Berlin, Reichstag.
The Fuhrer, who had once lived in a bunker, could finally move into a luxurious bedroom in the open.
Those bombers that buzzed around Berlin every day would no longer disturb his sleep or add to the fear in his heart.
"Siegfried, you are the hero of the Third Reich, the most perfect Aryan, and my most loyal guard."
The Fuhrer woke from the soft bed, donned his robe, and opened the door.
Though gentle, lovely Eva was no longer by his side, Siegfried standing outside the door gave him an exceptional sense of security.
He no longer had to worry about threats to his life, nor fear that the Allied Nations would breach Berlin and drag him to the square to hang him.
The Fuhrer of the Third Reich had finally enjoyed a good night's sleep.
Yet only a dozen or so hours earlier, in order to test just how powerful the Aryan Superman was, he had personally ordered Siegfried to kill tens of thousands of captured Soviet soldiers.
The soldiers vaporized by the annihilation beams, their severed limbs, their wails, their cries, their blood and mangled remains... none of it stirred the Fuhrer in the slightest.
As an untalented, mediocre painter rejected by art school, he even felt that it was the most beautiful color in the world.
"Has Saint General not arrived yet?"
The Fuhrer pressed the service bell, and before long, a chef brought in the prepared meal.
He expertly picked up his knife and fork and began cutting the veal steak on his plate.
Though the cuisine of the Third Reich consisted of pork knuckles, sausages, and all kinds of bread, he personally appreciated French cooking more.
"Their study of food is as practiced and proficient as their surrendering with white flags."
That