Tick tick tick tickyou never wake up lateIt's always 6:55 that my eyes open. The same time that has been going on since I was 12 and didn't worry about what I would do with myself. But it took a few more minutes to stay in bed, as always. My body still works like clockwork, and every millisecond of relaxation is an opportunity to remember the muscles you have, the clothes you wear, and the fact that your rations will be fresh when you get to the mess hall. I walk past the mirror to go to the closet. It's 4 feet from the bed and reminds me too much of myself. Cold and silent and with an apathetic steely gaze that prevents people from making an effort to be with you. They don't look at you, they just want to see themselves. The wardrobe was made of wood, I've always been afraid of fires, but it had iron handles and plating on some. It looked like a reconstruction of a scrap yard and I wondered who commissioned it. It was given to me as a gift instead of taking on the corporal role offered to me. This happened 4 years ago. Patrol starts in 20 minutes. The uniform for the lamplighters was a simple white top, a little dirty and torn but never mine, a pair of dark gray trousers, with linen streaks, thick socks for cold nights and thin socks socks for all other times at due to the tendency of boots to rub the heels. Then came the long coat. The standout feature with a flat collar and gold decorations on its otherwise black material. There are two main holsters for the belt, one for the flashlight, stock and the other for a filly of mine specialized with alchemized bullets. There was a brass chain leading to a pocket watch in the top left pocket, although I usually preferred to stick my own. The mess hall was four corridors down. It's not much of a hassle, but... middle of paper... Approaching the counter, a metallic voice began to chirp. Oddly enough, though, it had a more pleasant sound that partially masked it and was slightly music box-like. The source appeared to be the shape of a bird with its wings fixed in an upward position but its neck still open to reveal all the tiny gears that made it sing. I let out a reverential breath, I hadn't seen something so intricate since the days of clock tower and it was such a small staircase..."Oh, a customer?" The man behind the counter looked up, his eyes dark-rimmed and his skin the color of cedar planks. His hair was dark brown, messy, and almost certainly completely dirty, but he looked young, fit, and far too tired for his own good. "I'm here to pick up a package. It was ordered two weeks ago by Hanji" "Military! Oh, that makes sense. Wait a second." He reached for the desk