Author's Note: So, after listening Richtofen ramble about 'those three' on TranZit some time ago, I decided to write about it. Might as well write Chapter Two for Settling Into Anarchy- ANYWAY, HERE YOU ARE.
Richtofen was controlling a lone zombie, sitting inside a dark corner outside of the town. The four survivors were blasting the other minions away easily so he decided to yank one away from the action. He sat the zombie down, thinking to himself. He was reminiscing of better times; Well, that was debatable. He did miss the drunkard Russian, as he was one of his closest allies in the end; Until he backstabbed the trio he tested on. Three test subjects, three allies, three ANGRY men. He whimpered, but it came out as a low groan from the zombie. He disconnected from the zombie, letting his conscience linger in the Ether. he simply scoffed, coming out as an echoing bark in Samuel's ears. He heard the man yell at him, asking him what he wanted. Richtofen clicked his tongue, dismissing Samuel as if a child deserving time out.
"I do miss those three… Not Dempsey though. Bastard American." He growled, walking around the blackness of the Ether. He looked down, remembering the fact he's in an eight year old girl now. He never really did anything nasty to the body, like tearing off an arm of rubbing special places. No, he wouldn't stoop that low to get at Samantha. Richtofen cringed at the thought. Those three- and Samantha in HIS body, God dammit!- were still alive on the moon, weren't they? No, it's been sixty years; They're withered corpses, most likely. Now he has three new playthings; One was an alluring young woman, undoubtedly. "I'm surprised you three haven't pinned Misty in a corner and did as you pleased. I certainly would have, in younger years of my life- OH WAIT, I'm stuck in a little girl. Dumpkoff soul switching." He crossed his arms childishly, even though none could see.
He felt a sensation in the back of his- her?- head, time for a new wave. He snapped his fingers, and went back into moodily thinking. He sat down, fixing the dress Samantha was in. He's been in the damn thing for sixty five years- But it wasn't really real, was it? Being trapped in MDT stuck you in the condition of when you were put in; This dress has been clean for sixty damn years, and been eight years old for sixty damn years. So confusing. He rubbed his neck, shivering whilst sucking his teeth. The four new playthings were not easily broken, but they didn't get the damned NavCard. "Get the NavCard, dumpkoffs!" He shouted at Samuel, before disconnecting from his mind again. Samuel was partly zombie- Wasn't he? Richtofen could only control, or converse, with the dead infected with 115. He forget what the element was… Unz unz- No, that was the Dubstep craze. Bleck, I hate thinking about things so trivial.
Richtofen threw his chubby little arms into the air, huffing an exasperated sigh. It's 115, and that's all he cared about. Maxis kept invading the conversation with the four new playthings, and Richtofen had to put him in his place again and again. Bastard man didn't care about his daughter, he wanted power. He lied to her how many times? He deserved getting torn apart by the puppies. He lied to everyone, even the Nazi party! Then again, Richtofen was a Nazi and a member of the Illuminati. He assassinated him out of personal spite, fueled with orders by the Illuminati. The voices in his head faded away, at least. The Vril didn't care for him after he lasted without breaking for over sixty years and skipping timelines so rapidly. He was already bat-shit insane; What was left to break?
He cackled, shouting out "Carpenter!" as they picked up the glowing hammer. He sat up, with renewed vigor. "ALRIGHT, dumpkoffs! Time for some punishment, Mwehehehe!" He danced around slightly, rubbing his hands together as he made sure a LOT more zombies spawned in. He heard their screams of anguish- or annoyance, honestly. He couldn't tell. He sat back down, picking at his- again, her?- nails. Time to ruin their day.