Chapter 10: Der Junge

Fritz looked down upon the schoolyard below with sombre intrigue as the others his age played, studied and chatted amongst themselves jovially. He adjusted the collar of his shirt beneath the thick brown jumper that kept him warm against the cold of this harsh winter. There was a book in his hand, an old tome that detailed some of the darker historical points of his country. The fall of the Nazis was not so long ago that it had been forgotten. Many still remembered, and some still held onto their loyalty. Fritz sighed deeply at the thoughts that made their way into his head. He ran his fingers through his thick blonde hair, still watching the teenagers below as they enjoyed their last few moments together before their parents arrived to take them home. Several students walked passed Fritz, continuing on their way and ignoring him. But he heard the excited footsteps of a girl and he knew his moment of solace was ended.

"Friedrich!" the girl said in a lively voice. "I'll see you tomorrow, Mila!" she added, addressing the other girl she had been walking with. "Tell your brother I'd be more than happy to babysit on Saturday." Mila gave her friend a wave goodbye and left the corridor. Fritz turned around and smiled at his friend. She had black hair tied into two unplaited pigtails and her grey blazer was buttoned over a simple tee-shirt. A tartan skirt accompanied these. She was holding several books of her own, though Fritz suspected they were quite a bit more innocent than his own.

"Sofia," he greeted her. "Finished class already?"

"Of course!" she said in her energetic voice. "It's after four, silly! Home time." Fritz's face flushed with colour.

"Ah, forgive me," he apologised. "I wasn't thinking."

"I didn't see you in class," she told him. "Everything alright? It's not like you to pass up a history lesson."

"I just…went to the library instead," he replied, his fingers twitching around the leather cover of his book. "I had some reading to catch up on. For the exam."

"Of course! You must be worried about it if you're skipping class to go study."

"You could say that," he said dismissively. Sofia just giggled at him.

"You must be bored stiff waiting to go home. Isn't your father coming in for you?" Fritz stiffened on the spot, but he gave nothing away.

"No…not today," he answered. Sofia furrowed her brow, but it was unclear whether she was confused or concerned. Noticing Fritz's soured mood, she decided to change the subject.

"Hey…whatcha reading there?" If anything, that made him more nervous. He shook off the anxiety and decided to share the contents of the book with her.

"It's actually very interesting," he said proudly, opening its pages and showing it to her. "A book of history…and biology."

Sofia took the book eagerly, but her face curled into an expression of repulsion shortly. The book spoke of the deeds, or misdeeds, more accurately, of one Josef Mengele during the glory days of the Nazis. Mengele was an infamous Nazi physician who, during his time serving in the concentration camps, would perform torturous medical experiments on Jewish prisoners. He had been given the nickname of the 'Angel of Death' for his crimes and even amongst the Nazis he had a reputation that would invoke fear from the hardiest of killers among them. The particular page Sofia had open detailed Mengele's forceful sewing together of two twins, effectively making them physically and visually conjoined. It was a heinous crime that would make most people sick to their stomach, but Fritz did not appear disgusted or disturbed. Instead, where there should have been condemnation there was only admiration and curiosity.

Sofia was unsure how to react to what she was seeing. She could stomach the words on the page in front of her, along with the visceral artist's depiction of the experiment being described, for only a few more seconds before closing the book. Fritz had been excited to share this with her, hopeful that she could appreciate the medical and biological implications of the undoubtedly unforgivable crimes of Josef Mengele. But now, he was abashed. He wished he hadn't been so open with Sofia. He knew deep down that she would never appreciate the art and beauty that he saw in death. He shamefully reached for the book.

"You didn't like it," he said solemnly. "I'm sorry."

"No," Sofia said defiantly. "I'm sorry, Friedrich. It's just…a lot to take. You know as well as I do how serious the teachers would take it if they caught you with that. Where did you even find it?" Fritz did not answer her. He tucked the book in under his arm, went back to the window and continued to look into the yard below like before, but very few of the children remained, having been collected by their parents.

"I do find certain things…morbid, unsettling things…fascinating in a way most people are frightened by. I've always had an interest in biology. And the history of our country. I guess I was just…"

"It's okay, Friedrich," Sofia comforted him after some silence. "I don't judge you for that. It's just… not for me." Fritz did not respond. "Hey, why don't you come home with me? I can walk you home later. Your house is only ten minutes away anyway!"

"Oh…that's very kind," Fritz said, glad to be talking about something else so his embarrassment could dwindle away. "But I think I'll stay here for a while. I was going to do some studying."

"You always do that!" Sofia moaned. "How much more studying do you need to do?" They heard the sound of a car horn from below and Sofia turned to leave. "Oh, that's my father. I'll see you tomorrow, Friedrich!" She started jogging out through the door to the stairwell. "Don't study too hard," she called back over her shoulder. Fritz smiled.

"I won't," he said quietly to himself.

He watched from the window as Sofia ran across the yard and jumped into her father's car. Later that night, Fritz would walk home alone in the dark and cold. His parents would not be waiting for him tonight. He had killed them the night before and left their bodies in the garden shed. It appeared to have been a double suicide, to the unwitting outsider, but Fritz had orchestrated it all. They had been drugged at first by slipping pills into their drinks shortly after they had beaten him. Then, when they became weak and unable to even move, Fritz took them to the shed and strung them up to hang. It didn't take long for them to die. Every night, his parents would abuse him, verbally or physically, until he was left with no choice but to flee and spend his time in the same shed he had killed them in. His home life was a very unhappy one, and his Nazi loyalist parents treated him worse than most people would treat vermin. Every chance he got, Fritz would remain behind after school under the guise of cramming in studying. Instead, he read books in the school library and savoured every moment he could be away from his abusers. The boy's fascination with death had been festering inside him for years and it was a great release to be the bringer of death and take the lives of the two people he despised most in life. He received no love as a child and the scars of loneliness, abuse and a lack of compassion ran deep within his soul. Their death had been a long time coming. They had been the first victims of Friedrich, honorary self-proclaimed Angel of Death, but they would certainly not be the last.

(*)

Revy firmly planted her back against one of the wooden pillars to the side of the Yellowflag's central opening and started to reload her Cutlasses. She was breathing heavily and the wound in her leg where Fritz's shot had clipped her was bleeding profusely. She had underestimated him. While he appeared to be a second-rate gunman and an easy target for her, his skill impressed more than it should have. He was accurate with his shots and careful not to use too many bullets. What was more, his slender build and quick-footedness made him difficult to take down. Two of Revy's shots had hit him, too, one in the shoulder and the other in his left arm, but he was still breathing and returning fire when he could. Currently, he was standing over by the door with his gun pointed forward. He did not approach Revy. He was waiting for her to come out from behind cover so he could finish her off. She heard him inhale deeply.

"Oh, you really are something else," he said slimily. "I knew there was a reason they called you Two-Hands."

"Kiss my ass," she hissed.

"And feisty, too. I thought I could get that smell from you, but I wasn't so sure at first. Now I know. It fills my lungs like an all too familiar friend, the stench of filth and rot. We're two of a kind, you and me." Revy laughed.

"How do you figure that?" she asked rhetorically. "You ain't shit, Baldy. A sick, twisted little freak who should have stayed in Germany. You wish you were me."

"Au contraire," Fritz countered. "We are more alike than you care to admit, gunslinger." He inhaled again. "Yes, indeed. I know that scent well. We are both broken products of our environments. I am not blind to what I am, don't misjudge me. But it seems you are. That, or you just don't want to face the truth. We're all a little broken here…but us especially so. We were doomed from the beginning, weren't we?" He was not mocking her or trying to trigger a reckless display of force, he was being genuine. Revy, however, would have fallen right into his trap if he had being trying to get under her skin. She jumped out from behind cover and let off three shots. They all missed, and the bullet he responded with was only millimetres from taking her eye. She was back behind cover just in time.

"You better keep that trap of yours shut," Revy warned. "Cause if you don't, I'm gonna really make you feel pain."

"Why do you resist?" Fritz asked her. "We are two alike individuals in a world where we are few and scattered. Like it or not, you are a bringer of death the same as me. I won't judge you for that, I find it delightful. To be in the company of a kindred spirit…it is a rare gift."

The door of the Yellowflag flung open suddenly, distracting the two opponents from the situation at hand. But Fritz recognised the man who had come through the door and he seized a delectable opportunity that had presented itself so conveniently. He grabbed the shirt collar of the Japanese man and held him close, pointing the barrel of his Colt to the side of his head.

"Back to business it is, then," Fritz said loudly, a touch of disappointment in his voice. "I have your man, gunslinger. I'm going to give you ten seconds to throw your guns down and show yourself so I can release you from the life you've squandered. If you stay there, poor Rock here will be sent to the void in your place."

"Don't do it, Revy!" Rock ordered her. "Shoot him while you have the chance!" Revy did not know what to do. It was unlike Rock to have come here tonight, presumably after hearing that there was trouble brewing, but it was even stranger that he would advocate for Revy to risk his life and take a shot at the German man. Sure, he had often been selfless and prioritised the safety of his friends over his own, but something was off about his request tonight. It was almost like he simply did not value his own life as opposed to valuing Revy's more.

Fritz began counting down from ten and Revy started to panic. If she did nothing, Rock would die, but if she attempted to attack, the probability of the same thing happening was incredibly high. On the other hand, her surrender would save the life of her partner but assuredly lead to the loss of her own.

"Five," Fritz called out, nearing the end of his count.

"Revy, what are you doing?!" Rock screamed, angry now that she was not taking this opportunity to kill Fritz. "Now's your chance, Revy! Take the shot while he has his gun on me!" As the German man neared the end of his counting, Revy did something altogether unexpected. She threw her guns up on the bar and came out from behind the pillar with her hands in the air, stopping in the middle of the room. The horror and anger on Rock's face was apparent.

"There's a good manslayer," Fritz said mockingly. "Acceptance is the only way. Death comes for us all, Revy. I'm just the instrument that brings it to you." Before Rock could voice his outrage, Revy locked eyes with him. Shockingly, there was acceptance there. It was incredibly uncharacteristic of Revy to back down in the middle of a fight to the death, and she made a point of never surrendering no matter the odds. Why, then, had she done so in this situation. Fritz took the Colt away from the side of Rock's head and pointed it at his target. It would only take one shot.

"I'm sorry, partner," the gunslinger told Rock. She said nothing else as Fritz tightened his finger on the trigger. Rock had to act. He opened his mouth and bit deep into the flesh of Fritz's right hand, drawing blood. A shot was let off, but it hit the bar behind its target. Revy suddenly smiled, bearing her teeth like a feral hound. That was what she was hoping would happen. She started running forward as Rock released himself and jumped out of the way. Revy jumped and her boot caught Fritz in the face. He was sent flying out the door to land in the road. Revy showed no mercy. She followed him out there and came to a stop beside him, lifting her foot and driving the bottom of the boot into his jaw for a second time. Then a third, fourth and fifth. This continued for a while until Fritz, the Reborn Angel of Death, was dead and gone.

Revy turned back around and entered the Yellowflag again, heading to the bar to retrieve her guns. Rock was happy that Fritz had been killed, but something was still clearly bothering him.

"Revy…I don't understand. Why didn't you just take the shot? You could have killed him while his gun was on me. It was the perfect opportunity, Revy!"

"I don't know what the fuck's gotten into you," she began, her back to him. "But you better snap out of it right now. I did what I damn well had to and it worked out, cause you had the brains to do just what I needed you to when he pointed that thing at me." Rock watched her, wide-eyed as she spoke, but he was not going to let this go.

"He was too dangerous, Revy," he insisted. "What if he killed you? What if he'd gotten away? For god's sake, Revy, what were you thinking?!"

"Careful, Rock," she snapped. "So nice to see that you care about something after all. Or did you just wanna eat it tonight?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Revy turned to look at him. Her eyes were dull and glazed over, like she was not truly conscious, but Rock knew she had never been more invested in a conversation. She was not going to hold back.

"You know damn well what it means," she snarled. "First it was the night we went after the Cat Lady, now this. You ain't stupid, Rock, and you never have been. You knew how dangerous it was going to be coming after me, but you did it anyway. And it was goddamn suicidal. You're not the Rock we kidnapped from that ship…you're just a pathetic shell of a man. If you want to get yourself killed, go right ahead. Clearly we don't mean a whole lot to you. But don't do it on my fucking time." Revy clipped her holsters shut to secure her Cutlasses and walked passed him, towards the door. She would leave him alone here to think about what she said. If he didn't get the message, then they had a much bigger problem.

"Fuck you." Revy stopped on the spot when those words reached her ears.

"The hell did you just say to me?"

"Fuck you, Revy!" the Japanese man repeated, unfaltering. "You think I'm going to fall for that bullshit? The irony is lost on you, so let me fill you in. You're the one who doesn't give a shit about me. You talk about me like you're looking out for me, but you aren't. You're not worried about me, you're worried about yourself, same as always!" Revy turned on the spot and glared at him as he spoke. It was like Rock himself had been swallowed up and someone, or something, rather, had emerged in his place. Revy understood, now. She was not talking to Rock, she was talking to the darkness within him, that vicious other half that emerged, fuelled by emotion and anguish. She was talking to the Gambler. "Poor fucked up little Revy! You've never given a shit about what I do, only how you'll be affected by it! Admit, it Revy. You don't care what happens to me. You just want to make yourself feel better by pretending I'm the same pathetic businessman you picked up years ago. But I'm not, Revy, and the sooner you get over yourself and-!"

CRUNCH!

Revy's fist hit the bridge of Rock's nose like an oncoming train hitting a bird and the man hit the ground like a sack of bricks. He saw only red as blood pumped from the fresh wound and dribbled into his eyes. His own screams of pain drowned out the sound of the Yellowflag's door as Revy left him there, alone.