The Wolf with Blue Eyes

Ah Berlin. I hate Berlin. It is as if this little city were on heroin. Berlin stopped being the federal capital in 23, was bombed to ruins during the First Euro Wars 31 to 32, rioting turned it into an anarchist state in 39 which lasted until 55 when the corporations went in. From 55 until 72 Berlin was divided, once again a glorious East and West Berlin. The anarchists in the East with the corporate elites in the West. It was thought that this would go on, but for naught, some loser of a terrorist set off a nano-weapon and the corporations with government blessing went all in. No more anarchy, we're back to the old districts from 23. Heroin, Berlin probably does need it.   Now we are in 2087 and during all this time there was a man. No one knows his name or who he is. He just always seemed to be there. Ever with the right words spoken to inspire the people be they anarchists or corporate, he kept a steady hand, preventing those who would do unspeakable things from doing their worse. Always taking time to help children and mothers, making sure no one was hungry or unclothed.    To his enemies, he shown no mercy. His followers waged wars in the streets on his behalf. The line drawn in the perverbial sand was against wanton violence against innocents. Anarchists and corporates like, along with the gangs bore the blunt end of his brutality when it needed to be released. Not all criminality could be stopped, however, the worst was by and large prevented. A  child stealing candy would be ignored. A rapist would be found dead, castrated and having choked to death after having been force feed his genitalia.    Strangely though through the years, the man never seemed to age. He was always there fit and full of vigor. Dark hair, blue eyes, he was simply the wolf, the man with blue eyes, uncle, the wolf with blue eyes. No one seemed to really care, and in 72 when the city districts were restored it was he who made sure each district had a seat and vote on the Federal Council of Berlin.    Now it is said, from those who see him, that he flies over the city in vintage aircraft. Sometimes from Templehof, often from Tegel, occasionally from Schönefeld, but never from the international Berlin Brandenburg. A statement? Perhaps, but then we will never know.