"An explosion!? What is going on!?!"

  "Is the Führer safe!? Damnation! Whatever country dared to do this, it'll pay!"

  "Seal off all exits to the assembly hall! Don't stand around, move! Let no ant escape!"

  ___________

  _______

  ___

  November 20, 1939. A sudden explosion occurs in the middle of the Führer and Chancellor of the German Empire, Floda Reltih's, address. This event — sending shock waves throughout the entire continent of Europe — would ultimately bring us together.

  The German Empire, which had fallen into poverty and despair following defeat in the initial World War, had risen like a phoenix from the ashes upon the coming of its new charismatic leader, and set off on a new trajectory towards hegemony by immediately invading its neighboring nations.

  The disaster would continue to kindle the flames of the second and — as people had hoped — last World War, far eclipsing in scope and atrocity the one that preceded it.

  And it is that the curtains of the same war now slowly unfold.

  ___________

  _______

  ___

  "Namely, the assassination of His Excellency the Führer has — of course — not succeeded, and we apprehended the offender. But our attempt to bring the rascal in for questioning was. How shall I put it."

  "Too many suspects, I suppose? A truth hardly surprising enough, in fact. I could list a whole battalion of rebels eager to go at our great leader's throat, if only they were given the chance. 'Too many to count' would be very far from the start, in fact."

  Reinhard silenced his hesitant subordinate with an angry glare as they reached their destination, its corridors lined with vacant cells.

  He could tell what the colonel was thinking to recommend. And he dislike to lose any more time listening in on matters with an already settled conclusion.

  This complex — ready to hold political prisoners — was, in reality, not that dissimilar from slaughterhouse. The air smelled of rusted bar, blood, and death. And that was not the least bit surprising — hardly ten percent of the arrested perpetrators were able to exit alive.

  Such were the opportunities for one who had fallen into the clutches of the Gestapo. Past offenses were immaterial. Short of a specially selected few outstanding cases, they simply would invent a charge of their own, and proceed to execute the hapless convict before they were aware of what was going on.

  "Yes, you are quite right, sir. I have no words to express my shame for letting the rascals escape from us."

  "I am not here to listen to your excuses, Colonel. Anyway, I can see that you — as loyal protectors of our leader — have apprehended and arrested whoever is in that cell at the front."

  "It is as you say, Lieutenant General."

  This wasn't a new tactic. With the real culprit beyond reach, a scapegoat must be found. One whose blood would grease the cogs of grinding gears that moved society along.

  "I see. Well done. Leaving the integrity of the matter aside, I assure you, your work won't be for nothing."

  Reinhard could determine the sin and the degree of punishment. That was within what he now had the power to do. Thus, he would simply do it again in this case.

  Even if it sounds like the cry of a heartless bigot, being in the wrong place at the wrong time was as serious a crime as any other in the given state of the society.

  The weak had ways of defending themselves. The past deeds of the current "culprit" did not guarantee her innocence, and that was more than enough to kill her.

  Reinhard denounced the incompetence of a woman he had not yet encountered.

  "How exactly do you mean?"

  "What was his name?"

  That wretched failure of a man.

  "Karl Ernst Kraft. He swore he had emigrated to our capital after graduating from university in his home country of Basel. Before long, we confirmed the accuracy of his claim, but."

  "But what?"

  Reinhard scowled over the hesitation of his subordinate. The man's action seemed not to be inspired by fear. Rather, his eyes reflected a particular kind of distaste. Perhaps aversion. As if the body itself protested the utterance of the name of the prisoner.

  "Well. I'm not really sure how to put this, but this man seems to have dabbled in some peculiar things. A thoroughly aggravating thing, actually, but people say of."

  "Divination by way of astrology. A magician, oh?"

  Really, a small-time swindler, good at nothing but making the most of the ignorance and anxiety of the masses.

  "Yes. We recognize his tricks as nothing but smoke and mirrors, a super bluff. But this chap correctly foretold the attempt on the life of His Excellency the Führer long in advance. We could hardly ignore someone like that."

  No one was naive enough to take his prophecy to be the proof of genuine sorcery at work. Madmen and lunatics had supernatural powers within their realm. A far easier and more probable explanation would always arise.

  "And so you suspect this Karl Krafft to have plotted and orchestrated this whole attempt himself."

  Queer behavior that led to distrustfulness. That guy had overstepped the line of protection of the state. What an idiot. He had dug a pit for himself, and would now experience what it was like to play a sage in the hard way.

  "Very well done. You are most suited, Colonel. You possess a rational and sensible mind and a civilized one that is not balanced by far-fetched rumors and superstitions. Have a word of praise from me instead of our commander. A man like you is a gem to the Empire."

  "I am proud."

  "Good. Go back to your station then. I shall entertain the Magician alone."

  "Sir? But."

  The Colonel just could not leave a superior officer in the hands of an insane man. Reinhard glanced at his reluctant subordinate. That little push was all it took to silence others — years of experience in this line of work had taught him that.

  "What's the matter, Colonel? I just want to ask him a few questions. What is it that he can do without me behind a row of iron bars? Besides, he's just an ordinary con man, nothing more. A terrorist at best. I'm hardly entering the lair of a starving lion or tiger."

  The fellow below was no beast. This was a ridiculous farce, and neither of them needed to spend more time than absolutely necessary on such a meager matter.

  ".",

  "If I have made myself clear, then do get back to your post. Your concern for my safety is unnecessary."

  "As you order, Lieutenant General."

  "And get some rest while you're at it. Consider this an order."

  Reinhard remained standing impassively as the other moved on to leave. An awfully dutiful chap. That consideration exhausted the quota of his feeling for him.

  "Well, then."

  He had to cope with that situation in that cell. He descended the rough passageway. He was just a few steps from the rusty iron bars between himself and the man inside.

  He finally arrived at the cell. There was a silhouette shadow sitting inside in perfect tranquility with a close-to-mocking smile upon its lips.

  Reinhard looked at it first with an image of a dead tree, a mirage. Uncertain. Blurred. He couldn't help but blink at it at the strange man who — while undeniably present — seemed like something from far away projected.

  His presence was itself gaunt, as though he had withered and dehydrated. He resembled an old man who had done everything he could possibly ever do in life; Reinhard sensed not even a faint trace of energy or optimism coming from him.

  His obsidian eyes seemed to have been fixed in a permanent state of degeneration, as if a pair of colorful — but dead — agates.

  Glancing into his eyes was like gazing into a dead fish, or maybe. A sea monster which lived beyond all expectations after being pulled out from the darkest depths.

  A fish that shouldn't have been living in complete darkness, but — by mistake — encountered oxygen and found itself horribly lost.

  And so it was powerless to do its one desire — to die and be gone forever. It wished to return to the water, but all it could do is hopelessly hop up and down on land.

  It craved for help. Something that was a condensation of its need for others — something human which Reinhard despised. And for this very reason, he could assert with unshakeable conviction.

  There was no chance that this man might have plotted to kill the Führer. He. It never had ambitions or feelings in the first place. He would never discover importance in assassination. He would not care if the whole country turned around tomorrow.

  A bit of loose trash he expressed just so happened to coincidentally fall in line with the facts. That was all.

  By that time the likelihood of that man being the criminal had long since forgotten. A dead tree never had a dream. It was merely in hopes of one day being a source of food for the flowers.

  "So you are the rebel they speak of? You don't look much the part, I'm afraid. My name is—"

  "Lieutenant General; Reinhard Tristan Eugen Heydrich. Commander of the secret state police, the Gestapo. Your formal designation embodies all that is honorable about our Great German Empire, and your second title resounds in the dark alleys — The Hangman. I'm delighted to meet you. My name is Karl Ernst Krafft; I am far more normally an impostor, and the best of all, a terrorist. Those titles hardly suit me as much as the dodgy one of Magician."

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  "I see."

  The man interrupted him, finally showing some liveliness in his expression. At that, Reinhard had to turn up his act a bit.

  It was a long while since someone passed him. That voice was indeed suited to deceptions and falsehoods, and sure enough, presented itself with an air of callousness to suffering. No matter the amount of hatred that had been poured his way, that smile of his would never leave.

  "You are quite an intriguing fellow. Not many men can smile in front of me, particularly in your situation."

  He was courageous, at least, for all it got him.

  "Let me be frank: do you desire to die? My vocation is to penalize those menaces to our country. As for you potentially turning out to be a rogue and terrorist, I will have no other means but to stand true to that silly second given name of mine."

  "Oh? You are perhaps not proud of your appointment?"

  "Perhaps. I do not however mix personal sentiment with duty, or at least, I occupy this position precisely because my sentiments are faulty."

  There were no hues in his universe. His chest had not yet felt warmth a single moment during his lifetime. Thus, no one was more qualified to deliver impersonal vengeance.

  He denounced each one on an equal footing, leaning neither to one side nor to the other, adding no shadow of emotion to his verdicts.

  "Say, then: are you a man to whom my debts should accrue?"

  The swindler smiled, not even seeing Reinhard's furious glare.

  "A great pity it is, but my only choice is to obey. But. As regards any conspiracy against the life of His Excellency the Führer — and my supposed part in the nefarious plan — I must answer in the negative. I have done none such."

  A pointless assertion, if Reinhard had ever heard one. He had long since tired of the accused playing dumb, and knew full well how to deal with the likes of them.

  "They all say so at first."

  "Then you intend to torture me for the truth?"

  "I could, but would only be wasting my strength."

  The man understood the circumstances such as Reinhard — his smile was proof of that. Hiding the truth did not count in this setting. Thus, he made up his mind to reveal his mission.

  "You see, I myself do not care much about the affair. Guilty or not guilty, all men die when it is their time. A man should not be surprised to find himself peering down the throats of death if he had lived a life to provoke the ire of others. It is of no consequence whether you have participated in that earlier melee or not. Someone attempted to kill a defenseless man. There is not much else to this overused affair."

  "Are you trying to imply that my words would count for nothing?"

  "His Excellency the Führer was a man in a precarious position. I have told you this before."

  It didn't end at internal and external political foes. His presence gave birth to terrorists and ill will. Entire country desired his death. There would be no sense in Gestapo that engaged itself with the truth.

  "Therefore, the possibility of allowing the actual criminal to escape by having you murdered is just a drop in the sea. It would make no difference whatsoever. I am neither free nor deranged enough to be interested in killing one of the thousand enemies. Punish the suspects. Sorry for being cliche, but this is the Gestapo way."

  His life had been worth that little. Nevertheless, the man exhibited not a trace of fear. He merely gazed at Reinhard with thinly-disguised interest.

  Was he evaluating him? Not quite. That glance was barely so simple. It seemed to penetrate much deeper.

  It made Reinhard think of the eyes of the scientist. The look of one studying an event under the microscope to the smallest detail. Like those white-coats working day and night over chemical warfare.

  Did this guy still think he could get out of all this alive? He even leaned his head with a sarcastic smile.

  "I see. Gossip spoke sense of you. But. May I have leave to ask you something?"

  "You may. Ask it."

  "What are you going to make me do once you let me go?"

  Reinhard was stunned for a number of seconds. It didn't appear to be something that a man who was going to be executed was ever meant to say to the man who was going to do the executing. But above all else.

  "Hmm? You're a peculiar fellow, sure. Haven't you been hearing what I've been telling you?"

  "Oh, but I have. You came to greet the swindler who had been sentenced to death without regard for fact, even questioning me as to whether I wished to die. If you were to read your last words in reverse, you might have succeeded in being construed as meaning that you would not object to releasing the real criminal, were it to serve some sort of purpose. At least, that is how I have taken the liberty of construing it. Have I misconstrued your intentions, executioner?"

  "."

  The two men stared at one another in silence. This thing did indeed look like a magician. Or at least, so should be the title of this clever and silver-tongued cheat.

  He revealed none of his own thoughts on his face, while toying with every single word Reinhard uttered. A strange and quirky fellow, but far from within the bounds of incompetence.

  "Hmph. Interesting. You are wiser than I had expected to grant you such credit. Or perhaps it is I who had been shown a fool? Well then. Your supposition has proven correct, magician. If there is one misinterpretation to be set right, it is that it was not I who came up with the pattern."

  Reinhard held up the papers he had presented before, holding them up for the prisoner to see. On it had been written a most ridiculous plot — a mere extension of senior officers' games.

  "It's an offer. You can die here, or live and lead the life of a puppet. Though, the two are pretty much indistinguishable."

  He would forfeit his free will anyway. If he obey, all his life would belong to another.

  "This. Is from the Ministry of Propaganda, is it not?"

  "Nothing escapes our doting minister. Rather than discover one or two mutineers within a thousand, he would capitalize on our leader's survival to his own advantage — and at the expense of your prophecy, no less."

  To impart the safety of their Führer with the supernatural.

  "It seems that Nostradamus has come into great fashion among our capital's spinster ladies in recent years. And, as perhaps you know, it always turns out to be women and children who prove to be the well-springs of public opinion. We shall win through. His Excellency the Führer is a man of invincibility. We shall need a Nostradamus of our own to wipe out the discredit of our former defeat and instill hope in our men. That's all, more or less."

  He opened the cell doors swinging without even waiting for a reply. Life and death. Whatever his choice, he would have to go. His position was clear enough that he didn't pose any physical threat. And even an athlete couldn't get away from this place. Reinhard himself might be able to overpower him. He had never let a single man escape.

  "Your choice, magician. I have opened the lock. Your chains are removed. You can break out of your cage and live if you give up your free will. Your fate would be to leave as a willing lapdog of the state. As I have already intimated, either would be acceptable to me. Putting you to death here may well be a merciful act. For that reason, I considered it reasonable to at least provide you with a choice."

  A comment with near-ironic hypocrisy. His whole life had been a far cry from the very Concept of justice. Whatever the decision of the man, he would be at the mercy of Reinhard's authority. Death of the body or death of the soul — a choice only a Devil would offer to a man.

  And to Reinhard, it came as second nature. Even his ability to experience abjection had long since passed on. No longer could the world strike a spark in his chest. Everything that he did would be part of a barren routine, even this instant waiting for the prisoner to decide.

  "Tell me. Why do I see a certain discontent in your eyes?"

  They were not words of choice, but of a question. The prisoner regarded Reinhard with the questioning eyes of a child.

  "What.?"

  It was as if the words of the man had prodded something in Reinhard's heart. His nature? The insular puddle of his frustration? He did not know. He could not. He felt none of the kinds. He narrowed his eyes, he could not find the words to tell the woman.

  Karl Kraft, seeing Reinhard's fleeting confusion, overacted an air of pretended dismay. He gazed downward, as if a thespian in a moment from one of those great tragedies.

  As though racked with anguish over something. A performance that instilled rage and irritation rather than pity, but the fellow's dark sea eyes remained piercing Reinhard with raw sincerity.

  "You may overrule a decision by His Excellency Goebbels, depending on the situation. And not only that. As Gestapo leader, you have the ability to put even our great Führer in a corner, perhaps to destroy him, if you desire. Such power and authority for one so young."