As the check passed from behind the desk of the unemployment clerk, Rubin Dohrn's already dour mood deflated further. The grandmotherly office worker reminds him as a formality that this money order would be the last one afforded by the government and that from here on out, he is statistically no longer considered a part of the nation's unemployment rate. With a sad nod and a quiet thank you, the young man takes the check from her withered hands and purses his lips as he rises himself up and begins departing her cubicle.

"If it's any consolation." She begins. "I've worked here for almost four and a half decades, and in all that time, I have never had a client work as hard as you have trying to get out of here before burning the clock down. Your application record is astounding in terms of detail and quantity."

"I'm just trying to live a normal life Ma'am." He replied with a final salutation.

Rubin knew she meant well, but as he made his way through the clammy and drab lobby of Ostania's unemployment office and into the second level corridor of Berlint City Hall, the young man couldn't help but let out a bitter chuckle as he stared intently at the job board outside the office and replayed the events that got him here in the first place.

"Yeah…just trying to live a normal life."

(One year prior…give or take a week; Rubin's POV)

"Listen Red Circus man. Don't you ever go near…that lady ever again. And you better stop all this bad guy stuff forever. Go home and make Catherine happy."

Her pistol was pretend, but her will to defend the Thorn Princess was all too real…and it was enough of a thumb on the scale to come…"clean".

Up to that point I worked at the Royal Hugaria, one of the swankiest eateries the city of Berlint had to offer. Any cooking student worth their salt would happily swan-dive into a wood chipper for a chance to get past the front door, even if the job in question was that of Part-time Waiter or Busboy…Of course, that was by day. When the sun set however, I was training to be a militiaman with the Red Circus. Like many hopelessly idealistic college kids, I felt lured in with all their radical utopian talk about birth pains of revolution, killing the lion of tyranny, how even if our hands get bloody blood washes off, and blah, blah, blah we get the idea. That night was the night I and some other recruits were given our initiation mission; nothing heavy duty, just set off some smoke bombs in and around Blackbell Heavy Industries and warn them more will come unless they cough up half a million Dalcs, more than enough to get our comrades bailed out. All seemed to go swimmingly until she showed up…the one they call The Thorn Princess. I alone managed to survive this one-woman wrecking crew and will forever lose sleep knowing how she dispatched us with mechanic precision, even if in the end a bullet in the ass dented her overall mystique.

For a glimmer of a moment, seeing the Thorn Princess in the flesh as she and a male companion enjoyed a night on the town felt like a new lease on it all; that my survival was fate, God, destiny or whatever giving me a second chance to avenge my fallen compatriots. But it all proved for naught as she survived a martini laced with enough Fugu poison to bring down a small whale, and I survived my encounter with this seemingly clairvoyant kiddie cutthroat with pink hair. No doubt a goon or pint-sized protégé of hers.

I turned myself in the next morning to the SSS and spilled my guts, coughing up as much names and intel as I could. But while I legally lucked out, the bottom fell from beneath the rest of my life. The rest of the Royal Hugaria staff learned of my nocturnal dealings and management terminated my employment under the rationale of how much damage had been done to the supply room from pinky's peanut bomb. I couldn't in the end make Catherine happy because as much as she loved me, her parents' already abysmal impression of me soured further upon learning I now had no job. Every now and again, I could feel a lingering glare from an SSS agent in disguise keeping tabs on me as I did so much as scratch my nose.

But worst of all, the simple joy that came from cooking seemed to vanish. Even the official "end" of the Red Circus after their failed attempt at kidnapping some Eden brats did little to lift my spirits. More than anything, I felt…if you forgive the pun…an odd taste in my mouth reading Billy Squire's account of how some defiant doe-eyed dumpling of a kid broke him on a very intimate level…

…as if she knew what triggers to pull…

…as if she read his mind…

(Present)

The door slammed open and the scuffle that followed bought Rubin's thoughts crashing back down to earth. Howls of laughter came from the unemployment office as a stubbly, brown-haired man clutched a beige pork-pie hat to his chest in indignation.

"Laugh if you may, puny fools." He said with the rueful bluster seen only in the most deluded and pompous of souls. "But a dawn shall come when the name of Daybreak shall flow from your lips with awe and wonder at the feats I-"

"Good bye Mr. Koyner." One of the unemployment clerks interjects before descending into fits of cackling as she tosses the man's black jacket at his feet and closes the door anew.

In his fury, the man who called himself Daybreak barrels past another clerk carrying a fresh stack of papers for the job board. Among the papers that fell like snowflakes, one by chance happened to float slowly and land at the feet of Rubin as he made his respective way to the door:

SEEKING TO FILL FOLLOWING POSITIONS FOR NEW BONDMAN THEMED CAFÉ:

WAITSTAFF (any acting experience welcome)

CHEFS/BARTENDERS (will train as necessary)

SERIOUS INQUIRIES ONLY

CONTACT I.N. FLEMMING AT XXX-XXX-XXXX

There were many times in Rubin's life when he surrendered life's steering wheel to God, Fate, Destiny or whatever name people call the invisible hand that acts in lieu of free will. Though many have mocked and branded him as 'impulsive' 'idealistic' and 'green' (among other pejoratives too numerous to list), the lad knew when to take a leap regardless of reason. Sure it lead him into the Red Circus, but it also knew when to pull him out. Furthermore it also gave him the nerve to not only apply to the Royal Hugaria despite half a semester of cooking school under his belt but also try his hand at bartending which earned him the attention and phone number of a girl named Catherine.

With a determined frown etched on his face, Rubin glanced out of the windows of City Hall's doorway and for a fleeting moment caught the hat of this Mr. Koyner briefly bobbing among the bustling Berlint boulevard before turning a corner and vanishing altogether. Racing through the main Foyer, the lad sprang into action; breezing past a trio of female clerks as they took advantage of a lull in their work, and elected to join a fourth friend on her smoking break in the entranceway courtyard.

AN: Pointless Trivia time!

Rubin Dohrn's name is a nod to the 1960s radicals Jerry Rubin (1938-1994) of Chicago 7 infamy and Bernadine Dohrn (b.1942) who co-founded the left-wing terrorist group Weather Underground.