pirated stuff

The Brown House in Konigsberg, Pullska was a great mansion, but admittedly pretty mundane compared to the other architecture in the city. Regardless, the fact that Himmler could obtain a large estate to use as his party's headquarters was a testament to his influence and attraction. Upon arrival, my eyes first laid witness to black banners hanging off of windows and the main entrance, all depicting a white circular swastika in the center, its arms curving with the circumference of the ring rather than the usual straight and rigid angles. Given my beige Reichsbanner uniform, the party guards looked at me with a quizzical look, no doubt at a loss for words at my non-traditional female dress.

I vaguely remember how Himmler was fascinated with esoteric bigotry. It was his morbid curiosity toward military cultures that incentivized Hitler to declare the Japanese "Honorary Aryans." The SS uniforms were a sight to behold at anime conventions.

"Pardon me, sir." I caught the attention of one of the party members. "Is this the cult?"

"We're not a cult, fraulein." He answered, "This is the party of true-blood Germanians, to reunite the fractured Germanic peoples under one banner, and revive the ancient glory of our ancestors, the Aryans."

"This is it." I turned to my current partner. "You were right on the location, Herr Foerster."

After the wedding in Warschau was over, I traveled north to Danzig to meet up with the DNVP journalist to update him on my current plans. He was more than happy to join me on my escapade to Konigsberg since this would allow him to get an inside look at the National Volkist Front spearheaded by Himmler. Given the high racial standards for membership, the movement was surrounded by secrecy and mysticism.

Not that I had a care for such superstition. Despite the guards' attempts to halt my advance, I brushed past them towards the front door with Foerster in tow. I knocked rather fiercely on the heavy wood, so much so that the journalist felt anxious over my knuckles.

Not a moment too soon, the door opened just a crack to reveal another volkisch thug with a very young face poking his head out. He looked slightly confused upon seeing the two of us and looked ready to ask a question but I had already beaten him to the punch.

"What is this place?" I demanded.

"This is the party headquarters for the National Volkist Front," he answered.

"Why is there no name of your political movement in the front entrance? How did you manage to grow your party to such a size missing such a crucial component of public branding? Your desire for secrecy is ironic. Get out of the way!"

With a great shove, I pushed the heavy wooden doors, almost knocking the gate guardian on his ass, and walked right in as if I was storming an enemy bunker.

"Hey, this is our private office! Invitation only! Stop, please," came another voice from the adjacent room next to the grand hall. "Can you - oooooooh, man…."

The interior of the Brown House was what you might expect in a far-right nationalist organization. There are old paintings depicting a romanticist view of Germanic history: nude full-breasted women carrying healthy children in their arms, and brawny and blond-haired men brandishing swords and hammers slaying a great mythic beast as if they were Hollywood action heroes. There were smaller versions of the black flags hanging down from the ceiling and on every railing. Even the floor of the grand hall had massive Schwarze Sonne painted on the floor.

I immediately marched into one of the rooms that looked to be a recreation room or a library for members to relax and engage in some small talk. Practically everyone on the first floor had their attention on me, probably because I was the only woman present.

"Do you have an invitation to be here?" asked the gate guardian. He got bonus points for trying to act confrontational, but such a trick did not affect me.

"Since when does a fringe national movement gain popularity by being as exclusionary as possible?" I shot back, matching his engagement with a death glare of my own. "I want to speak to your party chairman."

"You mean the Volksfuhrer?" he answered sheepishly.

Dear God, this Himmler is an egomaniac. I quickly turned my head away in disgust. Why did I let my curiosity get the better of me? Good thing Foerster was ready to make himself look scarce, trying to blend into the background.

"Who should I say is here?" the party sycophant asked, careful to avoid stepping on the metaphorical glass shards.

"The name is Tanya von Degurechaff," I answered, not leaving any room for discussion.

The young lad quietly nodded in acknowledgment and immediately went upstairs, who knows how many floors up, to get Himmler down here. This left me free to walk around the room and examine the contents there. There was nothing of value present: just books and posters glorifying the occult. Good heavens, they make Calvinists look sane.

"Blud und Boden." I repeated the words from a party propaganda poster. "I didn't know this was an environmentalist party. Does anyone have any empirical evidence that human blood is a sufficient substitute for freshwater? I did not know plants were vampires."

"Is this for the Warschau Courier?" the young man returned, poking his head through the door frame.

"This is for the Empire!" I roared.

That caused him to disappear once again. One more minute passed and Leopld Himmler finally showed up as he had just run a marathon. Unlike some of his sycophants, Himmler was impeccably dressed in the cleanest suit and tie I ever saw. Ignoring the swastika armband, I focused solely on his face.

He was a bespectacled creature of a man with a clean-shaven face save for a toothbrush mustache and a comb-over for a haircut. From appearance alone, he looked to be an astute intellectual, a gothic novelist, or even a Germanian Expressionist painter. But his eyes told a different story; those eyes belonged to a madman who saw corruption everywhere.

For me though, he was like an otaku meeting a cosplayer dressed up as his highly coveted waifu. Already, I felt my skin crawl when he looked at me with those lecherous eyes, practically undressing me with that stare. I dared hope that Visha would never wear those kinds of eyes around me.

"Oh my…it's…it's you. It's the Argent Silver." Himmler gasped, acting like Christmas had come early. "I am Leopold Himmler. Volksfuhrer of the National Volkist Front."

"Please. Come, sit." I took a seat and gestured at an empty chair next to me. "We must talk."

He wasted no time to occupy that space.

"It is my pleasure," he said in the most haughty voice imaginable, while the crowd seemed to grow only bigger as more people got wind of who the new guest was.

"So you represent the national cause of the Germanian people?" I asked.

"Well…I do not want to steal your glory. Out of everyone here, you offered the most sacrifice to the Fatherland. I am but a humble servant to our people."

"Ugh, if I ever meet a humble servant, I will let you know."

Himmler quickly gave a small laugh in reply but my face was stone cold.

"My question is, what have you accomplished for our people up until now?" I said.

"The soup kitchens -"

"Everyone and their mother has set up soup kitchens in these trying times. What makes yours any different? Do you offer free chocolate cake?"

"Okay… let's start over." Himmler looked more drained of his enthusiasm. "We the National Volkist -"

"National Volkist! What are you trying to accomplish? Going all over Europe, digging up dirt like pseudo-archaeologists, to prove that moving the earth is a sign of racial superiority?" I tried my hardest not to scream out my frustrations.

"Our ancient ancestors were the original inhabitants of Europe."

"Our ancient ancestors were living in thatch huts, eating out of clay bowls and wooden spoons, while the ancestors of the Illdoans were building marble cities and creating an imperial civilization. How is that evidence of Germanic superiority? How stupid are you?"

Himmler was completely taken aback by my retort but I was not done yet.

"Are you even a Papalist?"

"No. I gave up that false religion - "

"False? False?! Where are you getting all these ideas from?"

"Von Listfels and von Lieben. The founders of Ariosophy. They have demonstrated that the Germanics are the pinnacle of human evolution," he answered, shoving the party manifesto into my hands. "If I could just show you -"

"Is that the reason why you turned away from God or why God turned away from you?" I literally could not believe what I was hearing. "You left the Church not because of the corruption, not because of the accusations of pedophilia, not because of the general dissatisfaction of the Papalist community, but because it didn't validate your fragile egocentrism?"

"Hold on…this is…" Himmler shifted uncomfortably, looking around the room and spotting Foerster. "Why is he here? Is he recording this meeting? Get him out!"

"No!" I roared, throwing my fist upon the table. "I am wasting my time talking to you. I am on a mission to save Germania from further collapse while idiots like you consult a crystal orb to figure out tomorrow's weather."

I threw his book back into Himmler's face who recoiled as if he got shot.

"Every single one of your words brings shame and humiliation for Germanians everywhere." I spat. "What is your definition of a Germanian?"

"Blonde hair and blue eyes are the most ideal." Himmler stuttered. "Our people to be strong, intelligent - "

"Most ideal? Most ideal?! You don't have blonde hair or blue eyes. You know that people can change the color of their hair in the future right? Even their eyes too, through surgery." I got up from my seat and looked at the hypocrisy among the crowd. "Your working definition is already obsolete."

"There is also a criterion for racial purity." Himmler looked up with pleading eyes.

"Racial purity." I scoffed, "Is that why your euphemism for incest? A pureblood Germanian would sooner die of a cold than be the ubermensch of your dreams. Have you forgotten the ethnic makeup of the Empire? Genetic diversity allows our people to grow and endure. You don't believe me? Go to a graveyard."

The party chairman now looked really offended but his anger looked more like a crying child throwing a tantrum. After spouting a series of anti-semitic insults directed at my face, Himmler still had the audacity to call me a "Judean in human skin" before shrinking underneath my gaze.

I was not amused.

"Since you know about my 'mother', perhaps you can take me to her. Assuming you didn't order your men to murder or harass every Judean they come across," I replied calmly.

Looking around the room, I have to say this was a disappointment. I was expecting a party like the Communists: organized, disciplined, and highly intelligent. But the men here were meek, silent, and pathetic. The embodiment of sadness: these National Volkists.

"Gentlemen, if this is your best man to represent the Germanian people, then may God have mercy upon us all." I evacuated the building with Foerster following me. "We'll need it."

"I have to admit." Foerster spoke up after we walked away from the Brown House, "You are full of surprises. Did you see the look on their faces when you marched away? It was majestic!"

"I can only imagine." I grunted, "Now, what are you planning to do next?"

"Huh? Oh, yes. That meeting with Himmler. It is going to make headlines, I can feel it. My boss in the DNVP is going to be quite pleased that I manage to obtain an inside look at the National Volkish Front." He opened his great coat to reveal one of Himmler's party manifestos and a couple of other book materials. "This will take some time to decipher."

"Then I shall not take too much of your time. I will be on my way."

"Are you sure you don't want to travel together a little longer? My associates have set up an office in the city. It should be just on the other side of the city."

Thinking for a moment, I supposed no harm can be done by further ingraining myself with the conservatives. After all, I needed to make sure Herr Class continued to stick with his end of the bargain. Otherwise, I would have to share some pointed words with some very pointed blades.

"Lead the way," I said, wanting to get as far away from the Brown House as possible.

Despite the region of Preussia being majority ethnic Germanians, the Treaty of Triano saw it fit for Pullska to own all of it in order to have a sizable coastline. Yet, despite the different flags, the rules stayed largely the same. Contrary to the American perspective, the Pullskans did enjoy equal rights under the Empire, other than the occasional glass ceiling set in place by the DkP.

Germanian was still spoken and used in everyday life, just now the language was subservient to the Pullskan. No doubt it was a massive adjustment to Germanian nationalists everywhere in Preussia, but personally, I do not mind it. Practically everyone in the Empire could speak Germanian as a first or second language so the new status quo was not as "disruptive."

As far as I could see in the busy streets of Konigsberg, the people largely seemed unbothered. Sure, the Germanians were no longer first-class citizens but with inflation and unemployment running rampant, their lost status would be the least of their concerns. People all around were just feeling the pinch in their wallets of this new world Central Europe has found itself in. Like President Erbel and Chancellor Herimann, Moscic had a lot on his plate to clean up to ensure a return to normalcy.

"Don't look behind now but two Judeans are following us," Foerster whispered suddenly, trying to increase his walking pace. He immediately saw my sour look erupting all over my face. "Not in a prejudiced manner. There are two - now six Judeans following us."

"How long have they been following us?" I asked.

"Five, six minutes perhaps. They could have followed us even earlier."

"Why are you so concerned?"

"Because this is Himmler's territory still…"

Only then did I realize that the streets we were walking on seemed more sparsely crowded than usual. Just up ahead of us, six men in greatcoats emerged from the alleyway and walked towards us. To our immediate right, another six men emerged from a coffee shop and looked at us with ill intent.

"God damn Judeans…" the DNVP journalist cursed under his breath, clearly panicking.

"Are you armed?" I asked calmly.

"No," he whispered back, more fiercely than usual. "Are you?"

"No," I replied, feeling a tug of a cruel smile when our ambushers pulled out wooden clubs, knuckle dusters, and even knives.

This… did not look good for us. I think we may have wandered into a mafia or a rival paramilitary group. My beige uniform may have set off the wrong alarm in their heads.

"Gentlemen," I said, looking in both directions, "I highly recommend reconsidering your actions."

Some of them laughed as they continued to approach us and spoke to each other in Yiddish.

"Why?" one of them asked sarcastically. He was easily the tallest man in the group, as tall as Heydryk. He was armed with a particularly nasty-looking knife.

"Because killing is bad for your soul."

"But when done righteously, it is a chore like any other," he replied, with cold anger in his words. "Himmlerites."

Our window of escape was closing faster by the second. We were surely done for if we allowed ourselves to be surrounded. I didn't want to make a scene but we had no choice.

We'd need a distraction.

I quickly shoved Foerster onto the pavement, causing him to shriek and flail pathetically trying to keep the contents of his suitcase from spilling out, and in that moment, where everyone's eyes were on him, I lunged forward and threw a heavy right hook into the big man's scrotum.

He let out a shriek of his own as I used my other hand to attack his wrist to steal his knife from his hands. I immediately used it to stab him in the liver before kicking him into his allies. With his huge size, he knocked over half a dozen of his allies like they were bowling pins. That got everybody's attention, allowing Foerster to quickly scramble away to hide in an alley.

Immediately, they rushed in as one. Judging by their coordination and innate familiarity with their weapons, the men were not mere mafia hitmen, they were Great War veterans trained in close-quarter combat. I recognized their movements; the war academy during the Great War had an entire training curriculum on trench raiding and hand-to-hand combat.

Though trained as they were, they were highly predictable. I brought up my purse to use a shield when the first man tried to shank me with his knife. It got stuck instantly, allowing me the opportunity to stab him back in the throat quickly. A geyser of blood squirted all over my hand and face as I dropped my ruined purse to grab him by the neck and use his body as a shield against his comrades.

I really wished Pilsud or Foerster had smuggled me a computation orb, any orb, right now. This fight could have ended a whole lot cleaner.

I swayed the body left and right as the thugs sought ways to attack me from the flank. Fear was starting to emerge in their eyes, their hesitation creeping in, as they quickly pondered what to do next.

But I wasn't going to give them a chance. The knuckle dusters I could endure but the knives and the bludgeons I could not. I counterattacked by hastily throwing the bleeding body back at their faces before rushing forward. They were focused on my face but not on my hands. The last knife holder found his forearm stabbed and his knife taken. I immediately crouched and forced him forward, allowing his head to take an overhead swing from a wooden club that was directed toward me.

With that second knife, I turned around and threw it towards the nearest foot I saw, prompting its owner to curse loudly in pain. However, I was quickly grabbed by his ally and thrown against a brick wall. I grabbed my hat and threw it in that guy's face, and after a moment of blind panic from having an obscured vision, he threw a blind jab that missed by a mile. I stabbed the knife into his exposed armpit before body-slamming him into the ground. Of course, I was grabbed and thrown off of him.

My new opponent grabbed a few good hits into my belly to pin me against the wall before screaming at his comrade to wack me on the head with his wooden club. He was strong, very strong, trying to wrestle the knife away from my grip. Again, he was watching my face and my hands but not my legs which I used to kick at his knees. It was enough to finally break free from his iron grip and narrowly missed a skull-cracking strike from the bludgeon.

He used his hands to cover his face from a strike unaware that was not my target. The man roared in pain when he found his palms skewered by my knife, one palm on top of the other, like a kebab. I was about to immediately lunge toward the club-wielder only to realize he had reinforcements. Foerster was apprehended and used as a hostage to get me to stand down.

"Get on your knees," the leader demanded. His face reminded me of Himmler, only with a rounder face wearing thick-rimmed glasses and thicker eyebrows.

A gun was pointed at Foerster's head by the same man who was restraining him. I pulled out the bloodied knife from my last opponent's hands, wiped it clean from the sleeves of my dress, and threw it at the crowd. The leader seemed to flinch as if he was the one getting struck but upon hearing a pistol falling to the ground, he realized it was Foerster's captor who found a knife lodged into his throat before crumpling like a bag of wet cement.

After an awkward moment of silence, the leader spoke up again.

"Who are you?" he asked, his tone suddenly changing.

"Give me your name, idiot, and I will give you mine."

"Zhabotinski. Yevgen Zhabotinski."

"Tanya von Degurechaff."

"Oh..."

I raised an eyebrow.

"You didn't join the National Volkish Front, did you?"

"No. I did not." I answered, "Is that why you attacked me? Because you thought I was a two-faced hypocrite?"

Zhabotinski visibly struggled to answer my question. The man probably never had experienced such indecision before.

"Uhhhh. Maybe." He winced. "Sorry for not recognizing you earlier."

While ordering his followers to clean up the street brawl, Zhabotinski quickly escorted me back into the cafe and gestured for the business owner to take us to a hidden, secluded room. Once we were truly alone, the Judean leader immediately turned around and fell to his knees.

"I am truly sorry for not recognizing you earlier! My informants had only described two people, new faces, entering the Brown House. One of them was a blond woman with blue eyes…"

"Listen…as far as bad first impressions go…" I tried to get him to stop his blubbering, "Just what were you planning to do today?"

"I was going to root out Himmler and his National Volkist ideology. We mistook you and your friend as his informants," he answered with great tears forming at the edges of his eyes. "I am really sorry. About everything. Please, please, I don't want what happened today to be published in the paper."

"Why is that?" I raised an eyebrow before it suddenly hit me: he must have known that Foerster worked for the DNVP.

"It will ruin me. Ruin my community. Ruin my people!"

"Your people?" I quickly slapped him back into reality. "I'm not here to judge you. I just want to know why."

"I wanted to be protected. I wanted my home to be safe. Sure, it was bad before but never this uncomfortable…With Himmler making his speeches about the racial supremacy of the Germanic race, it was only a matter of time before he began to carry it out."

"So you organized." I said.

Zhabotinksi nodded fervently with such speed that I was scared of his glasses falling to the floor.

"I thought you were still in Germania. I thought the appearance was merely a coincidence..." he grimaced.

"Well, I did have a wedding to attend do." I remarked, "Regardless, I do not take offense to what your men have conducted today. I know very well how badly this would set back Judean-Germanian relations."

He let out a small sigh of relief.

"What - what are we to do?"

"We?" I repeated, "I need to get out of this city. You need to halt your offensive against Himmler."

"What?" His eyes shot wide. "Why?"

"Don't make him a martyr. By attacking his party, you are giving him a platform to vindicate his vile rhetoric. Delusional as he is, we cannot give him the impression of victory."

"But that won't stop him from attacking me and my kin!"

"Hence why I applaud you for organizing a militia. However, it has to be for defensive purposes only. If you need to strike first, coordinate with the national government."

"Coordinate…" Zhabotinski hummed. "Is it possible?"

"The Socialist Party is the current ruling party. Ingrain yourself to them as a valuable asset and they will assist you in protecting civil rights in Pullska."

"Does it have to be the Socialist Party?" he asked, undoubtedly hesitant.

I couldn't fault him for questioning my suggestion; the Socialist Party seemed to be unreliable at best and insanely fickle at worst. But the Socialists were the ones in charge which means what they did now will set a precedent for future ruling coalitions down the line.

"No." I answered, "But I do advise you to approach them first. After that, keep your options open to build an alliance to ensure a stable democratic coalition."