November 25, 2010, 2:19 PM, Thanksgiving Day.

  I stood in the kitchen of the house where I spent eleven years of my life, from 1992 to 2003. The familiar scent of home brought back a flood of memories.

  “So, where are Martha, Jake, and Alex?” I asked, glancing at my dad.

  “Out doing some last-minute errands,” he replied.

  I turned my attention to making macaroni and cheese. It's a staple at our family gatherings, and I know I have to make a lot. My family loves leftovers, and whenever my dad hosts—which was rare when he and my "mother" were married—it feels like a rare event, almost like seeing a shooting star. Over the years, I've learned to make extra because people always want to take some home. It's better to have too much than too little.

  “Don’t you think you’re a little overdressed?” my dad asked, eyeing my outfit.

  I smiled. “Just something formal.”

  “It’s your service uniform that you wear to formal events,” he notes, a hint of concern in his voice.

  I shrug and continue cooking. I fill a big pot with hot water to make it boil faster and dump in at least eight boxes of shell macaroni.

  “So, any huge emergencies?” my dad asked, trying to steer the conversation away from my attire.

  I shoot back, “Besides a fire in a building with automatic doors where I lost the lower half of my left arm? Not really. But I did get a cool futuristic cybernetic arm out of it. Today, a lot of people are going to try deep-frying frozen turkeys. The ice and hot oil will cause steam explosions.”

  My dad chuckles, shaking his head. “Optimist for today, Macaroni?”

  I took a sip of my root beer and turned to my dad. "You know, my job isn't like how Hollywood makes it out to be. We don't always respond to big disasters on a regular or semi-regular basis. We don’t go to fires with people screaming, needing to be rescued, and fire rushing out of every window, or to buildings collapsing every five minutes. If a building is fully engulfed, any search and rescue won’t happen, and chances are good that everyone in there is already dead. Priority number one for officers is to protect their own crew."

  "The department I work for has about 2,000 members, so losing one is a major blow. Not to mention losing one needlessly trying to save someone who may already be dead by the time we arrive on the scene. We're a highly trained bunch, but we're always understaffed, exhausted, and working in one of the most dangerous professions in the world. Training a single firefighter in basic techniques takes months, and not everyone who signs up completes their training because it’s tough. Some either get kicked out or drop out."

  I could see the concern in my dad's eyes, but he remained silent, letting me continue.

  "The city I work for has gained two new Squad Companies and a new Rescue Company. Since 1942 and 1953, Squad 525 and later Squad 141 have been the go-to for Mayday alarms. If a Squad company is on the scene of an emergency, regardless of their role, they’ll act as a Rescue Squad to save any trapped, lost, or incapacitated members. Post-2009, the structure changed to include an extra R.I.T. company, for a total of two R.I.T.s; a rescue company; another Squad Company, for a total of two Squads; an Air Mask Unit; two additional ALS ambulances; a Collapse Rescue Unit; and a wagon."

  I paused, seeing my dad's puzzled expression. "A wagon is a term for a hose wagon," I explained. "It's just a bigger fire engine that has thousands of feet of 4.5-inch large diameter hose, 7-inch diameter suction hose, foam agent, and a high-volume deluge gun to support the operations of other fire units on scene."

  My dad said, "Hope you're the type that doesn't wish for huge emergencies."

  "The biggest fire I fought was an oil field fire," I replied. "But I was fighting fires inside warehouses and other interior places, not outside on the oil wells."

  My dad raised an eyebrow. "Your girlfriend?"

  "Oil refinery, before her and I got together, far before we met," I said. "Unless you want to count the '07 earthquake. And again in '08, it was at a car factory where the paint caught fire. Several workers were killed, and the wind hampered firefighting efforts. They had to blow into the wind for the water to hit the fire, but the fire got so hot that the interior floors and walls collapsed. Without that interior support, the outer walls started to break away and fall. We had to relocate manpower, hose lines, and apparatus outside of the collapse area. Fire apparatus aren't cheap or mass-produced. A car, truck, or SUV takes 17-18 hours to make, but for fire apparatus, it's longer because each department's needs vary."

  I paused, taking a breath. "Like the city of Empire, for example. The inner city parts need more compact fire apparatus for the narrower streets and tighter urban environment. The other districts that aren't part of the inner city need larger apparatus to carry more gear. The inner city of Empire was designed in the 1700s when the city was founded in 1710. People got around by horse and buggy or walking, so it was about 200 years before the automobile. Many of the buildings have historical status, meaning they can't be torn down or altered. So, many of the inner city streets are two-lane streets, not wide avenues. There are a couple of boulevards in Uptown-Downtown Empire because historically, that's where a lot of commercial buildings were. The boulevards were made for teamsters to bring goods from the ports or other towns across Little Bird."

  I continued, "For fire apparatus, it takes months, if not years, to get one because each department has different requirements. A city like Empire has different needs than a town like Moonlight Cove.

  "In towns, many of the engines have booster pumps, booster lines, and forestry lines for brush fires. Towns don’t have the monetary resources to afford additional companies without cutting the budget elsewhere. Cities, on the other hand, have different companies, like their own Brush Patrol. Living in a country where wildfires are a lot more common than in America, we get about 82,000 a year. Ninety-eight percent of them are easily contained by wildland firefighters. The other two percent, if they can't be contained, will spread."

  I paused, taking another sip of my root beer. "Little Bird's wildland firefighting policy is different from America's. Many of our trees and forests have survived wildfires for centuries. Our policy is to let it burn for a bit for natural ecosystem renewal. Fire helps get rid of old, less productive material and opens up nuts for seeds to fall out, allowing new plants and trees to grow. It's vital for the reproduction of some trees.

  "Since the early 1960s, Little Bird has stopped the Urban-Wildland interface because it adds more fuel for fires to burn. Heat rises, so mountainside houses are rare here. The view might be nice, but waking up in the dead of night to see orange outside, thinking it’s the sunrise, only to realize it’s a fire, is terrifying.

  "In Little Bird, there are two types of evacuations: by law and by military. If the police department handles it, you still have time to pack up the essentials—certificates, medical documents, and medicines. But if the military comes in, they just grab you and throw you on the back of a military transport truck. You don’t have time to pack anything, not even the essentials."

  My dad shook his head in amazement. "And you've seen that?"

  I replied, "Just sharing what my cousin Dave, Capt. Vintion, and Lt. Nova have told me. The area around the city of Empire is either farmland or thick forest. In Dave's second month on the job, he fought a wildfire near Moonlight Cove. He saw those single-family prefabricated emerald steel houses cave in due to the intense heat. It was terrifying. According to Dave, his future father-in-law, who was a Battalion Chief at the time, got a call from the town research facility. The scientists needed the fire department to buy them some time to evacuate. Dave’s future father-in-law told them that their poor timing wasn’t his priority. They had all the time to evacuate but waited until the fire was at their doorstep. Even if he had the manpower and resources, he wouldn’t have sent them because every man and apparatus was on the line, trying to keep the fire at bay."

  I paused, letting my dad absorb the story. "Dave’s future father-in-law did have the manpower, but he broke the shift into 12-hour rotations. Men and women worked 12 hours, then rested while their replacements took over for the next 12 hours. In Little Bird, we have a 'stay put' policy, but that’s only if it’s too dangerous to leave on your own. People are taught to try to get out on their own because staying put isn’t always the best choice. By the time we get to them, they might already be dead or on death’s door due to smoke inhalation or heat."

  I took another sip of my root beer. "Unless you’re my girlfriend. As a child, she remembers when the tenement building she lived in caught fire. She recalls a big guy in a canvas jacket coming up through thick smoke and carrying her safely down the stairs."

  The water started to boil, and I started making macaroni and cheese.

  "But I'm glad I didn't live through the 1980 Fire Department City of Empire strike," I told my dad. "The Commonwealth of Mountain proposed a bill to raise taxes on commercial and industrial buildings, but for some reason, it also applied to government buildings. It went about as well as you'd expect. Emergency services, meaning just the fire and police departments, did what they were trained to do. Hospitals were spared because they were privately owned, and their owners could pay the taxes, which were considered pocket change."

  I took a deep breath, remembering the stories I'd heard. "Many cops and firefighters got a rude awakening when they reported for their shifts, only to find that many of the city's firehouses were closed because the city couldn't afford to keep them open. From 1945 to the mid-80s, the city of Empire was in economic decline. Many factories weren't needed after World War II, and it wasn't until the mid-90s that the city started to see an economic rebound. The 1980 Fire Department strike was just one of many strikes throughout the city's history, especially in the 1970s, because the city had no money to pay for its civic services—fire, police, technical, educational, sanitation, and mass transit."

  I continued, "People would rush to the banks when they opened to cash their checks instead of depositing them. Depositing meant waiting a few days, so instead of getting money on a Friday, they'd get it on Tuesday. If they waited to deposit their checks, they'd bounce. They needed their money because their landlords, banks, grocers, and grocery store baggers wouldn't wait."

  My dad nodded in agreement. "People who work need to get paid, especially if they have families at home."

  "When I shadowed a few firehouses during university, the senior guys talked about how they used to go to banks or check-cashing places to get their pay. It wasn't until 1981 that the Commonwealth of Mountain took control of the city's services and asked Las Adventure to take over Empire's city services. The employees were temporarily moved to Las Adventure's payroll until Empire could get its finances in order."

  I sighed. "Many mayors in Empire focused too much on giving the city's citizens an idyllic existence with parks, marinas, and police officers on every corner. They didn't stop to think that these things cost money, and money doesn't magically appear. The city was backed into a corner and had to bring in a financial expert to help it recover. The city does have volunteer firefighters, but they're just everyday citizens like butchers, mechanics, dishwashers, and line cooks for example. They have pagers on them 24/7 and go when their pager goes off, so they weren't affected like the paid firefighters."

  My dad asked how the Commonwealth of Mountain could propose a bill, use it for its own purposes, and then later take control of city services. I explained that the bill wasn’t passed; the city of Empire just jumped the gun. The bill was dead because 98% of the votes were against it, while only 2% were in favor. The 2% who said yes were rich people wanting more money, while the 98% were common workers who already made just enough to pay their bills and keep a few dollars to their name. They had strict budgets and financial planners to manage their expenses, ensuring they didn’t go over by even a penny.

  I continued, "The average weekly income is $110, so people have to consider rent, which averages $71 a month, groceries for a typical nuclear family of four at about $20 a week, and other expenses like utility bills. My girlfriend and I have financial planners too. I spend about $186 a month out of my monthly salary of $240. My rent is $71 a month, groceries are $80 a month, $5 for insurance, $12 for gas, and $36 for utilities."

  My dad nodded, understanding the financial pressures. "So, the city of Empire just accepted the bill without waiting for the vote?"

  I said. "They went ahead with it before it was either approved or denied. It was a mess, and it caused a lot of unnecessary panic and disruption. And before that the city was already still in a economic recession and what kept some money in was the war in Vietnam but how since the country wasn’t in a war economy so the city didn’t have the workforce because of not the war but because in the 50s many people left the city to enter towns to settle down and have kids to live the quiet settled down life and not live in the big city,"

  My dad shook his head. "Sounds like they really dropped the ball on that one."

  "Yeah," I agreed.

  My father then went into the living room, probably to turn on the TV and wait for a Turkey Bowl game or Thanksgiving Day football to come on. He might have been deciding between watching the Saints vs. Cowboys or the Bengals vs. Jets. Since Thanksgiving in 1991, I remember watching my dad and family enjoying Thanksgiving Day football. From 1988 to 1990, my memories are a bit fuzzy, probably because my dad was in Panama and later the Middle East. He was involved in Operations "Just Cause," helping secure the airport with the division and Rangers, and "Desert Storm," securing Tallil Air Base, fighting in Iraq, and following the 24th Infantry Division. During those times, I stayed with other family members.

  My dad always said he watched Thanksgiving football since he was four, with his mother, because his father—my grandfather—was in South Korea from 1966 to the early 80s. He hardly saw his son, and when he did, he was usually too intoxicated or distant. Watching football on Thanksgiving became a tradition for many Watersons because they didn't have time to watch Thursday Night Football or Sunday Night Football.

  I heard my dad exclaim, "Ha! Finally found the channel and haven’t missed the pre-game show. It's going to start soon." He never missed a pre-game show since '75 when he was nine years old.

  I didn't say anything and let him enjoy the pre-game show. I got one of those big aluminum trays out and prepared too many slices of American cheese and some 2% milk. Once the noodles were ready, I drained them and used a scooper to layer noodles, then slices of American cheese, and repeated until the top was covered with cheese slices. I poured milk over it and, after preheating the oven to 350°F, put the tray in to bake until the sides started to brown.

  My father taught me thrifty spending habits when I was younger. His grandfathers on both sides were World War II vets, and their significant others managed the home front during the war and that during the Great Depression. They learned to get more bang for their buck, spending as little as possible and prioritizing needs over wants. To them, less was more, and people were happy with a simple lifestyle.

  Some guests arrived early and joined my dad watching the pre-game show before Thanksgiving Day football. Some of them had kids with them, and the first thing out of my mouth was, "There's the door." In my experience as a kid and teenager, whenever I went over to family for Thanksgiving, the adults would tell the kids and teenagers, "There's the door." It was just a fancy way of saying, "Go outside and play."

  Many of the adults were raised by parents who believed "Children should be seen, not heard," and wanted the kids and teens out of the house so they wouldn't get in the way. The kids could only come back in to use the bathroom, check the time, or get something to drink. The adults wanted the kids outside so they could watch football and make sure everything was fine with the Thanksgiving meal.

  Those who are adults now, and elders, come from a time when children were not the center of the family universe as they are now. Back then, parents were stricter and did things that wouldn't be acceptable today. Since I was four, I was used to being told to go outside. From the age of four to seventeen, I always went outside because my extended family didn't want non-adults in the house, viewing kids and teenagers as getting in the way.

  When the kids refused to go outside, I decided to get creative. "You know, you wouldn't survive at Arcane University," I said. "Misbehaving students get visited by another student named 'Nemesis.' She's always female, and the only way to escape her is to not be on campus."

  The kids looked skeptical, so I added, "She's real. Back in 1942, there was an explosion in the science wing that killed several people, including a woman who fits Nemesis's description. She makes the T-800, T-1000, Agent 47, and the Predator look like novices."

  That got their attention. They looked genuinely scared. My dad, overhearing, asked if I was serious.

  "August 27th, 1942," I said. "An explosion at the Arcane University Science wing left two dozen people dead and hundreds injured. Considering the world was at war at the time, what do you think? During that period, Little Bird adopted a 'Sakoku' policy, like Japan in the Edo period, meaning 'locked country' or 'country in chains.' But because of the war, it wasn't a locked country for several hundred years."

  My family asked how serious I was, and I told them I was 100% positive. "Back on August 27th, 1942, a massive explosion at the titular science wing destroyed not only the science wing but most of the surrounding block and other wings of the university such as Law, Business, and Engineering. It left both Starfish Lane and Oakwood Ave looking apocalyptic. Post-1945, it looked like something after a nuclear attack, but it wasn't because the atom bomb wasn't invented until '45."

  I continued, "The first units on the scene were the police department. Because of the war effort, the EPD didn't have normal ammo. Any rifle that used intermediate cartridges was given to the military. Many cops who spent their own money on a .45 semiautomatic pistol had to downgrade to a .38 revolver because .45 was, and still is, used by the Little Bird military as a standard issue sidearm cartridge. SMG ammo was also .45. The responding cops had to deal with looters, either by putting them down or arresting them, to get the area under control. It wasn't until a few minutes later that the first fire department units started to arrive. Back then, the fire department was understaffed, which is why city fire departments created the Squad Companies. These were staffed with men and women experienced enough to get a pass and not be drafted into military service. The Squad Companies served as 'manpower companies,' supplementing the operations of engine and ladder companies that were understaffed due to many men being drafted for the war."

  I paused, "For a while, the government thought it was spies from either the Axis or Allies, not just a scientific accident. 'Nemesis' is an urban legend on campus about a female science student who followed the school rules to the letter but tried to speed something up with a bad chemical reaction. Boom. The legend goes that 'Nemesis,' who was that female student, still roams the halls sixty-eight years later, punishing students who break any school rule."

  My family looked at me, with disbelief on their faces. My dad, still watching the pre-game show, glanced over and said, "Well, that’s one way to get the kids outside."

  I chuckled. "Yeah, it worked, didn’t it?"

  Some of my extended family said that the country I live in isn’t so special, but I told them that where I live, you can go to a gas station and tell the attendant to “give me a dollar’s worth.” Gas prices vary from 25 cents to 40 cents per gallon, and a dollar goes a lot farther than it does here. That didn’t surprise my dad, but it shut the rest of my family up, especially when I told them that sometimes my girlfriend and I go out to a restaurant where just two dollars or one dollar per person gets you a lot of food. For a buck, you can get a hamburger with French fries, salad, and ice cream for dessert. For only 30 cents more, you could get a complete fried chicken or shrimp dinner (also with fries and salad). If you want dessert, pie is only 35 cents a slice, an ice-cream sundae is 40 cents, and coffee or a soft drink costs 10 cents. If you want to grab a quick bite at a lunch counter, you can get a hot dog and a coke for 49 cents.

  I even told my family that at least 15% of my class dropped out because they couldn’t handle the trauma of the job. It definitely wasn’t worth the $240 a month pay for them. Some of them were Engineers, whose job was to drive the apparatus and not go into fires. They had to do math in their heads, calculating the pressure needed for a 2 ? inch attack line, considering friction loss and the distance the hose was stretched. On a blackboard, it’s easy, but doing it in your head is another story. My teachers back in the 90s always said, “You won’t always have a calculator on you,” and in Little Bird, that’s true. Here, with smartphones, it’s not always the case.

  To be a Chauffeur, you have to do these calculations in your head. Many fire engines in Little Bird don’t have roofs, so the government isn’t going to install computers that automatically tell the officer how much hose line is needed. The ones with roofs are semi-enclosed and called “Riot roofs” because they were installed due to riots. Many still don’t have roofs because firefighters enjoy the advantage of rapidly getting on and off, with the rest riding on the side. If it’s a fire engine, two or three ride on the tailboard, even though that’s been outlawed in many countries since the 1980s for safety reasons.

  They said that our turnout gear isn’t that expensive, so I shot back, asking how much they spent on buying new vehicles. They said it varies from $32,500 to $43,200. I told them that our turnout gear costs $5,000, which is about $36,833 in US dollars, and that $5,500 is the national average income in Little Bird to be considered middle class.

  Some of them asked if I work in a high-fire area. I explained that it was from 1967-1995 because the landlords—slumlords, really—didn’t want to update the wiring. People couldn’t enjoy the latest consumer appliances without starting a fire. If they wanted to watch TV, they were out of luck because running a TV for even five seconds could cause an electrical fire in the walls. The same went for blenders and other appliances that needed electricity like a thirsty man needs water. City officials blamed the people for the fires, saying they were rural folk who had never been in an urban area before and didn’t know how to live in a new environment. Many people lost their fire insurance because they were considered “at risk” and couldn’t enjoy the luxuries that others had.

  One of my cousins was about to open his mouth, but I put it into perspective. “I know you love watching reruns of Bewitched. Just imagine turning on your TV and causing an electrical fire in your walls, short-circuiting your TV so you can’t watch a show that ran from ‘64-72.” I also told them to imagine having Thanksgiving without a TV to watch the game on. That got to them.

  When the macaroni and cheese finished, I pulled it out and placed it on the stove, then started making mashed potatoes and gravy. I asked my dad if he made the turkey or ham, and he said 50/50. That was his way of saying he half-cooked them before bringing them out, then put them back in the oven before dinner so they’d be hot and ready when it was time to eat. This way, the mashed potatoes and mac and cheese would still be nice and warm because the center would stay hot.

  I was paying attention to the game by listening rather than watching. I do like watching football, but I prefer to listen to it as well. Even though I don’t have an active imagination, I’m used to listening more than watching. I watched a lot of football with my dad in the past and only listened to sports when in the car with him. So, I just listened to the game starting while I peeled the potatoes.

  I overheard some of my extended family members talking about how, when their parents divorced and remarried, their parents' new spouses convinced them to support their new stepkids for stability, instead of supporting their own kids through the adjustment. They felt excluded, and when they brought it up, their parents and stepparents brushed it off, saying they were sensitive. Well, no duh—when kids need their parents the most, brushing them off and ignoring them isn’t helpful. They shouldn’t be surprised when the kids move on and start anew.

  They compared their parents to actors with set lines of dialogue, only reading what’s on a script. Their parents wanted their kids at certain events just to have a perfect family image. They described their parents and stepparents as being like action figures with a pull string, having a limited number of responses. Their stepparents influenced their parents not to attend family holiday gatherings because us Watersons call out baloney quickly and voice what’s on our minds. It’s similar to how other Watersons' new spouses influence their decisions.

  As I continued preparing the mashed potatoes, I felt a mix of empathy and frustration for my family members. It’s tough when family dynamics get complicated, but it’s important to support each other and be honest about our feelings. Despite the challenges, these moments of sharing and understanding are what make family gatherings meaningful.

  I think my family would love the Sapphire Coast, which is the southeastern part of Little Bird. It's an area full of rolling hills, open meadows, and towering trees—perfect for a peaceful getaway.

  I decided to make four times the amount of mashed potatoes and got powdered ranch dressing ready. Once the potatoes were done boiling and I drained them, I planned to mix in the powdered ranch dressing. That's how my dad always made mine in the past, a recipe he got from his mother. She used to pour ranch dressing from a bottle, but I find the powdered kind works just as well.

  While waiting for the potatoes to soften, I scrolled through my phone, checking my social media feed. Friends were wishing their loved ones a Happy Thanksgiving. Some of my disowned friends mentioned they'd rather be chased by a yandere or a tsundere than go to Thanksgiving with their families, who disowned them over lies. I get it—at least a tsundere warms up and becomes friendlier over time.

  My disowned friends often faced constant comparisons to their younger siblings and criticism for everything they did, from how they loaded the dishwasher to how they did their homework. Their parents acted like they burned the house down if they forgot to take out the trash. Their parents would say their younger sibling was more responsible or smarter, but my friends would quip back, "Yeah, they're smart enough to get a rap sheet at seventeen, then get it expunged because of The Code of Alabama 1975, Section 15-27 under certain circumstances. Then they get arrested at eighteen and have another criminal record that sticks because it doesn't fall under those circumstances."

  At least my disowned friends found their own footing and built better lives for themselves. It’s tough, but sometimes you have to move on and create your own path.

  Some of my disowned friends who are dating or engaged to my female family members found out they have their own yandere, but not the full yandere type. Many of my female family members are caring and supportive during times of need, but not overly clingy or aggressive towards other women who show romantic interest. They are sympathetic and protective, wanting to shield their partners from people who want to use them and leave them at their lowest. Us female Watersons are different; we’re the type who, whether mothers or not, would lift the rock of Gibraltar to protect our loved ones.

  I’m happy to see my disowned friends having a happy ending. They have partners who are there for them, in loving and supportive relationships. Meanwhile, their siblings often end up with unfaithful partners who claim to be happily married but are actually lying, cheating cowards. These siblings are constantly fighting, and their unfaithful partners either go out or message others with inappropriate conversations. They’ve never heard the saying, “If someone is going to cheat with you, don’t be surprised when they cheat on you.”

  My disowned friends’ families, who disowned them, also told them why they and their partners shouldn’t have kids, saying things like, “With both parents working, nobody is home to watch the kids.”

  But my disowned friends and their partners are well off and can hire someone to watch their kids while they’re at work. Most of my friends have jobs that allow them to go to work once their kids go to school and be home before their kids get back. Their families come from a time when people only needed a job and did the same thing day in and day out, trapped in demeaning, mind-numbingly repetitive dead-end jobs with no prospects for a life beyond employment. They believe that a stable job is all you need for a happy, successful life.

  To my disowned friends, if people throw their lives into work without experiencing life outside their careers, they start to regret missing out on life as they get older. They work their jobs, sometimes overtime, without making friends or forming relationships. They can’t redo their 20s. Having a stable career is important, but so is having fun and forming relationships, making friends, or finding that special someone. Many people just work without making friends or relationships, and when they get older, they reflect on how they missed out on life by just working.

  While the potatoes were boiling, I decided to watch some of the game until they were soft enough to be mashed. I thought about how my extended family took in my disowned friends, giving them a roof over their heads and a warm, loving environment, unlike the cold and hostile environment they came from. Their families disowned them over a single lie, but now that they see their disowned child’s success, they want to come back begging for help. The irony is laughable. From 1999-2000, now ten years later, their families want back in because they see their eldest child’s success on national TV or hear about it. Some even had the audacity to sue their own disowned child for financial support, but no court entertained that kind of lawsuit. There are no laws that force an adult to help their neglectful parents.

  When my disowned friends’ bio families pull the “We’re family” card, my friends abhor it. Where was this so-called “family” when they got disowned before being taken in by another family? When my dad called my friends’ extended families to see if they could take them in, explaining they were kicked out over a lie, their extended families yelled at my dad and sided with their parents. My dad just called our extended family and took them in anyway. Now that my disowned friends are successful, their bio families want a piece of that pie.

  I then went back into the kitchen to check on the potatoes. One of my cousins entered and asked me how the job was going. I told him it was fine, but we don’t get called out a lot, even though the department gets hundreds of thousands of calls per year. Fire apparatus are such a rare sight that even fully-grown adults will stop to watch them drive by with childlike wonder.

  I explained that the Fire Department City of Empire has a more compact apparatus for the inner city, taking designs from European and Asian countries. We often argue with other firehouses in the city, but not in the inner city. They say they need bigger apparatus to carry their equipment, while we respond with, "We are more efficient with the space and have the same stuff." In other words, we have the same equipment as a bigger fire engine or truck but are more efficient with the space.

  Many of our EMS runs are because the ambulance has a response time over five minutes or is literally around the block from the firehouse. Out of the 37 firehouses in the city of Empire, eighteen have ambulances that cover 98% of the city. About 65% of the runs are false alarms. The city has specialized units for different emergencies, which frees up resources. Why should the fire department send an Engine and Ladder company to a car accident when they can just send a Squad Company? A Squad is nothing but a Rescue Engine, combining the capabilities of an engine with the specialized equipment of a rescue unit. Instead of sending a fire engine with hoses and manual tools and a truck company with more automatic and advanced tools, we send a Squad or Rescue Company. We also have HAZMAT Companies for hazardous materials incidents.

  My favorite calls in my district are dealing with slumlords. These landlords expect rent on the first of every month, and failing to pay leads to being locked out because they change the locks when the tenant goes out for work or an errand. Many lockout calls involve a tenant having food in the oven, like meatloaf, which you leave in for 45 minutes to an hour. The tenant calls the fire department because they’re locked out with the stove on. These slumlords view being late on rent by even one day as a violation of the lease. They have clauses that require the tenant to waive their right to remain in the property during any legal dispute.

  The people of Eastside have to deal with slumlords who create leases and documents that benefit them. They can claim they haven’t received rent on time, lock the tenant out, and keep their belongings hostage. These slumlords don’t want to go to court because their clauses are predatory and won’t hold up. The people in Eastside read their leases very thoroughly when signing or renewing them.

  But we have to deal with emergencies like water heater explosions because slumlords just take their money and go until next month. In the old tenement buildings, the water heaters are literally outdated. My cousin thought they were outdated by six to ten years, but he was taken aback when I said they’ve been outdated since the 1950s. They were installed throughout the 1930s and 40s, after World War II, before being considered obsolete and replaced by newer models. In the old tenement buildings, they still have the ones installed from the 1930s and 40s. Not replacing them in the 40s is understandable because of the war and the military needing the metal for vehicles and other uses, but in the post-World War II world, it’s inexcusable. During the war, metals like steel, aluminum, and copper were used for building tanks, ships, planes, and weapons, leading to strict limitations on civilian metal goods.

  I explained that our incident types by category are: Good Intent, Service Calls, Fire, Hazardous Conditions (No Fire), Special Incident Type, Severe Weather/Natural Disaster, Overpressure Rupture/Explosion (No Fire). By percentage of runs, Good Intent is 11%, Service Calls are 7.8%, Fire is 8%, Hazardous Condition (No Fire) is 3.2%, Special Incident Type is 1%, Severe Weather/Natural Disaster is 9%, Overpressure Rupture/Explosion (No Fire) is 2%, and 53% is EMS/Rescue.

  Some of our calls aren’t really calls per se but part of a program where fire and medical personnel visit at-risk people. At least once per month, we check in on people who are elderly, have disabilities, or have chronic health conditions. While they might say it’s annoying, we take time out of our schedule to check on them and keep them company for a bit. Some elderly couples don’t live together because they have needs that a single person can’t handle. They have to choose between letting a special place take them in, where they can get proper medication and care from trained staff, or staying with their spouse but not getting the medicine or proper care needed for conditions like dementia and other illnesses that require specialized care. Or some elderly people are alone because they’re widows or widowers.

  I also told my cousin that some single elderly people we visit have lost their spouse, and their kids or grandkids only visit once a year, usually on Christmas. They never speak to their parents or grandparents until Christmas time. These elderly people who live alone are happy to have visitors once a month or even four times a month. My cousin said it’s sad that families don't visit more often and that these elderly folks are happy when fire or medical personnel visit them for a weekly or monthly check-up. He also mentioned how it’s sad that six or two people visiting once a week or once a month makes such a difference. I corrected him, saying it’s seven, not six, because a fire company in Little Bird has seven members, but the point remains.

  It is sad when elderly people only get a visit from family once a year, especially those who can’t drive or don’t want to drive far to visit family who don’t live in the city. A phone call isn’t hard to make, and in the evening, it’s easy to pick up the phone and talk for five minutes. My dad and I text every night or talk because of my occupation. Even though months ago he chose his wife and stepsons over me, which upset me, we cleared the air. It’s water under the bridge now, and we worked through it by having normal conversations.

  Some of the elderly people we visit monthly or weekly are happy when we show up because their adult kids or grandkids don’t call and only come on Christmas. They don’t consider that their parents or grandparents could pass away any day. It’s bad when their neighbors check in on them every day, and the Fire Department or medical professionals, aka paramedics and EMTs, visit them to check up on them either once a week or once a month.

  My cousin asked if we ever had to call a doctor, and I explained that every five weeks, the officer of a company radios for an emergency doctor to come out and give people certain medicines or write refill prescriptions. We can administer some medicines, but for others, we need a doctor’s approval either on scene or via phone or radio. I told my cousin that even I question why we have certain medicines that we can’t use without a doctor’s approval.

  Back in the early 90s, the city of Empire merged the city’s EMS services with the Fire Department to reduce response times. Previously, city ambulances had to respond within their hospital’s response radius, meaning if someone was closer to another hospital but in a different hospital’s response radius, the hospital in that radius would respond instead of the closer one. It’s like if there’s a fire, but the fire department can’t call for backup because the fire is in their response area, and other companies outside that area can’t go. To put it into perspective, my cousin who I’m talking to is from Nashville, TN, works at a car dealership. It’s like if he could only work at one dealership and couldn’t travel around the city because of other dealerships.

  In the mid-1990s, Mayor Ms. Martinez merged the city ambulances with the fire department, requiring fire department members to become more than certified first responders. My cousin was puzzled, so I explained that in Little Bird, if a firefighter, police officer, or technical worker is a certified first responder, they only have access to basic aid, similar to how a parent treats a kid who fell off a bike. Anything above hydrogen peroxide and cotton pads is outside their purview. EMTs can do more that doesn’t fall under a paramedic’s jurisdiction, and paramedics can do even more.

  Back in the 90s, 25% of the guys had medical experience from being combat medics or other medical personnel in the military, but they couldn’t give medical aid because it was outside their purview. If they did, an actual doctor would scream at them. These firefighters with military medical experience would snap back because they didn’t have the luxury of a sterile setting with proper medical equipment. Their “hospitals” were jungles in Vietnam or deserts during Operations: Desert Shield and Desert Storm. They carried huge medic bags with basics like field dressings, bandages, tourniquets, burn ointment, water purification tablets, combat gauze, nasopharyngeal airways, sterile dressings, gloves, duct tape, scissors, markers, combat casualty cards, space blankets, hemostatic applicators, hand sanitizer, and foldable stretchers. Battalion surgeons had surgical kits for the field and a supply of tropical chocolate, a compact, high-energy food used as an emergency ration.

  I corrected myself by saying that the fire department is the same but different. If there’s a fire in a district and the officer strikes out a second or higher alarm, logically, the next closest firehouse would respond. But no, it’s actually the next district over. For example, if there was a fire in a high-rise in Uptown, firehouses 14, 19, or 71 would respond as they are the closest. For a four-alarm high-rise fire, it would be 14 from Uptown, 15 from the Ports, 23 from Downtown, and either 47 from Eastside, 17 from Westside, or 18 or 68 from the Factory District. While it makes sense for the next closest companies to go, it’s designed so each district still has fire protection in case of another emergency.

  Firehouse 71 is unique because it has a snorkel truck, which has a better maneuverable elevated master stream and can provide aid to victims in hard-to-reach locations. The platform also allows for the rescue of individuals who may not be able to safely climb down a ladder. Ladder Co 71, a snorkel unit, has two response areas: Uptown and the Ports, because it’s on the district line. It also responds to any fire that’s a third alarm or higher citywide, from ship fires to factory fires.

  I told my cousin that our cousin Dave and my girlfriend Lusty have been on a lot of EMS runs for the same person, often responding with a deadpan, “What did you do this time?”

  In Lusty’s district, Riverview, the calls are mostly from college students or senior citizens. The latter often need help because they’re out of breath, can’t breathe like an asthma patient, need help getting up, or need medicine but have run out. These individuals are known as "frequent flyers." It’s not a fond nickname, as they tend to be hypochondriacs, the town drunk, or someone who calls emergency services frequently and then walks out of the hospital, only to repeat the cycle.

  For Dave, it’s different. Once, his firehouse treated a gunshot wound at 2 AM when someone who had been shot walked to their firehouse and knocked on the door. Firehouse sixteen has both a Basic Life Support and an Advanced Life Support ambulance. Dave’s EMS runs involve people from all walks of life and different ages. His district has people who gloat about their high school diplomas or college degrees but do things like leave a cigarette over an open can of flammable paint or light up a cigarette at 1 AM and fall back asleep, causing a fire. Many fires that firehouses sixteen and sixty-nine respond to are avoidable.

  It’s ironic that impoverished people are often smarter about safety than those with diplomas and degrees. In the district I’m in, people were raised not to rely too much on bureaucracy and to be self-reliant. During a building inspection, Dave found a room stacked with newspapers dating back to April 1859. Many people in Emerald Pastors run wires under rugs, which can become a torch when the insulation wears down. They also use inferior products or overload power strips, creating stealthy fires that can burn undetected for a while. Some even put pennies in the fuse box, which can burn their house down, or put wet clothing on an extension cord.

  Dave said, “Matches have heads but no brains, but people have both if they use them.” The people in Emerald Pastors can’t be firefighters because, as the instructors at the academy say, “It takes a man to be a fireman, and it also takes a head on your shoulders.”

  Lusty’s first Lieutenant, when she was a Probie, had people who thought the job would be fun and games. Before their probationary period was over, some probies got critically injured, leaving them crippled for life. Young men rushing in, thinking they’re invincible, get critically injured in their early 20's before they get married, have kids, and experience adulthood. The youngest age the fire department can accept someone is seventeen, with a high school diploma and parental permission, like the military. Some guys get on the job at 19 to 21 after doing a single enlistment in the military, using their military money to go to college for a year or get a place of their own and put themselves through the fire academy.

  After a while, the potatoes were ready. I drained them and poured some powdered ranch dressing before mashing them, making sure to mix the dressing thoroughly to cover every inch of the potatoes. Then I put the pot on the back burner.

  I went back into the living room to watch the Thanksgiving football game until it was time for my dad to put the ham and turkey back in the oven to finish cooking. My dad always half-cooks them before taking them out, then finishes cooking them just before dinner so they’re hot and fresh when it’s time to eat.

  Soon, Martha came in with her two sons.

  “Thought you were going to show up earlier?” Martha asked.

  I replied, “Severe weather grounded my plane for a few hours. I was supposed to leave at 4 AM, which is 8 AM here in the Central Time Zone, but my plane didn’t take off until 9 AM, which is 1 PM here, once the sky cleared and the runway cleared. I just ate a bit of airport food in the terminal and had a few plates on the plane ride.”

  “Don’t say a few bags of peanuts?” Jake said sarcastically.

  I replied, “No. In Little Bird, the airlines have different foods. From assorted sandwiches, hard-boiled eggs, Caesar salad, cremini mushrooms, filet mignon, and a slice of chocolate cake, to Siberian sturgeon caviar, assorted pastries, mozzarella-stuffed tomatoes with basil, prosciutto crostini with fennel, brown or white rice and vegetable medley, baked salmon with white sauce, and iceberg salad with blue cheese. They also offer frozen microwave spaghetti and meatballs, mixed green salad, chocolate brownie, a banana, smoked turkey sandwich with mayo and potato chips, frozen personal pizza and green grapes, craisins, grape tomatoes, kale, and finally the iconic peanuts. Some airlines offer peanut butter with orange marmalade, a French loaf with roast beef, Swiss cheese and jus, a Po' Boy of fried shrimp, French loaf, pickle rounds, butter, tomato, and lettuce, a Philly cheesesteak, pastrami on rye, chicken sandwich, panini sandwich, or a sliced turkey with bacon and arugula wrap. The one I was on offered a radish sandwich with animal crackers and an apple, a tomato sandwich, milk, apple and pickle slice, fruit cocktail, celery and egg salad sandwich, spamwich, tomato soup, club crackers, meatloaf sandwich, crackers, cheese whiz and potato salad, wedge sandwich and carrot sticks, bologna sandwich with chips, and finally a slice of pizza and a Twinkie.”

  Jake went to his room with his face buried in his phone. I couldn't help but feel like he might fall victim to companies offering shows and movies for a subscription. In Little Bird, options are cut and dry: if you can’t afford a car, you either walk or take mass transit. If you don’t buy groceries for dinner, you either find a place to eat out or go to bed hungry. Subscriptions are rare; the only thing you can subscribe to and pay a fee for is magazines that come in the mail instead of going to the store.

  When Jake and Alex go back to Arcane University for their studies, I know a job they can get that everyone in Little Bird does. Little Bird has both glass and plastic bottles, but many people drink soda out of glass bottles. They can return the glass bottles to the store or company and get $0.05 per bottle back. People do it because they get money back, similar to how people used to get milk delivered in the past. The milkman would drop off milk in the morning and come back the following morning to drop off another bottle while picking up the empty one from the previous day. So people on Little Bird can drink a glass soda and pay a dime for the soda but get a nickel back when they return the bottle, even if it’s just a five-cent difference.

  Martha asked if I could help Jake and Alex get a job, like at a dollar store. I said, “Little Bird doesn’t have dollar stores. The country has quarter stores, which sell things at a flat rate with everything costing a quarter, with some items being cheaper, like soda.”

  Alex said, “The advertisements in the country are a bit boring.”

  “That’s because they’re apolitical,” I explained. “s don’t take sides if you’re a capitalist, communist, religious, loyalist, or militarist. Why cater to one side and alienate the others when you can have an apolitical ad that doesn’t alienate anyone and stays in the middle? During classical antiquity, the Epicureans assumed disengagement from the life of the city as a doctrinal position. Seeking pleasure in the absence of suffering for the body and trouble for the soul, they saw political activity as a source of unnecessary stress. However, they weren’t strictly apolitical and participated when political activity would bring them pleasure or aid in avoiding suffering.”

  Alex replied, “I wish things were open on Sundays, though. I mean, everything is closed. Clubs, restaurants, stores, pizzerias. Everything that isn’t a church or government institution is closed.”

  “Because of blue laws, non-vital services are closed. The only vital services, minus church and government institutions like fire, police, and hospitals, remain open. You and your brother should’ve read about that. On Sundays, more or less everything shuts down for a day for religious reasons,” I said.

  My dad chimed in, “Take y’all conversation into the kitchen. You two are ruining the game.”

  We moved our conversation to the kitchen.

  Before Alex and I could continue our conversation, an argument erupted nearby. At first, we thought it was the kids—because kids fight all the time over silly things like not wanting to share. Growing up a Waterson means being well-versed in the art of sharing. With a slew of siblings, you share clothes, toys, and pretty much everything else. Many parents were strict about it—refuse to share, and the toy gets taken away until you learn to be generous.

  But as soon as the back door swung open, we realized this was no kiddie squabble. Three adults were at it—a young adult and two older ones. The young woman was fuming, accusing her adoptive sibling of being spoiled and entitled. She was livid, arguing that while it's noble to adopt kids who’ve been abandoned, it’s unacceptable to neglect your own children in the process. Her voice trembled with frustration as she claimed her parents had replaced her with their adopted son, who got everything handed to him while she was sidelined.

  Her parents fired back, explaining how they’d adopted her brother after he’d been abandoned as a toddler. But she wouldn’t have it. “And your solution was to abandon your daughter?” she shot back. It was a pure case of irony: adopting an abandoned child only to abandon your own flesh and blood.

  Their argument was loud enough to draw a crowd: Alex, Martha, my dad, some of our cousins, and me, all standing there, gaping. The room fell into a tense silence, thick enough to cut with a knife. The guy—the adoptive brother—wore a smug grin, probably thinking he was winning. He likely expected his sister to back down, to apologize for causing a scene. But that’s not how we Watersons roll.

  We don’t do the whole “keep the peace” charade. To us, it means ignoring problems and letting the victim suffer in silence. I remember last Thanksgiving in '07. A cousin twice removed kept lamenting about their tough life, but that excuse didn’t fly with us. In our family, rough circumstances don’t give you a free pass to shirk responsibility.

  Her parents even demanded she use her connections to get him a cushy job, but she stood her ground and refused. They pulled the "We raised you, and this is how you repay us?" card, listing everything they’d done for her. She countered, saying they did only the bare minimum, legally obligated stuff, and if they hadn’t, they’d have landed in prison with their kids taken away.

  Fed up, she stormed into the living room to watch the game. I stepped in and warned them: If they caused any more trouble, I’d call the cops and have them removed. This was a holiday gathering, a time to unwind—not to deal with family drama. I made it clear I didn’t care who was right or wrong; nobody wanted to see or hear about their issues.

  Alex and I tried to pick up our conversation right where we left off, before that war of family drama crashed into our evening. I told Alex that he's smart, but he should’ve read up on Little Bird's culture before diving in. The place practically shuts down on Sundays, thanks to their Blue Laws. Non-essential services are closed, and government offices don’t open until 10 AM, allowing everyone to attend their respective religious services or catch some extra shut-eye.

  In Little Bird, restaurants and stores close their doors on Sundays too, so folks do their big shopping on Saturday. That’s the day after people get paid, after all. The stores stay open from 8 AM to 8 PM, six days a week—although I had to correct myself; stores actually open at 7 AM to give staff time to prep, stock shelves, and set up sales.

  I knew all this firsthand because I used to be a grocery store stocker during my time at Arcane University. I mostly worked nights after hours, so I had to adjust to Little Bird’s rhythm too. It was like when Marty in Back to the Future went back to 1955, trying to get everything done within those specific hours. Over time, I learned to plan my weekends efficiently. Saturdays and Sundays became my catch-up days when I wasn't buried in college work. Apart from nightclubs and essential services like garbage collection, the country is pretty much a ghost town after dark.

  When Alex mentioned I don't usually deal with family drama, I jumped in, pointing out that in the City of Empire’s Fire Department, we see it all. Often, we're more than firefighters; we double as social workers or counselors. The Fire Department is the last resort for many, responding to calls that fall outside our usual duties. Tenant-landlord disputes, family feuds—you name it. Sometimes, the police can't get there in time, or an ambulance is delayed, so we're called in.

  I recounted a call where parents gave their eldest daughter an extravagant wedding straight out of a reality show, while the younger daughter got a bill for her more modest affair. It’s not uncommon for the favored child to get an all-expenses-paid event, while the other is expected to fend for themselves. Then, if the parents do cover something, they send an itemized invoice later on.

  I shared how, that firefighter engineer, the brain becomes a human calculator. Handling the fire apparatus requires quick math—how much hose line to stretch, the pressure needed per PSI, and allowing for friction loss. In Little Bird, people don't carry calculators everywhere; that’s considered office work. While there are pumps on the side with the PSI details from 0 to 2400 PSI and that typical PSI that comes out of a firehose is between 115 to 290 PSI. A pressure washer is between 2000-3000 PSI.

  I continued chatting with Alex about how he’d fit right into the Fire Department City of Empire. Given his smarts, I could totally see him in the R&P (Research and Planning) or E.P.D.S (Emergency Preparedness Disaster Services) Divisions. These teams specialize in developing new firefighting strategies, reducing casualties, and investigating vehicle accidents involving fire apparatus.

  Before Alex could get a word in, Martha joined us. She suggested that Alex could be one of those firefighters who talk to the press. I clarified that those are P&MAOs—Public and Media Affairs Officers. Their job is to provide accurate information to the media and correct any misinformation regarding fire incidents and medical emergencies. I didn’t see Alex fitting into the DOP, or Division of Personnel, though. That division manages everything from entry dates to resignations or retirements and even performs medical evaluations of fire department members. Alex isn’t the type to handle endless paperwork, draw blood, or provide confidential support for life struggles. He’s more of a bookworm—someone who loves to study and dive deep into research.

  I reassured Alex that he’d do fine in school because he actually uses his brain, unlike most people. Martha, puzzled, asked what I meant by that. I explained that my cousin Dave, who’s a Captain in the Fire Dept. City of Empire, often deals with preventable fires caused by sheer stupidity. People do things like leave a lit cigarette over an open can of oil-based paint or fall asleep with a cigarette in hand, setting their bed on fire.

  Dave always says, “A match has a head but no brain. People have both if they learn to use them.” His company handles forcible entry, search and rescue, ventilation, and ladder-pipe operations, along with a variety of other emergency responses, including technical rescues and motor vehicle accidents.

  As Martha wandered off to grab a dinner roll, I reminded her, “No eating until 7 PM!”

  Martha, instead of arguing, let it go and changed the subject. She mentioned that I haven't been on any "stupid runs" as a firefighter. I quickly corrected her, saying, "No, but my girlfriend Lusty and cousin Dave have."

  Lusty is stationed in a residential district with either senior citizens or college students. During winter, frat boys often triple dog dare each other to do something stupid, like sticking their tongues on flagpoles. When a wet extremity like a tongue or lips gets stuck to a cold surface, the proper way to handle it is to pour warm water over it until it can be safely pulled away. But that rarely happens. Those frat guys usually end up back at their frat house with a mouth full of gauze and a haunted expression. No, we don't carry warm water with us, and boiling or microwaving water takes too long.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  I decided to step outside for a bit, making a quick pass through the living room so I wouldn’t disturb my dad and cousins engrossed in the football game. I settled on the porch, reflecting on how my father had taught me about the dual nature of fire. It’s a great helper of mankind, but in the hands of the reckless or when it gets out of control, it becomes one of humanity’s worst enemies. Fire is used for so many things—cooking, heating, manufacturing—and I finally understood why the fire department visited elementary schools to teach us about fire safety.

  Soon, Martha joined me on the porch.

  “So, you like the job?” Martha asked, getting straight to the point.

  “Yeah, it’s fun. But it has its moments,” I replied. “Some of the EMS runs we go on remind me that this job is real, not fiction. In movies and shows, they show about fifteen seconds from the initial impact of a traffic collision to the quick-call alarm at the station. Even the most streamlined emergency number systems need at least two minutes to get the necessary information from a caller—who’s not calm—enter it into the system, and dispatch a response. And those scenes where an EMS helicopter arrives within a minute of being requested? In reality, it takes roughly ten minutes to get a helicopter spooled up and off the ground.”

  I continued, “In the City of Empire, there are five different emergency numbers: one for fire, one for police, one for medical, one for technical services, and one for all four combined. If people call the fifth number, a police dispatcher answers and determines the nature of the emergency, then assigns the call accordingly. If it’s police-related, the information is sent to an Empire Police radio dispatcher for the relevant precinct or special unit. If it’s on a bridge or in a tunnel, the police notify Harbor Patrol. For fires, haz-mat, or rescue incidents, the call is transferred to the appropriate Fire Department City of Empire communications dispatch office. Depending on the incident, the Empire Police Department might notify its own Emergency Service Units to respond alongside or instead of the Fire Department.”

  “Our system is streamlined but not without flaws. It can give a dispatcher a general location, but in places like apartment complexes, the dispatcher has to ask for the specific apartment number and address to avoid sending multiple companies to search through several fifteen to twenty-story buildings, each with 120 to 160 apartments. It’s too time-consuming. In medical emergencies, the dispatcher keeps the caller on the line, walking them through what to do until help arrives. Our EMS training is advanced, using tablets and live mannequins that can talk, blink, and bleed from wounds instead of just textbooks and dummies.”

  “But it’s a fun job,” I concluded. “What I do on Monday won’t be the same on Wednesday, and so on.”

  "For me, it's mostly everyday occurrences—responding to cuts, bruises, and minor injuries. Half the time, the person denies our service and signs a waiver, preferring to walk it off rather than be treated and taken to a hospital. In my district, that's more common than you’d think. Many guys and gals see getting hurt and walking away as a badge of honor. We also assist people in getting vaccines, even when they're sick, but we warn them that getting a vaccine while sick can make them feel worse, not better, and usually doesn’t make them more immune."

  The people of Eastside don't trust the police because they often deal with cops who shouldn't be cops due to their egos. Many cops leave the people alone in Eastside because whenever the PD starts trouble, the cops usually back out quickly. While the cops have the firepower, they don't have the manpower to deal with people who will gladly fight back. The people in Eastside don't have a "fight or flight" response—only a fight mentality. The city has always thrown them situations where they had to either take it or fight back, so they chose the latter.

  I gave Martha some historical context. In the early 1980s, the city tore up the district's community gardening centers, calling it a "misuse" of land, and replaced them with businesses like liquor stores and adult clubs. The people of Eastside boycotted these businesses until they closed, then reclaimed the land by destroying the closed buildings and reestablishing their community gardens to grow fresh fruits and veggies. In the latter half of the '80s, the city, in its "infinite wisdom" (a term my girlfriend uses for city hall being stupid), moved Firehouse 47 from Eastside to Highwood, even though the city was going through what the Fire Department City of Empire called "The War Decades." From 1967 or 1968 (depending on who you ask) to 1995, the city saw an increase in fires that hit the poorer neighborhoods like Eastside, Westside, and Anderson the hardest. Slumlords took rent money and left, and the tenement buildings had outdated wiring that was 43 years old. These buildings had no heating, and the slumlords did nothing. Just opening a refrigerator was enough to start an electrical fire in the wall.

  According to my girlfriend, many people in Eastside only have a refrigerator as their electrical appliance, and they have to be quick like greased lightning when getting something. The people fought this battle for a couple of years and challenged city hall at every opportunity. They learned the operations of the fire department and wrote down every fire box alarm number in the district. The people of Eastside showed city hall that they were educated and didn't need the system. In 1987, after two years, Engine and Ladder Co 47 were moved back to the Eastside. I told Martha this was twenty-one years before Squad 769 was established in the district. From 1848 to 1985, Eastside had been protected by the same firehouse before it was moved and then put back.

  I told Martha about one of the most ludicrous things the city did back in 1984-85: they shut off water to Eastside as a form of retaliation. It went as well as you’d expect, meaning it backfired spectacularly. Without regular water flow, the city thought they could break the people's spirit, but the residents just tapped into the fire department cisterns. These are massive underground tanks holding 50,000 gallons of water, used as a backup when hydrants are out of service or blocked. But using cisterns isn't straightforward. Since cisterns don’t have flowing water, they require a hard suction hose, which uses a vacuum to draw water from a static source. This process isn't as simple as hooking up to a hydrant.

  The people of Eastside adapted. For any fire, be it a structure fire, brush fire, or rubbish fire, the dispatch office would send out another Engine company to act as a positive water source. The Second Due Engine company would use its hard suction hose to get water, while the First Due Engine company would use their supply line to hook up with the second. For structure fires, it would automatically trigger a three-alarm response. After nearly a year of this, city hall caved because people were dying in fires that could have been avoided if water was readily available. Firefighters had to carry their attack lines for blocks, stopping to add couplers and more hose until they reached the fire. This time-consuming process was avoidable if water had been flowing.

  City Hall tried to shift the blame onto the fire department for slow responses, but the people of Eastside attended press conferences to call out the city leaders, highlighting their refusal to take responsibility. I also told Martha about the different types of fire engine tanks in the City of Empire's Fire Dept: 1000/500, 1500/500, and 2000/500, with 500 GPM tanks. The 1000s are common, the 1500s are less so, and the 2000s are used in Downtown and Uptown due to the high-rises. With a 500 GPM discharge, that’s only two to four minutes of water.

  I explained to Martha that while the country might hold on to old-world values, Eastside takes it to the next level. My girlfriend shared stories about how her parents would let her stand in line alone in a crowded department store to see Santa. I told Martha that the culture of Little Bird is different from here in America. Back in my grandparents' day, kids played outside with little parental worry. They only needed to be back home for dinner and when the streetlights came on.

  In many towns and city districts, adults know each other, and their kids do too. My girlfriend's parents, like many others in Little Bird, communicate with just a look. One spouse might silently ask, "Do I need to get involved?" and the other might respond with a look saying, "No, I've got this."

  I shared a story about Christmas shopping with my girlfriend. She always asks her daughters if Santa asked if they’d been good and what they wanted for Christmas. Her daughters often say Santa didn’t ask, to which she replies that Santa always knows he always knows.

  I explained to Martha that Little Bird is a police state, but not the stereotypical kind. There are cops who take it too far, but they have to deal with the Anti-Corruption Team (ACT) and the Integrity and Accountability Commission (IAC).

  I told Martha that people in Eastside believe positions should be earned through experience, not degrees. This mindset isn't an issue on Little Bird because, back in the 1930s, the Bureau of Labor was created to match people with jobs that fit their skills. Many companies back then hired high school or college graduates with no experience to manage workers. These inexperienced managers set unrealistic expectations, causing inefficiencies. To protect the economy from such mismanagement, Little Bird enforced the principle of "management of the workers, by the workers, for the workers." Experienced workers were often overlooked because they demanded higher pay and were harder to manipulate. Employers preferred hiring less experienced individuals who were easier to exploit.

  I also shared that in the 1930s, Little Bird passed legislation stating, "The needs of the many should never be outweighed by the desires of the few, or even the one." Another act made it easier for local communities to execute eminent domain and ensured that the wealthy invest their money into the economy. Another act provided financial security and respect for senior citizens in old age. This meant that retirees didn't have to pay taxes and could enjoy their retirement without financial worries.

  People in Eastside save money to put their kids through advanced education so they can get good-paying jobs and live better lives. However, many of these kids, even after earning degrees, choose to stay in their old neighborhood out of loyalty and a desire to stay connected to their roots.

  Martha even asked me if the people in Eastside are so behind the times that they think Viagra is a waterfall. I laughed and told her no, they know what it is—it's an adult topic and adult medicine.

  Honestly, I have no idea how to feel about this relationship with my stepmother. My mother and I were never close, not even when I was a kid. Talking to Martha is unique because she and my dad married earlier this year. She's four years older than me—she's thirty-one, and I'm twenty-seven.

  I told Martha about my time at Arcane University. Sometimes, I'd hit up a coffee shop, but many freshmen would skip the line for their morning brew, thinking they could just grab their coffee and go. The barista would always send them to the back of the line because everyone in line was also a college student. There's an unwritten rule: if you don't want to miss your first morning class, get your coffee at least 20 minutes before. Many students in line were the type who got an education from 8 AM to 5 PM, worked a part-time job from 5:30 PM to 8 PM, then headed home or back to the dorm to shower, eat dinner, study a bit, do some homework, and get up around 7 AM to get ready for school and prepare for the day ahead.

  I hadn't expected Martha to say that, but I responded by explaining that in my country, authoritative parenting is common. My girlfriend’s parents were the same. When she acted out as a kid, her parents gave her a look that said, “Keep crying in public and we’ll give you a reason to cry.” If she didn’t stop or started throwing a tantrum, her father would take her outside and take off his belt. According to Lusty, the country still favors corporal punishment. While I don’t dictate how parents should raise their kids, I believe it’s smart for parents like my girlfriend’s to teach their kids to accept being told no, to understand failure, and to learn from mistakes instead of being coddled.

  I continued telling Martha about the country, explaining how people are generally expected to work and not rely on handouts. I shared a story about my cousin by marriage, Emily. Her niece is dating a guy who was rejected by the Little Bird Army because he has a limp. He uses his condition to claim he's disabled and can't work, even though he can walk. Instead, he sits at home all day eating, watching TV, and not cleaning up.

  Emily's niece and her boyfriend have eight kids, half of whom are in school. Despite living in a ground floor starter apartment with a bus stop right outside, the guy refuses to get a job. I pointed out that it's not hard to spend $5 for a month-long bus pass to get to and from work. Of the 38 million people in Little Bird, 12.1% use public transit to get to work. That means roughly 4.6 million people take buses or subway trains, while using their own vehicles mainly for weekend shopping trips due to the high cost of maintaining a car.

  Martha thought the population was 45 million, so I explained that the country lost seven million adults in the war. Emily's sister’s boyfriend just mooches off his girlfriend in a starter apartment. I explained that a starter apartment is designed for individuals or couples just starting out, not a family of ten. It's a small space meant for people who are in college or have just moved out of their parents' place after saving up for a few months.

  I told Martha that Little Bird does have its own version of Social Security, providing monthly payments to the disabled and retirees. They also have food stamps, but Emily’s sister struggles because her boyfriend eats a lot, and feeding four mouths isn’t easy. They end up going to the store every night instead of buying in bulk on Saturdays.

  I mentioned that on Saturdays, I used to help stock additional shelves before the store opened at 8 AM. People would flood in to do their weekly shopping, often leaving their kids at home to shop in peace. Kids typically want their parents to buy all the cool snacks their friends have, but many families shop on a budget, buying in bulk and what's on sale.

  Martha commented that Emily’s niece’s boyfriend is a deadbeat, milking his army rejection because of his limp. She pointed out that many people with disabilities don’t cry or milk their condition for sympathy. They just get on with their lives, working if they can. Most people with disabilities don’t want sympathy; they just want to be treated like normal people. Martha added that Emily’s niece’s boyfriend makes people with genuine disabilities who can't work look bad. There are people who need special accommodations like ramps, sign language interpreters, or canes or service dogs, and they don’t complain; they continue with their lives.

  Martha mentioned that she often sees men at the store's café, sitting around the counter, ordering drinks and food while their families shop. She noted that it's mostly men who go to the café to get coffee and breakfast, allowing their wives to shop in peace. Sometimes, they keep the kids busy with food and coloring maps, so the mothers can shop without distractions. The same applies if the roles are reversed, with the father shopping and the mother taking the kids to the café.

  I told Martha that many families prefer to leave their kids at home, allowing the parents to shop faster without being bogged down by kids wanting this or that. Parents often let their kids play with friends while they shop. If they do bring their kids, one parent most likely takes them to the café to eat and color, similar to how restaurants provide coloring paper and crayons to keep kids occupied. This helps maintain a peaceful environment for parents and other shoppers of not hearing kids cry when their parents refuse to buy them something.

  Of course, I told Martha that many families in Little Bird love one-pot meals. You know, those meals like chili, chili mac and cheese, cheesy chicken Alfredo, beef stroganoff, and chicken tortilla soup. These meals can be made in large batches, providing dinner for two or three nights. So, there's Sunday and Monday or Sunday to Tuesday dinners sorted. On Saturday nights, it's usually quick dinners that can be thrown into the oven or microwave because many households spend 8 AM to 12 PM hunting for bargains. They stretch their money by buying in bulk when items are on sale. Why pay 87 cents for three pounds of ground beef when you can get nine pounds for the same price if it's on sale?

  According to Lusty, in Home Economics class, students are taught how to hunt for sales and specials in stores. For example, if soup is 12 cents per can, but on sale for four cans for twelve cents, that's a better deal because why buy four for forty-eight cents when you can buy four for the price of one. They learn to save money and focus on needs versus wants—what do you need right now versus what can be put on the backburner until later.

  Martha was about to comment on how the prices are lower than in America, but I explained that the cost of living in Little Bird hasn't changed since the 1960s. It only changes during times of war, as the government raises funds by either increasing taxes or turning to the public. Inflation in Little Bird is low because the Little Bird Office of Price Administration has posters similar to those printed by the United States Office of Price Administration. These posters explain how when prices go up, people buy less, businesses slump, and people lose their jobs. So, prices are kept low enough for people to stretch their money.

  Martha then asked me about the most dangerous situation I’ve faced on the job. Instead of just telling her, I showed her a video from a while back when the city shut down Squad 769. I had gone over to Squad 141 firehouse to spend time with my girlfriend, and we were called to a house fire. Some people had blocked the road with their personal vehicles. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know that a 23-ton reinforced steel fire engine and a 47-ton reinforced steel fire truck will push a 3,000-pound car out of the way like a freight train hitting a sign.

  When we got there, people started pelting us with cans and glass bottles. Lusty told us to "make them get wet," meaning we should use the 1 ? and 2 ? attack lines to spray water on them until the police could arrive. I explained to Martha that the Fire Department has different hose lines: Attack lines, Supply & relay lines, Booster hoses, Forestry hoses, and Suction hoses. We’re also trained to use attack hoses in self-defense during civil disturbances, not offensively, but only if necessary. Especially with the American state that I was raised in and that we’re in now.

  I mentioned a firefighter my girlfriend works with, nicknamed “Dynamite” because of her hair-trigger attitude and her role as a combat engineer in the Marines. She believes that during riots, the military should deploy armored machines that shoot napalm up to 557 feet for 35 seconds. I told Martha that Little Bird still uses man-portable flamethrowers for controlled burns and clearing foliage. The military also has armored flamethrowers for use in places where air support is too dangerous due to the risk of explosions or shockwaves.

  Honestly, I wasn’t expecting to change the subject from firefighting to armored flamethrowers. But I told Martha that someone died in that fire. The people we turned our fire hoses on in self-defense claimed we slow-stepped our response. I showed the video to the rest of the city and the country of Little Bird to set the record straight.

  I shared another story with Martha about the time my cousin Dave and girlfriend responded to a train accident. They found a military medic on furlough, forced to use a corkscrew to drill a hole into a woman's head due to an epidural hemorrhage. I told Martha that I couldn't entirely confirm or deny what happened because I was in the Navy and heading to Europe at the time. I just took their word for it since I wasn’t there. They had to take patients to a triage center, where paramedics would give them triage tags. According to my girlfriend, she overheard a paramedic tell a victim, "Just be glad you’re not wearing a black one." I explained to Martha that a black triage tag means someone is either dead or so critically injured that no amount of help will save them—they're too far gone.

  Martha was about to say how “firefighting” is easy, but I just stared at her. She and my mother have a tendency to say a job is easy without considering what it's like to walk a mile in the shoes of those who do that job. Yes, it might look easy, but when you’re carrying about a hundred pounds of gear and stretching a long hose filled with water or firefighting foam, it's hard work, especially in heat or humidity or both.

  We spent the next few hours chatting and catching up while watching the guests arrive for Thanksgiving dinner. Many of our guests were used to having dinner served by now—most Waterson families typically eat around 4-4:30 PM. They were expecting everything to be hot and ready to go. But in our family tradition, much of the food is pre-cooked and then popped back into the oven to finish cooking. By the time it’s pulled out at dinner time, it’s fully cooked and piping hot.

  As the clock struck 5 PM, I reminded myself that we still had two hours to go before dinner. The guests mingled, and the anticipation for the meal grew. Despite the unconventional timing, everyone seemed to settle in, enjoying the company and the festive atmosphere.

  But while I sat on the porch with Martha, I reminisced about returning to Little Bird after my Navy tour was up. One of the first things I saw was a victory parade marking the end of the Third World War. There were flag bearers at the front, a marching band behind them, and soldiers who had returned home—many of them just nineteen or twenty. These young men and women, fresh out of high school, had signed up to defend against the Soviet invasion in 2005, seeing it as a personal attack.

  At the start of the war, Little Birden Officers vowed to take the war to the Soviet’s homeland, saying, “Their land, their blood.” During the occupation of Ft. Sunction, Soviets shot any Little Birden soldier they missed in the initial fight. When the Little Birden soldiers and officers promised to bring the fight to the Soviets, they did. The Soviets weren’t expecting an army that wouldn’t retreat—an army that, even if it did retreat, would come back stronger.

  By the time the Blister Canyon Little Bird Lava Falls Defense Force (BCLBLFDF) reached Eastern Europe, they were blowing away wave after wave of Soviet soldiers. Many of these Soviet soldiers weren’t even proper soldiers anymore but "the young, the old, and the weak." The BCLBLFDF had to fight through mazes of trenches and artillery without air support due to enemy AAA in the area, using the old tactic of “Burn’em out.”

  The Soviets initially fought young men and women who were still fresh out of high school. These Little Birden soldiers fought to the death through any means necessary. I told Martha how unsettling it is to face an enemy with nothing to lose, determined to stop you and your comrades at all costs. Soviet soldiers documented how these young men and women willingly threw away their futures to defend their country. They realized this would be a long war and that the Little Birden soldiers couldn’t be pushed back while fighting on their home ground.

  Martha was about to say something, but she quickly closed her mouth, not wanting to risk insulting another culture.

  I told Martha that I would’ve hated to be a Soviet in Ft. Sunction, surrounded by a hostile country’s army to the South, Southeast, Southwest, West, and East, and blocked to the north by the navy. The city’s population was extremely hostile to the invaders, grabbing any weapon they could find to fight back. Soviet soldiers and officers documented their surprise at the level of resistance, noting that everywhere they went, they were met with gunfire. From above, they were harassed by the Little Bird Air Force, which included attack helicopters and multirole jets.

  I mentioned to Martha that many Little Birden soldiers who fought in the war viewed it as a Thirteenth Crusade. They likened World War 1 to the Ninth Crusade, World War 2 to the Tenth, Korea to the Eleventh, and Vietnam to the Twelfth, viewing the Third World War as the Thirteenth Crusade. This perspective stems from seeing wars as battles between different ideologies or religious views, similar to the medieval Crusades. Even though the USSR relaxed religious restrictions in the late 80s, this belief persisted among the soldiers.

  I clarified that Little Bird is a secular state, allowing all expressions of religion without endorsing any. According to my cousin Dave and my girlfriend Lusty, both genders are taught to be chivalrous, embodying virtues like piety, honor, valor, courtesy, chastity, and loyalty. These virtues represent a fusion of religious and military morality, emphasizing defending the poor and weak, being generous to others, being loyal to family, friends, and leaders, acting with courtesy, and not killing an enemy who begs for mercy. For agnostics or atheists, these virtues translate to military morality.

  I explained that men in Little Bird, whether married or not, are taught to be chivalrous and old-fashioned in their respect for women.

  I also shared with Martha how, in the post-Great War world, the demographics of many rural towns in Little Bird drastically changed. Before the First World War, men outnumbered women two to one. By 1918, at the war's end, that ratio had shifted to 0.5 to one. The culture adapted, and many female classmates at Arcane University recalled how their fathers or older siblings performed chivalrous acts like opening doors, offering jackets, or walking on the side closer to traffic. These gestures were seen as symbolic protection and respect. To them, it was simply their family being protective. They didn't mind if a guy did it for them either.

  During the First World War, many women in Little Bird had to fend for themselves. From the 1900s to the 70s, nine and a half out of ten households attended church, and religious teachings emphasized the importance of having a spouse and a large family for a happy life. In the cities, this wasn't as much of an issue because people were mostly celebrating the war's end and the roaring twenties, buying automobiles, electrical appliances, and other consumer products. New technologies like the radio and telephone transformed entertainment and social lives.

  Rural towns were hit hardest by the drafts. The military primarily recruited from these areas because the men were already familiar with firearms and hunting. Many of these towns had general stores but no grocers, and residents lived on farms or ranches, growing their own food. Meat was obtained by hunting or slaughtering livestock since supermarkets didn't exist until 1930. People could only live off maize and beans for so long before craving something different like pork, meat, pasta, or other fruits and veggies.

  Martha agreed and shared a story from when she was twenty-one. She went on a diet consisting solely of kale, spinach, arugula, and romaine lettuce. She couldn’t get through an entire week before craving something greasy. Eating the same thing repeatedly gets monotonous.

  She asked about my nickname, and I explained that with fourteen other Mackenzies in the Waterson family, nicknames help avoid confusion. For instance, we have “Sturmgewehr” and “Nighthawk.” Sturmgewehr got her nickname from using the outdated Little Bird Assault Rifle Model 1943, a chambered Sturmgewehr 44. Nighthawk, on the other hand, is an ace helicopter pilot who flies into dangerous situations no other pilot dares to enter. There are thirteen other Mackenzies, each with their own nickname.

  I told Martha how Nighthawk uses her nickname as her callsign in the military. Every Waterson names their weapons, a tradition not from the military but from the medieval era when knights named their swords, believing they held special powers or blessings. I also told Martha that some Watersons were knights in the Holy Roman Empire. I explained Voltaire’s famous quote about the Holy Roman Empire being "neither Holy, nor Roman, nor an Empire."

  After all, most of the people who fight in wars are those people who just want to do their job as a soldier and make it home alive and that if it wasn’t for the war and under different circumstances then they might’ve become good friends.

  I mentioned to Martha and Alex that the war felt like a modern version of the Barbarians attacking Rome, Attila and the Huns against Europe, or the Mongol invasion of Europe. I used these historical examples to illustrate the sheer ferocity and determination of the soldiers, though I wasn't entirely sure why those particular examples came to mind at the time.

  I told Martha and Alex about the 2005 Winter Offensive. Members of the 4th Infantry Division went back to tactics reminiscent of the First World War. Imagine 20,000 soldiers in trenches, decked out in white combat armor, launching a human wave assault—a tactic phased out due to the machine gun. The Soviets were stunned when they saw those soldiers, bayonets fixed, charging across an open, snow-covered field.

  I explained that 90% of these soldiers were just eighteen or recent high school graduates, some even as young as seventeen. They were protected by Little Birden Combat Armor, which guards against ballistic and explosive damage, allowing them to get much farther than their predecessors. Although the Soviets managed to kill a few, losing three or four out of 20,000 isn’t significant. These young soldiers, many of whom lied about their age or forged their parents’ signatures to enlist, charged without hesitation, inspired to defend their homeland even on foreign soil.

  The Soviets expected General Winter to be their ally, but my cousin Mitchell noted that Little Bird took lessons from the failures of Napoleon and the Germans. They were prepared for the harsh conditions and fought valiantly.

  I explained to Martha that if a seventeen-year-old shows up at a recruitment office, the recruiters ask them to get their parents' signature for permission. When they return with the signed form, the recruiters accept it without asking too many questions, not knowing if it's legitimate or not. Signatures change over time, and many fathers in Little Bird sign the form without reading it because of the cultural expectation for men to serve in the military. They view military service as both patriotic and a sense of fulfillment.

  I told her that this is evident in various professions. Ask any doctor on Little Bird, and 90% will say they learned their medical skills from the military. Mechanics often say they learned their trade in the military too. The military functions like a microcosm of civilization, with roles and responsibilities mirroring those in civilian life. There are people in charge of logistics, just like truck drivers who deliver goods from manufacturers to stores. Military cooks operate field kitchens and mess halls, similar to how civilian cooks work in diners and restaurants. For almost every civilian job, there's a military counterpart.

  As 7 PM rolled around, we headed back inside to get our plates. Some of my family members asked if I had seen any war movies from Little Bird. I told them that I had, but they were different from typical war movies. They depicted both sides in neutral lights, showing both as heroic in their own ways. The movies aimed to highlight that, on both sides of a war, there are people who don’t want to be there. They're either drafted or just want to do their duty and return home.

  These movies showed that even in war, both sides have good soldiers who started out as nice people just trying to take care of their buddies and protect their homes. Over time, they experienced or saw things that broke them inside, making them want nothing more than to end the war and go home. Unlike the typical portrayal of one side being full of psychotic who joined just to pillage and burn, Little Bird's war movies presented soldiers primarily as regular individuals conscripted into the army. They had no interest in war, hated it, and were just trying to survive. Often, they were terrorized and brutalized by their own officers and noncoms.

  The shows and movies don’t have a pair of soldiers giving the newsreel camera a cheerful wave after callously executing an enemy.

  They asked me how I could do my job without thinking about the dangers or what I see on the job in which I explained that Hollywood often dramatizes the dangers we face on the job. They show us responding to major disasters, like entire buildings on fire with flames shooting out of every window and door, or buildings collapsing with hundreds or thousands of people trapped, or train derailments. While these major emergencies do happen, they aren't as frequent as Hollywood depicts. If they were, the responsible parties—train operators, building constructors, and others—would face severe consequences for negligence.

  We aren't paid nearly enough for the dangers we face, but there's something inside us that drives us to do the job. It's either from family tradition or a desire to help others. Some classmates at the fire academy didn't last long on the job. They resigned after seeing things that many people can't handle. While talking about what we see is the best way to cope, many of us use gallows humor to get through the job. It's a way to cope, even if it's not the healthiest approach.

  I asked my family at the table if they would want those responsible to be held accountable if building collapses and train derailments were happening every day. They agreed that they would want to see railroad operators and building contractors held accountable in such a scenario. While these incidents do happen, they don't occur daily. If they did, nobody would take trains or use them to haul goods due to the constant risk of derailment. Similarly, people would be terrified of buildings if they kept collapsing daily. Nobody would want to live or work in a building that's prone to collapse.

  They all agreed that it made sense. In a world where buildings caved in every day, it would be unimaginable for anyone to want to live or work in one.

  They asked me about the craziest thing I’ve encountered on the job. I told them about my first day, performing a rope rescue for a guy stuck in a high-rise building. It turned out he had broken into his former workplace. The floor he was on was off-limits and closed for renovations, so how he got there remains a mystery. We got him out, but the police came and arrested him for breaking and entering.

  I mentioned that my girlfriend, cousin Dave, and his wife Linda have been on the job much longer than me—fifteen years for Dave and Linda, and fourteen years for Lusty—so they have plenty more stories. I shared one of Dave’s stories about a high-rise fire. He rescued an infant from a crib, but the heat was so intense that he couldn’t stand up and carry the baby. Instead, he placed his bare hands on the crib and pulled it out. When he reached the hallway, he saw nothing but fire. Unlike TV or movies, he didn’t run through the fire. He kept pulling the plastic crib until he saved the infant. After handing the baby to an EMT, he went back in, despite having third-degree burns on his hands from the hot plastic.

  My family was amazed and deeply moved by the bravery and dedication shown in such dangerous situations.

  I shared with them how my girlfriend's first lieutenant, whom he’s the 19th Battalion of the Fire Department City of Empire, had to give Dave a direct order to stand down and be taken to a burn center. Dave, described as "a firefighter's firefighter," is fiercely loyal and protective of all the firefighters in his company, and even those he doesn't know. Despite being a captain, he refuses to take the officer’s exam to become a lieutenant, out of respect for his father and uncle who were both lieutenants. In our ranking system, lieutenant is higher than captain, unlike in most places. Dave wouldn't leave until all six of his guys were out and off the building, necessitating an order from a higher-up.

  For Dave’s wife Linda, her job is different as she responds to technical rescue situations, like rope rescues, building collapses, confined space rescues, trench/excavation rescues, machinery and vehicle extrications, water rescues, and other technical rescue scenarios, as well as any fire from a third alarm or if special equipment is needed. It’s hard to pinpoint just one memorable rescue because her job is filled with countless critical missions.

  One of the most tragic incidents was back in 2003, during requalifications for special operations training. There was a high-rise emergency in the nation’s capital, where chaos greeted the emergency crews. Survivors were streaming out of the building, but many more were trapped inside. City of Chocolate PD cordoned off the area and guided those exiting to safety, while the Fire Department set up a command post to evacuate survivors and fight the fire. The fires were so high up in the skyscrapers that they were beyond the reach of any ladder truck, forcing firefighters to climb the stairs with 40-50 pounds of gear.

  After a few hours, the building started to buckle from the fire and structural damage. Four different buildings were involved, and mutual aid from other towns was called in. The high casualty rate of 2,823 was due to radio interference from the concrete, which prevented effective communication. Search and rescue operations were held off for 24 hours. The only sound heard was the 95-decibel audible alerts indicating firefighters in distress—almost 2,830 of them. Only seven were rescued; the rest didn't make it.

  Linda and Dave recalled that the scene was devastating. Vehicles were unrecognizable, many fire apparatus were crushed and on fire, and police vehicles were tossed around like potato chips, even two blocks out. They noted that the hardest-hit units were the Special Operations teams.

  When my father asked about our nicknames, I quickly responded that we all indeed have them. Lusty has three: “Lieutenant Empire” because she knows the city like the back of her hand and can suggest alternate routes when others are inaccessible. Her second nickname is “Ghetto firefighter,” as she's comfortable in any situation the fire department responds to, given her upbringing in what many would call a "ghetto." Lastly, she's known as “Family firefighter” because she has a special charm that helps kids open up during fires or emergencies. She’s the type of person who, even at three in the morning, will give a kid’s bike a ten-point check-up just like a parent would.

  Dave is a different type. He's like an instructor, always drilling his company on the dangers and pros of each type of building. He’s fiercely defensive and protective of his crew, embodying the role of "Captain first, friend second." He’s also a union representative, though he doesn’t have a nickname. Linda doesn’t have a nickname either.

  As for me, I go by “Frost” on the job. Although I prefer "Macaroni," I earned the nickname “Frost” for keeping my cool, even in situations where losing my cool or looking scared would have been understandable.

  My father mentioned meeting my girlfriend's coworkers, Dynamite and Avalanche. They got their nicknames from their military service, which they carry into their everyday lives. I explained how fitting their nicknames are: Madeline, known as "Dynamite," earned hers during her time as a Marine combat engineer, working with dynamite before plastic explosives were invented. She also has a hair-trigger temper. Marinia, nicknamed "Avalanche," was an Army Mountaineer. Marinia finds her first name embarrassing, and I agreed with my family that it is an unusual name.

  I continued with my story about Dave. When I shadowed Firehouse Sixteen for a day, I asked him about his experiences on the job. He told me he’s been in rowhouses, townhouses, tenements, single-family homes, high-rises, underwater, in storage tanks, underground in sewers, and water treatment pipes. Dave is well-versed in every aspect of the job and knows every tool inside out. He knew more than his captain did when he started back in October 1995. His captain, now in fire investigation, said there wasn't much she could teach him. Dave grew up around the firehouse, learning from World War 2 and Korean War vets. His father and uncle joined the job in 1966, and Dave absorbed knowledge from firefighters with 30 years of experience.

  Captain Vintion observed that on Dave's first fire call, he acted instinctively, as if firefighting was second nature. Dave realized why his father, uncle, and grandfather loved the job. Though he initially pursued firefighting to make his father and uncle happy, they always told him he could choose any career, and they’d be proud. Dave stuck with firefighting because it was the only thing he knew besides engineering. He’s the go-to guy for shutting off power or dealing with explosives, being one of the few trained in using and defusing them.

  I told my family that Dave is very particular about who joins his company. He doesn't just accept anyone; he interviews probies to ensure they can do the job and be tough. He trains his crew to act independently without needing him to micromanage. When working alongside other firehouses like 47, 23, 17, 33, or 59, there's playful banter, especially since his brothers-in-law work at those companies. For example, if they're in Firehouse 16's district, Dave might jokingly say they shouldn't strike out a higher alarm.

  Unlike Dave, Linda isn't as playful with her brothers and sister, even though most of her brothers are captains and lieutenants. I mentioned that we’re a bit like kids—we jump on the big truck with flashing lights, and everyone likes us and waves at us.

  With that, I went back to enjoying my plate of Thanksgiving meal that my father and I prepared together. The conversation moved on to lighter topics, and we all enjoyed the rest of our dinner, sharing laughter and stories.

  Some of my family members reminisced about their love of football and their dreams of playing professionally. They talked about how they didn’t pursue those dreams because they went straight to work after high school instead of going to college or being scouted by professional teams. They didn't want to take out student loans or put their fathers in debt. Many of their fathers were typical blue-collar workers, and some didn’t have both parents, being raised by single mothers or fathers who just made enough to pay the bills and put food on the table.

  I was silent for the rest of the dinner, and one of my cousins asked what was wrong. I explained that I was preparing for the fire season. From late November to May 31, it's considered fire season, and the fire danger scale is high throughout the year, except June. During fire season, the scale reaches a critical level, meaning a wildfire is highly likely.

  From late November to January, it's pretty much self-explanatory due to Christmas and New Year's. Many people are out buying fireworks, spending more time outside, and running around buying presents. There's also an increase in shipping packages to family members living far away. As a firefighter, if a wildfire breaks out, we're put on status alert bravo, which means "A wildfire is reported, but if wildland firefighters need assistance or if it gets too close to an urban center, then we're deployed." Status alert alpha means "A wildfire is getting too close to an urban center or is out of control, so we're sending several companies out of the city to fight it." Fires can rage out of control, consuming whole blocks. This doesn’t even count forest fires, which can require constant attendance from multiple departments to contain.

  I continued to explain to my family that back in the late 90s, the Fire Department went through budget cuts to find services they could cut back on. According to Dave and Linda, losing one member to injury or retirement wasn’t too bad because the Fire Departments on Little Bird operate with a seven-man crew. However, losing a second member due to injury or retirement became problematic. Studies have shown that any company with fewer than five members is considered ineffective.

  For example, in a truck company, four guys cannot handle roof ventilation, outside ventilation, search and rescue, all at the same time. For an engine company, there are two nozzleman positions, two backup nozzlemen, an officer, and a chauffeur. With only five members, the second nozzleman and backup nozzleman positions would be removed, leaving the fifth member as a supply position, meaning their job would be to get off the rig first, stretch a supply line to a hydrant, and signal the chauffeur to continue before hooking up the hydrant.

  I also mentioned that firehoses aren’t used single-handedly because of the concussive force from a high-pressure hose. This difficulty is why fire hoses are still frequently used for riot control by authorities.

  I told my family that Little Bird does implement budget cuts to save money, even though the country’s economy is backed by gold. This prevents the government from printing unlimited amounts of money, unlike fiat currency, which depends on government stability and is susceptible to economic manipulation. Little Bird’s gold-backed currency limits government spending.

  Of course, I told them that an economics professor I talked to at Arcane University explained why the country still uses gold-backed currency:

  - Reduced risk of economic crises and recessions

  - Increased income levels and decreased unemployment rates

  - Limits on government spending

  - Stabilized currency values

  - More reliable store of value than fiat money

  - Tangible value representing ownership of a specific amount of gold

  - Potential hedge against inflation or economic instability

  He noted that the only time it's ineffective is during a wartime economy because military equipment and funding a war are expensive. Bullets, grenades, jets, ships, and other munitions cost a lot of money. I explained that Little Bird doesn't have a Military-Industrial complex. Past presidents didn't want to jeopardize the country by increasing spending excessively, which could have a negative long-range impact on the economy and weaken the country itself. They wanted to avoid undue influence on military policy and strategy and prevent extravagance and waste in defense spending.

  I told my family that the city of Empire has issues with people in power rubber-stamping pointless projects. Lusty often says, "It’s just a way to keep union boys on a payroll and keep getting paid." Essentially, it's a way for unionized construction workers to earn money on projects that may never be built. For example, the city once had one freeway, and several more were planned, but it took ten years for those projects to materialize. In the 90s, Mayor Martinez aimed to revitalize the city, turning impoverished areas into "glass towers, clean streets, and giving people what everyone else has a better living condition," pulling districts out of depravity. Coming from the Eastside, she spoke from experience, having lived in such conditions.

  I told my cousins that dealing with life or death every shift isn't easy, but I remembered what Dave said, “My cousin was a marine sniper. One day, she was returning from church when one of those 4x4 military jeeps jumped over a curb and splattered her like a bug. You never know what’s going to get you, so why worry about it?” I think he said that because, as a father of four and married to Linda, also a firefighter, he understands the importance of living in the moment.

  I explained that Dave’s company responds to emergencies that an engine company can't handle, such as ventilation, forcible entry, search and rescue, motor vehicle accidents, and overhaul. Linda deals with major emergencies and technical rescues, such as industrial emergencies, impalements, collapse situations, and anything beyond the scope of engine, truck, and squad companies. If needed, they send a rescue company.

  Linda "transferred across the floor" from Engine 18 to Ladder 18 in the same firehouse. After five years on the job, she completed Special Operations training but was initially not assigned to a rescue company. The lieutenants of the city’s two rescue companies at the time wanted to ensure that firefighters joining met their standards. Rescue companies consist of 28 of the best firefighters, seven per shift, who handle specialized fire rescue incidents beyond what standard engine and ladder companies can manage.

  I mentioned the "Limited Advancement Opportunity" saying because the city has 27 engine and ladder companies with 756 firefighters across four shifts but only three rescue companies with 84 members. These 84 are the most senior and experienced guys who see it all and go to anything that specialized equipment is needed or required. For their case they aren’t sent there but they have to go through a interview with the Lieutenant of the company who can either deny or approve someone because they want someone to will live up to the expertise and they go to everything even things that nobody else gets to see a lot of heroic deeds and a lot of stuff never said is done by them.

  When they asked me about the training, I told them that on our first day, the instructor told us, "If you’re doing this for a paycheck, then leave now. You can’t pay someone enough to run into a fire." That statement really stuck with me because it’s true.

  I also mentioned "The Maze," a dark trailer we have to navigate. One of my cousins asked if we could use flashlights, but I explained that we can't because the exercise is meant to simulate a real building fire where smoke makes it impossible to see. We have to crawl on our hands and knees, then prone to crawl as the space diminishes, using only our sense of touch to find our way out. It’s designed to instill confidence and help us deal with the feeling of being trapped.

  I suggested to my cousin that the next time the power goes out at his house, he should lay flat on his stomach or crawl on his hands and knees to get around and think about how it would feel in a real fire situation.

  The training was tough. Many trainees got scared due to acrophobia (fear of heights), claustrophobia (fear of confined spaces), and pyrophobia (fear of fire). Our instructors would often say, "We’re training you to face what scares everyone."

  I also told them that in training, "The Maze" is constantly changed to prevent cheating. They vent out the smoke and rearrange or bring in new furniture to create different layouts each time until the final test. One day it might resemble a single-family house, the next a residential apartment, then a commercial office building, or any combination of residential, industrial, and small-scale industrial workspaces. The idea is to keep recruits from becoming familiar with the same layout and knowing what to expect, simulating the unpredictability of real-life scenarios.

  Soon, the door opened and another one of our cousins came in, proudly boasting about how creative their dishes were for this year’s Thanksgiving dinner. They emphasized that their food wasn't "bland" and "traditional." Despite being almost full, we decided to give it a try. However, our cousin was quite rude about it, knocking the dishes my dad and I made off the counter and stove onto the floor. I was ready to jump over the table, but my cousins and stepmom held me back.

  The Watersons, minus me, tried some of our cousin’s dishes. When they took their first bite, they either spit it out or swallowed it, immediately reaching for a drink to get rid of the taste, like when you take terrible-tasting medicine.

  They said the food was terrible and that they’d rather have traditional turkey, ham, mac and cheese, green beans, spinach, and mashed potatoes than whatever our cousin made, which left a terrible taste in their mouths.

  When our cousin who brought in the terrible food asked for my opinion, I didn’t hold back. I said, “I work with single men for 192 hours per month—that's 96 hours during the first and third weeks of each month—who don’t know how to cook because they live alone. Based on our family’s reaction, I can confidently say my coworkers are better cooks than you. Many of the guys on the job have no real talent for cooking, and the crews aren’t shy about expressing their displeasure at whoever works the kitchen. In fact, cooking for the firehouse is usually one of the many tasks dumped on people with better cooking skills. The guys I work with like their bacon crispy—not crunchy, but crispy to the point where it feels like you need a nuclear bomb to break it up and make it easier to eat.”

  My cousin didn’t seem too pleased with my critique, but it was the honest truth. Despite the awkward moment, we managed to lighten the mood, focusing on the positives and enjoying the rest of our Thanksgiving together. We shared more stories, had a few laughs, and ultimately appreciated the time spent as a family.

  My family commented that our cousin's terrible dish, if it ever hit the shelves, would be a disaster that could end up in a lawsuit. While it's fine to try new things, making something that people either spit out or swallow down with soda to get the taste out is bad. The only person I know who might like it would be Cadenza Amore, but that's a big maybe.

  I explained that Project Phoenix soldiers are trained to live off the land, and Cadenza might tolerate the dish because she's more of a fighter than an eater. I've seen her dislocate someone's shoulder with her index and thumb, rip off a car door to use as a shield, and then throw it like it's nothing. Cadenza is a leader in a supersoldier program dating back to 1945, which became public knowledge in 2005, though the general public only knows of them from combat footage.

  Curious about her opinion, I decided to give Cadenza a call. When I asked her about the terrible Thanksgiving dish the cousin who made it said “I took a necessary move…”, Cadenza responded bluntly, “Necessary means you had no other option. That wasn't necessary, and you know it. I don’t know anything about American holidays, but what was already made before you made your own version?”

  Cadenza's response, based on her experience as a soldier, emphasized the importance of choosing the best option available rather than unnecessary improvisation. My cousin who made the dish was taken aback, and the rest of the family appreciated Cadenza's straightforward perspective.

  When another one of my cousins asked about Cadenza, I casually said, “Imagine the Terminator but human, and not an infiltration killer robot who never, ever, ever, ever stops trying to kill you.” I forgot she was on speaker phone, and she responded with, “Why thanks.” She seemed to take it more as a compliment than an insult.

  Project Phoenix supersoldiers, like Cadenza, are trained to exist for one purpose: to find and terminate their target. Everything else is meaningless to them. If they see you, they will try to kill you, even in a crowded room.

  Cadenza, still on speaker phone, shared her insights on the country's response after the Soviets invaded Little Bird. She explained that within 24 hours, Little Bird launched mass aerial bombardments with stealth bombers, followed by both sonic and subsonic jet-powered strategic bombers. The bombers flew so many sorties within a month that it was an endless cycle. The stealth bombers would take out radar installations and air bases, while the subsonic and sonic bombers targeted naval bases and other military installations. When the stealth bombers finished their run, the strategic bombers would drop their payload, and by the time they returned, the stealth bombers were ready for their second run.

  Another one of my cousins asked if the LBAF had to deal with Soviet fighters during their sorties. Cadenza explained that every bomber wing had a squadron of bombers equipped with a parasite fighter. When one of my cousins asked why they didn’t target cities and non-military targets, Cadenza mentioned that many officers are chivalrous, like knights of the Medieval era. They adhere to principles such as mercy, courage, valor, fairness, protection of the weak and poor, and loyalty to their countrymen. These principles include being willing to give one’s life for another, whether for a poor man or their lord.

  Cadenza explained that chivalrous officers view people in two ways: combatants and non-combatants. Civilians who pick up arms to become partisans or militia become combatants.

  When one of my cousins, who opposed the military, expressed disbelief that we served and said, "Do you not see your worst qualities in us? Oh, yes: we are genocidal monsters," I responded with what Cadenza would have said "I can live with that." Honestly, humans can be monstrous. Look at every war in history—each one started over something probably trivial like politics or someone wanting what someone else has.

  While many wars are fought for stupid reasons like politics, different ideologies, and wealth, they are often fought by the young and naive, protecting the old and greedy who run their countries. It's a harsh reality, but it's the truth.

  My family mentioned that they joined the military out of family tradition and patriotism, not to protect politicians in D.C. who only seek reelection to pad their wallets and that they and everyone in the executive branch can go pound sand. They didn’t sign up to protect politicians who stay in office for personal gain.

  I explained that the political system in the country I moved to is different. While people vote like in a democracy, it’s more like a lottery. The country’s founders took lessons from Ancient Greece, believing that electoral systems can be gamed by those with power or wealth. Their voting system is based on Athenian Democracy with elements of Direct Democracy. To be eligible to become a politician, you must serve in the military. People don’t vote for representatives to go to the nation’s capital; instead, they vote for representatives, but they also attend legislative assemblies themselves and can vote directly, especially when their representatives don’t vote on their behalf. Or just vote on things they want to.

  I told them about my visit to "The People’s Hall." I asked the tour guide how many people could sit inside the building. After seating all five Governors, ten Senators, 267 Military Congressmen/women, and 267 Civilian Congressmen/women, the President and Vice President, there are enough seats for 150,000 people to come in, watch their elected officials, and participate in voting.

  Many dumb bills go through the place, like one example where trains should stop at railroad crossings to let vehicles pass. It was voted down unanimously because, for starters, it’s stupid. Secondly, not every train conductor knows where all the crossings are, and stopping a train isn’t like stopping a bike. For example, a goods train traveling at 55 mph with 120 fully loaded wagons needs over a mile of track to stop, while a high-speed train traveling at 120 mph requires four miles to stop.

  Some of my cousins asked about Arcane University, and I told them that the professors aren’t exactly welcoming or cuddly. One of my classmates in human history even managed to get a negative test score. The professors refused to give breaks, even if you lost a parent or loved one, to hammer home the point that life goes on regardless of what it throws at you, and it won't pause until you come to terms with what happened.

  Our cousin David “Dave” Mitchell Waterson, the Captain over at Ladder 16, and his wife, Linda, need to learn that lesson. Linda still holds onto a tragic event from eight years ago like it happened yesterday. Dave and I have told Linda that their eldest son, who's eleven, will soon reach the age where he'll want to bring his girlfriend home to meet his parents. If Linda is always working with no family life, she'll miss out on the first date, first dance, first prom, and definitely the engagement party, wedding, baby shower, and grandchild in the future. It’s bad when an eleven-year-old has to explain to his six-year-old brother and five-year-old twin sisters why mom isn’t home a lot.

  At Arcane University, professors wouldn't give you a break to teach you that life won’t give you a break either. Life keeps going, no matter how low you feel. It's like a short story I read from 1950 about an automated house that continues its programmed tasks after a nuclear war destroys humanity. The house keeps running until it succumbs to decay, illustrating how life and technology go on even if humans vanish.

  The title of the story comes from a 1920 Sara Teasdale poem about nature reclaiming battlefields in Europe following World War I and how little nature would notice if humans disappeared. The poem is recited by the house midway through the story to exemplify the fact that life goes on, regardless of human presence.

  My father said that life goes on without our input because we live on a sphere that rotates around the sun. He also mentioned the areas in northeastern France that were isolated after the First World War. Covering more than 460 square miles, these lands were deemed too physically and environmentally damaged for human habitation. Rather than clean up the former battlefields immediately, the land was allowed to return to nature. These areas are saturated with unexploded shells, grenades, rusting ammunition, and soils heavily polluted by lead, mercury, chlorine, arsenic, dangerous gases, acids, and human and animal remains.

  One of my cousins wanted to talk about the war again and asked if the LBAF bombers ever had to crash land or bail out. I told them that a few bombers crash landed on Flurry-Class Attack, nuclear-powered supercarriers. Some landed with their landing gear breaking off, stopping just short of falling off the bow. These planes were often too damaged to return home. Crews were brought out, and sailors on the carriers would give those crash landed bombers the "deep six."

  My cousin asked what I meant by "given the deep six." My dad explained that it meant the bombers were jettisoned, or pushed off the carrier, to sink below the ocean because they were damaged beyond repair. He speculated that the sailors first scavenged the bombers for anything still usable.

  I wasn’t expecting to talk about this stuff on Thanksgiving, but hey, it happened. Another one of my cousins asked me about Cadenza. I told him she’s inhuman because she can breathe without her chest moving and run without noticeably breathing. She was conditioned to fire any gun without flinching, and to fire and reload both left- and right-handed. She doesn’t flinch when firing a weapon; to me, she’s an emotionless killer who views war like a hunter views open season. She’s not some wimpy actor touching a gun for the first time. From what I’ve seen, she could put professional soldiers to shame.

  Our cousin who despises the military and war said that Cadenza is the type who makes war miserable. My dad shot back, “Name a time when war was fun? As Robert E. Lee said, ‘It is well that war is so terrible, or we should grow too fond of it.’ That’s why I don’t watch war movies.”

  The same cousin said that’s the “use of unnecessary violence.” I shot back, explaining that the Mayor of the City of Empire from 1988-1990 disbanded the Police Department because he didn’t like them. Back in the early 1970s, the EPD killed his father, who had a flamethrower. After the PD was disbanded, the Marines and Army were called in to police the city. The population didn’t like this because the military's idea of policing was to get rid of criminals. The military doesn’t answer to the public but to the elected leaders, meaning the president. If you were a bank robber, soldiers or marines with 7.62mm High Velocity Armor Piercing and Hollow Point rounds, many of whom were Vietnam veterans with officers from World War 2 and Korea, followed counter-insurgency protocols.

  My girlfriend puts it that the military would stop and question you if they felt you didn’t belong. On every other street corner, there were two machine gun positions with .30 cal or .50 cal machine guns, along with anti-tank guided missile launchers with HEAT, HE, and AP missiles. The military didn’t hold back; they patrolled the city not just on foot, and in ?-Ton, 4×4 trucks, but also with APCs, IFVs, and tanks.

  I told them not to be fascinated by that, because according to Lusty and many others who lived through that era, the military mostly went with a "shoot first, ask questions never" policy. Even committing what would be a misdemeanor would be a death sentence, making it more of a military occupation than policing. My father mentioned that some people got fed up and rioted. I confirmed that they did, and it was the last thing they did. Approaching soldiers with 20-inch bayonets on rifles and live ammo and throwing a Molotov cocktail at them would inevitably result in deadly force.

  To the people of the City of Empire, this is more peaceful than the military. During the military occupation of Empire, roadblocks often had tanks—either a 54-ton M1961 MBT with a 105mm high-velocity gun or a 64-ton M1 MBT with a 110mm high-velocity gun. An HE or HEAT round would shred any car.

  As I washed the dishes, I mused aloud about Cadenza. She's the kind of person who resembles those multiplayer announcers who either congratulate or berate players. She views wars as “team events,” believing that if a unit loses a battle, it’s not the individual soldier's failure but the unit's overall failure. She's the type to say things like, “Textbook deployment and execution. Emphasis on execution,” or “You gave them Hell there’s nothing to be ashamed of,” or “Your fellow soldiers didn’t die in vain; you brought us hope.” Conversely, if a unit fails, she might say, “I expect 100% from you. You’re holding back,” or “Do I need to explain to you what happens if the communists win this war? I shouldn’t,” or “Have you forgotten your regiment’s proud history?” If they won, she’d say, “It’s ugly work, but it must be done. If we fight like that, then the Little Birdens will survive.”

  While war isn’t a game, she views it as one. As a supersoldier wearing Powered Assault Armor, which dramatically increases her and other Project Phoenix supersoldiers’ strength, speed, durability, and reaction time, she can survive things a normal human cannot. For them, getting hit by a tank HEAT shell might knock them down, but they would get up and compare it to falling off a bike.

  Combat footage from Project Phoenix soldiers' helmet cams shows them dual-wielding SMGs with virtually no recoil. While many military SMGs on Little Bird have a Recoil Mitigation System, the M2 SMG is small enough that it doesn't include it. Its dimensions extended: 24 in, retracted: 18 in, width: 2.7 in, height: 8 in—make it compact. Their armor they wear helps them counter the recoil effectively.

  During the war, the BCLBLFDF Air Forces accepted that they bombarded many Soviet military airfields into oblivion. They made small airstrips and used fields as makeshift runways instead of repairing the damage. Many military airfields were so badly damaged that it would take weeks to fill and fix one bomb crater. With 90 or more craters, it would take months to repair. On Little Bird, making asphalt, concrete, or a mixture of both wasn’t a priority. Companies that made these materials were converted to making military supplies. Companies that made refrigerators, cars, tires, asphalt, concrete, and toys were converted to make military vehicles, munitions, replaceable parts for individual and crew-served weapons, and other vital military gear.

  Many people in Little Bird still have their war bonds even though the war ended earlier this year. They believe that keeping them longer will increase their value due to inflation. In my girlfriend's old district, many senior citizens still have war bonds from the Second World War, waiting to return them and get their money with the inflated price. Of course the country turned to the public to fund the war effort instead of raising prices.

  My dad and I had fun talking about this. I told him that it wasn’t until the 1970s, in a post-Vietnam world, that Little Bird's military introduced “standard issue” pistols. Before that, only specialists like tunnel rats, scouts, pilots, paratrooper pathfinders, or officers could get a handgun. Normal infantrymen had to join a specialist role, become an officer, or buy a handgun from a gun store.

  My other family members, who had to return their firearms when they left the military, were jealous of soldiers in Little Bird who could keep their pistols after their enlistment by simply filling out paperwork.

  One of my cousins asked if we ever thought about using a sledgehammer and a Halligan bar together in firefighting. I explained that we already have “The Irons,” which combines a flat-head axe and a 30-inch Halligan bar, weighing about 12 pounds total. Using a sledgehammer and Halligan bar together sounds like a brilliant invention, but it removes the Halligan bar’s versatility, limiting it to prying with the adze. The Halligan bar is often used to pry with the forks, which the sledgehammer modification would render useless.

  For the Fire Department of the City of Empire, we have four sledgehammer types ranging from 8 to 16 pounds. The Halligan bar we use is 9 pounds of either titanium or stainless steel. Replacing an axe with a sledgehammer for forcible entry is impractical due to the additional weight. While it sounds good on paper, in execution, it’s not a good idea because of the weight, and we already wear heavy gear. Adding a sledgehammer with a Halligan bar would just slow us down even more.

  I also mentioned that we do use sledgehammers, primarily for striking through cinder block walls, opening manhole covers, and those glass block walls. But it varies from district to district how often we use them. In Eastside, it's almost never because the commercial buildings are brick with large glass windows, and residential buildings are either International Style apartment buildings or turn-of-the-century tenements made of brick, wood, tar roofs, and wallpaper.

  After a while, I put both an apple pie and a pumpkin pie in the oven for fifteen minutes and put whipped cream out on the counter. My family continued to watch the game while I stayed in the kitchen. I like watching football, but I never played it because my dad feared I might get a concussion or get badly hurt. I had other things to keep me busy, such as Bible studies on Wednesdays, being out with friends, riding a bike, going to church on Sundays, and having a part-time job. With school on top of that, my mind was mostly preoccupied, so I didn't mind. That didn't stop my friends and me from playing fantasy football or freeze tag football, though. Honestly, being out of the house and away from my mother was a godsend for me.

  After fifteen minutes, I took the pies out of the oven and cut them into eight slices each. We all got a slice of pie with whipped cream on it.

  One of my cousins asked how I feel about my job. I told him that I have two chips on my shoulder: being a woman in a male-dominated field and being related to two Captains and dating a Lieutenant. I took Dave’s advice to heart about staying in my lane. Trying to show that I have what it takes to stand out on my terms would only annoy the more senior members of the firehouse. Those guys had to prove themselves, and throwing around who Dave, Linda, or Lusty are would make them view me as stuck up or riding on their coattails. Dave and Linda joined on October 3, 1995, and Lusty in June 1996, so they have a ton more experience than me who got on the job in October of 2009.

  Dave’s advice was to “keep my head down and do as I’m told.” For him, it was a double-edged sword because he was born and raised in a firehouse. He already knew how to stretch a line, don SCBA gear, put on bunker gear, and all that before he got on the job. For him, it was like trying to force someone to learn how to ride a bike they already know how to ride. The job is like riding a bike for him. I didn’t have the same background as Dave. I was born and raised on a military base for a bit before moving to a town in Alabama while Dave was born and raised in a small town but raised by a single father and was more or less raised in a firehouse.

  Dave is the only officer I know who, after one minute from the bell ringing, heads out the door with his company, even if not fully staffed. His reasoning is, "Fire won't wait for everyone to get ready. People in car accidents won't patiently wait until you're ready." He still has a small-town mindset with a 12/12 shift, meaning fourteen guys work during the day and another fourteen at night. This is different from the city's 24 hours on, 24 off, 24 on, 24 off, 24 on, 24 on, 168 hours off schedule.

  I continued talking about Dave and how he’s the type of officer who wants the best for his company. He managed to get his company new turnout gear so they could change out their gear on duty, reducing their exposure to carcinogenic material. His first request was denied due to “budget issues.” My dad asked what happened, and I explained that the fire department blew through its budget. Dave went to talk to the Alderman for Public Safety, who basically told him, “Too bad, so sad.” But Dave, being Dave, threatened to go to the press about the budget issues, so the Alderman gave in and got his company new turnout gear. Dave went to the media anyway and discovered that the usual supplier hadn’t received any new orders. The Alderman had contacted a new supplier offering the same equipment for 25% cheaper. Dave had a friend investigate and found that the new supplier's product had never been tested for safety performance. Dave got thanks from the Mayor's office for avoiding a serious corruption scandal that could have jeopardized Fire Department personnel.

  Before my family could ask, I explained that they tested the new turnout gear, and it fell apart and caught fire when placed on mannequins in a controlled environment with fire no hotter than 100 degrees F. In training, fire gets no hotter than about 1000 degrees F, and in a structure fire, it can reach between 1100 to 1800 degrees F. Dave is the kind of guy who wishes he could’ve gotten on the job sooner, even though he joined at seventeen with his father’s written permission.

  I told my cousins that it’s ironic how Dave always said he never wanted to be a firefighter, but he enjoys the job and is glad he’s on it. My family agreed it’s ironic but also tear jerking. According to Dave, the last conversation he had with his father and uncle was about how they were happy he had a job he liked and proud he chose it on his own. Dave also has a second job teaching off-duty firefighters how to work around electrical stuff, shut off electrical machinery, operate building or tunnel HVAC systems, and safely turn off power at a substation without waiting for an engineer or utility worker.

  When Jake asked why that’s “tear jerking,” I explained that the following day, Dave’s father and uncle’s companies went as mutual aid to the Little Birden Capital. The building they were in collapsed, trapping many thousands, including emergency personnel. Dave is happy his father and uncle died on the job because they would’ve found retirement boring. They weren’t workaholics, but they needed something to do. They couldn’t even watch TV without wanting something to do. They were 56 at the time and had nine years before hitting retirement age. They had agreed that if they hit retirement age, they would’ve still worked as instructors at the fire academy.

  Jake, being naive as usual, asked about the number on the side of the apparatus. I asked him which number he meant because our apparatus has two types of numbers: the company number and the serial number. For example, my company's serial number is 435692004, Lusty's company serial number is 435552005, and Dave's company serial number is 098642008. When you separate the numbers, it becomes clear. For instance, in my company's serial number, 43569 and 2004, the 2004 tells you when it was made, and the 43569 tells you the type of apparatus. The 43 means Rescue Engine, and 569 means High Pressure, indicating we can double the pressure through the fire hoses, even past their bursting limit, at the cost of them bursting open. A normal fire engine's pressure max is 700 PSI, but ours is 1400 PSI. The max is 700 instead of 600 because many people are religious and view 600 as an unlucky number, so they went with 700 instead. Even though 700 is closer to 666 than 600 is.

  For Dave's company, separating 09 864 2008, the 09 means ladder company, 864 means rear mount with hose (ladder-pipe operation), and 2008 means it was put into service in 2008. But Jake wanted to know what "Class 1" means. I explained that it varies from country to country, but on Little Bird, "Class 1" means it's a Water Tender, Class 2 means Foam Tender, Class 3 means Heavy Rescue, Class 4 means Wildland Utility, Class 5 means Wildland Engine, and Class 7 means Wildland Personnel Carrier.

  My cousins said I was “lucky” to be on a “wartime cruise,” meaning I was in the Navy so late in the war that we didn’t see any combat. The Soviets had a small navy that was decimated at the beginning of the war, mostly by the BCLBLFDF Air Forces bombing the ports or in naval combat by the Navies of BCLBLFDF or NATO in the early months of the war. I was in my second year at Arcade University out of four when I joined the Navy after my academic studies. By then, American, Belgian, Bulgarian, Canadian, Danish, French, German, Greek, Icelandic, Italian, Luxembourger, Dutch, Norwegian, Portuguese, Spanish, Turkish, British, Little Birden, Blisterians, and Lavafallians soldiers were mostly fighting partisans and holdouts who would rather fight to the end than surrender.

  My cousins at the table mostly talked about fighting partisans, while others talked about fighting soldiers, not partisans. It was clear that everyone had different experiences and perspectives on the war.

  They also talked about fighting alongside the Little Birden Project Phoenix supersoldiers. Even though they couldn't see their faces through their helmets with visors, they felt like the supersoldiers' faces were like the T-800. They had seen Project Phoenix supersoldiers throw enemy combatants around like ragdolls or dual wield two long guns like automatic rifles or automatic shotguns and fire them like nothing.

  Honestly, I didn't mind that they were talking about their wartime experiences. That's what they wanted to talk about, and they have the right to share their stories. I was content to listen and let them have their moment.

  But they also talked about how much of the land between East Germany and the RSFSR was devastated as both sides tried to deny the enemy resources. This resulted in a humanitarian disaster and the deaths of millions of people of all nationalities. They mentioned how the Soviets used scorched earth tactics, destroying anything vital for an army on the march, like fuel silos and electrical substations. This was somewhat pointless because the BCLBLFDF had advanced aircraft that could fly about 4k miles within a few hours, bringing reinforcements and supplies from the homefront to the frontlines quickly.

  I added, “Ah yes, the Nightingale, an extremely versatile space-to-ground capable craft used by the BCLBLFDF. Its role as a tactical aerospace lifter is mainly for the pickup and transportation of personnel, vehicles, and equipment, though some variants can serve as gunships. It was designed in the 1990s by the Little Bird Air Force for rapid troop deployment, capable of deploying troops within most of the Southern and Northern hemispheres within six hours. Visala reworked the Nightingale to be capable of space travel, allowing it to enter the exosphere for more rapid troop movements, shaving at least two to three hours off the time. During the war, the Soviet SAM sites couldn't shoot them down because they flew so fast that even if a SAM missile could get a lock and fire, it would run out of fuel before catching up.”

  Some of my cousins also talked about their experiences during operations or battles alongside the Little Birden military. They found it creepy that many Little Birden Army or Marine Officers, like Lieutenants, Captains, and Majors, gave intense boasts to their Platoons, Companies, or Regiments. They heard officers say things like, "Kill everything who fights you! If a man runs, let him! Cowards die a thousand times inside!" or "Even the God of our enemies has fled, so great has been our victory," or "WE SHALL SEND THEM TO HELL, OR WORSE!!! MARCH!" or "THEY STOOD NO CHANCE! WE HAVE SILENCED THEM!" or "THEY DESERVE NOTHING LESS THAN DEATH!" or "GLORY TO GOD FATHERLAND! TO BATTLE!" After a victorious battle, they would say things like, "You should be proud of yourselves today; that was magnificent," or "Your fellow soldiers did not die in vain. They, you, brought us hope!" or "The country of Little Bird will not forget your courage and sacrifice," or "This is a dirty, desperate war, and it's far from over, but today, take pride in what you've achieved!" If it was a defeat, the officer would take the blame, viewing that their defeat could have been avoided with better decisions.

  I mentioned that the last one varies depending on who’s President. If it’s a man, people say “Fatherland,” but if it’s a woman, they say “Motherland.”

  My dad found it terrifying to hear field officers say that, but I explained that officers who lead Penal Battalions were much worse. Penal Battalions were made up of prisoners who were given a chance to trade their sentence for military time. If they survived the war, their prison sentence would be removed, and they would be free. They were given weapons from both World Wars, and their officers were ordered to execute those who fled battle, similar to how Hollywood glorifies Order 227. In Little Birden Penal Units, if soldiers retreated, those behind them would fire a volley above them to make them turn back and fight the enemy or be shot and killed by their own side.

  My father remarked that it's smart to be prepared for anything in war because you never know what the defender will pull. By late 2005 into 2006, the Soviets became desperate and unpredictable, like a cornered rattlesnake, trying anything to turn the tide of the war in their favor.

  After dessert, my cousins thanked my dad for hosting Thanksgiving this year and thanked my aunt and me for making a delicious meal and providing a fun time, especially with the stories. They took what they wanted from the leftovers before heading out the door. Some planned to take the long trip back home, while others decided to get a motel for the night since it was almost nine at night. They had come from afar and couldn't drive throughout the night because many places, except gas stations, were closed. Many preferred to get a place for the night and continue in the morning rather than drive throughout the night.

  However, some of my cousins are the type who don't stop unless it's necessary. They would stop at gas stations to get coffee and drive throughout the night. If you asked them to stop somewhere to get something to eat or use the bathroom, they would say, "I know a place around the next turn" or "I know a place over the next hill," meaning they would stop when they wanted to. They wanted to make good time and viewed unnecessary stops as a loss of valuable time.

  I decided it was best to get some rest and be prepared for the journey back to the city of Empire.