He was at home, listening to the radio, when he heard that the Hindenburg had blown up. It was a surprising story, and even more, the government thought it was intentional. Especially since it had blown itself up all over the Capitol building. America, just getting back in the saddle from after the Depression, was sent reeling. But there was nobody left to declare war.
So he listened, and he listened some more, as America sat on its haunches for two days as the Vice President returned home from a diplomacy trip to Germany, and then he listened as he did the unthinkable. Fourteen years after the end of the Great War, he listened to America declare war on Germany.
It didn't take long for America to invade. The German economy was still reeling from is efforts with WWI, and the President himself (formerly the Vice President) came to Germany to personally survey the lands. And while at the German Capitol building, another explosion took out the new President. There had been no time before the war to reinstate more governmental officers. The bomb killed the last living member of American government. The few remaining shards of the German forces began a military dictatorship for the German president, who had secretly ridden on horseback into the boondocks of France during the American invasion (it had been revealed during an interview with the mayor of the French city, who had had no idea of what was to come).
He then went on a rampage, killing all who spoke out against him. People called him the next Stalin, the next Robespierre, the next Chiang Kai-Shek.
All of which added up his my fear when two strange men showed up at his door with a pistol.
* * * * *
"Can I help you?" he said, with a hint of fear and confusion on his voice. As would be expected when two men show up with a pistol.
"Frederick Hansen the Second?"
"Yeah, that's me. What do you want?"
"Buddy, you got some questions to answer." Damn. I was starting to sound like I belonged here. Maybe that was good... but maybe not.
I stepped inside, inviting myself in. It was obvious who was in control here. His house smelled a little like curry. Someone asian had lived here before. Zap clop-clopped onto the hardwood behind me.
Something in my pocket shifted and moved.
"What the hell?" I exclaimed. That didn't happen often... or ever. I ran into his kitchen, rudely offloading the contents of my pockets onto his table.
There was the gun, the wallet that Zap had "found," the envelope I had gotten from the Society...
I heard a crash behind me, felt it too, as it shook the floor. Fred had fallen on down, sitting on his rump with a surprised look on his face. "That signature," he muttered. "I've seen it before." The signature on the envelope? That was probably what he was talking about. He scuttered back against his fridge. "I keep having this dream, over and over, and I never remember any of it. Except for one thing: that signature, right at the end. There's always that signature. Always." He looked down at his hands, which were shaking, and then up at us, genuinely freaked now. "Who are you people?"
"For now, that's not important." I finally had found the source of the shaking. It was the silver cube. I hadn't paid any attention to it since I'd arrived here in 1932, but now it shook as though possessed. I laid it on the table, and it bounced. Fucking bounced. I saw something strange on it, something that didn't belong. The cube had been solid silver before. What I saw was something black. A shape. Eventually, it landed with the inscription up, and the cube stopped bouncing. It boggled me; I had examined the thing`` for hours on end, and yet, there it was. But I couldn't get a clear look at it, because as soon as the cube stopped, it disappeared.
Then the top opened.
It had a liquid inside, a liquid with a brown hue that I knew all too well. For the first time, seeing it didn't have any affect on me. The first time I had seen it, I was confused and angry. The second time, I had been scared. But now, it was just there. I had been carrying it around in my pocket for three months, and I still didn't care.
There was a creak in his living room, and a gunshot went off. The bullet missed me by inches, and I felt it part my hair down the middle. It smacked into his fridge, which let off a hiss as some sort of mist sprayed out. Some chemical, probably.
This was pissing me off.
I closed the lid of the cube and stuck it back in my pocket. This was not the time. Then I yanked Fred in front of me, and put my pistol up to his head. Your basic human shield.
"Get out here! I'll kill him if you don't!"
The gun's user stepped into the kitchen, out of the relative darkness of the living room and into the brightness of the kitchen. He had dark hair, and he looked like he had been picked up off the streets of Stalingrad.
"I'm going to leave now," I said. "And if you or any of your friends try to stop me, I'll kill them and/or him." By which I of course meant Fred here. "Got that?"
He nodded. Yes. "I am going to reach into my pocket, and retrieve my radio." He spoke with a thick Russian accent. I had guessed right. He pulled out his radio and spoke softly. "hey are coming out now. Do not fire on the tango, or the target will be shot."
I went outside and hailed a taxi. I looked up to the top of the apartment building across the street. I saw a glint near the edge. Sniper scope. Shit, this was bad.
I hailed a taxi, and we all hopped in. By now, I had my gun in my pocket.
"Where to, boys?" Said the taxi driver. My, he was unusually happy for a taxi driver.
"I hear Hell's pretty nice this year, you worthless piece of shit." I had been sitting right behind the driver, and I pulled my Glock and shot him through the seat three times. Quick, quiet, and no blood. By the time I tossed him into a ditch on the side of the road, we were half an hour on our way to the Adirondacks.