November 1st

  I had a chat with Dynamite. She followed my advice to the letter. Her parents had pressured her into marrying this guy before they could finalize their retirement plans and cash out their stocks. So, she went through with it, tying the knot just to keep them happy.

  But here’s where it gets interesting. As soon as her parents got their money and retired, Dynamite marched straight to the courthouse. She got the marriage annulled, claiming she was under duress the whole time.

  The twist? The guy she married was right there with her. Turns out, he didn’t want to marry her either. He had his eyes on someone else, not Madeline. So, they both agreed to call it quits.

  Dynamite mentioned that getting an annulment was way cheaper than a divorce, and it got their parents off their backs. Now, she's running her family's restaurants, and the guy she married is managing his family's restaurant chain. They're both free from that forced marriage.

  Interestingly, the guy didn't want to marry her either. He went along with the annulment because he was also under pressure from his parents. Madeline, or Dynamite, likes Marinia, and the guy had someone else in mind too. So, in the end, it all worked out for the best.

  I think Dynamite and Avalanche have a unique bond because of their shared experiences in the military. Dynamite, as a Marine Combat Engineer, had one of the most dangerous roles, dealing with explosives and torches in the heat of combat to build or destroy as needed. Avalanche, on the other hand, was a military mountaineer, facing the perilous task of climbing snow and ice-covered mountains.

  Both roles required immense bravery and skill, and the constant danger they faced likely forged a deep connection between them. It's no wonder they understand and appreciate each other so well. Their shared history of navigating life-threatening situations has probably created a strong foundation for their relationship.

  Dynamite and Avalanche have chosen not to date because they work in the same firehouse, even though my girlfriend was willing to overlook it as long as they could maintain a clear boundary between their personal and professional lives. She was open to the idea of them being a couple off duty and just colleagues on shift. However, they decided it was best to remain friends.

  My girlfriend made it clear that if they couldn't keep their feelings in check, she would have had to transfer one of them out of the firehouse. Dynamite, being the selfless type, would likely have volunteered to transfer to maintenance, where she could repair the gear and apparatus. She's the kind of person who might forget personal milestones like weddings or birthdays but would remember every detail about the equipment she serviced.

  My girlfriend's firehouse is like a tight-knit family. They're the "Vault" type—trustworthy to the core, keeping secrets safe forever. It's a stark contrast to some other firehouses in the city, where you find the "Nickel and Dimer" types. These are the folks who, if you ask them to cover your shift, will remember it and expect you to return the favor. They're also the ones who, if they chip in ten bucks, will want exact change back.

  My cousin Dave often deals with the "Back in my day" crowd. These are the firefighters who reminisce about how different the job was back in the late '70s to early '90s. Dave and his wife Linda come from a family with a rich firefighting history. Dave's grandfather, father, and uncle started at a time when breathing apparatus and automatic tools were either rare or non-existent. His granddad, my great-granddad, was a firefighter for forty years before hydraulic rescue tools were invented. Most of the guys he served with were veterans of the World Wars or the Korean War.

  When I was at Arcane University, I shadowed three different fire companies. They gave me a lot of reasons why I shouldn't become a firefighter or an arson investigator. First, they said it wouldn't make me rich, even with overtime. Second, it's tough on your health, especially your sleep. Calls can be so spaced out that just when you get back to quarters and cozy in bed, you have to get up again.

  They also pointed out that if you're not a people person, this job isn't for you. You have to work closely with others and interact with the public regularly. From day one of training, you're put into groups, and you'll be living with other men and women for eight days a month on a California Roll schedule.

  My girlfriend Lusty and my cousin Dave really hit the nail on the head. We often deal with issues that the rest of society ignores, and civil servants are frequently blamed for not solving problems without being given the necessary resources. Every civil servant occupation is asked to do an impossible amount of work and then scapegoated when they can't pull it off.

  Take the Empire Police Department, for example. They have to maintain a good relationship with City Hall, which can cut their funding at any moment if they feel the police aren't performing well. This, in turn, hampers the police's ability to perform effectively.

  For the fire department, it often ends up in lawsuits. Many officers, like Lusty and Dave, don't hold back. Once, their respective companies responded to a fire where someone died, and one of the survivors sued the fire department for a slow response. During the hearing, both Lusty and Dave voiced their opinions bluntly.

  When Lusty's parents died, she received sympathetic condolences from friends, neighbors, and even her Lieutenant, who gave her time off to plan the funeral. But Lusty only gives sympathy to those who deserve it, not to ungrateful jerks. Dave is the same way. They both believe in being straightforward and honest, especially when dealing with people who try to blame them for things beyond their control.

  Even fourteen years after her parents' death, Lusty still talks to her former Lieutenant, now a Battalion Chief. She admits that even at thirty, she sometimes breaks down crying because she never got to say a proper goodbye to her parents. She was just seventeen, almost eighteen, at the time. She regrets asking her Lieutenant to go back to quarters instead of sending Squad 525.

  Lusty learned the hard way that in firefighting, you can't save everyone. There will always be emergencies you can't reach in time or fires that are too intense and fully involved. When a structure is fully involved, it's often too dangerous to send in a search and rescue team, as the chances are high that everyone inside is already dead.

  Both Lusty and my cousin Dave, now officers, were taught that the number one priority is to protect their crew. They also learned the principle of "save little, do little," meaning that when dealing with abandoned buildings, it's safer to surround and drown the fire with water rather than risk sending a crew inside. Sending a team into an abandoned structure is considered a major mistake for any officer.

  I love my work, and while Lusty and Dave are passionate about their careers too, they don't sugarcoat the realities. They've lost colleagues to senseless deaths and injuries in the line of duty, and it takes a toll. Dave and his wife Linda, both Captains, seem like the perfect couple on the surface, but they have their struggles. Linda uses her job trauma as an excuse to bury herself in work, while Dave takes out his frustrations on a punching bag.

  In this city, firehouses have bulletin boards with resources for talking about problems, whether job-related or not. There are counselors available, but many firefighters, especially the men, are too prideful to seek help. They prefer to cope with gallows humor. My girlfriend and I believe that talking about our problems is crucial, even though the experiences never truly leave us.

  One way to get on everyone's good side in a firehouse is by being a good cook. My cousin Dave quickly earned respect at Firehouse Sixteen by cooking homemade meals, a skill he learned after his father, who was married three times, had to cook for the family following the deaths of Dave's mother and stepmother.

  I admire Dave not just because he's family, but because he's a clear and decisive officer. He makes it known that if someone disobeys orders and gets hurt or killed, it's on them. He'll tell the next candidate exactly how their predecessor died, like Linda's sister Sarah, who didn't listen to Dave and had a window washer platform slip out from under her and she fell fifteen stories to her death.

  I remember when I shadowed Firehouse Sixteen, which I saved for last—don't ask me why. Dave put me through a cutting drill with a thick wooden pallet. When the saw failed, he handed me a fire ax and said, "Machines fail, men don’t." It's true; machines like saws can fail, but manual tools like axes don't.

  During my time there, they got a call for a stuck elevator. I thought it would be interesting, but they assured me it was boring, and it was. Dave is the kind of officer who never sits idle. He constantly drills his company until they know every tool and compartment inside out. He even has them practice retrieving tools until they can do it blindfolded. Dave believes everyone should be comfortable with every tool, regardless of their position. He runs his duty roster like a lottery, drawing names and positions randomly, unlike other officers who just write down surnames next to the spots on a duty roster.

  Dave is the only officer I've met who truly emphasizes versatility in his training. Both he and Dynamite are the only firefighters I know who are trained to use explosives. Dynamite, with her background as a Marine Combat Engineer, and Dave, with his military training in explosive ordnance disposal and improvised explosive device disposal, bring unique skills to the table.

  Dave also teaches his company how to safely shut off electricity without waiting for an electrician, engineer, or utility worker. This is especially important in urgent situations, like when a dam breaks and floods the area, bringing down live power lines. His high mechanical and handiness skills are well-known, and people often call him off-shift to fix things, paying him for his time.

  Honestly, I should encourage Dave to take the Lieutenant’s exam. It would make his dad proud, and he deserves the recognition. It's odd how in our fire and police departments, Captain comes before Lieutenant, but I didn't design the rank structure.

  I think Dave hasn't taken the exam because his father and uncle were Lieutenants until their line-of-duty deaths in the mid-1980s. Dave still wears obsolete turnout gear—a black rubber trench coat with yellow stripes, hip boots, and a traditional fireman’s helmet—to honor them. He couldn't avoid the ranks of Probationary Firefighter and Firefighter, but he chose not to climb higher because of his family's legacy. His granddad, my great-granddad, never wanted the responsibility of leadership, so he stayed a Firefighter. Dave’s father and uncle took the officer’s exam just to see if they could become officers.

  Dave says he doesn't want to be a Lieutenant because he has more enemies than friends at HQ. He became a Captain just to spite a chief who couldn't legally deny his promotion because you can't be denied a promotion because somebody doesn't like you. Dave believes the firehouse is part of the neighborhood, so their doors are always open, just like his father would have said.

  My girlfriend, Lusty, took the officer’s exam twice—first to become a Captain and then a Lieutenant. She didn't want to be a white shirt because many white shirt officers only look out for each other. She prefers being a blue shirt, staying closer to the action and her team. Both Lusty and Dave are known for making enemies rather than laying low until the storm blows over. They embody the saying, "better to die on your feet than live on your knees." Lusty comes from a tough background where you had to fight to survive, and Dave has always been a fighter, even if it meant taking the fall for his friends, like when he covered for them after they took his father's car for a joyride.

  But honestly, I don’t know if the crew I’m with realizes that I have a knack for seeing people for who they really are. To me, a lot of politicians aren't as trustworthy or nice as they make themselves out to be. This is especially true here in the city of Empire, which has a long history of corrupt mayors and aldermen.

  Empire has always had a problem with corrupt officials. Take the 1960s, for example, when the mayor was caught siphoning city funds for a beach house. That scandal broke at the height of the Vietnam War, when the anti-war movement was gaining momentum and diverting police attention away from local issues.

  Of course, it didn’t help that it was an election year for both the Mayoral and Presidential races. The cops, from an American perspective, would be seen as using "excessive force." But back in the '60s, during an election year, the police in the City of Empire and across the country of Little Bird were given carte blanche to maintain order.

  Calling it "heavy-handed" doesn't do it justice. From a modern perspective, it looked like a clash between social classes. The cops, often from poor blue-collar backgrounds, had to work hard for everything they had. In contrast, many activists came from middle-class families, getting what they wanted by asking their parents. Many of the police officers were veterans of World War II or Korea and their sons fighting in the war as well, adding another layer to the tension.

  While also thinking about it my granduncles were born throughout the 1920s. Most of them, when I've talked to them, have said they wish there was a reset button so they could relive their experiences but try it in a different way. They fantasize about being in the Devil’s Brigade, Paramarines, Underwater Demolitions, Marine Raiders, Rangers, or Marines instead of just regular G.I.s. They knew they couldn't join the OSS because living undercover with a fake backstory didn't appeal to them. But rushing a machine gun nest armed with an M97 Trench Gun, an M1 Garand or a M1 Carbine or a Tommy Gun or a Grease Gun? That was thrilling to them.

  I've seen a couple of photographs of my granduncles during World War II. They looked like the kind of men who would have been bachelors, the type fathers would want their daughters to marry. They eventually did marry in the early '50s. Many of them were officers in the military, and their commanding officers often told them, "You’re shaping up to be a fine leader." They proved their integrity, collaborated with their men to accomplish missions, led courageously by example, formulated strategies, and effectively organized their soldiers.

  Honestly, even though I'm stationed in my girlfriend’s old district, I can see how they would make the Ancient Greeks proud with their version of ostracism. In Ancient Greece, ostracism was a temporary banishment from the city by popular vote. Since paper was expensive, they used broken pottery to cast their votes. If someone "won" this vote, they had to leave Athens or the community for ten years. The idea was to identify and remove anyone who was seen as a threat to the stability of the community.

  In Eastside, they have a similar approach. If someone is causing trouble or disrupting the harmony of the district, they find a way to push them out. It’s their way of maintaining order and ensuring that the community remains stable.

  Living in a country where the military, according to Mitchell and Cadenza, uses ancient discoveries for training in archery and navigation, and medieval tech like the compass and Renaissance-era astronomy, is fascinating. Some of my friends back in America might say, "Yeah, I'm sure all Special Forces are trained in wilderness survival," but I'm not talking about Special Forces. I'm talking about the average infantryman, your typical G.I. Mitchell and Cadenza explained that they're trained to use the natural world for guidance instead of relying on computer maps. This is crucial because, in a battle where an EMP (Electromagnetic Pulse) or if a solar storm knocks out all electronics, soldiers trained to navigate by the stars will fare much better than those who rely on electronic devices. Computers, vehicles, red dot sights, holographic sights, and anything else electronic can be rendered useless by an EMP, but the stars will always be there to guide us.

  I was in the Navy, so if an EMP went off, the ship I was on would be dead in the water—literally. The last place you want to be is on a ship in the middle of nowhere, not knowing if you’re going to be rescued or if the ship will drift aimlessly until power is restored or a friendly ship comes by.

  But thinking about it now, my family had its own kind of civil war during the First World War. My great-granddad and his brothers fought for the British military because they were born and raised in the United Kingdom. Their father, who is a "Forgotten Waterson," went back to Germany to fight in the Imperial German Army. Meanwhile, other Watersons volunteered from the United States when it was still neutral until 1917. I often wonder what was going through my great-great-granddad’s mind, knowing he was fighting for Germany while his sons were fighting for Britain, and extended family members were on the side of the Americans.

  My great-granddad said there was no humane way out for his father and hoped his death was slow and painful. He still finds it hypocritical almost a century later how the Germans protested the Americans using shotguns, calling them inhumane, while they were the ones who introduced chemical warfare.

  The complexities didn't end there. My great-granddad’s first son, Jimmy "James" Richard Waterson I, saw his half-brother die in the war. They were both pilots, and during a mission in late '44, an enemy fighter came down on them. His half-brother never saw it coming, and when James looked over, he saw his brother's face hit the dashboard of the dive bomber and said the plane dived down to the ocean. By that point, the Axis powers were like a cornered rattlesnake—desperate and unpredictable, trying anything to turn the tide of the war in their favor. The one thing I know about cornered animals is that they will do anything to get out of that situation.

  Actually, my great-granddad told me about his brother in the Royal Flying Corps during WWI. Pilots back then weren't issued parachutes because the plane cockpits were too cramped. They had three options if things went south: bail out thousands of feet in the air, stay in and burn up, or take the painless way out.

  My dad explained that the "painless way out" was to crash land in no man's land. It was a grim choice, but sometimes it was the only one. No man's land was littered with mines and caught in the crossfire between two armies. It was a desperate measure, but for some, it was better than burning alive or jumping to certain death. But to me, it sounds like it’s the other way.

  The fire bell rang, signaling a crane had toppled over. We rushed to the scene, and as soon as we arrived, it was clear what had happened. The crane had been set up on soft dirt, and the recent rain had turned the ground into a muddy mess. One of the supports had sunk into the mud, causing the crane to collapse and hit some scaffolding.

  "Lord Almighty," I muttered. After assessing the situation, I quoted Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, "Three things are to be looked to in a building: that it stands on the right spot; that it be securely founded; that it be successfully executed."

  Why the workers were out in the rain is beyond me. Maybe they were trying to avoid falling behind schedule. In a city like Empire, anything can happen. People get stuck, trapped, or have things fall on them, and that's when they call us.

  My cousin Dave always says, "PD is a patrol agency, and anything they can't handle falls under the Fire Department's jurisdiction."

  When I shadowed the fire department for three days during my time at Arcane University, the guys at Truck Company Sixteen had a lot to say about Dave. They called him a tense officer, but firefighting is his life. He knows every tool and piece of equipment inside out. To him the job isn’t 196 hours per month or 96 hours every other week. He's a real cosmopolitan guy, always reading the newspaper—not for world news, but to stay updated on local happenings like roadwork and building construction. It's no wonder, given that he was more or less raised in a firehouse.

  Even though he said how different being in a town vs being in a city is a huge difference because the average call that my cousin Dave his company goes on is 7400 calls a year. While where he’s from the average calls per year for the Fire Department Town of Clearlake calls per year is 15-20 per year with 90% of them being medical runs or car accidents and additional 9% of said medical calls are those that they’re canceled to return to quarters and the other 1% is to mutual aid calls to other towns.

  Heck my cousin Dave said in this job that you have respect for the men and women you’re working alongside and know that if you get hurt and trapped well you know that they’re coming in to rescue you no matter what. Unless if you’re Dave’s father-in-law who’s an retired battalion chief who had to issue an order to prevent other men of going into a burning factory and how that it been almost thirty years but back in 1983 but he had to issue an order leaving those trapped to die even if it meant that three of his own brothers would’ve been killed and have died.

  But according to Dave that his father in law had to issue said order was either risk several who couldn’t be saved or risk and lose many more including his eldest son who was a probationary firefighter at the time so Kai he went with the latter even having to tackle his eldest son to the ground and a fireball burned through the back of Kai’s canvas jacket giving him third degree burns on his back to prevent his son from running in to get killed as well. Dave said he couldn’t ever be a Battalion or Division chief because of having to make tough decisions like that and that he’s happy being a Captain even though he doesn’t want to be a Lieutenant because his father and Uncle were Lieutenants and died on the job. But Dave and his wife say that the 2823 that died on the job back in 2003 that they won’t ever be replaced because you replace a window but you cannot replace another human being and their experiences are lost.

  Dave often reflects on the stark contrast between firefighting in a bustling city and a quiet town. In Empire, his company handles around 7,400 calls annually, a staggering number compared to the 15-20 calls per year in Clearlake, where most incidents are medical emergencies or car accidents. The difference in call volume and types of emergencies is a testament to the unique challenges faced by urban firefighters.

  Dave always emphasizes the camaraderie and trust among firefighters. "In this job, you have to respect the men and women you work alongside. If you get hurt or trapped, you know they're coming in to rescue you, no matter what," he says. This bond is crucial, especially in life-or-death situations.

  One story that haunts Dave is about his father-in-law, a retired battalion chief. Back in 1983, he had to make an agonizing decision during a factory fire. He ordered his men not to enter the burning building, knowing it meant leaving some trapped workers and fellow firefighters to die. This decision saved many lives, including his eldest son, who was a probationary firefighter at the time. His father-in-law even had to tackle his son to the ground to prevent him from running into the inferno, resulting in third-degree burns on his back from a fireball.

  Dave admits he could never be a Battalion or Division chief because of the tough decisions required. He's content being a Captain, even though he avoids the rank of Lieutenant due to the tragic deaths of his father and uncle, both of whom were Lieutenants. The loss of 2,823 firefighters in 2003 is a constant reminder of the irreplaceable value of human life and experience. "You can replace a window, but you can't replace a human being," Dave and his wife often say. Their experiences and sacrifices are forever etched in the history of firefighting.

  I just went over to help a worker and I just removed some of the scaffolding off of him and I had to move him just in case any more scaffolding would come down and rather have said scaffolding come down and fall and hit the pathway instead of a human being.

  But I’m not going to question them why they were working in the rain in which many people work in the rain like football players. But we got the few injured workers away from the building and that the Paramedics were able to stabilize them and took them to the hospital and another member of the company that I’m on put out a fire in a barrel. Just like there was divine intervention after the fire was put out another piece of scaffolding fell knocking over said barrel and if the fire was going it would’ve most likely spreaded. But I guess that the men that I serve with are the kind who are living the saying of “Expect the unexpected” and that these people have years of experience on the job so they rather put out a fire that’s burning for someone’s work than let it spread if it gets knocked over or something like that.

  We then went back to quarters. But as we were heading back, our radio picked up another company getting dispatched. I wouldn't want to be in their shoes. They were called to deal with a psychiatric emergency. In my opinion, that's not really a job for the fire department or the police. Bringing in folks who use dark humor to cope with the job might not be the best choice for such sensitive situations.

  The city has four emergency services: Fire, Police, Medical, and Technical Services. Technical Services, in particular, handle a wide range of disasters, from traffic accidents and industrial mishaps to earthquakes. They also focus on technical threat prevention, infrastructure support, command and communication, logistics, environmental protection, and provision for the population.

  As we settled back into the station, I couldn't help but think about the diversity of emergencies we face. Each service has its own expertise, but sometimes the lines blur, and we all have to step up in unexpected ways. It's a reminder of the complexity and unpredictability of our work, and why we need to be prepared for anything.

  But I love the group of guys that I’m with. We have drills, we train together, we’re all tight and hang with each other. We love it and we want more of it. But to us we all make sure we all go home at the end of shift that what it comes down too.

  But I just do know that many of the guys on the job have tension in their relationship at times especially given the danger of the occupation. But the one thing is that I know that the guys that I’m with hate being depicted as miracle workers who can pluck anyone from a burning building and make it out seconds before the places collapses, but real Firefighters are a highly trained bunch who are always understaffed, exhausted, and working in one of the most dangerous professions in the world. In a documentary that I’ve seen a decade back circa 1997 saying how this job is the second most stressful job with the top one being the president.

  But now as I thought about it for a bit I thought our telephone alarm would be just a one location of calling and request what emergency service that you need in which there are four numbers with one being the fire department, the second being for police department, the third being for medical services and the fourth is all three but the fourth one which is answered by Empire Police Department operators.

  The EPD operators will then transfer the call to a fire department communications office if it’s a fire department emergency. But according to Lusty, the second most common way that the people call the fire department is by fire alarm boxes located on certain street corners and in certain public buildings, such as schools and hospitals, as well as along highways, on bridges, etc. These boxes primarily consist of two types: The first is the mechanical box (also commonly called a pull-box) The second type is the "Emergency Reporting System" (ERS) box that is equipped with buttons to notify the FDE, allowing the department's dispatcher to have direct voice communication with the reporting party. And the second type was made to help combat false alarms but the first type is still in service because of people who are hard of hearing or people who are mute.

  Of course, the district I’m in, the people are considerate enough not to pull the box for a false alarm. Many folks here in Eastside grew up during a time when the Fire Department City of Empire was handling nearly a million calls per year from 1967-1995. A staggering 99% of those calls were for fires, mostly in low-income areas due to arson for profit. During those years, the city was even considering cutting the fire department budget. Back then, the department only had thirty-four firehouses to protect a city that, if I had to give people a visual reference, is like the Borough of Brooklyn—though Brooklyn was its own city until 1898. I often tell my friends, "Imagine the Borough of Brooklyn, but with a retro futuristic vibe. Or a ‘50s and 60s Pax Americana world like,"

  People here understand the importance of not calling in false alarms because it wastes our time and resources. When a fire box is pulled, we have to search the area around the box, usually a block or two in each direction. If we don’t see any smoke or fire, we head back to the rig. The officer radios in that it was a false alarm, and then the PD comes out. Officers go door to door, and the fire company officer radios the dispatcher with a 10-92, which means “Malicious false alarm.” The fire alarm boxes clearly state that those who call in a false alarm will be tried and prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

  I love this district because, while the folks here are tough, they genuinely look out for each other. It's a place where people understand that everyone is unique and deserves respect. They don't buy into the lie that "everyone is the same." Here, people know that those with mental illnesses are still people, deserving of love, kindness, and respect just like anyone else.

  Lusty often says that the community here is more helpful than clinics and therapists, which rely on funding and can disappear when the money runs out. Even when her mother lost her license and couldn't legally provide mental health support, she never stopped helping people. She understood that teenagers aren't always what adults expect; they can be irritable and not necessarily sad, just lacking joy.

  My girlfriend's mother also knew how people change, especially after major life events. Take my girlfriend, for example. She lost her parents fourteen years ago, and she says she was once a happy, cheerful girl. But since that day in '96, she hasn't been the same. Now, she's almost thirty-one, and the loss still affects her deeply.

  I mean, Lusty says a lot of folks here in Eastside need help, but they're getting it from people who genuinely care and won't just jot down notes. The men and women here, 99.9% of them, have PTSD from their military days. They were in combat roles, but they find solace in being around others who understand their state. They prefer walking and talking over sitting face-to-face because it's just easier that way.

  In my opinion, the people of this district are like a real-life version of "Fight Club" with the rule "First rule of Fight Club is don’t talk about Fight Club." These guys have been through combat, and they don't freely talk about their military time. Lusty also mentions that many people here come from families who exclude them from trips and gatherings, making up excuses on the fly. When they call out these lies, their families often turn the tables, accusing them of ruining everything.

  Parents that these people had can be the worst, breaking out the waterworks to gain sympathy and acting like they haven't done anything wrong. They think their kids are spoiled for asking for or accepting help, but that's not true. Lusty says many people here come from families who might even forget their child at the grocery store. It's a tough environment, but the community here sticks together and supports each other in ways that outsiders might not understand.

  According to Lusty, many people here came from middle-class or affluent backgrounds. It makes you wonder, "How did they end up at the poverty line?" The truth is, they embody the saying "Money can't buy happiness." They had financially privileged upbringings but chose happiness over wealth.

  Many of them come from families who say things like, "All of this could have been avoided if you didn’t drag others into it." What they really mean is, "Since you told the truth, we can't bully, gaslight, or manipulate you into thinking you're the bad guy for us treating you like shit." But the people here aren't the type to betray you when you're at your lowest. They're the kind who will give you the shirt off their back.

  Lusty says the community was supportive of her parents after her mother lost her license to practice therapy. Instead of believing what was in the papers, they asked her mother what was going on. Lusty's mother explained that one of her clients had feelings for her, but she didn't reciprocate because she was happily married. The client, knowing this, filed a fake lawsuit against her for hitting on him, even though it was the other way around.

  Despite Lusty being just a baby at the time, the community listened to her mother's side and believed her. They saw through the inconsistencies in the client's stories, which varied from one newspaper to another. This community values truth and loyalty, and they stand by each other through thick and thin.

  But while the district looked unlivable in the past, the people did what they had to do to make it inhabitable. The city never cared, and when they finally did, the city council refused to help. The Mayor in the 1990s, who grew up in the district, tried to transform it into "glass towers, clean streets, and nobody at the poverty line." She wanted to help the people, but the city council refused because it meant helping the current residents instead of driving them away to bring in middle-class and richer people.

  The city council wanted gentrification to attract more affluent residents, but the Mayor wanted to improve living conditions for poor families. She didn't want them living in deathtraps where watching TV for more than thirty seconds could cause a fire, or opening the fridge for more than twenty seconds was a risk. She fought for the people, but the council's resistance made it an uphill battle.

  Despite these challenges, the community's resilience shone through. They banded together, supporting each other and making the best of their situation. It's this spirit of solidarity and determination that defines the district today. The people here have always looked out for one another, and that's something no city council can take away.

  Of course, back in '07, the city hired a contractor who essentially ran a housing scam, trying to buy people out of their homes in Eastside, Westside, and Anderson. But 99% of the people refused because of the memories and connections they had to their homes. The contractor resorted to using fire to drive them out, forcing them to take the money just to put a roof over their families' heads.

  Eventually, this situation gained national attention, and not the good kind. Local radio talk shows picked it up, and soon it was on national news. When people in the executive and legislative branches saw what was happening, they were furious. Having the entire country looking at you like the Eye of Sauron is never a good look. Especially with a war going on.

  But the thing is, the people in this district are real heroes. People often talk about sports heroes and cartoon figures, but the folks here are the ones who keep society running. They ensure we have fresh drinking water, tap water, and proper sewage systems—things most people take for granted. Many of them have taken what they learned in the military and applied it to their civilian careers, continuing to serve their community in essential ways.

  Of course, this district does have problems with the cops. The people here have formed their own gangs—not the stereotypical kind, but groups that act as vigilantes to keep the peace. They do this because calling the cops often doesn't help; the police are rarely around when they're needed.

  From 1967 to 1995, Eastside had a red line around it, marking it as a "High fire zone." Historically, a red line also meant financial services were withheld from the neighborhood. Even now, people here struggle to get loans or any financial help. According to Lusty, many residents don't have private insurance; they rely on government insurance for five bucks a month. They face denial of credit, insurance, and healthcare from private companies, which prefer clients who can pay more. The government, on the other hand, will get its money back either way.

  As my girlfriend puts it, people here just go for government help because it's cheaper than dealing with private companies. Despite these challenges, the community remains resilient. They support each other and find ways to make things work, even when the system seems stacked against them. This district is a testament to the strength and solidarity of its people, who continue to fight for a better life despite the odds.

  Heck, according to Lusty, when the fires started in '67 or '68 depending who you ask, many of the men were older because they had fought in World War II and Korea. By then, they were in their forties or fifties, while their sons were fighting in Vietnam. These men saved up to send their daughters to university so they could have better lives, even though many of them returned because it was the only place they could call home.

  People argued that the fires weren't the residents' fault. How could they enjoy the latest consumer appliances if they caused fires every five minutes? Yet, folks at Fire Department HQ and City Hall blamed the residents. I remember going to the Fire Department HQ with my girlfriend to look at the call volume from 1967 to 1972. The department was handling 14-18 calls a night, and on bad nights, it was 30-50 calls. Even on good nights, it was around 10 calls.

  My girlfriend says 1967 was when social tensions were high. Baby boomers clashed with their parents' way of life, and opinions on the Vietnam War were divided. Before the '60s, many cops had never faced protests, and their training focused on using force for crowd control rather than avoiding it. People were taught that authority figures—cops, parents, the government, teachers, priests—were always right and shouldn't be questioned. But the younger generation began to question everything their parents never did.

  But now that I think about it, I can see why my girlfriend’s mother became a therapist. She wanted to help people, even though her culture, the Nightingale tribe of the Native Little Birdens, deals with traumatic events by keeping them inside and moving on. Their culture is centered around warfare and fighting. If you ask them the meaning of life, their answer is very militaristic: fighting and dying on the battlefield, passing down their experiences to their kids if they have any.

  The Nightingale tribe shames modern medicine, expecting their warriors to die on the battlefield. Those who survive go back out to fight day in and day out. According to my girlfriend, their way of fighting sounds medieval, with their own version of chivalry. They fight honorably but also use raiding tactics to weaken their enemies. Lusty says their methods include espionage, far before the Renaissance era when philosophers began to discard the ideals of honor and decency, and nations realized that everything is permitted in war to achieve victory.

  This cultural background makes my girlfriend’s mother’s choice to become a therapist even more remarkable. She broke away from the traditional norms of her tribe to provide support and healing to others, showing incredible strength and compassion.

  Of course, Lusty mentioned that when her mother showed her tribal, militaristic side, it was like a mama bear protecting her cub. Any sane person would see it as a mother fiercely defending her child. Lusty's mother was the human version of a mama bear. Despite being sweet and kind, she could be incredibly fierce when it came to protecting her family. Lusty's father, a Little Bird Marine trained to fight to the last man and specialized in amphibious invasions, seemed peaceful in comparison.

  Lusty would describe her mother as "Sweet as pie but twice as deadly." There were times when her father would just keep quiet and let his wife handle things, especially when it came to protecting their daughter. For instance, when Lusty had a bully in middle school, she reported it to the teachers and the school, but nothing was done. When Lusty finally stood up to her bully, they ended up in the principal's office. Lusty's father stayed silent while her mother put the principal on full blast, criticizing the school for failing to protect her daughter. She argued that if Lusty had to defend herself because the school wouldn't stop the bully, then Lusty wasn't the bad guy—the real culprits were those who stood by and did nothing while the bullying continued.

  Honestly, the principal was lucky that Lusty’s grandparents didn’t get involved. Her granddad, a sniper in World War II, had 408 confirmed kills, with half of them up close and personal. In the Little Bird Military, snipers serve two roles: eliminating enemy infantry from long ranges and acting as scouts. The last thing you want is to pick a fight with a veteran who has 204 confirmed kills up close with his bare hands.

  Lusty’s grandmother was equally formidable. She essentially created what we now call an Infantry Fighting Vehicle by reworking a light tank to carry a ten-man squad into combat with protection. This vehicle, equipped with an autocannon, could protect infantry as they embarked or disembarked and could be used for reconnaissance as well.

  Lusty’s grandparents would have fought fiercely to protect their grandchild. Unlike her father’s side of the family, who saw Lusty as a "thing" rather than a human, her mother’s family saw her as a beloved family member, even though she’s mixed. They would have grabbed a bat wrapped in concertina wire and fought for her without hesitation.

  Honestly, I once asked my girlfriend how her mother's side of the family felt about her being a firefighter. They called her a "Fire Breather." I had to ask what that meant, and Lusty explained that in the Nightingale Tribe, a "Fire Breather" is someone who starts fires for warmth and cooking. It also has two other meanings: a soldier armed with a flamethrower (an outdated term since 1980) and a person who fights fires.

  Lusty can pronounce it in her tribe's language, but I don't try because I don't want to offend her cultural background. She understands; it took her eight years to pronounce it correctly. She was raised speaking English, so her tribe's language was foreign to her, even though she heard her mother speak it. Most of the time it was cusswords.

  Lusty got help from her uncles, her mother's brothers, who are from the Nightingale Tribe and speak English as their second language. Her mother never introduced her to them, fearing their militaristic views would influence Lusty. But Lusty reached out on her own, and her aunts and uncles understood. They have no hard feelings about the situation.

  Heck, Lusty says her uncles didn’t like the idea of their only sister dating someone outside the tribe. They would have preferred her to date within the tribe, but they never forced her. They saw she was happy with someone from a Caucasian background, even if he knew nothing about their culture except for the militaristic aspects. One of her brothers would even tag along on dates, not as a third wheel, but to keep an eye on things. Lusty’s mother never stopped talking about her then-boyfriend, and her brothers never interfered with her love life.

  According to Lusty, her mother’s brothers were the kind who always roughhoused, either for fun or over the last slice of food. It’s easy to see why Lusty’s mom didn’t introduce her to them, but brothers will be brothers, and siblings fight. Lusty, however, wanted her daughters to meet them so they could know about their tribal heritage and view it with pride instead of disdain.

  As I walked through the firehouse, I overheard two guys talking about a Battalion Chief in Las Adventure who tried to get his entire firehouse to go vegetarian. Predictably, the guys retaliated by covering his office in meat and pork. It wasn’t just about being omnivores; the chief wanted them to eat veggies that lacked protein and fiber. Telling firefighters not to eat food that gives them energy, especially in such a physically demanding job, was a disaster waiting to happen.

  I’ll probably ask Avalanche if she knows that firehouse since she’s from Las Adventure. If I had to guess, it’s probably in a part of the city where the guys don’t have to wear 75-100 pounds of gear.

  To me, it’s either a slow house or they mostly go on EMS and MVA calls instead of fires.

  Yeah, our bunker gear is heavy. For example, our helmet is four pounds, the hood is 0.25 pounds, turnout pants are 15 pounds, the turnout jacket is 10 pounds, gloves are 1 pound, boots are 10 pounds, and the radio is 2 pounds. That’s 38.25 pounds right there, and that’s not even adding our breathing apparatus, which is another 30 pounds, TICs another two pounds, Irons (Axe and Halligan bar) are 14 pounds combined (eight for the axe and six for the Halligan bar), and a flashlight is two pounds. Overall, that’s 86.25 pounds of gear. Now imagine wearing all that in a building that’s on fire. So yeah, saying you can’t eat food to give your body energy back would’ve ended in disaster.

  Unless this is back in 2003 for the City of Chocolate for their fire department and several towns around the city who came for a major emergency, the kind that was all hands on deck, calling in all off-duty members for duty as well.

  My cousin Mitchell's friend Jack Skybolt's older brothers were there, and some did die on that day. Jack’s eldest brother said that his company was already at their quarters, getting their turnout gear and other tools, long before their phone rang, calling them back in for duty. The City of Chocolate Fire Department set up a command post a block away and began the arduous process of evacuating remaining survivors and fighting the fire.

  However, the fires presented an unprecedented challenge; they were so high up that they were completely beyond the reach of any ladder truck the City of Chocolate FD had to offer. With the elevators either out of order or unpredictable, there was only one way up to the location of the fires: the stairs. Still, the brave firefighters began their climb, many carrying upwards of 40-50 pounds of firefighting gear. And the heat caused them to cave in, trapping many thousands, including emergency personnel sent to evacuate. The damage to the surrounding area was severe, with cars and other vehicles flipped over, crushed, and some on fire like potato chips.

  It was so bad that several towns had to send their own fire companies as mutual aid because it was something unprecedented. Many towns and most of the city lost a century's worth of knowledge in the blink of an eye. You can’t total up the loss, even though it’s horrible, and everybody was affected in different ways. Some of Jack Skybolt’s eldest brothers who survived say they just go on with life and respond to any emergency they get called to. According to my cousin Mitchell, Jack's older brothers who survived say that their brothers who died that day were happy to die on the job and with their friends.

  The same goes for my cousin Dave's father and uncle, who died on that day too. Dave said that his father and uncle lived and breathed firefighting. He's glad his dad and uncle died on the job instead of retiring because they would've been bored out of their minds in retirement. According to Dave, it was something they never expected, but they died doing what they loved, surrounded by their brothers in the fire service.

  Of course, back in 2007, when I asked Dave how he goes on with doing his job four years after losing his dad and uncle, he just said he does the job like anybody else—going to the aid when someone calls for help. Every other day, he puts on his turnout gear and helps others, whether it’s diving in the water, fighting a fire, or performing a rope rescue, whatever the emergency calls for. At that time, back in '07, he had been on the job for twelve years. Now, it's been fifteen years.

  Dave is a third-generation firefighter, and I think I'm second because my great-granddad, or his granddad, was the first one in our family to be a firefighter. Dave's father and uncle were second-generation, but they are my granduncles. So, that's a bit of a mess for me with genetics and generations.

  But honestly, I’m just wondering why the city has our company quarters in a retrofitted motorcycle clubhouse. The bar area and office were removed and slightly remodeled to create sleeping quarters, a kitchen, and showers—all on the first floor. But look at the other houses, except for 136, 137, and 138. They all have two floors, poles, and different rooms. Unless it’s 136, 137, and 138, which are more eco-friendly, modern single-story buildings with walled-off areas and doors for each room, except for the maintenance room, which is just behind the apparatus bay.

  But now I’m thinking about Madeleinie and Marnia—I mean Dynamite and Avalanche. They’ve been on the job long enough to be officers, but I can imagine them saying, “I decided that the big guy put me on this planet to swing an axe and drag a hose, not make higher-level decisions.”

  Dynamite and Avalanche are prime examples of that. They’ve got the experience and the skills to be officers, but they’re happiest where they’re doing what they do best. It’s that kind of dedication and passion that makes a team strong. That everybody knows where they are, knows their roles, and can do their job without needing their officer to micromanage. When I shadowed the firehouse where my cousin works, I saw this firsthand. Dave’s company and Capt. Nova’s company, Engine 16, have trained their teams so well that they don’t need to micromanage. Each member knows how to stay on top of the situation without constant oversight. Micromanaging sounds more like something people do when they play RTS games, not when commanding a company of six people, not including the officer.

  But my great-granddad put in thirty-seven years with the New York City Fire Department, only leaving to fight in the Second World War and Korea. When he got on the job back in 1921, most of the guys were veterans of the First World War. Dave’s father and uncle put in thirty-six years on the job with the town of Clearlake, starting in 1967. I say thirty-seven years because they were volunteers for a year back in 1966.

  I have a feeling that Dave and I will get to at least forty years on the job before retiring. That’s a long way off for us, though. Dave is at fifteen years out of forty, while I’m only at one year out of forty. But I’m twenty-eight, and he’s thirty-three, so we’ve got time.

  But honestly I do like the people here in this district because they’re not those people who think that saving up to spoil yourself for a vacation and helping someone financially are two different things. To them that people saving up for something is a reward for them saving up but when their family asks for help then it’s them being unreasonable.

  That’s the thing about the people here—they often go against family expectations. According to Lusty, many residents are living at the poverty level. Some of the old tenement buildings still have outdated wiring, yet families are expected to host holiday gatherings like Christmas. Their middle-class relatives want them to host because these tenements have larger living and dining rooms, originally designed for families with five to ten kids. It makes sense to have gatherings in a bigger space, but it’s not fair to expect those who are just scraping by to bear the financial burden.

  Many people here work a lot of overtime just to make ends meet. They earn about 3500/year ($25,783.65 a year USD), while the middle class earns around 5500/year ($40,517.16 USD). They don’t have much left over after covering the basics. Most don’t own cars and rely on public transit or carpooling to get to work. Hosting family gatherings can be a significant financial strain, especially without any help from their relatives.

  Unless you consider my girlfriend’s tribal heritage, where family gatherings aren’t really a thing. They do celebrate holidays, but not in the usual way. In the Nightingale Tribe, the eldest child is expected to marry by the age of 25 if they’re still single. The tribe has two main roles: People of War (warriors) and People of Production (those who make healing powders, farm, and create weapons).

  In times of war, fathers often wanted to marry their daughters off to local heroes or highly decorated warriors. If the warrior was female, fathers would want their sons to marry her. Even centuries ago, when warfare was predominantly male, the Nightingale Tribe used female warriors in roles like archery, spying, and assassination.

  Their officers, equivalent to modern-day Lieutenants, Captains, Majors, and Generals, often have intimidating titles. A high-dread general is always eager for battle and loves to see their enemies crushed. Lusty explained that in her native culture, warriors are expected to die on the battlefield. To become a leader, you need to survive many battles—ten at the very least. Her great-granddad, a Chieftain, earned his role by surviving the entire First World War, where the life expectancy of a soldier was just six weeks.

  Chieftains are usually elected based on leadership skills, often passed down from the current chieftain to their offspring, similar to a monarchy. Another way to become a Chieftain is by surviving a war. Despite their fierce reputation, many of their officers appreciate the arts and are popular governors.

  Lusty said that their way of life is considered taboo or outdated because every clan member is expected to marry and have kids. It’s frowned upon if they don’t. Highly skilled warriors who survive many battles are almost forced to marry and have children, as the tribe believes their offspring will inherit their resilience.

  In contrast, the country I live in teaches chivalry, much like the Knights of the Middle Ages. Here, chivalry means courage, honor, and courtesy for both genders. For men, it’s also about being a gentleman to women. The district of Eastside embodies this chivalry, with people being courteous and supportive of each other.

  Honestly, I think the Nightingale tribe members would love medieval castles. Castles were built for defense, not luxury, and didn't have hallways like palaces. They were strategically located and fortified to protect against attacks. Palaces, on the other hand, were designed to showcase wealth and power, with elaborate architecture and decorations.

  According to Lusty, many men and women in Eastside were military officers before retiring to civilian life. These officers were true "Officers and Gentlemen." No matter how savage the fighting, they never let their base nature take over. They remained polite and retained their sense of propriety, even in the worst situations. They rarely cussed, especially in the presence of a lady, and seldom drank to the point of inebriation. Both genders were very protective of each other.

  I guess these people read stories by Homer—not Homer Simpson, but Homer the poet. They read stories like the "Iliad" and the "Odyssey." In the "Iliad," Achilles knows he has a short time to live and spends a lot of time thinking about what is worth living for. The "Iliad" explores themes of heroism, pride, revenge, and honor. The "Odyssey" is about Odysseus coming home from war and readjusting to civilian life. At one point, a goddess offers to make him immortal if he stays with her. Throughout his journey, Odysseus learns numerous lessons about humility, the dangers of pride, and the value of home and family. His arrogance, particularly in revealing his identity to the Cyclops Polyphemus, incurs Poseidon's wrath, teaching him about the consequences of hubris.

  I know this because when I was at Arcane University studying ancient and medieval poetry and mythology, we had to read those poems. They show how the Ancient Greeks thought and saw the world, and they ask important questions that encourage us to think about things we’ll have to face sooner or later in life.

  Of course, this country’s culture is different, but it feels like something out of the Ancient, Classical, and Middle Ages. According to Lusty, when someone dies, they place a coin—like a quarter, nickel, dime, half dollar, or even a dollar bill—in the deceased's mouth or hand. This is so they can pay the ferryman to cross over to the afterlife; otherwise, they would wander the earth forever. Even though Lusty is agnostic and an atheist, she did this for her parents so they could have eternal peace and not wander indefinitely. It wasn’t about religious beliefs for her; it was about ensuring her parents could rest in peace. So they could pay the ferryman like Charon.

  Her parents really needed that rest. Her father worked as a janitor, putting in fourteen-hour days, and her mother was a temp, often working at bars on short notice for slightly under minimum wage. They worked long hours, just enough to pay the bills and feed their only daughter. Lusty’s parents had planned on having more kids, but after her mom lost her therapist license due to a fake lawsuit, they only had the time and money to raise one child. Lusty once overheard her parents talking about having another child sometime between her graduating high school and joining the fire department so somewhere between the third week of June and the fourth week of July of 1996, but that never happened. Lusty remained an only child.

  However, Lusty says she has siblings, even though she’s technically an only child. She formed sibling-like relationships with other kids around her age in Eastside. They got to know each other and supported one another, creating a strong bond that felt like family.

  I get why Lusty loves Eastside. It’s not just because she grew up here. The people are the kind who let their kids run around and play without a worry. Doors stay unlocked at night, and no one frets about break-ins. Folks here are well-read, diving into works by Homer, Socrates, Aristotle, Plato, and Diogenes and other Philosophers of the Ancient, Classical and Medieval eras.

  When it comes to elections, they’re pretty cynical. They believe that once a country sets up an electoral system, the rich and powerful will always find a way to game it, ensuring they dominate the government.

  Lusty told me that even though Ancient Greek poetry and other poetry isn’t directly related to English class, high schoolers here spend all four years reading it. These old poems make students think about life’s big questions and what it means to be a good person. It’s about understanding the traits that make someone valuable and decent. They pose questions that everyone will have to consider one day because everyone has different answers to what they want out of life. Some people want a quiet, settled life with a significant other and a few kids, while others seek different outcomes and pursue what makes them happy, even if it means going against the grain.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  Of course, my family members here in Little Bird often say, "Cowards die a coward's death. Keep that in mind and you will do well." They’re speaking from a military perspective, emphasizing courage and honor. This mindset is deeply ingrained in the culture here, where bravery and resilience are highly valued.

  In Eastside, these values are reflected in the way people live their lives. They face challenges head-on and support each other through thick and thin. The community’s strength lies in its diversity of thought and the shared commitment to making life better for everyone. Whether it’s through education, mutual support, or simply being there for one another, the people here embody the principles of courage, honor, and decency every day.

  Of course, many of Lusty’s friends from this district are no longer among the living because of the war. According to Lusty, her male friends who died didn’t always know the difference between being courageous and being reckless. Some were laconic and competent warriors who acted rather than spoke, while others were arrogant and careless. Many of them started their military careers at seventeen to avoid blue-collar work after high school.

  Lusty wanted to join the military, but motherhood came first. By the time she considered enlisting, she was already a mother to twin daughters. She knew her parents would have mixed feelings about it—her mother would worry, while her father would be supportive but hope she got a non-combat role. Her father was a Marine Artillery Radio Officer for the Ninth Marine Division, Twelfth Artillery Company during the twilight years of the Vietnam War. He had PTSD from a fire mission where two Marine units were pinned down. After receiving two fire mission orders, an urgent voice radioed to cease fire because they were shelling their own Marines. Initially, they thought it was the NVA or VC.

  Lusty’s father’s job was to write down grid coordinates and the type of fire mission needed not to ask fifty questions. He never expected to be shelling their own side. When the Marines radioed to cease fire, he wrote it down and gave it to the company commander, who yelled for the gunners to stop. To make matters worse, the artillery companies in the Little Bird military use incendiary and white phosphorus rounds to deal with entrenched enemies, not just high explosive shells.

  The people in Eastside found out about this incident, but they didn’t blame him. They understood he was just doing his job, following orders, and writing down coordinates without questioning them. This understanding and support are part of what makes the community here so strong.

  But I know my cousin Mitchell and his friends Jack and Sam, who are also in the Little Bird Marines, would probably say that my girlfriend’s deceased father was likely put in as an artillery radioman at a firebase, despite being trained as specialized infantry for wet terrain and amphibious invasions. Military training doesn’t turn recruits into cold-blooded killers; it brings out the brutality that was already there. The Little Bird Marines embodies, "We're not the top species on the planet because we're nice. We are a very aggressive species; it is in us." When you’re trained for an amphibious landing, there’s nowhere to go except forward into the enemy’s line of fire.

  According to Lusty, her father kept the few medals he received in a box because he saw them as medals of dishonor. She speculates that he didn’t hang them up because he didn’t want her to revere him. To her father, simply being a vet was a mark of shame. Despite his girlfriend sticking by him, he felt lucky compared to many other Marines who weren’t accepted back home due to the war’s unpopularity. When he returned in 1975, he had to navigate through a hostile mob of protesters.

  The only people who accepted him for being in a controversial war were his girlfriend’s parents, who were World War II veterans, and her brothers, who were also Vietnam veterans. While Lusty’s uncles wore their medals with pride, her father locked his away in shame. They respected his decision and told him they would back him up if anyone gave him trouble over it. This was long before Lusty’s parents got married.

  As I sat down on the steel bumper of the fire engine, thinking about how unique this district is, my phone vibrated. I looked down and saw a text from an unknown number flashing across the screen: "Stay away from Alex. He's still my husband."

  I know Alex—a nice guy who had a short-lived relationship with a woman named Jessica. She’s a bit on the looney end. Their relationship only got to the point where they were comfortable living together, but Jessica started passing herself off as Alex’s wife without him even proposing. She drove away his female friends, thinking she was the only woman he needed, and couldn’t accept it when Alex broke up with her and kicked her out of his apartment. Jessica has since made every effort to make life difficult for him, accusing him of infidelity and scheming to steal his business.

  I think she messaged me because I’m friends with Alex. In her twisted mind, she thinks Alex and I will get together, even though we’re just friends. I texted back telling her to fuck off and if she wants a fight she can come and face me and fight me because nobody can tell me who I can and can’t be friends with because I’m a grown ass adult.

  I also got a cousin named Alexander Sterling whom we call Alex for short because he says how he prefers Alex over Alexander because one reason why he joined the Army is because of the history of the Ancient world with Alexander the Great. But to me I think it’s because many people would rather be called Alex over Alexander. But if he says that he chose to be called Alex instead of Alexander because of Alexander the Great but if he says it’s because of that it’s that.

  According to Lusty, people here in Eastside understand that once a relationship ends, it’s over. It’s better to move on than to hold onto the hope that an ex will come back. Jessica needs to learn this lesson from the people here. They know how to let go and move forward, valuing their peace of mind over clinging to a past that’s better left behind.

  Lusty and I have male friends, and we don’t mind each other having them. Our male friends know we’re a couple. Many of Lusty’s male friends aren’t around anymore because they died in the war. On the job, Lusty views her male colleagues in a brotherly way. In our line of work, we trust each other with our lives. We might not always like each other, but there’s a deep bond and love that comes from risking our lives for others. It takes a selfless act to put yourself in harm’s way to save someone else, and we’re definitely not paid enough for what we do.

  I’ve told Alex and my other friends that if they want to understand my job, they should heat their ovens to 500 degrees, put on boots, overalls with suspenders, and their heaviest jacket, then open the oven door when it’s hot. That’s a glimpse of what it’s like to be a firefighter.

  Many of my friends respect different occupations, but some people, like Jessica, my stepmom Martha, and my mother, think all jobs are easy. They wouldn’t dare try firefighting themselves. Wearing almost a hundred pounds of gear, dealing with fire and heat, and carrying equipment slows you down. The heat and sweat make your body work overtime, halving the oxygen in your breathing apparatus. A thirty-minute bottle really lasts between twelve to sixteen minutes.

  The people here know how tough the job is. In the early 1980s, the City of Empire moved Firehouse Forty-Seven to a low-fire area, leaving Eastside, a high-fire district, without adequate coverage. The community protested and brought back bucket brigades. They’d pull fire alarm boxes or call in fires via payphones, then use buckets and garden hoses to fight the flames. It wasn’t easy, especially since many garden hoses didn’t have nozzles, so they had to use their fingers to direct the water. They got close enough to feel the heat, gaining a special insight into what firefighters face daily.

  Back then, the Fire Department of the City of Empire was transitioning from canvas to rubber turnout jackets in the 80s, before switching to modern Kevlar-Nomex turnout gear in the 90s. For the City of Empire, that switch happened in 1997. The community’s efforts and understanding of the job’s difficulties highlight their resilience and solidarity, making Eastside a unique and supportive place to live and work.

  Of course, Lusty says that the people here don’t take any career for granted because of the age-old saying, “Walk a mile in their shoes.” People here support the fire department more than the police department. They know that if they pull the fire box, they’ll get help—whether it’s for a fire, childbirth, fights, or tenant-landlord disputes. The Fire Department of the City of Empire gets most of its calls for issues outside its jurisdiction because people know that calling for an ambulance might take twenty minutes, and the cops might not show up at all. According to Lusty, when someone pulls the fire box on the corner, they know they’ll get help. It might not be the help they want or come with sympathy, but help will arrive.

  The people here are very fire safety conscious. Every other month, we do fire inspections of the buildings, and they keep everything flammable away from heat sources. My cousin Dave and Lusty, who work in two middle-class districts, see a different story. People there take advantage of the fire department’s obligation to respond to every call. During building inspections, they find houses filled with trash like old magazines, which would turn into giant tinderboxes in a fire. Lusty, raised around people who taught her the destructiveness of fire, knows that a clean place reduces the chances of a fire spreading rapidly and causing extensive damage.

  Many people here, back in their army days, were full of vigor and energy. According to Lusty, a lot of them were patriotic soldiers, loyal to their homeland, doing whatever was necessary to fulfill their country’s needs, even if it meant questionable actions or war crimes. They hoped wars wouldn’t end too soon, wanting them to last forever or a very long time. Others, while loyal, knew the importance of restraint and hoped wars wouldn’t last too long to avoid unnecessary suffering for their troops and families.

  This creates a cultural clash because Little Bird military officers are taught to inspire their troops to fight to the last man or even to the death instead of retreating. Lusty says about 25% of the men here in Eastside embody this fanaticism, doing any order without question. The other 75% believe in winning wars quickly and treating the enemy as human beings. As my cousin Dave puts it, "The thing about war is that when you're fighting the enemy, just remember the enemy has a name, a life of his own before the war, and a family. We're all the same but just fighting for different beliefs and ideologies."

  This perspective highlights the complexity and humanity of those who serve, reminding us that even in conflict, there’s a shared human experience that transcends borders and ideologies. The people of Eastside, with their diverse backgrounds and experiences, embody this understanding and resilience, making their community strong and united.

  I’ve met some of the people here, and when I asked them about their time in the military or war, they just said, “War hit home... and then you have to consider that nearly EVERY war occurs in someone's home, in their schools, their streets, their backyards.”

  These people are living proof of fighters who keep their word. Keeping your word shows the enemy that you can be trusted, even in the midst of conflict. During the stalemate between the Soviets and Little Birdens, despite being the defenders, the Little Bird military used loudspeakers and propaganda broadcasts to encourage Soviet soldiers to abandon their posts and surrender, promising humane treatment. Those who surrendered were treated humanely and were promised they could go home when the war ended. When the Little Bird military recaptured the city of Ft. Sunction, they conducted a prisoner swap, sending the Soviet soldiers back to their country.

  During the Soviet occupation of Ft. Sunction, many officers refused to retaliate against the civilian population despite the resistance. They understood that harsh, draconian measures would only increase resistance and lead to more ambushes. These officers chose to be humane and kind, even in hostile territory, showing restraint and what they were willing and not willing to do. Many people here in Eastside were those kinds of officers in the Little Bird military, showing restraint and not resorting to barbaric ways.

  Of course, I told my friends how in Little Bird, the military will recall retired officers if needed because officers are prime targets for snipers aiming to hurt morale. Many of the men and women here despise the 25% of fanatical officers. When faced with a strong adversary, these fanatical officers would respond with, “We need to be STRONGER!” Lusty and the people here see these officers as less sympathetic towards both their enemies and their own soldiers. They blame the enemy for retaliating or their own soldiers for requesting emergency transfers to escape their command.

  People want to be treated like human beings. If you order someone to do inhumane things, push them far outside their comfort zone, or treat them like dirt, don’t expect them to like you. Many of these fanatical officers were either demoted back to grunts or reassigned to non-leadership roles, like culinary specialists, because their extreme views made other fanatical officers seem humane by comparison.

  These fanatical officers were often power and fame-hungry generals. They fought in wars to earn glory and fame, willing to do anything to achieve it. They lacked concern for troop morale and were ill-tempered, with poor strategic positioning. They would send their troops charging into enemy lines with almost no support, leading to unnecessary deaths. Eventually, they were put in roles where they couldn’t lead soldiers.

  Of course this country besides following rules of war and honoring the cross that medics wear but this country doesn’t go after units leaving the field of battle because of them routing and not really posing a threat until the next battle or if a enemy armored vehicle or aircraft is downed but they radioed for a evac well they won’t fire upon the evac vehicle because the person or people being evacuated out of battle are usually too injured to pose a threat.

  Of course, some officers, like my cousin Midnight, are exceptional. She’s a Lt-Col in the Rangers and can stand in the middle of a battlefield, bullets flying by, and have a normal conversation. She’s been in the military since ‘87, and it’s now 2010. The Rangers, along with the Marines, are not to be messed with. They were the first special forces of Little Bird, originally men who lived in the wilderness or the frontier.

  Midnight treats her officers with respect and warmth if they’re competent and brave. But she shows disdain for those who are cowardly, glory-hounding, or incompetent. During the war, when the Soviets occupied the city of Ft. Sunction, officers like Midnight were given a one-month deadline to recapture the city or face a thermonuclear strike. Little Bird Military doctrine states that nuclear weapons can only be used if there are no other means to stop the enemy.

  According to Midnight, the Little Bird military offers various support to its soldiers in combat, from mortar bombardments to heavy artillery barrages, napalm drops, and carpet bombing by C-15s (their response to the B-52s). Tactical nuclear strikes are forbidden unless they are the last resort for desperate defenders or if the radioactive fallout would deter the enemy.

  I mean, from Ft. Sunction to the City of Chocolate, the capital of Little Bird, the route is a straight shot with towns along the way. The Little Bird military would dig in at each town to inflict severe casualties on the invaders. Any of those towns before the capital would likely be struck by a friendly nuke, using radiation as a barrier, especially if the enemy brought up more troops and vehicles that could overwhelm the defenders. The Little Bird military will fight to the death for their homeland and will only call down a nuclear strike if absolutely necessary. If the military can’t hold, they know they can’t all retreat without alerting the enemy. At least a battalion-sized element, about eight hundred soldiers, would stay behind to ensure the attackers remain unaware of the impending nuclear strike. Once the rest of the units are at a minimum safe distance, the strike would be called.

  According to Midnight, the Little Bird Air Force provides round-the-clock close air support (CAS) missions to protect friendly soldiers on the ground, but they shouldn’t be relied upon to turn the tide. The last known nuclear weapon test in Little Bird was back in the 50s when they tested an atomic bomb. Fortunately, the military was quick enough to mobilize and block the enemy, trapping them and preventing a breakout.

  Past invaders have written about the Little Bird military’s tenacity. In '05, some Soviets wrote, "They pushed thousands of men through artillery, mortar fire, and they came willingly. They charged through the muzzles of our rifles and they came willingly. They came willingly and would come again even if they knew they couldn't win. How are you supposed to fight an enemy who comes willingly and won’t stop until either they or their enemy is dead?" This is true because how do you fight an enemy that’s willing to run through gunfire, artillery, mortar shells, napalm, or even a minefield as if it never existed?

  Most of the soldiers they were talking about were young adults either just out of high school or college age with their whole lives ahead of them, willing to throw it all away to defend their homeland from a foreign power. This fierce determination and willingness to sacrifice everything for their country are what make the Little Bird military so formidable. It’s a testament to their unwavering commitment and the deep sense of duty that drives them.

  Or when I talked to Starlight once, she shared how deadly the battles were. In one instance, they fought a Soviet force outnumbering them three to one. Her regiment, the 7th Infantry Regiment of the 2nd Infantry Division, went into battle with 5,500 soldiers. After three days and four nights of non-stop combat, only fifteen survived. When they returned to their encampment, they marched straight through it, dirty and exhausted, having not eaten in three days. The clean-faced recruits and other soldiers stopped what they were doing to watch these fifteen survivors walk down the road. Many of the replacements were just eighteen to twenty-two years old.

  Starlight said that many in her regiment weren’t killed by gunfire but in hand-to-hand combat, and many others were killed by friendly fire. My girlfriend’s father would have said, “Those artillery and mortar rounds, and those napalm and cluster munitions, don’t care what side you’re on if you’re friendly or not.” They’re indiscriminate strikes, not caring what side soldiers are on.

  Starlight also told me that the Soviets learned a hard lesson; they were fighting an enemy willing to die and not hesitant to call down an airstrike or artillery strike on their own position if needed, even if it caused friendly fire. Many companies radioed “Shattered Spear,” a Little Bird military term for a friendly unit being overrun, requiring all artillery and air support to fire on their current position. If it was “Broken Spear” then it means a friendly unit in danger of being overrun and requires all types of fire support to more or less to shield them from being overrun.

  Honestly, I wonder how I would feel if I were charging an enemy position and they called down artillery right on top of their position. It makes you think you’re not fighting sane people but those who will fight to the death to drive foreign invaders out of their homeland.

  That’s why many people here were compassionate officers. They knew their soldiers could die any day and wanted them to feel their lives meant something before they died, not see themselves as expendable pawns. Fanatical officers, on the other hand, viewed their soldiers as expendable, lacking the empathy and understanding that make a true leader.

  But I do know that most people here are glad the military doesn’t have political officers. It’s not because Little Bird has different political parties, but because it’s nearly impossible to ensure troops' blind obedience to the party line and unwavering loyalty. People here have diverse views—some are political, while others couldn’t care less about politics. Many soldiers join the military out of patriotism to defend their country, while others join to get money for advanced education or to tour the world.

  In the Nightingale Tribe, according to Lusty’s research and family heritage, they have two types of Commissars: a War Commissar and a Political Commissar. They serve similar but distinct roles. The War Commissar ensures warriors live up to the warrior code, often yelling patriotic or bloodthirsty encouragement and executing those who flee from battle in cowardice. The Political Commissar, besides being the right-hand person of the Chieftain, keeps their clan in line with their ideals. Both types of Commissars are the only ones who can change the Chieftain’s mind, even more so than the Chieftain’s advisors.

  I can see why the Little Bird military doesn’t have Commissars. Political differences could lead to abuses of authority, with Commissars targeting those who don’t share their views. Well, technically, the Little Bird military does have Commissioners, but they’re not political officers. They’re soldiers who work in Military Commissaries, which are grocery stores for soldiers and their families living on military bases.

  You know, in Little Bird, we've got quite the mix of groups, each with their own unique views and conflicts. There's the Loyalists, Militarists, Intellectuals, Capitalists, Environmentalists, Industrialists, Nationalists, and the Religious. It's a real melting pot of ideologies, and trust me, the clashes are as frequent as they are intense.

  Take the Loyalists and Nationalists, for example. You'd think they'd be allies, right? Both seem to have a strong sense of patriotism. But nope, not even close. The Nationalists are all about Little Birden-centric policies. They reject anything foreign— foreign goods, aid, you name it. They want Little Bird to stand alone, proud and unyielding. On the other hand, the Loyalists put their faith entirely in the President and elected leaders. They believe these leaders are the only ones fit to rule and are fiercely opposed to any form of dissent. They're easy to win over if you play your cards right, but once you lose their trust, good luck getting it back.

  Then there's the classic feud between the Industrialists and Environmentalists. It's pretty straightforward: Industrialists push for more factories, more production, more progress. They see industry as the backbone of our economy. Environmentalists, however, are all about preserving nature. They despise anything that harms the environment, which puts them at constant odds with the Industrialists. It's a battle of progress versus preservation, and neither side is willing to back down.

  The only groups that really get along are the Capitalists, Industrialists, and Militarists. It's a symbiotic relationship: Capitalists are all about making money, Industrialists provide the jobs and goods, and Militarists rely on the Industrialists for their supplies. Capitalists favor business interests, industrialization, for-profit enterprises, and a booming economy, including tourism.

  Industrialists, on the other hand, have demands that benefit the country's economy in the long run. Since the Cold War, they've pushed for an educated workforce. Back in the '50s, kids could stay in school longer instead of dropping out to support their families. This shift has been ideal for developing an advanced and wealthy export economy.

  However, the hardest group for the government to please is the Militarists. Representing the interests of Little Bird's armed forces, their demands are non-negotiable. The government often gives in to them because, let's face it, they need the military's support in case of a hostile attack, rebel uprising, or foreign invasion.

  The Religious group is the only sane faction that tends to stay out of the others' way. They're a significant cultural bloc, focused on meeting the spiritual needs of Little Bird's people. They emphasize social welfare and ensuring that everyone's basic needs are met. Despite their peaceful nature, they sometimes clash with the Militarists. Little Bird is a religious country but also a secular state, allowing all types of beliefs without officially endorsing any.

  Navigating these factions is like walking a tightrope. Each group has its own vision for Little Bird, and balancing their interests is a constant challenge. But that's what makes our nation so dynamic and, well, interesting. It's a delicate dance of keeping everyone happy while steering the country forward.

  Of course, back in 1946, the Militarists were split in half. Some remained loyal to the Little Bird government, while others mutinied. The cause? The government's own version of Operation Paperclip. Those who mutinied were swiftly put down because, in Little Bird, mutiny is on par with treason. The military has strict orders to quell any such uprisings.

  The mutineers had captured a research facility that housed some terrifying weaponry. We're talking ballistic missiles with atomic warheads and superheavy tanks that would make the Panzerkampfwagen VIII Maus look like a toy. They also had advanced armored self-propelled anti-aircraft guns, heavy rocket launcher vehicles, and a new armored recon vehicle equipped with a 105mm cannon designed to ambush heavier tanks like the Soviet IS-1, IS-2, and IS-3.

  The loyal Militarists had their own arsenal of fearsome weaponry, including a heavy tank with a field howitzer-grade cannon meant to destroy fortifications like the Siegfried Line. During the mutiny, the mutineers set up makeshift fortifications. But without the support of their superheavy tanks, they were no match for the loyalists. In a twist of irony, simple country folk with a bulldozer tank managed to breach the fortifications by going over by pushing dirt and outmaneuvering the mutineers.

  Reflecting on it now, only seven of those superheavy tanks were ever made. Three were scrapped when their service was no longer needed, and two were destroyed during testing. The loss of those two tanks was a significant blow to the Militarists, who spent years searching for them. Unlike the Americans, who produced fifty thousand Sherman tanks and wouldn't miss one, losing two superheavy tanks was a big deal. It turns out that some tank crews had gotten drunk and taken the tanks for a joyride, leading to their disappearance for fifteen years.

  Many of those loyalist Militarists were battle-hardened veterans of World War II. For them, a normal Tuesday might involve charging machine gun nests with no cover, taking out enemy positions, grabbing a bazooka to knock out a few tanks and half-tracks, and then personally carrying their injured comrades back to safety. They lived by the mantra, "I can do more," constantly pushing themselves to new heights. Whether it was becoming pilots, tunnel rats, or door gunners, these soldiers were always looking for the next challenge. Despite starting out young and inexperienced, they accomplished feats that left others in awe.

  On the other hand, many of the mutineers were young and naive. The Second World War was still fresh in everyone's minds when the mutiny occurred in early 1946, just seven months after the war ended. Historians often remark on how lucky the mutineers were. If the government had deployed the Little Birden airborne units, the outcome could have been far more brutal. These airborne units were trained for fast strikes and commando-style operations. They were motivated volunteers, equipped with automatic weapons and assault grenades, making them fierce close-combat fighters.

  Deployable behind enemy lines, these airborne troops were masters of concealment and ambush, a constant threat to the enemy. They had strict rules about not taking prisoners because being behind enemy lines meant they couldn't afford to be slowed down. Their training ensured they were battle-ready the moment their feet touched the ground. Many of the veterans instructed the paratroopers to undo their harness when they're a few feet off of the ground so by the time they hit the ground they will be battle ready, main weapon drawn and feet on the ground.

  Of course, my cousin Mitchell, who is a paratrooper, remembers a particularly harrowing experience. They were supposed to rendezvous with the 28th Infantry Regiment of the 7th Infantry Division, but instead, they were met by a caravan of defeated soldiers. When Mitchell pulled one aside to ask what had happened, the traumatized soldier gave a chilling reply. "They came out of nowhere. They slaughtered us. You gotta get out of here and get out of here fast very fast."

  Mitchell and his regiment, the 39th Airborne Regiment, quickly realized the gravity of the situation. They began taking what little ammo the retreating soldiers had. One soldier didn't even resist, simply saying, "Take it. You'll need it." When another traumatized soldier from the 28th Infantry Regiment asked where they were going and warned that they would be cut off and surrounded, Mitchell's commanding officer replied, "We’re Airborne; we’re meant to be surrounded." With that, the regiment pushed forward, heading straight into the fight, even if it meant being surrounded and facing bad weather that would prevent airdrops of supplies.

  According to Mitchell, being part of the Airborne, which is considered Special Forces in Little Bird, means being trained to fight behind enemy lines, often with limited supplies without knowing when the next resupply is. They're also trained to endure harsh weather conditions and to keep fighting no matter the odds. This flexibility and adaptability are what make them such a formidable force.

  Of course, here in Little Bird, when the Soviets came in '05, at least two regiments managed to break out, not realizing that the Little Bird military had allowed them to do so before sealing their exit and blocking their retreat. The Soviets fought fiercely, believing they had the upper hand against an understrength force. They thought they could gain a foothold and establish a defensible position behind enemy lines.

  During a battle at a town housing the families of soldiers from a nearby fort, the Soviets initially had the upper hand. When they pushed reinforcements to break the defenders, the defenders decided to retreat. However, they left behind two companies—240 men—to delay the Soviet advance long enough for the rest to retreat to safety. Once the defenders were far enough away, the Little Bird Army Air Force (LBAAF) dropped several thermobaric bombs on the remaining two companies. These munitions created a vapor cloud of highly explosive fuel, which then ignited, causing a massive blast and a large smoke cloud.

  While it was a Pyrrhic victory, the surviving Soviets were deeply disturbed and terrorized by the lengths the Little Birdens were willing to go to slow down their advance. The use of fuel-air bombs on their own town and troops was something even the Soviets would only consider as a last resort. The Little Bird Air Force and Army Air Force had various means of slowing the enemy, including napalm strikes, 20mm or 30mm Gatling gun runs designed to destroy tanks and other armored vehicles, cluster bomb munitions, and carpet bombings. Fuel-air bombs and Tactical nuclear weapons were a last resort, but both the Air Force and Army Air Force could deploy 17,000-pound bombs that created massive blasts, effective at clearing forests for helicopter landing zones and artillery emplacements.

  The Militarists viewed that battle and the sacrifice of those two companies as a pyrrhic victory and willingness to fight to the last man. It was seen as a heroic last stand, embodying the spirit of resilience and determination that defines Little Bird's military ethos.

  That brings us to the Soviets fighting on Little Bird soil. Every foreign invader has faced fierce resistance here, and the Militarists believe that the best soldiers are forged through rigorous training. It's like a modern version of Spartan training for adults, though not as brutal. According to Mitchell, they undergo wilderness survival and astronomy training. Given that much of Little Bird is covered in thick forests, this terrain is perfect for infantry but a nightmare for vehicles, making it ideal for setting up ambushes.

  Back in ‘42 the U.S. Army's introduction of the bazooka, the first rocket-propelled grenade launcher, was a game-changer despite its early issues. It required a well-trained two-man crew and was large and easily damaged. Germany's response was the Panzerfaust, a one-man, single-shot launcher that was cheap and required no special training, making it highly effective against tanks during the last days of World War II.

  Since the 1960s, the Little Bird military developed its own one-man, lightweight, single-shot anti-armor weapon. By 1964, each division had a company of Anti-Tank Infantry Squads. According to my cousin Midnight, these squads consist of eight anti-tank soldiers, one rifleman, and one medic. They were created to meet the Militarists' demands for highly trained soldiers to deal with armored threats. However, these squads are less effective against infantry or aircraft. Since the early '70s, the average Infantry, Marine, Ranger, and Airborne squad includes five automatic riflemen (two with grenade launchers), one anti-tank soldier, one soldier with a heat-seeking surface-to-air missile, and a machine gunner, with one of the automatic rifleman also serving as a medic.

  You have to thank the Militarists for pushing the use of new technology to modernize the army and protect soldiers from both armored and aircraft threats. Back in the day, most anti-aircraft protection came from static positions or armored self-propelled anti-air guns, which had limited range and couldn't follow infantry through difficult terrain. Roads and fields damaged enough to be unsafe for vehicles required engineers to fix or fill in craters, as armored vehicles are heavier at the front but weaker on the sides, rear, top, and bottom.

  The Militarists' emphasis on advanced training and technology has ensured that Little Bird's military remains a formidable force, capable of adapting to various threats and terrains. Their dedication to modernization and preparedness has been crucial in maintaining the country's defense and resilience against any invader.

  The Intellectuals are more or less in charge of educating people, and according to my girlfriend, they focus on teaching useful skills for the real world. Many people don't pursue a college education, so the emphasis is on practical knowledge. Lusty, my girlfriend, mentioned that in both history and English classes, they learned about the Ancient world. They studied figures and structures like the Parthenon, Pericles, Socrates, and playwrights such as Aeschylus, Sophocles, Euripides, and Thucydides. In English class, they read works by Plato, Aristotle, Diogenes, Socrates, and Homer, along with other writers and philosophers from the Ancient world.

  Lusty recalled reading the Iliad and Odyssey in 10th grade. Curious about the themes, she asked her parents about it. Her father responded with a thought-provoking question; if she were a soldier returning from war, what would she want? Does she want to be with a God if he would make her immortal if she stayed with him like how Odysseus just wanted to return home to Penelope and more or less told Calypso that he has a wife and child back home and how Gods like Zeus had to intervene. Or would rather be with said God instead?

  Of course, while the government is a mix of different ideals, each faction fighting for their group's interests, they all make sure to placate the Natives. When settlers arrived in Little Bird back in the early 1700s, the Natives helped them set up and later form a government, as long as they could secure a majority vote. The five tribes, each with different clans and ways of life, had significant influence. One notable aspect they could vote on during the colonial era was women's rights. Women in Little Bird could be citizens, own property in their own name, inherit property, run businesses, hire lawyers, and bring suits in court. They enjoyed a greater degree of freedom than women in many other parts of the world at that time.

  In the colonial era, Little Bird's government was mixed, with 75% Native representatives and 25% colonial settlers. When the settlers arrived, the Native Little Birdens were already engaged in a war against Blister Canyon. During this conflict, the Natives made it clear to the settlers that they were not to be trifled with. The Nightingale tribe, in particular, demonstrated the true meaning of total war. While the other four tribes engaged in occasional raids and kidnappings, the Nightingales went further, destroying buildings, murdering enemies in graphic ways, kidnapping valuable individuals, killing livestock, razing crops, and looting anything of value. Their brutal tactics were a stark warning to anyone considering challenging them.

  The Intellectuals speculate that if it weren't for the Nightingale tribe's brutal warfare and willingness to cross lines that many others wouldn't, the settlers might have tried to take the land without hesitation. The Nightingales' fierce reputation ensured that they were seen as formidable adversaries, not to be underestimated. This reputation made them the kind of allies you wanted on your side, not against you.

  Many Militarists in Little Bird trace their roots back to the Nightingale tribe, known for their focus on warfare and maintaining a strong army. In contrast, many Intellectuals come from the Aurora tribe, which values intelligence and education.

  My girlfriend, while not a Militarist herself despite her Nightingale tribe roots, certainly embodies some of their fiery spirit. Her mother’s influence means that getting under her skin can quickly bring out that Nightingale temper. She often wonders what her life would have been like if she had joined the military instead of becoming a mother. But for her, motherhood came first. Still, her quick temper and fierce protective instincts are very much part of her heritage.

  Although she isn't a Militarist, she strongly supports having a robust military. She believes in the importance of fighting on enemy territory rather than defending on home soil, favoring military interventionism. This is quite a contrast to Little Bird's general stance of isolationism, reminiscent of the pre-World War II United States. Little Bird prefers not to meddle in other nations' conflicts, avoiding the complications and losses that come with such involvement.

  Interestingly, even the Militarists appreciate this isolationist approach. It conserves manpower, which is crucial in their strategy. The Little Bird military operates on the principle that "Our manpower is precious, but our bullets are cheap." This means they prioritize saving soldiers' lives over expanding ammunition. You can always produce more bullets, but the experience and skills of a fallen soldier are irreplaceable.

  Honestly, I think that’s a double-edged sword. The Little Bird Military operates on the principle that “Our manpower is precious, but our bullets are cheap.” This is true because you can always buy another box of 7.62mm ammo at a gun store, but when a human dies, their experience and knowledge are lost forever. Even if you can train someone else, that individual is gone for good.

  The average Little Birden soldier is fanatical, driven by an "inner fire" to keep fighting to the last consequence. They will fight to the death, and fleeing soldiers are considered deserters. Back in '05, the Soviets learned this the hard way. They encountered young men and women, aged 18-22, who came willingly to fight to the death. Soviet officers documented their shock. "They pushed thousands of men through artillery, mortar fire, and they came willingly. They charged through the muzzles of our rifles and they came willingly. They came willingly and would come again even if they knew they couldn’t win. How are you supposed to fight an enemy who comes willingly and won’t stop until either they or their enemy is dead?”

  The Soviets realized they were facing ordinary soldiers, not elite or battle-hardened troops. This revelation was unsettling. Some officers noted, “If these were just inexperienced soldiers willing to give up their lives to defend their home, what would the elite and battle-hardened soldiers be like?” The Militarists capitalized on this, using it to instill horror and terror in their enemies.

  This fierce determination and willingness to sacrifice are both a strength and a vulnerability. It ensures that Little Bird's enemies know they are up against a force that will not back down, but it also means that every loss is deeply felt.

  But I think the Militarists and Loyalists are allies in one way or another. Many soldiers here are swept up in patriotic fervor, believing their country is always right, and that any country siding with theirs is also right. Conversely, those who oppose or are against their country are seen as wrong. From the war footage I've seen, these soldiers and marines, whether Militarists or Loyalists, exhibit incredible bravery. They jump out of helicopters several feet off the ground to be battle-ready faster, rather than waiting for the helicopter to land or using fast ropes, unless the situation demands it.

  That's just my opinion, though. I consider myself a Militarist because I come from a family where serving in the military is a tradition, even if it means fighting against our own family. For example, during the American Civil War, I had family members on both sides. In World War I, my great-granddad and his brothers fought for the British, while their father returned to Germany to fight in the Imperial German Army. I'm the last Waterson to serve in the Navy, with the previous one serving back in '75.

  This deep-rooted tradition of military service shapes my perspective. The sense of duty and honor passed down through generations is something I carry with pride. It's not just about fighting; it's about protecting our way of life and ensuring that the sacrifices of those before us were not in vain. Whether it's jumping out of helicopters or standing firm in the face of overwhelming odds, the spirit of resilience and dedication runs deep in our veins.

  But I do like how all of the groups—the Militarists, Loyalists, Industrialists, Environmentalists, and Capitalists—appreciate the Artists. The Artists love culture and art, and they want people from other nations to come to Little Bird for culture and fun. However, the Nationalists abhor the Artists because they don't like outsiders coming in.

  Interestingly, many Artists in the Artist faction come from these other groups. For example, many Militarists who are also Artists use their military earnings to go back to school, like art school. Many Loyalist Artists get hired to do portraits of the country’s leaders. When we talk about Artists, we don't just mean painters. We're talking about musicians, performers, stage performers, opera players, playwrights, philosophers, writers—anyone involved in the arts.

  This blend of backgrounds enriches the artistic community in Little Bird. Militarists bring a unique perspective to their art, often reflecting themes of resilience and sacrifice. Loyalists might focus on national pride and leadership. Industrialists and Capitalists might explore themes of progress and innovation, while Environmentalists could highlight the beauty and fragility of nature.

  The Artists serve as a bridge between these groups, fostering a sense of unity through their work. They celebrate the diverse heritage of Little Bird and invite others to experience it, despite the Nationalists' resistance. This cultural exchange not only enriches Little Bird but also helps to build a more inclusive and understanding society.

  In essence, the Artists play a crucial role in Little Bird, not just in preserving and promoting culture, but also in bridging divides and fostering a sense of community. Their work transcends boundaries, bringing people together and showcasing the rich artistry of Little Bird's identity to the world.

  But the Artists and Intellectuals act like best friends because Artists create works like philosophy, and the Intellectuals educate people on these arts, whether they were created recently or thousands of years ago. For example, here in Little Bird, students in middle and high schools are taught philosophy and other works from the Ancient, Classical, Medieval, Renaissance, and Industrial eras. According to my girlfriend, her 10th and 11th grade English classes included readings from Pericles, Socrates, Homer, Plato, Aristotle, Diogenes, Cicero, Plutarch, Ambrose, Aeschylus, Sophocles, Euripides, Thucydides, Augustine, and Boethius for example

  When I attended Arcane University in the City of Empire, I had a funny moment. I had to read works by Homer, and at first, I thought they were written by Homer Simpson from "The Simpsons," not realizing they were by Homer, the Greek poet whose works are widely studied and praised for their educational value. In my philosophy class, we were taught how these ancient texts reflect how people saw the world back then and how they pose questions that we eventually have to answer ourselves. Or teaches us things like how if someone’s a compulsive liar then they shouldn’t cry when nobody believes them any more like in the story “The boy who cried wolf.”

  I’m just sitting by the window of the firehouse apparatus bay door window, watching the rain pour down, and it got me thinking about my future. I'm almost thirty, and living in a place where people turn to ancient poems to reflect on their lives and dreams. It's fascinating how Little Bird is a country where folks live in the moment, not stressing about tomorrow because, well, it's not here yet. Yesterday is in the past.

  But as I ponder, I can't help but compare it to the societal expectations of the 1940s and 50s in the United States. Back then, it was almost a given that you'd join the military at eighteen, get married, and have kids by twenty-two. This rush to the altar was fueled by the end of World War II, with young couples and returning G.I.s eager to start their lives together.

  Of course, now that I think about it, when people read those ancient poems from writers and philosophers, they ask questions that we eventually have to ask ourselves. These are questions only we can answer, without anyone else's perspective, because everyone has different desires and dreams. Some people want a quiet, solitary life, while others dream of getting married and starting a family as soon as possible. Here in Little Bird, the age of consent is eighteen, a decision made by the government, even though the five commonwealths have different ages for various things like drinking, which ranges from 16 to 18. But for marriage, it's eighteen, even for religious reasons.

  It's true that everyone has different aspirations and ways they want to fulfill their lives. Some dream of becoming successful scientists or astronauts, while others aim to be superstar athletes or five-star chefs. Some want to climb the corporate ladder, while others aspire to be the modern-day Da Vinci. There are those who want to be famous directors, forensic specialists, or profilers for law enforcement. Some people want to be gold diggers, explorers, or heartbreakers with numerous relationships but no serious commitments. Others dream of composing hit movies, becoming illustrious authors or artists, spies, or jacks of all trades. Some want to lead the free world, live in luxury, or become famous mixologists. There are those who want to turn their homes into private museums, become professional authors, rockstars, star news anchors, or popular figures with many friends. Some want to be superstar actors or actresses, have lots of children, rescue animals, or have a variety of pets. Others aspire to be world-renowned doctors, famous singers, visionaries, or simply win the lottery, whether it's the mega millions, powerball, or just a scratch-off.

  Take my girlfriend, for example. Her question was, "Will I live like my parents?" She grew up poor and impoverished, without much money, in a part of the city filled with American and Axis power weapons like the Model 1928 Thompson, M1A1 Thompson, MP40, and Beretta Model 38. Even though she's middle class now, she still considers herself poor because of her background. She's learned to appreciate what she has instead of constantly buying new things. In her part of the city, people didn't have the money to buy the latest consumer appliances, so many still used blenders and other appliances from the 1930s or 1940s, passed down from parents to children. Many of her dresses and heels were passed down from her mother. While she's a tomboy, the only time she wore masculine clothing in her youth was for gym class because her parents couldn't afford to buy her jeans, belts, undershirts, loafers, and flannel shirts.

  Of course, where my girlfriend is from, people are taught to repair things and make them last beyond their expected lifespan. Take a blender, for example. Typically, a blender's lifespan is about 3-5 years, but in her community, they manage to double or even triple that time. They prefer to keep using items until they can no longer be repaired. Many people there learned their mechanical and handyman skills in shop class during middle and high school, while others expanded their skills during their time in the army as mechanics or engineers.

  This resourcefulness is an exemplification to their ingenuity. It's a way of life that values sustainability and self-reliance, something that seems increasingly rare in today's throwaway culture. My girlfriend embodies this spirit; she can fix almost anything and always finds a way to make things work. It's one of the many things I admire about her.

  Living in Little Bird, where the focus is on the present, contrasts sharply with the mindset of her upbringing. Here, people might not worry about tomorrow, but they certainly know how to make the most of what they have today. It's a blend of living in the moment while also respecting and preserving the past.

  Of course, while thinking about the Militarists and Loyalists, they come in two forms. The first kind are those who are blindly loyal to their country, doing whatever is necessary to fulfill Little Bird's needs without question, even if their actions are questionable or borderline war crimes. The second kind are those who are loyal to some extent but have mixed feelings about war. They hope wars don’t last too long to spare soldiers and their families unnecessary suffering and even show sympathy to their enemies.

  According to my girlfriend, the first kind believes in harsh retaliation against their enemies. For example, if a resistance force ambushes them, they think the appropriate response is to retaliate against the civilian population, not realizing this will increase ambushes. The second kind of Militarists and Loyalists, however, are more discerning. They know what actions are necessary and which ones cross the line. They understand that being a defender in war is less morally ambiguous and know where to draw the line.

  Many of the second type fall under the saying, “the old man knows what he is doing,” while the first type are often young and over-eager, thinking that their zealousness will get them noticed positively. However, many of these young, blindly loyal soldiers eventually mature into the second type, realizing the dangers of blind loyalty. They learn that many officers in the Little Bird military achieved their ranks by asking questions and critically evaluating plans and ideas.

  According to my family members who are officers in the Little Bird military, their military schools teach them to be unpredictable and encourage questioning others' judgments when necessary. They say officers usually get promoted by using logic and thinking strategically. They are taught that "A predictable officer is a defeated officer." If the enemy can predict your movements, they have already defeated you. Being unpredictable forces the enemy to constantly guess your next move, allowing you to strike when they are distracted or by launching multiple fake offensives to divide their attention and hide the real attack.

  I mean, my family members who are military officers always emphasize the difference between officers who ask questions to learn or find better solutions and those who are simply incompetent. The latter often make poor decisions on the battlefield, driven by a desire to prove themselves to their peers and family, which usually results in disaster. Their decisions are often based on self-preservation or self-interest, making them highly predictable and ultimately ineffective.

  My family is like a game of UNO or Blackjack—you never know what cards your opponents have until they lay them on the table. I have family members who are officers in various fields, from Mechanized Infantry to an armored company. They understand that urban combat is particularly dangerous because they must constantly protect their flanks, and buildings can hide civilians or enemies waiting to ambush them.

  Many of my family members who are officers say the Soviets were caught off guard because of innovations like the special camouflage created by my cousin Mitzy’s wife, Visuala. This active camouflage dynamically adapts color and luminance, and the ceramic-composite armor makes getting shot feel like getting a tattoo—mildly uncomfortable rather than feeling like a kick in the chest. My family members always say, “Remember, always be the hunter, not the hunted.” They have incredible patience, which I admire because I would have lost mine dealing with subordinates who question orders every five seconds or complain about missing the battle because they want fame and glory.

  As they say, “Those who are the nicest are the meanest.” This patience extends to their personal lives, where they deal with spouses who sit around all day if they don’t get past the interview stage, and then call them manipulative or financially abusive when asked to do chores.

  Of course, I do have a cousin, Captain Alexander Sterling, who had quite the experience back in '05. His company had to fight a delaying battle against a Soviet task force in the foothills of the Mountain's Range. Their objective was to slow down the Soviet advance to give the defenders around Fort Aroura time to dig in. His mechanized company secured two fords before another company came in to hold them, allowing his company to move on and hold a bridge until engineers could rig it to blow.

  During that battle, his soldiers, a mix of Loyalists and Militarists, were shouting anti-communist slogans. Alexander had to remind them to stay off the radio and only report useful information, sparing the company their comments. He mentioned that some members of his company are deeply religious, living with beliefs reminiscent of the Medieval era. They even think animals should be tried and convicted of crimes, believing them to be possessed by Satan.

  Alexander comes from a strict religious family—his mother is a Waterson, and his father is not. His parents are devout and self-righteous, often twisting religious teachings to suit their views. However, Alexander isn't as devout. He finds their interpretations and actions off-putting, which has led him to distance himself from their strict beliefs.

  I decided to check social media to see what my friends were up to. Most of them are living pretty routine lives—going to work, coming home, and not having much of a social life like we did back in high school from 1998-2001. Many of them turned their part-time high school jobs into full-time gigs after graduation, and they're still at it.

  Then there are my other friends who were disowned and kicked out by their families over lies their siblings told. They made some not-so-subtle jabs about how my family took them in without hesitation. My family asked what happened, gave them space to adjust, and supported them through the transition. Meanwhile, their own families couldn't care less and abandoned them in their time of need.

  These friends often throw shade at their families, pointing out how "real family" doesn't abandon you when things get tough. Now, some of their parents want them back in their lives because they see them as financially successful. But my friends are standing their ground, telling their parents they have to live with the consequences of their actions. Their parents disowned them over a lie, believed without question, and now they want back in because of money. It's a harsh reality, but my friends are stronger for it.

  Of course, the ones who were disowned and kicked out also post about how their family members, who hadn't spoken to them in years, suddenly remember their existence now that they have successful careers and are financially stable. These friends either invested their money wisely or saved diligently, and after ten years of hard work since their teens, they're now doing well.

  They often highlight on their timelines how their families, who once abandoned them, are now trying to reconnect. They acknowledge that family is family, but they also make it clear that there's a big difference between family members who are there only for the good times and those who stick with you through thick and thin. For my friends who were disowned, their entire family falls into the former category, and the "family is family" card doesn't work on them. It's like the saying goes, "You'll only find out who your real friends are when you're down."

  Of course, my friends who were taken in by my family always talk about how my family showed their true colors by helping a stranger in need. They remember those late-night calls between 12 AM and 3 AM from my father, asking if they could take someone in because their parents had disowned them over a lie. Some family members couldn't help, but those who could stepped up without hesitation. They even spoke to my friends' parents, who were more than willing to sign away their parental rights, making my family the legal guardians. This was crucial because they knew that if a sibling could lie to their parents, they could easily spread those lies at school, and one juicy rumor can destroy a life.

  My friends also mention how they tried to repay my family members who took them in, even though it wasn't necessary. My family either donated the money to charity, saved it for a rainy day, or put it into their 401k. Despite this, their disowning families would preach about family loyalty and the importance of helping out. But when my friends asked, "Where was this family when my sibling destroyed my life over a lie?" they were painted as the villains—ungrateful sons or daughters who turned their backs on their family in their time of need. Their families only saw one side of the story and couldn't understand why they refused to help.

  Their families would often pull the "Sometimes you have to forgive" card, saying life is too short to hold grudges. But my friends would snap back, "I'm not forgiving them, and I'll hold my grudge until the day I'm put in the ground." It's a harsh stance, but after everything they've been through, it's understandable. They learned the hard way that true loyalty and support come from those who stand by you through thick and thin, not just when it's convenient.

  Heck, my friends also shared how they initially feared my extended family would turn on them when their own families reached out. But they were pleasantly surprised to find support. My extended family showed their true colors by defending them in their time of need. We're the type who, when we make mistakes, at least own up to them.

  I do have family members who think they're doing what's best for everyone but end up driving their kids away. Later, they realize their actions were one-sided and try to make amends. Many of their kids, however, feel it's too little, too late. The damage is done, and nothing can fix what's broken. Some might let their parents back into their lives if they receive a sincere, heartfelt apology and only meet up in neutral locations that don't benefit either/or, but most have moved on and don't want to reconnect. Pressuring them to forgive only makes things worse, sometimes leading to restraining orders or protection orders.

  My disowned friends who lived with my family learned a different family lifestyle based on love and support. My family offers support in a way that's neither too intrusive nor too distant. They know they have our support without us encroaching on their lives. They also saw how close-knit we are and how we're willing to stand up for each other. For example, when some family members by marriage tried to force others to babysit their kids so they could party, we stood firm. We believe that being a parent means life isn't all about you anymore; you have to take care of your children.

  My friends learned that we don't subscribe to the "keep the peace" mentality that sacrifices one person to placate another. Saying you want to keep the peace often means you want a victim to suffer in silence because you don't want to deal with the conflict. My family believes in standing up for what's right, even if it means ruffling a few feathers.

  Of course, to me, my family is both a bad and good influence. When my disowned friends got into fights, their parents always blew it out of proportion. But in my family, if one of our kids gets into a fight, the first thing we ask is, "Did you fight back or run away?" Depending on the answer, the response varies. If they ran away, they get a lecture about how running away won't solve problems because eventually, they'll have to stand up for themselves. But if they fought back, they get praised for standing their ground. We believe that running away only makes things worse, while fighting back shows you're not a pushover.

  If our kids ask if they can get someone else to fight their battles, we explain that it's a mixed bag. That person could be bought out by the enemy, as many people will switch allegiances for the right price. It's better to fight your own battles and not rely on others who might not have your best interests at heart.

  So, my disowned friends learned that it's okay to fight their own battles and that it's important to stand up for themselves without it being blown out of proportion. This mindset was influenced by some of the male Watersons who took them in, many of whom were veterans of the Gulf War or Vietnam. They come from families where fighting, even in self-defense, is seen as a cardinal sin, while we Watersons believe in standing up for ourselves where to us if someone wants to fight you with their fists but you have a baseball bat then it’s still fair game or if someone has a baseball bat and you have a chainsaw then to us that’s still fair game.

  As I continued to scroll through my social media feeds, my disowned friends shared more about their experiences. They described living with their biological families as living in purgatory, and they would rather endure Hell than go back to those who couldn't care less about them. To them, their biological families are dead in a metaphorical sense. They learned from me that if people aren't there for you during your toughest times, they shouldn't be there when you're celebrating your best moments. As my dad used to say, "If they're not there for you when you're at your worst, then they shouldn't be there for you when you're at your best." My friends had to learn that the hard way.

  Living with my family taught them the true meaning of support and loyalty. They saw firsthand how we stand by each other, no matter what. It was a tough adjustment, but they learned that real family is about being there through thick and thin, not just when it's convenient. They found a new sense of belonging and realized that sometimes, the family you choose can be more supportive and loving than the one you're born into.

  My disowned friends took those lessons and applied them to the dating world, figuring out who was interested in them for their money or influence and who was there for true love. They learned that not everything that glitters is gold. They got advice from my family members of the opposite gender, who warned them that everyone is different, so their words shouldn't be taken as gospel. Some family members want a partner who is active in sports and wants their kids to be the same, while others just want someone who accepts them, flaws and all. Everyone's wants and needs are different.

  Many of my disowned male friends learned that my female relatives aren't interested in money. To them, a one-dollar bottle of water is better than a three-dollar canned soda, and a family heirloom wedding ring is more valuable than a five-carat diamond.

  Some of my disowned friends also saw firsthand that my family has its own problems. When they stayed with my extended family, they learned that what looks like a perfect marriage on the surface can be very different behind closed doors. Many of my female relatives have careers and families, working ten-hour days and still coming home to cook for their families. Their husbands often get cranky over minor things, are ungrateful, and don't help out, not caring that their wives also work. These husbands complain about nagging and crying kids but never think to ask how their wives are doing or feeling.

  Many female Watersons work minimum wage jobs, putting in fifty-hour weeks with unappreciative bosses, then come home to take care of their kids, clean the house, and cook dinner. They're tired and stressed, but just because their husbands complain all the time doesn't mean they're not miserable too—they just don't show it. My disowned friends learned that every family has its struggles, and it's important to recognize and appreciate the effort and sacrifices made by each member.

  Of course, my disowned friends learned quickly that my female relatives with ungrateful husbands had a strong support system. Those husbands knew better than to cross a line because many of my granduncles, who served in World War II and Korea, were tough as nails. They were the kind of soldiers who'd share a smoke with captured enemies, then grab their Thompson M1 or M1 Garand and handle business. My friends would often say, "If they were willing to do that after Pearl Harbor, imagine what they'd do if someone messed with their family."

  My friends were amazed that my granduncles, in their eighties, could still read maps to navigate. It wasn't just because they grew up before computers; as officers, they had to read maps to lead their platoons or companies in unfamiliar territories across North Africa, Europe, and the Pacific. Meanwhile, most of my friends rely on GPS just to get to work and back.

  When it came to homework, my disowned friends didn't just reword textbooks. They asked my family members who served in World War II, Korea, Vietnam, and the Gulf War for insights, always careful not to reopen old wounds. They couldn't ask about being attacked directly, as my granduncles, born in the early 1920s, had a different perspective. They had to drop out of school to support their families and later used the G.I. Bill to get their diplomas and GEDs. Back then, only about 45% of U.S. soldiers had high school diplomas; the rest were dropouts. My friends realized how lucky they were to stay in school from kindergarten through high school.

  This gave my friends a new perspective on how different life was for previous generations. While we have video games and endless entertainment options, my granduncles had to make do with movies, outdoor play, or listening to the radio—if they could afford the batteries.

  My disowned friends also learned about the struggles of past generations, especially during the Great Depression. Back then, many people were unemployed and didn't trust banks, so they hid their money in mattresses. This was before the government insured banks, meaning if a bank went under, all the money deposited was lost. This gave my friends a new perspective on how lucky they are today, knowing their money is safe and insured by the government.

  Now, ten to twelve years later, their families want to come back into their lives, either because they see financial benefits or because it's socially acceptable now that my friends are doing well. Some of my friends are even on the verge of getting married, and their families, who once abandoned them, are trying to re-enter their lives. My friends worry that these family members will act like stage actors—either leaving right after the wedding or sticking around to turn the day against them, painting themselves as saints and their disowned kids as the bad guys.

  Some of my disowned friends even refer to their parents as nothing more than both sperm and egg donors. They’ve made it clear they want nothing to do with them. They skip any ceremonies or family events their parents invite them to, like weddings or funerals, because they see their biological family as strangers who treated them the same way. As my family says, they're "giving them a taste of their own medicine." People tend not to like that because it forces them to feel the neglect they once inflicted.

  My friends believe that if their families weren't there for them in their time of need, they won't be there for their families now. It's a harsh lesson, but it’s one they’ve learned well. They’ve built new lives and new families with people who genuinely care about them, and they’re not willing to let the past drag them down. They’ve found strength in the support and love they received from my family and others who stood by them, and they’re determined to move forward with those who truly matter.

  Of course, my family taught them the Golden Rule. "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you." They explained to my disowned friends that this means treating others how you want to be treated. If you treat others like dirt, you shouldn't be surprised when they treat you the same way. My family also introduced them to the concept of Karma, explaining that "what comes around goes around."

  Many of my disowned friends' parents lost some friends over their actions. These friends couldn't take them in because they had no room, unless they wanted to spend the rest of their high school years sleeping on a couch. A few months might be manageable, but three or four years is a different story. They politely declined, knowing that their siblings would likely spread false rumors around high school, making their lives even more difficult. Moving miles away, even to different states, seemed like the better option to start anew.

  My friends learned that sometimes, starting over is the best way to escape a toxic environment. They found new beginnings and built new lives, supported by people who genuinely cared about them. They realized that true family isn't always about blood but about those who stand by you through thick and thin. They took these lessons to heart, applying them to their relationships and daily lives, always remembering the importance of treating others with kindness and respect.

  My family also taught my disowned friends that sometimes, what seems like a good idea can have unintended consequences or even be a crime. For example, some of my family members knew people who thought they were helping by delivering mail when their mail carrier got hurt. They ended up delivering mail to the wrong recipients, including important documents like jury duty summons, and even hijacked mail trucks to deliver more mail. They got arrested because tampering with the mail and impersonating a mail carrier are federal crimes.

  The moral of that story is that just because something seems like a good idea in your mind or on paper, it doesn't mean it will have the desired outcome. In fact, it can have the opposite effect. My family taught my friends that it's often better to let time play out rather than rush into actions that could have unforeseen consequences. They learned that what sounds good on paper doesn't always work out in reality.

  This lesson helped my friends understand the importance of thinking things through and considering the potential consequences of their actions. They realized that sometimes, the best course of action is to be patient and let things unfold naturally, rather than trying to force a solution that might backfire.

  Heck, most of my disowned friends made their money by investing, either in the stock market or in a friend's startup. My extended family, who took them in, always encouraged them to invest but also warned them about the risks. They explained that many startups fail, and investing can be a roll of the dice. They emphasized that while investing can lead to great rewards, it can also result in significant losses and debt. It was up to my friends to decide, but they were advised to think carefully about the consequences and make informed decisions.

  My family taught them to base their decisions on facts and to ask questions to understand what they were getting into. They also stressed the importance of reflecting on their actions. They warned that some people, thinking they're high and mighty, can go overboard and alienate others. By the time they realize their mistakes, it might be too late, and they could find themselves all alone, having driven everyone away with their overzealous behavior.

  This advice helped my friends navigate their financial decisions and personal relationships more wisely. They learned the value of humility, careful planning, and the importance of maintaining good relationships. They understood that success isn't just about making money but also about building and maintaining trust and respect with those around them.

  But to me, I love seeing my disowned friends make those not-so-subtle jabs at their families who weren't there for them. They often express how grateful they are that total strangers stepped in and supported them at their lowest points, doing more for them in a few years than their own families did in fourteen. Their families only did the bare minimum to avoid government intervention, and my friends see them as cult-like in their behavior.

  The family that took them in taught them valuable lessons that still pay off a decade later. They learned to appreciate what they have instead of discarding things, and they even started naming items that bring them joy. For example, many Watersons are vehicle enthusiasts who appreciate the craftsmanship of a fine ride and understand the value of a dependable vehicle. Their relationship with their vehicles is special and name their vehicles.

  For us Watersons, it's practically a cardinal sin to eat lasagna without breadsticks! My friends also saw how my family helped them improve their grades. Instead of settling for D's and C's, they started getting B's and A's. My family encouraged them to participate in after-school activities and other extracurriculars, opening up new opportunities and experiences for them.

  Seeing my friends thrive and make these jabs at their families is a reminder of how far they've come and how much they've grown. They found a new sense of belonging and learned to value the support and love they received from those who truly cared.

  Of course, some of my disowned friends mentioned how the Waterson kids they stayed with initially scared them a bit. They were slightly taller and more well-built, thanks to regular exercise from participating in sports like wrestling, baseball, football, or other physical education activities. Many of them live on farms, where being in good physical condition is essential for tasks like repairing fences. I often say it's like how the Ancient Greeks valued physical fitness as a sign of strength and goodness.

  My friends also formed strong brotherly or sisterly bonds with the Waterson kids. They've known each other long enough that any romantic relationship is out of the question—they see each other as siblings and respect that boundary. They understand what each other is comfortable with and won't push those limits. They know that if someone declines something and gives a reason, that decision should be respected. Persistently asking after being told no only worsens the relationship. It's important to recognize the difference between a small and a big task and respect each other's boundaries.

  These experiences taught my friends the value of mutual respect and understanding in relationships. They learned that true family and friendship are built on trust, respect, and knowing when to step back and honor someone's comfort zone. This has helped them navigate their personal relationships with more empathy and consideration.

  My extended family also encouraged my disowned friends to catch up on classic literature, like the works of Shakespeare. While they explored the Elizabethan era, my interests go back even further to the Ancient era.

  A clap of thunder startled me, and I almost dropped my phone. I tightened my grip just in time, knowing that if I had dropped it, I'd need to make a trip back to the United States to get the screen fixed.

  I also read about how grateful my friends are for having people who showed them the ropes and taught them how to navigate life. They learned to avoid certain types of people, like some of the male Watersons who are mama's boys. While being close to your mother isn't inherently bad, many of my female friends have dated mama's boys who insist on bringing their mothers on every date and trip. These guys get all high and mighty when my female friends suggest bringing their own parents along, leading to heated arguments. It's a double standard where the boyfriend can bring his mother without question, but when my female friends want to do the same, they're painted as the bad guys.

  These experiences have taught my friends valuable lessons about relationships and boundaries. They’ve learned to stand up for themselves and recognize when someone’s behavior is unfair or hypocritical. It’s all part of the journey of finding genuine connections and building a life surrounded by people who truly care.

  Some of my female friends have dated my male relatives who are mama's boys, but these relationships have clear boundaries. They let their mothers meet their girlfriends to get to know them, not to dictate their lives. For those who married my male relatives, their mothers understand the importance of maintaining a respectful distance. They know not to overstep by asking to join honeymoons or vacations meant for couples. They realize that crossing such lines could lead to being excluded from important milestones, like the birth of grandchildren.

  Many of my female friends are open to dating mama's boys as long as their mothers don't dominate their lives. They want partners who prioritize their relationship over their mother's influence. Most of my friends are estranged from their biological families and have found solace in people who genuinely care and listen. They value friendships with those who are truly there for them, not just in words but in actions.

  These experiences have taught my friends the importance of setting boundaries and finding people who respect them. They’ve learned to appreciate the support and love from those who stood by them, and they strive to build relationships based on mutual respect and understanding.

  Of course, some of my female relatives have sibling-like relationships with other family members of mine. It's best to think of them as brother and sister or sister and sister. Nine times out of ten, just when you think they're about to show some kindness or decency, they'll remind you how siblings often don't get along.

  Many of my male relatives refuse to date my female friends, and vice versa, because they've known each other for too long, and it would feel weird. However, some are willing to give a relationship a try, especially since many of my friends were disowned by their families over lies. They've learned that family isn't just about blood; it's about those who love you as their own. As Maya Angelou said, "Family isn’t always blood; it’s the people in your life who want you in theirs: the ones who accept you for who you are, the ones who would do anything to see you smile, and who love you no matter what."

  Of course, some of my disowned friends did try to reconnect with their families, but it mostly ended badly. Their toxic families called them childish or just wanted money from them. When my friends told their biological families that they had a new life and didn't want to be bothered, their families didn't take it lying down. They started calling, emailing, and when my friends blocked their numbers and email addresses, their families just changed their phone numbers or bought burner phones to keep contacting them.

  Many of my friends can't change their phone numbers because their jobs require them to be reachable 24/7 and if they change their number then their bosses will be mad for them being unreachable until the moment they update their number. If they did change their numbers, their families could still find them through their jobs. Some of my friends work on-call jobs or contracts where clients need to get a hold of them, so changing their numbers isn't an option. The moment their families started bothering them, they blocked the numbers and changed their own numbers, but it was a constant battle.

  My disowned friends also shared how my family, who took them in, taught their kids not to judge others until they've walked a mile in their shoes. Some of my extended family even made their own kids experience what my friends were going through to show them the reality of the situation. This helped shut down any judgmental attitudes and fostered empathy.

  It's normal for people not to talk about their experiences, especially those who have been through combat or other traumatic events. Many of my older family members, who were in their fifties to seventies back in the late 1990s to early 2000s, came from a time when trauma and mental health weren't fully understood. People who talked about their experiences were often incarcerated or locked away, subjected to treatments that would be considered human rights violations today.

  My disowned friends are grateful to have people who listen and make them feel like it's not their fault. They learned that people are different and that there are families who are there for you no matter what, and others who should probably take tests to see if they should become parents. They found solace in knowing that they have a support system that genuinely cares about them and understands their struggles.

  These experiences have taught my friends the importance of empathy and the value of having a supportive network. They’ve learned to appreciate those who stand by them and to be cautious about opening up to those who might not understand or care. It’s a tough journey, but they’ve found strength in the love and support they received from my family and others who truly care.

  Of course, my disowned friends embody the wisdom of Socrates, who famously said:

  

  
1. “For I was conscious that I knew practically nothing…” This quote highlights Socrates’ awareness of his own ignorance. He recognized that despite his knowledge, there was still much he did not know. This humility and acknowledgment of his limitations are central to his philosophical approach.


  

  2. “The ancient Oracle said that I was the wisest of all the Greeks. It is because I alone, of all the Greeks, know that I know nothing.” According to the Oracle of Delphi, Socrates was the wisest man because he was aware of his own ignorance. Unlike others who believed they knew everything, Socrates understood that true wisdom comes from recognizing one’s own lack of knowledge.

  My disowned friends proudly admit when they don't know something. They understand that lying or pretending to know can lead to more harm than good. They'd rather acknowledge their ignorance than be ignorant. This humility and willingness to learn have made them wiser and more open to new experiences and knowledge.

  They've learned that true wisdom comes from recognizing one's limitations and being open to learning from others. This mindset has helped them navigate their lives with more clarity and understanding, appreciating the support and love from those who genuinely care about them. They continue to grow and learn, always striving to be better and more knowledgeable, while staying grounded in the reality of their experiences.

  Of course, most of my friends live in states that don’t require a license to be a contractor. They often find themselves in apartment buildings with people who claim to know how to fix things because they’re groundskeepers, but they lack the proper training to be electricians or plumbers. These individuals often take the job just to get reduced rent, preferring to live in ignorance rather than gaining the necessary knowledge and skills.

  This situation highlights a broader reality; many people would rather remain ignorant and pretend to know something they don’t. They don’t recognize their own limitations or seek to learn from others, missing out on new experiences and knowledge. Despite the age-old saying, “knowledge is power,” they choose to live in a bubble of false confidence.

  My friends, on the other hand, have learned the value of admitting when they don’t know something and seeking out the knowledge they need. They understand that true wisdom comes from recognizing one’s limitations and being open to learning. This mindset has helped them navigate their lives more effectively, appreciating the support and love from those who genuinely care about them. They continue to grow and learn, always striving to be better and more knowledgeable, while staying grounded in the reality of their experiences. And know who to avoid and who to let in as well.

  I’m now thinking about how some of my disowned friends, despite their gut feelings, chose to reconnect with their biological families out of curiosity. Some of them faced demands to break up with their current significant others to go on blind dates with people their families could manipulate and control. They quickly realized their parents' intentions and regretted not following their instincts.