When the unpleasant necessity of protecting the fledgling Rheinland Republic required the construction of a special prison for handling violent radicals, the Vierlande Prison was stationed in Hamburg in 715 AS. Its extreme isolation and lack of appreciable sunlight make it one of the more dreaded destinations for captured Red Hessians, Unioners, and other criminals. Sentences are almost always for life.
For those who make voyage to this dismal Abbey class station, whether it be delivering captured criminals for processing or in the transporting of supplies, there is a place where a cold Rheinbier is not out of the question. A modest mess hall, soldatten-kaffee and bar conveniently located near to the hangar bay allows members of Rheinland's law enforcement and military to network and mingle.
Richter, dressed in a Rheinland Military pilot jump suit and leather bomber jacket, strode into the hall with a bit of a skip to his jackbooted step. His prisoners were undergoing processing, his ship repairs. There was time for a cheeky Rheinbier. There was always time for a Rheinbier.
The broad shouldered young man presented himself at the bar and lift a hand to greet the keeper.
The pot bellied older man seemed to take an eternity to make his way over to Richter, polishing a glass as he came. Setting down the vessel the barkeep flung the towel up onto his shoulder and dust off his hands. He planted his paws down on the bar and stared at the young man expectantly.
"Rheinbier, if you please, Herr Klumper," Richter requested, stealing the man's name by a glance at his greasy name badge.
"Ja," grumbled dismal Klumper through his grey walrus mustache. He snatched a stein and filled it from the tap with an expert hand then slammed it down in front of the pilot with a slosh of froth.
Richter's eyebrows lift gratefully as he picked up the stein and took a first sip. It was good. He licked the froth from his lip and turned his back to the bar to survey the crowd. There were not many personnel in the hall this hour. Reaching into the pocket of his brown leather bomber jacket a cigar was retrieved and bit between strong white teeth. He patted himself down for a light, but finding none, could only frown.
Krupp made the run to Vierlande more often than he cared to admit. Because admitting it happened to mean admitting to a rather pressing crime problem in the Republic itself. But, it also came with being a Polizei officer, and that was exactly the reason he had chosen to serve. To get things back into order, as best as possible.
These countless battles were of a benefit to no one, save the pirates and shady corporations that made a profit off of the tragic loss of life as Soldier and Civilian alike flew into the clutches of death.
Every one of those monsters he could put behind bars, the better. But Doing the right thing toward a clearer future, did not always mean upholding the law. Sometimes, it meant making sure a particularly violent criminal never saw Vierlande. Sometimes it meant detonating a transport filled with Cardamine and Artifacts. Horrible acts, for the good of Rheinland.
Polizei Detektiv Alexander Krupp entered the Bar at Vierlande, as he had so many times before.
He always took the seat by the interior windows, the one that offered a view of the station interior, the dozens and hundreds of cells all lined up neatly. Each containing a more vicious inmate than the last. This was life now.
As Detektiv Krupp moved through the bar to his place of preference at the window Wolfgang followed the man's movement from his own place at the bar. The cigar was plucked from his teeth and tucked back into his jacket which cleared the way for another small sip of his ice cold Rheinbier.
The hard heels of polished military jackboots clacked on the mercilessly hard floors of the mess hall as the pilot, Richter made a casual approach near to where Krupp was seated. He followed the Detektiv's gaze out the window to the many ranks of cells and simply stared, admiring.
The population of Vierlande was at least six-thousand - the majority being incarcerated rebels who would likely never see the natural light of a sun again.
"I am curious,"eyes dropped to Krupp, noticing his displayed rank,"Detektiv. What do you make of such a sight?"
He turned away from the window and leaned back, giving his attention to the soldier.
"It's progress. " was his first response, though he decided that probably didn't cover it well enough. "It's Barbaric Progress. No matter how far we've come, we're still at a point where we need to put people away for life. We still have idiots out there shooting at Police Personnel and Soldiers, from some miss guided principle" And what exactly did it achieve? More people with bigger guns would come in to put away the people that believed they were fighting back.
"The more people I can put away, the closer we get to ending this whole pointless struggle. I can only hope said idiots pick up enough reasoning to read past the propaganda they so eagerly consume. So we can institute order, and get progress flowing again" Then again, even when he said it it sounded barbaric, and simple.