Third-person POV
Up in Mainz, Germany, the next day, 22-year-old Anselm Hartmann, a death creature as a Fahrenheit 451 fireman was making German lunch food as a cook in a German brewery this lunch time. His fireman suit was under his apron, but he had stored his fireman respirator at the locker for this daytime shift. The tavern, nestled in the heart of downtown Mainz, was teeming with death creatures — some from the old dystopian sectors, others just ordinary civilians craving a warm meal.
Anselm himself was also a printer of books using a traditional Gutenberg press and modern ones at other times at the Gutenberg Museum. He had finished his morning shift at the Gutenberg Museum cranking up 20 copies of a well-known German novel for people to purchase for 2-5 Restored Euros a piece.
He remembered that day just minutes before Kal was overthrown and thrown to the Abyss through the portal in the Colosseum in Rome. On that day, he and other death creatures as Fahrenheit 451 firemen stared at the corpses of the humans who were taking cover in that museum. Their firemen axes were drenched in blood and paper shredding from the books they had hacked and burned. He remembered he and others cried so hard he remembered the foundation of the place trembled and shook at their absolute, unadulterated remorse. He remembered clutching the lifeless body of a museum cleaner, whom he had honored by taking his last name, Hartmann.
He remembered that, after Kal was overthrown, he and his firemen brethren buried the fallen in the city cemeteries, and a group of death creatures as an urban terrorist cell here in Mainz fired their AK-47s and SMGs to the air to honor the departed. A squad of Chaos Insurgency also aided in the reconstruction of the city, especially the beloved museum dedicated to the Gutenberg press. He himself had taken the task of rebuilding the tradition press of Johannes Gutenberg by hand with the help of 2 Chaos Insurgency soldiers and 1 Enforcer from the Psycho-Pass sector of Tokyo, Japan.
Now, as Anselm Hartmann, was living a balanced life as a printer of books and a cook at that German tavern. "A shift at the Gutenberg Museum at 3 p.m…" he whispered in the noise of the kitchen as he clutched his copy of a German cookbook printed in the traditional, elegant style of fonts and on crisp, pale, Victorian cotton paper, before continuing on his cooking.
"I'll do that shift at 3 this afternoon…" he finished as he poured some wine on the pan to do the flambéing trick for the meat of a dish called Schweinshaxe.
He had an outing plan for a night street festival at a city market street at 8 p.m. and enjoy the festivities of it to calm his mind and was eager for a moment of peace amid the chaos.