At long last, Tamara was truly alone. After shaking hands with the Major, she had been escorted to a room that was to be her quarters for the time being. Under no circumstance was she to leave unaccompanied, except to use the bathroom which was across the hallway.

The dingy, windowless room appeared to have been used for storage and only just barely prepared for her arrival. A military cot with a single folded sheet and pillow rested in the center, flanked by two metal filing cabinets. One of them had a covered meal tray on it and the other held a small plastic bottle, a tiny pill box, and a handwritten note which read:

Salve is for your wrists or anywhere that hurts. This is a sleeping pill. I strongly advise you take it after eating. We will begin work in the morning and it will be a full day. – Dok

Here was her first test, she supposed, to see how cooperative she could be. Her abused wrists were bothering her, so she decided to at least treat them and her ankles. The pungent scent of the lotion was unpleasant, but it did provide fast relief for the sore skin.

It was hard to eat alone, in a strange place, but her desire to survive eventually won over her desire to never eat again. The food was basic, but modestly seasoned. The dishes and cutlery were flimsy plastic, and several tines of the fork broke with hardly any effort. Already she felt lonely and wondered if that feeling would ever go away in her lifetime, however long that was to be now. The weight of losing her family, her friends, even their miserable landlord back home felt unbearable.

She wondered if Roger had been given anything to eat today. How soon would she be able to see him?

After eating most of the food, she set about exploring the rest of the cramped space, opening every cabinet drawer and peeking into every cardboard box. The only objects of note she found were a broken pencil and a crushed beer can. The narrow wall closet was somewhat more interesting as it contained several smock-style dresses in muted colors hanging from plastic hangers.

"Am I supposed to wear these?" she wondered aloud, holding the tent-like fabric up to herself. There were a few other articles of clothing as well, but nothing resembling a belt.

Feeling exhausted, she decided to deal with the clothing situation in the morning. Sitting on the edge of the cot, she removed her Mary Janes and socks. The shoes were scuffed all over, but the fact that they had remained on her feet since yesterday seemed a small miracle. Holding one of the strappy black shoes in her hand, she remembered agonizing for so long about what footwear to pack on this trip, and how she had nearly brought something prettier but more flimsy.

It struck her suddenly that all of those soldiers had been wearing military boots in Rio. Their civilian disguises would have been paper-thin if anyone had cared to look down at their feet.

Turning off the light from the single overhead bulb after double checking that her door was locked, she carefully made her way back to the cot. Pulling the single sheet over herself, she guessed that it was still early in the afternoon on Monday the fourteenth.

"No!"

No, it's not fair.

"Do you need me to repeat any of that?" Dok asked sternly.

Roger shook his head, which mercifully didn't throb anymore. The doctor had double-checked for concussion and given him a clean bill of health. He supposed he should have felt a little something like gratitude.

At the moment, though, his only feelings were hatred and fear of the man in front of him. He opted not to openly share those emotions, and instead decided to be as reasonable and assertive as he could.

"No, I think I got it all. Just please don't hurt her. She's all that I have left now."

Dok said nothing while he fidgeted with the ancient lock to the cell door. It seemed for all their other advancements, Millennium's brig was positively medieval.

"Are you absolutely sure you can't use me instead and let her go? I swear that I will do anything, anything at all."

"It is out of the question," Dok scoffed, grunting as he finally got the lock to relatch. He turned to leave.

Roger stood up and gripped the iron bars that separated him from his captor. "And to think I invited the devil himself to sit with us, to share a meal with us!" Roger raised his voice, hoping to get a rise out of the departing man. His goal was to keep Dok talking, though what that would accomplish at the moment he wasn't quite sure of yet.

Dok actually gave a pitying half-smile at this. "There is no such thing as a free meal. The devil paid your tab, remember?"

He and his subordinates left, leaving Roger alone with a new emotion, despair.

Tamara woke up achy and disoriented. There was just enough light spilling from under the door that she was able to grope her way in the dark to the light switch. Blinking groggily in the unfiltered light, everything looked exactly the same as from before she had fallen asleep. This was not a nightmare she could wake up from, after all.

She had cried bitterly for a long while after realizing it was Valentine's Day, then had lain awake with a restless and worried mind until finally giving in and taking the sleeping pill. It had only taken a few minutes after that for her to fall into a heavy, dreamless sleep.

"What time is it?"

She slowly opened the beige steel door and peeked outside. The empty hallway afforded no natural light, or any other way to tell the time of day. Seeing no one around, she darted the few steps to the bathroom. It was another single unit room, like the one she had used yesterday, but this one had a shower head in the ceiling with the floor sloping gradually towards a drain in the floor. It was rather basic, but functional.

The shower she took was just hot enough to relax her aching limbs and help release the tension she had been holding in her neck and shoulders. Closing her eyes under the spray, it was almost hard to believe all the terrible things that had happened. However, fearing that suddenly she would hear banging on the door along with angry German voices, she shut the water off after only a few minutes.

Wrinkling her nose at the pile of filthy clothes she had been wearing since the Carnival parade, she reluctantly put them back on in order to sprint back across the hall to her room in something more than a towel.

Her head was much clearer now, and she no longer felt uncertain that she was expected to wear one of the dowdy dresses in the closet. She stripped down a second time, noting the bruises that remained on her arms and legs now that the dirt had been washed away. The largest and ugliest bruise was on her hip and that was still quite tender. She replaced her undergarments and socks, and randomly selected a pale blue garment to wear. It didn't fit as poorly as she thought it would, but a belt or tie would have been a big improvement. She figured the reason they had not left her something like that was the same reason they hadn't given her real cutlery with her lunch. It would be possible to injure herself with it.

Just as Tamara had finished detangling her wet hair with her fingers, a couple of soft knocks sounded on the door. She hesitated for only a moment, then rose from the cot and unlocked the door. Outside was a young uniformed soldier she had not seen before, standing a respectful distance away.

"I'm s-s-supposed to take you to th-the lab. Aaaaare you ready to go?"

An escort with a stutter; not at all what she had expected. Aside from the challenge of getting the words out, his English was actually quite good.

"Um," she looked back into the room, but nothing came to mind that she could use to put it off. "I guess I can go now."

The soldier visibly relaxed, as if he had been expecting her to say no or to otherwise make his task challenging.

"Then ffffooollow me."

Their destination wasn't all that far away, just down a few flights of stairs and a couple of long hallways. It seemed to be a less frequently used area of the complex, judging by the low lighting and the sticky floors. Everywhere else she had been so far had been well-lit and relatively clean.

It was strange, following the young soldier, who stole a few backward glances at her as they walked. Tamara did the same, to see if anyone else was following them, but no one appeared. Either Millennium had decided to trust in her, or the situation was so far beyond her control that a minimum of security was all that they deemed necessary.

There was something about him that confused her. If these were real Nazis, then weren't they supposed to value purity and perfection above all else? Why would they have someone with a clear speech impediment in their midst?

Perhaps she had misjudged them. After all, their well-known crimes against humanity had taken place decades ago. Not that it changed her opinion, but could they have softened their ways since then? What kind of thinking was driving this machine now?

And what were they up to, hiding out in South America like this?

There was a lot to take in as the size and scope of the lab were impressive. Tamara's eyes couldn't help but be drawn first to the operating table that featured in the back center of the room and her heart pounded from the stress of seeing all the restraints it had. What if…

At that moment the doctor hurried in from a hallway on the right side of the room. "Right on time," he said, moving towards a modern computer station and leaning over to type something onto the keyboard. "How are you?" he asked without looking at her.

He was dressed much differently than he had been in Rio; it was startling seeing him in a strange two-piece grayish outfit with a stained lab coat over it. The odd glasses he now wore had multiple lenses which set off the whole disturbing ensemble. So this is what a modern Nazi doctor looked like.

When she didn't answer, he looked up and gave her a once-over. "Nervous then?"

She nodded stiffly.

"Ah." He turned his attention back to the computer screen. "Well, maybe it would be useful if we started from scratch, introductions and all."

He straightened and moved towards her, and this time she stood her ground, only leaning back just slightly in anticipation. Bending at the waist, he held out a hand. "Please call me Dok."

She took the hand more out of habit than politeness. He gave it a single modest shake which caused the latex of his glove to squeak.

"I'm Tamara Larson," she said, pulling her hand back the moment he released it.

"Nice to meet you. Thank you for your cooperation so far. I'd give you a tour of my facility, but first, when was the last time you ate?"

"I just had the meal yesterday in my room. With the sleeping pill," she added for good measure.

"Perfect! Then we can do the blood draw right away since you've been fasting. Nice to get that over with, right?"

It was certainly nice to be done with it, as there wasn't anything nice about doing it. Being small-veined was the salt in the proverbial wound; at least Dok was skilled enough to tap the vein on the first try. She found it a little hard not to be repulsed by his touch, though.

After that he said she could sit and have breakfast while he started the blood work.

There were chairs along the wall by the lab entrance which seemed to function as a sort of waiting area. She chose one to sit in, then ate slowly and deliberately, feeling tenser than ever. From there she was able to watch the doctor as he moved hastily about the room. It was somewhat fascinating how he never seemed to slow down, not even for a moment. She wondered where his assistants were. Surely in a medical facility of this size, there must be others working with him.

What have I gotten myself into? she wondered, idly stirring a bowl of oats that contained apples, raisins, and a few other sweet additions.

When the last of the food was gone, eaten more for the sake of delay than hunger, he asked if she wanted a brief tour of the lab. That seemed like a safe option for the moment, so she agreed, maybe a little too enthusiastically.

The two of them walked around slowly while he pointed out areas and objects of note.

"Chemical laboratory, examination and research, decontamination.

"A collection of medical works and other literature of interest, my personal greenhouse.

"Sub-ward B, walk-in cold storage.

"The surgical suite. All of the finest equipment."

"Do you use that often?" she asked suddenly, as nonchalantly as possible.

"More frequently, I suppose. With a large staff it seems someone is always in need of fixing."

It wasn't exactly a reassuring answer, but now he was moving towards one of the back hallways.

"We won't visit right now, but there are patient rooms down this way, should you need to stay for more than a single night of observation."

Definitely not a reassuring thought.

"Well," he brushed his hands together as though clearing off some detritus, "there isn't much more we can do to delay the inevitable. It's time for a full examination. I need to get a baseline for your health record."

He walked over to a supply closet near the exam table and withdrew a paper gown. "Let's get started."