The spa sparkled under Stuttgart's star, and the scent of brine wafted in through open windows, left open because the air was so full of salty moisture that it acted as a disinfectant. Of all the places to place a small hospital, Baden Baden's salty southern sea could have been any surgeon's dream.
William Graf sat in the empty waiting room of Clinic Nine, waiting for his call. The door swayed in the breeze, and the empty room, with its mauve walls and floral prints grated on his nerves. He'd likely have to wait a long time until his turn in the back, and he'd thumbed through a pair of magazines already. Printed on heavy glossies on the counter were clinic advertisements: Promises of wonderful things, procedures for a younger life, a healthier heart. A new face, a new body...a sharper mind. They had cured things, here, that baffled modern medicine, at prices that may give pause to even the chancellor himself.
It wasn't for any major ailment that Graf was waiting for, though he'd come to do major surgery. Though his heart wasn't what it once was, and his eyes had begun to go, he told himself he'd had a good run. No, a great run. He'd done good work, and could imagine himself looking his father in the eyes in the afterlife. For that matter, he was proud of himself. He'd done well for his children, at least. Was doing good in the name of Rhienland, even if now, he was only waiting.
He was relieved when his phone buzzed...he'd never been a patient man. He was, quite clearly, bored.
He checked the time before switching it on.
"Graf."
"Sir, they're ready for you now."
"Right, thank you. I'll be right back."
Quite a medical miracle, the rejuvenation Graf felt. He could run, and his lungs wouldn't burn. He wouldn't hack, and his knees wouldn't ache. He was, in everything except for mind and face, bones and blood, a new man.
Of course, there were bodies. Bodies missing hearts, lungs, eyes, bodies missing marrow, or kidneys. On New Berlin, along a back alley, a package was delivered, wrapped in paper and dripping blood, to a neighborhood butcher. It would be three days before it was sold as lamb, and another week before an excited housewife unwrapped it, surrounded by spices and jellies, to reveal a human thigh. And six hours more before her son, a paramedic, would jump back in terror from his meal. Seventeen minutes later, the police were informed.
Oberst Alison Falke pushed herself through the police tape that surrounded the small bungalow. Despite the fact that it was still light outside, the house was alive with varying colours emanating from the small windows on the front of the building. Falke guessed that three people lived there, all classed as adults. If there was a child, then the front garden would be littered with pedal bikes, action figures and other miscellaneous toys from all corners of New Berlin. Played with once, and forgotten.
She was annoyed that the Inspekteur had sent her to take care of this. Surely any half-brained Detectiv could do a better job than her. She was a pilot, the flight instructor, and she was very busy. She'd already had to cut back on several other jobs to attend to her normal schedule. This case was a disaster to her. But Inspekteur Putzkanner had insisted that the public see that the Polizei were taking the incident very seriously. But the Inspekteur could have gotten off his fat ass and done it himself if it was that important, Falke thought bitterly. She had survived Viktor Heinz, she had survived Gabriel Nibelung, and she would survive Otto Putzkanner.
A Wachmann watched her approach with impatient eyes, due to two factors. First, Oberst was taking her sweet time walking over to him. Second, the crowds of people gathering at the fringes were growing louder and gaining more ground. Like fighting a war that you could never win. There were too many of them.
Oberst Falke raised her right hand mid-stride, and the Wachmann returned the gesture by grabbing her hand and shaking it. They introduced themselves, and moved on.
'I'm here to speak with the family.' Falke said, making sure that her voice showed no emotion. Emotion clouded judgement, and the public seeing emotion in the heart of Polizei officers would be a disaster. The Wachmann, who had identified himself as Wachmann Keller, nodded.
'Right away Herr Falke. We have been expecting you.' He began his casual walk toward the entrance of the bungalow, and Falke followed. If anything, the Wachmann was actually slowing her down.
After a painfully slow twenty seconds they arrived at the door. It was open. Keller pushed on the door and the kinetic energy moved the door enough for them to move through. Keller moved into the house, and Falke quickly followed, desperate to get back to some real work.
[17:45:39] Wolfs Ghost (Murphy): Tom, you have problems. Go kill yourself.
[19:25:12] Johnny (Jam): Tomtom, I will beat you with a spoon.
[14:22:56] Prarabdh Thakur: KILL HIM WITH A SHEEP.
[17:40:48] Eagle (Junes): Tom should be slapped with a spoon.
[11:32:18] Warspite: Thank you for being so awesome Tom. <3
[18:17:36] Metano: I love you tomtom
[20:06:24] Warspite: I will seriously give you epic head.
' Wrote:Edit: also, Tomtomrawr, fappin' like a boss.
'How could I...' The woman stammered pitifully, before resuming her flooding of the house with tears.
'Ma'am,' Oberst Falke muttered through gritted teeth. It had been the same for ten minutes. The woman said a few words, stammered, and then burst into tears. 'We really need your cooperation in this. The sooner you can answer our questions, the sooner we can find who sold you the thigh.' The woman nodded, as if it were a natural response to being given a demand, and then tried again.
'We get our mea...' She stammered again. Falke sighed as she stared into the eyes of the housewife, trying to will her into completing her sentence. But alas, she once again burst into a fit of tears.
'Ah, forget it.' Falke was not a patient woman, and so she stood up and headed for the son, who was sitting in one of the chairs, trying to resist having a towel wrapped around him. It was supposed to calm him down, but it was actually making him more stressed. She could see it itching on the places where the Kadett managed to wrap it around him, before he forced it off.
'Leave it, Kadett.' Falke called as she approached. The Kadett snapped a textbook perfect salute, and marched away.
'Danke.' The man said. 'Ze tovel vas extremely itchy. And vy vould I need vone anyvay? I have not been swimming.' Falke had heard the joke tens of times before, but she still chuckled as if it were her first.
'You are a paramedic, is that correct, Herr...'
'Herr Godfrey. Ja, I am a paramedic. I have been for two years now.' Falke nodded, as if she were actually interested in hearing his life story. Before he could continue, she butted in with another question.
'Do you know where your mother normally buys meat for the family?'
'Ja,' he replied quickly, obviously expecting the question. 'She normally buys it from a small butcher a few streets away. Segur Butcher. A shame he couldn't vink of a better name apart from his last name.' He smiled at Falke, who did not return the gesture.
'Thank you for your time, Herr Godfrey.' She turned around sharply before he could ask any questions of his own, and walked out of the door. She could faintly heard the woman crying again, and she asked herself why she hadn't started with the paramedic.
[17:45:39] Wolfs Ghost (Murphy): Tom, you have problems. Go kill yourself.
[19:25:12] Johnny (Jam): Tomtom, I will beat you with a spoon.
[14:22:56] Prarabdh Thakur: KILL HIM WITH A SHEEP.
[17:40:48] Eagle (Junes): Tom should be slapped with a spoon.
[11:32:18] Warspite: Thank you for being so awesome Tom. <3
[18:17:36] Metano: I love you tomtom
[20:06:24] Warspite: I will seriously give you epic head.
' Wrote:Edit: also, Tomtomrawr, fappin' like a boss.
Wachmann Hrafn Olavsson had recently returned to Planet New Berlin from Planet Hamburg after having his Phantom repaired after an incident with the Red Hessian Army. He sat down on the chair in his office at the Rheinland Federal Polziei Headquarters. His office was boring, only a chair and a desk with a computer on it, lacking anything of decoration. He had a family picture though. The friendly faces made him forget about the job for a minute. He snapped out of it. He had to focus on his work. The shift was just getting started.
Booting up his computer, he logged into the secure polizei neural net. He had recieved an update on a recent case. He scrammed through it.
"Mein gott. A human thigh sold at a butcher shop?!"
Olavsson got sick just thinking of it. What horrible person would do such a thing? He began thinking of the family who had unwrapped the horrible sight. Olavsson was upset.
"Segur Butcher... There is something familiar in that name..."
Olavsson began to reflect on his past. Seeking any thoughts that would resemble the butcher shop. He gasped. He remember visiting that shop six years ago. He was on an errand from his mother. Olavsson grew a small passion for the case. He remembered the butcher being a good man, honest about his work and delivering quality meat to the people. He couldn't think of any reason for him to deal with human body parts, it was too unreal. Olavsson knew he was only a mere wachmann, but if his interest in the case would help out Oberst Falke he would by all means do so. He began writing a message to Oberst Falke.
"Olavsson! We need you to lookout for embargo breakers at the liberty borders again in Hamburg!" An officer yelled from the hallway.
"Jawohl! I'll be there in 5, sir!"
Olavsson finished the message, sent it and shut down his computer. He walked out the office. Determined to return alive and to hopefully assist Oberst Falke on the case. He headed out to the docking stations...
Oberst Falke sternly walked into Segur Butcher, back straight. The heating had been pumped up to the maximum to fight the chill from outside. The bulky man behind the counter immediately recognised her as a cop, wiping a sweat-covered hand over a sweat-covered forehead before clearing his throat and speaking.
'Welcome to Segur's Butcher officer, how are you today?' The small business owners were always inclined towards helping the Polizei, as the rewards for doing so were worthwhile. Such rewards as not getting shut down. Falke wasted no time returning the pleasentries, instead producing a picture of the man who had bought the human thigh.
'Ten days ago, your shop sold lamb to this individual. Do you recognise him?' She could see the flickering of his eyes, almost as if he were reading a book in the back of his head, before he nodded.
'Ja, I remember him. But why would the Polizei need to investigate the purchasing of a lamb?' He seemed optimistic, runninig through a list of possibilities before arriving with an answer. 'It wasn't lamb, was it?'
'Nein, it was a human thigh.' She gauged his reaction carefully, confirming that he was not acting. But he seemed honestly shocked by the news, so she continued. 'Who delivered you that particular item, Herr Segur?' He once again turned to the book behind his eyes, taking twice as long as before, before finally shaking his head in aggrivation.
'I am sorry, but I receive so many deliveries from so many different locations, and I never keep track of them. It would be impossible to track the human thigh down this way.' She stared deep into his eyes, trying to read the book behind his eyes, but could only see the honest concern of a butcher who may lose customers.
'Thank you, Herr Segur. Have a nice day.' She turned as sharply as in a marching exercise, and walked away. She needed more evidence, she thought to herself. She needed a brainwave. As she stooped to move into the awaiting seat in the car, she heard the familiar beeping of her neural net receiving unit. She finished moving into the car, and removed the unit from her pocket, reading half of the message before the writing was even the right way up.
Segur is an honest worker. I know him from old errand. Honest man providing quality meat. Doubtfully behind this.
- Wachmann Olavsoon.
The message matched her conclusion: an honest man tricked into selling the wrong sort of meat. She sighed, and started to look through the images of the thigh that had caused all of the trouble. Her eyes widened as positive matches came back on DNA samples taken from the thigh. Heinrich Schenck. An address followed the results. She grinned, and tapped the driver on the shoulder.
'We have a new destination.'
[17:45:39] Wolfs Ghost (Murphy): Tom, you have problems. Go kill yourself.
[19:25:12] Johnny (Jam): Tomtom, I will beat you with a spoon.
[14:22:56] Prarabdh Thakur: KILL HIM WITH A SHEEP.
[17:40:48] Eagle (Junes): Tom should be slapped with a spoon.
[11:32:18] Warspite: Thank you for being so awesome Tom. <3
[18:17:36] Metano: I love you tomtom
[20:06:24] Warspite: I will seriously give you epic head.
' Wrote:Edit: also, Tomtomrawr, fappin' like a boss.
