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KP - Episode 7 (Public)
🕑 Added 2023-09-06 13:23:07 +0000 UTCWords Count: 5080
“What’s this?” I question, casting a dubious glance towards the mad scientist. Although my… Youthful appearance may not lend itself to an intimidating presence, I have more than proven my capacity for violence when the need arises, hence why the scientist daren’t test my patience, knowing that any foolish actions will result in swift and painful consequences. “Well, it seems the beast can indeed learn!”
I remark with a sly grin- arm slung over his shoulder, tightening the metaphorical noose around his neck. “You not getting any idea, are ya’? ‘Cause it’d be an immense hassle to find another scientist as willing to corporate as you are,” Each motion slow and deliberate, I circle the German, before my palms fall and clutch his shoulders. Startled, the German breaks into tears, desperate to stifle his cries lest it attracts the guards and cause the situation to escalate. “Be a shame if something were to befall you… A real shame indeed. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Nervously, the German scientist bobs his head, attempting to convey a friendly demeanor.
His smile, although seemingly award-winning, falters when one takes notice of his receding hairline, crooked and yellowing teeth, pimpled face, and slightly uneven jawline.
It is apparent why Hitler didn’t pick the guy as the poster-boy for Nazi Germany, as in spite of his Aryan features, complete with the blue eyes and unwashed blonde hair that I suspect hasn’t been cleaned in weeks, if not months. “Ye- Yes! It’d be a real shame!” I don’t believe he is even listening to my words anymore, blindly nodding and agreeing with everything I say, thus- “It is a moral conundrum, isn’t it?”
“Yes!”
Perhaps thinking he may yet come out of this unscathed, the scientist’s voice swiftly takes on a spirited tone before my words throw him into the pit of despair once again, “That I still allow you to draw breath? I mean, how many people have you killed or experimented on? They must have begged for their lives too, surely.” Putting on a ditzy- contemplative frown, I spin the gun as though trying to decide his fate. “Nein, nein! I never touched good people- innocent people, I swear!”
He pleads, rationality and reason having fled his mind as terror reigns.
“That’s a white lie…” I state, chortling in disbelief. “Bro, I literally just saw you inject something in this pod, which, unless I have somehow been diagnosed with blindness and schizophrenia both within the last hour–” I run my palm down the glass case, using the sleeve of my uniform to wipe away the dust, revealing a man lying still in the pod.
His face and skin appear bloated, pale and blistered due to the exposure to the viscous golden liquid. "Contains people! What’s with this drivel about ‘never touching good, innocent people’? Do I look stupid to you?" I inquire, my question obviously rhetorical yet the concepts of humor and sarcasm seem to have fled his brain as well. “N- No? You- Uhmm- You have a very distinguished appearance, sir! Albeit a bit inexperienced, and immature maybe… Not that it’s necessarily a bad thing! You are a young man after all!”
As my unamused, unwavering gaze locks onto him, he quickly corrects himself. “You do realize you weren't supposed to answer that, right? It was rhetorical.” Emphasizing, I narrow my eyes, intensifying the pressure of my glare while the German practically wilts, swallowing with unease, before he whispers, his voice barely audible even to my enhanced senses, “Understood, I’ll shut up now.”
This man, he's either pretending to be foolish or he's been scared silly. Either way, his fate will depend on which category he truly belongs to. If- and that's a big IF- he is being truthful when claiming he's been coerced and hasn't harmed any innocents, I will assist the CIA in initiating Operation Paperclip earlier than the official timeline shared with the public.
However, if our German acquaintance has deceived me, although I have my reservations, I will take him down. I may not be inclined to kill just yet, but I can definitely lay the beatdown of a lifetime on the guy, perhaps give him a taste of his own medicine too. See how the guy likes being injected with that tar… Both the filtered, golden variant and its oily impure form. “Don’t shut up, idiot! Explain yourself!” My senses all increase as I focus, accelerating my heartrate and simultaneously slowing my perception.
“If I discover even a sign of deception–”
I cast a suspicious smile at the scientist, showcasing my inhuman features. “I’ll know, rest assured. And I will do something about it.” Arms flung over my knees and in a singsong tone, I teasingly clarify. “Something… Drastic- violent.”
For a brief moment, I find myself… Empathizing with them. You know, those movies where the villains monologue their entire evil plans, providing the heroes with just enough information to thwart their schemes for world domination? It’s strange and I still don’t agree with their actions, but I totally get why somebody would be willing to risk it all for a second of pride- that sense of empowerment; the taste of the power when you get to decide someone’s Life and Death, this feeling is more addicting than any rush of adrenaline.
‘Yet it almost took a whole decade for you to take another life. It wasn’t even intentional… Pussy.’ Probably shouldn’t get too accustomed to it though. That’d be terrible- ‘Right? I mean, What would pop say?’
“So…” I gesture at the bottle currently intertwined with my slender fingers. “Mind giving me a hint?”
The German scientist, driven close to tears, chokes. “I- I was gonna tell you already! Those threats are wholly unnecessary!” Slipping my belt off in one quick and- I’m afraid to admit it- smooth motion, I menacingly fold the deadly weapon. “Are you talking back to me, young man?!”
The sound of leathers hitting each other causes him to flinch as I demand. “Speak!”
“We… We don’t know what it is! We just stumbled upon information that a pit containing oil existed in this small town, but as you can see, it’s something else.” The German scientist stammers, his fear palpable. Desperate, he rushes to grab a stack of documents. “After extensive research…” He rapidly throws the files at me, speaking with a speed that rivals even the Rap God. “We’ve determined it’s a previously unknown fungal organism. The pure form is highly concentrated and can drive even the sanest individuals insane.”
Inside the files, there are incredibly high-definition pictures that seem out of place for the World War II era, but considering the advanced weaponry the Nazis have been seen carrying, it is not entirely surprising. The first three images depict body parts infected with the fungal growth, resembling inky black veins or spreading molds that encompass their entire bodies. The photographs show individuals in various states, ranging from wounded and amputated to decapitated, all transformed into ferocious and ravenous beings.
Amongst them, there is even an unsettling image of a limbless lump, desperately attempting to crawl its way towards the person behind the camera. Its grotesque determination is both disturbing and chilling to witness. Glancing at the scientist, I notice a fleeting expression of horror on his face. It seems that we can agree on something, even if only for a brief moment.
“There was nothing left of their original personalities… They were just… Consumed by an insatiable- irrational hunger.” The German scientist shudders, seemingly overcome by fear as he adds. “Whoever gets bitten by these former humans will eventually turn into flesh-craving cannibals themselves. It is merely a matter of time.”
With my arms crossed and a serious expression, I decide to start with the most pressing concerns.
“What about their physical capabilities?” I question. “How fast can they run? How high can they jump? How heavy can they lift?” I keep going. The knowledge may just save our lives soon. “Stop feeding me teaspoons… I’m a passionate person, I need more so out with it already!”
“Like I was mentioning earlier, it is worth noting that the pure form of the fungus not only induces madness in people but also boasts immense power.
The- The true extent of enhancement, however, varies significantly, taking into account factors such as individual lifestyles, backgrounds…etc. prior to the infection.” I flip the files to see pictures- men and women, young to old in different stages of the fungal infection. “From what I heard, the advanced prototype demonstrated such extraordinary strength that it was able to effortlessly tear down several reinforced steel doors with its bare hands, before meeting its demise at the hands of a patrolling squad.
Our initial intention was to develop an impeccable biological weapon capable of unleashing devastation upon the enemies of the Führer. What we’ve found terrifies us all. This is no weapon, this is a cataclysmic force that’ll wreck havoc on Humanity if left as is.” He is correct to be afraid. I’m terrified too, albeit more reassured in my odds should the worst possible scenario come to pass thanks to my enhanced status.
“What about the golden version? Pretty popular, isn’t it? Every pod we’ve encountered is either filtering out that golden substance or injecting it into someone else.”
“Yes…” My fellow blonde bobs his head. “The Souveränes Serum is less potent but what it lacks in power, it more than makes up for with the subjects’ docility…”
I’m still sensing a ‘but’ here.
“But–” Fucking called it. “We encounter an issue… They’ve become too obedient and do not appear to possess the mental capacity to… Differentiate from enemies and allies.”
A smirk forms on my face as a realization dawns on me. "Let me guess... Everyone has the ability to control them?" Laughter starts to bubble up within me, but its intensity wanes as I observe his serious countenance. "Oh, hold on... You're actually being serious?"
Prudently, he opts for a non-committal response. “Providing conflicting commands can potentially overload their cognition and cause severe brain damage. It’s… Well, I never said it was viable for on-field implementation.” Though he neglects to mention the word ‘yet’, the notion of its future possibility will have to remain postponed indefinitely, especially in light of my presence.
“Are there any other facilities? And do you have any samples of the substance stored?” I inquire, secretly hoping there will be none to lessen my workload, luckily… “None that I’m aware of.”
I gesture for him to come along with me. However, he misunderstands my intentions, assuming that I am prepared to eliminate him now that his usefulness has been exhausted. In a surge of panic, he pleads, “Nein! I can still be of you to you! Please don’t kill me!”
“What are you talking about? Who said anything about killing you?” I respond, blinking my eyelids rapidly in disbelief at the German’s assumption. Then, the reality of our situation dawns on me – we both belong to opposing factions currently engaged in a prolonged conflict. It’s only natural for him to be anxious. “Look, let’s get one thing straight. I’m not here to harm you unless you give me a reason to. Now, show me your munitions dump… The sooner this shitty place’s destroyed, the sooner we can leave.”
With a slight bend of my knee, I cautiously offer my hand to the German scientist. This is the ultimate test, a moment that will determine his intentions. If he makes any hostile move, I will not hesitate to eliminate the threat. However, if he proves himself trustworthy, I am prepared to go to any lengths necessary to ensure his safe return to American territory. Visibly terrified, he accepts my hand.
As I extend my hand to assist him, I notice a flicker of hesitation in his movements. His gaze appears fixated on the wrench situated behind me, and every fiber of my being silently pleads for him not to make a move. ‘Please do. Please try! We haven’t killed anything in ages!’ Luckily for him, it was just a passing thought he never decides to indulge. ‘FUCK!’
"What's your name?" I ask, breaking the tense silence that hangs between us.
“H- Hans, Hans Müller.”
Flashing a self-assured smirk, I raise a thumb at myself and confidently introduce.
"Julius 'Caesar' Campbell," I introduce myself with a hint of wryness. "Typically, I would express how pleasant it is to meet someone. However, the circumstances, intentions, and the less-than-ideal location of our encounter leave much to be desired."
He agrees, stuttering, "Yes, yes!"
I maintain my gaze on him, relishing in his growing unease. It's quite amusing, to be honest. "Hans?" I prompt, but he just looks puzzled, replying with a simple noise, "?".
Seeing the dumbfounded look he wears, I nearly stop to question how he has survived until now, instead I only kindly remind, "The munitions dump, bro. Lead me to it.”
“W- Which one?”
Feeling a wave of weariness, I pinch the space between my brows and let out a tired murmur.
"Whichever dump has the most explosives. Obviously.”
I raise an eyebrow at the need for such explicit instructions for seemingly straightforward tasks.
‘Did Hans' mom smoke during her pregnancy?’ I remark dryly, a touch of sarcasm to my thoughts.
— [Kaleidoscopic Polaris] —
With the chaos outside gradually calming down, the two privates silently maneuver through the darkness, disregarding the Frenchwoman’s pleas for them to remain. Deep down, they also want to stay in the relative safety of their current position. Their empty stomachs emit hunger pangs, their limbs seem burdened by invisible weights, and every motion is accompanied by the creaking of bones.
Still, despite their inner struggle, they are acutely aware staying would only endanger everyone involved. Having swiftly executed the SS Officer via a knife, Bryan and O’Neill quietly head towards the backdoor to forge their path onward. They possess a clear destination in their minds—a school situated somewhere South of Bordeaux. Though its original purpose was to educate young minds, it’s been turned into a site predominantly utilized by the Dark Stars to conduct reprehensible and unlawful research according to von Braun.
That is precisely why he has been relocated to Bordeaux—to oversee and protect the Führer’s pet project and ensure that no mishaps can nor will happen.
Up until now, the project had been progressing fairly smoothly, following the established plans, despite several technical obstacles in the past months.
There’s a positive trend with increased investment and heightened interest from Hitler himself!
That’s until the unexpected interference of the Americans disrupted the course of events, leaving the commanding Officer of the small battalion dead and the bio-weaponry facility exposed. As they prepare for their mission, the two privates reluctantly don the SS uniforms, feeling a sense of discomfort wash over them.
With a combination of apprehension and determination, they step into the town occupied by German forces. Noting the absence of widespread devastation, O’Neill discerns that it is more likely due to a lack of resistance rather than any genuine mercy on the part of the Nazis. “Come to think of it… We haven’t seen a single man or boy since arriving… Have they been killed?” Bryan doesn’t answer, not that he thinks his friend needs one in the first place.
A sketchy science facility in the middle of nowhere with not one male… He truly pities those who haven’t been shot dead the moment Bordeaux’s taken over. “They will pay for their crimes, I promise.” Seeing the listless look on Neil, Bryan tries to comfort but it’s of little use. “Every day I keep thinking: It cannot get any worse than this- that people can’t possibly sink any lower, and yet here we are. When will this end?”
Bryan is far from being a hopeless optimist or a deceiver.
Not one to sugarcoat the reality, he responds firmly, “Never. War has been an intrinsic part of human existence since the dawn of time, and it will persist until the end of days. It matters not the justification or the moral highground; in the end, it’s the common people who sacrifice their lives- their morality and sanity for those at the top of the ladder.”
“Then what’s the point?” The question rings truer than ever as they watch a group of older women being rounded up and carted off to the science facility.
Neither wants to nor dares to respond, fearful that their resolve will crumble if they do. “My father and grandfather fought for the promise of peace, their hearts heavy with a hope war’s cruel grip would finally skip their children and grandchildren’s generations…”
Bitterness and irony ooze from his pores. “It’s unfortunate war is so profitable.”
Bitterness and irony ooze from his pores, staining the air with the sickly scent of a truth too bitter to bear. “It’s unfortunate war is so profitable.” He whispers, each word a lament for the twisted priorities of a world prioritize profit over peace. And yet, undeterred by this harsh reality, the thought persists: ‘Maybe it’ll get better after this.’ It lingers in their minds like a fragile spark, “I’ll go find their munition dump. We’re going to need lots of explosives if we want to destroy the facility with just us two.”
“Do you need me to go with?” Bryan asks, his voice tinged with concern, but Neil shakes his head, a playful smile crossing his lips. “No. No offense, but you’re too eye-catching.”
He chuckles. “A mousey soldier will look way less suspicious than a Hollywood actor.” They exchange a lighthearted moment amidst the gravity of their conversation, a brief respite that is temporarily, but appreciated nonetheless as Bryan joins the laughter. “Then I shall do as an actor does: Look pretty and distract people.”
“Are you capable of speaking German?” Teases the scrawnier soldier, provoking a response. “Mein Deutsch ist wahrscheinlich besser als deins! / My German is probably better than yours!”
“Das bezweifle ich. / I doubt that.”
— [Kaleidoscopic Polaris] —
Nanna follows the scent trail, eventually arriving at a deteriorated structure. In its former days, perhaps it held an air of respectability, though such details are inconsequential to the bird-turned-dinosaur.
Crouching low with her head poised, the velociraptor extends her tongue along the roof of her mouth as she detects the presence of another soldier. Alas, since Julius remains elusive, she has had to reluctantlysettle for the hairless apes as her morning sustenance and unfortunately, their taste proves quite repulsive, plus the coats of feathers they put on just don’t taste nor feel right, often getting stuck between her teeth- something that has never been a concern before.
Lost in contemplation of her life choices, the raptor’s thoughts are abruptly disrupted by a thunderous explosion that rips through the surrounding field. Her head snaps towards the origin of the blast, curiosity piqued.
In a display of remarkable agility, the raptor stealthily maneuvers her way towards the source, effortlessly evading the patrolmen via rooftops and trees by cushioning her fall with those seemingly useless wings.
Harnessing her heightened senses and deft decision-making skills for a creature of her kind, Nanna deftly traverses the treacherous terrain, remaining undetected for the most part.
However, her stealth is momentarily disrupted as she locks her gaze upon a familiar face amidst the chaotic clearing.
As one of the men who has journeyed alongside her and Julius kneels before her, Nanna’s keen animal instincts swiftly grasp the gravity of his battered state. Early on, Julius had implanted in her the notion of helping their companions in times of need. While lovebirds typically possess the cognitive abilities of a young child, the Serums that have altered Nanna’s mental capacities have far surpassed her physical capabilities. With a human-like intelligence and a burning curiosity, she readies herself for a mock charge, her tail held aloft, Nanna gathers momentum and leaps to intervene.
Nanna’s sharp talons sink into the roofless vehicle, effortlessly tearing off its windshield with a powerful motion. The men inside recoil in terror as her gaze fixes upon them, her head tilting slightly.
With eyes that exude both intelligence and primal instinct, she scrutinizes the trembling group before her. "WAS SCHAUST DU AN? SCHIEßT AUF ES!"
The most important-looking meanie screams, his voice like a broken hamstring to her ears and she screeches. What follows after can only be described as a slaughter as the raptor tears through the group in seconds: Kicking, clawing, and biting until all that’s left of them is a pile of dismembered limbs and hanging organs. The poor Private, who’s forced to witness this, finds his legs stiffer than metals. If not for the fear of attracting the raptor’s attention, he would have cussed aloud.
“Dammit… Why now? Of all the–”
However, as the massacre reaches its horrific climax, Nanna eventually sets her sights on him. Deep down, he knows that one handgun can do little against the overpowering force of nature he’s facing. Resigned, but still harboring a desire to at least die intact, he points the gun at his temple, ready to end it all on his own terms.
Although she may fail to fully grasp his precise motive, she can still tell how distraught the man is, coupled with the fact she knows those tubes are dangerous, hence just in the nick of time, Nanna intervenes, stopping him from taking that irreversible step.
With a swift and calculated motion, Nanna delivers a forceful blow that sends the soldier skidding in one direction and his weapon, the other. Mindful of Bryan’s presence, she ensures her talons are aimed away from him.
As she rubs the roof of her beak, an intentionally grating sound echoes through the air, abruptly snapping the private back to reality who punches, kicks and flails. All things that won’t put a single feather of hers out of place, but will certainly harm him due to how sharp her feathers have grown. Left with little choice, she stomps on his arms. Pinning him to the ground, Nanna leans in and– “Nanna!”
Wide-eyed, private Bryan hurriedly crawls away when released, every words put through a filter of bafflement. “Wh- Did, did you just fucking speak?!”
Affirmatively, she caws… “Nanna!”
Confusion overtakes Nanna as the private, instead of displaying the usual admiration for her adorable expressions, begins screaming in sheer horror at her gaping beak.
— [Kaleidoscopic Polaris] —
As per Mr. Müller’s words, there are three munition dumps nearby, but only one of them possesses a substantial amount of explosives.
Specifically, this particular dump holds C4, primarily used for tunnel work since the presence of the black goo can only be found within a concealed underground pit. On our journey, we have encountered numerous groups of men who are being compelled to perform strenuous labor under the supervision of squads often comprised of four to six Nazis.
It becomes apparent to me that these men, who are being subjected to forced labor, are the husbands and sons of Bordeaux. Though the labor may be exhausting and oppressive, they consider it a more preferable alternative to becoming subjects of the twisted experiments being conducted.
At least slavery offers a chance of survival, however slim it may be, as opposed to succumbing to the horrifying mutations resulted from these experiments. ‘That’s…’ I feel compelled to criticize such way of thinking, but how can I? They’re just ordinary, every day people who can barely hold weapons, let alone fight back. Not to mention the back-breaking work causes unimaginable harms to their bodies, further compounded by the lack of filling and nutritious meals, plus the toxic living environment, it’s no wonder there hasn’t been a rebel movement yet.
Their fighting spirits have been utterly exhausted after being subjected to strenuous workloads and inhumane cruelty for several months. “Verdammt! Warum dürfen sie in die große, schicke Stadt gehen, während wir in diesem tristen Ort festsitzen?!”
Leaning closer into Müller’s personal space, I whisper urgently, “What is he saying?”
Hans, slightly tilting his head and desperate to avoid eye contact with the guards, responds quietly, “He is complaining… He believed he was assigned to Bordeaux the City, not this tiny town.”
The man's voice rises in volume, the words growing coarser and ruder with each passing moment.
Agitation takes hold of him, as German expletives lace his outbursts, creating tension to spike. Finally, his exclamation of “Hans!” rings out, eliciting different reactions from the two of us. While the man in question displays visible fear, his apprehension evident in his demeanor, I experience a different range of emotions- less fearful; more anxious, and surprised by the interactions unfolding before me. The dynamics within the Nazi camp are not what I expected, as I had anticipated a clear division akin to the notion of ‘nerds and jocks don’t mix.’
From the current situation, it appears that the clear division between different social groups still holds true.
This individual seems to be targeting and bullying Hans. I don’t know why I’m surprised. He does have that… Look. You know, one that just screams: Victim, please take my lunch money! And with that receding hairline, he may as well have had it printed on a t-shirt. “Schau mal, wen wir hier haben. Hans und sein neuer Freund?" I quickly shift my gaze from left to right, deliberately ignoring his mocking gaze to prioritize surveying our surroundings. “Ist dein Freund taub?”
“Genug! Wir sind geschäftlich unterwegs, lasst uns in Ruhe!”
After making sure that we are the only ones in this corridor, a smile forms on my lips. “Hey?”
The five turn to me, Hans with his scrunched nose and pinkish complexion, clearly having been worked up by the taunts; the bullies and their upturned, conceited eyes. “Get fucked.”
“Warum spricht er auf Englisch? Ist er–“ He never gets to finish as my fist crash-lands on his cheek. Even with a gentle flick, the sheer strength of a Super Soldier like myself can make it feel like being struck by a warhammer. My raw power, amplified by the two serums, can turn even a minor impact into a severe wounds. Like a broken kite, he shoots into the array of equipment, slumped over the counter- unconscious while his friends face us, their eyes wide like saucers. "Ihr wisst doch, dass wir nur rumgealbert haben, od–?"
Three speedy and extremely well-delivered bitch-slaps later, and we’re free to continue on our way again.
After the intense and troubling experience we just shared, there is an initial awkwardness between us. However, as time passes and the embarrassment begins to wear off, Hans bows to me. “Thank you… For… You know…” But it appears even a Nazi scientist has unresolved childhood traumas he doesn’t want to touch. ‘And the number of pussies doubles. Just smite me already and get it over with already.’
“Don’t worry ‘bout it. Guy’s a dick.”
He casts a questioning glance at me. “You could understand him?” I could not, but his entire posture reeked. “Nope. I just have a knack for spotting assholes, is all.” It does take one to know one. I’m not saying I’m evil, but you don’t have to worship Satan to be a cynical prick, though I much prefer the term… Hmmm, ‘optimistic nihilist’.
“Regardless... Thank you.”
He sincerely offers, and I- not having the heart to turn down his act of gratitude, can do nothing but smile, hope the situation will resolve itself before my social anxiety kicks in and I start shutting down cognitively. Never in my life have I been more thankful towards someone when Nell- Neil(?) grabs our collars and pulls us within a small broom closet. “You-”
“I can explain!” I start, but as I take notice of what he is wearing, a gasp escapes my lips. “Goddamn… You turn coat so decisively, I don’t know whether to be impressed or angry.”
“I haven’t turned anything!” He shouts, anger momentarily coloring his tone. “This is to blend in! What about you? What’re you doing here? Why’re you with him?” Suspicion bleeds in his stare while Hans, fearful of the brewing conflict, slowly backs away.
“Calm your tits. He’s my–” I lick the insides of my teeth, mind whirling in search of the correct term, “Hostage”, before leveling an apologetic gaze at the scientist. “No offense.”
“None taken.”
“We’re going to the–”
Neil interjects, "The munitions dump? I'm looking for it too. Guess it’s safe to say we all think this place needs to burn to the ground, huh?”
Expression hardening, he gestures for us to lean closer. “Not a peep of what’s being done here can get out, understood?” He needs not worry. I am not stupid and despite his faults, I have a feeling Hans isn’t dumb either. Prior to leaving for American soils, we’ll sit around and get our facts straight. The tar- the Serum, none of it can leave this facility or it is going to be disastrous.
Finally, the three of us reach our destination, faced with a considerable stockpile of C4 just begging to be put to good use.
Excitement courses through me as my eyes light up, unleashing the inner-child within, eager to revel in the thrill of gaining access to such a dangerous quantity of explosives. Without hesitating, I leap into the midst of it all, envisioning myself swimming through the pile like a character in a cartoon.
However, reality quickly sets in as the knots in my back ache, silently reminding me that: No, you aren’t in fact supposed to dive into solid objects, regardless of how fun ‘Tom and Jerry’ made it look. “… Why did you do– Never mind, forget I asked.” Neill looks at me quizzically for a moment, but then seems to experience an abrupt change of heart.
“How long do we have?”
Fixing his glasses, Hans stares at the ceiling in a trance. “The next patrol’s not for another two hours if my memory hasn’t failed me.”
That successfully draws our attention and we both throw Hans skeptical stares. “How would you know that?”
“You’d be surprised what you can do and get away with when you’re invisible socially.” Hans answers cryptically, managing to elicit chuckles from the both of us. “Gotta say, when it comes to taking hostage, you don’t miss, Julius.”
“Thank you. Thank you.” Bowing, I make a show out of it then direct their attention at the pile. “So, how are we doing this?”
