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Brave New World

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London, Greater Nazi Reich – England
1962

“Pick up, Peggy! Damn it, pick up!”

Michael Carter barely made it inside the telephone booth in the obscure part of a dark, London street, lucky to find a telephone that wasn’t decommissioned by the Germans.

He hissed in pain and slumped against the cool glass walls of the booth. Gingerly and with shaking hands, Michael pressed the tip of his fingers against his stomach and winced as he pulled them back. He was bleeding through.

He swallowed deep and shivered. He wasn’t going to make it.

But Peggy didn’t answer.

The answering machine kicked in and he heard his little sister’s voice—

In the distance, the sound of furious hunting dogs barked and howled through the streets, followed by the swift running of heavy boots.

Michael paled. The Schutzstaffel were closing in on him.

“Listen, Peggy, old mum, I’ve found it. The reason to everything.”  He doubled over in pain and gasped. Beads of sweat already pooled on his forehead. “Go to the Colonel. He’ll understand what I mean. Remember. The grasshopper lies heavy.”

The line was cut off and Michael let his back lean against the wall. His knees already gave in to the pressure and slid down the glass, leaving trails of his blood to stain the walls of the booth.

“I found it, Peg.” He whispered, half-delusional, half lucid, half dreaming of a free world. “We can change the world.” He coughed up, crimson already staining his lips but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“We can fight them now. And they’re scared, Peggy, old mum.”

A beam of flashlight was shot at his head and Michael barely lolled his head to the side to see the troop of Germans running towards him. There was a string of loud shouting, angry German curses and the dogs rounded up on him, clawing their way through the glass.

Michael fumbled with his fingers inside his jacket just as the Germans pulled the dogs aside.

Locking his jaw, the soldiers pulled on the door of the booth wide open, baton and Luger in hand.

“Hands up, scum.” Said one of the soldiers in heavily accented English.

Withdrawing his hand from his jacket, Michael watched their faces shift from a steely confidence to a look of horror as a metal pin dropped from his fingers.

Stirb, arschloch.”

The grenade tumbled from his hands and Michael Carter ceased to be.