the President and a majority of people in the Defense sector aka the military don’t even have access. I know that “Top Secret” means such material would cause "exceptionally grave damage" to national security if made publicly available. But if the Little Bird Government has ‘More Secret than Top Secret’ then that’s something.”

“So you got a PID on my attacker?” I asked.

Dave replied, “Some people who owe me a favor or two. I cashed in those favors to make the process go by a lot faster.”

“What about surveillance?” I asked.

Dave replied, “Little Bird may be a police state, but it’s not the book Nineteen Eighty-Four. We don’t have a thought police. Little Bird may be a police state, but at least we still allow people to voice their concerns, speak their minds, and have the right congressional law to peacefully assemble for a protest. Yes, during peaceful protests, a few cops will be dispatched to keep an eye on it so it doesn’t turn into a riot. Yes, protesters need a permit to let them protest, but said permits specify the time, when, and where, so the police can cordon off the area to keep vehicles and pedestrians from going through. Yes, Little Bird may be a police state, Macaroni, but the people have the right to host rallies, marches, vigils, pickets, strikes, and boycotts, all protected by an act of Congress. Unless the group has an agitator that starts trouble and rallies the group to resort to violence, then it’s no longer a protest but a riot.”

I nodded, taking it all in. “So, what’s the next step?”

Dave looked at me seriously. “We need to make sure you’re safe. I’ve got a place where you can lay low for a while. It’s secure, and no one will find you there.”

I hesitated for a moment but then agreed. “Alright, lead the way.”

As we walked, I couldn’t help but feel a mix of gratitude and unease. Gratitude for having someone like Dave looking out for me and unease about the lengths we had to go to stay safe in a world that seemed increasingly chaotic.

“So who were those who got me out?” I asked.

Dave replied, “Some friends of mine. They wanted to go the other route, not the peaceful one that I went with.”

“And knocking out corrupt cops is peaceful?” I asked.

Dave replied, “Is silencing them a better option?”

“Nope,” I said, correcting myself, while thinking.

“If I became a cop instead of a firefighter…” I began to say.

Dave replied, “Would you be comfortable with ‘outdated’ tactics?”

“I know all about how the cops in Little Bird are trained to quell riots with batons, mounted police, fire hoses, and dogs,” I said. “Even though many countries around the world have abandoned those tactics. But I know what my grand uncle Bill would’ve said. He would’ve said, ‘Let me run my country; don’t make me start telling you how to run yours,’ because he was passive-aggressive about that. He even told those country leaders that when there’s a riot, and whatever the damage is, then he and the Little Bird government will gladly send the bill for the damage so that country can pay it. That got them to back off.”

Dave replied, “Yeah, Uncle Bill had a way of telling other countries to back off. Even when he and Sandra got divorced, they were the kind of divorced people who were still friendly with each other and the kind of divorcees who still talked like good friends instead of hating each other.”

“Do you know why they divorced?” I asked.

Dave replied, “Honestly, I don’t know. If I had to guess, it was falling out of love. They were happily married for almost 25 years, from 1968 to 1993, then divorced. But I know how they met, though.”

“How did they meet?” I asked.

Dave replied, “She was a US Army Nurse in Vietnam while he was in the US 5th Infantry Division in Vietnam. He stepped on a punji stick while on patrol in 1965. Yes, he was pro-war in Vietnam, even when he and she came to Little Bird and he, out of the blue, ran for president in 1968 after they became citizens of Little Bird.

"While she had no interest in politics, she dealt with health issues because she believed women are better at being healers. Uncle Bill was a favorite President because, while he was pro-war, he was also supportive of the working class. He favored helping the many, not catering to the few. Some people call him the direct predecessor to Mrs. Abigail Orange because Mrs. Orange did things as President like eliminating taxes for the elderly so once someone retires, they no longer have to pay taxes. She also created the Bureau of Labor to help people find jobs, prevent nepotism in the workplace, and introduce a livable minimum wage.

"Uncle Bill focused on helping the working class and the impoverished, and on vocational and trade schools, not colleges, because he knew that many people go to college but don’t land a job in their degree field. He understood the importance of blue-collar jobs like working on the roads, power lines, and telecommunication lines.”

“Yeah, and he had a lot of enemies too,” I said. “How many times was his life in danger?”

Dave replied, “Once, when he was campaigning for reelection in 1971, he was giving an outdoor rally, and some ultra nutcase militants who didn’t like him tried to eliminate him. Even though there were a lot of LBPPT, cops, and even military militia that had the area surrounded. Like any other time when the president goes out, even if Uncle Bill wanted to take his wife and daughters out to dinner or to a movie, the LBPPT planned the route and notified the nearby hospital just in case.”

“So similar to the US Secret Service?” I asked.

Dave replied, “LBPPT stands for Little Bird Presidential Protection Team. They only protect the President and his or her family and the former presidents and their families until they die. I know that Lucy, Natalie, and Ashley—you know, Mitchell and Twilight’s older sisters—had a team of agents protecting them to and from school and when they went out to play. They didn’t have a normal childhood because they went to public school instead of a private or charter school. Sandra wasn’t going to shell out money for a private school or send them to a charter school on taxpayer money.

"Oh, and in 1979, Sandra was outraged when the school their daughters were attending substituted food with some kind of paste to cut back on costs. Let’s just say the saying ‘Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned’ came true. She made Lucy, Natalie, and Ashley a homemade lunch, but when the school threw it out, she went at the school with both barrels. She never gave the school permission to throw out her daughters’ lunches, nor did she or her husband sign a form or permission slip to allow the school to feed children paste without parental consent.”

We soon arrived at the safe house.

“Yeah, Uncle Bill and Aunt Sandra were the type not to keep secrets from each other. If they wanted to do something with the kids, they would have a civil conversation to make sure they were both comfortable with it,” said Dave. “Even when they divorced, they did it in a way that ensured equal custody of their children. They always got each other’s permission for their children to do things. If Bill wanted to take his daughters camping or on a fishing trip, Sandra would agree, and vice versa. They wanted to know what their children were doing. Sandra’s new husband, their children’s stepfather, was against it and always said no. But since the courts didn’t see him having any parental rights because he didn’t care, well, when he threatened Bill one time when he came to get Lucy, Natalie, and Ashley because they switched every other week, Bill was going to take them to the movies but asked Sandra beforehand.

"When their stepdad went to say something and threatened Bill, Bill told him the last thing he should do is threaten the president of Little Bird. Even Sandra told her husband to let it be because he had no right to say anything. When he wanted to fight Bill… well, who’s going to win in a fight—a guy who was in combat or a guy who was trained to type sixty words per minute?”

I replied, “Yeah, Bill probably taught him a lesson.”

Dave then showed me around the safe house. I was about to ask who owned it, but as before, some questions are better left unanswered.

“Do I have to worry about any unexpected visitors?” I asked.

Dave replied, “We have a supply runner who comes by every three days to make it look like it’s lived in and not to draw any unwanted attention, so people don’t think it’s deserted.”

“If they ask who I am?” I asked.

Dave replied, “Give them the code phrase ‘The night is the darkest before the dawn,’ and the supply runner will reply, ‘But the dawn always breaks.’ Or say, ‘In the shadows, we find our strength,’ and they will reply, ‘And in the light, we reveal our purpose.’ That way, they’ll know you’re on our side.”

Soon after Dave left, I took some time to look around the safe house. It was a decent place, but I was anxious to hear back from Dave with the Positive Identification. That didn’t stop me from going out, though. While I was out, I got a phone call saying my apartment had been broken into. I rushed back to my place.

When I arrived, I saw the guy who had assaulted me twice being led to a patrol car in handcuffs. The cops there weren’t city cops but the Island Police, which I compare to the State Police and Highway Patrol back in the United States. Being from both North Carolina and Alabama, I was used to the Highway Patrol.

Even though what the guy did was a felony, if I wanted the charges dropped, I would have to go to the DA’s office and tell the prosecutor. But there was no chance in Tartarus I was going to let him off the hook for two counts of Assault, Harassment, and Breaking and Entering. Thankfully, the cops got there fast enough that he didn’t have the chance to rob the place.

I knew the difference between Burglary and Robbery. Robbery is taking property from someone through threats or fear of harm or attempting to steal, while Burglary involves illegally entering a building, whether or not something is stolen.

As I watched the patrol car drive away, I felt a mix of relief and determination. This ordeal wasn’t over yet, but at least one piece of the puzzle was falling into place.

Another cop and a pair of detectives were on the scene. I recognized the detectives from the past: Burglary Detective Aurora and her partner, Detective Zofia. Zofia was my girlfriend’s ex-girlfriend. She and Claire had broken up because Zofia didn’t want to date a firefighter, saying, “Firefighting is dangerous while being a cop is less dangerous, almost safe.” Even though firefighting is one of the most stressful jobs in the world, being a cop isn’t all that safe either. Zofia had grown up spoiled rotten because her mother catered to her every demand, while her father didn’t want to spoil her. If her dad didn’t get her what she wanted, her mom definitely did.

Of course, the cop tried to stop me from entering my own apartment, but Detective Aurora told the cop to let me in, so I did.

“Macaroni? Right?” asked Detective Aurora.

I replied, “Guilty as charged.”

“Well, good news is that nothing of yours is stolen,” Detective Aurora said. “Just a forced-open door. Are you going to be pressing charges?”

I replied, “I’m already pressing charges for two counts of assault. And I want to press harassment charges.”

“Well, that’ll be a tough one for the PD to do,” Detective Aurora said. “I’m not defending the higher-ups at HQ, but they’ll tell whatever Precinct Captain or Lieutenant to throw the case into a paper shredder.”

I replied, “Better not.”

“Well, the guy you’re pressing charges against,” said Detective Aurora, “long story short, his father owns an arms manufacturer that produces both military and law enforcement weapons. He’s willing to sell weapons and ammo to the police department at half the cost if they’re willing to look the other way to his son’s activities.”

“Oh good Lord. I can see why his lawyer got to the precinct quicker than a moth to the flame. And how the 10th Precinct Captain let him go in a New York second,” I said.

“Wouldn’t surprise me if the company can have the DA’s office drop the case and try to send some money your way to look the other way,” said Detective Aurora.

“I’ll deny the money and take them to court anyway. And if I lose the money, well, I got some family members who are close to the Joint Chiefs of Staff,” I replied.

“I have no idea what the Joint Chiefs of Staff is,” said Detective Aurora.

“The Supreme Military Council of Little Bird, I mean. I highly doubt the Little Bird Armed Forces would want to buy weapons, weapon parts, and munitions from a company or arms manufacturer if the owner’s child can go around committing crimes but get off scot-free because of how said manufacturer has both military and law enforcement contracts that bring in about a billion dollars per year, with 75% of the orders coming from the military and the other 25% from law enforcement,” I explained.

Detective Aurora nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. “Well, let’s hope the higher-ups see it that way too.”

Soon after Detective Aurora, Zofia, and the other cop left, I looked around my apartment to double-check that everything was in place. Thankfully, nothing was stolen. I had everything marked and tagged by the PD, so if someone did steal it or pawn it, the Police Department could recover it faster. Without registration, it would turn into a he-said-she-said situation, but with the registration, it clearly points to who the owner is.

I knew that pawn shops are supposed to report to the police if something seems stolen because no sane person is going to pawn a $5,000 gold jewelry piece unless they desperately need the money. Most people who pawn things need cash right then and there.

As I thought about the situation, I wondered what would happen if the PD or DA’s office threw out the case. When I get a PID on my attacker, could I file a lawsuit against the PD, DA, or the Bureau of Law for miscarriage of justice? It was a frustrating thought, but I knew I had to be prepared for any outcome.

I sat down, trying to calm my racing thoughts. This whole ordeal was far from over, but I was determined to see it through. I wasn’t going to let corruption and injustice win. Not this time.

I started thinking about whether I should hire a criminal defense lawyer. If it does go to court, I could ask for a public lawyer if it reaches a courthouse. Even if I lose the case, the Commonwealth of Mountain would have the bill, not me. Here on Little Bird, law offices have a motto about not billing their client if they lose a case and only asking for 25-40% of the money if they win. Most lawyers charge per hour and have some kind of timer with them to track how many hours they worked on a case so they can bill their client.

I knew I had to find the right lawyer and hope I didn’t end up hiring the wrong one for a field they’re not an expert in. I’ve heard stories about people hiring lawyers or their friends and family hiring lawyers but getting the wrong type of lawyer. People facing a criminal charge might get a lawyer, but the wrong one, like a divorce lawyer. Even though divorce is rare on Little Bird, the country has expert anti-police lawyers who can punch holes in testimonies and evidence that the police department collects. That’s why many police precincts in Little Bird collect concrete evidence so a lawyer who’s an expert against law enforcement can’t punch holes through it but can get rid of circumstantial evidence like nothing.

I knew that if I had to file a lawsuit against the Bureau of Law or the Police Department or both or the company my attacker works for, it would fall under the miscarriage of justice for the PD and Bureau of Law, while for the company, it would be a felony lawsuit.

As I mulled over my options, I felt a mix of determination and apprehension. This fight was far from over, but I was ready to take it on, no matter what it took.

I then went back to the safe house and made a peppered turkey sandwich. While I was eating, Dave came back.

“I got a PID on your attacker,” Dave said.

I replied, “The child of a movie star or a celebrity?”

“Nope,” Dave replied.

I replied, “The child of a CEO or owner of a vehicle manufacturer or weapons manufacturer?”

“Getting warmer,” said Dave.

I replied, “I know this isn’t a game of colder, cold, getting warmer. So my final guess is that the attacker is the child or some kind of relative of a defense contractor.”

“Bingo,” said Dave.

I replied, “Lusty was right. She told me how it’s usually defense contractors who have military contracts getting about a billion dollars a year for said contract, so they would have the money and resources to fight off a lawsuit and to bail anyone out because, to them, their lawyer costs will be pocket change. At least we’re not back in America.”

“Hey, you Americans didn’t heed Ike Eisenhower’s warning in his Farewell Address in 1961 about the dangers of the Military-Industrial Complex,” said Dave.

I sighed, thinking about the complexities of the situation. “So, what’s the next step?”

Dave looked at me seriously. “We need to make sure you’re safe and that we have all the evidence we need. This isn’t going to be easy, but we’ll get through it.”

I nodded, feeling a mix of determination and apprehension. This fight was far from over, but with Dave’s help, I was ready to take it on, no matter what it took.

“What are you going to do?” I asked.

Dave replied, “Going to go and talk to the Owner of Strawberry Arms.”

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Is there an ‘and’ in there?” I asked.

Dave replied, “Well, I’m going to give him two choices: either he stops defending his son and lets the long arm of the law catch up with him, or I make one phone call to the Supreme Military Council. Then the Army, Navy, Marines, and Air Force will withdraw their contracts, and going forward, the company won’t get another military contract. It’ll be publicized how the owner’s son attacked and harassed an off-duty firefighter and broke into her apartment. I’m sure their profits and stocks will go down severely and they’ll have a change of heart. These corporations only see the error of their ways when they’re backed into a corner with legal action they can’t escape or when their stocks and profits are hurt.”

I nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. “Sounds like a plan. Let’s hope it works.”

Dave gave me a reassuring smile. “It will. We’ll make sure justice is served.”

While Dave was gone, I found myself reflecting on a time when I stayed with my female cousin during my dad's deployment for Operation: Just Cause. I call that period the “Time of Tension” and “House of Tension” because my cousin and her mother-in-law were always at each other’s throats. My cousin had a baby, and her mother-in-law criticized her every move, saying she was a terrible mother, a bad cook, and couldn’t do anything right. Despite my cousin doing all the housework, her mother-in-law never lifted a finger to help and constantly criticized how she was raising her grandchild.

My cousin’s husband eventually had to tell his mother to either start helping out and stop criticizing his wife or leave. When she didn’t comply, he kicked her out. However, my cousin’s mother-in-law took the baby, but the police were able to intervene and arrest her. My cousin decided to file charges with her husband’s approval.

I remember how my cousin received numerous phone calls from her husband’s side of the family, accusing her of being hysterical or overreacting. She slammed the phone on its reciever many times. Despite this, the Watersons stood by her, and even her husband was on her side. Her in-laws were always against her, but she didn’t care about them.

I also recall Christmas Eve of ‘89 when my cousin’s sister-in-law treated me like her daughter, calling me a different name and treating me like an infant. My cousin told her sister-in-law to back off, as she was just watching me as a favor for my dad. When her sister-in-law tried to take me, my cousin stopped her in a New York second, and we left.

As I thought about these memories, I also considered the importance of getting a good lawyer if needed. It’s always better to be safe than sorry.

I decided to go and visit a criminal lawyer because I thought it would be safe, just in case I had to file a lawsuit against the Police Department, the Bureau of Law for miscarriage of justice, or Strawberry Arms weapon’s manufacturing.

After a while, I was able to talk to a criminal lawyer. He said I had strong evidence and that he’d handle all the paperwork, find witnesses, and wait for the prosecution to reach out. I told him how I knew to keep my mouth shut without a lawyer present, even though 9.9 out of 10 times my mouth runs faster than my brain and I usually say things that get me riled up.

As I was walking back to the safe house, I ran into the same guy who had assaulted me twice, harassed me once, and broken into my apartment. But before he could open his mouth, I spoke up.

“Thanks for giving me information to file a suit against you, your father’s company, and the Police Department,” I said.

He smirked and told me how my lawsuit would bear no fruit because there were no statements and no charges pressed against him, the department, or his father’s company.

“And that’s where you’re wrong. Your lawyer having the police department throw out reports is a cover-up,” I said, standing my ground.

He looked taken aback for a moment, but then his smirk returned. “We’ll see about that,” he said before walking away.

I continued my walk back to the safe house, feeling a mix of anger and determination to take on this fight no matter what it took.

I got to the safe house and not long after, Dave arrived. He mentioned that the meeting went fine, even though the owner of Strawberry Arms thought Dave was bluffing. It didn’t take long until the phone in the safe house rang, and Dave answered it in spy lingo.

“Come on, Macaroni,” said Dave.

I followed him to a place I had never been before. I had to swear never to speak of the place because I was on a need-to-know basis. I didn’t ask what the place was, but it felt like how I envisioned an NSA building would look on the inside.

Dave then took me to a room.

“Hey D-454, what you got?” asked Dave.

D-454 replied, “An interesting phone call.”

D-454 then played a recording.

“Hello, this is Herbert Strawberry,” said Herbert Strawberry (over the tape from a recorded phone call).

A man replied (over the tape from a recorded phone call), “Yeah, this is General Daniel Philip from the Supreme Military Council. I’m just calling to let you know that the Little Bird Army is pulling out of the yearly contract for your company to make weapons, weapon parts, and ammo for the army.”

“You can’t do this!” exclaimed Herbert Strawberry.

General Daniel replied, “The Army has decided to take our 1.5 billion dollar contract to another company. Good day, sir.”

The line then went dead.

“Guess you can say my bluff worked,” Dave said. “Not adding that General Daniel is married to one of our cousins, so I called her, and she called him. Think of it like a domino effect.”

I replied, “Well, that’s a billion and a half dollars from the defense budget being reallocated from the army to another manufacturer to supply the army. Of course, the Marines, Air Force, and Navy are another story, but that 1.5 billion from the Army now is not coming in, I’m sure that’ll hurt their profits.”

Dave nodded. “Exactly. Sometimes, you have to hit them where it hurts the most—their wallets.”

I felt a sense of relief and determination. This fight was far from over, but with Dave’s help, I was ready to take it on, no matter what it took.

---

“How do you think the Army is going to feel about General Daniel’s decision?” I asked.

Dave replied, “As long as the Army can fulfill their requests from another company, they don’t care. The military goes to Strawberry Arms for their high-quality weapons, but the Little Bird Military goes to Hawk Arms for their high-precision weapons that can hit a penny from 20 miles away with high-quality metal to reduce wear and tear. Even though 25% of their orders are for left-handed shooters, since the 1960s, the weapons the Little Bird military uses are designed for ambidextrous people. Even though 74% of the military is right-handed and 1% are ambidextrous, each company has a subsidiary that handles military orders.”

I nodded, absorbing the information. “So, the Army has options.”

“Exactly,” Dave said. “And by pulling out of the contract with Strawberry Arms, they’re sending a strong message. It’s not just about the money; it’s about integrity and accountability.”

I felt a sense of relief and determination.

Dave even explained how Strawberry Arms Corporation, Hawk Arms Industry, Falcon Arms Corporation, and Eagle Firearms Industries each have different military subdivisions to cater to military orders.

For example, Falcon Arms has:

-Falcon Defense Systems: Specializes in producing firearms and equipment for the military, including assault rifles, sniper rifles, and machine guns.

- Falcon Tactical Solutions: Focuses on developing advanced tactical gear and accessories for military operations, such as night vision goggles, tactical vests, and communication devices.

Similarly, Eagle Firearms has:

- Eagle Military Division: Handles the production of military-grade firearms, including pistols, shotguns, and grenade launchers.

- Eagle Combat Technologies: Develops cutting-edge combat technologies and weapon systems for the military, such as drones, smart weapons, and advanced targeting systems.

The same applies to vehicle manufacturers like Hornet, Wasp, Buckliner, and Walter. They also have military contracts and their own military subdivisions. These vehicle manufacturers work with arms manufacturers to install weapons on their vehicles. They are well aware of how damaging a lawsuit or bad press can be.

I nodded, absorbing all the information. “So, these companies have a lot at stake.”

“Exactly,” Dave said. “And by hitting them where it hurts—their contracts and reputation—we can make a real impact.”

I felt a renewed sense of determination. This fight was far from over, but with Dave’s help, I was ready to take it on, no matter what it took.

From how Dave was talking about it, he knows that if a corporation hired by the military faces bad press or legal action with no way to win, the military will pull out of the contract. This would cause the corporation to lose a majority of their income.

Yes, Strawberry Arms will still make some income from selling semi automatic weapons and bolt-action rifles to the civilian population, as well as low-powered cartridges for home defense and hunting, but that's only 5% of their income. Another 10% comes from law enforcement sales, while the army contract made up 80% of it.

To me, that sounded like a reason not to put all your eggs in one basket. They always relied on the Army contracts for the majority of their income and never thought about branching out to diversify their revenue streams.

Dave’s insights made it clear how vulnerable Strawberry Arms was to losing their primary source of income. It was a stark reminder of the importance of diversification in business.

___

Back at my apartment, I finally got the door fixed. Dave was there, helping me out as usual.

“So, what did your lawyer say if you went and got one?” Dave asked, his hands busy with the door.

I replied, “He said we’ve got a solid case. He’s going to find witnesses and collect evidence. Just the fact that the PD let him out three times on charges of Assault and Burglary and the cops turning a blind eye, will definitely make an impression on the jury.”

“Go on,” Dave encouraged, his eyes focused on the task at hand.

“I told him I wasn’t going to settle out of court. He mentioned that all his clients say the same thing. When corporations and government agencies settle out of court, they offer an amount that’s pocket change and don’t do anything to make it right. So, fighting it in court, even if we lose and I don’t take the out-of-court settlement, will send a message that not everyone will take a settlement and run.”

Dave nodded, a look of approval on his face. “That’s the spirit. Sometimes, it’s not just about winning the case; it’s about making a stand and showing that you won’t be easily bought off.”

I felt a renewed sense of determination. This fight was far from over, but with Dave’s support and a solid legal team, I was ready to take it on, no matter what it took.

“Why do people take out-of-court settlements?” I asked, genuinely curious.

Dave replied, “There are a number of reasons. Some people want to end the case and move on with their lives instead of going to court every day for who knows how long. Some cases take weeks or months. Some do it to save costs, some for privacy, and many to save time. Not everyone has the time for a trial that lasts weeks or months, and many lawyers charge by the hour. Imagine getting a lawyer that charges $70/hr for a case that lasts two months from Monday to Saturday, 8 AM to 5 PM. Another reason is that the party suing has control. If the company or city offers them a certain amount, they’ll drop the case and never have to deal with each other again. Many people go to trial because the judge can make the city or corporation pay more than what the defense would offer out of court. Let’s say your case is worth $100,000, but the defense offers you $75,000 to settle out of court. If you refuse and win, a judge can make them pay more than what your case is worth.”

I did the math in my head. If my case lasted a month in court and my lawyer charged $70/hr, I would owe $13,434.

“How do you know so much about law?” I asked, impressed.

Dave replied, “When I was at the fire academy back in ‘95, I used to hit the library that had some law books. I got myself some knowledge on law. Plus, I’m part of the Firefighter Union Rep, so if a firefighter is in trouble, I help them out.”

Dave continued, explaining how many times he’d been prohibited from representing a firefighter in trouble. He said that if a firefighter calls him or another Union Rep, they legally have to be present. It’s mandatory for the Fire Department to let a firefighter in trouble get legal counseling from a Union Representative. It’s like the Miranda warning in the United States, where you have the right to a lawyer during questioning, and if you can’t afford one, one will be appointed to you. But Dave said he and other Union Reps had been prohibited from seeing the member they were assigned to represent, even though the law says if a union member is in trouble, they have the right to seek legal counsel. If a union representative is not permitted to participate in an interview that results in disciplinary action, that union member can sue the city and potentially become a half-millionaire by the end of the day.

“Of course, go over to the Fire Department City of Empire HQ, and a majority of the people there aren’t smoke eaters,” Dave continued. “It’s politics this, politics that. Whenever a firefighter is in trouble, those sycophant bureaucrats at HQ play politics. This is why I, my wife Linda, Lusty, and even Battalion Chief Marcus of the 19th Battalion are nicknamed the ‘Old Guard.’ We’re from a time when HQ had its members’ backs facing legal trouble. Oh, a firefighter facing legal action for breaking a car window because it was blocking a fire hydrant? Even though a case like that will be thrown out by a judge because you can’t park fifteen feet from a hydrant, and parking in front of a hydrant is illegal, the person suing doesn’t have a case. Anytime I’ve gone over to HQ to meet my client but was denied, I told the Union about it. The Union could take the Department to court for not allowing a member access to legal counsel.”

I knew where he was going with his story. Those desk jockeys would do everything to play politics and save face, not letting any member have the right to legal access. A troubled member can’t talk to a lawyer or a Union Representative because they’ll use big words and terms the defendant won’t understand, making it more severe than it is. A Union Rep or lawyer will either dumb it down or not make the charges sound severe because they’re not.

I decided to change the subject. “So, what do you know about the fleet maintenance division?”

Dave replied, “Well, if the name doesn’t tell you, then I don’t know what will. Long explanation short, they work on both current and reserve apparatus. They even work on apparatus from towns around the city because those towns don’t have a budget for a fleet maintenance division. Working on a 23-ton fire engine or a 46-ton fire truck is a lot different than a three-thousand-pound car. A normal car jack won’t do because those can lift up to three thousand pounds. Even if you remove all the water and tools from the fire engine, you’re just going to shave off 8,328 pounds and 14.1 ounces of water and a few hundred pounds of gear. A stainless steel ladder or an aluminum ladder and other gear on a fire truck weigh about five hundred pounds, give or take. That’s still going to be over the weight limit of a normal jack.”

I was about to say something when Dave continued, “Oh yeah, we can use those towns’ apparatus and vice versa. Heck, the main reason I joined the Fire Department was to make my father happy. The other reason was that I wanted to be a mechanic, a government mechanic, because the Fire Department is a government organization. But I’m a Lieutenant Firefighter/Emergency Medical Technician, and I’m also an in-house mechanic for Firehouse 16. I can do basic repairs and maintenance on Engine 16, Ladder 16, Super Engine 12, Urban Search and Rescue 3, Field Communications Unit 47, BLS Ambulance 5, ALS Ambulance 10, and Swift Water Rescue Unit. Even though Engine 16, Super Pumper 12, Ladder 16, and the USAR unit are a Cab over Engine design, the Field Communications Unit is based on a delivery step van, and the Swift Water Unit is just a pickup truck with a trailer attached with two inflatable boats.”

I couldn’t help but admire Dave’s dedication and knowledge. He was a true asset to the Fire Department and a great cousin.

I didn’t talk about the legal procedure that’s about to happen. But according to the laws of Little Bird, if the military pulls out of a contract prematurely, it opens up a Military Congressional Investigation to see why the Army canceled the contract with Strawberry Arms. If necessary, whatever evidence they find might go to the Little Bird Civilian Congress for another investigative hearing. These kinds of hearings and investigations can take months, if not years.

But I know that when it becomes public that the son of Strawberry Arms assaulted an off-duty firefighter twice, harassed her, and broke into her apartment, the stockholders of Strawberry Arms would likely sell their stocks and invest in another company. Other weapon companies on Little Bird would see an increase in stocks and profits.

The thing about Little Bird is that people have long memories. They see companies thinking they’re above the law and they don’t forget. While Strawberry Arms makes high-quality hunting and home defense weapons, their reputation doesn’t mean much when other weapons manufacturers on Little Bird also produce high-quality weapons.

I knew this was going to be a long and arduous battle, but I was ready. The support from Dave and my legal team gave me the strength to push forward. I wasn’t just fighting for myself; I was fighting for everyone who had been wronged and for those who believed in justice. This was about more than just winning a case; it was about making a stand and showing that no one is above the law.

“Well, when it comes to the trial,” Dave began, “it’ll turn into a media circus because Strawberry Arms is a major company. All kinds of media will be outside the courthouse, asking questions. Even though the Army pulled out of the contract, Strawberry Arms still has enough money to fight a lengthy legal battle. Their lawyer costs will be pocket change to them. But at least here on Little Bird, companies can only choose one lawyer to represent them in court, not an entire army of lawyers. That’s one thing I hate about corporations—they have the money to support their own but despise those who challenge them.

"Heck, back in 1966, there was a class-action lawsuit against an amusement park of doom. The amusement park was following the safety regulations of the County of Mountain, not the stricter safety regulations set by the Country of Little Bird. A group of employees and some visitors got hurt when the roller coaster derailed. It was an ugly mess. My dad and Uncle Clark said some people were unrecognizable. When the class-action lawsuit came, employees had to either drop the case and be severely reprimanded or be fired and blacklisted from working in amusement parks again. Many employees and victims took an out-of-court settlement, but some refused. It was a legal battle in federal court.”

I nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. “That’s what happens when companies take shortcuts and follow the bare minimum safety regulations. That’s why my dad and I don’t like amusement parks. We don’t know what their safety regulations are or if they maintain their machines properly. Unlike carnivals or fairs on Little Bird, which have rides built to the highest standards under the country’s safety regulations, not just the Commonwealth’s.”

Dave agreed. “The Commonwealth of Mountain probably tried to save face afterward. The federal government’s minimum safety requirements are much stricter and would have prevented the accident in the first place. I’ve seen amusement parks here on Little Bird proudly state that they follow federal safety requirements, whether minimum, maximum, or in between. It makes me feel more secure and safe,”

I replied, “Probably safer than Fort Knox. Not the military installation, but the United States Bullion Depository, also known as Fort Knox.”

Dave and I started to talk about family, and he mentioned how his niece Lucy is going through a rough divorce at the moment. Her in-laws are supporting their son and telling her to pretend what she walked in on never happened.

I was about to ask for more details, but Dave continued, explaining that Lucy had married a very respectable man. His family is urging her to stop the divorce and act like nothing happened because if the truth got out, it would hurt his reputation and business. They refuse to partake in the divorce procedure, thinking Lucy will drop it sooner or later. However, the country of Little Bird has tough divorce laws, and since Lucy’s soon-to-be ex-husband was unfaithful, it’s an at-fault divorce.

Dave mentioned that Lucy is staying with family and has a good case, so she can more or less take everything from her husband. He also reflected on how lucky his son-in-law is because the divorce is the easiest thing compared to what his father Bobby and Uncle Clark went through. They passed away seven years ago, but Dave is happy they died in the line of duty. They lived and breathed firefighting and would have been bored out of their minds in retirement. Dave’s father was a fireman in Manhattan from 1921-1941, 1945-1950, and 1953 until his retirement in 1966. His granddad, Terrence Waterson, spent most of his life in the New York City Fire Department, only leaving to fight in World War II and the Korean War.

Dave’s father and uncle saw how much the job meant to their dad. Firefighting isn’t like a normal nine-to-five job; each shift is different. One day, you might fight a fire that only requires a single engine company, and the next, you might need two or three engine companies. Sometimes, the chief might need to strike out an alarm that brings every apparatus to the scene, or you might have to fight a fire that you could just stomp out or kick some dirt on.

Dave’s father and uncle were volunteer firefighters—Bobby in Brooklyn and Clark in Staten Island. They tried to sign up for the US Army, Navy, Air Force, and Marine Corps to fight in Vietnam but were rejected due to Clark being cross-eyed and Bobby having shaky hands. They also tried to join the New York City Fire Department but were denied for the same reasons. So, they came to Little Bird. They were rejected by the Little Bird Armed Forces and labeled as “4F” for both the United States and Little Bird Armed Forces. However, when they tried the Fire Department, they were shocked to find out that their numbers were called for the fire academy, and they got through it. Only cities have fire academies because towns can’t afford them, but many fire academy recruits are from towns.

Dave, Lusty, and I have seen native-born Empire candidates go through the fire academy and get assigned to towns they’ve never been to. Take Dave, for example. He was born and raised in Clearlake, but when he got to the fire academy, he was assigned to Engine Co 16 in the city of Empire—a city he had never been to before training. For a few months, he had to look at a map to navigate the big city.

“Hey Dave, you’ve been a Captain since 2001…” I began to say.

Dave replied, “I’m happy being a Captain. I’m not in the mood to take the Officer exam to become a Lieutenant. My dad and uncle were Lieutenants, and to me, I’m not interested in becoming a Lieutenant. I don’t want to feel like I’m taking a rank that I knew my dad and uncle to be from 1982 until their deaths.”

To him, it’s sentimental reasons and sentimental value why he’s happy being a Captain and not interested in taking another officer exam to become a Lieutenant.

I could see the emotion in his eyes as he spoke. It was clear that his decision was deeply personal and rooted in his respect and love for his family. I admired his dedication and the way he honored his father and uncle’s legacy. It made me appreciate even more the bond we shared and the values that guided us in our work and lives.

“If my dad or uncle were still alive,” Dave said, “they’d be the type to say, ‘You can cry when not working, but while on shift, people still need our help.’ That’s not him being rude; it’s just how they coped with the job. They believed that while on shift, people needed their help at a moment’s notice, and they had to be ready to do their job every time they went out the door. I agree with that. I run my company the same way my dad and uncle ran theirs back in Clearlake.

"If someone in the company is having emotional problems or family issues, they would send them home. My dad and uncle wanted their company to be mentally and emotionally right because the last thing they wanted was to go into a fire for search and rescue with someone who wasn’t right mentally and emotionally. They’d be more prone to making mistakes that wouldn’t have happened otherwise. So, whenever someone in my company isn’t doing well emotionally and mentally, I just tell them to go home. I’m more than willing to have a floater take their place until they are ready.”

I could see why Dave was nicknamed “Old Guard.” He made sure his company was mentally and emotionally fine so they didn’t make avoidable mistakes, like venting a floor that a search team is on. In the fire academy, they teach to avoid venting where a search team would be entering or be at because fire is constantly looking for oxygen, and venting where the search team is just puts them in danger. Dave’s dad and uncle put in 35 years in the fire department, even though it was in a town. While a smaller town doesn’t have the same emergencies as cities, towns have different challenges.

“Don’t make any mistake about the job. This job will make you pause to think about consequences,” Dave continued. “But why we’re so good at our job now is because of trial and error from previous generations of firefighters. We learned from their experiences because they had to learn the hard way. A hundred years ago, they didn’t have the luxury of advanced tech or specialized units. They used their knowledge and experiences to teach the next generation. Most of the knowledge you’re going to get is not from training or sitting in a classroom but from learning from the guys who’ve been doing it for years. Take me and your girlfriend Lusty. I have more experience than her because I’ve been on the job a year longer, even though she outranks me because she chose to become a Lieutenant. But what keeps us going is that there are still fires, still emergencies, and many people need help.”

I understood where Dave was going with it. You can learn from books all you want, but you’re going to get taught the same thing over and over. One way to truly gain experience and knowledge is by going out and learning it firsthand. Since Dave commands a Truck Company, he and his team are responsible for more tasks outside of an Engine Company’s purview. While an Engine Company’s job is to fight the fire and handle fire suppression, a Truck Company is tasked with forcible entry, search and rescue, ventilation, and ladder-pipe operations at the scene of a fire. They have more automatic tools, whereas an Engine Company has manual tools.

Dave explained that those assigned to ventilation have a specific way to test if a roof is stable. They hold onto the ladder and drop their saw or ax onto the roof first. Then, with a firm grip on the ladder, they test the stability of the roof by carefully stepping onto it. If the roof isn’t stable or falls while they’re getting onto it, they still have the ladder to hold onto.

Talking about the job was keeping my mind occupied, not thinking about the upcoming legal battle.

“I think you’ll hate Emerald Pastors,” Dave said.

“Why?” I asked.

“I think common sense is a foreign concept to the middle-class families there,” Dave said. “Last shift, near the tail end of the Rabius outbreak, we caught a fire in an apartment building.”

“Kitchen fire?” I guessed.

“Nope,” Dave replied. “Candle fire. A candle fell onto a couch because it was too close to the edge of the end table. The fire spread throughout most of the apartment. Candles smell nice but can cause huge fires if left unattended. Whenever Linda and I leave our apartment, we blow out our candles so if any of them fall, they won’t cause a fire. And they say those who are educated have a lower chance of causing fires.”

“Yeah, well, that’s why I like Eastside,” I said. “When I do inspections, people use their brains, and common sense is common in Eastside. Most fires we fight are unavoidable types, and people keep flammable things away, like keeping paper towels and cloth rags on the sink, not by the stove.”

“Who keeps a roll of paper towels or a cloth rag next to a stove? A nutcase?” Dave asked, shaking his head.

I chuckled, appreciating the lighthearted moment amidst the serious conversation. It was these small exchanges that made the job a bit easier to handle.

Dave and I continued chatting, and he mentioned how the most secure buildings on Little Bird are schools of all types. They’re constructed with A-rated materials, meaning they’re fireproof and have fire doors that securely latch. Fires produce air pressure that can blow open doors, so those fireproof doors lock in place, needing the push bar to be pressured first to open.

I knew why this was the case. It’s not just the local or Commonwealth government that investigates, but the federal government does too. Lusty told me many stories about her middle-high school mix (one half was middle school, the other half was high school). The school had many fires due to inadequate fire protection because it was up to par with fire prevention standards from the 1950s when it was built in 1958. By the time my girlfriend started high school in the 90s, fire protection laws and regulations had changed. The 1988 fire protection law required government buildings, high-rises, and schools to have self-sealing fireproof doors, sprinklers, and a fire alarm that alerted people to a fire in the building.

Lusty lost most of her friends in high school due to fires that could have been prevented if the city government had spent money to modernize the school. The fire would have been slowed down until the first due company got there. But the city was being cheapskates. The school’s floors and doors were made of a type of wood not tested by the Fire Prevention Bureau. Once the fire reached them, it took a while for the fire to burn through.

A door made of fireproof materials would have slowed the fire from 20 minutes to 3 hours, not two or three minutes. The school wasn’t made with natural furnishings but with synthetics. Allowing synthetic material into a public school is something I don’t understand, even though studies have shown that synthetic materials burn a lot faster and hotter than natural furniture. I’ve seen comparison videos about how synthetic furniture burns faster and starts a fire that’s a lot hotter than natural furniture, which burns a lot slower. Lusty said it was too late for the city to do anything because she lost a lot of friends in middle school and high school due to school fires.

The people of Eastside have memories that last a lifetime and don’t go away easily. Lusty may work for the city, but she hates the city government. Every time there was a fire, the first thing the Fire Department did was conduct a fire investigation. Their reports always stated how unsafe it was for anyone to be in the school and recommended shutting it down for being a fire hazard. But the city would go behind the Fire Department’s back and reopen the school, leading to the same disaster and the same cycle.

Long story short, even in tragedies, the city council and politicians pointed their fingers at the Mayor, blaming her for the school fires. But the city council and Aldermen refused to allocate a budget for modernizing the schools, yet they wanted approval for construction contracts that were 4-10 times as much as it would have cost to bring the schools up to modern fire codes.

Lusty says that Mayor Martinez is the only politician who never hid from the media. After each school fire, the city council and aldermen always issued a “No comment” or were unavailable. Mayor Martinez, on the other hand, always came out and gave briefings about it. She showed proof of having conversations with the city council and Aldermen about allocating a budget to modernize schools to be more fire-resistant. But they always shot her down, saying the city didn’t have the budget for it.

To me, it’s sad how it took almost two decades of pain and suffering for something to be done. The city faced intense public pressure and finally tore down the school, rebuilding it between 2000-2003 with fire-resistant materials and self-closing doors. They even added an FDC (Fire Department Connection) so if a hose team reaches its end, they can use a coupler to hook up two new hoses—one for the hose team and the other to bring water from the standpipe.

It wasn’t long until my apartment phone rang. It was my attorney. He told me he was able to get CCTV recordings.

“You know what I love about this family?” I said.

Dave replied, “We are unbiased and are there for each other?”

“Yup,” I said. “Back in the States, my dad told my extended family about me being a Firefighter/Emergency Medical Technician.”

Dave replied, “I bet a lot of them were in shock.”

“My dad said they were, but he said they never told him his only child should find a safer job,” I continued. “They said while female firefighters are rare, if I want to do this, they won’t say a thing.”

Dave replied, “But your grandparents and family from your mother’s side?”

“Oh, they thought I would be more comfortable in a job as a secretary or domestically,” I said. “My dad said if I wanted to do this, they had a choice: either support me or not contact me. My mom’s family left me texts in the past saying how much I’d be happier as a secretary, running a business, or being a housewife or homemaker.”

Dave replied, “Thought the U.S. had a second wave of feminism in the 60s and 70s?”

“It did,” I said. “But it’s just how some people I know still treat gals like it’s the 1950s. When in time on Little Bird that…”

Dave cut me off, “February 19th, 1895.”

“What’s that date?” I asked.

Dave informed me, “When the Little Bird Civilian Congress allowed women to have legal and economic rights equal to those of men, such as the right to manage their own finances.”

“What about…” I started.

Dave replied, “May 17th, 1705. The Native Little Birdens had a majority in the newly formed government and said they would help form it if women had a say. The settlers couldn’t say no because the Natives outnumbered them seven to two. So, on May 17th, 1705, the constitution of Little Bird allowed women the right to vote and hold a seat in Government.”

“Well, what about,” I began to say.

Dave cut me off, “January 1st, 1910, and June 22nd, 1937.”

“Which was?” I asked.

Dave replied, “The Little Bird Integration Act allowed women to reach higher levels of careers and join the military in administrative and clerical roles. In 1937, it was revised because the female population was higher than the male population due to World War I. To fulfill the manpower requests of the military, they had to do the unthinkable for the time. Allowing women in combat roles like infantry, machine gun teams, snipers, pilots, tank crews, and more.”

I was amazed at how progressive Little Bird had been in terms of gender equality but at the same time it was either change or wait until change when it’s too late. It made me appreciate even more the opportunities I had and the support from people like Dave. It was a reminder that while progress can be slow, it’s essential to keep pushing forward for what’s right.

Dave then asked what my attorney wanted and I told him how he was able to get the security footage.

“I have a feeling,” Dave said.

“What feeling?” I asked.

“Strawberry Arms would either bribe the witnesses to look away,” Dave said.

“This isn’t an episode of Law and Order,” I replied.

“I mean, some companies would bribe or hide witnesses so the prosecution can’t call them if they can’t find them,” Dave said.

“Isn’t that a felony?” I asked.

“In some countries, it isn’t, but on Little Bird, it is,” Dave explained. “Both the prosecution and defense need every piece of evidence and witnesses so they can’t bring surprise witnesses.”

“Sounds like a court scene from Law and Order,” I replied, shaking my head.

Dave chuckled. “Yeah, it does. But it’s good to know that Little Bird takes these things seriously. It means we have a fair chance in court.”

Dave asked if I knew what my attorney and I would do next, but I had no idea. He reassured me that I was lucky to live in a country where if a company like Strawberry Arms tried to bribe a politician or a member of either the Little Bird Civilian Congress or Military Congress, the Anti-Corruption Team (ACT) would investigate and arrest the bribed politician or member of Congress on charges of bribery. So, any money Strawberry Arms invested in bribery would be wasted if the politicians they bribed were just going to get arrested. Dave thinks they’ll find a way one way or another.

Dave also told me that if I couldn’t afford my lawyer fees, all the Watersons, those in Little Bird and those back in America and Germany—would chip in to help pay. The Watersons have each other’s backs no matter what. The son of Strawberry Arms attacking me was an attack on all Watersons, not just the ones on Little Bird but those in the U.S. and Germany as well.

____________________

Two weeks later

Criminal Court, Downtown Empire

After a few tense minutes, I found myself glancing over at the defense table, trying to appear nonchalant. My heart pounded in my chest as I scanned the room, hoping to catch a glimpse of the man who had turned my life upside down. But he wasn't there.

I leaned over to my lawyer, whispering urgently, "My assaulter, harasser, and the same guy who broke into my apartment—he isn't here."

My lawyer gave me a reassuring nod, his voice calm and steady. "Don't worry, Mackenzie. The judge will issue a bench warrant for his arrest or suspend his driver's license for failing to appear."

Just then, the heavy wooden doors of the courtroom swung open, and the judge entered, taking his place at the bench. The room fell silent, the air thick with anticipation. This was it—the moment of truth.

The judge settled into his seat, adjusting his glasses as he picked up the docket. The courtroom was eerily silent, every eye fixed on him. He cleared his throat and began to read.

"Next case on the docket: Mackenzie Waterson versus Strawberry Arms Corporation."

My heart skipped a beat as he continued, "Ms. Waterson is suing Strawberry Arms Corporation due to allegations that the son of the owner, Mr. Jonathan Strawberry, assaulted her on two separate occasions, harassed her, and unlawfully entered her apartment."

I could feel the weight of the room's attention shift towards me. My lawyer placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder, but it did little to calm the storm of emotions swirling inside me. This was my chance to finally hold Jonathan accountable for the terror he had inflicted upon me.

The judge looked up from the docket, his gaze piercing through the courtroom. "Is the defendant present?" he asked, his voice echoing off the walls.

The defense attorney stood up, looking slightly flustered. "Your Honor, Mr. Strawberry is not present today."

The judge's expression hardened. "Very well. Given the seriousness of the allegations and the defendant's failure to appear, I will issue a bench warrant for his arrest. Additionally, his driver's license will be suspended until he complies with the court's orders."

A murmur rippled through the courtroom. I felt a small sense of relief, knowing that at least some form of justice was being served. But I also knew this was just the beginning. There was still a long road ahead, and I was determined to see it through to the end.

The judge turned his attention back to me. "Ms. Waterson, you have the floor. Please proceed with your testimony."

I took a deep breath, standing up and facing the judge. "Your Honor, the events that led me here today have been nothing short of a nightmare. Jonathan Strawberry has not only assaulted me twice but has also harassed me relentlessly and broken into my apartment. I am here to seek justice and ensure that he is held accountable for his actions."

As I spoke, I could see the judge listening intently, his expression serious. This was my moment to be heard, and I wasn't going to let it slip away.

The judge leaned forward, his eyes narrowing slightly as he addressed the defense attorney. "Before we proceed, I need to know if there were any attempts to settle this matter out of court."

The defense attorney stood up, adjusting his tie nervously. "Yes, Your Honor. We made several attempts to reach a settlement with Ms. Waterson. The first offer was for $50,000, the second for $60,000, and the third for $75,000. Each time, Ms. Waterson refused our offers."

The judge turned his gaze to me, his expression curious. "Ms. Waterson, is this true? Were you offered these settlements?"

I nodded, my voice steady as I replied, "Yes, Your Honor. I was offered those amounts to drop the case and look the other way. But I refused each time because I wasn't interested in an out-of-court settlement. I know that if I had accepted, nothing would have changed. Jonathan Strawberry would have continued to evade justice."

The judge's expression softened slightly, a hint of respect in his eyes. "I see. And why did you choose to pursue a trial instead?"

I took a deep breath, gathering my thoughts. "Your Honor, this isn't just about money for me. It's about justice. Even if I lose this case, I want to send a message that not everyone can be bought off. I want to show that there are people who will stand up for what's right, no matter the cost."

The judge nodded, his gaze unwavering. "Very well, Ms. Waterson. Your determination is noted. We will proceed with the trial."

As I sat back down, I felt a renewed sense of purpose. This was my chance to make a difference, to stand up against the powerful and show that justice would prevail. No matter the outcome, I knew I was doing the right thing.

The judge turned his attention to Mr. Strawberry, his expression stern. "Mr. Strawberry, I need to understand why you had your son released from the police department after he assaulted an off-duty firefighter twice, harassed her, and broke into her apartment. And let me be clear, I do not want to hear about how 'Strawberry Arms is important to the defense industry.' There are other weapons manufacturers in Little Bird that are just as significant."

Mr. Strawberry shifted uncomfortably in his seat, clearly taken aback by the judge's directness. He opened his mouth to speak, but the judge raised a hand to stop him.

"Furthermore," the judge continued, "I am aware that the Little Bird Army has already pulled out of their billion-dollar annual contract with the Marines. They are currently deliberating whether to terminate their contract with Strawberry Arms early. This case is not about your company's contributions to national defense. It is about the actions of your son and the impact they have had on Ms. Waterson."

The courtroom was silent, the tension palpable. Mr. Strawberry's lawyer looked flustered, but Mr. Strawberry himself seemed to regain some composure. He stood up, addressing the judge directly.

"Your Honor, I... I believed that my son was being unfairly treated by the police. I thought that by having him released, I could handle the situation privately and ensure that he faced the necessary consequences within our family."

The judge's expression remained stern. "Mr. Strawberry, the law applies to everyone, regardless of their status or family connections. Your son's actions are serious, and they must be addressed through the proper legal channels. This court will not tolerate any attempts to circumvent justice."

Mr. Strawberry nodded, his face pale. "I understand, Your Honor. I apologize for my actions."

The judge turned his attention back to me. "Ms. Waterson, please continue with your testimony."

I took a deep breath, feeling a renewed sense of determination. I knew that the road ahead would be challenging, but I was ready to face it head-on. This was my chance to seek justice, and I was not going to let it slip away.

I took a deep breath, steadying myself before recounting the events of that fateful day. "Your Honor, it all started when I left my apartment for a morning run. I wanted to get some cardio exercise in before the day got too hot. During my run, I bumped into a classmate from Arcane University. We chatted for a bit, catching up on old times. Afterward, I decided to grab a hot dog and soda for brunch from a nearby stand."

I paused, gathering my thoughts before continuing. "That's when Mr. Strawberry's son attacked me. It was completely unprovoked. We were both taken to the 10th Precinct, but I was released due to self-defense laws. However, Mr. Strawberry's son was also released. I saw the 10th Precinct Captain and a lawyer from Strawberry Arms talking like they were planning a poker night, as if they were close friends or the lawyer was calling in a favor."

I could see the judge listening intently, his expression serious. "After leaving the precinct, I went over to my girlfriend's penthouse. We talked for a while, and I helped her eldest daughter with her multiplication homework. It was a brief moment of normalcy in an otherwise chaotic day."

I took another deep breath, feeling the weight of the memories. "When I left the penthouse, I encountered Mr. Strawberry's son again. He harassed me and tried to attack me once more. Again, I was released due to self-defense laws. Later, as I was out walking, I received a phone call saying someone had broken into my apartment. It was Mr. Strawberry's son again. He was arrested for burglary, but he got out once more."

The judge's expression hardened as he absorbed my testimony. "Thank you, Ms. Waterson. Your account of the events is noted. We will proceed with the case."

I sat back down, feeling a mix of relief and determination.

My lawyer stood up, his voice confident and clear. "Your Honor, I would like to present evidence that supports my client's testimony. We have obtained CCTV footage of the attacks and harassment. Additionally, we have identified several witnesses who can corroborate Ms. Waterson's account."

He paused, glancing at the defense table before continuing. "Some of these witnesses were initially hesitant to come forward. However, I informed them that if they refused to testify, I would have no choice but to issue subpoenas to compel their appearance in court."

The defense lawyer immediately stood up, his expression indignant. "Your Honor, it is illegal for the prosecution or defense to threaten individuals with subpoenas. This is a clear violation of legal ethics."

My lawyer remained calm, addressing the judge directly. "Your Honor, a subpoena is a court order that can be issued by a judge, a lawyer, or the District Attorney's office. It is a legal tool used to ensure that witnesses appear in court to provide their testimony. Informing potential witnesses of the possibility of a subpoena is not a threat; it is a statement of legal procedure. Failing to appear in court after receiving a subpoena is considered contempt of court and can result in legal consequences."

The judge nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Thank you for the clarification. The court will review the CCTV footage and hear from the witnesses. We will proceed with the case based on the evidence presented."

The bailiff approached the evidence table, retrieving the video footage that my lawyer had mentioned. He carefully set up the equipment, ensuring that the screen was visible to everyone in the courtroom. The judge nodded, signaling for the footage to be played.

The room fell silent as the video began. The first clip showed me leaving my apartment for my morning run, the timestamp clearly visible in the corner. The footage then transitioned to me chatting with a friend from Arcane University, their conversation animated and friendly. Next, the video showed her buying a hot dog and soda for brunch, the vendor handing her the food with a smile.

The atmosphere in the courtroom grew tense as the footage shifted to the first attack. Mr. Strawberry's son could be seen approaching me aggressively, and the ensuing struggle was captured in stark detail. The video then showed both of us being taken to the 10th Precinct, with me being released shortly after.

The next segment of the footage depicted me arriving at my girlfriend's penthouse, where she spent some time helping with homework and talking. The video then showed me leaving the penthouse and encountering Mr. Strawberry's son again. This time, the harassment and second assault were clearly visible, with me defending myself once more.

The final clip was perhaps the most damning. It showed the hallway outside of my apartment, with Mr. Strawberry's son breaking in. The footage captured him rummaging through my belongings before being arrested by the police for the third time that day.

As the video played, murmurs spread through the courtroom. The jury and the people in the gallery whispered to each other, reacting to the clear evidence of the attacks and harassment. The judge banged his gavel, calling for order.

"Quiet down, please," the judge commanded, his voice firm. "We will have order in the court."

The murmurs subsided, and the judge turned his attention back to my lawyer. "Thank you for presenting this evidence. It is clear and compelling. We will now hear from the witnesses."

Mr. Strawberry's face turned a deep shade of red as he buried it in his hands, the weight of the situation crashing down on him. He had hoped that the charges against his son could be managed, but the reality was far worse than he had anticipated. One assault charge was bad enough, but now there were two assault charges, a harassment charge, and a breaking and entering charge. To make matters worse, his son had been arrested three times in a single day, and each time, Mr. Strawberry had bailed him out before they even went to court for bail.

The footage that had just been shown in court was damning. It was clear, undeniable proof of his son's actions and Mr. Strawberry knew that it would be enough to convince any jury. Only ten minutes had passed since the video started playing, but it felt like an eternity. He realized that this was going to be a long and arduous battle, and swaying the jury in his favor would be nearly impossible.

He glanced over at his lawyer who looked equally troubled. They both knew that getting the evidence dismissed as inadmissible was not an option. The footage had been obtained legally, and there were multiple copies of it. It was admissible in court, and there was no way around it.

Mr. Strawberry's mind raced as he tried to think of a way to salvage the situation. But deep down, he knew that his son's actions had made things infinitely worse. The evidence was overwhelming, and the path to victory seemed more elusive than ever. He could only hope that his lawyer could come up with a strategy to mitigate the damage, but even that seemed like a long shot.

As the courtroom settled back into silence, Mr. Strawberry braced himself for the long road ahead. This was going to be a difficult fight, and the odds were stacked against him. But he had no choice but to face it head-on, hoping for the best in a seemingly hopeless situation.

The judge turned his gaze to Mr. Strawberry, his expression stern. "Mr. Strawberry, I must ask, why is your son not present in court today to defend his own case? He is an adult, not a child, yet you are here protecting him."

Mr. Strawberry shifted uncomfortably in his seat, clearly at a loss. "Your Honor, I... I don't know. My son lives a life of debauchery, and I have no control over his actions. I don't know why he isn't here."

The judge's expression hardened. "Mr. Strawberry, it is your son's actions that are ruining your business in the defense industry. By continually saving him from legal trouble, you are not only hurting your wallet but also damaging your company's profits and reputation. This cannot continue."

Mr. Strawberry looked down, clearly troubled by the judge's words. The weight of the situation was becoming increasingly apparent.

My lawyer stood up, addressing the court. "Your Honor, we are ready to begin interviewing the witnesses if the defense has no objections."

The defense attorney, looking flustered, nodded reluctantly. "No objections, Your Honor."

The judge nodded in agreement. "Very well. You may proceed with the witness interviews."

My lawyer turned to the first witness, ready to begin the questioning. The courtroom was silent, the tension palpable as the trial continued.

From my seat, I watched as my lawyer called the first witness to the stand. The tension in the courtroom was still thick, but I felt a sense of calm wash over me. This was the moment we had prepared for.

The witness, a middle-aged woman who had been jogging in the park the morning of the first attack, took her place and was sworn in. My lawyer approached her with a reassuring smile.

"Can you please state your name and occupation for the record?" he asked.

"My name is Linda Thompson, and I'm a schoolteacher," she replied, her voice steady.

"Ms. Thompson, can you describe what you witnessed on the morning of the incident two weeks ago?" my lawyer continued.

Linda nodded. "I was out for my morning jog when I saw a man approach Ms. Waterson aggressively. He grabbed her, and there was a struggle. It was clear that she was defending herself."

The defense attorney shifted in his seat but remained silent. There were no grounds for an objection; the testimony was straightforward and relevant.

My lawyer moved on to the next witness, a vendor who had sold me the hot dog and soda. "Can you please state your name and occupation for the record?"

"My name is Carlos Ramirez, and I run a food cart," he said.

"Carlos, can you tell the court what you saw that day?" my lawyer asked.

Carlos nodded. "I saw Ms. Waterson buying a hot dog and soda from my cart. Shortly after, a man approached her and started yelling. He then attacked her. She fought back, and they were both taken away by the police."

Again, the defense attorney had no grounds for an objection. The testimony was clear and corroborated the video evidence.

As each witness took the stand, they recounted their memories of the events from two weeks ago. My lawyer's questions were precise and to the point, leaving no room for doubt. The defense attorney attempted to object a few times, but each objection was overruled by the judge.

The final witness was a neighbor who had seen Mr. Strawberry's son breaking into my apartment. "Can you please state your name and occupation for the record?" my lawyer asked.

"My name is Sarah Jenkins, and I'm a nurse," she replied.

"Ms. Jenkins, can you describe what you witnessed on the day of the break-in?" my lawyer continued.

Sarah nodded. "I was coming home from work when I saw a man forcing his way into Ms. Waterson's apartment. I called the police immediately, and they arrived shortly after to arrest him."

The defense attorney remained silent, knowing that there was no way to discredit the clear and consistent testimonies.

As the witnesses finished their testimonies, I felt a sense of relief. Their accounts had painted a vivid picture of the events, and the evidence was undeniable. This was my chance to seek justice, and I was determined to see it through to the end.

The defense lawyer stood up, ready to cross-examine the witnesses. He approached Carlos first, a slight smirk on his face as if he thought he could trip him up with trivial details.

"Mr. Ramirez," he began, "can you tell the court what kind of hot dog Ms. Waterson purchased from your cart?"

Carlos nodded confidently. "She got an Sour Empire dog, which is a Chicago bun with Italian sausage and sauerkraut."

The defense lawyer raised an eyebrow. "And what kind of soda did she get?"

"A soda like Sprite. It cost $4.27. She paid five bucks but when I gave her change she put it in the tip jar," Carlos replied without hesitation.

The defense lawyer seemed momentarily taken aback by Carlos's precise answers. He quickly moved on to the next witness, Ms. Jenkins.

"Ms. Jenkins," he started, "how do you know Ms. Waterson?"

Ms. Jenkins smiled warmly. "We're neighbors. I live a few doors down from her."

"And have you ever interacted with Ms. Waterson outside of this incident?" the defense lawyer asked, trying to find any inconsistency.

"Yes, a few times," Ms. Jenkins replied. "I've borrowed sugar from her and asked to borrow other items, which I always returned. She's always been kind and helpful."

The defense lawyer was grasping at straws, trying to discredit the witnesses. But their answers were clear, consistent, and backed up my account of the events perfectly.

As the cross-examination dragged on, I couldn't help but feel a swell of pride. My witnesses were rock solid, and their testimonies were bulletproof. The defense lawyer's attempts to poke holes in their stories were falling flat.

It wasn't long before the defense called for a quick recess, and the judge granted it.

During the break, my lawyer leaned in and whispered, "I think the defense is scared. They can't object to the security footage or the testimonies because everything aligns perfectly. The CCTV footage backs up what the witnesses are saying."

Then, the defense approached us. They asked what it would take for me to drop the case against Herbert Strawberry and Strawberry Arms. I told them I'd drop it if Herbert's son appeared and gave a public, heartfelt apology. They relayed my demands to Herbert, and it seemed he agreed. He figured he could apologize and then go into full damage control mode for his son's actions.

When court resumed, the defense announced that I was willing to drop the charges against Herbert Strawberry and Strawberry Arms but would continue the case against Herbert's son. The judge asked if this was true, and I confirmed it. The judge then dropped the case against Herbert and adjourned the court until tomorrow at 8 AM sharp.

I knew why the case was adjourned, but I wasn't about to say anything about it.

---

The next day in the courtroom, I watched as Jonathan Strawberry walked in. It was clear the bench warrant issued yesterday had caught up with him. I could only imagine his surprise when he called his dad for bail, only to be refused. Herbert Strawberry wasn't going to help his son this time, not with the lawsuit I had filed now in full swing.

The press had a field day with the news of Jonathan's multiple offenses—two counts of assault, harassment, and burglary. It was baffling how the EPD had let him go and how those cases had just vanished. But now, people were starting to put two and two together.

When I glanced over at Jonathan, I saw him lean towards his lawyer, clearly confused. "What are the charges?" he asked, catching even his lawyer off guard. After a moment, his lawyer explained, "You're being charged with two counts of assault, one count of harassment, and burglary."

It was evident that Strawberry Arms and his father had decided to let him face the consequences alone. Jonathan's actions had severely tarnished the company's reputation and hit their profit margins hard. They weren't going to bail him out this time.

Jonathan even asked his lawyer if they had tried to settle out of court with me. His lawyer explained that Jonathan's father and his father's lawyer had attempted to settle three times, but I had politely declined, preferring to go to trial.

Jonathan then suggested that his lawyer, Mr. Thompson, should make me accept an out-of-court settlement. However, his lawyer calmly explained that they couldn't force me to take a settlement. I had the right to accept or decline at my discretion and no lawyer from Strawberry Arms could coerce or threaten me into settling. Even if they offered to cover my attorney fees if I dropped the case, I would still have declined.

I found it amusing how Jonathan was talking so loudly that everyone within a ten-foot radius could hear him. Meanwhile, I was speaking to my lawyer in hushed tones, ensuring our conversation remained private. Jonathan's loud outbursts only highlighted his immaturity and his reliance on his father's protection.

One thing I appreciate about being a Waterson is that my dad always encouraged me to act mature and responsible, not like a manchild. This whole scene felt like something straight out of a "Law and Order" episode, even though my dad didn't let me watch that show until I was fourteen back in 1998.

The CCTV footage, the apartment hallway recordings, and the testimonies from four witnesses were all we needed. The defense had nothing to get Jonathan out of trouble. Even if they did, my lawyer would have known about it. According to Little Bird national laws, if the prosecution discovers evidence, they must share it with the defense, and vice versa.

To me, it kind of reminded me of "Brady vs. Maryland," a landmark case from 1963. But Little Bird has a law that predates the American one. Back in 1921, Little Bird tried a man for a triple homicide. The prosecution withheld evidence that would have proven his innocence, leading to a 45-year sentence. After 12 years, new evidence came to light, proving his innocence. He was released, his record expunged, but he couldn't get those 12 years back. He sued the prosecution for withholding crucial evidence that could have cleared him.

"What if the defense tries to bring in a surprise witness?" I asked.

My lawyer replied, "If they do that without informing me, I can contest the witness and have the court discredit them. Both sides must disclose evidence and witness lists so the other side can prepare and not be blindsided."

I understood what my lawyer meant. You can't defend yourself against something you don't know about.

We both knew that any evidence or witnesses had to be disclosed. If not, it could be ruled inadmissible. It felt like a Brady violation, but since we weren't in the United States, it was more like a mirrored version of it.

Soon, the judge entered the courtroom. With the evidence my lawyer had gathered and the solid testimonies from the witnesses, my case seemed pretty open and shut. I couldn't understand why Jonathan thought he could fight it out in court. Whatever tricks he had up his sleeve, my lawyer would get them ruled inadmissible.

When Mr. Thompson wasn't defending Jonathan, Jonathan tried to get the evidence removed and ruled inadmissible himself. The judge, clearly fed up with Jonathan's childish behavior, held him in contempt of court. The judge sternly told Mr. Thompson to get a hold of his client and warned Jonathan that he was in a court of law, not an elementary school. He needed to act his age, not like a schoolboy.

The judge even warned Jonathan that he wouldn't hesitate to send him to prison for the remainder of the trial to ensure he showed up on time each day. Yesterday, Jonathan was a no-show, and the judge made it clear that if another bench warrant had to be issued, Jonathan would be put in prison. This way, the court system could keep an eye on him and ensure he appeared in court right on the dot.

Mr. Strawberry's face was priceless. Jonathan was so used to getting his way, thanks to his dad always bailing him out. But now, his dad had jumped ship to save his own reputation and salvage what he could for Strawberry Arms. Jonathan's expression said it all. "I can't believe my dad left me high and dry." To me, it was a form of tough love, a message that daddy won't always be around to clean up your mess. Jonathan needed to learn to take care of his own responsibilities.

My dad was the total opposite. While he held me to low standards, it was to teach me to own up to my responsibilities and actions, to gain independence. Whenever I messed up, I had to own it.

Jonathan's father, on the other hand, had spoiled and enabled him, always cleaning up his messes. While I agree that parents should protect their children until they're old enough to understand the consequences of their actions, there's a balance. I was raised by mixed parents—my dad being the authoritative one and my mom being the neglectful one.

Jonathan reminded me of my aunt's spoiled daughter at one of my birthday parties. I remember wishing I had a Neuralizer from Men in Black to erase that memory. At the party, my cousin blew out my birthday candles twice before my dad relit them and my family blocked her, allowing me to finally blow them out. She even tore open my presents like it was her birthday and my aunt had the audacity to suggest the restaurant make a new cake because her daughter didn't like the flavor.

My dad firmly reminded her that it was my birthday, not my cousin's. The looks on my family's faces said it all. "Is this woman out of her damn fucking mind?" Eventually, my family managed to save some unopened presents for me, but my cousin threw a tantrum because it wasn't all about her anymore. Everyone in the restaurant gave my aunt and her daughter disapproving glares. In the Waterson family, if a kid threw a tantrum, the parents would give them a look that said, "Go on, keep throwing a tantrum, and we'll give you a reason to cry."

Back in the courtroom, the trial continued with a few more witnesses. My lawyer had to issue subpoenas because, in Little Bird, not showing up after being subpoenaed results in an All Points Bulletin (APB) for the cops to find you, whether at home, work, or in between. For someone working in construction, landscaping, or remodeling, the last thing they want is to be hauled away by the cops for not appearing in court on the specified date.

Jonathan’s lawyer tried to poke holes in the testimonies, but they were airtight. The CCTV footage outside the park where I stopped for a hot dog and soda confirmed the first attack. The footage outside my girlfriend’s apartment building and the security camera in my apartment building's hallway showed Jonathan committing breaking and entering, which my neighbor confirmed. My lawyer even had a copy of the police dispatcher receiving the call.

When Jonathan argued that he and his lawyer didn’t get a copy, Mr. Thompson quickly interjected, confirming they did have it. He then told Jonathan to stop talking and let him handle it. Lying about not having the copy was perjury, especially since they had sworn under oath to tell the truth before the trial began.

The trial was going smoothly. My lawyer was on fire, highlighting the key points with precision. He made it clear that Jonathan's first assault on me was completely unprovoked. The second assault, along with the harassment and burglary, was premeditated. The CCTV footage outside my girlfriend’s apartment showed Jonathan waiting for me, confirming the harassment and the second assault. My lawyer had already sent a copy of this footage to the defense before the trial began.

Even though I was in a criminal court, my thoughts kept drifting to my dad. I wondered if he had left me an inheritance. I had already created my own will, ensuring that 25% of my assets would go to Lusty and her kids, 25% to Dave, Linda, and their kids, and the remaining 50% to my family on the Waterson side or to charity if they didn't want anything. My dad always said that each person has a biological clock that determines their lifespan.

As the trial progressed, it became clear that Mr. Thompson, Jonathan's lawyer, was hardly putting up a defense. I mentioned to my lawyer that it might be because the evidence was so overwhelming that Jonathan had dug himself into a hole too deep to climb out of.

My dad always told me about karma—that what goes around comes around.

When the day concluded, I asked my lawyer, "So, the jury?"

"They believe Jonathan is guilty," he replied. "His attorney has been tight-lipped throughout the day."

We left the courthouse, knowing that all government buildings, except fire and police stations, have business hours from eight to five or seven to five.

At least I wasn't up against an HOA. The Watersons back in America avoid Homeowner Associations like the plague. Many of my family members in the US fly the American flag and refuse to live in gated communities where people abuse their power. That's why 98% of my family in the US live in rural areas, with the other 2% in suburbia.

When day three of the trial began, the defense claimed they had found evidence to prove Jonathan's innocence and had new witnesses. However, when the judge asked if this had been disclosed to the prosecution, my lawyer revealed that we had only been informed about it ten seconds ago. We hadn't been given any prior notice.

Even though Little Bird is a police state, it has due process, the right to a fair and speedy trial, an impartial jury, legal representation, and the right to confront witnesses. It also ensures the right to a jury trial in federal courts for civil cases where the claim exceeds a certain amount. Judges can't overrule facts revealed by the jury, and there are protections against excessive bail and fines, as well as "cruel and unusual" punishment. Incarcerated individuals are also protected from discrimination and unequal treatment based on race, sex, or creed.

When asked why the evidence and witnesses weren’t disclosed to the prosecution, Mr. Thompson said he couldn’t reach the prosecution because he called his law firm, but the front desk receptionist said my lawyer had walked out the door a few minutes before Mr. Thompson called and was on his way to the courthouse.

The judge allowed it. My lawyer had left his office before Mr. Thompson called, and while he tried to get in contact, my lawyer was unavailable. Mr. Thompson arrived at the courthouse a few minutes before the trial began and couldn’t find us because my lawyer and I were in a side room where lawyers and their clients can talk with privacy screens down for confidentiality. The privacy screen was more like curtains or blinds, or those projector screens in schools. I remember copying school work off a projector screen in school. Back then, I didn’t have perfect eyesight, so when my eyes could finally align to see what I had to write down, the teacher would already start erasing it and write something else. I had to copy from friends.

My lawyer didn’t object to the new evidence and witnesses, but he could have. He was unavailable when the defense tried to get in contact. I didn’t say anything, but my lawyer assured me he could discredit the new witnesses and get the new evidence ruled as inadmissible if they were found illegally or if the defense intimidated the witnesses. He claimed to be an expert at discrediting witnesses and getting fake evidence labeled as inadmissible. I took his word with a grain of salt because I’ve heard stories of lawyers claiming to be experts but failing to do their jobs. People have hired the wrong type of lawyer, like a divorce lawyer for a criminal case, and it ended disastrously.

When I got my lawyer, I specifically asked the receptionist for a criminal lawyer or one who specializes in lawsuits, and my lawyer is a criminal attorney. I know when my dad and mom got divorced, neither of them got a divorce lawyer because they couldn’t afford one. Even though family members across America offered to help with legal fees, my parents went through an at-fault divorce because my mother was an ungrateful wife who took advantage of my father. His family, extended family, and even his future in-laws warned him that marrying my mother would be like riding with the devil, but he thought they were overexaggerating. From 1984 to 2007, my dad was stuck in a loveless marriage, hoping she would come around and be a role model mother to their only daughter. Unfortunately, she never did.

The new first witness called was John, my former classmate from Arcane University back in the day. Whatever the defense had planned, it backfired spectacularly. John defended me, saying that while I might be a tomboy with a fiery side, I’m the living definition of “If you attack me first, I’m retaliating” and “An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.” Even now, I won’t attack someone without justification. If someone bad-mouths my dad, that’s justification enough. Even though we hadn’t met for a couple of years until the other day, he said that even as a firefighter, I won’t attack without provocation or in self-defense.

I wore my suit to court, not a dress. I have two suits: my U.S. Navy Service Dress Uniform and my Fire Department City of Empire Dress Blues. I decided to wear the latter because I can wear suit pants instead of a skirt.

The judge mentioned that the last time there was a firefighter in his courtroom was during the 1981 Firefighter Strike. The FDE (Fire Department City of Empire) went on strike for pay, benefits, working conditions, and staffing levels. The city firefighters back then struck for almost an entire year because their pay was poor and hadn’t increased since 1932. Their working conditions were terrible, with most of their breathing apparatus and bunker gear dating back to the 1950s, and only officers getting canvas jackets. Staffing levels were so low that a company would often be understaffed, and studies showed that fewer than five firefighters on a piece of apparatus significantly reduced the company’s effectiveness. It was so bad that even the city volunteer firefighters joined the strike, despite having normal jobs and only going to their volunteer firehouses when their pagers went off.

But my lawyer was able to cross-examine John, and John painted me not as a saint nor a devil, but as a good-hearted rascal.

The defense’s plan had clearly backfired.

The next so-called witness wasn’t even a witness but my father. Even swearing under oath on the stand, my dad made it clear that no sane father would abandon his daughter. He emphasized that he would always help me and that he wasn't about to throw his daughter under the bus. He spoke about how, every day in my youth, he was by my side, always supporting me. He wasn't expecting to get a subpoena from a foreign court and come here, and he would rather be at work than wasting his day in court. He made it clear that nothing the defense could say or do would make him say something he never would.

My dad's testimony was powerful. He spoke with conviction, and his love and support for me were evident. He recounted how he had always been there for me, through thick and thin. He talked about the sacrifices he had made to ensure I had a good upbringing and how he had always encouraged me to stand up for myself and do what was right.

The defense tried to rattle him, but my dad stood firm. He reiterated that he would never abandon me and that he was proud of the person I had become. He mentioned how he had taught me the values of honesty, integrity, and standing up for what is right. He made it clear that he believed in me and that he knew I would never attack someone without provocation.

The judge and jury were visibly moved by my dad's testimony. It was clear that his words had a significant impact on the courtroom. My lawyer didn't need to cross-examine him; his testimony spoke for itself.

As the trial continued, the defense's case seemed to be falling apart. Their attempts to discredit me were failing, and their witnesses were not holding up under scrutiny. My lawyer remained confident, and I could see that the jury was leaning in our favor.

Throughout the trial, I couldn't help but think about my dad's words and the support he had always given me. It gave me strength and reassurance that we were on the right path. I knew that with my dad and my lawyer by my side, we would get through this.

The defense tried to undermine my dad's testimony, but my lawyer quickly called for an objection on the grounds of badgering. The judge sustained the objection, recognizing that the defense was badgering my dad for information about my youth. My dad stood firm on the stand, defending me passionately. He pointed out that the defense had no understanding of my background, especially the fact that my mother was neglectful and never cared for me. It was always my dad who took care of me, even if it meant making me dinner at ten minutes to midnight to ensure I ate before bed. My mother was so self-centered that she never considered that being a parent meant it wasn't all about her anymore.

My dad made it clear that the defense had no grounds for dismissing his testimony as hearsay because they were never there. He emphasized that if necessary, he could bring in family members who watched over me when he was deployed for the U.S. Invasion of Panama in 1989 or the Gulf War. They would testify to the same effect, reinforcing his statements about my upbringing and his unwavering support.

The defense's attempts to discredit my dad only served to strengthen our case. The jury could see the genuine love and dedication my dad had for me, and it was clear that his testimony was credible and heartfelt. My lawyer's objection and the judge's ruling further highlighted the defense's desperation and lack of solid arguments. It was another victory for our side, and it bolstered our confidence as the trial continued.

When my lawyer asked my dad a single question, "Mr. Waterson, how would you feel if someone went after your daughter?" my dad didn't hesitate. He gave his testimony with conviction, saying that anyone who comes after me looking for a fight will get the first swing, but I'll strike back with my mean right hook. He even joked that my fists have demonic powers because of how strong my right hook is. He recounted a story from my school days when I had a bully. My dad tried to settle it peacefully, but the bully's parents didn't care about their child's behavior. The bully's mother even sent her brother, who was a cop, to talk to my dad.

When the cop asked my dad if his name was his actual name, my dad simply said, "I plead the fifth." He explained that in the United States, the Fifth Amendment includes a clause that allows people or witnesses to decline to answer questions to avoid self-incrimination. The bully's uncle had to leave because there was nothing he could do legally. If he had put his hands on my dad, my dad could have sued the Killen Police Department for abusive police procedures. Instead, my dad told his cousin, who was like a brother to him, and my cousin once removed sent her daughter over to talk to my bully.

My lawyer had no other questions for my dad, only that one. After my dad's powerful testimony, the judge dismissed him because neither the defense nor the prosecution had any further questions. I wasn't surprised to see my dad wearing his U.S. Army Dress Service Uniform. It was the only suit he had, and this was the first time he wore it since 1993.

The courtroom was silent for a moment after my dad left the stand. His testimony had left a strong impression on everyone present. The defense's attempts to undermine him had failed, and my dad's unwavering support for me had only strengthened our case. The jury seemed to be even more convinced of my integrity and the truth of our side of the story.

As the trial continued, I felt a renewed sense of confidence. With my dad and my lawyer by my side, I knew we were on the right path. The defense's case was crumbling, and it was only a matter of time before justice would prevail.

The defense called another witness, and to my dismay, it was my mother. She sided with the defense and lied on the stand, just as I had feared. My mother has always been self-centered, caring only about herself. I still don't know why I agreed to help her with her rehab by having her move in with me instead of staying at the rehab center 24/7. What she said on the stand was completely blown out of proportion.

She claimed that I was a problem child, always fighting with her, throwing things, breaking stuff, and being unhinged. She painted me as a brat who, no matter how much love she gave, was always difficult. But I knew she was lying. My lawyer noticed me breathing slowly, sweating, and shaking. He tried to call for a recess on the grounds that my mother's testimony was making me uncomfortable, but the judge denied it.

When I tried to take a sip of water from a glass cup, my hands were shaking so much that I dropped the glass onto the floor. The judge asked if I was okay, and my lawyer answered for me, saying no and explaining why we needed a quick recess. The judge finally allowed for a half-hour recess.

During the recess, my lawyer reassured me that we would handle my mother's false testimony. He reminded me that the jury could see through her lies and that we had the evidence and witnesses to support our case. I took a few deep breaths and tried to calm myself, knowing that we had to stay focused and strong.

During the recess, I was surrounded by my support system: my girlfriend Claire "Lusty," my cousin Dave, Dave's wife Linda, and my dad. Lusty noticed that I might be starting to have an early stage of a panic attack due to the flood of bad memories triggered by my mother's lies on the stand. She pointed out that my mother was trying to save face for her failures as a mother by painting herself as the good one while making me look like the devil in disguise. Lusty, with her background in Eastside, knew all too well about people manipulating others to make themselves look good.

My dad chimed in, telling Lusty that my mother was an expert at gaslighting and manipulating others. They all stayed by my side, offering their support and reassurance. Lusty left briefly to go to a vending machine, but she returned quickly with some unsettling news. She had overheard the defense and my mother talking, and the defense had told my mother that she was doing a good job of painting me in a negative light.

This revelation only fueled my determination. I knew that my mother's lies and the defense's tactics were desperate attempts to undermine me. With my support system by my side and the truth on our side, I felt more resolved than ever to see this through and fight for justice. The half-hour recess gave me the time I needed to gather my strength and prepare for the next phase of the trial.

When court resumed, my lawyer swiftly moved to get my mother dismissed as a witness. The judge instructed the jury to disregard her testimony entirely. It was a relief to see her lies being thrown out.

Next, the new video footage presented by the defense was also dismissed and ruled inadmissible. It turned out to be heavily edited to make it look like I attacked Jonathan unprovoked, rather than in self-defense. The judge saw through this manipulation and threw out the evidence.

The judge didn't stop there. He held Mr. Thompson, the defense attorney, in contempt of court for such an inexcusable and unforgettable stunt. The judge also announced that Mr. Thompson would be facing jail time for evidence tampering and for presenting an unreliable witness.

This series of events was a significant turning point in the trial. The defense's case was crumbling, and their desperate tactics were being exposed. With the support of my lawyer, my family, and my friends, I felt more confident than ever that justice would prevail. The truth was on our side, and it was only a matter of time before the jury saw it too.

With no new evidence and no new witnesses, the jury left to deliberate. The evidence was strong, and I timed their deliberation on my watch. They went back at 1:00 PM on the dot and returned at 1:05 PM. It was clear that they didn't need much time to reach a decision.

When the judge asked the jury for their verdict, it was evident that justice had prevailed. For both counts of assault, the jury voted guilty. For harassment, they voted guilty. For breaking and entering, they voted guilty. And finally, for obstruction of justice, they also voted guilty.

It was a resounding confirmation of what we had hoped for—a pretty open and shut case. The overwhelming evidence, the support from my family and friends, and the truth on our side had all contributed to this outcome. The defense's desperate attempts to manipulate the situation had failed, and the jury saw through their tactics.

As the verdict was read, I felt a wave of relief and gratitude. The journey had been tough, but with the support of my loved ones and the dedication of my lawyer, we had achieved justice. It was a moment of vindication and closure, knowing that the truth had finally been recognized.

Since I won my case and well Strawberry Arms had to pay my attorney fees as well which is something I didn’t have to do. But now another thing I had to do was to deal with my mother.