I knew that Kroenen had been obsessed with purifying his soul, so much so in fact that he destroyed his own body, which he considered to be sinful. I decided to take that a step further with having him wash himself while doing so. Believe it or not, I feel a little pity for Kroenen. He's lonely, unhappy with himself, and oftentimes manipulated by Rasputin and Ilsa. The angel wing carvings on Kroenen's back in this fic aren't canon. I simply added them in because we've never seen his back, and I consider him to be a fallen angel of sorts.

Filthy. That was how I felt. It wasn't caused by the fact that Ilsa was currently squawking insults at me like a crow as we strode briskly down the hall in frustration at not wrenching more precious information out of our captive. I was already deciding that the next day I would formally introduce my blades to the prisoner's skin, and then see how long he would keep his little secrets. Already the thought was making anticipation noose me. That very same excitement was tuning out my partner's utterances. The newer SS officers that were staring at me as I swept by were not a factor either, for I could make a mockery of their gawking, as well as their dignity, by simply turning my head in their direction. No, it was not because of any of them. It was because my body needed, no, yearned for its innocence to be returned, its deformed, lacking vestige crying out for decency once more. I had ignored its cries by allowing my work to run late. I was a rather poor caretaker of myself, how shameful.

"WELL?!" Ilsa's snap brought me back into the present.

I let out an exaggerated sigh of annoyance. "What rather useless tidbit of information in your utterly pointless life must I provide a commentary for this time, Ilsa?"

She gritted her teeth, which consisted of two rows of ruined pearls, having been stained by tobacco, between two rosy red arches. Her fingers gripped her hips tightly, their bright ruby nails contrasting her alabaster skin. Her legs were splayed out beneath her, perfectly forming the arc of an A. She looked like a slightly flawed version of a girl's doll. "I was asking whether or not you were going to get your rear end in gear, Kroenen! It was your fault that the interrogation did not go well!"

I let out a laugh, stepping forward to pin her to the corner she was standing before, the two converging corridors now empty around us, most likely because their inhabitants had been frightened off by her banshee-like squeal. She neither budged, nor did a bead of sweat trickle down her cheek, much unlike the prisoner, whose face had resembled a waterfall. "My fault? I am sorry if I am mistaken in what I will say, but I recall that it was you who ordered me to not use force, much to my disdain. If I had, we would easily have had the information out of him. Furthermore, there is the fact that you had no idea what to ask him about, for you have no knowledge of this lore," I replied icily.

"We would have done better if you had not been lounging about in the darkness like a looming specter. And I will have you know that I would have demonstrated my knowledge if you hadn't broken in every time I spoke to correct me!" She retorted in a growl, poking my chest with her index finger.

I grabbed onto it, and pulled it over her head, stretching the tendons that connected her arm to her shoulder. She in turn planted the heel of her boot in my abdomen, and began to try to shove me away from her with it, barking at me to let her go. I chuckled at her fruitless attempt for a while until finally releasing her, for I still had a personal mission to complete. "Tomorrow, you and I will be hearing from him," I declared with finality.

Ilsa ignored it. "I would rather wait for him to speak by different means. The last detainee I trusted you with ended up with three slash marks across his face."

I shrugged. "I did not like the looks he was giving me."

"Be that as it may, it took us three weeks to properly stabilize him enough in order to extract what we needed, and we had to recover that from a haze of drugged dreams," she replied dryly.

"Thank you for the kind lecture, Miss von Haupstein. I will be sure to do exceptionally well on the upcoming exam," I muttered sardonically, sidestepping her to continue down the hallway.

The heels of her boots clacked after me in an angered beat. She wasn't quite finished with me yet. As I paused to open the door to my living quarters, she mockingly stated, "You know, I am surprised that you have not been arrested for your anti-social behavior like the rest of them. You must have felt quite at home in Auschwitz."

Had she been a regular woman, I would have run her through that very next moment. However, this was the most trusted servant (and lustful companion, in my opinion) of Rasputin. So instead, I simply turned to look at her, and replied, "Ilsa, would you mind bathing yourself every now and again? You reek of inadequacy." At that, I stepped over the threshold, and shut the door on her, clicking the lock into place immediately. I felt amusement build up in me as I heard her began to pound on the barrier and insult me.

That task having been completed, I proceeded into my heavily shadowed chamber, passing the twin operation tables that were scrubbed clean, the lights over them having been switched off a while ago. I felt a slight ache at not having a test subject in the last few days, but I knew that once our hostage outlived his use, he would fill the void quite nicely.

I came to a third table, its surface minute compared to the surfaces of its neighbors, its silver exterior glowing in the light that was above it. Gleaming like diamonds were its lovely inhabitants, the tools of my trade. Each knife was arranged carefully into one of two horizontal rows. The two smallest knives, which also were the most piercing and vicious, lay gently in the center like twin brothers, the bigger knives following after in the same fashion. Each knife drew further and further away from its brother until the two largest were separated by the longest distance, crying out to one another in a vain attempt of reconnection. The stainless steel was polished as fine as marble, their tips as striking as the features of young maidens I had often coveted in my sinful younger days. Their beautiful glowing light called to me, opening its compassionate embrace, and begging me to enter.

"Soon, I promised the illumination as I carefully selected my implements, my fingers ever so gently lifting the little twins from their places and then taking the brother that was directly next to each. I had to fight to keep my hands steady, the impulse to tear off one of my gloves and drive a scalpel in right then and there being so appealing to my mind. All together, I had four, the two smallest, and the two second smallest. The others would have to wait for another opportunity to be implemented. A pity.

I left the pedestal to continue on towards the washing area, stopping only to lay the knives next to the soap bar on the metal shelf. There was no way I was going to let my treasures touch the floor. My pulse rose with each diligent measure, trying to shove me into moving faster. As much as I wanted to, I couldn't. One error would destroy my encroaching pleasure. Reaching up, I tugged on the cord to the bare light bulb that hung near the shower stall, revealing the mirror that I had installed in the wall directly underneath the shower head. My mask stared blankly back at me in the looking glass as I slid my heavy coat off to hang it on a hook on the outside of the stall, my hat soon joining it. My blood was beginning to drive my bodily temperature up in anticipation.

I shed my tunic, precisely sliding each button back through its hole so as not to dislodge it. I then took the fabric between my hands, and folded it gently so as not to harm the medals I had received for my deeds. It wasn't that I was worried over them for my own pride, rather the precision actions was for keeping within the standards of pomp and circumstance that being a proper SS officer employed. I could feel my sweat coating my forehead as I dropped it on the table that was under the coat hook. My entire body was trembling as I pulled off my white undershirt after first having to grasp each of my wrists with either hand to keep them from tearing it to shreds in my excitement. Rather than folding it, I thrust it onto the table, and stepped back to see the full view of my lacerated torso in the mirror.

I let in a hiss of air at my artwork as I turned back and forth, acknowledging each bare sliver of skin, and every skewed or frayed line of the blade, dividing my canvas disproportionately. How revolting my human errors were! The two slashes on my shoulder blades, made to resemble the wings of an angel, the tips of the outlines of their feathers once so elegantly aligned, were becoming distorted by scabbing. My useless, useless body! The once-perfect lines on my arms, snaking gracefully upwards and downwards, and tracing the succulent veins within the skin with acute precision, were showing the beginnings of self-repair. And my chest…The gentle tears, the idyllic slashes, all forming a precious broken spider web, were fading. The horror of it all!

I tore my glance from my rather disappointing reflection, casting it down at my belt. I painstakingly unraveled it, coiled it into a neat ring, and deposited it next to my discarded shirt. Leaning back against the sterilized wall, the cool feeling of it rippling up my spine, I discarded my boots, shivering as my feet hit the freezing tile. It felt invigorating. I still managed to contain myself as I removed the last of my clothing, my dissatisfaction increasing even more as I saw that my legs were in their own form of disarray, my skin turning against me in a vain attempt to protect its former image.

I locked my gaze with that of my frustrated twin in the mirror as I felt for the straps that were holding the gas mask on my face. As soon as I found them, I took a moment to control my shaking hands. I didn't have much time to remain unarmored like this, as I was prone to infection by germs. Although my quarters were sterilized on a daily basis, pathogens always found their way in whenever the door was opened. I would find a way to savor the delight. I always did. My heartbeat thumped in my ears as the icy blast of air hit my bare face, my cobalt eyes bulging, and my teeth grating against one another.

Quickly, I discarded the mask, placing it on a smaller table next to one that held my clothes, not wanting it to be mixed in with their collected grit. I would sanitize it after my cleansing. Once that task was completed, I closed the door to the stall, sealing myself within the chamber. "And now…We begin," I murmured to the light that was cast on my tools from the overhead light bulb.

My hand shot out, turning the shower head on. I felt my body rippling with pleasure as the ice-cold water gushed onto it, heightening my senses and washing away the rather sour feelings of the day. Instead of grabbing the soap, like most "normal" men, I picked up my knives, two in each hand. I let out a hiss of air as I held them aloft, each pointed toward me, and then proceeded to perform the art of sculpting on myself.

I let out a cry of ecstasy as each of the slightly larger knives slid down an arm, ever so slightly ripping the useless flesh into its symmetrical lines once more, the blood being washed down to the drain beneath me by the freezing water. I then tugged at the lines with the smaller knives, touching up a side here or deepening a crevice there, all the while releasing more and more of the ravishing scarlet liquid that slid over my arms into nothingness.

After achieving my satisfaction, I pulled myself out of my giddy state, though it was like dragging myself out of a deep hole onto muddy ground, the absolute release was that much. I drew my tongue over my teeth in concentration as I raised my arms over my head, their tantalizing blood dripping warmly onto my shoulders and back, providing a heavy contrast to the water. My fingers flicked the larger knives into action, each one of them driving into the botched angel wing indentations on my shoulder blades. I screamed out my pleasure, and rolled my shoulders as I retouched them with the tiny blades, my blood pouring down my back and legs in fiery trails, only to be doused by its opposite.

As I brought my arms back over, I stared at my twin in the mirror, his large blue eyes glazed over with the lust of pain. How could this man have ever been considered an angelic being at one point? Ah, but then again, those that had named him so had never seen this intimate side of him.

I dropped my gaze down to my torso, and directed my immoral hands, now coated in a pinkish fluid, to repair the web, letting out gasps here and there at each tear into the sensitive tissue. I reveled in the pure beauty of how my chest and back bore their pain like brothers, each screaming out in unison as their inner contents were released. To complete the perfection, I bent down, touching my chin to the crimson mess that was running down my breast, and carved into my legs, feeling half-compelled to kneel on the floor from the kisses of the blades, my mouth releasing unintelligible murmurs of rapture.

I stood for a moment, my body rocking back and forth in its bliss, the water cleaning my knives and body off. Finally, I placed my helpers back onto the tray, and grabbed the soap bar, taking care to lather it over the now sore and still-bleeding skin. I found ecstasy in the sting it gave as it cleaned. Rest assured I was not going to die of blood loss. I knew my body like a divine being knew its creations. I had knowledge of its strengths, weaknesses, and needs, so much so in fact that I often considered it to be not only my vessel, but a consort, as well. Rasputin's extreme attraction to the coquette, Ilsa, had barred him from any sort of platonic relationship with me, leaving me as nothing more than a servant. How that fact tortured me so!

The bar was left on the floor to dissolve into soap bubbles because of the residue of my blood remaining on it. I stared into the bottomless eyes of my reflection once more, and tried to locate the little boy that everyone had so loved and cared for, the child that could neither do no wrong, nor allow his innocence to be tarnished by the ugliness of the world. Disappointment gripped my heart as I found him to be missing yet again. "One day, I will see you." I whispered in a sober tone, tracing a finger over my right eye's unblinking reflection, the freezing water seeming to have burned off the passion of my self-mutilation. My purity…My cleanliness…It would help me find him…No…Find me.