Humboldt University was quiet.

It had been quiet for years. Founded in 1810, Humboldt was once home to Germany’s greatest thinkers, doctors, philosophers, and legal scholars. It had once been a sprawling campus filled with undergraduates eager to take classes in arts and the humanities.

There had been no classes for a while.

A huge segment of the university- students, scholars, and anti-Nazi activists- had been ejected in 1933, followed by hundreds of Jewish professors and employees. Enrollment had all but stopped. The professors who remained did not teach. Humboldt could no longer truly be called a university, but rather a research center.

Down in the basement floor of the Peithman Physics Laboratory, Klaus Foerster stood hunched over a mass of papers in his office, tugging absently at his hair as he scrawled equations down.

For Klaus, the absence of students came as something of a relief. He’d never loved lecturing to auditoriums full of undergraduates, wherein students invariably fell asleep while he tried desperately to make theoretical physics seem interesting. Nor was he overly fond of grading exams, holding office hours, or interacting with students, really.

No- he much preferred the quiet of his lab. The entire basement floor the Peithman building had been sectioned off for Klaus and his research team- something that would have met considerably more resistance if half the physics department hadn’t been fired in 1933. Even so, Humboldt’s greatly reduced physics department was still formidable, and it was here that groundbreaking research was being done to aid the war effort.

Klaus scribbled happily away for another twenty minutes, then sat up abruptly. “Mat!” he yelled.

Mathis Auttenberg, research assistant and lab engineer, poked his head into Klaus’s office.

“How’s Adel?”

Mat shrugged. “She’s great. Little temperamental today, but you can give her a poke.”

The pride and joy of the laboratory was the artificial reactor, against which Klaus’s team had been attempting to sustain a slow-neutron chain reaction with uranium and graphite. It was a monster of a machine, occupying a good third of the underground lab. The team had affectionately named it Adelheid.

They’d been hoping to achieve a chain reaction of nuclear fission. They’d been expecting a chain reaction.

On July 31, 1940, they gave it a trial run.

Adelheid displayed the result. The reactor was now a safeguard for a large glass canister, inside was hosted something that appeared like a floating black sphere. Closer examination showed that it was not a sphere at all but some sort of hole, as if a tear had been ripped in the fabric of the room itself. By itself, the black hole didn’t do much, but anything that made it past the glass barrier and came too close was immediately absorbed, disappearing into nothingness.

This they knew well. Mat had lost a finger in February.

They’d learned to be careful. They’d erected barriers, donned protective equipment, and approached the sphere with painstaking caution. For all their efforts, the hole had affected them all- was still affecting them all. Mat had taken to bursting into flames at random intervals. Aaron, who worked in the medical lab next door, had a terrifying tendency to turn transparent. Klaus was involuntarily making things float, which was why every chair and table had been nailed down into the floor. Just last night he’d woken up to find himself floating a good three feet above his bed.

None of them knew what was happening to them; no one had a clue how to explain it. Somehow, it had never occurred to any of them to be afraid. It was just so damn interesting. The entire team, despite their recent baffling transformations, was acting like children who’d been given a new toy. Ironically enough, they’d labeled it magic. The Zauber Project, they called it. It was an inside joke of sorts, an acknowledgement within a circle of men devoted to the scientific method that they’d stumbled upon something that simply could not be explained with science.

They didn’t know what to do with the sphere, so their plan was to try everything. Their latest approach was to introduce a stream of various noble gases into the canister and measure the output.

“Alright, darling,” Klaus muttered as he rolled up his sleeves. Several canisters of gas were lined up on the counter, ready to be opened. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

~

Noon came and went. At half past one, Klaus glanced at the clock, nearly dropped his clipboard in panic, and hastily began putting away his lab equipment. He stopped briefly by the medical laboratory before he left, where Aaron and Mat appeared to be having a heated discussion about safety gloves.

“I’m heading out,” he told them.

“Meeting Ros?” Mat queried.

Klaus nodded.

“Still don’t believe she’s real,” Mat singsonged.

A flask erupted near Mat’s head as Klaus pulled out his coat, eliciting curses from behind the door. Klaus grinned as he climbed up the basement stairs and left the laboratory.

He’d been seeing Ros Wolff from the linguistics department for several months now, and in Klaus’s opinion, their relationship was even more inexplicable than the black hole contained in the basement laboratory. Ros was charming, lovely, the pinnacle of Aryan perfection. They’d first gone out for drinks the day Klaus and his team discovered the black hole, and in Klaus’s mind, the two incidents were equal in sheer improbability.

She was waiting at the Czech diner they were so fond of, mostly for its cheapness and proximity to campus. Klaus slid into the booth, apologizing profusely for his tardiness.

“Caught up in something at the lab- we’re doing something with gases, those are tricky if you don’t measure them carefully- cibulacka, side of bread,” he told the waiter without looking at the menu.

Ros knew next to nothing about what Klaus was actually studying, which was already more than what she was supposed to know, but Klaus was finding it harder and harder to keep the Zauber Project a secret from her. So far he’d managed to discuss his work in vague, inscrutable terms like “energy” and “radiation”, and it helped that Ros didn’t have a degree in science, but the involuntary telekinesis posed a larger problem. Klaus fervently hoped they’d answer the mystery of the black hole before Ros saw him floating in the air.

Klaus leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers against the table. “You’re looking wan,” he observed suddenly, noticing Ros’s demeanor. “Something the matter?”

This was the second time the waitress had come by.

“He’ll be here soon,” she said, feigning a smile that even the help didn’t believe. Her eyes flicked from the narrow face to the door, and then down to the menu she was twisting in her fingers.

He was usually late, which was often nice, but today was not the day to leave her waiting. The moments she used to collect herself and put her best self forward were now plagued with haunted memories.

“Tell him to get in the cage,” Josef ordered, pointing to the large dog crate without looking up from his papers.

“What?”

He looked up at her, dark eyes sharp. “Tell him to get in the cage. Is there a problem?”

“No.”

Ros’ hand slid into her hair as the waitress left, disrupting her neat bun before moving down to cover her face again.

“No.”

It was an immediate suspension to disobey a superior’s order, but this was not what she had signed up for.

She signed up to save Germany. To keep her parent’s dreams alive. She had joined the linguistics department to save Germany from attacks and to gain the upper hand in the war. She had signed up to sit at a desk and comb through coded messages in other languages and report what they meant.

She had not signed up to work with Josef Mengele and his…patients.

“Wspinać się w klatce.”

The man’s forehead had pulled together, his amber eyes widening. He saw the cage, he understood what she meant. But he still had to ask.

“Co?”

Ros’ gut twisted, the strangest feeling bubbling up and tightening her chest. “Wspinać się w klatce,” she repeated, suddenly unable to look him in the eyes.

A moment passed, the man unmoving.

“Is there a problem?” Josef snapped.

“No,” Ros answered, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Hmm?”

She cleared her throat loudly. “No.” Her eyes on her feet she moved towards the man, taking him by the arm. “Musisz dostać się do klatki teraz.”

“Dlaczego?” he asked, his voice quiet beside her.

She stepped forward and he followed her, asking again. “Dlaczego?” When she didn’t answer he turned to look at her, and tripped over his own foot.

She caught him as he grabbed for support, and he looked at her with the greatest fear she had even seen. “Przepraszam. Przepraszam, przepraszam,” he repeated, stumbling over his words and pulling away from her with a wince.

Her eyebrows pulled together, her mouth opening with reassurances she suddenly realized she could not say.

She could not tell him she wasn’t going to hurt him.

She could not tell him it would be okay.

“Musisz dostać się do klatki teraz.”

Ros sat up abruptly, startled by Klaus’ arrival. Finally.

He sat and ordered his favorite without bothering to look at the options, and Ros felt herself relax a little as he settled in. She ordered a plate of knedlíky and the waitress left.

She shook her head at his apologies, brushing off the delay as she always did. She sent him a smile, ready to ask what they were doing with those gases, when he voiced that even he—the most oblivious man she had yet to meet—didn’t believe her façade.

“You’re looking wan. Something the matter?”

Her mouth opened to reassure him that everything was fine, but the look on his face made her pause.

It had been a few months since she had been assigned to get close to him and assure he didn’t defect, and she hadn’t had to pretend anything in his presence after the second date. He was odd and borderline anti-social, but he wasn’t like anyone else she had ever met. He didn’t care to talk about politics or his workout regimen or what rank he would progress to next, and he didn’t even bore her with talk of his thermo-nucleic whatnots. His humor was different but charming, and he was unfailingly enthusiastic and happy when he was with her. He made it hard for her not to feel the same way when she was with him.

Which made the look of drawn concern pulling his face the deciding factor that she could trust him with her events from the previous day.

“Actually, yes,” she sighed, searching the table for where to start. After a moment, she nodded, and reached across the table to take up his hands.

“Their usual translator took sick yesterday, so they called me in to head to Auschwitz for the day. They asked me to work with Mengele. Which was fine, I’m happy I could help, of course, but…it just shook me up a little, I suppose. I had to instruct the prisoners for him—they didn’t understand German—and there was this man. He was dawdling so I went to help him along into the cage and…” her fingers twisted around his as she looked at him. “He tripped into me, and he apologized. It was the strangest thing. You know, he was on his way to his death and he stopped to apologize to me for tripping, and then he was so scared when he looked at me it was just—I don’t know. Of course, I understand that he needed to be exterminated, I’m not trying to say anything like he shouldn’t be or anything like that I just…I just don’t much like working with Mengele, I suppose.” She tried a smile, but it was nothing more than a twitch at the corners of her lips.

“You had a better day than me, I hope?”

“Mathis, you are missing a finger and I’m the one emphasizing the importance of safety gloves? I mean, even without the particular risks in this line of work-“

The subject of Aaron’s lecture didn’t seem concerned, leaning away to mock Klaus in the other room. Aaron massaged the bridge of his nose, trying to force his eyes to open wider and stay that way.

Evidently, Mathis’ comment was not well-recieved, if the erupting canister of rubbing alcohol were any indication. Both men covered their faces, a string of obscenities spewing from Mathis.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph, this man is flammable you know!” Aaron loudly exclaimed, glaring around at the rapidly evaporating mess. Huffing, he waved a (now-invisible) hand in Klaus’ direction and beckoned Mathis back over to the examination table he was supposed to be sitting on. With a heavy sigh, he continued, “Alright, enough of that. We’re almost done here, get rid of that shirt - Oh where in God’s name is that tech?”

The (usually) patient man had to pause to take a breath, donning a stethoscope as he helped Mathis out of his shirt and continued a very routine examination; heart, lungs, eyes, ears, the works. It was a thorough physical that most wealthy men only received once or twice a year, but since the launch of the Zauber Project, every researcher on the team had been getting them once or twice a week. They were also asked to keep detailed journals documenting anything that felt out of the ordinary, along with tracking how much they slept and ate and especially the details of any and all magical episodes. Aaron kept detailed notes on everything he checked, compared them with what his patients wrote and told him, and so far was coming up with less than satisfactory results.

Nothing.

One would think that occasionally combusting would at the very least raise a man’s body temperature, change his metabolism, curb his preference of temperature when he bathed, something, but nothing was changing. Klaus should have been experiencing some muscular atrophy from his occasional refusal to comply with gravity, at least a change in the blood pressure in his feet compared to his head from all the accidental floating, assuming he was simply negating gravity’s effect on his body and the objects that tended to float around him. If that were the case, he should have lost some blood volume, had a change in bone density, or at the very least suffered from Vertigo or dizziness. Jozef, the deadpan lab assistant whom Aaron still found himself a little nervous around, well, he wasn't even sure what kind of symptoms to expect from conjuring objects out of nothing. Loss of body mass? Blood clots? Sudden imploding? He didn’t have a damn clue, which only bothered him further. If nothing else, this was a medically educational opportunity comparable to his short term of residency at a military hospital.

Sighing heavily, Aaron sat down, recording his painfully normal observations into Mathis’ file and rubbing his eyes. His hands were visible once again, at least. He had coffee somewhere. It was likely cold now, wherever it had gone off to. He huffed another tired breath. “Okay, no changes, looks like. Are you sure you haven’t felt any differently lately?”

Mathis shook his head through the fabric of his shirt as he pulled it on. “Nothing, I’m telling you. And only three flare-ups this week, so far. My hair the other day, my arm yesterday - remember, the clipboard? - and my whole body this morning. Thank the Lord I didn’t lose another pair of trousers.” He grinned, blue eyes twinkling.

His gaze was met by the murky eyes of a very tired Dr. Aaron Bachmeier. Where he would normally humour Mathis with a smile, he simply ran a hand through his hair, squinting down at his clipboard and back to Mathis. “And you haven’t noticed any pain or numbness in the affected areas? Tingling? Hot flashes? Sudden, overwhelming urge to drink Petrol?”

Mathis grinned. “Nothing. I’m sleeping normally, eating normally, and touching hot things still burns.” He shrugged. “Sorry I can’t help you more.”

Aaron waved the thought lazily away. “No, no, it’s all important.” He stood, shaking Mathis’ hand, resisting the urge to choke him for not having symptoms and gesturing to the door. “Just see me immediately if anything changes, and please keep up with the journal, yeah?”

Mathis nodded, said his pleasantries, and was gone, a head of blond hair slipping through the door like so many before him. A second later, he stuck that blond head back through the door one last time. “By the way Doc, your lips disappeared. Maybe you should wear a surgical mask all the time.” His smug grin was gone before Aaron could throw a cotton ball at it.

Glancing at the nearest reflective object, which happened to be the spigot in his sink, he observed that his lips, indeed, had gone transparent. Aaron had seen enough gore in his life not to be particularly bothered by it, but it’s safe to say that the face of a man with no lips isn’t the most pleasant thing to have a conversation with. Without batting an eye, Aaron tossed his clipboard onto his desk, squared away in a small adjacent room to the lab that had become his home. He definitely spent more time there than in his pitiful little apartment. God only knew that he wasn’t sleeping. He’d become more acquainted with the medical records of his colleagues in the past few months than he had with the people themselves, and all of it was getting him nowhere. The complete lack of physical response to something as jarring as damn magic was enough to keep anyone awake at night.

Maybe he took his job too seriously, but it certainly wouldn’t look that way to anyone who walked in on the praised doctor, out cold with his head precariously balanced in his hands.

"Sir? Sir?"

Józef had his eyes closed and head hung low, only supported by his right hand firmly pushing up on his forehead. The friendly voice of the waitress awoke him from his sleep, a state which he immediately scolded himself for being in. Looking down at his hands, he found a star of the Order of the White Eagle within his left hand. Luckily for him, his hand was situated conveniently behind his thigh, keeping the Polish commendation out of the view of the waitress.

The star itself had eight points, with straight, silver rays extending from its center. Every last one of those rays failed to glint in the shadow of Józef's legs, confirming for Józef that the Waitress could not see it. A red Maltese cross with white enamel outlining took up nearly half of the star, with the letters "R" and "P" written in gold on a white circle in the very center. A green oak wreath surrounded the white circle, seemingly sprouting the arms of the cross as well as four golden palmettes. Upon the red arms of the cross was the phrase "Za Ojczyznę i Naród", or "For Fatherland and Nation". On the very top silver ray there was a tiny scratch, hard to notice, but definitely there.

Shit, if anyone had seen that I'd get to talk with Witold face-to-face. He thought, hastily shoving the highest award in Poland into his pocket. This'll be a bitch to get rid of.

"Have you decided on what to order?" Asked the waitress, whose annoyed look told Józef that he hadn't just nodded off for a few moments.

"Uhh..." He said, glancing at the upside-down menu he was holding along his his forehead. Unable to read it, he chose to just say exactly what he wanted. "I'll have svíčková with knedlíky and cranberry sauce."

The waitress wrote down the order, took the menu, and hurried away from the table. He looked over at the table next to him and found Rosalind sitting there alone.

At least I haven't missed the date.

He'd been keeping an eye on the woman ever since he arrived at the university. So far, the TAP codes were relatively safe (mostly because nobody seemed to notice them). If she ever managed to find or crack them, he had to know. To that end, he had been secretly spying on her. He'd seen it all. There was no doubt about it: Rosalind was with the SS. It was a whole new level of danger for Józef. If there was the slightest crack in his cover, the slightest lapse in his fake accent, it would all be over. It didn't help that she knew Polish.

A man walked by and sat down at the table with Rosalind. Klaus Foerster, one of the other scientists working on the project. The two had started going out recently, which was perhaps the most suspicious event not caused by Józef himself. One was an SS officer and the other a lanky, bespectacled scientist. Rarely does a woman ask such people out completely out of the blue. When that woman is an SS officer and that scientist has just made possibly the most important discovery of the century, the only conclusion is that there's an ulterior motive somewhere in there.

As the two order their own food, the waitress brought his own. Svíčková with knedlíky and cranberry sauce-a favorite shared by both Józef and Witold. While he took a bite out of the cream-soaked beef, he heard Rosalind order knedlíky. Even though it was completely inconsequential, that first bite had a bitter taste to it as he thought about an SS officer liking the same food he did. Settling into the meal, he ate slowly and quietly so as to hear the couple's conversation better.

“You’re looking wan." Said Klaus, prompting Józef to stop chewing entirely lest he miss anything. "Something the matter?”

Józef used the following pause to finish chewing the beef, and took a quick glance at Rosalind. Just as Klaus had said, she definitely wasn't in the best of moods. He couldn't help but feel like she had no right to feel down. After all, this was a woman working for the Third Reich, a woman whose job was to oppress and kill according to the whims of a crazed dictator. He imagined that it was some petty problem, that Rosalind was fretting over a minor change while millions were being systematically exterminated.

"Actually, yes." Sighed Rosalind, reaching out to hold Klaus' hands after another pause. Józef began to drink his water, considering it quiet enough. "Their usual translator took sick yesterday, so they called me in to head to Auschwitz for the day."

Józef abruptly stopped drinking, forgetting to swallow and allowing the water to simply hang in his mouth. His eyes went wide at the mention of the name, and his stomach twisted as if he had been there himself. For a few horrifying moments, he was afraid that she would mention Witold. It would have made perfect sense. They call in a polish-speaking SS officer to deal with the mole, interrogate him, try to get some answers. Answers he would never give. If they found him out, his mutilated corpse would already be ashes in the crematorium. Just barely regaining his composure, he began to swallow the static water, not wanting to draw the slightest bit of attention to himself.

"They asked me to work with Mengele." She continued "Which was fine, I’m happy I could help, of course, but… it just shook me up a little, I suppose. I had to instruct the prisoners for him—they didn’t understand German—and there was this man. He was dawdling so I went to help him along into the cage and…"

The moment Rosalind mentioned Mengele, Józef spat out the remaining water in a mix of surprise and horror. All of the stories were true. All the experiments, the horrible torture that Witold's letters spoke of- it was all true. In a desperate attempt to mask his true reaction, he began to cough, hoping that the two would just assume that he had simply made an accident. It all seemed to be unnecessary, however, as both were too preoccupied with Rosalind's story to care or notice.

"He tripped into me, and he apologized. It was the strangest thing. You know, he was on his way to his death and he stopped to apologize to me for tripping, and then he was so scared when he looked at me it was just—I don’t know. Of course, I understand that he needed to be exterminated, I’m not trying to say anything like he shouldn’t be or anything like that I just… I just don’t much like working with Mengele, I suppose."

Józef could do nothing but continue to cough, an action which prevented anyone from seeing the absolute horror on his face. He could hear the poor man apologizing, broken by the horrors of Auschwitz. All he wanted to do was attack Rosalind, punish her for being involved in Mengele's unscientific and inhumane experiments. She didn't like being involved, but that meant nothing to him. As far as he was concerned, she might as well have been Mengele himself.

He didn't even hear Rosalind continue, and simply took another bite out of his svíčková. As if reflecting Józef himself, it tasted bitter.

Klaus kept his eyes fixed on Ros's face as she talked, watching how her mouth curved down, how her brows came together but her eyes were cast downwards. She saw him watching her, and her lips twitched perfunctorily upwards. That might have fooled him months ago, but he'd had practice reading facial expressions now, especially her.

It was a ruse. She was upset. She was more upset than he'd ever seen her, and she was trying to hide it.

What happened in the laboratories at Auschwitz was not something Klaus wanted to think about. He much preferred blocking it out of his mind, looking the other way when he saw anti-Semitic posters on the streets, pretending it had nothing to do with him

"-needed to be exterminated.

It didn't have anything to do with him. The Third Reich's policies where the Third Reich's business, the war wasn't happening inside Germany's borders. He was researching physics. He was just contributing to his field, pursuing knowledge for the sake of knowledge- how could that be a crime? How could he leave something as mysterious as the canister in his laboratory unexplored? How could that be hurting anyone?

If anything was tangentially related to the Nazis, it was Aaron's work, which they were doubtlessly employing at-

"I just don't much like working with Mengele, I suppose."

Klaus recalled the conversations with the SS officers who came every so often to the department. The laboratory used to never receive government visits aside from the yearly safety inspection, but since Dr. Engelhardt left- since the fission experiment- they'd displayed an unusual interest in Klaus's work.

They'd received a massive injection of funds since January. The once-struggling department had suddenly received all the resources necessary to undertake Project Zauber.

Klaus had taken the gift as face value. The loss of Dr. Engelhardt had hit the department hard, and the extra funding was badly needed. Never once had he stopped to think that all those lab notes, all those research reports were actually being put to use somewhere.

No, oh no no no-

As if reacting to his thoughts, Ros's water glass began to tremble.

Klaus's eyes widened and he lurched towards it, but it was too late- the glass imploded on itself, shattering across the table into a hundred tiny pieces. Water hung bizarrely in the air for a split second, then splashed downwards, drenching Ros's lap.

She jumped up from her chair, exclaiming loudly.

"What did you do?" she asked, looking much more upset than a moment before.

He opened his mouth and closed it, looking from the shattered glass to the water stains on her dress. His mind went blank- he couldn't very well tell her he'd made her glass shatter, the Zauber Project was the highest degree of classified.

Ros was backing away quickly. Klaus couldn't get a read on her expression- it was cycling between what looked like scared, angry, tremulous and worried all at once. Her shifting facial patterns confused him. "Ros-"

"How did you do that?"

"I can't- I don't-" Communication was failing him. Klaus was close to banging his head against the table, and he hadn't done that in years.

Ros shook her head, steps increasing in rapidity, and turned towards the exit. Klaus didn't chase after her.

~

Piethman Laboratory

"Klaus!"

Klaus looked up from the canister to realize a small fire was spreading on his sleeve. He jumped up and ran to douse his arm in a corner sink, heart pounding.

"Careful, Foerster!" Mat shut off the gas valve and raised his safety goggles.

"Sorry." Klaus wiped his sleeve with a dish towel.

Mat frowned. "What's going on with you? Wait- don't tell me- Ros."

Klaus shrugged.

Mat's voice took a sympathetic tone. "Ah. Sorry." There was an awkward silence. Mat was not accustomed to asking about Klaus's love life, aside from the frequent challenges to Ros's existence. "How about not working with the flammable gasses for now, yeah?"

Klaus bobbed his head. "There are some equations I've been putting off, I'll tackle those instead."

"Good idea." Mat scratched the back of his head. "Also, uh, the Gruppehführer's in your office."

Klaus swallowed. Major General Karl Genzken was the last person he wanted to talk to right now. He'd never enjoyed the visits by the tall, formidable SS physician, who was the chief liaison between the government and the Zauber project team. The General had a way of making Klaus feel like an idiot, although Klaus was the one with the degree in theoretical physics. Now, Genzken was simply another reminder that the research they were doing was paid for and for the express interests of the Reich.

"Gruppenführer. I'm sorry to keep you waiting."

General Genzken was standing behind Klaus's desk, casually examining his lab notes as if he could read the equations Klaus had been scribbling that morning. He glanced up briefly as Klaus walked inside, and gestured to a stool in the corner. "Please, sit."

"That stool's for catching spiders." Klaus blinked. "And you're at my desk. Sir."

"I see."

There was an awkward pause.

The General gestured towards the scattered papers before him. "How are things coming? Have you come closer to understanding the..."phenomenon", you call it?"

"I sent a lab report to you two days ago. You know precisely how things are coming." Klaus said, somewhat impatiently. He didn't like the General sitting behind his desk- he was touching his pencils, getting everything out of order.

The General seemed like he was trying very hard to keep his expression neutral. "Yes, that's what I'm here about. Some of the officials are worried about the direction your research is taking. They're concerned it's too...exploratory. Not practical enough."

"Exploratory?" Klaus repeated incredulously. "Sir, six months ago we found thing that resembles a black hole, and it's sitting on top of our fission generator. We have absolutely no clue what we're looking at. It would be absolute foolishness to do anything aside exploratory research at this point. We're being methodical, we're running tests- there's no other possible approach."

"I'm sure the Führer appreciates your caution." The General leans forward. "However, the fact remains that we're fighting a war. We don't have time for abstract physics."

This puzzled Klaus. "Then why fund my research?"

"We want results, Klaus. Things the military can use. You said yourself that this was an unlimited power source never seen before, one that our enemies almost certainly can't access."

"It is." Klaus was growing frustrated. "We don't know how to access it, either."

"Well, you might start trying."

"I don't know what you're getting at."

"Foerster, you're a smart boy. I think you know precisely what I'm getting at."

"If you're not happy with the quality of my research-"

"I won't stay here and play word games." The General stood. "Think it over. I'm sure you'll come to the right conclusion. In the meantime, I'd like to have a word with Doctor Bachmeier. Where is he?"

"In his office, I presume," Klaus said flatly.

“Aaron, wake up! It’s an emergency!”

Mat’s warning was unneeded; Aaron was aware the second Mathis shook him, jarred awake by the brief and terrifying sensation of falling when his head was knocked off of its precarious perch. He took a deep breath, eyeing Mathis’ hand on his shoulder.

“Christ Mat, you scared me.” He rubbed his face and looked Mat up and down, taking on a more concerned expression. “What happened? Are you alright?” He eyed the safety goggles, still around Mat’s neck. “Hey, who let you deal with the flammables? I know fire doesn’t hurt you but a canister explo-“

Mathis shook his head, cutting off the doctor and glancing nervously toward the door. He rocked back and forth on his feet, as if he were preparing to sprint. “Never mind that, Genzken is here.” He snapped, his grip on Aaron’s shoulder tightening. “He was speaking with Klaus, but he should be coming up here any moment.”

Aaron inwardly groaned. Of all people, of all days…

His lamentation was interrupted by the sudden inward swinging of his door, and the unhappy-looking individual who stood behind it. Mathis’ hand tore away from Aaron’s shoulder as if it had grown spikes and Aaron jumped up, hastily straightening his atrocity of a desk and ultimately making more of a mess than before.

“Gruppenführer, what a surprise.” He cleared his throat and nodded in the General’s direction, looking much like a teenager caught doing something he shouldn’t. Mathis left, as silently and quickly as possible.

Genzken took a seat in front of Aaron's desk- unlike Foerster, Aaron actually kept chairs in his office- and motioned for him to do the same. Aaron obliged, albeit looking less than comfortable.

"Doctor Bachmeier. How are you?" Genzken looked slightly more disgruntled than usual- clearly his conversation with Klaus hadn't gone well. "We were very impressed with your last round of reports. The men have been showing absolutely no side effects, you say?"

“I am well, General.” Aaron braced himself for the conversation to come. “That’s exactly what I’ve been finding. Somehow every… uniquely inclined patient in my study has been showing no physical reaction to their new, um, augmentations.” Aaron shuffled through the mess of his desk to pull out Mat’s record from his physical that morning. He offered it to the General.

“This one is from just this morning. I’m watching everything I can, from sleep to meals to dandruff and yet other than the episodes themselves, there’s nothing separating these men from any other.” Displeasure was apparent in Aaron’s tone, though whether it were toward his research or present company was impossible to tell.

Genzken took Mat's file and flipped through it briefly. "Ah. Auttenberg. Your lab technician. You're close, aren't you?”

Aaron averted his eyes. And so the dance began.

Genzken looked up and gave Aaron a slight smile that belied no goodwill, and set the file down on the desk. "No adverse reactions...that's encouraging. That's very encouraging. What about the other aspects?" He leaned forward. "You have among you a telekinetic, a man who sets things on fire, a man who summons objects, and a man who can turn invisible." Genzken gestured to Aaron. "These talents would be invaluable in the services of the SS. When can we expect to begin human trials?”

Genzken’s enthusiasm was no stranger in the lab, as Aaron had come to know. This inquiry, while expected, shocked Aaron. “Human trials?” His voice grew thin. “With all due respect sir, what may seem encouraging to you is downright spooky to me. I have reason to believe - and fear - that something may be, must be lurking beneath the surface, and is likely to become volatile. For the human body to undergo such drastic changes, it’s inconceivable not to experience any adverse effects…”

His hands began to shake, and he busied them with the papers strewn about. A quick glance into the mirror on his desk alerted him to the fact that his nose was turning translucent. Without looking up, he took a deep breath and concluded, “In any case, Gruppenführer, even if I could confidently say I knew what was going on, even if human trials were an option, I simply can’t think of any way to repeat the incident that started all of this."

For the first time, Genzken's expression fully betrayed his anger. "Six months, Doctor. Six months since you were exposed, and there have been no side effects. We don't know that the army has six weeks. Your country is at war, Doctor Bachmeier. I would advise you to remember that."

He stood. "You know very well what we need. Do not toy with me like Doctor Foerster. Your men created the black hole, you should be blue to replicate it. And if not, it's your job to figure out how. Otherwise," here Genzken's eyes narrowed, "You know where you stand."

Aaron had to fight back a string of curses. He stood as well, towering over the general by at least five inches, a small personal victory. These days, he took them wherever he could get them.

He had a wonderful argument in the works, too. About his oath, about exactly what the silver Rod of Asclepius pinned to his collar meant, about the atrocities of war and the impossibilities of the General’s demands. How wonderfully it went over in his mind. Perhaps in another time and place it wouldn’t get him killed.

Instead, the doctor looked down at clenched fists and wondered how rope burn could so flawlessly match with his skin colour. His voice nearly shook with heat. “I’ll have a word with Doctor Foerster," he resigned. "Is that your final recommendation, General?”

The General smiled icily up at Aaron with the confidence of a man who knew he held the upper hand. For no matter how aggravated Aaron became, no matter how deeply he resented his directives, he had no choice but to remain in the laboratory or face the full retribution for who he was. What he was.

"You may expect my men back soon. Try to have something we can work with by then, Schwul," Genzken muttered under his breath as he turned to leave.

Aaron flinched as if struck, squeezing his eyes closed and bowing his head, the posture of a man defeated. His quiet words hung heavy with regret, even as he uttered them.

“Yes, sir."

He made her stay, even after the man was in the cage.

“Here, hold this,” he spat. He shoved the clipboard at her.

“Yes, sir.”

He approached the cage and she looked away, dropping her eyes to the file in her hands. Anything else to look at.

Max Morgenthau, 37, Male. Brown eyes and brown hair and just under six feet of Judenscheisse.

She closed the file.

Ros circled herself, trying to ignore the sounds coming from Mengele and the cage and find something else in the dank room to look at.

“Wolff.”

Ros turned, keeping her eyes trained on Josef. She knew better than to look down at the cage.

“Tell him to break the glass.”

She hesitated, and then nodded. Swallowing, she spoke. “Rozbić szyby.”

Mengele kicked the cage, and Max yelled.

“Again! Say it again!”

“Rozbić szyby.”

“Come on! Break the glass!”

There was another kick and then the sound of the generator starting up again, and Ros dropped her eyes to the wine glass on the ground. It was full of water, and apparently what Mengele wanted Max to break. As to how he would do it from inside the cage, Ros was befuddled.

“Break the glass! Rozbić szyby!” Mengele shouted, copying Ros’s sounds.

“Nie mogę! Proszę przestań!” Max yelled, his voice a loud whimper.

“Shut up!” There was the crackle of electricity, and Max cried out. “Focus!”

“Fokus,” Ros repeated, her voice almost a plead.

“Rozbić szyby!” There was the sound of a great crash, and then Max screamed, and the glass shattered.

Ros’s eyes darted to the cage—but Max was still inside, and her stomach turned at the sight of him. He looked exactly like what the posters said he was—a monster. She found the glass again.

It was in pieces, scattered across the floor and covered in the water from inside.

He hadn’t touched it.

Mengele yelled, his voice lapsing into an odd series of deep hiccups Ros realized was probably laughter. “He’s done it! Give me that,” he crossed the room and pulled the clipboard back, starting to scrawl something.

Max shattered the glass, just by looking at it.

What was he?

Confusion clouded Ros’ mind, and she stepped back. “Am I finished?”

“Yes, yes,” he waved her away, grinning madly.

--

She had just finished talking when it happened. Beside her elbow her glass started to tremble, and Ros drew her hands back. For a second the two of them stared at it, eyes wide, and then Klaus lurched forward and the glass shattered.

Ros jumped, her eyes filling with horror as the sound echoed in her head. For a second, a silent heartbeat, the water hung in the air, like it didn’t know that the glass had broken underneath it.

And then the water dropped onto her, and she sprang from her seat with an exclamation.

Her eyes found his, and she couldn’t believe it. “What did you do?”

His mouth swung like a saloon door, and she knew exactly what he was doing. Trying to find an excuse.

No, she insisted, but it was clear in front of her.

“What are you working on, Klaus?”
“Atoms.”
“How was work today, Klaus?”
“Fine, what would you like to do?”
“Hope your day was better than mine,”
“We’re doing something with gases…”
No, not Klaus.
“Break the glass! Rozbić szyby!”
No.
Yes.

He was doing it. In his lab, he was researching for Mengele’s experiments, for his human trials. He was developing whatever weapons they would use against the Jews and as far as she was concerned, he might as well have been Mengele. He was shoving people into cages and torturing them and apparently, taking whatever he was creating to allow people to shatter things just by looking at them, and he was a monster.

She took a step back, and then another, as he continued to fail to find an excuse.

His empty mouth told her everything.

She took another step and his eyes were wild on her face. “Ros—“

“How did you do that?” she pleaded, begging him to give her some other explanation. No. Please, no.

“I can’t—I don’t—“

She shook her head, her heart dropping into her gut like the water dropped onto her lap.

She turned and left.

For a good while after Genzken left, Klaus remained in his office, fighting the old urge to repeatedly bang his head against a hard surface. He was badly shaken by the General’s visit, compounded by the lunchtime fiasco with Ros. His neurotransmitters were going haywire; his head ached with the reception of chronic pain signals, and he had to cling tightly to the side of his desk to stop himself from slamming his forehead down.

As if reacting to his anxiety, the papers before him began swirling in the air.

Social interactions were difficult for Klaus- this he was used to- but the Gruppenführer made things especially hard. General Genzken not only reveled in making Klaus feel like a five year old, he also enjoyed speaking in euphemisms and metaphors- linguistic tools that, though clear enough for other people, were impossible for Klaus to navigate.

It was a while before he was calm enough to leave his office.

As Klaus walked into the laboratory, Mat stepped out of the broom closet. He must have been hiding since Genzken went into Aaron’s office, because Mat never did the sweeping.

“Not good, then?” he asked, taking in Klaus’s and Aaron’s expressions. “Worse than usual?”

“I don’t know what he wants,” Klaus snapped. “The hurensohn just comes into my office- moves all my things around, mind you- and just says vague things, makes vague threats, then leaves. Research directives, that I can work with, but this man doesn’t know anything about physics. Son of bitch needs to stay out of my way and let me do my work.”

Mat took Klaus’s misdirected anger in stride with the air of someone who was used to it. “What did he say?”

“He wants results. Things the military can use,” Klaus repeated flatly, leaning back against a lab table. A measuring cylinder began to float near his hand; he grabbed it and shoved it back down. “They think our research is too exploratory. What does that mean? What the hell am I supposed to do with that?”

Mat shrugged. “Sounds to me like he wants weapons.”

Klaus gaped at Mat. “Weapons? We don’t even know what the black hole is. How on earth-“

“I’m just saying, I think that’s why he’s upset.” Mat raised his arms in a pacifying gesture. “Calm down, Foerster. We know you’re doing good work. I’m sure Genzken’s just feeling pressure from the higher ups- they are fighting a war, they need all the help they can get.”

“I am not in the business of designing weapons,” Klaus said stiffly. “I am a physicist, and I will do my job properly, or not at all. Józef, can you lend me a hand? I’m going to take another crack at Adelheid.”

Aaron had spent the past few minutes sat at his desk, hands clasped, forehead resting upon them. His desk was clean now; all of the paperwork previously cluttering it had been angrily swept off, then carefully picked up, sorted and archived afterward. He glared at the mirror on his desk, tired eyes looking back at him. He wanted to scream, sleep, cry, hit something. There was still a dent in the wall, behind a picture frame now, from the last time the General had pulled his little trump card on Aaron. Since then, Aaron had decided that as a doctor, he needed his hands to be in good shape and thus had taken to other methods of calming himself after Genzken was out of earshot.

He had a gift, that Genzken. No one before him or since had ever enraged Aaron to the point of publicly displaying it, much less to the point of violence, but the man had a knack for it.

Voices outside his office alerted him to the now-customary ranting session which normally followed such visits. Grateful for the chance, he moved to the lab, leaning on a cabinet as Klaus said his piece.

“Sounds to me like he wants weapons.”

“Weapons? We don’t even know what the black hole is. How on earth-“

This went on for a moment before Aaron had the heart to intervene.

“He wants to begin human trials,” he stated, voice flat, eyes distant. “I uh, I think he wants us to artificially implant the same abilities we’re experiencing into his soldiers. Says it’s ‘invaluable’. Arschloch.” His voice held no small amount of acid.

He was silent for a moment, wringing his hands before he continued, voice rising as he spoke. “The saukerl wants to test this thing on human beings! I don’t even know what it can do! You barely know what it can do! And he has the gall-”

Aaron freed himself from his perch, pacing aimlessly around in his ire, “-to threaten me! To demand results! We can’t even begin to control our own damn selves and he thinks he can use it as a weapon?!” His eyes flashed to Mat, a concoction of fear and anger twisting his expression.

Mathis got the message. He was familiar with the General’s particular form of leverage.

Aaron whipped off his lab coat, throwing it to the ground. The skin on his hands and lower arms had become transparent, providing a fascinating display of the anatomy of the human arm. He was pulled from his rant, momentarily entranced by the sight. He could see the hundreds of nerve endings like crowded roots in his fingers, see his pulse as it rushed through his veins, observe as his tendons drew taught as he moved his fingers, and the incredible complexity of the opposable thumb. For a long moment, he simply watched, wide-eyed and entranced.

After that moment, his skin grew steadily opaque once again, leaving the doctor yearning for more time. With a deep, calming breath, he picked up his lab coat and hung it on a hook, mumbling something along the lines of, “I’m a doctor, damn him…”

After that episode, Mathis found it in himself, as he so commonly did, to dissipate the tension. “Hey, why don’t we all just forget about it for the day?” He grinned widely, encouraging the others to do the same. "He’ll still be full of hot air and khaki when we get back from, say, a couple drinks and a well-deserved night off, won't he?”

Aaron couldn’t help but agree. God only knew, if there was anything in the world he could have used at the moment, it was a drink.

Józef glanced towards the spectacle, having heard the glass shatter. Rosalind had jumped up from her chair, her lap soaked in water. For a moment, he thought she had knocked the glass off the table. However, there wasn't remnant of the glass on the floor. Shards were scattered across the table instead, and he immediately know what had happened.

"What did you do?" Exclaimed Rosalind as she backed away from Klaus "How did you do that?"

Józef couldn't help but feel amused by it all. Seeing anything bad at all happen to an SS officer was welcomed by him, even if it was as minor as being drenched with water. If he had felt there was an immediate problem, his reaction would most certainly not have been that of turning away and smirking. Of course, he didn't think there was any problem. Rosalind clearly hadn't immediately jumped to "mystical force" as a conclusion, and she was an SS officer. If she hadn't been able to figure it out, nobody else in the restaurant would.

"I can't- I don't-"

Karl was sputtering, unable to come up with any way out of the situation. Observing it all, Józef immediately started thinking of excuses in his head. His favorite quickly became pretending that the glass had been hit with a sniper bullet. Rosalind would think that someone was after her, and Karl would be free to say it was because of his research if he saw fit. A properly set up attack would have involved the use of a silenced sniper rifle using subsonic ammunition. Such a shot would only be about as loud as a particularly noisy conversation, and in the middle of Berlin, nobody would hear it.

Józef neglected to realize that Klaus was absolutely clueless about such things. He wasn't one to underestimate anyone, but he more than capable of overestimating them. Even so, he still recognized that Klaus was in no situation to come up with an excuse. He'd never seemed good at socializing in general, something Józef had noted long ago. Luckily for him, his inference that Klaus was bad under pressure held true. Knowing how someone reacted under pressure was one of the best ways to learn how to exploit them, and this new fact about Klaus wasn't something Józef would be forgetting anytime soon.

By the time he had finished contemplating the situation as if it was his own problem, Józef found that Rosalind had left. Klaus didn't follow, probably a good choice. Trying to smooth things over with Rosalind right after what had happened was a terrible idea. From Józef's experience, the longer it had been since and incident, the easier it was to make amends (barring grudges, of course). It seemed like Klaus was well aware of this, which made little sense considering how hard it seemed to be for him to grasp the nuances of relationships. The thought crossed Józef's mind that Klaus still just had no idea how to react, and that he still didn't have any idea of what to say to Rosalind.

That's something I've never forgotten. Thought Józef Very rarely are there pure weaknesses.

---

You have to be sticking me into a bottle.

Just as he was about to get started on cleaning the lab's microscope (a piece of equipment that had seen far more use than anybody on the project had initially expected), he felt something poking his left hand. He was well aware of what had happened, but he still looked down to confirm what he already knew. In his hand lay a single red rose, its thorns sticking into his rubber glove. He sighed, placing the solitary flower off to the side while he began to wipe the eyepiece.

A manual lay on the desk behind him, filled with little notes left by quite literally everyone else who had ever performed maintenance on the microscope. It had been somewhat amusing to read through the section on disassembly, which had taken Józef's mind off of the arduous process many a time. Everybody had different opinions on how to perform the process perfectly, and it wasn't uncommon for people to point out mistakes in former notes. These criticisms of former notes were often met with other notes debunking their claims, and stating that the former process was the best one. It was an argument that had unfolded over many generations of lab assistants at the university, and the statements within were always good for some laughs.

“Not good, then?” Said Mat in the background, bringing Józef's attention away from the task at hand. “Worse than usual?”

“I don’t know what he wants,” He heard Klaus snap. “The hurensohn just comes into my office- moves all my things around, mind you- and just says vague things, makes vague threats, then leaves. Research directives, that I can work with, but this man doesn’t know anything about physics. Son of bitch needs to stay out of my way and let me do my work.”

Józef paused his work entirely to listen closer. There wasn't any need to disguise his eavesdropping if everyone already expected him to be listening anyways.

"What did he say?" Asked Mat, a question that made Józef immensely happy. He hadn't exactly been in the loop, having been focused on cleaning up the lab since he got back. It was good to know that what had happened wasn't a foregone conclusion.

“He wants results. Things the military can use,” Said Klaus. “They think our research is too exploratory. What does that mean? What the hell am I supposed to do with that?”

Gówno. Thought Józef At least I was prepared for sabotage when I came here.

"Sounds to me like they want weapons." Commented Mat. Józef was still mildly amused by the apparent irony of one of the smartest men on the project being oblivious to the implications of so many expressions.

"Weapons? We don’t even know what the black hole is. How on earth-" Gasped Klaus, being cut short by Mat.

"I’m just saying, I think that’s why he’s upset.” Cut in Mat “Calm down, Foerster. We know you’re doing good work. I’m sure Genzken’s just feeling pressure from the higher ups- they are fighting a war, they need all the help they can get.”

“I am not in the business of designing weapons,” Klaus said stiffly. “I am a physicist, and I will do my job properly, or not at all."

Józef was pleasantly surprised at the statement. He had always thought of Klaus as dedicated to whatever work he was assigned, and he had definitely never thought that he would refuse to build weapons. While there was still no trusting a German, it was good to know that Klaus didn't intend to immediately go and build magical death rays or something.

"Józef," Continued Klaus, prompting Józef to turn around. "Can you lend me a hand? I’m going to take another crack at Adelheid."

"Yes, Sir" Said Józef in his manufactured monotone, before Aaron began his little outburst.

“He wants to begin human trials,” Stated Aaron. “I uh, I think he wants us to artificially implant the same abilities we’re experiencing into his soldiers. Says it’s ‘invaluable’. Arschloch... The saukerl wants to test this thing on human beings! I don’t even know what it can do! You barely know what it can do! And he has the gall to threaten me! To demand results! We can’t even begin to control our own damn selves and he thinks he can use it as a weapon?!"

“Hey, why don’t we all just forget about it for the day?” Said Mat, grinning. "He’ll still be full of hot air and khaki when we get back from, say, a couple drinks and a well-deserved night off, won't he?”

YES.

"The things I would do for a drink." Said Józef, his voice absolutely ablaze with emotion compared to his normal seemingly apathetic tone. He quickly switched back as he continued, however. "If Klaus can put off the work for a bit, I'd join in."

Where was he? Somewhere in the West, hundreds of miles from home. His countrymen surrounded him, clutching rifles to their chests as they marched onwards, towards a distant field where the faint crackle of gunfire seemed to originate from. Then, something burst forth, throwing him to the ground, tearing through flesh and bone alike at the same time. His ears rang, screaming into silence as he blacked out. Blinded, suffocated, terrified; all of this, he felt. He felt brick after brick as it all piled onto him, an endless cairn of rubble and debris. He scrabbled for the light, madly, clawing his way out of the tomb until finally, he broke through to the surface. He felt something warm streaming down his face. Blood? Sweat? Tears? Maybe all three? He did not know, only that the empty silence was slowly fading away, to be replaced by the faint voices of his countrymen. As the light returned to his vision, he only just made out the blank, featureless faces looming overhead.

In an instant, Konrad jolted forward out of bed with almost enough force to throw himself off balance, forcing him to prop himself up against the wall with his remaining hand to stabilise himself. Another one. The dreams never changed, having persisted in tormenting him ever since he’d woken up in that damned field hospital. Even in the quarters that the university had provided him, he could not find peace and instead awoke in the early hours of the morning as he always had, unable to gain anymore sleep. Furrowing his brow, he muttered something that seemed more a defiant growl than a coherent sentence.

“So be it.”

Konrad dressed himself fairly quickly, having kept his clothes folded on top of the trunk resting at the foot of the bed and once that was done he shuffled over towards the edge of the bed and found his false leg resting in place against the bedside table. Without breaking stride, he quickly pulled it on over his stump and proceeded to fasten it in place with all the usual straps and buckles, before grabbing his cane for good measure. Snorting irritatingly, he slowly rose to his feet with the aid of his left leg, then attempted to place some weight on the prosthetic limb by itself in an attempt to walk unaided. Shakily, he took a few steps forward, aiming to reach the desk at the other end of his otherwise spartan quarters, yet just before he reached the chair he found himself relying on his cane to avoid falling as he took a misstep. “Damn this leg,” he cursed to himself, before muttering again.

“Tomorrow, then.”

It was a promise he’d made and broken a dozen times over for the past few months, hoping to walk independently without aid as an officer of his station should. Not relying on a damned cane like some cripple to be pitied. Casting the thought aside, he quickly drew the curtains to allow more than a thin crack of light inside the room before taking a seat at his desk. In the right hand corner was a simple lamp that he used for reading when the hours grew late, whilst in the center was a sealed letter that he’d yet to read. Deciding he’d left it long enough, he unsealed it with a finger before inspecting its contents.

Much to his surprise, the letter was from his sister, Maxime who - last he’d learned - was expecting her first child. It was strange, seeing his little sister all grown-up with a family of her own along the way. The last time they had been together was at her wedding, to a field doctor, no less. As he'd suspected, the letter contained news of the birth of a healthy boy named Albert and asked Konrad to visit once he recovered from his wounds. He smiled at the thought, yet he knew that he would not allow it until he could walk on his own two feet. Little Albert's first memories of his uncle would not be those of a cripple, he vowed.

Instead, he resolved to continue his residency here at the university for now, maybe visiting in the Spring. He’d grown to enjoy the presence of Aaron Bachmeier and his peers and, unexpectedly, had grown to appreciate his placement here. Granted, Bachmeier’s medical examinations were never a pleasant ordeal, particularly when it came to the inspection of his... wounds, but his own comforts were immaterial if somehow, in some way, it could benefit his fellow countrymen who had been wounded or were otherwise still serving on the frontline, whilst assisting in what capacity he could had made him feel physically of use once more. All that aside, acting as a representative of the Heer meant he had a unique insight that the others here lacked; understanding what it is to be a soldier, and to experience what soldiers face. The others lacked that perspective, and it was one he felt they would need.

Enough dallying though, Konrad suspected that his presence would be a benefit to Aaron and the others soon enough. Driving himself to his feet with the aid of his cane, he approached the door and attempted to twist the knob open, yet somehow the damned thing remained in place. Again, he attempted to twist the knob, assuming it was jammed, yet something else confirmed his fear as he noticed a faint flicker in the corner of his eye. The desk lamp on his table was dimly lit, flickering continuously. No. Please. He swivelled around to follow the sound of metal dragging against wood, only to witness the bed frame rattling in place, the metal spasming in place like a dying soldier in a seizure. No. Dammit, not again. Again, he tried to open the door yet the knob remained unmoved, save for the resonant vibration that it had begun to give off.

“Not again,” he murmured, his face contorting. These... visions of madness had plagued him for some time, now. They felt so real, yet how could they be? Madness, it had to be. How else? He’d heard of it before, soldiers driven mad with shell shock in the Great War, so perhaps this was his own brand of madness. This time, he turned to the door and tried to force it open, twisting at the knob with all his might whilst tugging against it, yet to no avail. The resonant vibration and flickering of both the doorknob, bed frame and lamp only intensified, boiling like a kettle until finally - “ENOUGH!” - Konrad slammed his fist against the door and the noises died, like soldiers waiting to hear their commander’s next orders. He shifted back to glance at both the lamp, then the bed frame; neither were moving, though the sheets on the latter had been quite heavily creased as proof that something has transpired.

This time when he twisted and pulled on the door knob, it drew open as any other would. Whatever he’d just seen... the visions of a madman or otherwise, it did not matter. All he wanted was to leave this damned room find some air. So, clutching his cane tight as ever, Konrad left his quarters with a level of haste that he’d not found in himself for quite some time.

“If Klaus can put off the work for a bit, I’d join in.”

Klaus, who had been nodding to himself as he adjusted the generator settings, came to the delayed realization that everyone was looking to him for permission to leave the lab early.

Klaus looked reluctantly at his clipboard, and then at the rest of his project team. Aaron looked strung out. Mat was doing a weird thing with his eyes, as if trying enlarge them to resemble a golden retriever puppy. Even Józef appeared unusually enthused.

Loathe as he was to leave the lab early, Klaus couldn’t deny that a drink was exactly what he-they- needed. “Fine, fine.” He quickly stowed his equipment away and yanked his coat off the rack. “We’ll go to Lederhosen. Aaron, you’d better keep your scarf on, just in case. Mat, no spontaneous combustion.”

Mat was grinning widely. “Copy that.”

~


The first time she forgot she was spying on him, they had just gotten back from the dinner party.

Klaus had missed the General’s joke—the first odd thing. He was always cracking jokes, but this one had flown right over his head. And then with the other officer, she had never heard him say anything so offensive before. He had delivered the line calmly and just watched him, as if someone else completely was controlling what he said.

It wasn’t until she pulled him aside that she realized he had no idea how to read faces.

They were sitting outside Klaus' apartment on the fire escape, dangling their legs over the edge and pointing out constellations.

“You really just…can’t tell?”

He shifted a little, and then shook his head.

“Well…I’ll teach you.”

“What?”

“I know you heard me, Klaus,” she replied, pulling her legs from the edge and folding them beside her as she turned to face him.

“Sorry, what do you mean?”

“Good,” she smiled. “I’ll show you what I mean. Can you see me okay?”

The moon was bright enough for her to see him clearly when he nodded.

“Okay. Watch me. This is how I tell you I’m happy.” A grin split over her face, her cheeks rising and her nose crinkling.

He watched her for a moment, and she saw the corners of his mouth tug upwards.

“See? And this is sad.” She let her mouth fall, pulling downwards as the space between her eyebrows wrinkled slightly.

He nodded.

“This is worried.” Her mouth straightened, and her eyebrows tugged closer together.

“You didn’t change.”

“It’s hard to see, it’s subtle. Here, give me your hands.”

He stretched his hands out wordlessly.

She smiled gently and covered them with hers. “I’m going to look sad, and then worried.” She brought his hands up to her face, resting them gently on her cheeks. She set his thumbs on her lips and two fingers on her forehead, and then pulled her mouth down and her eyebrows in. After a few seconds, she let her lips pull into a line as her eyebrows drew together.

She saw his eyes widen slightly, and she smiled. “Did you feel that?”

Hesitantly, he nodded.

“Do you want me to do it again?”

He nodded again.

She fought the smile from her face and went through the motions again, frowning and creasing and then worrying.

His hand slid down her face, tracing her cheekbone to her chin. Her eyes closed and she leaned into it, her lips curving against his fingers.

He froze, and she opened her eyes to look at him.

“What’s that face?” his eyes were light, reflecting the moon as they searched her face.

Her hand wrapped around his, and she leaned forward. “I’m going to kiss you.”

He watched her with wide eyes, and she felt his sharp inhale when her lips reached his. For a moment he was still, and then he moved to match her.

She pulled away gently, a smile spreading across her face.

He hesitated, “Happy?”

She nodded, and the smile turned to a grin. “Yes.”

~

When she was with him, it was so easy to forget that he was an assignment—that they weren’t really together. She liked who he was and she liked who she was with him.

But she couldn’t afford to do that anymore. Not with the possibility of what he could be doing. She needed to know, to be absolutely sure.

She would never make that mistake of forgetting he was a job again. Tonight, she would find out the truth.

~

Ros finished the last sentence with a flourish of her pen and set the message in the basket. It had taken her twice as long today to decode the message, even though they were using the same key words as last week. Her mind was elsewhere. She looked out the window for the fifteenth time, and she saw them.

She had been checking every few minutes in case they didn’t stay late that day. She was planning to wait outside when her job was done, catch him on his way out, but it looked like he was heading out with everyone earlier than usual.

It was time to go.

Ros pushed her chair back and rolled out her drawer, picking up her coat and her gun and standing. She pulled on and buttoned her coat and set her gun on her hip, and moved to sign out for the day. One last salute and she was running down the stairs. If she timed it right, she would reach him perfectly. On the last flight of stairs she shook out her bun and pulled on her hat.

She broke out into the cold evening, all dark uniform and sharp lines. After the incident, she’d had to change into her official uniform skirt and jacket, complete with the fur hat and coat with a hip holster. Her boots thundered on the cobblestone.

Ahead of her, the guys were just passing her path. “Klaus!” she called, skipping forward a step and raising up a hand to wave. “Klaus, wait!”

~


They had just left the Piethman building when Klaus heard someone calling his name.

As the figure drew nearer, he saw it was Ros. Her face was flushed from the cold, blonde locks cascading over her shoulders. He was momentarily struck by how beautiful she was, and then realized she was waiting him to speak.

“Can I talk to you?”

“Ros. Um.” He searched her face, baffled by her non-angry tone, and found only earnestness. “Listen, about earlier-“ He trailed off, realizing he still had no explanation for the water glass.

But Ros was talking over him. “Look, I’m sorry about today. I don’t know- I’m tired, that day with Mengele was exhausting, I think I’m seeing things. I can’t concentrate at work, I knocked over my own water glass- it’s not your fault, Klaus. I’m sorry, I am.”

“It’s fine.” Klaus was still confused by her sudden turnaround, but there was nothing in her expression that suggested otherwise. Klaus examined her for another moment, then gave up. If Ros had forgiven the incident, he wasn’t about to complain.

“We’re going to Lederhosen,” he said quickly. “Do you want to-“

“Now?”

“Yes.”

Ros frowned. “Oh, no, I’ve got to meet someone. Are you staying long?”

Klaus looked over his shoulder at Mat, who was dancing circles in the snow, singing. “Probably.”

“I’ll meet you after. Give me an hour?”

“We’ll be there.”

Ros beamed. “See you.” She leaned forward and pecked his cheek before heading off.

Klaus was silent for a moment. Then- “Mat, I told you she was real.”

~

Several rounds of drinks later, Klaus was perched on a stool at the darkly lit, far end of the bar, his arms around in front of him like an orchestra conductor, holding forth to his project team as if he were teaching a lecture course.

“All I’m saying is that- all I’m saying is-“

“Professor, I have a question,” Mat said, raising an arm.

“No. Shut up. All I’m saying is-” Klaus blinked. “Oh, fuck this. Fuck this class. Fuck you all. No one turns in their homework anymore.”

Mat sniggered. “Klaus, you haven’t taught a class since 1937.”

“It’s an abomination!” Klaus exclaimed, slamming his glass down on the counter. “Universities used to be for learning! Where are the students?”

Mat shrugged. “Off fighting the war, I presume. Anyway, didn’t you hate teaching courses?”

“Yes. Not the point. Point is- universities should be centers of knowledge. Spreading knowledge. Disseminating knowledge. Not- not a weapons laboratory. We’re not some craft shop, we’re scientists,” Klaus said emphatically. “Aaron, back me up on this. They lied to us about the Zauber project. This isn’t research we’re doing, it’s war preparations.”

“Oh boy.” Mat looked around nervously. “Say that a little quieter, would you?”

Moving away from them, she sent one last smile over her shoulder, and then turned back around and let her face drop. Fooling Klaus was sad—he didn’t even consider she was lying. It was like kicking a puppy. But it had to be done.

She took a walk around the block before heading to the lab.

The locks were a joke—she had helped install the same ones in her office. Their way to ensure no one got into the lab was simply to put more of them, rather than different ones.

She banged her feet on the walk outside to shake off any snow. Inside, she made her way to the basement and locked the door behind her.

Klaus’ desk was first. It was messy but she knew him, and she could see the order. The papers on the left were documented notes, in order of theory accuracy. On the other side were date-ordered study notes. And, of course, in the middle were the pencils.

She rifled through the papers with speed—mostly because it was all numbers and symbols and literal gibberish. The other side was no better. She placed the papers back perfectly and checked the drawers.

She was really regretting not having a science degree.

Giving up and closing Klaus’ desk, she moved on. Looking at the actual lab work would be no help—that would be even harder to understand than the notes.

She picked the next desk and checked it—Aaron’s. Flipping open his medical journal, she flipped through it, and then stopped. “Levitation.”

She smoothed the page over, checked the door, and then sat down and picked up the book. Pouring over the page, her eyes widened.

The next page was Mat—spontaneously combusting but still fit as a fiddle.
Jozef—summoning things to his hands without meaning to.
Aaron—invisible epidermis.

Ros skipped through the pages, her pulse quickening. If she hadn’t seen it, she wouldn’t believe it in a million years. But it was true, it was real. Whatever they had done, they had done this to themselves.

On the last few pages, she found it. “Not fit for human trials.”

There was no mention of Mengele.

Why would he write that it’s not fit for human trials when that’s exactly what they were doing with it?

Unless they didn’t know. They would all have to be as oblivious as Klaus not to see Mengele in here—unless he did exactly what she had done, and come when no one was home.

It wasn’t hard and she wouldn’t put it past Mengele to break in and expose his patients. He would do anything to see results. Results for the Nazis, results for the war. If they knew how to control these things, if every soldier achieved this level of activity, it would turn the war immediately. It would be over in seconds.

If they had something this big on their side, why wouldn’t they start human trials immediately? The sooner they did the sooner they won.

“Not fit for human trials.”
They didn’t know. And they didn’t approve. They had no idea Mengele knew and was using it and that he was seeing results.

If things continued like this, if they didn’t find any rash side effects, they would start on the soldiers soon. They would start exposing them without the knowledge or instruction of the scientists and no clue of the lasting effects. Anything that bestowed other-worldly control did not simply attach to human beings with no adverse effects. Humans were not made to do these things. Ros did not need any semblance of a science degree to see the gravity and danger of the situation.

She closed the journal and stood, rubbing her eyes.

What had they discovered?

Carefully, she made her way to the tables. The focus of their work was clear—what she assumed to be the reactor sat in the middle of the room. It was humongous, and in the middle was a glass canister with a small black sphere.

Ros squinted her eyes and leaned to look, but she didn’t step closer. She knew better than that.

The tink of shattering glass echoed in her head.

She understood why he never told her. She understood why he panicked.

Ros turned on her heel and strode out of the room, banging the door shut behind her and engaging the locks. She hurried up the steps and out of the Peithman Physics Laboratory. She was shutting the door when she heard the heavy footfalls.

Ros spun, excuses light on her lips, and froze.

The two of them stood in a frozen silence for a moment, until Ros raised her arm. “Heil Hitler.”

Genzken returned the salute. “Heil. Wolff. I see you’re doing your job.”

She nodded vigorously, her pulse jumping.

“I’m going to need that report early this week, tomorrow morning.”

“Sir, it hasn’t even been half a week yet—“

“We’re experiencing some less-than-cooperative behavior and we expect full assistance from you at this time. I need the report by tomorrow morning.”

She nodded again, with the feeling of acid in her gut. “Of course, sir.”

He gave her a tight smile. “That’s what I like to hear. Gute Nacht.”

“Gute Nacht.”

Aaron had barely been paying attention to Klaus’ lecture - reminded him too much of a torturous Philosphy class he’d been forced to take in his first year of university. Instead, Aaron had been quietly laughing to himself as Mathis instigated, nursing a beer.

Klaus, however, had a way of snapping a class to attention. His loud mentioning of their research was enough to quiet the group. Luckily, the bar was raucous; it was unlikely that anyone was listening to them.

As unadvised as it may have been, however, Aaron raised his glass, drinking deeply before covering the lower half of his face with his scarf once again. “No, no, Klaus has a point. Humboldt took a turn for what I see as the worst in ’33.”

Aaron stood, ambling over to Klaus’ stool and gripping his shoulder. “You’re right my friend. I can’t say I agree with what they’ve been imposing on us.” His scarf slipped, revealing the lopsided grin of the inebriated. He looked over his colleagues, from Józef’s cool gaze to Mat’s both amused and slightly concerned one. He briefly locked his eyes on Mat’s, though, and it caused the grin to fall. He polished off the rest of his glass and set it - with necessary force - on the bar.

“Though, we can’t stop now.” His voice had taken on a slower, more reserved tone. Mat’s eyes fell into his drink, and his grip on his glass became visibly tighter. Aaron tried at a recovery. “I mean, consider all the headway you’ve made, Klaus. I may be drawing a blank but you’re a physicist, you have the chance to study a phenomenon unlike anything ever seen before. Your work will be taught in universities all across Europe, and all of our names will go down in history. Right?”

Aaron forced a smile, Mat doing the same. They both knew very well that Aaron scarcely meant a word of what he said. He’d be tortured to have his name in a text book for their dirty work.

Reluctantly, Mat played along, pulling a token grin. “Yeah Klaus, how can you reject an opportunity like this, with so much yet to be explored?"

"Oh, stop being such a toadie, Aaron." Klaus shook off his friend's hand like he was batting away a mosquito, spilling a liberal amount of beer in the process. "Calm down, Genzken hasn't got ears in here, no one's going to report you for not being a walking propaganda poster."

Klaus was not a tactful drunk. Already more straightforward than most people were comfortable with, Klaus on alcohol tended to vocalize all the unpleasant truths that everyone was thinking but no one wanted to acknowledge. This, combined with the fact that he knew Aaron, was deeply confused that Aaron had not sided with him, made for a very belligerent professor.

Mat blinked. "Did you just call Aaron a toadie?"

"Well, he's clearly not an independent thinker right now."

Mat frowned, shifting uncomfortably. "None of us are independent, we all depend on the Party for research funds, you know that. Unless you've completely lost all interest in the sphere-"

"You know the sphere is not the issue," Klaus snapped. "The issue is the directive. Of fucking course I want to keep researching. I want to take that sphere apart and figure out what makes it tick and understand the fundamental nature of the universe-"

"Then why-"

Klaus slammed his glass on the counter. "Because I don't want to be told what to do! I'm the physicist! I control the project! I decided what questions we answer, and when, and not some idiot medical officer from the idiot establishment."

But the research pace was not the issue. Klaus knew what the issue was, if it took several rounds of drinks for him to admit it. Ros's words echoed in his mind- Mengele, prisoner, cage- and he knew, God, he knew what they wanted with the sphere and why they wanted him to hurry.

"The lab needs to be clear on one thing. We will not be making weapons," Klaus said abruptly. "First, I don't know how to make weapons. Second, the boys on the front don't need magical weapons. They're doing a great job slaughtering half the men on this continent as it were. If machine guns aren't good enough for them, I don't know what is," he griped, forgetting that Konrad was standing right next to him.

Until that point, Konrad had been disinterested in the contents of the scientists’ conversation and was satisfied to find sanctuary at the bottom of a glass. The sphere, yes. The supposed reason for why such... phenomena, occurred. An explanation for Konrad’s madness. Until this point he’d never contemplated the applications of its power, yet the prospect of using it to spare the lives of men on the front prevented him from remaining silent any longer. Turning away from his glass to address Klaus, he spoke quite boldly.

“If that is what you think of circumstances on the front, then you are naive. Our men fight and die on the front as we speak. I have served on the frontlines and seen it with my own eyes, fought against Poles, Frenchmen.... Englishmen, all brave men who carried out their duties as they should have for their countries, yet we have bled as much as they have. Is that not what you want to minimise? ‘Slaughter’? If there is an application of this... power, consider the lives that could be spared,”

“Imagine how victory could be far more swift for the Fatherland, how many lives would be spared? Our men would be able to return home sooner, and not as...” Konrad deigned not to continue, yet it was clear what he referred to and it prompted him to turn back to his half-filled glass and down another gulp of the stuff. Despite it all, however... he understood some of their reservations. His time on the front had allowed him to bear witness to certain atrocities that were not easily forgotten.

Granted, neither he nor his father had bore any love for the Poles, but he had been brought up with a sense of honour and traditional values of honourable conduct in war and so to witness men who had put up a valiant defence of their country face such brutal treatment from the likes of the Waffen-SS was something that haunted him deeply. If they were to acquire such power... the very notion made him feel conflicted from within. As an officer of honourable content and as a proud German loyal to the Fatherland.