The Wastes

"Please, I have papers-" the shots reverberated through the empty street. A woman, her chest swollen with a child, fell lifeless to the floor. A maniacal laugh tumbled through the ranks, the men of the 24th Politsey-Sikherungs Division.

"Slavic scum." the assassin mumbled, the cigarette tumbling from his lips onto the bloodied floor, spitting on the corpse. His name was once Alexei Rodzaevsky, but now that he had joined up with the Aryan Brotherhood, he had adopted the name of Heynrish Shutsman. He never ceased to remind everyone of that fact.

He signaled his men. "Gather up the wretch's things, they will be of use to civilized children." His minions obediently began to loot the already spartan apartment, taking anything and everything they could. Cabinet after cabinet was swung open, their contents emptying out into the coffers of depravity.

While he watched as the apartment was methodically ransacked and all hints of the person who had resided in it were destroyed, he came to the realization that it was to be the Leytnant's birthday in a few days. The foetus would make a fitting gift for the man who had first rallied him to join the Brotherhood, to throw off the shackles of barbaro-Slavism, and to embrace the true path that was the Aryan culture.

His wife had been against him joining, but to her he explained that it was a necessity, that he must purge himself of the filthy Slavic culture in which he was bred and raised. That he must rise above those who were not like him, because if he did not do so, then he would just be another slave, mindlessly following the dictates of an inferior culture. It was with this conviction that he had joined the Brotherhood.

Suddenly, a child's cry came through the silence. His platoon eagerly searched for the source, to shed more Slavic blood. Heynrish took aim with his pistol and fired. The maniacal cries of the men rang through the apartment complex, their shouts echoing off the walls, reverberating back like phantoms into the rooms they had just ransacked. Heynrish watched as the screaming child fell with a sickening thud to the floor, its lifeblood spilling out like honey onto the tile.

"They must always die. There can be no hope. There can only be death."

His cadre sang as they stomped through the streets, the corpses of children and mothers piling up around them. It took the next few hours to make their way through the apartment building, and by the time they were done, there was nothing left of the structure – nothing save for the pile of bodies.

Shutsman stood before his men, pride in his eyes. "Have you not seen how the Slavic dogs defiled our nation? They have given us no choice but to act. We must eradicate all those who are not like us so that we may all live in harmony." He gave a slight nod to his loyal men. "In ten years, this will be done, and then we can begin to build a world that is truly ours."

A great cheer rose up in unison, each man shouting with a voice of his own. The sounds of the cheers rang through the streets, a rousing call to the ears of those who marched behind them.

"Ten years," Heynrish chanted to himself, the cigarette tumbling from his lip. "In ten years, we will have killed every last Slavic dog."

He looked down at the cigarette as it smoked on the ground, a tiny spark of humanity in an ocean of hate and rage. He lit it again, a small gesture of defiance.

"For the glory of the Aryan race..."

Back to home