James stared at the whistle in his hand. A simple thing of tarnished nickel with dents and scratches lining its body. He stared at it as the smell of copper and the acrid stench of burnt gunpowder suffused lungs.

  Decades of being worn made one side noticeably worn, the constant contact with skin made the nickel pting rub off revealing the brass underneath.

  It was a whistle passed down to him by his father, his father's father, and his father’s father's father. From all the way back to 1918 till today, 2011. Nearly a hundred years ago passed down from one hand to the next.

  He'd worn the thing nearly his entire life, not blowing it once as his father, and his father before, made sure to drive it in to never EVER blow the whistle unless they were in a literal life or death situation. And he hadn't blown it since that one time where he almost did, and his father belted him for it.

  His father has never blown it, HIS father has never blown it. The only one amongst this lineage who might have blown it was the one who went to war against the krauts back in 1918.

  James would have gone his whole life without blowing it, eventually passing it along to his son when he turned 8 and hoping that his child would never have to use it. But James HAD used it.

  He had to.

  It was the only option, and only thing within reach, as he id in a fetal position being beaten nearly to death by a gang of ABB.

  His bag of groceries y scattered across the alley that he naively chose to use in an effort to get through their territory to his apartment.

  A fatal error made in haste and desperation as the evening light quickly faded from the streets of Brockton Bay. He didn't want to be caught out after dark, afraid of nding in the exact situation he found himself in. quickly speed walking through the alley only to be shoved to the side losing his grip on his groceries as he stumbled on a squishy bag of trash.

  He fell on the ground with pain radiating from his elbow and knee as they made first contact with the hard concrete. James was not used to pain. Not in this world, nor his original.

  He looked up as the one who shoved him approached from an unseen alcove hidden by the lengthening shadows of the alley accompanied three other compatriots, one of which carried a metal bat on his shoulders. They were ughing and jeering at his supine form. They mocked him in a nguage that he thought was Japanese, the tone and sneers conveying more meaning than their foreign words ever could. As they neared the stench of alcohol overpowered the fetid odor of the alley and despite never having been in true danger before, James knew danger had found him.

  He tried to crawl back away from them, one arm palm out towards trying to ward off their continued aggression. He pleaded for them to let him leave, but they refused to listen. Maybe it was because they were drunk and angry, some sort of event happening earlier in the day that caused them to try and drink away the experience only to be interrupted by James.

  Maybe it was because he was the wrong ethnicity in an Asian supremacist territory. Maybe it was because they were immigrants who chose not to learn the local nguage and so did not understand him and only thought of him lesser for it. Maybe Lady Luck just chose that day in particur to fuck with James.

  It didn't matter in the end. All excuses meant little as they chose violence.

  They rushed him and he tried to scramble away, barely getting a foot from where he was st before they were on him like a pack of hyenas.

  With a painful stomp he was sent to the ground, pain radiating from his calf. Then they started to pummel him as he curled up upon himself. Hands going over his head and neck to prevent the kicks from causing severe damage as best he could. It hurt, but he felt that he could survive as the sneakers and boots nded on him.

  But then the metal bat got involved and he felt the blow nd on his bicep, the pain caused him to yell in agony. Through teary eyes he searched around for anything to grab to fight off his assaints but the closest hard object, a fist-sized chunk of brick, was too far away from him.

  As the ABB gangsters escated their abuse, he felt for the whistle that was strung around his neck. At worst they would be startled and give him a chance to flee, at best some good samaritan would help him.

  He took in a lung full of air as best he could and with a shuddering breath, blew the trench whistle.

  *Fweeeee!*

  The sound reverberated in the alley, growing louder and louder until it took on a distorted quality. With a fsh and the sound of thunder, roars of fear, courage, and desperation spilled from beyond and into this world. The cmor of boots charging on the concrete grew louder, a cacophony echoing through the alleyway.

  James kept his eyes shut, the fsh of light temporarily bleeding through his eyelids as he y huddled upon himself as he felt the ground shake around him. The beating stopped; the inebriated gangsters startled. Then they began panicking as they attempted to flee the onrush of people.

  The mob flowed around James like water, and it was not long before he heard the pain-filled yelps and screams of his assaints, the distinct sound of things being punctured underlining the agony.

  He slowly started to open his eyes as he heard footsteps approaching him. And then he saw a woman no older than a college student wearing a forest green uniform straight out of the trenches from WW1, even had a rifle held loosely in her off hand.

  She reached out a hand for him and csped his arm, pulling him up.

  "Up you go, Sir. We showed those scoundrels what for, I tell you." She cheerily stated, as if the groans of the bleeding ABB members weren't even a noteworthy thing.

  He was confused and bleary-eyed and so asked the only thing he could think to ask. "Wha-What about them? We can't leave them like that."

  The words felt right but the sound felt off, as if it weren't him speaking to them but someone else, someone fairer.

  "OH!" The WW1 reenactor? knocked her green Brodie helmet with a knuckle causing it to tilt from its loose fit. "My word, you're right! I almost forgot about them. We can't have those yabouts causing more trouble."

  She turned about face and addressed the others standing in the alley. All wearing WW1 uniforms, All armed with rifles. The exception was two slightly taller girls who had rge machine guns, one had it resting on her shoulder while the other was leaning on it as a cane.

  "Alright dies! Make sure they don't suffer now."

  The group of WW1 soldier women gave off salutes in varying degrees of professionalism accompanying it with "Aye sir!"

  He blinked at the sight. Watched as the two machine gunners pulled out 1911s while the rifle women pressed their weapons' stocks into their shoulders. He watched in disbelief and naivety that he wasn't about to watch what was about to happen.

  With almost synchronized precision they all fired. His whole body flinched and the simultaneous whipcracks briefly deafened him. The three ABB members were riddled with holes; however, one was lucky—or rather unfortunate—to still be alive, though barely.

  Apparently finding the result offensive, the leader of the group scoffed.

  "I told you not to make the d suffer! Stand aside, you imbeciles, and allow me to handle this!" She muttered to herself as she pushed aside one of the soldiers. "Lousy, no good. If you can't do the job, then have someone else do it for you."

  She took aim with her own rifle before delivering the final shot to end the young man's life.

  James stood frozen as he watched the execution, eyes wide and mouth dry.

  He pulled the whistle from his neck and stared at it as the group of out-of-time soldiers went to loot the dead men, boys really.

  James stared at the whistle in his hand. The smell of blood and gunpowder was heavy in the air... And then he heard sirens approaching.

  His eyes widened as he started to look around in panic. The blood was pooling in the alley, mixing with the trash and the filth, the three dead and executed bodies painting a macabre scene that would have been a smoking gun for his crime if not for the literal smoking guns held by the soldier girls, which would make the police response far, far more violent.

  "Oh shit! oh shit oh shitohshitohshit!!!" He muttered to himself, his voice still feeling off, as he tried to think of a way to avoid jail as an illegal or worse be gunned down by police.

  James' panicked muttering was heard by the leader of the group that murdered the three gangsters, and she approached him with her head tilted.

  "Sir? What has got your knickers in a bunch?" She asked with innocence pstered on her face.

  He finally noticed her as she got within arms distance of him. He stared at her in confusion for a second before realizing she was serious. James' brow knit together as he answered her question.

  "WHAT HAS-? You killed them! you all KILLED those guys!"

  The WW1 soldier girl pulled her head back in shocked confusion.

  "Of course, we neutralized them. They were enemy combatants assaulting an allied officer. It was our duty to respond to such an attack." She said the final part while thrusting out her chest as if the idea of executing somebody was as moral as taking out the trash.

  The sounds of sirens got closer. The fact that they were even bothering to show up likely due to the fact that they were on the edge of ABB territory to begin with.

  She must have heard the sirens as she tilted her head to the side trying to make out the sound. She squinted her eyes at James in question. "What's that racket coming towards us?

  James almost threw the whistle as he brought his arms out in exacerbation.

  "That's the Police! And you guys just killed three people! We can't be here when they get here! We need to leave, NOW!"

  He grabbed hold of the squad leader's arm and started to pull her away from the alley. She stumbled and sputtered at the action before finally catching herself and yelling back at her subordinates.

  "Hustle up, you lot! The Sarge wants us to relocate before the ftfoots get here!"

  The Machine gunner toughs hefted their Chauchat's to a better position on their back for rapid redeployment while the scavengers quickly tucked their spoils into their avaible pockets before following along, holding their Springfield rifles by the midpoint.

  They all ran out of the alley as James led them towards his apartment. The Police just barely missed them as they approached the crime scene.