damian bombero | d10 cb fin

damian bombero | 34 | district ten

Damian to those who know of him but Bombi to those who know him. It came from Bombero, a nickname-turned-surname by generations of his family's favorite volunteer work. Firefighters. Such coordination was necessary in an area as rural and spacious as District Ten. All it took was for a pissed-off cow to knock over an oil lantern and an entire barn would light up in flames. Fire made him squirm, though. Call it selfish or aware, but Damian knew carrying on his family tradition of "putting out fires" would not be his life's call.

Not physically, anyway. His hands, instead of gripping pales of water, flicked a blue pen around and around. He took on the role of negotiator. The Garcia's female cattle for their ranch. The Benstaloes are looking for a new butcher to sell with. And the Days just had their sheep give birth. Damian took notes on everything going on in the Ten, looking for the right trade, which tended often to be the deal with the highest commission rates for himself.

"In when I need in, out when I need out." That was what he told an underground dealer named Elio when he stumbled upon a market he shouldn't have. It was the instinct within Damian not to be a snitch that gave him the biggest 'in' of his life. A business advisor for Elio and his conquests. He grew trusted and became a professional quickly. They even gave him a pistol to hide in the bottom compartment of his briefcase.

When Novak became Ten's mayor, his role shifted. A political advisor now, but knowing the intentions of him holding such an office, it might as well have stayed business.

He told his wife that his job came in three parts.

One: Always remain calm.

Two: Observe from afar, never up close.

Three: Stomp out the flames Novak leaves when they inevitably emerge.

Bombero, a name that remained a good fit for Damian. A political firefighter.