CHAPTER 5: THE SINS AND THE FATHERS, PART 2

The city of Hillwood is a melting pot of many minds and cultures. It is filled with many differing and even opposing viewpoints and beliefs, all which make the city never dull or boring to live in. The people of Hillwood have much to go in achieving the ultimate peace with one another, but, with the simple solution of love and understanding, along with help from the Green Eye, they have achieved a peace close enough to be content with.

Their peace is not only visible outward, but is visible to them inwards as well. With the simple life goals of living day-to-day and providing for their families, along with the end goals of achieving some of their own hopes and dreams, they have all the reason to be content with their own lives. Their own livelihoods are secure, as are their families, and that is all they can hope for.

Not all are content with life in Hillwood, however. There are those who have no goals, no purpose, and less than no peace. One such example is a young man named Willie, known to the children of Hillwood as the Jolly Olly Man. His only purpose that exists now is to sell ice cream to the children of Hillwood; driving a Jolly Olly truck across the city to make sales of delicious frozen treats.

One might not find such a business without honor; no one can deny that making a child happy is a fulfillment of their work in and of itself. No one, of course, except for Willie. He vehemently despises children, and, despite the best efforts of Arnold Shortman, these beliefs have never left his mind.

He hates children with a passion. He hates their loud and energetic nature, which put a disturb to his serene inner thoughts. He hates their ugly and repulsive faces, having them being in his sight make him want to retch. He hates their very presence in his life, and he always feels as if he is being haunted and tormented by these little demons. Every day he is forced to serve these little customers, all in effort of a job that he hates dearly.

More importantly, underneath the hatred of his job and his clients, he feels a strange and foreign hunger. He does not know what this hunger is, or what this hunger drives him to eat, but it drives him mad. He eats whatever he needs to in order to suppress his hunger and fuel his body, but his hunger does not leave him, no matter what or how much he eats. This hunger pains his mind as it does his stomach, and it never ceases its torture.

The pain of this hunger cuts deep into his mind, taking away all thought from anything else that could warrant his attention. As a result of the hunger grabbing at his mind, Willie forgets that he is in the middle of a transaction with a customer, the customer standing only a few feet away and audibly making themselves known.

"Hey, mister! I want an ice cream sandwich!" A girl said.

Willie, still stuck in his inner thoughts revolving around this hunger, did not notice the customer make her request. The sound of dollar bills rustling underneath his face wrinkle loud and crisp, a sound anyone with an incentive to make capital would recognize, but Willie is not concerned with such concepts right now.

"Mister? Hey, mister!" The girl said.

Willie still continued to stay in his strange trance; his thoughts far out into the zones of inner space to solve the newfound presence of this hunger. The analysis of the hunger drew all focus away from his surroundings and put him out of present time, leaving him to forget himself in thought.

He is, however, brought back quickly by the the mother of the young girl, now reaching a temperament from his lack of service. With a sharp and quick smack on the counter of his ice cream truck, the impact shocks Willie out of his trance, now putting him face-to-face with the girl's mother, having an unpleased face look back at him.

"Hey, you! My kid wants an ice cream sandwich. Are you going to sell her one or not?" The mother asked.

Finally brought back into the real world and put back to his task of selling ice cream to the young girl, Willie moved to the freezer to retrieve an ice cream sandwich, trading it for the money in silence. The mother and her daughter did not take well to his strange actions, but, having obtained the ice cream sandwich for the latter, the concerns over the strange ice cream man dwindled as the treat began to.

Having rid himself of the young customer, Willie was now left alone once again, leaving him able to delve back into his own thoughts for a sense of peace from the rest of the world. Unfortunately, the thoughts within his mind make his search for peace in vain; every turn at the corner of his mind in flight of these thoughts only allowed them to catch up with him again, haunting him further.

This is not a new problem, for he has had this exact outcome every time he searched within himself for help from his own problems. Like many who take this approach and fail, he never learns from his mistakes, and is surely failed to repeat this mistake again and again.

The thought plays out in his mind again, making him relive this horrid moment.

Standing at the time clock at the station housing several ice cream trucks, Willie punches in his time card, preparing to start his shift at work. Upon punching himself in, he stands at the clock for a few brief moments, trying to prepare himself for another day of strain on his psyche.

A few moments of peace and quiet is all he requires, but he does not receive the quiet he seeks out. Instead, his moment of silence is brought to an end with his boss, who also happened to be his father, interrupting his silence with an annoyed state of mind, and his poor performance at the cause of it.

"I've had too many damn complaints because of you, son; all this shit about just standing around with that stupid, blank look on your face, creeping out people's kids. Do you have any idea how much your problems are costing me? Can't you just suck it up like a man and do your job like you're supposed to?" His father asked.

Willie heard no word from his father; his mind still seeking out the moment of peace and silence it needed. Having been interrupted by his angry father addressing his grievances, he found his thoughts in disarray once again, leaving him to dwell on the hunger once again. Still standing in silence, Willie continued to stare off into space, his mind focusing in on itself.

Again, his efforts for finding peace are not paid off. Instead, his father once again sought to interrupt his search for peace, this time by elevating his complaints. Taking a knife from out of his pocket, his father placed it an adjacent table, offering it to the distracted Willie.

"Kill yourself. Why don't you just kill yourself already? You don't do your job, you don't talk to girls, you don't wash your clothes, you don't even wash your own ass. How the hell did my wife and I make you? Just kill yourself." His father said.

Willie gazed only briefly at the knife, changing his view back into his immediate space quickly after it. Annoyed at his efforts seemingly ignored, his father left to take care of another issue, having more than one driver to manage. His efforts may seem to have been ignored, but they are far from so to Willie. Having more negative thoughts placed in his head, the damaged man was left to dwell on more reasons to hate himself and his life.

His father hates him. His customers hate him. He doesn't have any friends, but he's sure that they would hate him. The most important thing about this predicament, however, is that he hates himself above all.

Back to the present time, or, as close to focusing on this moment in time as his mind can focus, Willie continues on his drive on the streets of Hillwood. He drives slowly and tiresomely across the streets waiting for the potential customer to come his way, but, on the route he has to take, he has very little customers to deal with.

His route takes him through the most hostile section of the city of Hillwood: The Danger Zone. Where it was once ruled and reigned over by Hillwood's kingpin of crime, 'Big' Gino Russotti, the fall of his empire following his death has led to the end of organized crime.

Not the end of crime, the end of organized crime.

Without a king to rule over the kingdom, the nation of crime divided itself into various factions and cliques; loyal to all within their own group, and at war with every other. The efforts of the Hillwood Heroes are not unheard of here, but their outreach and help has not brought the borough peace. Crime is still rampant, and still continues to make this neighborhood unsafe.

But, with little income and less support, Willie has no choice but to make this place his home. Living in a small apartment of his own, just big enough with a small driveway for his truck, Willie pulls said truck in and disembarks, putting an end to the long shift he had put ahead of himself.

Entering his apartment, putting himself inside a sanctuary where he could achieve some peace away from the rest of the world, Willie sought to make himself more comfortable to relieve himself of the stress and fatigue he had accumulated during the day.

Taking off his clothes and throwing them to the floor, Willie disrobed from his uniform, letting the clothes fall to the floor and lay in the sweat and dirt the had picked up from his day. He hasn't washed them in weeks, if he can remember how long a week is supposed to feel like.

He feels the hunger bite at his mind.

Standing nude in his home, Willie acquired a beer from his refrigerator and stepped to the TV, turning it on. The TV stood on a stolen milk crate, making it the only thing in the house that could be closely considered furniture. He has no need for a couch or any other luxury; he already feels uncomfortable constantly.

He feels the hunger bite at his mind.

He has to urinate, but he doesn't bother going to the toilet. Instead, he releases his own waste on the floor. The carpet is already stained and dirty, and it already reeks of all manners of hideous smells, so it can't be any worse than his own urine. At least he knows that it's his own urine.

He feels the hunger bite at his mind.

Without a chair to sit on, Willie simply seated himself in place, sitting on the carpet soaked in his own urine. The warmth and the wetness is the only sort of comfort he can still feel, and he can only even acknowledge it with enough alcohol in his body. Downing another swig of his beer, Willie sets himself on the course for seeking that comfort.

He feels the hunger bite at his mind.

A cockroach crawls across his floor, crossing his path as he continued to watch the TV. He didn't know what he set on, and he isn't truly paying attention; he only wants the noise to stop him from thinking too much. However, the TV does not do its job as he hoped. He can still feel the hunger driving him mad.

He feels the hunger bite at his mind.

There are some items of food in the fridge (if one could count old fast food, ramen noodles, and beer to be food), but he does not bother going to take one. Instead, the cockroach proves to be good enough to satisfy what he needs. Taking the cockroach off the floor, Willie put it in his mouth and bit down on it.

He feels the hunger bite at his mind.

The feeling of the insect squirm and shiver for its life within his mouth excite him. The knowledge that he is in control of its life exhilarates him. The taste of its innards and the waste in its guts in his mouth sooth him. The nourishment he took from the body of the bug fill him. The aspect of devouring life makes him feel alive, if even for one moment.

And, for one moment, the hunger is gone.

The one moment of peace he gets, however, still does not last long. From the door shielding him from the outside world, its comes knocking upon it for his attention. Willie does not truly wish to see whatever may lie behind the door, but he goes to see anyways, mainly because he has nothing better to do.

Opening the door to his apartment, he is met by the woman of god known as Lila Sawyer, coming with her news to share with the individual.

"Good morning, sir, how are you tod-" Lila began to say.

While having only little experience in going from door to door, speaking with various strangers, and discussing religion with them, never before had she opened the door to a slender, sickly man standing completely naked before her. The unwarranted sight of male genitalia was offensive to see, leading her to focus on his face instead.

"Uh... I'm from the First Baptist Church of Hillwood. Have you heard the good news of Jesus Chri-" Lila began to say.

Not interested in the conversation that Lila was initiating, Willie did not bother trying to tell her to go away, not finding the will to speak. Instead, he instead grabbed at his own member and began vigorously beating it in front of her, staring directly into her eyes with a burning rage as he continued. Lila dressed very conservatively, but that thought only fueled his imagination to ponder what would be underneath.

Disgusted by the vulgar display forced upon her, Lila ended her words before they could escape her own mouth, leading her to walk away as quickly as possible. The lewd act offended her greatly, but it caused some feelings within her she tried not to put much thought into. This sight aroused some unwanted feelings in herself she had thought long gone, but she now had them return on her with this act. For now, she only focuses on getting out of this neighborhood.

Having rid himself of the door-to-door preacher, Willie ended his masturbation, stepping back inside his apartment. He took no pleasure in the act, and, even without finishing, the feelings from it are long gone. Instead, he only now returns to his spot on his carpet and watches his TV, hoping its noise will grant his mind peace.

He feels the hunger bite at his mind.

Over 80 years ago, the evil empire of the German Reich, better known throughout history as Nazi Germany, had been defeated by the Allies in the Second World War. The nation had stood for the belief in what it believed to be a 'master race'; choosing it as white skin, blonde hair, and blue eyes. While the nation has been long gone, strongly stood against return in modern-day Germany, and constantly reminded as one of the most atrocious stains on human history, there are those who still hold its beliefs.

One such man is a man named Wolfgang. Once, he was a man under the employment of 'Big' Gino, acting as one of his dealers and carrying out the occasional act of violence in his interest. His last one caused him to clash with the dark knight known as Valiance, engaging with him in a battle that temporarily cost him the use of his left arm and his legs.

That temporary cost of using his limbs, however, led to an eventual and permanent loss of those limbs. Being left with his bones broken for so long before taken to any medical assistance, his left arm and legs were amputated, leaving him with only one functioning right arm and forced into a life of assisted living.

Not one to rely on anyone else, Wolfgang made sure to minimize his need for help from anyone else. Despite having only one arm, Wolfgang put it to good use by performing some chin-ups on a bar, ensuring that his remaining arm retained its strength. Without the weight of his legs and other arm to hold him down, his exercise is not that intense, but he makes the most of it nonetheless.

When his exercise finally came to an end, he called to be put back in his wheelchair.

"Okay, Edmund, I'm done. Put me back." Wolfgang said.

Following his orders, Edmund, the one and only friend of Wolfgang, put the one-armed man back in his wheelchair as ordered. Having put on quite a bit of muscle on the remainder of his body, Wolfgang was not easy to move, especially not for someone as small-built as Edmund.

"Why do you always do this, Wolfgang? You've got nothing to gain by exercising like this all the time. All it does is make it harder for me to move you." Edmund said.

"I told you, Edmund. We're the master race, we need to act like it. I'm not going to let a loss of legs and arm stop me. Once I find out who that Valiance guy is, I'm gonna kill him good and kill him bad." Wolfgang said.

"The guy's a superhero, dude. He's got all kinds of crazy gear and tech to stop bad guys, how are you gonna beat that?"

"I'll find a way. Besides, like I said, I can't just get weak and lazy like a nigger. It's bad enough I have to take some welfare like one, I might as well actually put it to use. Unlike you, I'm proud to be white, and I'm going to prove that we're the superior race over all these goddamn untermensch. Take me to my bed."

Following his orders again, Edmund pushed the wheelchair to Wolfgang's room, escorting him to his bed as he was told. Locking the wheelchair in place, Edmund lifted Wolfgang back out of it, laying him in the bed. Grabbing hold of a metal bar hanging above his bed, Wolfgang pulled himself up to get comfortable, resting his head over his pillow.

"Alright, I'm fine now." Wolfgang said.

"Okay. I'm gonna order some pizza, what toppings you want?" Edmund asked.

"Gimme sausage and mushroom. Don't tip the delivery guy if he isn't white."

Leaving the room to order his pizza, Edmund headed to the house phone, calling up the local pizzeria. As Wolfgang sat in his bed, the young man looked up to the wall, staring back at a Nazi flag mounted upon it. Looking at the crooked swastika, he reflected on the beliefs which it stood for; changed drasitically from its Buddhist roots.

Many have tried to ponder what drives such people to hold and follow such atrocious beliefs. Most argue that the driving reason is poverty; changing their viewpoint on life by preying on their poor financial status. When one is in a bad situation in life, it becomes very easy to blame another for their woes, and it only becomes easier when the other looks different from themselves.

Some would also argue that it is hereditary in how these beliefs spread, not just from parent to child, but also to any ears open to a perspective on life. Those with such beliefs make countless arguments for their point of view, and, to those without the best critical thinking skills, those arguments grow stronger and stronger.

These are good arguments indeed, and they prove right more often than not. Wolfgang, however, is part of that 'not'. His reasons for holding his prejudices are much different, and come from a place in his life of pain and hurt. Looking back at the flag, Wolfgang thinks back on the reasons behind his beliefs yet again.

His mind is brought back to the days of his youth, back when both of his parents were alive and well, and Arnold had rescued his parents, but had not ran from home; a simpler and more peaceful time for the city of Hillwood. At this particular moment in time, the family seated themselves for breakfast, ensuring that they would all have the nourishment they needed for their day.

As any concerned parent would do, his father inquired into his status at school, wanting to make sure his education continued itself smoothly and safely.

"So, Woflie, how's school going?" His father asked.

"Fine, Dad. We're going through this whole thing in music about the history of African music, and how it influenced music here in America." Wolfgang said.

"Oh, Mr. Packenham's got you doing that, huh?"

"No, it's actually Mrs. Jefferson. She's the black teacher I told you about who replaced Mr. Packenham, remember?"

Hearing the news of this new teacher taking the place of his old one, Wolfgang's father's interest in the curriculum of his son increased, driving him to ask more questions.

"A black teacher replaced him, huh?" His father asked.

"Yeah. I mean, I heard his contract was up or something, and he moved to a different school. They said they wanted to bring in a black teacher for some diversity in the classroom, and they hired her. She's a cool teacher, she's got family from Africa and has a couple degrees in music." Wolfgang said.

"I see. So, what's this whole 'African music' thing they're having you do? Is it some of that hip-hop or something?"

"No, it's more like a bunch of different kind of drums and stuff. It's pretty cool."

"So, is it some kind of black history month thing?"

"Uh, no. It's just... regular class, I guess."

"Honey, can we please not do this at the-" His mother began to say.

"Hold on, please let me finish. Wolfgang, was this what Mr. Packenham said he was going to do last semester?" His father asked.

"Uh... I don't think he did, but that was before I knew his contract was up. He said he wanted to stay, but the school wouldn't let him." Wolfgang said.

"Right, right, I got you."

"So, what's the matter?"

"Well, I mean, it's this whole... thing, you know?"

"What thing?"

"You know, this whole 'diversity' thing. I just get sick of seeing it everywhere."

"Why's that? I mean, black people and other people are getting a lot of recognition and attention, what's the problem with that?"

"Nothing, there's nothing wrong with black people having good jobs. I'm just concerned about some kind of agenda being put in place."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you're pretty sure that there wasn't any mention of African history from when Mr. Packenham was your teacher, right?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"Then why all this need to bring in African history when you could be learning other things instead? I mean, you always liked to play the flute, doesn't it bother you that you're being put on drums?"

"I mean, I don't mind that much, the drums that she's making us play are pretty cool."

"But don't you wish you were learning more on how to play your flute?"

"Well, a little, I guess."

"Right. It's just another step in this whole move for diversity going on."

"Dad, what's the big deal? It's just music, and Mr. Packenham got a job teaching at another school. It's not like anybody's getting hurt."

"Well, it doesn't just stop there. At my job at the factory, I had two guys laid off because they wanted to hire some more workers of color. Greg and Jerry were guys that knew what they were doing, and they were some of the best workers there, but, now, these two guys they pulled in aren't nearly as good as them. I actually have to pick up some of their slack a lot of times, so it comes back on me. Greg and Jerry are also still out in the market, begging for some jobs, just so they can keep their kids fed. Well, great that there's more diversity now, but what about the two guys without a job? Is that fair?"

"Well... No... but, that couldn't have been the only reason, could it?"

"So far as I could tell, and there hasn't been a straight answer given to Greg or Jerry, either. You see where this going? First, they just wanna show off some new instruments. Next, people are starting to lose their jobs and work production goes down."

"So, you're saying that black people are lazier?"

"No, no, I've known plenty of hard-working black people. Hell, my dad worked under a black man for years, and he learned everything he knew from him. I only want the right man for the job, that's all. If they just so happen to be black, great, but I don't want to see anybody get fired just because somebody else had a different skin color. You don't want to be fired from a job so somebody with a different skin tone can take it, do you?"

"No."

"Right. People in these 'diversity' groups always talk about racism, but they never stop to think about how racist they actually are. Always take what they say with a grain of salt, alright?"

"Okay, Dad."

"Great."

"Don't worry about what your father says, dear. He means well, but he gets very passionate about what he believes in." His mother said.

"Well, I just want to make sure our son stands by principles and beliefs rather than what other people tell him, make sure he thinks for himself. By the way, how are the eggs, you guys? I haven't done them in quite some time, but I wanted to give your mom a break from the kitchen."

"They're good, Dad, thanks."

"They are very good, honey. Thanks for making breakfast today." His mother said.

With the conversation changed away from the discussion regarding race put to breakfast, the serious moment between the family is brought to a moment of levity with some light chuckles shared over the eggs. Their thoughts move back to their food again, but their minds are not through with the words shared here, nor shall they ever be.

Some time much later, following the disappearance of Arnold Shortman, crime has risen quite significantly in the city of Hillwood. Murder, robbery, and rape are at all-time highs, dethroning the city as the most dangerous in the country, taking the place of Detroit in the most violent place in America to live.

Murders in the news are quite common these days; not one moment spent otherwise by news anchors reporting on a death or a shooting that recently occurred, though not quite 'news' to anyone who watches on occasion. Death has become little by the way of a newsworthy event in the city, and is rarely paid attention to by many.

To the young man known as Wolfgang, and regarding this particular death, however, the news is anything but insignificant to him.

Hearing the news of his beloved father being shot dead in a bad neighborhood, Wolfgang fell into a state of sorrow; grieving his father as he was taken away from him at too young an age in his own life. His mother shares much of the same sentiment, and the two try to share their sorrows to stave off the pain of loss together.

"I can't believe it, Mom. Why would anybody want to shoot Dad? What did he ever do to anyone?!" Wolfgang asked.

"Oh, honey, I can't believe it either. It was horrible, it really was. I can't imagine why anyone would want to shoot him." His mother said.

With many negative thoughts festering through his mind regarding his father's death, Wolfgang began to ponder on how his parent could have suffered the violent fate that he did. Remembering their many conversations regarding race and the identity of the shooters, however, the young Wolfgang began to form his own theories on what could have caused his father's death.

"Dad was wrong, Mom. Dad had it wrong." Wolfgang said.

"What?" His mother asked.

"He was wrong about black people, and all colored people. He said that they just wanted diversity, but they don't. How many people have you seen on the news about white people getting killed by black or brown people? I never paid attention to it until now. They don't want diversity, they want to replace us."

"Wolfgang, honey, you're not thinking clearly, don't say those-"

"Don't deny it, Mom! They're deliberately trying to take over this country, and they're trying to kill us all! You saw it with Dad! He was killed by niggers!"

Horrified and disgusted to hear the hated 'N' word make its way from her son's mouth, Wolfgang's mother slapped him across the face, hoping that the slap had taken away any racist thoughts within his mind. Feeling the impact of the slap, Wolfgang's mind was put into an even more hopeless place, but this pain was relieved by a quick hug from his mother, offering it as an apology.

"I'm sorry I hit you, sweetie, but don't ever talk like that. It wasn't a race agenda which killed your father. It was those people, and no one else." His mother said.

"And who were those people?" Wolfgang asked.

Knowing that the answer to his question would only fuel the negative influence coming into it now, his mother did not answer. Instead, she continued to hold her son and cry softly; both parties mourning softly.

Back in the present time, Wolfgang finished reflecting on his own past, putting his mind now towards the future. The death of his father at the hands of dark-skinned individuals has fueled his hatred for minorities to a place where he follows one of the most deadliest ideologies on the planet, and it has now led him to where he is now. He knows his goals, and he knows what he strives for.

His first step is to seek revenge on Valiance for his current position, and to defeat him in hand-to-hand combat at last. Then, he seeks to carry out a one-man crusade against all blacks, Hispanics, Jews, and any minority within Hillwood. He knows his goals well, but he knows not how to fulfill them.

For the sake of Hillwood, it is probably for the better that he never finds out.

In the living room of the small house, Edmund completes his order for his pizza; requesting Hawaiian on his half and sausage and mushroom on Wolfgang's half. While waiting on the couch for his pizza, smoking a cigarette, a knock at the door interrupts his smoke session, leading him to get up and answer the door.

Opening the door, Edmund came face-to-face with the preacher named Lila, greeting him with a wave and a smile.

"Hello, sir. How are you doing today?" Lila asked.

"Uh, cool, I guess. You got my pizza?" Edmund asked.

"What?"

"I ordered just, like, a few minutes ago. Did you guys get my order?"

"Oh, no, sir, I'm from the First Baptist Church of Hillwood."

"Oh. Well, uh, what can I do for you?"

"Have you heard the good news of Jesus Christ?"

"Yeah, I guess so. I'm a christian."

"Great. I'm giving out invitations to join us at our opening sermon this Sunday. Would you like to join us?"

Lila handed Edmund a flyer for the church, showing the date and time of the opening of the church. Acting polite towards the door-to-door preacher, Edmund accepted the invitation, giving a slight, approving nod as he did so.

"Yeah, sure, I guess I can make it." Edmund said.

"Great. We look forward to seeing you there. May Jesus bless you today, sir." Lila said.

"Yeah, great, thanks."

As Lila departed to her next destination, Edmund closed the door to the house, looking at the flyer for the church. Heading into Wolfgang's room, Edmund checked with his friend for affirmation, not sure how to act on the invitation.

"What was that all about? Our pizza here?" Wolfgang asked.

"No, man, some chick came up and gave us this flyer for a church. You wanna see it?" Edmund asked.

Wolfgang took the flyer and gave it a view, inspecting it and reading its contents. Not having been to a church in quite some time, he began to find some intrigue in the concept.

"I just took it to be nice, I was gonna trash it. I didn't think you'd care or anything-" Edmund began to say.

"We should go." Wolfgang said.

"What?"

"We haven't been to a good church in so long. This might be my kind of church, it's a baptist one."

"So?"

"So maybe these people might be a little more open my beliefs. I haven't had any good people to talk to in a long time."

"Wolfgang, c'mon, man, I really don't wanna do that. Plus, I've got a date this Sunday, too, I really like this girl, and-"

"Hey, dipshit. You can't survive on your own with your shitty job. Do you want my welfare checks or not?"

Not able to afford having Wolfgang leave his home and take his money elsewhere, Edmund swallowed his words and his pride, agreeing to the demands of his friends. While Wolfgang might legally be seen as a dependent, their relationship makes one wonder who the real dependent is.

"Fine. We'll go to church." Edmund said.

"That's more like it." Wolfgang said.

"Why, though? I thought the Nazis didn't believe in god, or something."

"Far from it. We're god's chosen people."

"What about that whole thing of, 'god created man in his image'?"

"Of course he did. Why do you think I'm white?"

Continuing her walk down the streets of the Danger Zone, Lila's thoughts continued to move around in her head in a furious whirlwind. Never before had her thoughts been so far out of place like this, and never before had she the challenge of trying to place them back together so clearly.

For the most part, the young woman focused herself on the task of continuing her advertisements. One of the co-founders of the church and its primary leader, Lila put more than enough of her share of work into creating it, and wished to see its founding start with an astounding start.

However, the one lewd act of Willie continued to spark around in her mind, driving her utterly mad. She had tried to put all feelings of mortal pleasure out of her mind; the feelings associated with it causing her to feel desires she thought she had done away with long ago.

These feelings, first brought to her at an age too young to experience such pleasures, and forced upon her against her will, continued their scarring on her mind, reminding her of a place and time in her past that changed her life forever, and for the worst. She tries not to think about such feelings and emotions, putting her faith in her god to take away these filthy desires.

She had put her faith in her god long ago when she could no longer bear these feelings, and felt ashamed and disgusted for feeling them. She believed herself unworthy to be even seen within the eyes of her god, seeking out forgiveness and escape from her pain.

The countless hours she had put into her church and her faith had caused her to become a different person altogether, no longer the sweet and innocent Lila she once was. There was one particular period in her life that led to these horrid thoughts and feelings, and was haunted by them ever since. Every attempt at feeling this pleasure has led her to feel that same disgust and pain again, and has nothing but remorse for her own desires.

For now, however, she does not think about that time anymore. Instead, she focuses on her task of handing out flyers. There are at least two more neighborhoods to work through, and little time in the day for any shenanigans. Remembering her purpose granted to her by her faith, Lila carries on.

So does, however, that horrid memory.