October 14th dawned. I sat poised in a chair, my left arm carefully secured in a strange, unfamiliar contraption. The scientist, a seasoned professional with a calm demeanor, approached me with a clipboard in hand.

“Alright Mackenzie, now move your left arm for recalibration. I’ll run a diagnostic,” he instructed, his voice a soothing blend of authority and reassurance. I complied, my arm moving with a practiced ease, despite the unfamiliar weight of the contraption. Three connector pieces, gleaming with an almost futuristic sheen, were embedded in my arm. I moved her fingers, each one a testament to the intricate workings of the technology that now ran through her veins.

“Making a small adjustment,” the scientist announced, his eyes fixed on the readings displayed on a handheld device. I continued to move my arm, my fingers tracing the air, responding to the demands of the calibration process. The scientist, his brow furrowed in concentration, carefully observed the readings, a silent dialogue between man and machine unfolding before them.

“I think I see the problem,” the scientist declared, his voice tinged with a hint of triumph. He tapped the screen of the device, a flurry of digits and symbols dancing across its surface. “Give me a moment,” he murmured, his fingers moving with practiced precision. The device hummed softly, a symphony of data processing resonating in the hushed silence of the room.

“Alright, you’re good to go,” he declared, a satisfied smile gracing his lips. With a practiced hand, he removed the three connectors, each one a symbol of the intricate connection between technology and human potential.The contraption, its purpose fulfilled, was gently removed from my arm, leaving her free, but not untouched by the experience.

“Lieutenant Commander Amore is waiting for you,” said the Scientist

I then got up from the seat and got up and started to walk.

I guess you all have been wondering how I’ve been in this position. Let me start with last week of what happened,

____________

October 1st

The firehouse was unusually quiet, but I knew better than to get too comfortable. I was at a table, testing some spare breathing apparatus and masks. It's crucial to ensure these are in perfect working order; any defect could mean the difference between life and death. If something was off, we'd either fix it ourselves or call the mask service unit. They'd swap our broken gear for a loaner from the 1990s—hardly ideal, but better than nothing.

Suddenly, the fire bell rang, jolting us into action. A fire at a technology research plant. I grabbed my new helmet, proudly marked "FIREFIGHTER" instead of "PROBIE." Today, I was officially a full-fledged firefighter.

"So, Captain, what's the situation?" I asked, securing my helmet.

"Research facility. People trapped. Automated metal doors," he replied, his voice steady.

We arrived quickly. The Captain spoke to a scientist who explained they were working on particle matter and nanotechnology.

As we moved in, I couldn't help but think of Isaac Newton's words. "Every particle of matter is attracted by or gravitates to every other particle of matter with a force inversely proportional to the squares of their distances." Here we were, dealing with particle physics and nanotechnology.

I muttered to myself, "The impact of nanotechnology is expected to exceed the impact that the electronics revolution has had on our lives."

While escorting a scientist out, I noticed the doors opened when they detected movement. I figured if I kept my arm in the door frame, it would stay open. But as soon as the scientist passed through, the PA system blared, "Fire Detected," and the door slammed shut on my arm.

Pain shot through me, but I stayed calm. Grabbing my radio with my free hand, I called out, "Mayday, Mayday, Mayday, this is Squad 769-7. I'm 10-66. Repeat, I'm 10-66, arm trapped in a door."

In the Fire Department City of Empire, a 10-66 means a member is missing, lost, trapped, or seriously injured and needs extrication. My team would have to get me out of this automated door that had me pinned.

I knew they'd come through. They always did.

After what felt like an eternity but was only a few minutes, I heard a voice, "Squad 541 here… Oh, your arm is really trapped in a door."

It wasn't my team, but beggars can't be choosers. I would have preferred my girlfriend's squad, but Squad 141 wasn't dispatched to this fire.

One of the firefighters from Squad 541 got a blowtorch ready. I took off my helmet and put it over my mask as a makeshift welder shield to protect my eyes from the intense brightness. My family has a lot of welders and folks in construction, shipbuilding, and other trades. They've always warned me about how bright a blowtorch can be—brighter than the sun and capable of causing temporary eye damage.

As the blowtorch flared up, I braced myself. This was going to be one for the books.

The Lieutenant asked if I could feel my arm. I told him I couldn't feel a thing in my lower left arm or hand. He suspected it was shock. It took them a while to cut a piece of the door off, only to realize they had to cut through more to free my entire arm.

When they finally managed to cut through, my lower left arm came off. The Lieutenant radioed for an ambulance, specifying it was an amputation case. The chief on scene had to double-check to make sure he heard correctly. The Lieutenant confirmed, explaining my situation—my arm caught in the door, now partially amputated.

I was brought out and placed in an ambulance, positioned to manage shock. A paramedic was in the back with me, but an EMS Supervisor joined because this kind of trauma was beyond a paramedic's scope. They did their best to stop the bleeding and gave me some medicine to numb the pain, but I was becoming pale from the blood loss.

They worked tirelessly, doing everything they could to stabilize me. I knew I was in good hands, but the reality of losing my arm was starting to sink in.

Of course, when the ambulance started to take off, I could hear the EMT radio dispatch that they had an amputation case and to let the trauma center know they should have a team ready for our arrival.

I overheard the paramedic ask the EMS Supervisor if they could reattach my arm. The EMS Supervisor shook his head and explained that it was too late. Even if they had the proper equipment, the fourteen minutes my arm was stuck in the automatic door had done irreversible damage. The heat on the other side of the door had killed the cells in my arm. Temperatures between 46°C and 60°C cause irreversible cellular damage, and fires are much hotter than that. Our turnout gear can only protect us from so much heat, and the fire on the ceiling was far hotter than fires at eye level.

The reality of the situation hit me hard. My arm was gone, and there was no getting it back. The paramedics did their best to stabilize me, stopping the bleeding and giving me medicine to numb the pain. I was becoming pale from the blood loss, but they worked tirelessly to keep me stable.

As we sped towards the trauma center, I couldn't help but think about what this meant for my future. Being a firefighter was my life, and now everything was about to change. But I knew one thing for sure, I wasn't going to let this stop me. I'd find a way to keep going, no matter what.

I couldn't help but feel a wave of regret wash over me. Putting my arm through that door, hoping it wouldn't close, was a gamble that didn't pay off. Sure, it's great that the doors close automatically in fires to prevent the spread, but I wish they had some way to detect if someone was in the way.

I'm cross-dominant, so I use both hands, but my left arm and hand have always been my go-to for most tasks. Writing, picking up stuff—my left hand was my preference. Now, I was going to have to adjust to using my right hand for everything. It felt like a daunting task, but I knew I'd have to adapt.

As the ambulance sped towards the trauma center, I couldn't shake the feeling of frustration. I knew better than to put my arm in that door, but in the heat of the moment, I made a choice. Now, I had to live with the consequences. But one thing was clear. I wasn't going to let this setback define me. I'd find a way to keep going, just like I always have.

It didn’t help that just a couple of weeks ago, my dad had voiced his fears about me getting injured or killed on the job. I threw his fear right back at him, reminding him of his deployments during Operation: Just Cause and the Gulf War. As a child, I had the same fears for him. It was a cycle of worry that we both understood all too well.

As we sped towards the hospital, I glanced at the analog clock above the ambulance’s back door. I was trying to time the trip, expecting it to take around ten minutes. To my surprise, we arrived in just four. The paramedics had done an incredible job getting me there quickly.

Despite the pain and the shock, I couldn’t help but think about how life has a way of throwing curveballs. My dad’s fears, my own stubbornness, and now this—losing my arm. But I knew I had to stay strong, not just for myself, but for everyone who cared about me. This was just another challenge, and I’d face it head-on, just like I always have.

As soon as we arrived at the hospital, the paramedics transferred me to the hospital staff. I heard a doctor urgently calling for a trauma surgeon and notifying other departments I wasn’t familiar with. The urgency in their voices made everything feel even more surreal.

They rolled me into a room, and the first thing they did was remove my turnout jacket. I felt a mix of relief and vulnerability as the weight of the jacket was lifted off me. The next thing I knew, they were administering medicine to knock me out. The last thing I remember was the bright lights of the room and the flurry of activity around me.

As the medicine took effect, my thoughts drifted to my dad, my team, and everyone who mattered to me. I knew I was in good hands, but the uncertainty of what lay ahead was daunting. I just hoped that when I woke up, I’d have the strength to face whatever came next.

___________________

When I woke up, the first thing I did was ask the nurse what time it was. She told me that seven days had passed. Seven days. It felt like a lifetime. She mentioned that a doctor would be coming to check in with me soon.

After she left, I stared out the window, trying to process everything. The city outside looked the same, but everything had changed for me.

Soon, a doctor walked in. "Morning, Ms. Mackenzie," he said with a reassuring smile. "I've got some good news. We have two prosthetic arms available for you to choose from. They'll be brought up later for you to check out."

I nodded, taking in his words. The idea of a prosthetic arm was both daunting and hopeful. It meant I could regain some of the functionality I'd lost. It meant I could start to rebuild my life, piece by piece.

"Thank you, doctor," I said, my voice steady. "I'm ready to see them."

As he left the room, I took a deep breath. This was the beginning of a new chapter, and I was determined to face it head-on.

After several hours, the doctor returned with a table holding two prosthetic arms under glass lids. One was all metal, probably titanium, and the other looked almost indistinguishable from a real human arm, made of some kind of advanced plastic.

The doctor explained the differences. The metal one couldn't get wet without being locked up and needed to be reset and fixed, while the plastic one could function like a normal arm and get wet, but it needed an annual check-up to ensure there was no damage and to recalibrate if necessary.

I chose the plastic one that looked realistic. For some reason, I always enter the shower on my left side, even though it would be more convenient to use my right. The realistic look of the plastic arm just felt right to me.

The doctor nodded and said he would inform the team of my choice. Despite everything, a tiny part of me still hoped my real arm could be reattached. I knew it was a long shot, especially after the EMS Supervisor explained how the heat had destroyed the cells. But hope is a stubborn thing.

As I waited for the prosthetic, I thought about the road ahead. Adapting to a new arm would be a challenge, but I was ready to face it. After all, I've never backed down from a challenge before, and I wasn't about to start now.

After some time had passed, they prepared me for surgery. I was knocked out for the procedure, and when I woke up, I was back in my hospital room with my new cybernetic arm.

I slowly moved my arm, hand, and fingers, getting a feel for the prosthetic. It was surreal, almost like learning to use my arm all over again. The movements were smooth, and it responded well to my commands. It felt strange but also empowering. This new arm was going to be a part of me, and I was determined to make it work.

As I continued to test the range of motion, I couldn’t help but feel a mix of emotions. There was a sense of loss, but also a sense of hope and determination. This was a new beginning.

---

Seven Days Later

My left arm started acting up a bit, so I decided to visit the Marine-Air Base, home to the Little Birden Third Marine Division, Twenty-First Airborne Division, and the 32nd Multi-role Fighter Wing. Since my cybernetic prosthetic arm is common among military service members, I was referred to see a military specialist.

When I approached the gate, a Military Policeman stopped me to question my purpose. I explained that I was there to see a cybernetic specialist. The MP gave me directions on where to park and where to go.

Following his instructions, I parked my car and made my way to the designated building. The base was bustling with activity, and I couldn't help but feel a sense of camaraderie with the service members. They, too, understood the challenges of adapting to life with a prosthetic.

“Alright Mackenzie, now move your left arm for recalibration. I’ll run a diagnostic,” he instructed, his voice a soothing blend of authority and reassurance. I complied, my arm moving with a practiced ease, despite the unfamiliar weight of the contraption. Three connector pieces, gleaming with an almost futuristic sheen, were embedded in my arm. I moved her fingers, each one a testament to the intricate workings of the technology that now ran through her veins.

“Making a small adjustment,” the scientist announced, his eyes fixed on the readings displayed on a handheld device. I continued to move my arm, my fingers tracing the air, responding to the demands of the calibration process.The scientist, his brow furrowed in concentration, carefully observed the readings, a silent dialogue between man and machine unfolding before them.

“I think I see the problem,” the scientist declared, his voice tinged with a hint of triumph. He tapped the screen of the device, a flurry of digits and symbols dancing across its surface. “Give me a moment,” he murmured, his fingers moving with practiced precision. The device hummed softly, a symphony of data processing resonating in the hushed silence of the room.

“Alright, you’re good to go,” he declared, a satisfied smile gracing his lips. With a practiced hand, he removed the three connectors, each one a symbol of the intricate connection between technology and human potential. The contraption, its purpose fulfilled, was gently removed from my arm, leaving me free, but not untouched by the experience.

“Lieutenant Commander Amore is waiting for you,” said the Scientist

I got up from the seat and started to walk. The machine I had put my arm in reminded me of those blood pressure machines. As I entered another hallway, I met up with Cadenza again. She led me to a 4x4 jeep-like vehicle. I got in behind her while she took the passenger seat, and the driver took off.

As we rode around, I couldn't help but marvel at the futuristic technology. Turbofan VTOLs, soldiers and marines with jump jets in their combat boots, allowing them to leap twelve feet and reach areas a normal infantryman couldn't.

"What I'm seeing is advanced warfare?" I asked, still in awe.

"Yup," Cadenza replied with a nod.

It was amazing to see Marines and Paratroopers testing out their jumpjet boots, using built-in grappling hooks to reach otherwise inaccessible areas.

"Someone climbing a wall without rope?" I said, pointing to a soldier scaling a metallic surface.

"Magnetic gloves and boots," Cadenza explained. "They let the wearer climb metallic surfaces. They can be turned off and on, so they're not always active."

We soon arrived at a building, and Cadenza and I got out while the jeep drove off.

"Whenever I go see a doctor, I get some trigger time in," Cadenza said casually.

I was about to ask what she meant, but we entered a building and headed to an indoor shooting range. Cadenza was the type who didn't let bureaucracies slow her down. If I asked her if she would try politics, I knew she'd say, "Well, I like to get things done, so… no."

I looked around, amazed at the firing range.

"What we do in a few years, other governments take decades to accomplish," Cadenza said. "Unlike other countries with huge bureaucracies, Little Bird gets things done quickly."

Her words resonated with me. It was inspiring to see such efficiency and innovation in action. As I prepared to test my new arm, I felt a renewed sense of determination. This was just the beginning of a new chapter, and I was ready to embrace it.

As we walked, Cadenza talked about how the greatest weakness of many countries is the slow speed of their administrations, often due to corruption and sheer size. Little Bird, she explained, is the opposite. With a small bureaucracy, it's more agile, responsive, and adaptable. Larger bureaucracies get bogged down by complex layers of approval processes, hindering innovation and slowing responses to issues. In contrast, smaller ones allow for more direct communication and quicker action.

She also mentioned that in Little Bird, justice is served regardless of one's connections or influence. There's no "I'm a relative of a high-ranking politician" to get someone off the hook. My cousin once removed, Lieutenant Mitchell "Mitzy" Waterson, and his wife Visala, who is incredibly intelligent in her field of alien tech and reverse engineering, are responsible for a lot of the advancements here.

We soon arrived at the indoor firing range.

"So, are these pop-up targets?" I asked.

"Nope," Cadenza replied with a grin.

She handed me a pistol and led me to the range. She pressed a button, and a holographic scene appeared, showing the front side of a building with a door and twin window outlines. Holographic targets popped up, and I took aim, firing at them.

The realism of the holograms was impressive, and it felt like I was in an actual combat scenario. Each shot I took with my new arm felt more natural, and I could feel my confidence growing with each hit. This was more than just target practice; it was a step towards reclaiming my life and my abilities.

The first set of targets was easy enough since they were stationary. But I knew better than to get too comfortable. Being in a place that garrisons Marines, Paratroopers, and Pilots, I had a feeling things were about to get more challenging. I kept my thoughts to myself, though.

When Set 2 began, it was a whole different ball game. The targets didn't just pop up and stay still; they moved left to right or right to left. The red ones were enemies, and the blue ones were civilians. It felt like a police training scenario for a hostage situation. I had to stop and check before I shot, making sure I didn't hit a blue hologram.

The added complexity made me focus even more, testing my reflexes and decision-making skills. Each shot required precision and quick thinking, and I could feel my new arm adapting to the challenge. It was tough, but I was determined to get through it. This was just another step in proving to myself that I could handle whatever came my way.

When Set Two ended, I reloaded my pistol, but Cadenza handed me an assault rifle. It was the Little Bird version of the GAU-5A/A, with a flat top, A1 flash hider, and the sling wrapped around the barrel and receiver.

I quickly understood why she gave me the assault rifle. Set Three was a lot more fast-paced, with holographic targets popping in and out, or appearing and moving to different locations before disappearing. It was a real test of my reflexes and accuracy.

The targets moved unpredictably, simulating a chaotic combat environment. I had to stay sharp, quickly identifying and engaging the red enemy targets while avoiding the blue civilian ones. The assault rifle felt powerful and responsive in my hands, and I could feel my confidence growing with each successful hit.

This was more than just a training exercise; it was a chance to prove to myself that I could adapt and excel, even with my new arm. As the session continued, I felt a renewed sense of determination. This was just the beginning, and I was ready for whatever challenges lay ahead.

When it was over, Cadenza turned to me with a grin. "You put some rookies to shame," she said. "You make cops look like mall security guards could shoot better."

I chuckled and replied, "I'm not your stereotypical American who loves guns. I've mostly shot historical ones, like the infamous Tommy gun and many others. Not my first time shootin' a gun."

Cadenza nodded, somewhat impressed. "Well, whatever your experience, it shows. You handled that like a pro."

As we started to walk, we picked up our conversation from last month. Cadenza talked about her boyfriend Francis and his extensive adoptive family. She mentioned how some parents in his family have two kids of the same gender but always favor one over the other. This favoritism makes the other child feel like a stranger in their own home. When the neglected one speaks out, the parents and the favored sibling often downplay their feelings or yell at them for “embarrassing them.”

“It’s tough,” Cadenza said, shaking her head. “Many of them get caught between their two daughters or sons—one they’ve always favored and the other they don’t know how to support without causing conflict.”

I nodded, understanding the complexity of family dynamics. “That sounds really challenging. It’s hard enough dealing with family issues without feeling like you’re constantly being compared or overlooked.”

“Exactly,” Cadenza replied. “Francis tries to stay out of it, but it’s hard when it’s your family. He wants to support everyone, but it’s like walking a tightrope. Even though they don’t consider him family unless if it’s important to them”

Cadenza shared more about the challenges she and Francis faced with his extensive adoptive family. One of his cousins had run away and stayed with them until college started. When her parents showed up at Cadenza's farmhouse, they actually threatened to fight her and Francis. Cadenza, being the no-nonsense type, told them to fuck off, mentioning her half-brother, a cop, who would report them as attempted robbers after she shot them. When they accused her of bluffing, she loaded a shotgun with buckshot shells, making it clear she wasn't messing around.

Cadenza also mentioned how she earns significantly more than Francis, which led to his adoptive family coming out of the woodwork, demanding monetary handouts. Francis consistently told them no, in tones ranging from sharp to angry to fierce, because they never truly saw him as family—only his adoptive parents did. The family even threatened to take legal action against Cadenza for not sharing her money. She reminded them that they had no legal standing, as she wasn't obligated to give them anything. Her half-brother Mitchell confirmed that they would only make themselves look foolish if they tried.

I shared with Cadenza how some of my family members, who are stepchildren, have been abandoned by their parents and stepparents. These parents often focus on their new families, leaving their kids from previous marriages with empty promises. They don't realize they're unintentionally alienating their own children. Yet, when they need something, they come crawling back without trying to make amends for the past. It's ironic how they neglect their kids but expect them to be there when it's convenient.

I mentioned how some Watersons prioritize their stepkids over their biological children from previous marriages. Many of them see the mistakes they've made and try to make amends, believing there's no "let bygones be bygones." They admit their wrongdoings and work to repair the relationships. Others, however, refuse to acknowledge any fault.

Cadenza nodded, understanding the complexities of family dynamics. "It's tough when people don't see the damage they're causing," she said. "But it's good to hear that some are trying to make things right."

"Yeah," I agreed. "It's all about taking responsibility and making an effort to mend those broken bridges."

As we continued our walk, I felt a sense of camaraderie with Cadenza. We both understood the importance of family, support, and the challenges that come with it. It was comforting to know that, despite the difficulties, there were people willing to fight for what's right.

I shared with Cadenza how some female Watersons have had spouses who went behind their backs, leaving them just before giving birth to be with their exes for so-called "emergencies." Despite the pressure, these women immediately filed for divorce when their husbands went no-contact for a week or two, only to return acting like nothing happened. The husbands were often shocked to find themselves divorced for abandoning their wives when they needed them the most.

Our conversation shifted to advanced education. Cadenza mentioned that her "advanced education" is in military theory and military science. She quoted, "Wars may be fought with weapons, but they are won by men. It is the spirit of the men who follow and of the man who leads that gains the victory."

I smiled and replied, "General George S. Patton."

I shared with Cadenza how some of my female family members went to college or university while working part-time jobs. They often struggled to balance school and work, finding it hard at first. The low pay of part-time jobs wasn't enough for them, so they turned to more elusive and dishonorable work instead of asking family for help. To them, the money from such work was more than what they could earn from an honest job, but it came at the cost of their shame and soul. They'd often say, "If my parents ever found out, they'd kill me."

Cadenza understood what I was talking about. She'd seen signs offering "big money for an hour of work," though they never explicitly said that. We were both raised to value the honesty of hard work, even if it didn't pay much. At the end of the day, you still have your soul intact and know you won't run into trouble with the law or bring shame to your friends and family.

"It's tough," Cadenza said, nodding. "But it's important to hold on to your values, even when it's hard."

"Absolutely," I agreed. "It's about knowing that you've earned your way honestly, no matter how tough it gets."

Our conversation reminded me of the importance of integrity and the strength it takes to stick to your principles, even when faced with difficult choices. It was a good reminder that, despite the challenges, staying true to yourself is always worth it.

I told Cadenza about my time at Arcane University and how some of my classmates got jobs on campus. It was a way to kill two birds with one stone—working where they were getting their education. The school would take 50-75% of their paycheck, not to steal their hard-earned money, but to help pay off their tuition.

The job options were limited, tutoring, stocking books in the library, working in the cafeteria, or janitorial/custodial work. While the latter paid slightly more, it was still a moot point because a significant portion of their pay automatically went towards tuition.

I reminisced with Cadenza about Burger Fridays at Arcane University. The burgers were to die for—thin patties served before lunch started to manage the rush of 20,000 students. They had to pre-make them and finish with the cheese each student wanted. Some students got creative, covering their burgers with white, yellow or red onions or smothering them in ketchup, mustard, or mayo. Right now, a cheeseburger with Havarti cheese and mayo or mustard sounded really good.

Our conversation shifted to logistics. Even though Cadenza isn't a Logistics Officer, she emphasized how crucial logistics are to any army. No army can fight without food, water, ammo, and other supplies. I shared my experience working as a grocery store stocker. My hours varied, but I mostly worked Monday, Wednesday, and Friday nights. Monday and Wednesday were lighter, just enough to stock up for two days. But Friday nights were intense, prepping for the Saturday rush when people flocked to the stores with checkout lines feel like rush hour traffic. In Little Bird, 99% of businesses close on Sundays due to Blue laws, except for vital services and some tourist hotspots.

"Logistics really are the backbone," I said. "Whether it's an army or a grocery store, nothing runs smoothly without it."

Cadenza nodded. "Absolutely. It's the unsung hero of any operation."

As we continued our walk, I felt a sense of camaraderie. We both understood the importance of hard work and the often overlooked details that keep everything running smoothly. It was a good reminder of the value of dedication and the impact of every role, no matter how small it might seem.

After that, I decided to leave and made my way over to the Fire Department City of Empire Headquarters. When I entered the lobby, I checked the directory:

* Bureau of Operations - 2nd Floor

* Bureau of Administrative Services - 4th Floor

* Bureau of Logistics - 3rd Floor

* Bureau of Fire Prevention - 5th Floor

* Planning Section - 5.5th Floor

* Employee Relations Division - 7th Floor

* Community Liaison Unit - 8th Floor

* Community Service Unit - 9th Floor

* Community Risk Reduction Unit - 10th Floor

* Firestat Section - 11th Floor

* Schools, Churches & Institutions Unit - 12th Floor

* Data Management Unit - 14th Floor

* Uniform Division - 15th Floor

* Public Relations - 17th Floor

* Commissioner and Chief’s Offices - 18th Floor

I decided to head to the 15th Floor to put in a request for a new turnout jacket.

When I got to the 15th floor and entered the room, it looked more like a warehouse than an office building floor. Rows upon rows of turnout gear were displayed on mannequins—helmets, jackets, trousers, and boots all lined up. Each helmet had a color-coded number indicating the company: dark blue for Rescue Co, light blue for Engine Co, and azure or sapphire blue for Ladder Co.

Each piece of gear was different, some custom-made to fit skinnier and lightweight firefighters, while others were designed for average-built or slightly muscular firefighters. It was clear that they took great care in ensuring everyone had the right fit for their gear, which is crucial for safety and efficiency on the job.

I approached the desk to put in my request for a new turnout jacket. Despite the thousands of jackets already there, they told me it would take about a week to get mine ready. I provided my size, last name, and badge number—Waterson 198445—so they could find a large jacket and stitch my last name on the back with reflective patches.

I knew the room held about $6,000,000 worth of turnout gear, with each set costing around $3,000. Each company had at least fourteen sets, if not more. The jackets varied, with some saying "FDE" on the back, while others had "EMPIRE FIRE DEPT" or "FIRE DEPT EMPIRE." In the 18th Battalion, "FDE" is more common, whereas in the 19th Battalion, "EMPIRE FIRE DEPT" and "FIRE DEPT EMPIRE" are the norm.

As I left the headquarters, I felt a sense of anticipation. Getting my new jacket would be another step towards getting back to normal. It was a reminder of the community I was part of and the support system that was always there, ready to help me get back on my feet—or in this case, back in the firehouse.

I had to pay $1,500 for my new jacket, which would be shipped to my firehouse instead of my apartment. I had expected it to be free, but that wasn't the case. The policy is that the first set of turnout gear is free, as many firefighters come from impoverished backgrounds and can't afford it. Since 1984 or 1985, depending on the town or city, the first set has been covered by the city or town, but any subsequent gear has to be paid for out of pocket.

______________

NEXT WEEK

I arrived at the firehouse and immediately noticed something was off. The apparatus bay door was closed up with a piece of plywood, and a paper taped to it. The note bluntly stated that the firehouse was closed and directed us to Firehouse 47, the next closest station. Just like that, the Eastside district, covering 1.418 square miles and home to 143,000 people, was back to relying on just one firehouse. Firehouse 47? It’s halfway across the district.

The Captain and some of the guys were standing around, talking about what happened. I joined them, and they were discussing plans for a barbecue later in the week. Mid-October is National Barbecue Week in Little Bird, running from Monday to Sunday. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that this whole situation was a load of baloney. Closing our firehouse and making us depend on one further away felt like a huge step backward.

A woman approached us, clearly exhausted, probably just off a night shift. She asked what was going on, and the Captain explained that Squad 769 had been shut down by the city. Her reaction was even more irate than ours. It was clear she felt the same frustration many of us did about Eastside being ignored by the city.

She started venting about the city's history of neglecting Eastside. Back in the 1980s, the community had built gardens to grow their own fruits and vegetables. But in their so-called "wisdom," the city decided to destroy those gardens to build businesses like bars, aiming to keep impoverished people poor. The community didn’t support these businesses, letting them go out of business. They then tore them down and rebuilt their gardens.

In retaliation, the city shut off all water to Eastside. It took a massive public backlash to force the city to turn the water back on, but not before many people died in fires because the fire department couldn't access water from the hydrant system.

Listening to her, I felt a deep sense of solidarity. The people of Eastside had been through so much, and now they were losing a firehouse that served their community. It was a harsh reminder of the ongoing struggle for basic services and respect.

The woman nodded, her anger tempered by a shared understanding. We stood there, united in our frustration but also in our determination to keep pushing back against the neglect and injustice.

She continued, venting her frustration about the city's decision to relocate Firehouse 47 to Highwood, the city's wealthy district with hardly any fire reports. She pointed out that the people of Eastside are much smarter than City Hall gives them credit for. They educated themselves on the workings of the fire department, noting every fire box number and timing the response of other fire companies, which was generally over seven minutes. In a job where every second counts, this delay was unacceptable. Firehouse 47, on the other hand, had a response time of around five minutes or less, even during rush hour.

She explained that the delays were often due to other fire companies not knowing the routes, having to consult paper maps that didn't account for road construction or other changes. This inefficiency was a stark contrast to the quick and reliable service Eastside residents had come to expect from Firehouse 47.

The woman went on about how the city always treated Eastside, Westside, and Anderson as afterthoughts. She said "afterthought" was putting it lightly, recalling how City Hall had once referred to these districts as "unwashed poverty hotspots." This derogatory term had deeply offended the residents, who were anything but unwashed or impoverished.

I've been to all three districts and seen historical photos. They are far from the dangerous, dirty ghettos the city makes them out to be. These areas are home to hardworking people who do jobs that everyday folks take for granted. They maintain power lines, communication lines, clean the sewers, and work in the city's water treatment and reticulation plants to keep the water flowing, making sure everybody has access to water to cook, clean, or shower with, or to be used by the fire department to fight fires. These are the unsung heroes who keep the city running smoothly.

Listening to her, I felt a deep sense of solidarity and frustration. The people of Eastside deserved better, and it was clear that the fight for fair treatment and respect was far from over.

Many people here work unglamorous, thankless jobs that others take for granted. They replace light bulbs in street posts, fill potholes, fix roads, work at the dump, and keep the city train stations running. They get up at ungodly hours to bake bread for bakery shelves or work in sanitation, often finishing their shifts just as the rest of the city is waking up.

One thing I know about Eastside, from what my girlfriend told me, is that the people here are fighters. They take their grievances to City Hall and ask the tough questions that politicians are afraid to answer. They're not easily swayed by political rhetoric and remember what politicians say, ready to hold them accountable.

City Hall can’t just send the cops in to deal with these people because that would only reinforce the perception that the police are either useless or vicious bullies. Even though nobody likes being bossed around by the police, it's their job and they have to do it whether we (or they) like it or not. Some types of policemen, however, are thugs who take pleasure in going after people they don't like, for petty reasons or, in particularly bad cases, no reason at all. Even though I live in a country where it’s like the 1930s and ‘40s, where a cop shooting at a fleeing unarmed suspect isn’t considered brutal or excessive, it feels like when you get two stars to six stars in a Grand Theft Auto game.

The woman also mentioned how the folks at City Hall are the type who would run a war without escalating it for political reasons. She was clearly making a jab at the US Government's approach during the Vietnam War, treating it more like a police action than a full-scale war. In her view, politicians who can't make peace or reduce tensions end up letting the military take over, which she believes is a mistake. The military shouldn't take orders from politicians who don't understand the situation on the ground but said politicians want to give the military orders on how to fight or destroy without trying to escalate a war.

As she continued, her disdain for City Hall was palpable. My girlfriend had already filled me in on the people of Eastside, Westside, and Anderson. They're the kind who challenge bureaucracy head-on. They're educated and don't rely on the system or bureaucracy to get things done. They confront City Hall and politicians at every opportunity, saying, "Forget the bureaucracy. If you're going to fight against City Hall, educate yourself on what you want to say." These are the people who give City Hall and the Police Department a headache, both metaphorically and literally.

She went on to explain how many times they had fought City Hall and been arrested, only to be released because the police couldn't find anything to charge them with. They were always within their constitutional rights to hold peaceful assemblies. They went through all the proper channels to get permits for their protests. Even if City Hall denied those permits, they could get them from the Commonwealth of Mountain government, leaving City Hall and the Police Department powerless to stop them.

If the police did arrest them for peacefully assembling and protesting, it would bring down the wrath of both the Commonwealth's Government and the top-level government. Little Bird might be a police state, but people still have constitutional rights to peaceful assembly. Arresting them for exercising those rights would trigger serious repercussions from higher authorities.

Listening to her, I felt a mix of admiration and frustration. The people of Eastside, Westside, and Anderson are fighters, always ready to challenge the system and stand up for their rights. They know the law inside out and use it to their advantage, making sure their voices are heard and their rights are respected. It's a constant battle, but one they're determined to keep fighting.

The people of Eastside, Westside, and Anderson are a tough bunch. Many of them have fought in wars and even participate in local fighting competitions for entertainment. But their real strength lies in their ability to raise hell and get media attention. They know how to leverage radio, television, and newspapers to highlight their issues, even though they’re aware that most media outlets are biased and tend to side with the authorities. Some newspapers, however, strive to present both sides, allowing readers to make their own informed decisions.

These communities don’t buy into the school-taught notion that "Police Officers are your friends." They’ve dealt with too many cops who shouldn’t be wearing the badge in the first place. Corruption is often hidden in plain sight, and the people here are all too familiar with it. They’re not afraid to challenge the system, and they know how to make their voices heard, whether through peaceful protests, media campaigns, or direct action. They’re fighters in every sense of the word, always ready to stand up for their rights and hold those in power accountable.

Many people spoke of what the woman said.Soon some other people in the district showed up and well to them they also remember the 1980s. They’re either in their thirties or are old enough to have their hair color start to graying or are now being senior citizens and remember when the city relocated Firehouse 47 and they fought a couple of years to get their firehouse back. Even though some went and got arrested for going the extra mile but well for a while City Hall ignored them but later when their protests weren’t on the local news in the city but later made it to spread across the Commonwealth and later to national news.

The woman also mentioned that if the city doesn’t take action, the Commonwealth or the higher federal government would step in. Our fire company might be labeled “Fire Department City of Empire,” but it’s also part of the Little Bird Fire Bureau, popularly known as the “Fire Department Nation of Little Bird.” If the Commonwealth or federal government gets involved, they can threaten the city with budget cuts. The city gets its tax money from its citizens, but higher-up governments collect taxes from each town and city on Little Bird. With almost two million people, the city has different budgets for each service. While the firehouses belong to the city, our gear comes from the federal government.

The last time the people of Eastside and Westside united over a major issue was the city’s education system. The City of Empire public schools receive $5,500,000, but schools in middle-class and wealthy neighborhoods get renovated during summer vacation. Meanwhile, many schools in Eastside, Westside, and Anderson were built between the 1930s and 1950s and remained outdated and fire-prone. It wasn’t until the late 90s and early 2000s that this negligence caught up with city officials, especially when other government agencies started investigating.

Modern schools in other districts didn’t like having to share with impoverished students, but those middle-class or wealthy students often talked the talk without walking the walk. In contrast, impoverished students were willing to do both. The anger of the people against the city for letting their kids attend fire-prone death traps was palpable. The mayor wasn’t held accountable because she had raised the issue before other government agencies got involved. She had concrete evidence showing she wanted to build modern schools for impoverished students, but city council members and school board refused.

My girlfriend told me that the final breaking point for everyone in Eastside, Westside, and Anderson was when the city knowingly let kids attend schools that were death traps. Many parents lost their children, and the firefighters, many of whom were veterans of World War II, Korea, or Vietnam, had to face the unimaginable task of pulling kids out of burning schools. These veterans had seen the horrors of war, but nothing prepared them for this. Back then, talking about trauma was seen as a sign of weakness, and psychological help wasn’t widely available or accepted.

The residents of Eastside, Westside, and Anderson were on the verge of rebellion against the city until a federal investigation was announced. The investigation revealed that the Fire Department City of Empire, along with other fire departments across Little Bird, conducted school inspections four times a year. Schools in Eastside, Westside, and Anderson were repeatedly shut down by the fire department due to being fire hazards, labeled as “death traps.” Yet, the City Council, in their lack of wisdom, decided to reopen them.

The federal investigation found that modern schools in other districts had Automatic Fire Alarms (AFA) that sent automatic alerts to the fire department in case of a fire. In contrast, the old schools in Eastside, Westside, and Anderson had outdated fire call boxes outside. When the City Council tried to defend their actions by claiming budget constraints, it was a moot point. The city earns about $5-7 billion annually, with 37% of that from tourism alone. Money wasn’t the problem.

My girlfriend warned me not to trust anyone in the City of Empire because corruption runs deep. She cryptically advised me to be careful who I trust, as anyone could backstab me if given the chance. I responded with my own cryptic message. “In the Military, you deal with the chain of command. Mistakes get made, but you deal with 'em. You know what you're fighting for, that you're on the same team. But dealing with corruption is like chasing shadows.” It’s true—you never know who to trust, and the person next to you could be corrupt and willing to betray you for money or power.

I suspect corrupt Alderman Robert Elephant is behind this. He boasted about having “powerful” friends, and it seems his influence extends even from behind bars. In Little Bird, all phone calls in prisons and jails are monitored, just like in the United States. If he makes a threat against me, he’d face additional charges for making threats.

We were just standing around, trying to figure out our next move, when the Captain came over, radio in hand. He told us that all other fire companies in the city were at full capacity and couldn’t take us in. The northern half of Eastside falls within the 19th Battalion Response Area. Before Squad Companies 541 and 769 were introduced, the district Squad Company was 141, which is my girlfriend’s company, or Squad 525, depending on availability.

Squad 525 is closer to Eastside because it’s stationed in Uptown. For some reason, Uptown is actually below Downtown on the map. My girlfriend Lusty and my cousin Dave suspect the cartographer was either drunk or had the compass the wrong way. Honestly, it’s probably the latter. I wasn’t around in 1714 when the original map of the City of Empire was drawn, so who knows what was happening back then.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

Living in Little Bird is definitely unique. Cities and towns here can provide mutual aid to each other, especially if they’re close enough or during natural disasters like wildfires. The City of Empire, for instance, can extend help to nearby towns like:

* Moonlight Cove: A coastal town with breathtaking views of the moonlit sea.

* Sunset Vale: Famous for its stunning sunsets over rolling hills.

* Wheatstone: A farming town surrounded by golden wheat fields.

* Angel Pines: Nestled in a serene pine forest.

* Starlight Haven: A hilltop town perfect for stargazing with its clear night skies.

* Emerald Hollow: Surrounded by lush green forests.

These towns can receive mutual aid from Empire in case of natural disasters or tragedies. Across Little Bird, cities and towns often have agreements to provide mutual aid during or after such events. They also have contracts to share services like power, water, garbage pickup, and more, ensuring that everyone gets the support they need when it matters most.

As I looked around, more and more people were showing up to protest. It struck me that these folks are like those players in video games who say, "Screw the objectives, teamwork is where it’s at." According to Lusty, they are the living embodiment of "Teamwork Makes the Dream Work." If Little Bird had video games, the people of Eastside would be all about those games that require a team to get through a campaign or multiplayer mode. Even in free-for-all games, they'd still stick together as a team.

I've played co-op and multiplayer games before, and I know the frustration of having teammates who run off to do their own thing, only to get mad at the team for not being with them. But the people of Eastside? They get it. They know that sticking together is the only way to make real progress, whether in a game or in real life. Their unity and determination are what make them so formidable, and it's inspiring to see them come together to fight for what’s right.

According to Lusty, the people of Eastside have thick skin but very little patience. They’re the type who will take justice into their own hands if necessary, and that’s more common than you might think. Back in the 1980s, the city destroyed their community gardens to build businesses that didn’t benefit the residents—bars, liquor stores, and other places designed to keep people down. The community responded by boycotting these businesses until they went out of business, then tore them down to reclaim their gardens.

These folks have been through a lot and have learned that unity is their strength. They’d rather stand together than tear each other apart. They often take matters into their own hands, solving their own crimes because they don’t trust the police, who they see as dismissive and corrupt. This has led to a hate-hate relationship between the residents of Eastside, Westside, and Anderson and the authorities.

I decided to take a walk around the district and texted my dad to update him on what was happening. He replied that he was dealing with his own issues. Apparently, my stepmom's ex-husband had shown up at their door, demanding to see his two sons. This guy is lucky the State of Alabama even granted him supervised visitation, but now he wants to take my dad’s stepsons to live with him, even though they’re seventeen and about to start college next year.

My dad mentioned that the ex-husband threatened legal action against him and my stepmom. I couldn’t help but chuckle at the absurdity. The courts had given this guy supervised visits every Saturday, but he never bothered to show up. The last time he saw his twin sons, they were three years old, and then he just walked out of their lives. Now, he has the audacity to try to waltz back in like nothing happened and threaten legal action? It’s pure baloney. He has no legal standing, and it’s laughable that he thinks he does.

I told my dad how much he’s done for his stepsons in just a year—more than their biological father ever did. My dad stepped up as a father figure when they were sixteen, always trying his best while respecting their age and maturity. My step brother Jake, the smart one, is allergic to milk. My dad always makes sure to prepare meals that Jake can eat, like making scrambled eggs without milk or cheese just for him.

It’s clear that my stepmom’s ex-husband has no legal standing to demand full visitation rights. Even if a court entertained his demands, it would be dismissed soon enough. Jake and Alex will be eighteen soon, making them legal adults. In Alabama, the legal adult age is nineteen, but since they’re about to start college, my dad and stepmom already see them as adults.

My dad has done an incredible job stepping into a challenging role, and it’s obvious that he cares deeply for Jake and Alex. It’s frustrating to see someone who abandoned his kids try to waltz back into their lives and make demands, but I know my dad and stepmom will handle it with the strength and love they’ve always shown.

My dad probably thinks that my stepmom’s ex-husband might have some friends to back him up. But if he does, they’ll quickly learn that messing with a Waterson is a big mistake. We’re a tight-knit family, and we help each other in ways that don’t attract law enforcement or the authorities. If my dad’s wife’s ex-husband tries to go after him, we Watersons believe in “Eye for an Eye, Tooth for a Tooth.” We’re the kind who would gladly go to a Supermax prison to defend our family members.

If it ever goes to trial, we know how to make our case sympathetic to a jury. We’d say things like, “So when is it a crime to help family?” or compare it to school, where a bully has free reign, but if the victim fights back, they’re the one who gets punished. We stand by each other no matter what, and anyone who tries to mess with us will quickly find out they’ve made a huge mistake.

As I finished my walk around Eastside, I noticed people going about their daily routines—opening up their businesses for the day or heading to work or heading home after a long night shift. Life goes on, even amidst the chaos.

From what my girlfriend tells me, these folks put in long hours for terrible wages, often earning slightly less than the minimum wage of $1.25/hr in Little Bird. Working 8 hours a day, they make about $9.04/day, or $13.56/day if they work 12 hours. That’s an annual income ranging from $2,350 to $3,525. Despite these low wages, they work in jobs that people take for granted every day.

No one really stops to think, “I wonder how the city has access to unlimited tap water,” or “I wonder where all the garbage and sewage goes?” These are the unsung heroes who keep the city running smoothly.

When I got back to the closed quarters of Squad 769, I noticed most of the people had left. I asked the Captain where about 68% of them had gone, and he told me they went to City Hall. They know that’s where the Mayor and City Council members work, and it’s best to take the fight directly to them. The relationship between City Hall and the city’s impoverished citizens has always been a hate-hate one. Protesting in their own rundown neighborhoods would just be ignored by City Hall and the media unless the protests grew too large to ignore or turned into riots. By going to where city officials work or live, they make them uncomfortable and force them to pay attention.

According to Lusty, city officials treat Eastside, Westside, and Anderson as high-crime areas filled with abandoned buildings and corruption. But that’s far from the truth. These districts are home to hardworking people who’ve been neglected and mistreated by the city for far too long. They’re not just statistics or stereotypes; they’re real people fighting for their rights and their community.

To make matters worse, if you look at the crime stats for the City of Empire, you’d see that Eastside, Westside, and Anderson actually have lower crime rates than the rest of the city. This isn’t because of the Empire Police Department or the Island Patrol Empire Barracks patrolling the streets. It’s because the residents take justice into their own hands, doing what the official justice system won’t.

The media and city officials might call it a “Kangaroo Court,” but these communities have their own version of a court and justice system. They’ve found that criminals from other, often wealthier, districts get off scot-free, while those from Eastside, Westside, or Anderson face the harshest punishments if they commit crimes elsewhere. This double standard has led to a deep-seated mistrust of the justice system and the police.

In the minds of these residents, it’s a case of, “If you come from money, you get a handshake and a pass. But if you’re poor and commit the same crime, you get the maximum punishment short of death row.” Many have been falsely arrested and prosecuted, only to receive presidential pardons due to legal abuse and judicial misconduct. In Little Bird, the justice system compensates those who are falsely imprisoned or held beyond their release date with $100 per day.

These communities have been through the wringer and know how hard it is to have their voices heard. They’ve developed a deep-seated disdain for the justice system and the police, seeing them as biased and corrupt. Their resilience and determination to seek justice on their own terms are a testament to their strength and unity.

So, that 68% went straight to City Hall to make sure the politicians couldn’t ignore them. They know talking to their District Representative, the Alderman, is pointless because he never actually represents their interests. My girlfriend says that in Eastside, Westside, and Anderson, the Aldermen do the exact opposite of what they were elected to do. Instead of representing the people who voted them in, they help those who can advance their own agendas.

The residents here have learned not to rely on their Alderman for help. They know he won’t lift a finger for them and will just make excuses. So, they’ve become the kind of people who fight their own battles. They take their grievances directly to City Hall, where they can’t be ignored, and they’re not afraid to make a scene if that’s what it takes to be heard.

The people of Eastside are like one big family, despite their diverse backgrounds. They’re the kind who will babysit each other’s kids if needed, as long as there’s some form of reciprocation. They have boundaries and won’t bend over backwards to help others all the time. My girlfriend says they’re often distant with their own families who try to use them as free babysitters and treat them as doormats. These families sometimes paint the people of Eastside as the bad guys for not always being available, but the truth is, they just have their limits.

The folks here don’t sugarcoat things. They’re straightforward and honest, which can be refreshing but also tough for some to handle. They value mutual respect and support, and they’re not afraid to stand up for themselves and their community. It’s this resilience and sense of solidarity that makes Eastside such a strong and united place.

These people are my kind of people. They challenge authority, speak their minds, and call out politicians and others without hesitation. They don’t hide their emotions and always say what’s on their minds. Back in the '80s, they fought for years to get their firehouse back and later voiced their concerns about their schools being fire-prone death traps. The city ignored them until tragedies struck, and then City Hall pretended to be innocent. But the Mayor had evidence showing she wanted to build new, fireproof schools with modern standards, rather than relying on outdated buildings with minimal fire codes.

The then-Mayor, who was also a resident of Eastside, knew the dangers ahead and tried to warn the city council, but they ignored her and the fire department. The people of Eastside, Westside, and Anderson, along with the government of Little Bird, eventually put the city council members in a negative spotlight for their negligence.

I then just decided to visit my girlfriend’s fire company over in Riverview.

__________________

As I approached the firehouse of Squad Company 141 in Riverview, I spotted Lusty, my girlfriend, waxing the officer side door. Lusty is the kind of officer who makes sure everyone pitches in with the chores, even the less glamorous ones. The firehouse has a drain like those at car washes, and it needs to be cleaned regularly. Some of her company members hate doing it because it’s gross—water and dirt mixed from washing the fire apparatus and bunker gear.

But Lusty does it herself because she was born and raised in a district where you can’t just sit something out because you don’t like it. In Eastside, everyone is a team player, and each person is important to the community. Lusty often quotes those old 50s Civil Defense films, saying, “You are on an important team. So is your family, and in your community. Every doctor, fireman, policeman, nurse, lineman, and operator and Civil Defense worker is on that team.”

To me, those 50s Civil Defense films are cheesy nowadays, but the message still holds true. Everyone has a role to play, and in Eastside, we all step up to do our part, no matter how unpleasant the task. Lusty embodies that spirit, and it’s one of the many reasons I admire her.

Living in a country that still feels like the 1940s, 50s, and 60s is definitely unique. Unlike the old "Bert the Turtle Duck and Cover" drills, Lusty mentioned that their civil defense stopped promoting those because people realized that survival from a nuclear explosion is nearly impossible due to radiation, heat, or fire from the atomic bomb.

Unless you’re far away here in Little Bird, people are taught to use common sense and trust their gut. Lusty always says, "Trusting these feelings of intuition is a way to stay true to yourself." It’s a valuable lesson because people you think are your friends might sell you out or abandon you if you get in their way. You only find out who your real friends are when you're down. I can get behind that—it’s better to stay true to yourself than follow a crowd that doesn’t care about you or get mixed up with the wrong people.

I think the idea of "Duck and Cover" faded quicker here on Little Bird than in the United States because people realized there’s no real hiding from nuclear and radiological fallout.

Before I could say anything, a car pulled up and some people got out. Suddenly, the sound of water hitting the pavement from a high-pressure hose filled the air. Since the Cold War, the Fire Department City of Empire has been using high-pressure water jet nozzles. These nozzles were originally invented in 1853 during the California Gold Rush, but our department adopted them in the mid-1950s to early 60s to fight fires in the then-new midrises and high-rises. These hoses are also used for crowd and riot control.

Mariana ‘Avalanche’ Harmony and Madeleine ‘Dynamite’ Azure were the ones handling the hose. They really enjoy using fire hoses for riot control. It’s a powerful tool, and in the right hands, it can be incredibly effective at dispersing crowds and maintaining order.

I know the historical context of fire hoses being used in crowd control, especially coming from Alabama. The infamous events of 1963 are a stark reminder. But here in Little Bird, we’re trained to use fire hoses for riot and crowd control defensively, not offensively. Still, with water coming out at 290-1600 PSI, it feels more like offense to me.

I glanced at my girlfriend, Lusty, who was still meticulously waxing the officer door. She didn’t even flinch at the sound of the fire hose. It’s not just because she’s been on the job for fourteen years; she grew up in a time when the city had a lot of fires. Hearing fire hoses is almost like white noise to her, having been around them since she was three years old in 1982.

Lusty and my cousin Dave are sticklers for keeping their apparatus clean and professional-looking. They believe that a dirty vehicle reflects poorly on the crew and that maintaining cleanliness prevents damage and ensures longevity. To them, firefighters should look professional 24/7.

The people who got out of the car and were hit by the fire hose stream quickly got back in and drove off like a bat out of hell.

“I think you gave them a good wash,” said FF/EMT Mariana ‘Avalanche’ Harmony.

Mariana’s comment probably stems from her military background as an Army Mountaineer in the First Mountaineer Brigade, and Dynamite’s experience as a former combat engineer in the Little Bird Marine Corps. Despite their tough exteriors, I know deep down they care for each other. They manage to keep their relationship a secret, maintaining professionalism at work. Lusty is willing to overlook their relationship as long as there’s no conflict of interest. They’re the kind of people who know how to separate their personal lives from their work lives, ensuring that both remain unaffected.

Avalanche and Dynamite often say that “life is a Uroboros,” symbolizing the endless cycle of birth and death. The Uroboros, a snake or dragon swallowing its tail, represents wholeness or infinity. They believe that human life is an infinite cycle of rinse and repeat—when a new human is born, someone dies, and vice versa. Everything from birth to death is just the in-between.

It’s an interesting perspective on the meaning of life, seeing it as a continuous loop where every end is a new beginning. It’s a reminder of the interconnectedness of all things and the perpetual nature of existence. It’s one way to make sense of the constant changes and cycles we experience in life.

I love my girlfriend. She’s more of a Waterson than she realizes. We Watersons are vocal and say what’s on our minds without a second thought. Lusty is the same way. She’ll speak up, even if it’s insensitive, because she believes in saying what’s important. If someone needs a reality check or to be put in their place, she won’t hesitate to deliver the harsh truth.

Being from Eastside, she’s used to telling people off quicker than a heartbeat. It’s part of what makes her so strong and straightforward. She doesn’t sugarcoat things, and that’s something I really admire about her. She’s not afraid to stand up for what’s right and speak her mind, no matter the situation.

Lusty comes from a district where the system has consistently failed its people, forcing them to take justice into their own hands. She finds it ironic that when she was first pregnant, she watched the mayor congratulate the Empire Police Department for the low crime rates in Eastside, Westside, and Anderson. The crime maps showed these districts had lower crime rates than the national average. While these areas do have gangs, they aren’t your stereotypical gangbangers. Instead, they’re seen as folk heroes for reducing crime and doing what the cops and justice system can’t or won’t do.

Lusty found it amusing that whenever these gangs take action, the justice system claims they must answer for their crimes. Yet, the police and justice system don’t go after them for two main reasons. First, it would be bad press to have armed citizens doing the job that cops won’t do. Second, the city doesn’t have enough cops to fight them. Lusty grew up hearing people in Eastside say this all the time.

She often talks about the irony of the justice system wanting to go after people who defend themselves but not those who break the law. In Little Bird, people are taught from a young age that “The policeman is our friend.” However, in Eastside, Westside, and Anderson, people say they respect the badge but not the person behind it. Lusty believes the cops don’t bother these districts much because urban warfare is the most dangerous kind, and the residents are willing to go to extreme lengths to defend each other.

The men and women of Eastside, Westside, and Anderson have some form of military background, from standard G.I.s to Rangers or Paratroopers, and other military roles, combative or not. Nobody really wants to mess with them because they also have weapons. According to Lusty, many people in these districts saved up to buy weapons and had the barrels and weapons heavily parkerized and blued or blacked to avoid reflecting light. Those who were in the military were able to sign paperwork to bring their service sidearm with them.

These districts are the living definition of "an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth." Lusty, being part German from her dad's side and Native Little Birden from her mother's side (Nightingale tribe), says all of Eastside is her family. They’re the kind who are there for each other, with diverse backgrounds from Austria, Germany, Switzerland, and other European countries.

To Lusty, she says how the people in Eastside believe in the wheel of fortune and say how the best humans have flaws and how those with poor morals have the capacity for redemption to become a good person. Those people are straight, meaning they’re honest, and I believe that.

My girlfriend knew I was there because, well, Little Bird considers anybody over 195 pounds to be overweight and anyone under 90 pounds to be underweight, and I fall in the “overweight” category at 210 pounds. Lusty always jokes that she can hear me coming a mile away, but I know she loves me just the way I am.

Of course, I’m not offended by it. Living in a country where people have thick skin and can take criticism, harsh behavior, and learn to take a joke has its perks. Sure, some jokes can go too far, but here in Little Bird, we learn to laugh it off instead of taking offense. I know people back in the States who get their underwear in a twist over the slightest thing. I mean, I’ve seen folks get mad if the cheese on their cheeseburger is off by an inch or doesn’t fully cover the burger. So yeah, being considered fifteen pounds overweight doesn’t bother me. I either ignore the comments or explain how things are different back in America.

Living here, I know people in the States would hate it because if you make a mistake that you were warned about, folks here will call you out quicker than a New York second. They won’t let you live it down and will definitely say something. It’s a tough-love environment, but it builds resilience and accountability.

Of course, Lusty knows about those kinds of people because I’ve told her all about them. I remember telling her about the time my father and I went to a fast food joint, and someone wanted to order a “cheeseburger without cheese.” The cashier tried to explain that it’s just a hamburger, but the customer insisted on arguing.

Lusty, who worked as a cashier for her part-time job, said she never dealt with those kinds of customers because she would have jumped over the counter in a heartbeat and whip their ass. She’s always been the type to say what’s on her mind. Most of the people she dealt with were straightforward, ordering something and specifying what to add or remove. If someone had ordered a “cheeseburger without cheese,” she would have just written “hamburger” on the notepad.

She explained that the cash registers aren’t automated but had pre-registered buttons for each item, making it easier for the cashier. So instead of pressing 0.15 for a hamburger, she would press the button labeled “HB.” Lusty’s no-nonsense approach and quick thinking made her an efficient cashier, and she always had a way of handling things with a mix of practicality and humor.

Lusty and I often talk about how different life is here compared to the States. On Little Bird, people are straightforward and don’t sugarcoat things. It’s refreshing, really. You always know where you stand with someone, and there’s a sense of honesty and integrity that I appreciate. It’s a place where you can be yourself, flaws and all, and still be valued for who you are.

Before I got over to Lusty, she stopped waxing the door, put down the rag, and picked up a clipboard with a pen, checking something off her checklist. This is her M.O.—giving everyone in her company a specific chore list. As a Lieutenant and the highest rank in the firehouse, she ensures that every Firefighter/Emergency Medical Technician or Firefighter/Paramedic has a list of chores to do. This way, everyone has something productive to do instead of just sitting around watching television.

My cousin Dave runs his company the same way. He assigns individual chores to his team, organizing tasks to either make them go by faster or to ensure everything gets done within the same time frame. For example, he might have three members clean, sharpen, or maintain both manual and automatic tools, while he and another three wash the truck and test the hydraulic piston rod to make sure it’s working. They also test the stabilizers or outriggers to ensure the ladder doesn’t tip the truck over when in use.

Of course, Dave does it because he practically grew up in a firehouse. As a kid and teenager, he always heard his dad and uncle, who were Captains when he was young and later Lieutenants, emphasizing the importance of chores. They had a rule, everyone had to finish their chores before lunch, or they wouldn’t get lunch. Dave was told the same thing by his father and uncle—“No lunch or dinner without doing all of the chores.” So, whenever school wasn’t in session, Dave would head to the firehouse and do his chores. His previous captain, Captain Vintion, used to say that Dave could tell you what was in any compartment on a fire engine or truck just by the number, even though Dave never really wanted to be a firefighter. He felt like it was something his father and uncle wanted for him, but in reality, they never pushed him. He chose it of his own accord.

Lusty is somewhat the same. They had it like a parade with emergency vehicles—Squad 141, Ladder 141, an Airport Crash Tender, and a Mass Casualty Unit—lined up in front of the firehouse, being washed, waxed, cleaned, and having their tools maintained and tested. They also cleaned the apparatus bay floor. Why they replaced the CO2 unit for an Airport Crash Tender is beyond me, especially since this firehouse is on the other side of the city, far from the airport. Ladder 141 is more of an equipment truck than a normal ladder company.

When I stood next to Lusty, she looked up from her clipboard and asked, “How’s the cybernetic arm?”

“Works fine,” I replied. “Locked up only once, but I got that fixed.”

“Well, it should work and not lock up because it cost the Little Birden taxpayer $175k for it,” Lusty said, raising an eyebrow.

“Is that in U.S. Dollars or Little Birden Dollars?” I asked.

“In Little Birden Dollars,” she replied.

I paused, doing some quick mental math. “So that’s... Give me a piece of paper.”

Lusty smirked and said, “In U.S. Dollars, that’s $1,289,182.43.”

I whistled. “That’s a hefty price tag. Good thing it’s working now.”

“Yeah, it better be,” she said, giving me a playful nudge. “We don’t want any more taxpayer complaints.”

We both laughed, knowing that despite the cost, the arm was worth every penny for the work we do.

Even though I remember that day my arm got trapped in that automatic door, it was a painful learning experience. I thought the door would stay open, even in the event of a fire. But nope, once that door sensor detected a nearby fire, it slammed shut a lot faster than I expected. It was a harsh reminder to never assume anything with automatic systems.

I wasn’t really amazed by Lusty knowing the price and converting it from Little Birden Dollars to U.S. Dollars. Her experience as a cashier taught her to be quick with numbers. She’s seen people try to quick-change cashiers, using big bills for small purchases or trying to keep her off balance with fast-paced timing. Her boss would correct her mistakes politely, not harshly, which helped her learn without feeling embarrassed. Lusty always says her boss didn’t scold her for a couple of reasons. She was a teenager with a developing brain, and it would be bad for business to have an adult yelling at a teenager for making an honest mistake. Plus, it’s a common issue worldwide—someone always tries to take more money from a cashier in change or whatnot.

I’ve overheard Lusty teaching her kids to always make sure they get the correct change back. She knows that some cashiers or vendors might shortchange kids or not give them any change at all. Lusty and I have both taught her daughters how to count money and ensure they get the right amount back. For example, if they buy an ice cream from a truck for a dollar, they should get $0.90 back, or if they go to the movies and use a dollar to get a ticket, they should get $0.75 back.

Even in a country that feels like a utopian blend of the 1940s, 1950s, and 1960s, with its retrofuturistic Americana and Art Deco influences, it’s important to be savvy about money. Little Bird’s architecture is a mix of Art Deco, Streamline Moderne, Modern, and Googie designs, reflecting a post-war culture minus the Cold War paranoia. The military here even has direct-energy weapons that look like something out of Flash Gordon comics I think or from the Fallout series.

Of course, I love this country. Little Bird is ranked among the top ten most intellectual, well-fed, well-educated, culturally rich, and technologically advanced countries in the world. People here, according to Dave and Lusty, are taught not to be stupid. In school, they’re told that the stupidest thing a person can do is quit their job without a backup plan. Lusty and Dave have known people who made the mistake of becoming stay-at-home parents while solely relying on their spouse to bring home the money, without considering what would happen if their spouse got sick or fired.

I see how foolish that is. If someone wants to be a stay-at-home wife or dad, more power to them, but they should have a backup plan in case their spouse loses their job or becomes too sick to work. Here in Little Bird, businesses and corporations offer a certain number of sick days that people can take off and still get paid. But once those days run out, the income stops. It’s important to think ahead and have a safety net.

Lusty and Dave’s practical approach to life is something I admire. They understand the importance of being prepared and not putting all your eggs in one basket. It’s a mindset that’s ingrained in the culture here, and it’s one of the reasons why Little Bird is such a resilient and forward-thinking country.

People here are definitely taught to see red flags and not be stupid. Just because something looks or sounds good doesn’t mean it is. It’s a valuable lesson that keeps everyone on their toes.

I asked Lusty if there was anything that needed to be done, and she told me to get the janitor’s bucket and mop the apparatus bay floor. So, that’s what I did. I’ve been using my right hand more than my left lately, getting used to my cybernetic left arm. Being cross-dominant, I’ve mostly used my left hand for nearly everything, only switching to my right when my left got tired. It feels like I’ve been neglecting my right hand most of my life.

Following Lusty’s instructions, I grabbed the janitor mop bucket and started by sweeping the floor before mopping it. It’s a simple task, but it gave me a chance to get more comfortable with my cybernetic arm. Plus, it’s always satisfying to see the floor clean and shiny after a good mopping.

As I was mopping, I couldn’t help but think about the city’s decision a few months back to relax punishments for crimes. It was supposed to be an experiment, but it felt more like a plot from a cheesy crime film. For that month, anyone processed and booked was released before arraignment, no matter how severe the crime. Predictably, crime rates skyrocketed across the board, from misdemeanors to felonies. Firearms sales also went through the roof as people bought guns for self-defense.

The Island Patrol, however, didn’t follow the city’s lead. They answer to the Commonwealth, not the city, and they continue to arrest, book, and lock up offenders until arraignment or trial. It created a strange dynamic where the city was trying to loosen the laws, but the Island Patrol was doing the opposite. Meanwhile, arson kept the fire department busy.

To me, the whole experiment was misguided. Cities don’t have the authority to pick and choose which state or federal laws to enforce. It’s like how the Commonwealth or country of Little Bird can’t force a town or city to change its ordinances. For example, the city of Empire has a Carpool Ordinance, a Community CPR Training Program, and Junior Sports Programs. These are local initiatives that the Commonwealth respects.

I know that the five Commonwealths on Little Bird have their own laws, and they vary per Commonwealth. When the rest of the Commonwealth of Mountain and the other four Commonwealths—Starfish, Cascade, Blueberry, and Strawberry—heard about what the city of Empire did, they all agreed it was a terrible idea. They pointed out that it sent a negative message, essentially telling criminals they’d get a slap on the wrist and not face real consequences.

I’m actually happy my left arm hasn’t locked up again. I guess that military cyber technician was able to run his diagnostic and fix the problem permanently. Why it locked up the first time, I don’t know. I guess that’s just the unpredictability of future technology. The model I have is indistinguishable from a real human arm, even though it’s made of some kind of hardened plastic. I can thank Visala for that. She brought her alien tech and reverse-engineered it for us after escaping her planet’s destruction. Don’t ask—it’s a long story to explain Visala’s background.

As I finished mopping, it hit me why the City of Empire is called “City of Empire” or just “Empire” for short. "Empire City" doesn’t quite have the same ring to it, and our department is officially called the Fire Department City of Empire, not the Empire City Fire Department. It’s a naming convention that’s consistent across Little Bird. All fire departments are named similarly, like Fire Department Town/City of [Town or City Name].

I guess that’s just what the government decided, or maybe it was something the first mayors and city and town councils voted on. It’s the same with police departments—they all follow the format of [Town or City Name] Police Department. It’s a unique quirk of our country, but it adds to the charm and consistency of how things are done here.

Reflecting on this, I appreciate the sense of order and tradition it brings. It’s another example of how Little Bird blends old-school values with modern practices, creating a unique and cohesive community. As I put away the mop and bucket, I felt a sense of satisfaction, knowing that even in the small tasks, we’re all part of something bigger, working together to keep our city running smoothly.

Of course, this is a country that doesn’t hand out diplomatic immunity like candy. Little Bird will revoke a diplomat’s immunity faster than the blink of an eye if another country presents evidence of wrongdoing. While Little Bird doesn’t care much about how others perceive it, its constitution ensures that everyone has the right to a trial and must face justice. Diplomatic immunity can’t be used to escape crimes here. Little Bird has extradition laws, meaning they will extradite a diplomat back to the country where they committed a crime. Countries have the right to revoke diplomatic immunity, and here, even vehicles with diplomatic plates can get towed or ticketed. I think that’s why not many countries have embassies here—while an embassy is technically foreign soil, you still have to follow local rules and laws.

Why that popped into my head, I’m not sure. But after putting the mop bucket away, I helped Lusty clean the drain. It’s not a glamorous job, but someone has to do it.

As I was helping Lusty clean the drain, I told her about the time I warned a friend about the health consequences of eating thirty hamburgers in one sitting. Predictably, my friend ended up in the hospital. While I do enjoy cheeseburgers, I limit myself to two or three every other day or once in a while.

Lusty agreed, pointing out that junk food and greasy food may taste good but have negative health effects. She took home economics in school, and I took culinary classes at Arcane University. We both learned that meals should be balanced. If you have something unhealthy, it should be paired with something healthy. For example, a steak dinner should come with veggies on the side. But Lusty and I are the same—if we get a steak dinner, we’re getting mac and cheese as a side dish, even though they’ll add some broccoli on the side anyway.

We laughed about it, knowing that while we enjoy our comfort foods, we also understand the importance of balance. It’s all about moderation and making sure we take care of our health, even if it means sneaking in some veggies with our favorite dishes.

Honestly to me I love this country and while yes I’m an American but to me there’s something about seeing people have common sense, and seeing vintage vehicles has that charm even though this country has it where if a tourist woman is pregnant and goes into labor then well the tourist baby won’t be considered a Little Birden but the baby would be is a naturalized citizen regardless of where she/he was born. The lack of a birth certificate could be a bit of a legal hassle.

Lusty and I had some interesting conversations while we worked, one of which was about wills and testaments. She told me about a neighbor who had created a will for his sons, leaving them everything once he passed. However, his sons were only interested in the inheritance and got greedy.

Despite lacking formal education, the people of Eastside are quite intellectual and have a lot of street smarts. They can see things coming from a mile away. Lusty explained how the neighbor, realizing his sons' true intentions, changed his will on his deathbed. When his sons tried to claim the inheritance, they discovered that their father had altered the will. Upon consulting a lawyer, they found out that the revised will was legally signed and executed, leaving them without a case.

It was more or less a middle finger and fuck you from the father to his adult sons.

Lusty mentioned that she created a will for her seven daughters with two conditions: they must finish high school or turn eighteen if she dies in the line of duty. If that happens, her daughters will come and live with me. The will also states that if any of her daughters get in trouble with the law before they turn eighteen, they will be automatically removed from the will and won’t receive a single penny. Given that her daughters are in fifth and sixth grade, they’re not likely to get in trouble with the law anytime soon.

If they did get into trouble, Lusty would be a good mother and get them out of police custody. However, if they were older, she’d probably say, “It’s easy to get in there but hard to get out” or “You get yourself in there, you get yourself out.” She’s always been about teaching responsibility and accountability, and it’s one of the many things I admire about her.

Lusty comes from an impoverished background, so they didn’t have the same legal help, relying mostly on court-appointed public defenders. Unlike in America, where people arrested are appointed a lawyer if they can’t afford one, here in Little Bird, public defenders only defend people in trials.

Lusty then asked me, as a woman of religion, if I would give up my life to become a nun, living a vow of poverty, chastity, and obedience. I told her that while I would live such a life, my religion doesn’t have nuns. I also shared that as a kid and teenager, I was overly religious to stay out of the house and away from my addict mother. Bible studies on Wednesdays and church on Sunday mornings were better alternatives than being at home. I never had a normal childhood with two loving parents. Lusty, despite growing up in poverty, had both parents who loved her equally and were always there for her.

As we finished cleaning the drain, I felt a deep sense of appreciation for Lusty’s resilience and dedication to her daughters’ future. It’s these moments and conversations that remind me of the strong values and practical wisdom that define our lives here on Little Bird.

We cleaned the gloves and put them out back to dry. As we were putting the drain covers back on, I told Lusty about a friend from my high school days in Alabama. His girlfriend had stolen the vacation he paid for to go with "just a friend," and he ended up canceling the whole trip. Lusty agreed that he did the right thing. Going on vacation with your lover is one thing, but having a friend tag along is another, as long as the third person pays for their own expenses.

I explained how my friend’s girlfriend invited a friend to go on vacation but told him not to come. He had every right to cancel everything—from the travel plans to the reservations. Here in Little Bird, people have the right to cancel their plans at any time without paying a fee, unless they cancel on the day they’re supposed to go. In that case, they get a refund, but not a full one, as a small percentage is kept as a last-minute cancellation fee.

Lusty pointed out that it’s fine to have a friend come along, but telling the person who paid for the entire vacation not to come is a huge red flag. It’s a sign of disrespect and a lack of consideration, and she’s glad my friend stood up for himself.

As we finished up, I felt grateful for these moments of shared wisdom and practical advice. Lusty’s insights and straightforward approach always help me see things more clearly, and it’s one of the many reasons I value our conversations so much.

I even helped Lusty push the turnout gear rack outback because well before I arrived they washed their backup pair turnout gear outback for them to dry off because they were washed to make sure any cardigans or anything that can cause cancer was washed off. That’s the one thing about the Fire Department City of Empire that every member has two sets of turnout gear where one they wear and when we come back from a fire we wash the one we wore and wash it and dry it and wear the other set to lower the chance of getting cancer.

Pushing those racks was a real pain, but nothing in life is easy—even breathing can be complicated. It might have been simpler to carry each piece of turnout gear outside and set them on something, but here in Little Bird, we believe that hard work is happy work, and that working hard pays off more than taking shortcuts.

While helping Lusty, I told her about my cousin—my female cousin once removed. She works in an office where dating between employees is frowned upon. When she and another employee started dating, they informed HR, who was fine with it as long as they kept personal affections separate from professionalism. However, at their wedding, my cousin’s mother-in-law embarrassed her by claiming her son only married her to climb the corporate ladder. My cousin shut her down by saying she was in a higher position and could make her husband’s life difficult or get him fired without breaking any laws. That shut her mother-in-law up quickly. Lusty found it funny because many in-laws don’t know when to shut up and often say their son or daughter should have married someone else.

Lusty’s parents never played matchmaker. When she came out as bisexual in the early 1990s, they had a mixed reaction and discussed it privately. They came out of their bedroom and gave her the same unconditional love, saying they didn’t understand homosexuality but would support and love her because she was their daughter and only child. My dad was somewhat supportive because I was his only child and he didn’t want to drive me away, while my mother thought it was a phase.

We kept doing chores, and as we started to move the final rack, I asked Dynamite if we were going to get any action today. While waxing a fire pole, she replied, “I think you just put a hex on us, Macaroni.”

I thought about asking Avalanche about her background, but I already know from what Lusty told me. Avalanche's parents never got along—her mom worked in a casino in Las Adventure, and her father was a dirty, corrupt cop. He was controlling and never made any attempts to emotionally connect with his daughter, trying instead to mold her into a female carbon copy of himself. Avalanche eventually ran off to become a military mountaineer, earning her nickname. When her time in the army was up, she went back home and became a firefighter, partly to spite her father. When she heard about an opening here in the City of Empire, she put in the paperwork for a transfer and drove 1,020 miles from Las Adventure to Empire.

Of course, this is all from what Lusty told me, and I take it with a grain of salt. I’m not going to ask Avalanche for her background because it’s none of my business. Everyone has their own story, and sometimes it’s best to let people share it on their own terms.

I can’t imagine the hell Avalanche went through, especially when her mother disappeared out of the blue one evening. It must have been incredibly tough. One thing I do know is how different the uniforms are. Avalanche once mentioned that the Las Adventure Police Department uniform consists of dark brown shirts with cream trousers, a police cap, and a badge. In contrast, the City of Empire PD uniform is dark blue and includes a shirt, tie, trousers, and cap, with the badge worn on the shirt.

From what I know, Avalanche isn’t interested in going back to Las Adventure with its casinos. While casino cities bring in a lot of tourists each year, they also attract a lot of crime. The most common crimes in Las Adventure are robbery, embezzlement, muggings, and murder, often because people win big at the casinos. Even though the house always wins, criminals will find a way to get that money one way or another.

I decided to go and ask Avalanche what it was like being a firefighter in Las Adventure for several years. She asked if I wanted the sugar-coated truth or her actual perception. I told her I wanted her actual perception, not a sugar-coated one. She told me that people there, whether tourists or citizens, didn’t care if she was busy saving someone’s life. If she wasn’t helping them personally, they would still chastise her. As she put it, “I’m saving lives and they’re still chastising me.”

When she asked if her answer satisfied me, I told her it did. It’s believable how selfish people can be, even when trained professionals are trying to save lives. It’s a harsh reality, but it’s one that many first responders face.

Avalanche shared a story about a ten-car pile-up she responded to. She was treating a badly injured person who needed a trauma surgeon, while another person had a less severe injury that would subside in a few minutes to an hour. She explained that triage prioritizes the most severe injuries over minor ones. In this case, the person needing a trauma surgeon took priority over someone with an injury akin to a scraped knee from falling off a bike.

I get it. In my Certified First Responder class, we learned that triage means "the most injured and most able to be helped are the first priority, with the most terminally injured being the last priority." It’s a tough but necessary part of the job, ensuring that resources are used where they can do the most good.

I thought about asking Avalanche about her relationship with her father, but I decided against it. From what she’s shared, her father is dead to her—not in the literal sense, but because she finally escaped his control. Her father, a Captain in the Las Adventure Police Department, has no jurisdiction in the City of Empire. She mentioned that he put her on a missing person’s report when she left, but she was later "found" by some cops. If her father had threatened her to come back home or taken legal action, he wouldn’t have had a case. Avalanche is a legal adult at 32, and she has every right to move somewhere else to be happy. By law, her father can’t use his connections to force her back, and she’s protected by her right to prioritize her well-being and set boundaries.

Avalanche once bluntly told me that her father is the kind of parent who demands reimbursement for raising their child, billing them for room, clothing, education, and food. The courts here throw out such suits, stating that parents have a responsibility to take care of their kids. If they didn’t want that responsibility, they should have put their kids up for adoption. Parents feeling entitled to a portion of their kids’ earnings is absurd. If the kids are still living with their parents and paying rent, that’s one thing. But if they’re independent, parents have no claim to their earnings.

I thought about asking Dynamite about her family background, but I already know she and Avalanche share similar stories of controlling parents. Dynamite’s parents wanted to marry her off to the son of a famous restaurant chain owner. But Dynamite isn’t the cooking type, nor is she really into relationships. I don’t see her as a parent either; she strikes me as the “sink or swim” type who would expect her child to figure things out on their own, like learning to swim by being thrown into a pool or figuring out how to ride a bike without help.

To me, that arranged marriage wouldn’t have worked out. They usually don’t, unless it’s for religious reasons. If it’s for business, forcing a daughter to marry a guy she doesn’t like just for business reasons is a terrible idea. Religious marriages have a shared foundation, but business-driven marriages often lack common ground and feel more like business deals. Those marriages rarely last.

If my mother had tried to marry me off to some guy I didn’t know, I would have run off too. Dynamite went a step further and legally changed her last name to Madeleine Azure sometime after the turn of the century in the early 2000s. It was her way of breaking free from her parents’ control and forging her own path.

As I stood there, a car pulled up, but I knew it wasn't for me. A man and woman, probably in their mid to late fifties, got out and headed straight for Dynamite. Their body language screamed seriousness. I grabbed an ax and a knife sharpener, deciding to focus on sharpening the fire ax instead of eavesdropping.

The way they approached Dynamite was like parents scolding a rebellious teenager. It was clear they had trouble treating her like the adult she was. Not every parent is like my dad, who always told other parents, "You can't pamper your children forever. Sooner or later, they'll have to figure things out on their own." When I was a teenager, he told me I could keep my paycheck from waitressing, but I had to start figuring things out for myself.

From the start, Dynamite's parents launched into a tirade. "Do you know how you made us look to your fiancé's family?! Do you know how much money it cost us to track you down?"

I overheard Dynamite's fiery response. "It's been fourteen years, and you expect me to come crawling back like nothing happened? You expect me to marry a guy I don't even like? No 'Hi Madeleine, how are you and how have you been?' Yeah, no wonder I ran away to join the Marines and changed my last name."

Her parents didn't stop there. They accused her of tearing the family apart by running away and not following their wishes, even pulling the "parents know best" card. But Dynamite wasn't having any of it. She called them out, saying no decent parents would ignore their child's feelings or try to mold them into something they're not.

Dynamite laid it all out. "You might be happy in your arranged marriage because you were friends since elementary school and had things in common. But you want me to marry a guy I've never even met, just because he's the son of a famous restaurant chain owner? That's not happening."

She stood her ground, making it clear that she wouldn't be forced into a life she didn't want.

I've seen this story play out so many times—parents expecting their kids to follow their every command, no matter what. When the kids finally have enough and leave, the parents act clueless, ignoring what drove their child away in the first place. They paint themselves as saints, or worse, blame some outside influence for their child's desire to forge their own path.

Parents like that never seem to understand that not everyone is cut out for the family business or tradition. Everyone has the right to carve their own path in life. Take us Watersons, for example. We take pride in hard work and family, but not all of us have families, and some of us choose careers that fit a cozier lifestyle rather than hard labor. It's about finding what works for you and being true to yourself.

Hearing Dynamite and her parents argue brought back memories of my own parents' fights. Those were some sleepless nights. My mom had a knack for escalating things, shouting so loud that neighbors across the street or several houses down could hear her, even in the dead of night. The police were called more than once because of her yelling.

But there's something satisfying about hearing Dynamite stand up to her parents. They wanted her to be the "perfect" daughter, but never supported her own dreams. She wanted to do sports, but they shot that idea down. They wouldn't let her do homework, claiming it interfered with the family business, only to scold her when she failed at something. It's that double standard that really gets to me—telling your kid not to do schoolwork because it interferes with the family business, then turning around and scolding them for failing. Dynamite calling them out on their hypocrisy is a breath of fresh air.

As I continued to eavesdrop, it became clear that Dynamite's parents were the type to blame others or the media for their own parenting failures, rather than admitting their mistakes. They seemed disappointed that their daughter hadn't lived up to their expectations.

Listening to their conversation, it was obvious they weren't paying attention to a word Dynamite was saying. They even had the gall to ask when she planned to marry the guy they had arranged for her and start a family. It was like everything she said was falling on deaf ears. She made it crystal clear that she wasn't interested in getting married, having children, or being with a guy she didn't even know. But her parents just couldn't—or wouldn't—hear her.

I couldn't help but chuckle when Dynamite told her parents that back alley gun dealers are more trustworthy than they are. It's a bold statement, but it really shows how deep her distrust runs.

Dynamite laid it all out for them. She'd done so much to prove her worth outside the family business, but it wasn't until she joined the Marines that she realized the truth. "If nobody sees your worth, then nobody will." She told her parents that she's now part of a team that values her skills and has a company officer who appreciates her expertise from her time as a Marine Combat Engineer. She's in a career where her worth is recognized and valued, something her parents never did.

That reminds me of something my dad always said, "If someone doesn't see your worth, someone else will." He usually meant it in the context of romantic relationships, but it applies here too. Dynamite's parents are the type who never see the worth in anyone, not even their own daughter. During their argument, they kept expressing disappointment in her, their only child.

From what I could hear, they seemed like the kind of people who think their money entitles them to control others, believing they're better than those of a lower social status. They strike me as the type who would treat their daughter's marriage like a business merger, trying to combine their family restaurants with the guy's family restaurants.

I know Dynamite's parents' type all too well. They're the kind who always pull the "we're your parents, so you have to do as we say" card. They act like they're planning her second wedding before the first husband is even out of the picture, or they hire a fiancé to keep her in line. They're the kind of strict, controlling parents who make even strict parents seem normal by comparison.

Her parents had the nerve to call Dynamite selfish, claiming they gave her everything—designer clothes, a sports car for her first vehicle. But Dynamite shot back, saying she never asked for any of that. She'd be just as happy with hand-me-downs or a beat-up car. She never wanted the upper-middle-class lifestyle her parents pushed on her, believing money could fix everything.

Dynamite's parents sound like the type who miss important events in their kid's life and then try to make up for it with expensive gifts. But us Watersons know better. "Money comes and goes. Time missed with family is something you can’t get back." That's one of the reasons she ran away. Her parents thought they could throw money at any problem, but they missed the point entirely.

I overheard Dynamite's mother bragging about the wedding dress they picked out and how they had planned everything down to the names of future grandchildren—150 baby girl names from her mom and 150 baby boy names from her dad. But Dynamite wasn't having any of it. She told them straight up that she wasn't going to marry a guy she didn't even know. If she ever has kids, she'll name them what she wants, not what her parents want.

She made it clear that she wants to be an independent woman, not tied down to someone she only knows from supermarket tabloids. She demanded that her parents respect her wishes and her right to live her own life.

Dynamite and her parents would be perfect candidates for one of those syndicated daytime talk shows in the U.S., where the host dives into family dramas and personal issues.

As I kept sharpening the ax, I couldn't help but listen in on their heated argument. Dynamite was laying it on thick, telling her parents she never wanted the upper-middle-class life they forced on her, with a $20/week allowance and a childhood she never asked for. Her parents were taken aback, calling her ungrateful. But Dynamite clarified she wasn't ungrateful—she was grateful for the chance to run away and join the Marines as soon as she was old enough.

Her parents argued that they had saved up for her to attend college or university to get a degree in business and accounting to run the family business. But Dynamite wasn't having any of it. She told them if she wanted an advanced education, the military would pay for it.

The argument was really heating up, and I could totally understand where Dynamite was coming from. Her parents seemed like the type who would never admit fault, even if faced with overwhelming evidence. They'd just brush it off, claiming it was blown out of proportion. Even if their business took a massive hit, they still wouldn't admit any wrongdoing. They're the kind of family members who get called out on social media under different names.

As the argument continued, it was clear that Dynamite was metaphorically talking to a brick wall. Her parents weren't listening, and neither side was willing to budge.

After a while, I heard Dynamite finally snap. She told her parents to leave and not come back, reminding them that this was exactly why she ran off in the first place. She made it clear that they never loved her as a daughter, only seeing her as a family employee they were legally obligated to care for.

Hearing Dynamite tell her parents off was something else. She said they shouldn't even be called parents because real parents wouldn't force their kids into a business they never wanted to be part of. She called out their double standards—telling her not to do homework because it interfered with the family business, then scolding her for failing at school. It was a powerful moment, and I couldn't help but feel a sense of admiration for her courage to stand up for herself.

Eventually, Dynamite's parents left, probably realizing they were getting nowhere. A few minutes later, I heard footsteps and saw Dynamite heading out. I put the ax back and followed her outside. She got into her 4x4 4WD SUV, the kind used by militaries around the world, like a HUMVEE.

I watched as she took her rage out on the steering wheel. It was clear she was finally releasing all the pent-up anger from years of her parents shooting down her dreams—whether it was playing sports, doing schoolwork, or just being a normal kid. She had harbored a ton of resentment, and now it was all coming out.

I approached Dynamite's car, hesitating for a moment. She was like a volcano, her anger erupting as she pounded on the steering wheel. Still, I knocked on the window. After a few seconds, she rolled it down and asked what I wanted.

I told her I understood how she felt. I shared my own story about my mother, who, despite being an addict while I was growing up, turned into a matchmaker the moment I turned eighteen. She set me up on random dates with men I didn't know, hoping I'd become a housewife to cook, clean, and have children. Some of those dates turned into friendships because the guys were also pressured by their parents. But others didn't know how to take no for an answer. I even had a stalker who followed me around during my Navy training and in various European ports like Germany, France, and England or other NATO aligned countries during the war. He showed up here months ago and finally got arrested.

I mentioned how grateful I am to live in a country with serious stalking laws, especially since celebrities often deal with crazed fans showing up at their homes or publicly declaring their love, only to drag their names through the mud if the feelings aren't reciprocated.

I hoped sharing my story would help Dynamite feel less alone in her struggles.

I told Dynamite that many parents shouldn't even have children if they can't treat them right.

When she asked how much of the argument I overheard, I admitted I heard the whole thing. I shared a story about my cousin Mitchell's partner, Starlight, who comes from a similar background. Starlight has seven brothers and a twin sister, Ruby. Their parents forced all the kids, except Ruby, to work in the family business in Pine Valley. Ruby got a golden pass from their mother and was never forced to work. Their mother was a full-blown double standard—if Ruby was sick or injured, she could rest until she was fully healed or go to the doctor. But if Starlight or her brothers were sick or had a broken leg, their mother still made them work and made them walk it off.

I pointed out how unhealthy and unsafe that was, especially in the food industry, where germs from a sick person could easily spread to the food. It was another example of how some parents just don't get it.

Dynamite initially thought Starlight was my cousin Mitchell’s romantic partner because I used the term "partner." I had to clarify that Starlight is his partner in law enforcement, not in a romantic relationship. I also explained that Mitchell’s wife and mother-in-law are understanding and don’t jump to conclusions about his female friends.

I shared with Dynamite how some of my male relatives have gotten into arguments with their wives or girlfriends for performing CPR and Mouth-to-mouth resuscitation on women, with the wives or girlfriends jumping to conclusions about cheating.

Dynamite found that ridiculous, pointing out that they were just following the Good Samaritan and duty to rescue laws. She asked if those women were the type who think their boyfriends or husbands can't talk to or be friends with other women, while they themselves can have male friends. I just shrugged my shoulders, agreeing with her frustration.

Of course, we live in a country with its own double standards laws. But that's a different story.

Dynamite mentioned that my mother must be stuck in the 1950s mindset, and my facial expression said it all. "Yeah, no kidding." My mom has outdated views and refuses to accept that it's the 21st century, where people have far more choices than they did decades ago.

I told Dynamite how my mother wanted me to become a housewife instead of following my own ambitions, and she hates me for choosing my own path. I believe it's okay to have dreams, but you have to reach them one step at a time, not try to leap all at once. Life is all about choices. Some people settle down and have families without pursuing their childhood dreams, while others chase their dreams and find happiness. But some reach for the stars and achieve their goals, only to realize they missed out on living life and making friends.

I shared stories of friends back in the States who started businesses to get rich, only to be forced out by greedy investors. When they tried to start new businesses, they were backstabbed by so-called friends, and banks refused to give them loans because of their previous debts. It's a tough world out there, and sometimes the path to success is filled with unexpected challenges.

When Dynamite asked about my dream, I told her how I always wanted to join the Navy. After my studies at Arcane University, I did just that. Getting an advanced education was a spur-of-the-moment decision, but it led me to meet Lusty. If I hadn't met her, I wouldn't have come back to Little Bird after my Navy tour. Instead, I might have stayed in Alabama, found a different job, and probably wouldn't have become a firefighter.

As we talked, a man in a suit approached and handed Dynamite some papers, saying she had been served. After he left, Dynamite opened the envelope to find that her parents were suing her. I took a look at the papers and reassured her that the lawsuit was frivolous. Parents who decide to have kids and invest in them do so by their own choice. Kids don't owe them anything in return. There's no contract involved, so legally, her parents can't sue her for something so absurd. The court would just laugh it out.

I explained to Dynamite that while some parents do create contracts with their kids to pay for college, it's pretty rare. By law, her parents were obligated to take care of her without the government stepping in to remove her and place her in foster care or an orphanage. It's a basic parental duty to provide for their children.

I also mentioned a lawyer I had hired to deal with a situation involving Strawberry Arms and offered to give her his contact information. But Dynamite decided she was just going to wing it and ignore the lawsuit, confident that no sane judge would entertain such a frivolous case. She figured if a judge did take it up, it wouldn't be long before they got fed up with her parents' nonsense.

I told Dynamite that her parents' behavior is their fault, not hers. People often fail to realize that their perceptions and feelings are their own responsibility, especially when things don't go as planned. Her parents' short-sightedness and lack of imagination are not her burden to bear. They see her as an object rather than a human being, which is incredibly unfair.

I also mentioned that if her parents had other children, they might have either focused their attention on them or treated them just as poorly. I shared stories about how some parents unfairly blame one child for all the problems while making excuses for the others. If her parents had other kids, there's a good chance they would have shielded them from blame, only acknowledging Dynamite when they wanted something from her. It's a sad reality, but it's important for her to know that their behavior is a reflection of their own flaws, not hers.

I shared with Dynamite how some parents are dismissive and never let their kids have peace of mind. They might complain about schoolwork taking up space, even if it's just a couple of sheets of paper, while ignoring other kids who are loud and disruptive. Some parents even cut their kids out of the will or inheritance, treating them like outsiders. They disown their children for not being carbon copies of themselves, but when those kids come into money, the family suddenly reappears, expecting handouts and using the "we're family" card.

I told her about how some families treat one child with disdain while making excuses for the others. If those disowned kids get an inheritance or win the lottery, the family comes out of the woodwork, seeing them as a living ATM. Some even have the audacity to hire lawyers to sue them, but since wills are legally binding, such lawsuits are frivolous.

I shared a Waterson family saying, "Family isn’t who’s related to you but those who love you for who you are and are there for you when you need them."

Dynamite nodded, saying her family is the type that won't respond when you need them but will go to great lengths to track you down when they need something. It was clear she appreciated knowing she wasn't alone in dealing with such family dynamics.

I told Dynamite that friendships and family ties often don't count for much. People you think are your friends and family can easily sell you out or abandon you if you get in the way of something they want. You only find out who your real friends are when you're down.

She agreed, noting that many people leave when times are tough and only stick around during the good times. The true test of a friend or family member is whether they stick with you through both the bad and the good. Many people disappear faster than a moth to a light when things get rough, only to come crawling back when you're back on your feet.

Dynamite told me to stop sounding like an inspirational video, but I pointed out that it's true. Real friends and family will stick by you no matter how rough things get, while others will abandon ship faster than rats on a sinking vessel. True friends are the ones who stay by your side, no matter how tough the times are.

I asked Dynamite if she wanted me to do a background check on the guy her parents wanted her to marry. At first, she said no, but then quickly changed her mind. She figured if there was something her parents wouldn't like, she'd want to know and use it against them. After all, people often hide things, and most parents wouldn't want their child marrying someone with a shady past.

I also told her that some parents, like my mother, hold onto traditional values and outdated gender roles. My mom believes men should be the breadwinners while women stay home, do house chores, and raise kids. I've heard of relationships breaking up because one family had traditional values while the other adapted to the 21st century, encouraging their daughter to be independent.

I shared how my mother still wants me to quit my job, find a man, and be a housewife, but that's not happening. I'm happy being independent and having self-autonomy. I even told Dynamite about family members who questioned my mom on social media, asking what's wrong with a woman having her own career and independence. It's the 21st century, not a time when marriage and kids were required for societal acceptance.

Dynamite shared a story about how her parents once screamed at her for making a breakfast sandwich that wasn't on the menu. They hated creativity and ran a diner that sold the same generic items you could find anywhere—coffee, sodas, milkshakes, and standard breakfast, lunch, and dinner foods.

Curious, I asked what her breakfast sandwich was. She described it, two slices of rye bread, two slices of smoked ham, and two slices of Gouda cheese. She'd crack three eggs into a bowl, soak the sandwich in the eggs, then fry it in butter until the cheese melted. Despite her parents' disapproval, they didn't yell at her in front of customers, knowing it would be bad for business. Some customers even suggested adding it to the menu because it was so good.

Whenever her parents weren't around, Dynamite would make the sandwiches for customers. When her parents noticed their profits increasing, they asked the staff what was so popular. Everyone pointed to Dynamite's breakfast sandwich. It was new, unique, and a refreshing change from the usual fried egg sandwiches. Her parents liked the extra money but still didn't appreciate the creativity since it wasn't on the official menu.

I suggested to Dynamite that if she went along with her parents' plan, she should act nervous and uncomfortable. She cut me off, saying Marines aren't uncomfortable. I told her to stop lying—everyone feels fear in combat or running into a fire, and anyone who says otherwise is lying.

I got to the point. Go along with her parents' plan, take over their shares of the family business, and then head to the courthouse to get the marriage voided. I explained that marriages require the legal consent of both parties. If she was under duress from her parents, the court would see it as pressure and coercion, making it possible for a judge to nullify the marriage. It was a strategic way to turn the tables on her parents and regain control of her life.

Dynamite thought my plan was good but doubted her parents would fall for it. I told her she’d need to sound confident and sincere to win them over, but not saying something like, "I’m getting older and don’t want to miss my chance to have kids." It had to be believable.

I also suggested she had a few options. She could either go along with her parents' plan and then take over the business, using the opportunity to get the marriage voided due to duress. Or, she could change her name again and transfer to another fire company in the city of Empire or elsewhere in Little Bird to escape her parents. However, they might just hire another private investigator to find her, restarting the cycle. Because Madeleine is a very rare name on Little Bird where there’s only 69 women on Little Bird named Madeleine or 68 without Dynamite.

Alternatively, she could go along with their plan under duress, buy out her parents' shares, and force them into retirement. Given they’re seven years away from retirement and likely don’t have another successor, they might eventually sell the business. If someone else bought it, they might renovate and upscale the place, potentially driving away loyal customers.

Dynamite has some tough choices ahead, but it’s clear she’s strong and resourceful enough to handle whatever comes her way.

Dynamite shared that her parents never fully liked her because she was a girl, not the son they wanted. They refused to get an ultrasound 31 years ago and never tried for another child, possibly out of fear of having another daughter or not wanting the hassle of raising two kids.

I told her that family sizes vary greatly—some families have one child, others have many, and some choose not to have kids at all. But some parents really shouldn't have kids if they can't treat them right.

Dynamite then told me about a guy she met in the Marines who was put up for adoption because his biological parents wanted a daughter, not a son. Now a high-ranking Marine officer, his biological parents tried to re-enter his life when they found out he was successful. When he turned 18, he met them, but they told him he was a mistake. His adoptive parents supported him through this, warning him that many people who put their kids up for adoption do so for various reasons.

Now, as a Lieutenant-Colonel making $7,181 a year, his biological parents non-subtly asked for financial help, pulling the family card. He refused, pointing out that they had waived their parental rights when they put him up for adoption. Even when they tried to sue him, the courts sided with him, stating that by putting him up for adoption, they had voluntarily cut ties and had no claim for his support.

I told Dynamite that this story highlights how some parents only see their children as means to an end, not as individuals with their own worth. It's a harsh reality, but it's important to recognize and stand up for oneself, just like that Marine officer did.