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Title: Black Edelweiss
Series: Zeitgeist
Follows: One Giant Leap
Wordcount: 1,639
Summary: Two weeks after Claire Bennet's televised leap from the Ferris wheel, the 12th handles it's first case delving into the strange world of specials. Evidence points the investigation toward a former Company Agent, a man Noah Bennet would swear up and down doesn't exist.
Details: Minimal details due to inflation. Full details in main post.
Warnings: While it's mentioned in the main post, I wanted to highlight the fact that this (optional) chapter contains some disturbing imagery and gore.
PREV: Chapter Five // MAIN // NEXT: Interlude 4
Konrad—Konzentrationslager Auschwitz-Birkenau, Poland; December 1944
They had generously administered twice the normal dosage when the procedure first began. Anesthesia wasn't a courtesy the doctor afforded to most of his patients. Konrad, however, wasn't a Jew but a fellow German and therefore deserving of more respect. Of course, whatever respect Konrad was due it didn't extend far enough that he was given a choice. And it certainly hadn't moved the doctor to stop once it became obvious the morphine had worn off.
They had finally gagged him two minutes later.
It had happened on the road coming back from Oswiecim. He had been with a detachment of other soldiers escorting a truck full of supplies back from the town. They had been stopped by the sight of a car halted on the road ahead. Konrad, Fritz and Sturmmann Schneider had been sent up to investigate. They had left it to Konrad to question the driver, since he had the best grasp of Polish. Drawing up close to the vehicle, Konrad had seen right away that the man was crying. He never had the chance to find out why, however. As soon as the man noticed him he had lifted his hand from his lap. Konrad barely had time to register the pistol aimed at him before he found himself on his back.
The pain had been intense. Panic—the desperate terror as he struggled to draw breath, tasting copper as he choked on his own blood—had only sped his pulse. And each pump, each strong spurt of blood rushing hot across his chest left him a little colder. The grey sky threatening snow above had been the only view available to him, and he had heard two shots before he saw Fritz and Schneider crowding in on him. The edges of his vision had already started to go black, by then. Schneider's hand had felt very warm against his skin as he tried to keep pressure on the wound. Fritz, strangely, hadn't looked very startled by what was happening. At most, he had merely seemed disappointed.
And then Konrad had felt a tickle in his throat.
He had managed to take a breath, coughing on his own blood for a while before managed to take another. Within a few seconds, the pain had disappeared, and Konrad was left blinking up at his two comrades, their eyes staring, wide with surprise. Schneider had lifted his hand away and backed off very quickly. Fritz had stayed close looking him over with an odd smile before helping him to sit. Konrad, shaken could only stare at him for a few seconds before his stomach clenched, turning just in time to avoid vomiting in his own lap. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand he had gotten his first look at the state of his coat, the grey fabric stained a dark, vivid red. His eyes had been drawn behind him, to the blood still pooled in the damp earth of the road, rich brown mud dyed the color of rust. For several moments he could only stare at it mutely, limbs trembling.
"I don't... How, Fritz?" he had finally managed, the words bringing up the iron taste of blood still clinging to the back of his throat. "How?"
And Fritz had clapped a hand on his shoulder, grinning fiercely.
"Breathe, Brüderlein. You're going to be fine," Fritz had reassured him, eyes full of wonder. "It's all going to be fine."
Only it hadn't been fine.
Konrad had endured the drive back to camp in silence, his uniform stiff, painted front and back with dried blood. The others had stared at him the entire time, confused and almost fearful, like they didn't know what he was. Only Fritz had bothered to look him in the eye, answering his uncertainty with an encouraging smile. When they reached the camp, none of them were sure just what had happened on the road. Though, with Konrad looking as he did, they were forced to try and explain themselves. The rest of the day had been spent repeating the story to superiors, who had dissected every part of it that they could. All five of the other men with him had seen Konrad shot. Schneider maintained his story of having watched him bleed out, and Fritz had corroborated it as simply as he could.
And, of course, there was the unmistakable and alarming fact that not only was Konrad alive, but the scar he had worn with pride for more than three years had inexplicably vanished. It was one of the officers who had thought to cut the flesh of his palm, hoping to witness the bizarre miracle for himself. Konrad had stared, as disturbed as any of the rest to watch the lips of the wound seal over before his eyes. For a few moments he could only stare at that hand, like it was some foreign thing that didn't belong to him.
They had been forced to accept his story after that, and he and the others were dismissed. He had headed to the barracks showers almost immediately, aware of each eye that followed him as he went. He had stripped down and showered hastily, not waiting on warm water despite the chill of the season. He remained under the water, shivering, long after he had scrubbed himself clean, trying to forget the feel of his spilled lifeblood, tacky against his skin.
They had caught him as he was leaving. The doctor, it appeared, had laid claim on him. A valuable anomaly, he had termed it. Still buried beneath a numb shock, Konrad hadn't had the strength to resist them.
He had been reassigned to the Birkenau facility. His first days there had passed easily enough, despite the sick confusion that had still churned in his stomach whenever he thought about his condition. He had been instructed to cooperate, and Konrad had done his best to endure the scientists' curiosity quietly as they cataloged the changes in him. His scar and the restoration of his lost teeth had been noticed easily enough, but he was also missing his Blutgruppentätowierung—
Over the course of a week, however, the tests had swiftly intensified.
Careful at first as they drew their samples, care had become less important as flesh and blood both replenished themselves quickly. Secure in the knowledge that his wounds would heal, they had tried to observe how they healed from different sorts of damage, and so Konrad had reluctantly submitted to having portions of his flesh cut, and punctured, and seared. They had wanted to see how he would respond to the cold, and so he had lain shivering in icy water for over two hours before his mind had succumbed to the lethargy of the cold, and to all appearances frozen to death. Twice. His return from the brink of death—or beyond it—had emboldened them further...
Which had led him to this.
An opportunity, the doctor had said, one which could not be dismissed. A unique chance to explore the body amidst its function—finally, in a subject who would not become overtaxed by the stresses of observation. The proposal had left him chilled more deeply than the ice ever could. Konrad had heard the rumors, after all—whispers about the things the scientists did with their prisoners out here. Keeping company with Fritz and his rabid interest, it had been impossible to ignore them, though Konrad had never let himself decide whether or not he believed it. Part of him simply hadn't wanted to. Faced with it then, with the naked reality of it more than its immediate threat to him, Konrad had finally refused.
For all the good it had done him.
Three hours in, the sensation of cold metal inside him was still alien and terrifying, though the feel of his flesh trying to close itself around the retractor was slowly becoming an irritation he might endure. It was the other things they were doing that hurt. Pain flared again—not as intense as when they had first broken him open, but enough to draw a soft, high sound out of him despite the leather strap wadded between his teeth. From the beginning he had tried desperately not to watch, not to see what they were doing to him, though he had failed at that several times already. They had removed whole organs, sometimes still attached and functioning to examine them. His heart had still been beating when he had seen them take it away in a beaker. He must have grown a new one since, because he could feel it hammering wildly in his chest.
And the question in his mind had long ago changed from "How am I alive?" to "Why won't I die?"
It was strange, in that moment—tied to a table and suffering an inhuman violation of his flesh—that Konrad's mind wandered to Ruth. Or perhaps not all that strange if he thought about it. Even amidst his own pain her eyes bore into his, shining with the haunting mystery of that strange fire, the unmarred piece of her that no one could touch. And as he thought of her, it all seemed to fall away: the exam room, the doctors, the blood and the pain. While he was aware of what was going on around him, it was almost like he was somewhere else, as well. Anywhere else—everywhere he could remember that wasn't there.
And, while Mengele and his cohorts continued tinkering with his insides, Konrad was far from Poland, hidden away in a memory: the cluttered but familiar confines of the watch shop in Dresden, where he could watch his father fix broken things...
PREV: Chapter Five // MAIN // NEXT: Interlude 4
Translations:
"Brüderlein" - "little brother"
Series: Zeitgeist
Follows: One Giant Leap
Wordcount: 1,639
Summary: Two weeks after Claire Bennet's televised leap from the Ferris wheel, the 12th handles it's first case delving into the strange world of specials. Evidence points the investigation toward a former Company Agent, a man Noah Bennet would swear up and down doesn't exist.
Details: Minimal details due to inflation. Full details in main post.
Warnings: While it's mentioned in the main post, I wanted to highlight the fact that this (optional) chapter contains some disturbing imagery and gore.
PREV: Chapter Five // MAIN // NEXT: Interlude 4
Konrad—Konzentrationslager Auschwitz-Birkenau, Poland; December 1944
They had generously administered twice the normal dosage when the procedure first began. Anesthesia wasn't a courtesy the doctor afforded to most of his patients. Konrad, however, wasn't a Jew but a fellow German and therefore deserving of more respect. Of course, whatever respect Konrad was due it didn't extend far enough that he was given a choice. And it certainly hadn't moved the doctor to stop once it became obvious the morphine had worn off.
They had finally gagged him two minutes later.
It had happened on the road coming back from Oswiecim. He had been with a detachment of other soldiers escorting a truck full of supplies back from the town. They had been stopped by the sight of a car halted on the road ahead. Konrad, Fritz and Sturmmann Schneider had been sent up to investigate. They had left it to Konrad to question the driver, since he had the best grasp of Polish. Drawing up close to the vehicle, Konrad had seen right away that the man was crying. He never had the chance to find out why, however. As soon as the man noticed him he had lifted his hand from his lap. Konrad barely had time to register the pistol aimed at him before he found himself on his back.
The pain had been intense. Panic—the desperate terror as he struggled to draw breath, tasting copper as he choked on his own blood—had only sped his pulse. And each pump, each strong spurt of blood rushing hot across his chest left him a little colder. The grey sky threatening snow above had been the only view available to him, and he had heard two shots before he saw Fritz and Schneider crowding in on him. The edges of his vision had already started to go black, by then. Schneider's hand had felt very warm against his skin as he tried to keep pressure on the wound. Fritz, strangely, hadn't looked very startled by what was happening. At most, he had merely seemed disappointed.
And then Konrad had felt a tickle in his throat.
He had managed to take a breath, coughing on his own blood for a while before managed to take another. Within a few seconds, the pain had disappeared, and Konrad was left blinking up at his two comrades, their eyes staring, wide with surprise. Schneider had lifted his hand away and backed off very quickly. Fritz had stayed close looking him over with an odd smile before helping him to sit. Konrad, shaken could only stare at him for a few seconds before his stomach clenched, turning just in time to avoid vomiting in his own lap. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand he had gotten his first look at the state of his coat, the grey fabric stained a dark, vivid red. His eyes had been drawn behind him, to the blood still pooled in the damp earth of the road, rich brown mud dyed the color of rust. For several moments he could only stare at it mutely, limbs trembling.
"I don't... How, Fritz?" he had finally managed, the words bringing up the iron taste of blood still clinging to the back of his throat. "How?"
And Fritz had clapped a hand on his shoulder, grinning fiercely.
"Breathe, Brüderlein. You're going to be fine," Fritz had reassured him, eyes full of wonder. "It's all going to be fine."
Only it hadn't been fine.
Konrad had endured the drive back to camp in silence, his uniform stiff, painted front and back with dried blood. The others had stared at him the entire time, confused and almost fearful, like they didn't know what he was. Only Fritz had bothered to look him in the eye, answering his uncertainty with an encouraging smile. When they reached the camp, none of them were sure just what had happened on the road. Though, with Konrad looking as he did, they were forced to try and explain themselves. The rest of the day had been spent repeating the story to superiors, who had dissected every part of it that they could. All five of the other men with him had seen Konrad shot. Schneider maintained his story of having watched him bleed out, and Fritz had corroborated it as simply as he could.
And, of course, there was the unmistakable and alarming fact that not only was Konrad alive, but the scar he had worn with pride for more than three years had inexplicably vanished. It was one of the officers who had thought to cut the flesh of his palm, hoping to witness the bizarre miracle for himself. Konrad had stared, as disturbed as any of the rest to watch the lips of the wound seal over before his eyes. For a few moments he could only stare at that hand, like it was some foreign thing that didn't belong to him.
They had been forced to accept his story after that, and he and the others were dismissed. He had headed to the barracks showers almost immediately, aware of each eye that followed him as he went. He had stripped down and showered hastily, not waiting on warm water despite the chill of the season. He remained under the water, shivering, long after he had scrubbed himself clean, trying to forget the feel of his spilled lifeblood, tacky against his skin.
They had caught him as he was leaving. The doctor, it appeared, had laid claim on him. A valuable anomaly, he had termed it. Still buried beneath a numb shock, Konrad hadn't had the strength to resist them.
He had been reassigned to the Birkenau facility. His first days there had passed easily enough, despite the sick confusion that had still churned in his stomach whenever he thought about his condition. He had been instructed to cooperate, and Konrad had done his best to endure the scientists' curiosity quietly as they cataloged the changes in him. His scar and the restoration of his lost teeth had been noticed easily enough, but he was also missing his Blutgruppentätowierung—
Over the course of a week, however, the tests had swiftly intensified.
Careful at first as they drew their samples, care had become less important as flesh and blood both replenished themselves quickly. Secure in the knowledge that his wounds would heal, they had tried to observe how they healed from different sorts of damage, and so Konrad had reluctantly submitted to having portions of his flesh cut, and punctured, and seared. They had wanted to see how he would respond to the cold, and so he had lain shivering in icy water for over two hours before his mind had succumbed to the lethargy of the cold, and to all appearances frozen to death. Twice. His return from the brink of death—or beyond it—had emboldened them further...
Which had led him to this.
An opportunity, the doctor had said, one which could not be dismissed. A unique chance to explore the body amidst its function—finally, in a subject who would not become overtaxed by the stresses of observation. The proposal had left him chilled more deeply than the ice ever could. Konrad had heard the rumors, after all—whispers about the things the scientists did with their prisoners out here. Keeping company with Fritz and his rabid interest, it had been impossible to ignore them, though Konrad had never let himself decide whether or not he believed it. Part of him simply hadn't wanted to. Faced with it then, with the naked reality of it more than its immediate threat to him, Konrad had finally refused.
For all the good it had done him.
Three hours in, the sensation of cold metal inside him was still alien and terrifying, though the feel of his flesh trying to close itself around the retractor was slowly becoming an irritation he might endure. It was the other things they were doing that hurt. Pain flared again—not as intense as when they had first broken him open, but enough to draw a soft, high sound out of him despite the leather strap wadded between his teeth. From the beginning he had tried desperately not to watch, not to see what they were doing to him, though he had failed at that several times already. They had removed whole organs, sometimes still attached and functioning to examine them. His heart had still been beating when he had seen them take it away in a beaker. He must have grown a new one since, because he could feel it hammering wildly in his chest.
And the question in his mind had long ago changed from "How am I alive?" to "Why won't I die?"
It was strange, in that moment—tied to a table and suffering an inhuman violation of his flesh—that Konrad's mind wandered to Ruth. Or perhaps not all that strange if he thought about it. Even amidst his own pain her eyes bore into his, shining with the haunting mystery of that strange fire, the unmarred piece of her that no one could touch. And as he thought of her, it all seemed to fall away: the exam room, the doctors, the blood and the pain. While he was aware of what was going on around him, it was almost like he was somewhere else, as well. Anywhere else—everywhere he could remember that wasn't there.
And, while Mengele and his cohorts continued tinkering with his insides, Konrad was far from Poland, hidden away in a memory: the cluttered but familiar confines of the watch shop in Dresden, where he could watch his father fix broken things...
PREV: Chapter Five // MAIN // NEXT: Interlude 4
Translations:
"Brüderlein" - "little brother"
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: Sunday, 6 November 2011 11:02 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: Sunday, 6 November 2011 11:05 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: Sunday, 6 November 2011 11:20 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: Sunday, 29 January 2012 10:55 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: Sunday, 29 January 2012 11:06 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: Saturday, 14 July 2012 02:56 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: Saturday, 14 July 2012 06:26 pm (UTC)From:And they clearly knew about the healing properties of his blood in season 2, so given the dangerous nature of bagging-and-tagging, I imagine they utilized it quite often...