The Last Day of the Reich

Chapter 1: The Accidental Tourist

The warehouse smells of stale bread and motor oil. ⟨Character 1⟩ wakes on a pile of potato sacks, his head pounding. A gun clicks behind his ear.

⟨Character 1⟩: Whoa, whoa. Easy. I don’t know what you want, but I have a wallet in my other pants. Probably. Actually, I don’t know where my pants are.

David: Shut up. You’re not going anywhere until you fix the payroll system. The one you Nazis use to pay the guards. I need it broken, and I need it broken now.

⟨Character 1⟩: Nazis? Look, buddy, I’m an ⟨birthplace⟩ guy from Bangalore. I run a software company. I build websites. I don’t know anything about payroll systems. And I definitely don’t know how I got here.

David: You expect me to believe that? You’re wearing a suit. You’ve got a fancy watch. You’re one of them. Now get up and do what I say, or I swear I’ll paint the wall with your brains.

⟨Character 1⟩: Okay, okay. Just… let me think. Payroll system. Is it networked? Because if it’s on a local server, I might be able to do something. But I need a phone. My phone. Where is it?

David: Your what? You mean a telephone? There’s one in the office. But it’s guarded. You can’t just walk in there.

⟨Character 1⟩: Not that kind of phone. My smartphone. It was in my pocket. Ah, here it is. Thank God. Battery’s at forty-seven percent. Not great, but it’ll do. Now, what’s the name of this bakery that delivers bread here? I saw a truck outside.

David: Bakery? What are you talking about? We don’t have time for games. The guards will be back any minute.

⟨Character 1⟩: Just trust me. If I can create a distraction, we can get to that office. What’s the bakery’s name? It’s on the truck.

David: It’s Müller’s. But why?

⟨Character 1⟩: Because I’m going to place a huge order for bread to be delivered right now. And when the truck shows up, the guards will be busy. Then we move. Watch and learn.

⟨Character 1⟩ taps on his phone. A few seconds later, a confirmation beep. Outside, a truck engine rumbles.

David: How did you do that? The phone… it’s not connected to anything.

⟨Character 1⟩: It’s called the internet. Or it will be. Long story. Now, you said something about a rally? Hitler? What’s the plan?

David: Hitler is coming to inspect a Wehrmacht project in two days. Security will be tight, but if we can get close enough… we can kill him. But first, we need uniforms. And we need to get out of this warehouse.

⟨Character 1⟩: Kill Hitler? You’re serious? I thought you just wanted to hack a payroll. This is… a lot. But okay. I’m in. I have nothing better to do. Besides, my phone battery won’t last forever.

They slip out a side door and into an alley. A laundry line hangs between two buildings, two Wehrmacht uniforms swaying in the wind.

David: Quick, grab those. They’ll smell of bleach and gun oil, but it’s better than nothing.

⟨Character 1⟩: They smell like a hospital mixed with a mechanic’s shop. Lovely. Can’t we find something less… Nazi?

David: Shut up and move. We don’t have time for your complaints. Put it on. We need to get to the rally point.

They change quickly. ⟨Character 1⟩’s watch alarm suddenly goes off, a shrill beep in the quiet alley. They freeze under a streetlight, listening to jackboots approach.

David: Turn that off! Are you trying to get us killed?

⟨Character 1⟩: Sorry, sorry. It’s my alarm. I set it to remind me to sleep. Guess I won’t be needing that anymore.

David: Sleep? We’re in the middle of a war, and you’re worried about sleep? You’re either very brave or very stupid.

⟨Character 1⟩: A bit of both. But right now, we need to move. The jackboots are getting closer.

They press against the wall as a patrol passes. The footsteps fade. David nods, and they creep toward the rally.

Chapter 2: The Camera That Lies

A hotel room with a cracked mirror. ⟨Character 1⟩ and David sit on the floor, a pile of stolen dynamite and a vintage camera flash between them.

David: Red to the flash contact, black to the battery. When the shutter opens, it completes the circuit. Simple. The camera becomes a bomb. One press, and it’s done.

⟨Character 1⟩: Blink twice, twice, stop. That’s the code. Red, red, pause, red, red, pause, hold. I’ll say it out loud like a song while I work so I don’t forget.

David: You’re humming. It’s a bomb, not a lullaby.

⟨Character 1⟩: It helps me think. You clip cables. I count blinks. Honestly, this is the first time photography has ever been useful to me. I built websites for twenty years. Cameras were just the thing people brought to parties I didn’t go to.

David: Promise me one thing. When it goes off, you don’t miss. And you don’t make a mess. I’ve seen enough mess.

⟨Character 1⟩: I promise. No mess. Just one flash.

The next morning, a public square. Banners, saluting arms, an open-top Mercedes. ⟨Character 1⟩ stands among the press, camera raised.

⟨Character 1⟩: Blink twice, twice, stop. Blink twice, twice, stop. It’s just a flash. Just a press photo. I’ve done worse things. I once launched a website with a typo in the header.

The Mercedes slows. Hitler steps out, flanked by guards. A boy soldier, maybe 12, is thrust forward, a flower trembling in his fist.

⟨Character 1⟩: The kid. There’s a kid. He’s right in front of him.

Hitler bends to accept the flower. The boy beams. ⟨Character 1⟩’s finger rests on the button.

⟨Character 1⟩: Blink twice. Twice. Stop.

The flash goes off. Then the world goes white and black and hot. A shoe tumbles through the smoke. Sirens. Screaming.

⟨Character 1⟩: No mess. Just one flash.

⟨Character 1⟩ pockets the camera and walks into the smoke as the square dissolves into chaos.

Chapter 3: A Lot Like a Software Update

A basement with brick walls, tools on the floor, moldy blankets. Six Jews sit in the dark. ⟨Character 1⟩ feeds a salvaged office printer with stolen paper.

⟨Character 1⟩: Names, birth dates, destinations. One at a time. Don’t invent anything I can’t spell. The printer’s out of toner, so I’m doing the last three by hand. It’s like a software update nobody wants to install.

Lila: Are you a hero? The boy on the radio said a hero killed the monster. Was that you?

⟨Character 1⟩: No. I’m just tired. I’m a man who likes to sleep and eat and build websites, and I haven’t done any of those things in two days. Heroes get rest. I don’t.

David: The paper’s good. The lies are better. We leave tonight. A traveling choir, going to a festival. Smile. Sing. Don’t correct anyone’s German.

A countryside road at night. Mud to the ankles. Patrols slip out of the trees. Ahead, a checkpoint lantern. A bored guard waves them forward.

⟨Character 1⟩: Guten Abend. Wir sind ein Chor. Ein Chor! We sing. Very good singing. Very loud. You want a song? I can sing now. Achtung, I sing now.

the guard: Papers. Move along.

Then a second car stops. An SS officer steps out, sharp-eyed, gloves spotless.

the SS officer: Names. Documents. Destination. Slowly.

David: A choir, Herr Officer. From Dresden. To the festival in Basel. We have papers. Our soloist is shy, so the tall one does the talking.

the SS officer: A choir with no instruments. And mud on polished boots. Curious.

The officer pauses. David lunges and snatches a rifle from the nearest guard.

David: Go! Run! Take the road, not the trees, the road!

A shot. David drops. The group runs. A guard falls. Then the dark swallows the road.

Dawn on the Swiss side. The grass is wet. Lila is asleep against a fence post, the others curled like spoons on the ground.

⟨Character 1⟩: Blink twice, twice, stop. No mess. I promised. I’m sorry.

⟨Character 1⟩ lies down in the grass. His watch alarm is dead. The morning light is soft on his face.