"An explosion!? What's going on!?"
"Is the Führer safe!? Dammit! Whichever country dared to do this, it'll pay!"
"Close all the exits to the assembly hall! Don't slack around, hurry up! Don't let a single ant escape!"
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November 20, 1939... A sudden explosion occurs during the speech of the German Empire's Führer and Chancellor, Adolf Hitler. This event — sending tremors across the whole of Europe — would prove to bring us together.
The German Empire, having fallen into poverty and despair following its defeat in the first World War, had risen from the ashes like a phoenix with the advent of its new charismatic leader, and set out on a new path to hegemony by promptly invading its surrounding nations.
The event would go on to spark the flames of the second and — as many had hoped — last World War, far exceeding in scale and terror the one that preceded it.
And it is now that the curtains of that very same war begin to silently rise.
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"In other words, the assassination of His Excellency the Führer has — of course — ended in failure, and we identified the culprit. However, our attempts to apprehend the scoundrel proved to be... How to put it..."
"There are far too many suspects, I take it? A fact hardly worthy of surprise, really. I could name an entire battalion of rebels eager to jump at our exalted leader's throat, if given a chance. 'Too many to count' wouldn't even begin to describe it."
Reinhard interrupted his hesitant subordinate with a fierce glare as they reached their destination, its corridors littered with barren cells.
He could tell what the colonel meant to imply. And he loathe to waste any more time listening in matters with an already settled answer.
This establishment — prepared for political prisoners — was, in truth, little different from slaughterhouse. The stench of rusted bar, blood, and death lingered in the stagnant air. And that was hardly a surprise — only about ten percent of the offenders brought in could leave the place alive.
Such were the prospects of one apprehended by the Gestapo. Past offenses did not matter. Short of a select few exceptional circumstances, they would merely cook up a charge of their own, and proceed to execute the hapless convict before they realized what was happening.
"Yes, you are most certainly correct, sir. I have no words to express my shame for letting the scoundrels slip through our fingers."
"I am not here to listen to your excuses, Colonel. In any case, I can see that you — as loyal protectors of our leader — have found and arrested whoever is in that cell ahead."
"It is as you say, Lieutenant General."
This was not an unprecedented approach. Provided the true culprit remained beyond reach, a scapegoat would be needed. One whose blood would oil the grinding gears running society.
"I see. Well done. The integrity of the matter aside, I can assure that your efforts shan't go in vain."
Reinhard could decide both the sin and the degree of the punishment. That was right within the limits of his current authority. As such, he would simply do it again in this case.
Though it might seem like the excuse of a callous bigot, being in the wrong place at the wrong time was just as grave a sin as any other in the present state of the society.
The weak had ways to protect themselves. The past deeds of the current "culprit" failed to guarantee her innocence, and that was more than enough to put her to death.
Reinhard condemned the ineptitude of a woman he had yet to meet.
"How exactly do you mean?"
"What was his name?"
That pitiable failure of a man.
"Karl Ernst Kraft... He attested to having moved to our capital after graduating university in his homeland of Basel. We soon confirmed the validity of his testimony, but..."
"But what?"
Reinhard narrowed his eyes at his subordinate's reluctance. The man's behavior did not seem to be instigated by fear. Rather, his eyes betrayed a certain kind of distaste... Perhaps aversion. As if his body itself resisted uttering the name of the captive.
"Well... I am not certain how to put it, but this man seems to have dabbled in certain bizarre activities. A most vexing thing, truly, but people whisper of..."
"Prediction of the future through astrology... A magician, then?"
In short, a small-time swindler, adept only at exploiting the ignorance and anxiety of the masses.
"That is correct. We know their tricks to be no more than smoke and mirrors, an elaborate hoax... But this man successfully predicted the assassination attempt on His Excellency the Führer long before it took place. We could hardly ignore someone like that."
No one was naive enough to believe his prediction to be the proof of gunuine sorcery at work. Supernatural powers were the territory of madmen and lunatics. A far simpler and believable explanation would always present itself.
"And so you suspect this Karl Krafft to have plotted and orchestrated this whole attempt himself."
Queer behavior that beget mistrust. That man had stepped over the line of the state's protection. What a fool. He had dug a hole for himself, and would now learn what it meant to play a sage the hard way.
"Well done. You are most capable, Colonel. You possess a realistic and civilized mind that is not offset by preposterous rumors and superstitions. Accept a word of praise from me in the stead of our leader. A man like yourself is a treasure to the Empire."
"I am honored."
"Good. Then return to your post. I shall meet the Magician alone."
"Sir? But..."
The Colonel could not possibly leave a senior officer alone with a madman. Reinhard glanced at his hesitant subordinate. One only needed the slightest push to make others go silent — the many years he had spent in this line of work taught him that much.
"What appears to be the problem, Colonel? I merely wish to probe him a little. What could he possibly accomplish while separated from me by a set of iron bars? Besides, he is a mere swindler, no more. A terrorist at best. I am not exactly entering the den of a starving lion or tiger."
The man further down was no wild beast. This was a ridiculous farce, and neither of them needed to waste more time than necessary on such a trivial matter.
"..."
"If I have made myself clear, then do return to your post. Your worry over my safety is ill-placed."
"As you command, Lieutenant General."
"And get yourself some rest while you're at it. Consider this an order."
Reinhard watched with indifference as the other proceeded to leave. An exceedingly dutiful man. That notion exhausted the extent of his sentiment towards him.
"Well, then..."
It was time to take care of the situation in that cell. He proceeded down the coarse hallway. He was but a few steps away from the rusted iron bars separating him from the man inside.
He finally reached the cell. A shade of silhouette sat inside in utter serenity with an almost mocking smirk on its lips.
Reinhard's first impression was that of a withered tree, then a mirage. Vague. Uncertain. He could not help narrowing his eyes at the odd man who — despite most certainly being here — seemed almost like a projection from somewhere afar.
His very existence was thin, as if it had withered and shriveled up. He resembled an old man who had achieved everything he could ever want in life; Reinhard could not feel even a hint of vitality or hope from him.
His obsidian eyes seemed to have been frozen in a state of eternal decay, like a pair of colorful — yet lifeless — agates.
Gazing into his eyes felt like looking at a dead fish, or rather... A sea creature that somehow survived being pulled out of the unknown depths.
A fish that should have only been able to live in complete darkness, yet — by mistake — learned how to breathe oxygen and found itself awfully out of place.
And so it remained unable to accomplish its only desire — to die and vanish for good. It yearned to return to the water, yet all it could do was meaninglessly hop up and down on the ground.
It craved succor. A being that seemed a condensation of its reliance on others — a human trait that Reinhard despised. As such, he could declare one thing with absolute conviction.
There was no way this man could have plotted to kill the Führer. He... It had no feelings or aspirations to begin with. He would find no meaning in assassination. He would not care if the whole country turned upside down on the morrow.
A random piece of nonsense he uttered happened to accidentally coincide with the truth. That was all.
At that point, the possibility of that man being the culprit had completely vanished from Reinhard's mind. A withered tree had no aspirations. It could only wish to eventually become fodder 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. The director of the secret state police, the Gestapo. Your official name encompasses all that is noble about our Great German Empire, while your other title can be heard whispered in the shadows — The Hangman. I am honored to meet you. My name is Karl Ernst Krafft; I am usually a swindler, and at best a terrorist. Those labels most certainly fit me better than the dubious title of Magician."
"I see."
The man interrupted him, finally showing some life in his bearing. With that, Reinhard had to up his impression of him a little.
It had been a long time since someone got ahead of him. That voice certainly sounded fit for lies and deceit, and indeed, gave impression of insensitivity to pain. Regardless of how much malice had been directed at him, that smile of his would most likely never waver.
"You seem an interesting sort. Not many could smile in my presence, especially men in your circumstances."
He had courage, at least, for all good it did him.
"Allow me to be direct: do you wish to die? My livelihood is to punish those that pose a threat to our country. Should you truly turn out to be a swindler and terrorist, I will have no choice but to stay true to that fatuous second name of mine."
"Oh? Could it be that you are not proud of your label?"
"Perhaps. But I do not mix personal feelings with my occupation, or rather, I serve in this position precisely because my emotions are faulty."
His world had no colors. His breast had not known heat even once in his life. As such, there was no one more fitting to mete out impersonal punishment.
He judged everyone equally, leaning towards neither of the extremes, mixing no hint of emotion into his decisions.
"Answer me, then: are you a man to whom my duties should extend?"
The swindler smiled, not minding Reinhard's piercing gaze in the slightest.
"A colossal pity it may be, but my only choice is to acquiesce. However... In regard to the attempt on the life of His Excellency the Führer — and my supposed involvement with the nefarious plot — I have to answer in the negative. I have done no such thing."
A meaningless statement, if Reinhard had ever heard one. He had long since grown tired of those accused pleading innocence, and knew exactly how to deal with them.
"They all say so at first."
"Then I take it you aim to torture me for the truth?"
"I could. But I would only wasting my energy."
The man understood the situation as well as Reinhard — his smirk stood as proof of that. Hiding the truth had no meaning in this place. Thus, he chose to reveal his mission.
"You see, I myself care little for the matter. Guilty or not, all people die when their time comes. A man ought not be surprised to find himself staring down the jaws of death if he had led a life that would attract the malice of others. It does not matter whether or not you have participated in that earlier commotion. Someone attempted to murder a vulnerable man. There is not much else to this trite situation."
"Are you trying to imply that my words would change little?"
"His Excellency the Führer was a man in a vulnerable position. I have told you this earlier."
It didn't end with internal and external political foes. His very existence gave birth to terrorists and malice. Entire country wished for his demise. There would be little meaning to Gestapo that preoccupied itself with the truth.
"As such, the possibility of allowing the true culprit to slip away by executing you is but a drop in the ocean. It will change nothing. I am neither free nor mad enough to obsess over erasing a single enemy in a thousand. Punish the suspicious... Apologies for sounding banal, but this is how the Gestapo operates."
His life had been worth that little. Yet the man still betrayed not a hint of fear. He merely observed Reinhard with thinly-veiled interest.
Was he evaluating him? Not quite. That gaze was hardly so simple. It appeared to pierce far deeper.
It reminded Reinhard of the eyes of a scientist. The look of someone scrutinizing a phenomenon through a microscope to the slightest detail. Like those white-coats working day and night on chemical weapons.
Did this man still think he could get out of this alive? He even cocked his head with an ironic smile.
"I see. The rumors spoke true of you. But... May I be granted the permission to pose a question?"
"You have it. Go on."
"What are you planning to make me do once you release me?"
Reinhard was rendered speechless for a few moments. It did not sound like a thing a man sentenced to death should ever dare to utter to his would-be executioner. But above all...
"Hmm? You certainly are a strange man. Haven't you been listening to anything I've said?"
"Oh, but I have. You arrived to meet the swindler who had been sentenced to death regardless of the truth, even asking me if I wished to die. If one were to turn your earlier words on their head, you could have been taken to imply that you would not mind releasing the true culprit, were it to serve a purpose of sorts. At the very least, that is how I have taken the liberty to interpret it. Have I misread your intentions, executioner?"
"..."
The two men regarded each other in silence. This thing indeed seemed like a magician. Or at least, that is how this shrewd and silver-tongued swindler should have been called.
He allowed none of his own thoughts to show, meanwhile choosing to toy with every other word Reinhard uttered. A queer and aberrant fellow, yet far from the realm of ineptitude.
"Hmph... Interesting. You appear smarter than I have given you credit for. Or perhaps it is I who had shown myself to be a fool? Very well. Your conjecture has been valid, magician. If there is indeed one misunderstanding to be rectified, it would be that it was not I who came up with the design."
Reinhard held up the papers he had brought in earlier, displaying them for the prisoner to see. Penned on it had been a most ridiculous scheme — a mere prolongation of senior officer games.
"It's an offer. You can choose to die here, or survive and live the life of a puppet. Albeit, the two might as well be the same."
He would lose his free will either way. If he agree, every single action of his life would then belong to another.
"This... Comes from the Ministry of Propaganda, does it not?"
"Nothing slips by our dear minister. Rather than identifying one or two rebels in a thousand, he would instead use the survival of our leader to his advantage — and through your prophecy, no less."
To imbue the safety of their Führer with the supernatural.
"It seems that Nostradamus has come quite into fashion among the old maids of our capital in recent years. And as you might know, it is always women and children who end up providing the foundations of public opinion. We will win. His Excellency the Führer is invincible. We need our own Nostradamus to wipe away the smear of our earlier defeat and instill our soldiers with courage. That is all, more or less."
He opened the cell doors without waiting for an answer. Life or death. Whatever his choice, he would have to leave. His posture made it quite evident that he posed no physical threat. And not even an athlete could flee this place. Reinhard himself could subdue him. He had yet to allow a single man to escape.
"Your choice, magician. I have opened the lock. Your shackles are no more. You can leave your cage and save your life at the cost of your free will. Your future would be to leave as an obedient lapdog of the state. As I have earlier implied, either would be fine by me. Killing you here could very well prove to be an act of mercy. As such, I thought it fair to at least provide you with a choice."
A statement smeared in near-ironic hypocrisy. His whole existence was far removed from the very Concept of fairness. Whatever the man's choice, he would be subjected by Reinhard's authority. Death of the body or death of the mind — a choice only a Devil would bestow upon a man.
And to Reinhard, it came as second nature. Even his ability to feel abjection had long since withered. No longer could the world light a spark in his breast. Everything he did would be part of a bleak routine, including this very moment of waiting for the prisoner to make his choice.
"Tell me... Why do I perceive a certain discontent in your eyes?"
His words spoke not of his choice, instead voicing a question. The prisoner regarded Reinhard with the eyes of a curious child.
"What...?"
It was as if the man's words had pricked something in Reinhard's heart. His nature? The furtive puddle of his frustrations? He did not know. He could not. He felt nothing of the sorts. He narrowed his eyes, unable to find the words to address the woman with.
Karl Kraft, observing Reinhard's momentary confusion, made an exaggerated gesture of mock consternation. He cast his gaze downward, resembling an actor in the scene of a great tragedy.
As if deeply tormented by something. A display that precipitated anger and irritation rather than empathy, yet the man's obsidian eyes of the deep sea still pierced Reinhard with absolute sincerity.
"You could overturn a decision from His Excellency Goebbels, depending on the situation. Ah, and not only that. As the commander of the Gestapo, you wield the authority to force even our revered Führer into a corner, potentially destroying him, should you so desire. Such power and authority for one so young."