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KP - Episode 6
🕑 Added 2023-09-02 23:38:32 +0000 UTCWords Count: 5244
A/N: I’m thinking of doing a Q&A Call on Discord tonight. Is anybody interested?
With a thunderous crash, the velociraptor uproots a barrier of trees, her gaze fixated on the group of ignorant men below. Julius, her usual guardian, is nowhere to be found when it matters. However, even if he were present, the audacity of these hairless apes, who dared to take shots at her with their twisted metal tubes, has long crossed a boundary that Nanna can’t and won’t overlook.
With a hiss, she stealthily shadows the men under the seamlessly-woven threads of the night, her vibrant, metallic feathers quivering, producing surprisingly enchanting chimes akin to the tail of a rattlesnake. The chimes produce the expected result, causing the Germans to snap towards the source only to discover an unassuming, unmoving bush which hides the monstrous, salivating raptor that is, unbeknown to the group of men, hunting them. “Wer ist da? Identifizieren Sie sich! / Who’s there? Identify yourself!”
"Mit wem redest du? Es ist niemand da. / Who’re you talking to? There’s nobody there.” His friend continues, his tone accusatory as agitation creeps up on his features. “Hör auf herumzualbern! Es ist spät, und ich möchte vor Tagesanbruch wirklich schlafen. / Will ya’ quit messin’ around! It's late, and I wanna get some actual sleep before daybreak."
Yet the SS soldier daren’t break the line of sight, gripped by an eerie and suffocating dread, for something- darkly sinister voices and taunting whispers are telling him the gruesome fate that awaits he and his squad shan’t be… Enviable if he so much as casts a glance in another direction. Shakily, he starts whilst the fearsome raptor clicks her beak as if savoring the fear oozing out of him. “Leute?! Ich möchte euch nicht beunruhigen, aber ich glaube, es ist etwas bei uns hier! / Lads, I don’t wanna alarm you guys, but I’m pretty sure something is here with us!”
“Das ist nicht lustig! Du bist nicht lustig! / That is not funny! YOU are not funny!” His comrades-in-arms shout, repeating twice to emphasize, which only serves to push the enlistee to the edge of frustration.
However, his rising voice is abruptly stifled as he catches sight of a glimmering golden object and dilated slits, causing him to freeze in place. “Oh Gott… Nicht so. / Oh God… Not like this.” Nanna the Velociraptor, having arrived to the conclusion that her cover’s blown, quickly tilts her feathery head before deciding to abandon the pretense off stealth altogether, leaping forth with her jagged, toothy beak wide-open to take a bite out of the soldier.
In contrast to Erskine who’s saved by Agent Carter and Julius, the young man’s fortune takes a devastating plunge as the agitated avian creature viciously tears off and devours his arms whole. All the while, Nanna chirps and screeches, ravenously gulping the severed limbs.
Unfortunately, she soon realizes the arms are just a tadtoo large to fit down her throat. In an attempt to make the process of consumption easier, the velociraptor begins to rub the arms against her upper beak with her tongue. Within moments, the once intact arms are reduced to minced meat, with bloody saliva dripping down Nanna’s chest.
The entire incident unfolds in less than a minute, and it takes the soldier an additional moment to fully comprehend the horrifying reality of what has just occurred. His anguished screams, filled with wretchedness and blood, startle his comrades, pulling them back to the harsh reality. Faces etched with terror, the men raise their submachine guns in an attempt to aid their friend, but deep down, they know it is too late. Even if they manage to subdue the creature, the young man's fate is sealed. He will either succumb to blood loss or, more likely, shock.
Molten slags rain down upon Nanna, failing to penetrate the surface of her soft, yet incredibly durable feathers.
Cawing in distress, she swiftly retreats into the shelter of the forest to evade the relentless gunfire. Her silhouette gracefully flits among the trees, eventually leaping onto one of the SS soldiers. “Argh! Hol es von mir weg! Hol es von mir weg! / Get it off me! Get it off me!” He cries in desperation, flailing blindly while she chews his gun apart. Watching his continued struggle, Nanna swiftly moves to deliver a fatal blow, targeting the soldier’s jugular and ending his life in an instant.
In a rapid movement of her tail, she unleashes an attack that sends the remaining soldiers sprawling to the ground, though some manage to escape unscathed, three are less fortunate, one crushed by the weight of her tail, the other two impaled by the sharp, poisonous feather pins running along her spine.
Those who managed to survive are now either bleeding out, gasping for their last breaths, or on the verge of death. The two who have miraculously avoided any fatal wounds thus far also seem destined to suffer the same fate, as Nanna's eyes foreshadow. Yet, as though to taunt them, she vanishes into the wood again, feathers vibrating enthusiastically like charming chimes. “Dämon… Höllebrut! Spiel nicht mit uns! / Demon… Hellspawn! Do not toy with us!”
Yet the soldiers fail to comprehend the true horror unfolding before their eyes. For them, this nightmarish scenario is an experience so traumatizing words would struggle to capture the deep psychological scars it will inevitably leave them with, if they manage to survive…
But, to Nanna, this is merely a game.
She has been given lifeless, inanimate chewing toys before, but the prospect of having live, pleading playthings is an experience the lovebird-turned-raptor’s more than happy to explore. In fact, being a prey for the entirety of her existence has made the bird all the more vicious and vindictive.
Similar to Chihuahuas, an animal’s temperament often appears to be directly related to its size. As a member of the smallest parrot breed, Nanna possesses a feisty temper that cannot simply be extinguished because she has risen to the top of the food chain. With a seemingly innocent blink of her second set of eyelids, she pounces upon one of the soldiers, dragging them into the depths of the forest.
Finally, only a single survivor remains, his body trembling and shaking with fear at the slightest rustle of leaves and the mysterious sounds that surround him.
Overwhelmed, he musters the courage to speak through pale, bloodless lips. “Gott helfe uns allen. / God helps us all.” Those are his last words before fangs and talons dig into his stomach, eviscerating the SS soldier on the spot. Excitedly, Nanna trills, her monstrous and terrifying bellows echoing through every nook if cranny of the forest, no doubt bringing to life countless tales and legends of monsters who live and hide from prying eyes in the outskirt of Bordeaux.
— [Kaleidoscopic Polaris] —
Private Bryan and O'Neill, with the latter clutching his injured abdomen, clumsily enter the small building that had likely exuded charm once, yet now emanates only the odors of death, sickness, and decay...
The unpleasant scent of mingling chemicals and herbs irritates Private Bryan's nose, but in their current situation- as deep as they are behind enemy lines, they are in no position to be picky.
In fact, their social standing has likely plummeted even below that of beggars given their circumstances. With pursuers quick on their tails, the two American paratroopers urgently make their way to the attic, guided by a woman in her early to mid-twenties. “’Ere!" She hisses, her voice thick with the French accent. “Hide quickly! I’ll distract them.”
Ascending the stairs in haste, the two men nearly stumble over the railing before managing to regain their balance. “Dammit… This ain’t looking good, chief.” Private O’Neill raspily mutters, applying pressure on the blood-soaked handkerchief over his injury. With tears welling in his eyes, Bryan offers a gentle reassurance, whispering. “You’re going to be fine, I promise.”
Downstairs, the French woman hastily wipes the sweat from her forehead, attempting to conceal her true emotions, but her efforts prove futile. The moment the aggressive pounding on her door reverberates through the air, her heart rate soars. “Einen Moment bitte! / Just a moment!” She calls out in a hurried manner. With a swift motion, she discreetly kicks a mop to conceal the muddy footprints on the floor. Fortunately, she hasn’t had much time to clean since the invasion, making the mess appear far less suspicious.
“Mach auf! / Open up!” Someone screams in German as the pounding intensifies.
“Ich komme! / Coming!” In her haste, she accidentally trips over a piece of furniture, causing her foot to collide with the table. She bites down on a frustrated curse, well aware that the German soldiers at her door will not take kindly to such language. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, she reaches the door and throws it open, only to be met with a clenched fist to the face. The soldier who delivered the punch doesn’t appear to have intended it, but there is also a distinct lack of remorse on his face.
Aloofness seemingly ingrained in his features and movements, the German Officer even sends her a warm smile. “Entschuldigung für die Unterbrechung, Fräulein. Haben Sie zufällig zwei Amerikaner vorbeigehen sehen? / Apology for the interruption, miss. Do you happen to see two Americans passing by?” the Officer is the embodiment of gentlemanly manner, and for a moment the brunette finds herself fooled as well, until she’s reminded of what this unassuming man has done to her aging grandmother- what he has tried to do to her.
“Nein.” Trembling with fear, she finds herself filled with dread, a response that can be easily mistaken as a result of something else given the history between them. No one will blame her for feeling that way in the presence of the same man who had attempted to force himself upon her just a week ago. “Sind Sie sicher? / Are you certain?” He inquires, backing away to reveal two large Doberman Pinschers frothing at the mouth, their ears erected, their vigilant eyes trained on her stairs.
Several are lower-ranked soldiers accompanying him, a group of six she counts. “Lügen Sie mir nicht an, meine Liebe. / Don’t lie to me, my love.” The Officer’s gloved hands reach to caress her jaws, his voice honeyed as he signals for the other thugs to barge in. “Es ist nicht schön zu lügen. / It’s not nice to lie.”
“Non! Tu n’es pas autorisé à entrer! / No! You’re not allowed inside!” She shouts, trying to block the entrance using her own body but it doesn’t matter of how determined she is or how much this means to the woman. There’s one of her and seven to eight soldiers of the SS, all of whom are desperate for any kind of war achievements. So apathetic to her plights they are, that they push her to the floor when they enter. One even purposefully steps on her hands, making her cringe.
“Wenn Sie nur meinem Vorschlag zugestimmt hätten… / If only you had agreed to my proposal…” Although his tone’s scarily even, Officer Erik Von Braun isn’t entirely successful at masking his bitterness. Not completely at least. Slowly, every movement as deliberate and theatrical as possible, he waltzes inside, fixing his long coat and barking, “Gehen Sie… Suchen Sie nach den Amerikaner. / Go… Find those Americans.”
A condescending, shit-eating grin splits the Nazi Officer’s lips as he adds. “Oh, und töten Sie sie nicht. Wir werden mehr Testpersonen für zukünftige Projekte brauchen. / Oh, and don’t kill them. We’ll need more test subjects for future projects.” Like a pack of ravenous hyenas, the group stalk up the stairs, firearms in hands as they begin to check each room. The first door opens to show an empty, dusty broom closet filled to the brims with cleaning supplies. “Klar! / Clear!”
The second is- was locked before being bashed down by the group of men. “Klar… / Clear…” It may just be her imagination or paranoia, but the French woman could have sworn she heard a touch of disappointment to his tone.
The third and last door comes off its hinges even quicker than the other two, spreading a foul scent of decay throughout the building. Inside is her grandmother, the woman who used to smile so kindly at her, reduced to a melted and slobbering mess of… Diseased and blackened flesh, destined to be bound inseparably to her wheelchair. The poor woman whose smile once resembles rays of sunshine can no longer comprehend human speech, let alone communicate with her own voice.
Slowly, she turns- face pale and bulging with black veins. Tars dripping under her chin as she slobbers all over herself. It has been quite some time since the animals sent her back in such a state, yet the sight never fails to upset the young Frenchwoman. Her tears well up, stinging the corners of her eyes as she sobs quietly, calling out mournfully, “Grand-mère! / Grandmother!”
A hand suddenly introduces itself to her shoulder. “Wenn Sie sich keine Sorgen machen, Geliebte. Sie hat unseren glorreichen Zwecken gedient. / Worry not, beloved. She has served our glorious purposes.” With a hateful glare, she spits in German- perhaps the only words of the language she’ll ever bother to learn. “Verbrenne in der Hölle, Nazi-Dreck! / Burn in Hell, Nazi scum!”
Erik sighs, “Warum? Warum bestehst du darauf, schwierig zu sein? /Why? Why do you insist on being difficult?” Then harshly sends her sprawling on the floor, murmuring under his breaths. “Wenn ich nicht dein Herz haben kann, werde ich mich zuerst mit deinem Körper begnügen. / If I can’t have your heart, I’ll settle for your body first.”
Not all SS soldiers are twisted, but the high-ranking ones- each is one degree more insane than the last. Erik’s no exception as he forces himself on her, hands pinning her wrists down. “Glaubst du, dass deine Großmutter reagieren würde, wenn sie uns beim Vollzug unserer Ehe sehen würde? / Do you think your grandmother will react if she were to see us consummate our marriage?”
Her heart hammers with terror but just when the SS Officer readies to tear her blouse off, screams cut short cause Erik to shoot to his feet in alarm. “Was–?! / What?!” Instantly, a bullet shatters his kneecap, throwing Erik von Braun screeching on the floor. He flails then flops on his back, purposefully exaggerating his reactions to the pain in hope nearby troops will hear him, but the two Privates who have just finished strangling the last of Erik’s small group of guards are not fools.
Realizing what he’s trying to do, O’Neill, still clutching his wound, kicks Erik’s teeth in. “Have a taste of freedom, motherfucker–!”
— [Kaleidoscopic Polaris] —
Contrary to the sterile environment I had anticipated- the same often portrayed in those cheesy 80’s, 90’s flicks about Nazis, the facility I’ve entered, if it could even be called a facility given the state I found it in, seems like it has seen better days. The floor, walls and ceiling are covered in burn-marks, most likely torched down by the personnel themselves to prevent an outbreak of their bio-weapons.
The air’s filled with a stench I doubt even a landfill can compare, and every once in a while I will see a black, shiny substance with almost blood-like consistency smeared everywhere. I have no idea what it does personally, but I’m not about to risk infection, staying airborne to avoid contamination.
In my Avian Form, everything’s highly saturated which helps me see the toxic miasma emanating from the puddles. With a flap of my wings, I glide towards the swinging door, sliding my way inside a cart and next to a cache of bottles containing an orange, glowing liquid. Carefully putting the phone held in my mouth down so as to not alert the SS scientist who’s carting me around, I tilts my head to the shifting substances. ‘Those seals can’t possibly be safe…’
Instead of Compound V’s sleek and pressurized seals, or F.L.A.G’s nigh unbreakable syringe containers, these bottles look like something they took from somebody’s kitchen. Backing away, I cringe as the scent assaults my sensitive nostrils. It smells like sweetened bio-wastes… Which, on a second thought, probably isn’t too far from the truths. Carted into the next room, I’m greeted by the sight of over a dozen pods dripping with black tars. What’s interesting about these pods are their contents though. ‘Those are–’
I gasp, or… Well, chirp after making out the silhouettes of humanoid figures trapped inside. Only one pod’s open, allowing me to have a glimpse of what’s inside: Something that used to be a person. Their skin and flesh appear to have been melted off with large tubes inserted in their mouth, ears and belly button. Features that can be used to identify them are all gone, and liquid- the same swirling liquid I’m perched next to seem to overflow from their backside, then filtered to a tank which gives it the clear, see-through appearance.
‘What the fuck?!’ Bile rush to my throat as I gag. Honey’s blended with the liquid, possibly to make it tastier but I doubt anything, even honey, can mask the scent and taste of that. “Hey, wohin soll ich das bringen?” I hear the one pushing the cart asks, cursing myself for never learning German, though in my defense the language’s not widely-used and makes even less sense than English and French. The tradeoff just didn’t seem worth the troubles, ‘Until now.’
How many more movies, TV shows, or cartoons…etc, deal with Nazis? This won’t be the last I have to interact with the less savory elements of Germany, of that I have no doubt. ‘Anna, if you’re listening, please note that down on my to-do list.’
“Ah! Diese Seren müssen in Raum Nr. 333 gebracht werden, um verabreicht zu werden. Bitte sei vorsichtig, du weißt, wie Officer von Braun ist… Wenn du etwas kaputt machst, fürchte ich–” Although I do not possess the superpower to learn a new language instantly, I do have the uncanny ability to read people pretty well which has been further upgraded thanks to my enhanced sense, and it is fear I smell wafting off of them. ‘What or whoever that managed to terrifythese two can’t be simple.’
How long have they served in Hitler’s ranks?
How many unethical and downright evil experiments have they been apart of?
As reluctant as I may be, I feel compelled to investigate before they are able to complete their creation. My instincts believe otherwise, blaring like a nuclear alarm embedded in my brain and doing all but calling me stupid. ‘Isn’t it just about the most human thing we can do? Fighting for what we believe in… Fighting for what’s right?’ I ask, silencing the voices in the process. I don’t claim to be great, nor do I dare claim righteousness, but I know for a fact it will haunt ‘till the end of my days if I flee now. In for a penny, ‘In for a pound.’
I patiently wait to be carted off to the next room, where upon entering I immediately see several metal contraptions with an eerie resemblance to what Abraham had put me in a month prior. ‘Great…’ I click my beak. ‘Of course the Nazis have their own version of F.L.A.G, ‘cause why the Hell not?!’ From the look of it, theirs is a lot less stable than the good Dr. Erskine’s, but they’re not constrained to standard morality and values. They can just throw these to their soldiers willy-nilly, as long as they win.
Our greatest weapon, on the other hand, is our moral highground which says a lot about Hitler and his ambitions considering all the allied powers and their general lack of business, moral and international ethics.
Sure, all countries have their problems, but at the very least politicians have to keep up the pretense in the States. The same can’t be said for Hitler and the Third Reich. They hold the ultimate power within Germany, and despite the ideology they preach, it has and will always be about power. Regardless of how Aryan you are, if you have opposing political opinions to the Führer, you are an enemy of the Regime and will have your life ruined if you’re lucky; or get… Disappeared if you happen to step on too many toes.
Under Hitler’s rule, no man or woman are safe. Boys will be drafted to fight for causes they barely understand, whilst women which include the German girls also, will get shipped off as ‘volunteers’ to the Joy Divisions. Yet another nasty, nasty piece about history nobody seems keen on repeating or even acknowledging.
In my time, most people only know: ‘Nazis bad’ without paying much context, but as a fervent fan of the newly-released indie movie ‘Dead Snow’ and part-time historian, I have seen one too many pieces of entertainment with the Nazi Zombie troupe to not know what comes next. The dreary, long-winding number of hallways and corridors; the suffocating atmosphere; the obvious indications of a bio-weapon…
If that’s not enough causes for concern, the presence of the desecrated yet moving upper-torso of a poor young bloke one, perhaps two years my elder basically ensures it.
Without lungs, the head can’t even rasp or groan, mouth chewing away as though trying to speak… Or bite on imaginary limbs. Syringes connect to the base of his skull, pumping the filtered venom to keep his brain alive. Skin dark with veins, complexion paler than a corpse, the man’s eyes whirl towards us before tars seep out from his pores, transforming his mouth to snake-like jaws lined by rows of jagged teeth.
His eyes sink into his skin, replaced by two large white shapes before he returns to normal. I back away in alarm, nearly stumbling into the scientist’s searching palm when I realize the head’s flicking, elongated tongue just came dangerously close to my hiding spot. ‘That freaking thing knows I’m here!’
“Faszinierend! Diese Reaktion wurde zuvor noch nie beobachtet!”
Cringing at the sight, I check our surrounding and once I’m certain the sole occupants of this room are this gleeful idiot and myself, I leap out of the cart, back in my Human Form at last.
My shoulder blades ache from all the flying I did, but not enough to stop myself from nearly knocking the mad scientist unconscious. “What is going on here?” I question, foot pressing on his Adam’s apple to stop him from making a sound. “I’m going to lift my foot. You’ll not try to alert the guards, you’ll answer my questions truthfully, understood?”
“Entschuldigung, ich spreche kein Englisch!” I don’t need a dictionary to translate what he just said. In a rapid motion, I kick the scientist’s teeth in, then immediately places my free foot on his throat to stifle his screams. “You speak English yet?”
“N- Nein!”
He just answered my English question, and he still dares act the fool? Do I look like an idiot? Face going cold, I raise my leg and threaten, “If you can’t speak English, you are of no use to me… Might as well–”
Listening to my ‘monologue’ causes him to pale as he flails his arms, screaming. “I speak, I speak!” Head tilted, eyes wide and unhinged, I lean towards the German. “Are you sure?”
“I sure!” The broken dialects will prove troublesome no doubt, thus just to be sure, “Doesn’t sound like English to me…” Like the Wrath of the Universe, my foot comes down so quick the scientist and I are both convinced his brain’s going to decorate the cement when– “Wait, don’t kill me! I have an aging mother!” Okay… I wasn’t sure it’s gonna work, but this prick really was acting the fool, wasn’t he? “Do as I say and you may live to enjoy another New Year with her.”
‘Even though you don’t deserve to.’ Remains unsaid. “If you lie, and trust me I’ll know–” I won’t know for sure, but enhanced senses let you glimpse a lot into a person’s true feelings and motives. I’ll be able to hear his heart, and read his chemo signals. “I’ll let your… Friend here have a bite.” Leaning next to the severed upper-torso, I hold his nape and put him above its yapping maws. “He looks famished, don’t you think?”
“I–!” He yells, to which my sole response is to put his face in the path of the elongated and salivating tongue. “Hiii–!” To the man’s credit, he's surprisingly quick-witted as he readjusts his volume. “I’ll not lie, I swear to God!” Or so he declares, though to be sure. “How about you swear to my boots? This Bordeaux, France and I’m a whole lot closer than God.” I stress, narrowing my eyes at the trembling man. “Got it?”
He hurriedly bobs his head. “Un- Understood.” Fixing my disheveled cuffs, I demand. “Speak, what is this place? What’s in those bottles?”
“We–”
— [Kaleidoscopic Polaris] —
“– Don’t know.” Erik answers, unexpectedly calm despite the glares he’s receiving. The two American paratroopers have taken out all of his guards somehow, before imprisoning the SS Officer on the attic. Rage crosses Bryan’s face and mercilessly he throws a punch, causing Braun’s brain to bounce inside his skull. “Don’t you fucking lie to me. We know there’s a Hydra facility here, where the Hell is it?!”
Lips split, teeth stained with blood, the SS Officer cackles, repeating through labored breaths. “I- I don’t know. Try looking up your mother’s ass–?” He doesn’t get to finish as a boney fist shatters his cheekbone. “You think this is a joke?”
“Y- Yes. I fuckin’ do!” Erik growls through gritted teeth, the smile on his face a bit stiffer, yet still carefree nevertheless. “Our technology’s eons ahead of what your troops are equipped with. Our nation’s filled with strong, youthful Aryan men unlike you…” Erik’s gaze sweeps over Bryan’s darker complexion as he finishes with a disgusted, “Filth. This isn’t a fight you can win so you may as well lay down and accept your fate, which’s to serve like your ancestors–!”
Spittle splatters on the walls, staining the wooden column red. “You fuck–!” This time it isn’t a fist that collides with Erik’s face, but the butt of a M1911 instead. “Bryan, don’t!” O’Neill, injured but stable, steps in to intervene after seeing how upset his friend is. “He’s trying to get a rise out of you. You kill him–” Calmly, he pushes Bryan’s M1911 to aim at the ground. “You’re gonna play right into his hands. There are only us left, if we fail to locate the facility…”
He trails, hoping his friend will see reason, and thankfully he does. Letting a shuddering breath, Private Bryan falls into a squat, his face hot with anger as he begins to list all the benefits to keeping von Braun breathing. “Mr. Erik, is it?” He starts, far more civilized than the beast in the guise of a man deserves. “Say you are right- that we’re fighting a losing war, why’d it matter if you tell us? The Axis powers are going to win anyway, according to your own admittances so why risk your life to keep this from us? It’s not like one facility is gonna close eons-worth of technological gap, right?”
Grinning, Erik smirks. “Do I look like a five-year-old, you dim-witted barbarians?”
“Enough.” Suddenly, Bryans says, putting his gun to the SS Officer’s head. The way he pulls the trigger, there’s not even a hint of emotions to his movements as he tries to execute the Nazi, luckily O’Neill reacts in time, managing to throw his aim off. “Bryan? Out!” The mousey-looking man orders, gaze trained on the back of Bryan who storms out in a huff. As for the SS Officer, he’s already in the process of… Soiling his pants. “You better start being useful or I’m gonna have to let him have a go at you, and between you and me, I don’t think you’re going to survive that.”
Erik lets loose a frustrated howl. “You’re going to kill me anyway.”
They’re all mature men here, and seeing no reason to lie, O’Neill says honestly. “Probably, though at least I’ll make it quick. Bryan’s quick to anger, but he isn’t stupid. Now that he has had time to cool down, I’m 90% sure he’s going to make you beg for death. If you don’t believe me–” The Private puts his arms up, a wicked and self-assuring grin on his face. “Bryan?!”
Finally, tinge of fear starts to settle on Officer Braun’s visage. “I’ll talk! Just keep that mon–” A fist knocks the air out of his mouth. “Apology.” O’Neill makes a deliberate show of bandaging his knuckle.
“My hand slipped… Better stop insulting my friend lest it slips a second time.”
.
.
.
With a frosty expression on his face, O’Neill strides out of the attic, forcefully slamming the door behind him. Once the sole entrance is securely locked, the man lets out a heavy sigh, clearly drained by what he has just discovered. “So… Did he sing?” Arms crossed, P. Bryan inquires. With a weary, though visibly amused smile playing on his lips, O’Neill nods. “Like a canary,” Affirming snidely. “Gotta give it to you, brother: That’s an Oscar-worthy performance right there.”
“What performance?” Bryan blinks innocently, acting as if he has no recollection, causing the latter to remind him through stuttered words. “You- You know, when you pointed the gun at him?”
“Oh, no, brother,” Bryan shakes his head, looking almost offended at the insinuation. “I was absolutely going to pull the trigger and blow his fucking brains out right then and there. It’s probably a good thing you stopped me.” For six months they have eaten, slept and lived with each other, often under the same roof or in the same trench, but to this day reading Bryan still proves a dreaded challenge for O’Neill. On one hand, he believes the darker man’s merely trying to employ fearmongering tactics to scare von Braun;
On the other hand, Bryan’s expression shows not a hint of jest or humor. “So… You got any leads on our mysterious facility?” He questions, his voice laced with a mixture of anticipation, apathy and teaspoons of barely restrained rage. “These guys are not Hydra, they belong to Hitler’s shiny new Division- Die Dunklen Sterne. “The Dark Stars…” Private Bryan translates, “Wasn’t Hydra responsible for their technological advancements? What use is this Division.”
“That’s the thing: There are conflicts of interests amongst the Führer’s ranks. Looks like Germany’s nowhere near as united as Hitler wants us to think.”
“Ah!” Listening to the explanation, he drawls. “So he wants to pit them against each other?” Then confusion creeps in Bryan’s tone. “But what if this new Division- the Dark Stars want to assume power too? Isn’t this trading grenades with landmines?
“”That’s the ironic part:” O’Neill replies, a hint of cynicism in his voice. “They probably have some ambitions, but are unwilling to make it public so soon after their creation. This is Hitler’s last desperate gambit. He can either continue trying to regain control, or accept the reality that he has been usurped, isolated and made into a powerless figurehead by his own Regime and allies.”
