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KP - Episode 14 (Public)
🕑 Added 2023-10-02 12:38:55 +0000 UTCWords Count: 5116
The longer we stay near each other, the more evident it is Isaac has come under the Marker's influence. Unlike me, the damn thing doesn't try to rush it, slowly but surely allowing its corruptive presence to spread and permeate every aspect of him… I have seen it first hand, rendered helpless whilst my mentally unstable friend spirals deeper into the grip of madness, unable to help due to how volatile he is.
In fact, I have caught the guy staring at empty halls or walls on multiple occasions, conversing with naught but air.
It is getting rather concerning.
“Isaac?” I whisper his name, debating whether to snap the engineer out of the hallucinations, or allow him to do the deed himself. You know, what doesn’t kill you and all that…? “You okay there, buddy?”
Isaac jolts slightly, breaking his trance and turning to look at me with vacant eyes. His voice comes out strained and hollow, as if it's not entirely his own. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." He replies, his tone lacking conviction. "Just... Just thinking, you know?"
I furrow my brow, trying to hide my growing worry.
It's become a delicate dance between wanting to support Isaac and fearing the consequences of his deteriorating mental state…
Believe me when I say it’s not at all entertaining. "Isaac, you've been acting very strange lately. Are you sure you're okay?" His lips curl into a forced smile, one that doesn't reach his eyes. "It's just the stress, Julius. We have been through a lot, and I guess it's finally catching up with me. I'll be alright, don't worry about it."
But how can I not worry?
I've watched Isaac change before my eyes, his mind and spirit becoming clouded with paranoia and obsession because of the Marker's, and it scares me to think of what it's turning him into- what it may result in. I want to help but… How does one help somebody who clearly doesn’t want it? Isaac’s obsession with his- most likely- deceased girlfriend is creating breaches in his consciousness that the Marker vigorously abuses.
I contemplate my limited options, searching for a solution to his ailment.
The notion of force-feeding him my blood lingers, a desperate gamble that I wish to preserve as a final recourse. Then, there's the alternative of Compound V, but its drawbacks are evident, posing a considerable risk factor, as what once harmonized with Humanity in the previous Universe may not fare as favorably with this one's version. It could even be toxic to them. We don’t really know what the effects are, which is even scarier.
“C’mon, buddy…”
Gently, hands on his shoulders, I guide the traumatized man to safety in case we come under attack. He puts up the barest front of resistance, but eventually comply, tearing his eyes off the apparition that’s tormenting him no doubt. “It’s not real, Isaac. She is not real.” I remind him, careful not to upset the man. His raspy reply nearly floors me. “She is to me…”
‘I wonder how it feels like…’ To love someone so much; to share such a deep connection it costs both your physical and mental wellbeing; to love so strongly you would rather believe in a lie- remaining willingly ignorant in spite of the truths that're practically screaming in your face. Then again, I've never lost somebody, mostly due to the fact I never had someone to begin with. Father’s wife and children do not like me, and for good reasons.
They’re already struggling to make ends meet when I came barreling in their lives- a kid who, allegedly, murdered his own mother… Many in Mystic Falls believed I should be in jail, juvie or the psychiatric wards at least, but evidences of abuse and maltreatment were too damning.
A whole decade has passed since those events, yet here I am, still wrestling daily with thoughts- horrible thoughts I would never wish on even my worst enemy, for no one deserves to be imprisoned in the confines of their own mind. There is no escape for such torment- no alleviation from the cycle of fear, stress and anxiety. A gym-bro, the biggest and meanest motherfucker in the room, could have extreme body dysmorphic disorder behind closed doors.
A girl who’s pretty can still be insecure about her looks, and a nerd which has gotten straight A’s all his life can worry excessively about his grades to the point it upsets the balance of his mental development… And you know what’s the worst part about it? These are enemies you can never truly defeat.
At times, they may even feel like the only constant in your life, so like a moth to a flame, you cling to them for while they make you feel miserable every second of every day, it is what you have been taught by yourself to rely on all your life… And you know what they often say about habits… “Let’s go, it isn’t safe to stay in one spot for too long. Besides I don’t think we should keep Hammond waiting for too long. He doesn’t look like the type who will appreciate it.”
I joke, but Isaac hardly responds, humming what sounds like a ‘Yes’ as he absentmindedly nods, yet when I make to leave, the engineer remains stationary- almost as if his feet have fused to the Ishimura’s cold, metallic floor. “Go- Fuck!” I curse under my breaths, cocking my arm back.
Even when my fist crashes into his cheek, not enough to hurt the engineer obviously, Isaac appears far more interested in the rusted wall than the immediate and very active threat in his vicinity. “Okay, I’ve had it with you. Get up, you miserable asshole!” The tips of my toes nudge his thighs harshly, making Isaac jolt.
“Wh- Huh, Julius? What’re yo–” My foot connects with his face again, leaving a tiny dent on the man’s rusty and collapsible helmet. “Are you up?” I ask testily, taking on a clear antagonistic tone, hands plopping my torso up as I squat in front of him. “You cognizant now?” Confused and hurt, the engineer quickly bobs his head up and down, only to get hit again. I watch while Isaac shakes with rage- “Feeling angry? Good.”
I hiss.
It beats him being distracted and barely present.
It beats having to constantly watch my back, worrying for my life and Isaac’s.
The Plasma Cutter may be one of the few weapons capable of permanently maiming or just straight up killing me, meaning I’ll have to be extra cautious lest he shoots my limbs off. “Ju- Julius–” Isaac groans. “I like you, but if you do that again… I am not gonna be responsible for what happens next.” He threatens, not that it means much to me.
Isaac might come out on top if he had shot me in the back, but in a fair 1-on-1, I can easily tear the guy limb-from-limb within a matter of seconds, whilst preparing bird chops for Nanna if I may add. Isaac won’t stand a chance. “If you are cognizant, I suggest you get your shit together. Pack it all in a tightly-sealed bag and throw it in the closet if needed, got it? Our very survival depends on it.”
Growing visibly more agitated by the second, Isaac growls. “You have no RIGHT–!”
“Oh, but I have every right!” I kneel next to the engineer whose manic eyes swerve angrily in every direction. “This isn’t about you, or me… It’s not about Hammond or Kendra either, it’s about Humanity. You want to live in an illusion created by one of the scariest predatory race in the known Cosmos? Get those damned pods working first, then you’re free to do whatever the Hell you want.”
I blow tauntingly in Isaac’s face, clouding his visor no doubt while saying with a disgusted chuckle.
“Some are born to be slaves, unfortunately. Some to their baser urges; many to ideologies they can barely comprehend themselves; then there are fools who'd rather live in a lie instead of facing reality.” I set my hands on the man’s trembling shoulders, asking in a low voice. “Tell me, are you a fool? Will you join the Unitology bastards in their mass delusions?”
“Shut up…”
He mumbles, fists clenching as his shaking intensifies.
But what he needs is a bigger push, one that will force him to accept reality as is. “Look at you… All that talk about saving Humanity, were they mere boasts to satisfy your tongue? You fucking know what you are seeing aren’t real; you know it’s the Marker playing a trick on you, yet you keep letting it take advantage. You're either a fool or a traitor to Mankind and thus a risk to its survival that needs to be eliminated, which is it, Isaac?”
“Scre…”
“What?”
I move near, ears perking up to catch the sounds of his voice. “SCREW YOU!”
With the Plasma Cutter- the incredibly heavy and edged high-tech weapon I’ve witnessed Isaac use to beat Necromorphs’ skulls in and brains out- still held firmly in his hand, the man takes a blind, wrathful swing which I weather like a champ. It would have driven a larger rift between us if I were to avoid the punch. In the end, it costs me nothing to tank such a light hit, doubly so when I’m armored.
The real loser will be Isaac nonetheless since with or without the suit cushioning the blow, at the speed he’s going, the engineer will be lucky if his hand does not snap in half or fracture at the very least… The punch lands, and on cue I stumble back in pretense, as if I’m really hurt by the hit. Faking gasps and sputters, I rest my palms on my knees, heaving. “You- You done? Flushed it all out of your system?”
The savage scream pierces through the air, a visceral indicator of his torment.
Reacting swiftly, I dodge his outstretched grasp, narrowly escaping a potentially disastrous situation. Though weakened, I must exercise restraint, wary of inadvertently causing harm in my efforts to separate him from his enraged state.
A mere scuffle should not tear us apart; instead, it even has the potential to forge a stronger bond between us… The surge of adrenaline and heightened emotions from the conflict will serve as the opportune moment for me to emphasize with him on a deeper level, or at least try.
“Screw you! What the Hell do you know?! She’s– Nicole, she–” The engineer chokes, having troubles forming words. Although his eyes remain shrouded by the suit’s intimidating helmet, I get this gut feeling his vision's gonna be blurry for quite a while. “I killed her…” He admits, dropping on his knees. “I- I shouldn’t ha- have convinced her to join the Ishimura. I sh– She would still be- Argh!” Isaac screams once more, all the fight having left him earlier as he kneels weakly.
"I took her life, Julius... Damn it, I explicitly told her to board this ship. If only I hadn't..." Crying fails to capture the intensity of Isaac's anguish; the man wails, head bowed deep as though to apologize to somebody who is not there, slowly but surely being consumed- eaten alive by the guilt. “I killed her. Oh God, I fucking killed her!” Shaky hands clenched into fists, the man starts landing hit after hit at his own head, each more vicious than the last.
“Okay…” I step up, catching his fists in the process of taking a swing. “That’s enough. I know you’re hurting, but it isn’t your fault. No one could’ve seen this coming- nobody could have anticipated that the seemingly harmless alien artifact will pose such risks?” Oh, who am I kidding? Fucking everybody, but as per usual, Humanity finds a way to satisfy its destructive urges. “But you know who is responsible?”
I kneel in front of him, my collapsible helmet instantly retracting to better show the emotions etched on my face- an expression full of hate and passionate fury. “It’s that fucking Marker… It’s those damn Unitologists… They did this to her- to you! And they’ll continue to do this not just to the rest of Humanity, but to other alien species as well. This? It’s no longer about us; it’s about the Living vs. The Dead. This is a war for domination over the galaxy, and we–”
I point at him and myself. “We are the spearheads, Isaac. It’s up to us whether Mankind will stand a chance against this threat, so all those feelings- all those emotions you’re bottling up? Put it aside. Help me so this won’t ever happen to anyone else. I want to say I can do this alone, but I can’t.” It is the truth. I have gotten to watch Isaac’s engineering work, sadly the intricacies of such work elude my mind due to a lack of basic foundation.
I’ve never had prior training in engineering.
Let alone an entire spaceship capable of housing hundreds to a thousand people, I can barely fix my own Toyota. But Isaac? The guy is a genius when it comes to engineering and problem-solving. I need him by my side, not just for his technical expertise, but because I genuinely care about him as a human being.
Isaac’s fists slowly unclench, his breathing shallow and ragged. “You… You’re right. It’s not my fault. It’s not.” He chants like a mantra, his voice barely audible. “I can’t keep blaming myself for what happened. We have to stop this, Julius. We have to find a way to put an end to all of this madness.”
A surge of worry rushes through me as I catch a manic glint in Isaac’s eyes. Maybe there is still hope for him, for the both of us. I reach out and grip his shoulder tightly, a silent gesture of solidarity. “We’ll find a way, Isaac. We’ll make sure that nobody has to suffer like this. C’mon-”
I offer him my hand and Isaac’s grip on the Plasma Cutter loosens as he slowly rises, his movements unsteady yet resolute.
“Let’s go,” The engineer says, his voice now filled with a newfound madness. “We have wasted enough time. Hammond and Kendra are still waiting, and they need our help.” As we make our way down the dark corridors of the Ishimura, the weight of our mission presses heavily on our shoulders, and Isaac’s mental wellbeing on mine. Every once in a while, when the Marker’s trying to plant suggestions in his mind, I’d see Isaac mumble to himself, “It’s not my fault… It’s not.”
It's a tad concerning, still better than ‘Marker’s Isaac’ though.
Then again, ‘It’s not like you have a right to pass judgment, do you, you fucking psycho?’
He taunts, and I dare not deign it with an answer. We face more challenges and attacks, from Slasher to Stalker to the ever disturbing Divider, tearing through them all until we reach Officer Hammond behind the protective wall of reinforced glass in the Valor’s engine room- yet another crashed ship where we’ll get what we need: An intact Singularity Core. I'm gonna be frank, I have no idea what it is, and don't care to learn either. I will just… Reappropriate a few from Earth Gov. in case the App updates and the Market
It's the least they can help me with in exchange for delaying this Universe’s equivalent of the Flood, right?
* ANGRY DING!
“You’re not gonna check it?”
“Nope.” I say with an extra pop near the end, amusing myself by frustrating Anna. It can’t be helped, there really isn’t much entertainment on this Godforsaken ship, none except for the flashing neon billboards and ads. ‘Huh… Glad to know capitalism's still thriving even in barren Universe.’
I chuckle dryly, internally wondering the effectiveness of ads thrown haphazardly in this corner of the Valor, but I’m not a pro. Who am I to question their intelligence? “– Isaac. Julius. I can hear the two of you, I am waiting for you guys inside the Singularity Core’s containment field. Hurry up.” The Officer mumbles, eyes swerving upwards to search for something. “– I hear something crawling in the vents. Knowing what’s on this Hellhole with us… It probably does not bode well.”
With that said, the coms suddenly cut.
Isaac and I exchange concerned glances.
Urgency propels us towards Hammond's whereabouts. Descending a flight of stairs, our eyes behold the sight of the dark-skinned man as he described, positioned behind a pulsating wall of glass. Beside him rests a peculiar sight- a miniature blue and white Star, wedged into a crevice built into the hull of the USM Valor.
The advanced technology displayed does raise certain questions in my mind: With such advancements, why the Hell does Humanity want to rely on the Marker as a new energy source? Wouldn't harnessing solar energy be a better alternative? “Isaac? Julius, you two are here!”
The relief in Hammond’s voice is palpable, as if our very presences calm his nerves. I would ask what could have made a hardass like him afraid, but I have seen him and even Kendra to a lesser extents get engulfed by the Marker’s influence similar to how Isaac was. “I need help getting the Singularity Core–” The vent above abruptly buckles under the something's weight, a Necromorph's no doubt, and it drops- joints snapping back in place, the Necromorph rises with a snarl permanently glued to its horrifically mutated face.
“Chen?”
Yet, like a moth to a flame, Hammond can’t seem to see the monstrosity for what it is. “Chen?” I repeat quizzically, prompting Isaac to explain hastily. “He is- was the pilot of the USG Kellion.” Isaac corrects, slamming on the glass, each hit rattling the structure, achieving nothing ultimately. “Hammond, it's not him! WAKE UP! IT ISN’T CHEN!”
“What’re you talking about, Isaac? It’s him. He’s alive!” The dark-skinned man mutters, utterly mesmerized by the hallucinations the Marker is showing him. Making a split second decision, I gesture- silently telling the engineer to retreat. Although confused, Isaac complies immediately, having learnt to trust me after all we’ve been through. ‘Here goes nothing…’
‘Not gonna hide it anymore?’
He scoffs, whilst Deimos responds eagerly. If his head’s showing, I’m sure he would’ve licked his lips. ‘GLaDlY!’
Inky black liquid cascades from my once-hidden sleeves, flowing effortlessly through the molecular gaps of my RIG Suit.
Isaac, taken aback, jumps back in sheer shock as my colossal form reveals itself.
No longer am I the tall and sturdy figure he knew, transformed into a monstrous being, my visage a nightmarish amalgamation of fangs. Like a layer of shiny fabrics, the oozing black sludge crawls like vines over my helmet, fusing with the metals. How an organic being can so seamlessly combine with inorganic matters, but since it’s working in my favor, I’m not going to question it. "Julius, what the hell?!" He shrieks in terror, brandishing his Cutter defensively as he rapidly retreats.
But his panic goes unnoticed as the liquid ascends my forearm, molding itself into a lethal blade, its dark intent unmistakable. “GeT back!” I growl, charging at the seemingly fragile glass. Arm cocking back, the blade easily penetrates the see-through glass, impaling ‘Necro-Chen’ beside the Singularity Core. Pushing it into the Core would've killed the beast instantly, though I'm afraid the high-tech engine may be volatile, hence why I have taken special care to avoid it.
After all, there has to be a reason those purebred, bonafide capitalists built these Containment Fields, and it sure as Hell wasn't out the kindness of those cold, dead holes they tend to call hearts, and if you happen to be under the notions the large Corporations and Governments actually give a rat’s ass about you, I’m sorry to say you're sorely mistaken. “No… You’re not Chen.” The spell breaks just as I lunge forth, separating its head from the torso moments before Hammond regains his sanity.
Unlike your typical zombies, Necromorphs cannot be killed via mere decapitation.
The creatures we face seem impervious to conventional means of killing.
Even Isaac’s method of dismemberment or complete annihilation only temporarily hinders their movements, leaving the fleshy bits without an intact nervous system to move. Yet, our primal instincts drive us to target their heads and other perceived weak spots regardless. In hindsight, I realize I should have focused on severing their limbs instead of aiming for the head, as it would have spared us many hardships.
But, like many who have come before me, I too fell momentarily for the trap set by the Necromorph. Its limbs coil around me, closing in like a predatory spider trying to reach and ensnaring its prey.
If I were anyone else, without the capacity to react, I would have surely been impaled and killed in an instants. Fortunately, Deimos is by my side.
From our backs, writhing tentacles emerge, piercing and rending Chen's body into bloody chunks, bathing us in a crimson cascade. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Hammond scrambling alongside Isaac, his face contorted in disbelief. "What in the world is that? What the Hell?!"
Necro-Chen, in a final desperate struggle, flails impotently in my grasp.
The black liquid coating my form snakes around him, making it that much more arduous for him to break free, especially as the elastic sinews begin to harden, gradually constricting and enveloping him whole. For a brief instance, I'd swear I saw a glimpse of fear brimming in its milky pupils. It could’ve been my imagination- it could, but I like to think I just gave the Marker a fright of its… Life?
"You don't know a thing about humanity, do you?" I hiss into its ears.
"We have the capacity for goodness, for kindness. But we are also the most destructive species on Earth."
Images of the World Wars and the creation of the nuclear bomb rapidly flash through my mind as I forcefully slam it against the floor.
"We're vindictive..."
Memories of my dear mother and all those subtle acts she employed to undermine my confidence surface because she thought I ruined her life.
"We can be selfish asses..."
Instances of men and women callously ignoring the plight of a homeless child come to mind. "And, when pushed, we would rather choose mutual destruction than accept loss. Be–”
My voice distorts. “AFrAid!”
— [Verse: MCU] —
With a sinister glare, the creature's dark gaze fixates on the unsuspecting soldiers marching through the dense forest.
They go about their chatter, oblivious to the imminent danger that lurks ever so closer. Of course, it’s complete nonsense to Nanna, but she recognizes the uniforms they wear.
Unbeknownst to the Nazis, one of Earth’s apex predator stalks their every move, its presence concealed amidst the shadows.
As the SS soldiers continue walking, the forest seems to grow eerily silent. “Hast du nicht gehört? Anscheinend gibt es ein Monster in diesem Wald.”
The once lively chatter dissipates into hushed whispers, leaving an uncomfortable feeling hanging in the air as tales of things that go bump in the night. It’s not the first time they’ve heard this story. Since a few days ago, stories of a feathered beast that prowls the woods has reached the SS. Blooded and battle-hardened, they’d usually disregard such baseless rumors, yet corpses have been piling up without any legitimate explanation from their superiors.
Each step taken is laden with uncertainty, but none of them understand the gravity of the situation evolving around them, for if they did, they’d have fled already. Not that it would do the soldiers any good considering how fast she is. What they do know, however, is that their instincts are screaming at them, and it is quite loud. “Lass uns erst einmal gehen… Dieser verfluchte Ort verunsichert mich...”
One says, shivering as he rubs his arms.
The raptor, disguised amidst the shadows, moves with a silent grace and determination. Her sky-blue feathers camouflaging seamlessly within the dense undergrowth. Her muscular body, honed over years of balanced diets and workouts, allows Nanna to glide through the forest without disturbing a single leaf.
With every step, the predator closes the distance, orchestrating a deadly dance that only it knows. As the sun dips beneath the horizon, a sense of foreboding engulfs the unsuspecting soldiers. They glance at each other worriedly, assaulted by an underlying uneasiness that’s freezing their veins solid.
A chill breeze rustles the leaves ominously, a haunting melody that warns of impending doom. Yet, they press on, either purposefully oblivious to the imminent danger that skulks mere yards away, or too green to realize what their bodies are telling them. “Es wird gesagt, dass das Biest von der Nacht begleitet wird...”
Suddenly, a twig snaps, shattering the tense silence like glass, causing the soldiers to jump in alarm. A flicker of realization passes through their eyes as they frantically search for the source of the noise. But in their panicked state, they fail to spot the creature, now mere feet away, its deadly claws flexing, poised to strike the moment she is signaled. “Mit ihm kommt ein geflügelter Dämon, der jeden vernichtet, der es wagt, sich ihm in den Weg zu stellen...”
“Jetzt ist nicht die Zeit, Herschel! Genug von deinen verdammten Geschichten!”
Glancing at her lookout, the Velociraptor trills angrily, her mind still on her missing father. In the blink of an eye, the apex predator lunges forward, her fangs bared menacingly and ready to taste flesh.
The soldiers barely have time to react as chaos ensues. The forest erupts into mayhem, as screams of anguish and terror pierce the night. From above, the Angel of Death descends, diving down to grab two SS soldiers who are then unceremoniously dropped- their bodies turning to paste upon impact with the ground. Meanwhile Nanna, filled with a primal ferocity, takes down soldier after soldier with ruthless precision.
Her teeth sink into flesh, finding purchase in vital spots, while her razor-sharp claws rend armor and flesh alike. The soldiers fight back valiantly (As valiantly as Nazis could be), but they are outmatched by the two enhanced that lurk within the shadows- picking them off one after the other.
Nanna’s instincts guide her, allowing her to dodge bullets and anticipate the soldiers’ movements. She leaps and somersaults with agility and grace, whilst the humans scramble to put up a fight, yet their panic only fuels her wrath as arms and legs are torn off; skin and muscles ripped up; and organs thrown to the floor, untouched. This isn’t for sustenance. It’s for vengeance.
The forest becomes a gruesome battlefield, littered with the bodies of fallen soldiers.
Blood stains the leaves and mingles with the darkness, marks the fierce battle that rages on marring the ground. The Angel of Death swoops in from above, his wings casting a shadow over the chaos below. He swoops down, his razor-sharp talons rending flesh and his pulsating wing impaling several soldiers as it slows the man’s descent. There’s a deadly synergy between the two beings, one ordinary people can’t ever hope to match, “Oh, Herr rette uns…”
It doesn’t take them long to decimate their forces- over five hundreds men, many of which were barely in their mid to late teens, now lay dead simply because they daren’t disobey their commanding Officers. As the last armed man breathes his last, the survivors huddle together, not to find shelter, but in the hope that the next to go will be the one besides them. “We have a few questions for you. Answer and I’ll consider letting you–”
A snarl gets the words caught in his throat, forcing him to backtrack. “And I will consider asking her to let you live. Any English speaker here?”
None answers, which causes his brows to furrow. Pointing his gun at the nearest boy, the Angel presses on the trigger- splattering the soldier’s brain. Those who are splashed howl in terror. “Again! Any. Volunteer? I won’t ask thrice.” Finally, a short soldier timidly raises his arm, far younger than everyone else. “You’re?”
“Hugo Claude, sir! I’m French.” Puzzled, the Angel kneels- his prior threatening pose and aura weakening, yet nevertheless present. “… Why’s a Frenchman following the SS?”
Realizing this answer will determine his fate, the boy swallows thickly. “I- My hometown was destroyed. They pillaged our village, killed the men and raped the women, sir…” A haunting stare crosses his face, too sincere to fake.
“They? These soldiers?”
Like that, the Angel passes judgement, about to cleave through the huddled men, only to stop midway when the boy charges in-between with arms spread. “No! Not them! They saved me!” The terrified soldiers, seeing their savior, immediately abandon all hesitance and kneel. “Hugo! We- We don't deserve this! We're just following orders!”
The broken English poses a challenge, though the Angel’s able to make it comprehensible- increased intelligence: Another benefit of his transformation. “Do you know what they have done?” Rather than getting angry, patiently the Dark Angel inquires. The boy shakes his head resolutely, countering. “I don’t… But I do know it’s them who sheltered me. It’s them who tried, albeit unsuccessfully, to stop those other bad men from hurting my mother… They are good people.”
The boy concludes. “They’re just wearing the wrongly-colored uniforms.”
Unable to crush such display of faith and kindness, the Angel lifts his helmet to reveal dark eyes, short- curled strands and freckled cheeks. He's young as well, even though the aged-lines will claim otherwise. “Hello there, Hugo. I’m Private Bryan James Carsten, this is Nanna, and we're hoping to gain your help with something…”
“Then they–?”
The boy casts a worried glance at the group of men behind him, many of whom begin to shake and cry pitifully.
“They’ll be okay as long as they answer our questions.”
“And if they don’t?”
Bryan shuts his eyes. “The best enemy’s a dead one.” The message is clear. They will betray German Empire, which will likely end with them executed for treason, or they will die here- now. “I’LL TELL YOU…! I'LL TELL YOU EVERYTHING! Please, spare them!”
“Good.” Bryan nods, pulling out a picture from his pocket. The faded black and white shows a teenager, much like them, with light-colored hair- blonde they presume, and blue- maybe green eyes. Hard to tell with how creased the picture is, having been folded twice and kept in his pocket all this time. There is even a hint of blood dripping from the corner- Nazis’ mostly. “Has any of you seen this man?”
