*Takes place in the farm house after BJ escapes Roswell.*

I fumbled around, looking for what I wanted to give to Anya. I opened the drawer in mom's old bedroom. Yep. Right where we left it. I can't believe dad...no. Rip hadn't found it after all these years. This was to be the perfect thing to give to Anya. Maybe before my body gives out on me entirely, I can see my twin babies. That will be my dying wish. My happy thoughts were interrupted by the smell of tobacco. He's here too, huh.

"Place has gone to shit," I said, not even turning around.

Rip puffed a cigar as he patted his shotgun and said in a soft voice, "I ain't been down here in narry a decade. I own a two thousand acre ranch up by Forney Lake now. I heard on the radio you'd been sighted near Roswell. I figured you might show up here."

I placed a hand on the door to the closet. The closet where I watched him beat mom and toss my dog out the door. "Nothing in this house but bad memories."

"So why'd you come?" There it was. The more familiar harsh tone. "Need a place to hide? You need money? Well, you're barking up the wrong tree, son. Far too late to come begging now."

I closed the closet door and got a good look at the old man's face. It took everything in me to not smile at the scar on his face. The scar I gave him when I smashed a vase into his face when I was a kid. "Ain't nothing you can offer to make up for what you done to us. I think of my father, I see a... 'fuck you' and a fist flying at my face."

"When'd you ever do right by me?" Rip said, his volume raising. "Disobedient. Ungrateful. Sense like a flat tyre and a mouth like a sewer. Oh, I saw where you was headed. I've been down that hole myself. And I gauran-god-damned-tee you I did all in my might to pull you out. What more do you want from me?"

Disobedient? For what? For not shooting my dog like you ordered to? Ungrateful? For what? For liking a black girl? Sense like a flat tyre? For what? Not being like you? And as for what more do I want from you... "I wanted you to treat me like I mattered," I said. "Like I wasn't some...piece of dog shit got stuck on your shoe."

Rip narrowed his eyes at me, his grip on the shotgun's barrel tightening. "I did my damndest with you. The truth is you were broke beyond fixing." In other words, I didn't become you: a racist, misogynistic, con-artist. "What are you some sort of super killer terror bomber now? You on the wrong side, buddy. All 'em years...I was banging my head in to the wall. Coming to see that everyone was against me. And when the Nazis took over, things got a lot better. You play by their rules you can do very well for yourself."

At this point, I'm not surprised. While most of America lived in fear of the Nazis, I've seen more than enough that others like him simply jumped in bed with the winning team.

"Ask anyone around these parts..." he continued, his voice raising in volume again. "Blazkowicz is a name of renown and respect. Everything you touch turns to shit and I do not need your stink onmy name." His voice broke for a second there. "Wanted murderer. Run off to the army as soon as you come of age. You broke your mother's heart."

I wanted to ask him, but I was hesitant, thinking of all the horrible things he could say about her. "Where is she?" I finally asked.

"She's gone." I blinked, surprised to hear such a short response. But there was no tone of remorse in his voice. "When?" I asked, turning to face him once more. "What happened?"

"Well, what happened was, we had a big goddamned war. And now, we got a new government with new rules. They took her. She gone. And what's that queer outfit you're wearing?"

Took her? I narrowed my eyes at him. "What do you mean, they took her?"

"They rounded up all the Jews and the coloreds and the queers." He said it like he was explaining it to a stupid kid. "This is a white man's world now. White man's gotta keep it Christian."

I wasn't surprised he turned her over to the Gestapo. And he probably had help in exposing all the minorities and gays in the neighborhood, too. And yet, all I could see was red. I pointed at him and said in a hiss, "You sold her out."

"So what? Wife made a living bemoaning me...and raised a boy into a murderer. Well...I always saw you for what you are. Ten pounds of shit in a five pound bag." Finally, he snubbed out the cigar and pointed the shotgun at my forehead. "On your knees."

I didn't flinch. I didn't even back away. "Daddy, I'm your son," I pleaded, hoping to find even one bit of humanity in this monster.

"Down on your fucking knees."

No. Nothing. Nothing at all. I said, my emotion not changing, "Was a time I was scared of you. Was a time I'd pissed myself having a gun pointed at my head. You want to know what I feel right now?" He cocked the gun's hammer. "Not a goddamned thing." And I punched the gun away from my head just as he blasted it and I punched him again in the stomach.

Before the evil man could reload the gun, I swung my axe at his arm, hacking it off entirely. Then I jumped onto him and brought it down into his chest. That's when I noticed the phone that was off the line next to him. I grabbed him by the throat. "Who'd you call," I demanded.

"They heard...everything..."

I shook him and brought the axe inches at his neck. "Who in the hell did you call?!" Bastard died right there and then. But I knew what the answer was. There was no place to hide and no time to run. Frau Engel found me. "She's here."