Top Secret

It was seven hours later when Helfenstein's day ended. Thirty hours of observing demolition
projects, construction projects, raids. negotiations, imprisonments, executions, rallies, musters,
formations, planning sessions, and the endless fucking meetings, and after ordering his personal staff
out, he was finally alone.

He managed to take around fourteen or thirteen steps - who even cared anymore - When he
reached on the floor. His good, spartanist dinner stained the carpet as he desperately tried to keep
his breath, squeezing watering eyes shut as his throat burned from the acid.

He was careful not to make too much noise, even as he vomited, and especially as he stared at the
mess on the floor. God forbid a Maid's loose tongue land him against a wall while Grothmann shouts
“Fire!”.

When he finished towelling up the carpet and cleaning his uniform he walked to the closest window
and stared out from just behind the curtain, to watch the helicopters fly in and out with their
supplies. He forced his breathing even, forced himself to think analytically. He solved problems, it's
what they did, it's what he had always done. When he'd nearly been homeless so many decades ago,
when he'd been asked to help find a solution to Europe's degenerate problem, when he'd been
ordered to arrest his Führer in the 50's. He found his way through things, it’s what he did, damn it!

But how was he ever going to stop Heinrich?

How would he save the world, degenerates and all?