What the fuck is happening? I asked myself.

I left my apartment but as I was running down the hallway part of the floor collapsed but I was able to pull myself up. I continued to run but I slid down the stairwell handle to go around what part collapsed. Even though I was able to make it outside, I couldn’t help anyone just yet. I ran to my firehouse but my company was long gone but that didn’t stop me from suiting up.

There were some more explosions and I don’t know what it was but I know it wasn’t an earthquake but maybe it was just old infrastructure that hasn’t been updated within a century or whatnot finally breaking.

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

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

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

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

___________________________________________________________________________

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

I called my dad and after he finished helping someone he followed me outside because we were going to help as many people as we could. But we both knew that we couldn’t save everyone.

“Ah damn it,” my dad said.

I looked over to my dad and replied, “It’s going to be alright Dad. I’m going to go get you some help.”

“Just go baby girl,” my dad said. “Just go other people deserve your help.”

I replied, “No Dad I’m not going to leave you.”

“Just go Mackenzie,” my dad said. “Just go other people need your help.”

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

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

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

____________________________________________________________________________

I then returned the medical bag.

Carter couldn’t resist making another derogatory remark. His words were cut short by a loud thud as my cousin Franklin pinned him against the Squad 525 Rescue Engine, a serrated combat knife pressed threateningly against Carter’s throat.

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

Lieutenant Valkery intervened, “Hey, you can’t treat one of my firefighters like that!”

Franklin turned to her, his expression unyielding. “No, Lieutenant, this is your problem. You’ve been aware of Carter’s harassment and have done nothing. You’ve allowed him to target my cousin because of her gender. The buck stops with you. Your silence encourages his behavior because he knows you won’t do anything unless someone stands up for themselves. You’re just like a school teacher who ignores bullying until the victim fights back, then suddenly they’re the bad guy.”

Carter said, “I got friends who will come after you!”

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

Franklin isn’t my cousin by blood, but he’s every bit a part of our family. His parents tragically passed away when he was just a child, and we took him in. We didn’t just adopt him; we embraced him as one of our own, nurturing him in an environment filled with love and warmth. We’re his family, the only one he’s got, and we’ve been there for him every step of the way since he joined our clan.

I found myself musing aloud, “If carriers can evolve, what’s to say that battleships can’t also evolve?” Franklin, ever the naval enthusiast, had a ready response.

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

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

“Your father is going too…” Franklin said.

I cut him off, “Don’t say it because I fear that I’m jinked, or to me if you say one thing the opposite will happen and vice versa.”

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

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

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

____________________________________________________________________________

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lusty broke the silence, “So what are you going to do now?”

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

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

As I was walking out, Steven called out, “Hey Macaroni, where are you going with that box?”

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

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

I shook my head, “I wouldn’t bother. She was one-sided. Even when I brought up the Duty to Help and Good Samaritan Laws, it didn’t make a difference. It’s funny how a level four mobilization that calls in even those suspended didn’t seem to matter to them.”

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

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

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

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

At each outlet, I shared my story. Many reporters pointed out the retaliatory and illegal nature of my dismissal, something I hadn’t fully realized. I had a hunch that Empire Whispers, being an independent media outlet with no oversight, might handle my story differently than the major newspapers, which have some level of oversight on what stories get published.

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

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

____________________________________________________________________________

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

“Have you thought about just hiring a lawyer and sue?” my dad asked.

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

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

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

“I might visit Mitzy and his wife Visiala in Moonlight Cove one day,” I said out loud.

____________________________________________________________________________

The next day

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

“Well, if it isn’t Macaroni,” she greeted, a hint of amusement in her voice. “I’ve got something to discuss with you…”

Cutting her off mid-sentence, I shot back, “What’s the matter, Lieutenant?”

“I’m here to extend an offer for you to rejoin us,” she stated, her tone matter-of-fact.

I responded, my voice laced with a hint of passive-aggression, “I’ll consider it, but only under one condition.”

“And what might that be?” she inquired, her curiosity piqued.

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

I could see it in her eyes, the realization that she had little choice but to acquiesce to my terms. After a pause, I decided to drop another bombshell. “I won’t be staying a full year at Squad 525,” I informed her. When she asked why, I directed her to Captain Richter-Waterson for the details, but added, “Once my probationary period is over, I’m moving on to advanced classes, eyeing a shift to another company.”

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

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

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

____________________________________________________________________________

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

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

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

“You could’ve tried to negotiate with him to let me go,” I managed to say, my voice shaky.

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

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

The conversation continued.

“What brings you here?” Captain Linda inquired.

“I just wanted to chat,” I responded.

“If you’re here to discuss how to keep your mother from discovering your desire for a child, that’s simple. Just avoid your mother, and if you’re at home, don’t answer the door if she knocks,” Captain Linda advised. “The same trick worked during my first, second, and third pregnancies, and she doesn’t even know that I have two sons and two daughters.”

“If I ever have a child, I’ll never tell my mother. If my mom died, I wouldn’t go back to Alabama for her funeral. After all, if I did, I’d have to be dragged out by the police for disturbing the peace and for abusing a corpse because I’d be hitting my dead mother’s body with my fists or with a knife. I can’t even eat chili with crackers because it reminds me of the drugs my mom was addicted to when I was a kid and a teenager. My dad tried to get her into drug management classes twice. The first time she lasted five minutes, and the second and final time she lasted two seconds,” I confessed.

Captain Asyling empathized with my situation. She explained that she and her twin sister, Mackenzie, had a similar experience with their mother. Their mother was both an alcoholic and a drug addict who was married to a cop. Asyling and Mackenzie had to fend for themselves when their father wasn’t around. They couldn’t rely on their cousins, Darick and Sonata, who had loving parents. Things worsened when Asyling and Mackenzie’s father died in the line of duty when they were in the 11th grade. Mackenzie managed to graduate high school, while Asyling dropped out after being held back and joined the Navy. However, she left the Navy to become a cop.

“Hey Linda, what’s it like being married to my cousin?” I asked.

“Dave is the type of man that a woman wants. He pays attention to the little things. For Valentine’s Day, he always gets me a bouquet of mixed roses and lilies, light milk chocolate, something nice, a romantic card, and a romantic dinner. He’s confident, trustworthy, has integrity, shows compassion, and is emotionally available. If we didn’t like each other, we wouldn’t have gotten married back in 2003, had four children, and stayed together for eleven years. The last time we fought was back in 1998 when my brother Donnie died in a high-rise fire. I snapped at him, saying he hadn’t lost anyone important until he told me that he had lost his mother and stepmother, and out of his four siblings, he was the third child out of five and was the only one alive because the rest died in an arson with their mother or his mother or stepmother. But I love him because he’s truthful, and at least he loves me for who I am,” Linda replied.

I voiced my curiosity, “I don’t know how you can wear a gray uniform.”

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

"The Ad Vice Squad had the papers give out a fake number to have people believe they were taking more drugs off the streets than reality and to gain public support to combat prostitution, narcotics, lewdness, lust, and obscenity. Christmas of 1951 shined a light on what really was happening and exposed the Captain who turned a blind eye. The officers who weren’t threatened were given fake dispatch calls in which the Mafia would have a hitman to ambush and kill the responding officer or officers. This backfired when other precincts started to send multiple officers to any call, from a child with a scraped knee to a false alarm or anything in between. The few Mafia hitmen were charged with the murder of on-duty police officers for those they killed. Here in Little Bird, killing an on-duty police officer is capital punishment, aka death row.” She finished her explanation with a grim tone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She then left.

Linda shared her experiences from when she joined the Fire Department back in 1995. “At the age of 18, I noticed that the Police Department was still stuck in the 1960s. They didn’t use pepper spray or less lethal shotgun shells. They even used a ‘hot sheet,’ a small metallic table in the patrol car displaying tags of stolen cars. The white sheet would turn yellow when the light was on at night time,” she explained.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

____________________________________________________________________________

The day after.

I’ve got a knack for stirring up trouble. You see, returning to work after a forced hiatus wasn’t exactly met with open arms by my colleague, Carter. The guy’s got a permanent scowl etched into his face, and I’m pretty sure he’d rather share an elevator with a swarm of bees than with me.

So there I was, striding back into the station like a phoenix rising from the ashes. Carter, with his clenched jaw and disapproving glare, couldn’t resist opening his big mouth. But before he could unleash whatever snarky comment was brewing in that pea-sized brain of his, I leaned in close. My voice dropped to a dangerous whisper, the kind that makes even the toughest guys rethink their life choices.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

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

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

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

Carter’s eyes widened. Maybe he was realizing that I wasn’t just a pretty face with a badge. “But,” I said, drawing out the word, “if I’d done that, I’d have missed out on the sweet satisfaction of dealing with you personally.” I tapped my hip. “See, Carter, I’ve got a vivid imagination. If you’d pushed me too far, I’d have pulled you over, all official-like. And then—bam!—I’d unload my sidearm into you.”

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

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

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

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

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

“The city is at a boiling point,” the host continued, his voice swelling with urgency. “The citizens of Empire aren’t just concerned; they’re mobilizing, armed with the spirit of resistance. This isn’t just any church. It’s a historical landmark, a veteran of countless societal skirmishes, wearing the patina of time like a badge of honor. It stands defiant, a monument that seems to cry out, ‘Beware, ye who seek to profane these grounds!’”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But we weren’t going to pump out the water in the basements our job is just to rescue people stuck in elevators and help those who are disabled and bound to wheelchairs and crutches. The pumping out of the basements falls under both the Fire Department USAR aka Urban Search and Rescue company that’s housed in Firehouse sixteen with my cousin Dave who’s over on Ladder Co Sixteen.

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

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

A majority of the elevators were on the lower floors but some of the buildings have a problem with a lot of them having older elevator doors meaning they have elevator keyholes on the first and top floors. While a lot of them have elevator keyholes on every elevator door on every floor but the buildings with elevator doors that only have keyholes on the first and last floor and in those buildings we had to break holes into walls to reach said elevators because a lot of those older ones are more secure or tighter which won’t allow our forceable entry tools to enter so we had to break holes into walls.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

____________________________________________________________________________

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

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

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

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

Lieutenant Valkery, always a wealth of knowledge, began to recount the history of the firehouses and their inaugural meals. From Firehouse 14’s Alamode Beef to Engine 525’s Ribs, each company had a unique story to tell, each meal a testament to its rich history. As she spoke, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride and camaraderie.

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

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

While I waited for the Braciole to get done I read a newspaper.

“Funny how a gang with the goal of unarmed crime prevention is doing better than the cops,” I said out loud, “They’re doing more than the Cops. Unlike other gangs in which were formed to establish a semblance of stability in their neighborhoods, as soon as the money, the drugs, and the perks come in the gangsters are simply in it for power. The gang in my girlfriend’s old neighborhood while yes they wear colors to stand out. They’re still the same as they were original way of keeping the neighborhood safe and doing what the cops won’t do in Eastside of keeping it safe from crime of course Clairebear she told me how once there was an robbery in Eastside that it took the cops two hours to respond. The criminal was far gone because the responding officers said and I quote ‘Didn’t feel like showing up’ yeah so much for the EPD Motto of ‘We serve to protect’ and Eastside is full of tenement buildings, and housing projects containing several apartment towers of four-pointed towers on the western blocks and two four-pointed towers and a five-pointed tower on the eastern blocks.”

Lieutenant Valkery replied, “Why don’t you watch this live news broadcast with us?”

“I’ve already seen my fair share of police chases on live TV,” I said.

Over the TV “All units 11-Adam-4 have reported that the suspect car is armed and dangerous and the Commissoner has authorized the use of deadly force repeat the Commissoner has authorized the use of deadly force is authorized in stopping the suspect vehicle.”

That caught my attention for about two seconds before going back to reading.

I found myself waiting for my dinner to cook in the firehouse kitchen. My eyes wandered over to the apparatus bay, where a large map of the city hung. It was a paper map, a stark contrast to the electronic one at my girlfriend’s firehouse, Squad 141 quarters. Theirs was simple - green for a company in quarters, red for a company out.

This map, however, was a vibrant tapestry of colors, each representing a different aspect of our city’s fire defense. Firehouses were divided vertically in half, one side painted in Fire Engine red, the other in blue. Firehouses 14, 16, 17, 19, 47, 53, 59, 85, 87, 92, 93, 136, 137, and 138 were both red and blue, indicating they housed a Type One Class One Engine Company and either a 100ft Rear mount or tractor-drawn tiller ladder. But they also housed an Ambulance, be it Basic Life Support, Advanced Life Support, HAZ-MAT TEC/HAZ-TEC, or Rescue Medic Ambulances. Squad Co 141 quarters were unique, housing an ambulance bus, and a Mass Cass Unit. Firehouses 14, 19, 59, and 87 also housed both an EMS Response Physician and an EMS Supervisor. Both HAZMAT Companies, for obvious reasons, had Haz-Tec Ambulances.

Firehouses 15, 18, 23, 68, 69, 71, 72, Rescue Co 17, Rescue Co 18, and Squad 525 were just red, indicating they housed only fire apparatus. My company, where I served, housed a single company - our Rescue Engine. It was a 1968 semi-closed cab with a “riot roof” Rescue engine. These half-closed cabs were called “Riot Roof Rigs”, a nod to the 1960s riots, where rioters would drop items like ash, bricks, and rocks onto firefighters. Many of these firefighters were tank crew members during the Second World War. They took their experience welding armor skirts onto their tanks for additional protection and applied the same principle here, welding steel together to make a roof. But the roof only protected the Chauffer/Engineer, Company officer, and two who sat down. The other three still rode on the tailboard, exposed to the elements and any potential dangers. Even though my firehouse houses a HAZMAT Response Van it’s more or less just for show because the last time it responded to a HAZMAT emergency was eleven years ago far before I joined the department.

In the early 1800s, I didn’t question the decisions made by the Little Bird Bureau of Fire Protection, known to the citizens of Little Bird as the Fire Department of Little Bird. This organization oversees all the fire departments in Little Bird. One of their decisions was that the number of a firehouse would correspond to the number of the fire apparatus housed within it. I assumed this was to simplify logistics.

Take, for example, the firehouse where my cousin Dave works, known as Sixteen House. From the 1810s to 1947, it housed just Hose Wagon Sixteen, which was renamed Engine 16 in 1897, and Ladder Sixteen. Even though many other companies aren’t numbered sixteen, they came later down the road. USAR was established in 1947, Field Communications in 1974, Super Pumper 12 in 1963, BLS 5 in 1987, and ALS 10 in 1995.

In 1812, the Bureau of Fire passed an Act requiring all cities and towns to have their fire departments named “Fire Department of” followed by the name of the town or city. This naming convention is still in use today.

During my time at the academy, I learned the unique classifications of fire engines here in Little Bird. A Class 1 fire engine holds water, while a Class 2 carries foam. This is different from the rest of the world, a Class 1 is typically an urban fire engine, and a Class 2 is commonly found in the suburbs. However, from Type 3 to Type 7, we align with the global standards.

Initially, I assumed that fire engines in towns would be smaller due to fewer fire calls. But to my surprise, they’re built to the same configuration as their city counterparts, equipped with a 1000/500 - a one thousand gallon tank with a capacity to pump 500 gallons per minute.

Across Little Bird, we share the same turnout gear. It’s black with yellow and white striping, and the back is emblazoned with the FD/town or city initial. Our helmets are black and come equipped with a flashlight and some have door chocks. The turnout gear also includes a lantern, a vital tool in our line of work.

I then went to do the crossword puzzle in the independent newspaper.

“Why do you read an independent newspaper?” asked Pengelle

I replied, “No biases and no oversight. Not adding you always hear everything one sided oh an officer-involved shooting it’s always the police department's view not everyone else's point of view. But it’s a newspaper's duty to print the news and raise hell. But I read the independent newspaper because of once the German propaganda minster said and I quote ‘If you tell a lie big enough and keep repeating it people will eventually believe it’. So I don’t read anything biased or one-sided. Like in here It’s talking about just the pros and cons of private funded prisons vs government prisons like in here it says private prisons help reliefiate government controlled prisons but there’s no government oversight and that private prisons don’t hire experienced CO’s but inexperienced people with little to no training. Not adding private driven prisons here are mostly discomfort while government run prisons have to give basic human needs of comfort, water, food, and rest.”

I then saw Cater leave. I didn’t care but I think he doesn’t want to be in a room with his ex-wife Oijia but that’s his problem not mine.

Part of the independent newspaper there was a segment talking about the Uptown-Downtown blaze of 1899 in which back then the department only had 185 men in a population of a quarter million it was caused by a lightning bolt but the wooden buildings went up like nothing because it was a very hot summer and didn’t rain for all summer. But all of Uptown and Downtown became ash literally with only thing that was damaged but the same were concrete sidewalks and the backroads but in Uptown, and Downtown buildings, the 9th and 10th Police Precincts, 14th, 17th, 19th, 23rd Fire Houses, the marketplace, City Hall, Police and Fire HQ and homes were gone but nearly thirty-two years later in 1931 Fire Department City of Empire built their fire academy right on the spot where the fire was. But the segment also says that for eight years it was overshadowed by the 1907 Empire Earthquake which did twenty times the damage than what the 1899 Empire Fire done.

When I got done with the independent newspaper I just threw it into the recycling bin.

“What’s the closest call this company ever been on?” I asked.

Pengelle replied, “Right behind our quarters of an unmarked police car being followed, someone shot at them, they fired back and the attackers were DOA.”

After three hours I got the Braciole out of the oven but as I put it onto the stove we were called to a Medical Run when we got there EMS beat us and we were just used for crowd control and keep traffic moving to prevent rubberneckers. But when the ambulance transported the victim we followed with our siren on where in 2007 it was readvised for the Fire Department to have an Engine or Ladder Company go with the ambulance to the hospital and once the patient is given over to the hospital care then we could be called back into service even though a lot of companies are still the same way of once the ambulance picks up their patient then the company will go back into service and return to quarters.

When we returned to our quarters I got our Braciole out of the oven again because I left it in the oven but turned it off so the heat could keep it nice and hot.

“I know y’all eat meat so don’t act like y’all don’t like it.” i said, “NIr Chicken.”

Even though our lunch became dinner due to of the flood call and later while going to the medical call. But while eating Lieutenant Valkery talked about how Battalion Chief Richter retired but did mention that he was on the job from when he was seventeen years old back in 1956, left once in 1966 and done one tour in the Marines during Vietnam, came back in 1967 and stayed until 2008 and done his fifty-two years of service out of the same firehouse on the same two companies of Ladder Co Eighteen from ‘56 to ‘82 and Battalion 18 from ‘82 to ‘08. But tried to keep his daughter Linda safe by not having her sweep across the floor from Engine to Ladder Eighteen in ‘98-99 even tried to convince her not to go to take academy classes to learn the workings of a ladder company and told her that on a ladder company she won’t have the luxury of not using a firehose to find her way out where she would have to use her sense of touch to find her way out but that didn’t stop Linda from going over onto a ladder company anyway because she said that she wanted a challenge before again in ‘99 taking classes before going over to a Rescue Company in 2000.

Of course, Carter didn’t say anything but I think he knows that if he did then I would’ve punched him straight in the mouth without hesitation.

Schmit’s question caught me off guard, “How do you plan these meals?” It was simple, yet it opened a floodgate of memories. I looked down at the frugal spread before us, each dish a testament to my father’s wisdom and my mother’s shadow that loomed over our past.

“I learned from the best,” I began, my voice barely above a whisper. “My dad, he was the king of thriftiness, a maestro of coupons. He’d say, ‘Mackenzie, watch the sales like a hawk. Track the prices, know when to strike.’ He made a game out of frugality, and I was his eager student. But there was more to it than just saving a few dimes.”

I paused, the weight of the unspoken truth heavy on my tongue. “You see, when your mother is more fiend than a parent, devouring resources like a plague of locusts, you learn to stretch every penny till it screams. Dad, he was my rock, my fortress. He never let friends come over, not because he was unkind, but because home was our battlefield, and he was determined to shield us from judgmental eyes.”

A bitter laugh escaped me as I continued, “I used to fantasize, you know? Wished that the day I was born, Dad would’ve just walked away from it all—left the Army, divorced Mom, and spared us both from her toxic embrace. I remember the day I crashed my BMX, fifteen and brash, leg broken and pride shattered. There she was, my mother, looming over me not with concern, but with outstretched hand, asking for money while Dad patched me up, his hands gentle yet firm.”

I shook my head, the image of my father working tirelessly to mend more than just my bike, to fix a life frayed by my mother’s chaos. “He worked fifty hours a week, you know? And still found the time to be the parent I needed. It took him twenty-three years to sever the ties with her, twenty-three years of hoping she’d change, despite everyone’s warnings. They said she was the devil’s ride, and he was just a young fool in love, blind to the truth until it was too late.”

Taking another bite, I felt the sting of old wounds as I recounted, “At fourteen, I was a waitress, my earnings my Mom siphoned until Dad stepped in. He opened a bank account for me, a sanctuary for my hard-earned money. I told him, ‘If you ever find love again, choose someone who can be the mother I never had.’ Our homes, whether in North Carolina or Alabama, were trapped in time, relics of the '70s and '80s, because Mom drained us of more than just money.”

I sighed, a mix of hope and resignation in my voice. “People romanticize the '80s with neon lights, but for me, it was dimmed by struggle. All I want is for Dad to find someone who’ll cherish him, not for what he can give, but for the incredible man he is. Someone the polar opposite of the woman I refuse to acknowledge as ‘Mom.’ because she wasn’t.”

“Get to the point,” said Lieutenant Valkery.

I replied, “I read the newspaper because it helps people find a job or a profession, people can check Weekly Events (Chess tournaments, eating contests, Festfestivals etc.)Read random events such as a nearby family moving away, news of a baby being born, and the death of a person. People can ‘Clip Coupons’ which offer discounts at the local shops for a limited time. the paper will show hotspots. People can ‘Read the Baking Report’, which features supposed stock market-esque trends on ingredients and baked goods. People can check for neighborhood adoptions or adopt a pet from the shelter. Horses are also able to eat newspapers. can check the weather forecast though the forecast is somewhat less accurate than the one in the weather channel.

"Not adding that both independent and company newspapers always have a section in the paper about the supermarkets in stores that has discounts and what’s lower than normal like sales or for the holidays. My dad always taught me to capitalize on it and to capitalize on grabbing a copy of the supermarket paper which shows what’s on sale. He learned it from his mom in the late 1960s and throughout the 1970s whom his mother or my grandmother had a eagle eye for prices and made sure she stayed underbudget and got more for her buck and my dad taught me. And maybe one day I’ll teach my children if I have children or teach my girlfriend’s children to do the same and don’t be like the type of shopper who just goes in and buys on impulse.”

Carter replied, “You calling me out?!”

“Well you’re not alone,” I said, “But what I have to say won’t go to your brain but what helps is starting a list of what you want and need not just grab whatever. I was always taught to see what’s on sale and make a list. With a list, you go in and out with everything you need a lot of people just go in and look up and down the aisles and just grab what they think they need or just grab the stuff on the shelves and when they return home and find out they don’t have the space for it. I know I have some family members who are like that just buying what they want. But you’re not going to change your ways either way but everyone is different.”

________________________________________________

At night we were asleep peacefully until the fire bell went off where I checked my watch and I wore my watch backwards like how soldiers wear.

The mile-long stretch of road on the east side, lined with art-deco hotels and commercial buildings, is named “Aurora Strand.” This name evokes the image of a place where the early morning light meets the seaside, reflecting the art-deco style’s association with luxury and elegance. The “Strand” part of the name suggests a beachside walk, fitting for its location next to the beach. Aurora Strand a destination that stands out for its architectural beauty and scenic location, drawing visitors and locals alike to experience its unique charm. But it has a low population density, with restaurants in its smaller urban part and houses for the workers.

But that’s stretch of the Interstate is why the city of Empire is nicknamed “Tourist Trap” because it’s a beach with hotels, nightclubs, bars, and the beach not adding other stuff to attract millions of tourists each year. But it also has trouble at night for obvious reasons of partpartygoers night owls wanting an extra kick to party all night and sleep all day.

When we got there it was a car inside a jewelry store while Carter was helping Schmit hooking up the five-inch supply line I heard him mutter about how I have the accent and mannerisms of a stereotypical southern lady but that’s not true while I may be from the American south, but I don’t have the mannerism of a southern belle lady but honestly I don’t care about him. But I just got the hydraulic rescue tool the spreader one we have but as I lined it up to separate the door from the frame when the tires started to spin up squealing I took the initiative. I threw myself into the car and turned off the car by turning the key and removing the key from the ignition.

I then used the hydraulic rescue tool and was able to pop open the driver-side door. SomeSomehow car was at an angle where we couldn’t just chop to peel the windshield then cut the roof off that way.

___________________________________________

Fire Department Academy Library

I looked down the aisles of books and old documents where I found a booklet about both Squad 141 and 525 which was dated January of 1966 says:

By direction of the Fire Commissioner, Squad Co. No. 141 is organized effective at 9:00 AM, August 23rd, 1953. Its composition shall be as follows:

Location: 1400 Starfish Street (Quarters of Engine Co 141)

Apparatus: Squad

Assigned: 19th Battalion-16th Division

3 Captains

1 Lieutenant

24 Firemen

EQUIPMENT:

7 Air-Pak Masks with Cylinders

7 Compressed Air Cylinders (Extra)

7 All-Service Filter Masks

3 Claw tools

2 Lock breakers

1 Crow Bar

5 6’ hooks

3 5 lbs flathead axes

3 8 lbs flathead axes

1 ½ Soda and Acid Extinguisher

RADIO: 2-way Empire Frequency

RESPONSE: Squad Co. No. 141 shall respond to alarms of fire as herein assigned:

NORTHERN EMPIRE FIRST ALARM:

730, 731, 732, 733, 734, 735, 736, 737, 738, 739, 740, 740, 742, 743, 744, 745, 746, 747, 748, 749, 750, 751, 752, 753, 754,755,756, 757, 758, 759, 760, 761, 762, 763, 764, 765, 766, 767, 768, 769, 770, 771, 772, 773, 774, 775, 776, 777, 778, 779, 780, 781, 782, 783, 784, 785, 786, 787, 788, 789, 790, 791, 792, 793, 794, 795, 796, 797, 798, 799, 800, 801, 802, 803, 804, 805, 806, 807, 808, 809, 810, 811, 812, 813, 814, 815, 816, 817, 818, 819, 820.

It also has on the previous page that says:

By direction of the Fire Commissioner, Squad Co. No. 525 is organized effective at 9:00 AM, October 1st, 1914. Its composition shall be as follows:

Location: 834 Aroura Street (Quarters of Engine Co 525)

Apparatus: Engine

Assigned: 18th Battalion-17th Division

3 Captains

1 Lieutenant

24 Firemen

EQUIPMENT:

2 2 ½ inch attack hoses

1 3 inch supply hose

3 Claw tools

2 Lock breakers

1 Crow Bar

5 6’ hooks

3 5 lbs flathead axes

3 8 lbs flathead axes

1 ½ Soda and Acid Extinguisher

The third page says:

By direction of the Fire Commissioner, Squad Co. No. 525 is organized effective at 9:00 AM, January 1st, 1966. Its composition shall be as follows:

Location: 834 Aroura Street (Quarters of Engine Co 525)

Apparatus: Squad

Assigned: 18th Battalion-17th Division

3 Captains

1 Lieutenant

24 Firemen

EQUIPMENT:

7 Air-Pak Cylinders with masks

7 Compressed Air Cylinders (Extra)

7 Special filters

7 NBC (nuclear, biological, chemical) suits

1 1 ¾ inch attack hose

1 2 ½ inch attack hose

1 3 inch supply hose

1 5 inch supply hose

3 Claw tools

2 Lock breakers

1 Crow Bar

5 6’ hooks

3 5 lbs flathead axes

3 8 lbs flathead axes

1 ½ Soda and Acid Extinguisher

1 Exothermic Torch

1 Cutting Torch

2 Partner Saws

1 Hydraulic tool

2 sets of chains

1 Air gun

Cribbing

But as I just skimmed through it, it mentions more equipment that were slowly adopted in the 1980s or 90s like Thermal cameras and in the 90s the NBC suits were replaced with HAZMAT suits. But I kept reading it and it says that in 1997-2000 they had the “Squad Expandanary” in which was to create new Squad Companies and to expand the role of the current Squad Companies but it failed due to they couldn’t find the place to put the newer Squad Companies but they thought about just taking Engine Companies 14, 16, 18, 23, 59, and 93 and just turn them into said Squad Companies but that fell through because they still would’ve just been still Engine Companies because said firehouses they’re quartered with has a ladder company in which a Squad Company goes to are require the tools of a ladder company so in both First or Second due response areas then the newly formed Squad Companies would’ve still stay as a Engine Company so the decision just not to convert them into Squad Companies was made and keep them as their same configuration of an Engine Company but the plan was somewhat controversal as well because the people just see the Squad Companies as nothing but another version of a Engine Company and I understood where there coming from because some photographs taken in the 1920s and 30s with a few in the 40s into the 50s some photos of Squad Co 525 their apparatus don’t say Engine 525 or Squad 525 but says “Enchanced Pumper 525” or “Enchanced Engine 525” and back then Squad Companies were just men who were given exempted from the military draft in both World Wars and didn’t get reorganized into Special Operations until the 1950s.

I kept reading that one Captain on Squad 525 from 1933-1940, 1945-1982 due to his military experience as an Officer at the Company and later Battalion level he with a few other officials and high-ranking police officials decided to create a “Command Center” which was later renamed to “Emergency Operations Center” sometime in the 1960s but he started to list possible scenarios that while haven’t happened until 2006-2007 but a lot of scenarios he threw were wildfires, floods, dam failure, chemical accidents, droughts, earthquakes, fires, flu, food safety, heat waves, hurricanes, landslides, nuclear incidents, poisonings, power outages, thunderstorms, tornadoes, tsunamis, volcanos, water safety, and later added in 1972 Munich Massacre after the which is terrorism.was added to the list. But he helped created it because of the saying “Rather be prepared for the unknown than be caught off guard” but in 2007 after a Earthquake which caused fires, power outage, dam break, and flood.

But as I kept reading I discovered that a majority of the men who made up the Squad Company members were both Engineers and Combat Engineers in the Army, Navy, Marines, and Air Force where the Combat Engineers in the Army and Marines were tall and strong guys whom were firefighters before their pre-war days and to me that it’s quite ironic that men who were trained to fight fires that when they were in the Army or Marines they were trained to be flamethrower operators because the Little Bird Military decided to choose firemen for flamethrower operator duties due to them already being around fire. But to me that’s ironic of men trained to fight fires trained to use a fire spewing weapon.

I put it back and left.