Der Wunderwaffe und Die Wehrmacht (UPDATED)

I had just finished setting up my camp for the night. tent? Check. food? Check. gun? Check. Now it was time to explore my new (temporary) home in the Slovakian forest. I breathed in the cool air and admired my lush surroundings. I spent months living like that on my pilgrimage to Chernobyl. Just me, a tent and a motorbike I had bought in Poland. Now that the hard part was done, what was there to do now? I decided to explore the area to make sure there’s no spooky shit lurking in the trees.  I grabbed my bag, bayonet, Winchester M1897 and a belt of spare shells. When I turned up on the polish border, the Slovak border guards were dubious about my shotgun, but when I explained my destination and slipped them a few bucks they loosened up a bit. I started marching uphill, with a comfortable lack of spooky to report. The trees stretched up high above me, casting shade and shadows in every which direction. Because of the shadows, I kept catching things out of the corner of my eye. I drew my bayonet suspiciously. Dodgy shadows were the number one sign of spooky activity, and there is absolutely no way some goddamn skeleton was catching me off guard. I began to move between cover in the trees. Further up the hill I saw a large rectangular shadow running along the ground. I came out from cover behind my current shield, a tree with some really heavy scarring on the side facing the shadow. As I got closer I knew I’d found something interesting, I saw a defined, artificial shape in the hillside. I brushed a thick layer of leaves and dirt off of the top of the bunker. Definitely not natural. I climbed over the entrenched building, onto its roof. I scuffed around in the layers of dead leaves that had clearly been building up for decades. After two or three minutes of scuffing my boot hit steel. A little more leaf removing revealed a rusted, circular hatch. I haul the heavy steel plate open. Before I entered, I retrieved my M10-M gas mask from my bag and pulled it on, no 70-year-old cancer air for me!
As soon as I entered the bunker it was clear who’s bunker this was. On the opposite wall, A faded and cracked poster with the words “FUR DEN FURHER, FUR DAS VATERLAND” with a picture of a soldier in a stahlhelm holding a rifle over his head. I chambered my shotgun and scanned the room. To my left was the vision port of the bunker, complete with a 37mm autocannon and what was left of its crew. To the right, the bunker stretched further into the hill with doors lining the walls. Shying away from the dead soldiers I turned to the right and stalked over to the first door. I carefully tried the handle. The door didn’t budge, so I tried it a bit less carefully. The rotted wood around the handle gave way, leaving me holding the handle and lock. I carefully placed the handle down on the ground and swung open the door. Behind the door was a small room with two bunk beds against the walls and a set of four lockers in between them. Though there was something strange about the lockers, they had a design that I hadn’t seen before, no ventilation grilles or anything, and what looked like a tighter seal that your average locker. an investigation of one of the lockers revealed that the inside was some sort of transparent gel, with multiple objects suspended inside. This one has a book, a can of Scho-ka-kola and a uniform. I poked the gel with my bayonet. It didn’t melt, which was nice, I didn’t have a spare. I cautiously poked the gel with my finger for the same results. After a moment of internal debate, I rolled up my sleeve and reached into the gel block. The gel gave almost no resistance, like it was barely there. I reached for the book first. As I slowly pulled the book out I watched the air bubbles left within the gel seal up. When the book left its locker, no gel stuck to it and the hole left by my arm filled itself in almost immediately. I gave the scarred leather book a quick look over. It was a diary, on the cover was scratched “the Russians are here. Godspeed” in German. I retrieved the Scho-ka-kola and uniform. Meth chocolate and Nazi disguise acquired! The other lockers just have more uniforms in their gel. With this room suitably investigated, I exited back into the main room.
Through the bunker’s vision slit I could see the sun is setting. I thought that it would be best get back to camp before the sundown. I left the rest of the rooms unchecked and climbed back up the rusty ladder. When I climbed out there was something that seemed off. I couldn’t put my finger on it though. What I could put my finger on however, is the fact that I needed to book it back to the camp site before it got too dark to navigate. I began running down the hill, with the limited vision in my gas mask. I dodged between trees, jumped over roots and ducked under a steel pole. That wasn’t there before! I stumbled into camp a few minutes later, panting and scratched up from stray branches. I pulled off my gas mask and caught my breath. I put my bag back in the storage bin on my motorbike and retrieved an MRE. I set the book and uniform down in my tent. A while later, I sat down in the tent with the now-cooked MRE and inspected the book further. It was perfectly preserved, if it really was from the 40’s. I had no doubt that it was that strange gel in the lockers that was responsible for this. I flipped open the book to the first page. There’s no bedtime story like a war diary! Besides, I need to practice my German for the return trip.

Day 1 XX/XX/194X
Hello, diary
I’ve been told to write this by #666. Apparently, there are things here that can make you forget who you are, I’m not sure if it’s true or #666 is really just in a constant state of paranoia like everyone says. So here I go, a short history of guard #777.
Born 1st September 1919
Joined the Wehrmacht, served on the Russian Front
The important bit starts just recently when we found something that would have rather not been. Actually, it would be better to forget that.
I arrived at the Site late last night, the last leg of the journey was in the dark so that we wouldn’t know where we were. Somewhere in southern Poland? Maybe northern Czechoslovakia? Anyway, after “briefing” us (being told that someone else would explain this shitshow in the morning) the officer that was in the halftrack kicked us out and told us to follow the path. The halftrack then sped off to, I assume, drop off soldiers at the next point. What was left of my original group, just four of us, followed the track to a bunker. The bunker also doubles as a small barracks, keeping men inside the Site would be… difficult. That is where I met #666, who when we entered “his” bunker, threw a knife at us and began screaming. Before I could even open my mouth, I was face down in the concrete with my arm pinned to my back and a pistol to my head. Thanks to my comrades’ quick thinking, shouting their numbers and practically throwing their papers at him, #666 did not give his bunker a new red flooring. I should mention the numbers, to the outside world we are dead, killed in some heroic fashion. I heard the Furher himself sends condolences to our families. In our previous lives we had names, now we have numbers. #666 was particularly delighted by my number, “finally!” he shouted. He showed us to an empty room. I’d never seen a barracks with individual rooms, but #666 says it means less of us die if the bunker gets hit by artillery, not that there’s any enemy artillery anywhere close of course, but that’s not worth saying to him.
Our morning today started with #666 kicking in our door and shouting for us to wake up. The four of us, #774, #775, #776 and me, #777 got out of bed and put our uniforms back into a presentable state. While sixteen men stayed in the bunker to man the position and patrol. The other eight of us marched down the road behind #666. I notice the whole time we were walking, his eyes never left the treeline, and his hand stayed holding something under his jacket While we walked #666 explained our situation. Calling this place a secret is an understatement. The operations here are classified beyond classifimed, the documents here will sooner crumble to dust than see the light of day. The commander of the Site listens directly, and only, to the Furher. Here is the birthplace of Hitler’s chosen weapons, the Wunderwaffe. #775 perked up at the mention of Wunderwaffe.
“like Dora?”
“no”
“The Tiger?”
#666 said that the wunderwaffe developed here was of a very different make. Further questions about the Wunderwaffe were just met with uncomfortable, almost worried silence from #666. We saw a gate in the middle of the road just up ahead, watched over by two armed watchtowers. The first thing I noticed, was that the towers weren’t actually guarding anything, the road just stretched further into the forest. The two towers swivelled their quad-linked 20mm gun mounts to point at us. I’d never had to be a tower guard, but that is not a typical armament. A grim-faced SS Officer climbed down from the left tower and strode up to #666. Without speaking, he expectantly held out his hand. #666 handed the man his papers and motioned for us to do the same. After he had processed the rest of us, The Officer tipped his hat and climbed back into his tower. The 20mms returned to their original position and the gate slid open.
 Past the gate was a massive concrete dome, I was shocked that I hadn’t seen the massive structure before.
“in all the time I’ve been here, he has not spoken, not one word!” muttered #666. The dome’s sudden appearance started making sense when we crossed the gate and I couldn’t see the watch towers anymore. Here the other four soldiers parted ways with us to another part of the Site. #666 led us to a group of soldiers assembled in front of the dome’s massive blast doors. We joined the formation and #666 went to join the officers standing before us. An officer stood forward. He was very tall; his face was scarred and his chest was covered in medals. I’m sure that there were medals hidden by other medals! He introduced himself as Commander Sturmfeld. He welcomed us to our very own slice of hell on earth. He said that we were all here because of our ‘experiences’ with the unknown. I shivered at the mere thought of that thing, if there are any of those creatures here… He continued speaking, our assignment is to simply guard the Site, and prevent anything entering or leaving without permission. I make a special note that he said ‘Anything’ and not ‘Anyone’. Our officers were to show us the inner workings of the Site. He ended his speech with a salute and the great doors grinded apart.
#666 showed us the interior of the dome, a gigantic hangar with very little inside it. A group of scientists gathered around a panther tank, a bipedal machine jogged around and performed various tasks, and a sleek disc-like aircraft hovered in place in the centre of the hangar. A large elevator platform carried crates deep into the earth. We spent the rest of our day carrying crates and giving a soldier’s perspective on some questions for the scientists.
Oh my I’ve written a lot, I will make my entries more concise in the future.



Day 2
I had a nightmare last night, it was the same as all the others. That godforsaken creature again, may the lord above protect us.
Today we ventured deeper into the site. The layer below is a maze of corridors and cells containing god-knows-what. #666 got more and more agitated the longer we spent down there, making the sign of the cross, looking over his shoulder. I also met #667, a soldier who was recruited here at the same time as #666 and is an officer too. he said it was about time #777 showed up as #666 would only obsess about real dangers instead of worrying over the devil stealing his soul or something. when #666 tried to lecture him about the very real possibility of the unholy lord of the underworld rising up and making the Site just that little bit worse, #667 just rolled his eyes and continued his patrol route with his four-man team in tow. Which would have been fine, but #666 didn’t really care and lectured us instead. Not much else to report for the day, other than when we met two men wearing gas masks. Their uniforms were flawless, like they had never been worn and tinting on their masks hid their eyes. They paused for a moment and regarded us, then nodded politely and strolled away. #666 practically flung himself at the opposite wall, trying to get as far away as possible from them. When I asked what the hell was wrong this time, his simply said.
“did you hear them breathe? even in those masks?”
I didn’t

Day 3 XX/XX/194X
Instead of going inside the dome, my shift today was on the concrete slab between the dome and the invisibility cordon. The first part of the day was uneventful, #666 stuck to me like glue though. Seeing as he wasn’t going to talk about the masked men from yesterday, I asked what we do out here. Here, we are the third and last line of defence of the Site and we look out for planes with supplies coming in. at around noon plane came in, a plane I didn’t recognise, but its markings checked out. When I saw the plane, I called it in through the radio. A mere minute later, the Commander ran out from the doors. The plane slowed down above a marked landing zone, lowering itself gently to the ground. I didn’t know planes could do that!
#666 and I rushed over. I was going to help unload, but #666 tells me now that the commander almost never leaves his office and he wanted to see what was going on. Apparently, he was outside on day 1 because the scientists were demonstrating their panther shortly before and he decided talk to the fresh blood.
When we got there the cargo had already been unloaded, a small box. The pilot presented it to the Commander with a smile on his face. Suddenly, the pilot was thrown into the air. I only just managed to catch him before he broke his neck on the concrete. We both fell in a heap on the landing strip. #666 didn’t stop running.
“PROTECT THE COMMANDER” he shouted at the shocked group of guards. I jumped to my feet and help the pilot to his.
What I saw then was something that I never thought I’d see, even working at a facility such as this. A man, dressed in the attire of a holy knight of the middle ages, helmet and all. what was less awe-inspiring, was the fact that his sword was buried hilt-deep in #666’s stomach. #666’s response to this was pulling two C-96 pistols and shoving then in the knight’s eye slits. After taking the hail of bullets right in the eyes, the knight withdrew his sword and kicked #666 to the side.
“We left you back in Africa!” exclaimed the pilot as I tended to #666.
“only in body” boomed the knight hollowly, staring directly at the Commander and his new box. Medics arrived to take care of #666. The knight and the Commander began their fight, slowly circling each other.
The knight had a longsword and his armour, the commander had his officer sword and the box tucked firmly under his arm.
“who art thou, who thinks himself worthy of my charge?” said the knight
“I am the Commander”
In a blink of my eyes, their swords were interlocked. The knight attacked and the Commander expertly defended, warding off his opponent’s strikes in all manner of ways. Then, faster than any man should have, the knight skewered the box, raising it above his head.
“The Nail is not for the hands on mortal men” announced the knight to the Commander and the gathered soldiers.
I shouldered my rifle and shot the knight’s sword. The sword shattered, sending the box falling to the ground. The box split on impact, sending a shining piece of metal skittering across the concrete. The knight, the commander and I lunged for the shiny thing. I got to it first. The object was a large, roughly made nail, similar to one used in railways. I’m not sure what happened to me in that moment, #666 says that I became an angel, the Commander said I was surrounded by golden light. I suspect the truth is somewhere in between. My last memory of that event is an image of the knight recoiling while I point a flaming sword at him. When I woke up, the knight’s armour was lying in a heap and the commander was using the remaining parts of the box to pick up the nail. A smouldering ditch had opened up in the concrete. When I tried to get up, my head started spinning and I fell back down. The commander came over to thank me for my bravery and advise me not to touch strange things in the future, golden light and flaming swords are one of the better things that can happen.
That concludes my report for the day, hopefully that nail won’t have any side effects.
Day 4
under orders from the medics I have to stay in a room in the dome for two days, so they can keep me under watch. I am allowed to write in my book, although they said I shouldn’t spend too long on it, lest I strain my head or hand. While I am here, there won’t be any new activities to document, but I can provide a more detailed description of my comrades, should they not leave a lasting enough effect on me.
#666
I have mentioned him most, simply because he is always there, probably because he thinks my number brings good luck. He is average height, but always walks with a hunch. Not the kind that come from deformation, but like he is always making himself a smaller target or preparing to throw himself behind cover. He has brown hair and brown eyes. He won’t talk about his previous unit but said that there was not a trustworthy bone between them. He has at least four pistols on his person, all Mauser C-96s. the ones I have seen have gold crosses on their magazine ports. I have been informed that he is still alive, despite the knight’s best efforts.
#667
I saw him on my second day and we met again in the mess hall. His previous unit was the Fallschirmjagers, he still wears their signature helmet and uses a special lightweight MG42. At first I didn’t recognise it as an MG42, but he assured me it was hard to carry the regular big, clunky machine gun out the back of a plane. He came in with the same batch of troops as #666 and has quite accustomed to his ramblings and conspiracy theories.
The Commander

#727
I haven’t mentioned him yet, I have only seen him in the mess hall and he is not much of a conversationalist. One such reason, is that the only German he knows is ‘yes’ and ‘no’. He fought the Russians during the winter war and, after taking his entire squads worth of Pervitin on a bet, ran into the woods and killed multiple monsters that his translator, #726 could only describe with “SATANA” and “PERKELE”. Both words that I don’t understand, but the tone says they weren’t very pretty. He drives a BT-7 tank that he and his two Finnish buddies occasionally take out for a spin on the landing strip.
A doctor has just informed me that today’s entry is finished if I don’t want to be sedated.
Day 6
The Nail has had minimal effects on me thankfully, though one doctor swore he could see a faint glow around me. After being reminded by his fellow medical professionals that it wasn’t physically possible for a human to emit light, he shrugged and said it wouldn’t be the first impossibility he’d witnessed. The doctors allowed me to leave today, on my way back to the surface I met the two gas-mask-clad men. They still acted politely but stuck to their side of the passage like #666 had done to them.
Thankfully not much has changed up on the surface. I was given the rest of the day off work, so I joined #727 in the BT-7
-------
I put down the book. There was no way that this was true right? Active camouflage, secret weapons of science fiction proportions and a magic nail? This is the kind of thing I should call in, or post about on the internet. But calling this in to the local authorities might get me into some deep secret service crap that I could really do without, and people wouldn’t believe me if I just go posting on the internet. One thing is for certain, Chernobyl can wait until I have figured out what was going on here. Being in the dark did not ease my concerns. After a while it was clear that my Spook-o-meter was not going to let me go to sleep, so I picked the book back up.
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Day 9
Unfortunately, I spilt water on this book as I was writing, and has made the past four pages unreadable. Thankfully, nothing of real note has happened these past few days. Today’s events however, are nothing but of note.
I was called to the commander’s office. An honour, I was informed, that meant I was about to be killed or welcomed to the commander’s circle. As I am writing this it is quite clear which way the meeting went.
I was in quite a state of panic at the time, the last I had seen of the Commander was after I had killed a knight and melted a chunk out of his runway. So as I walked up the road from the bunker, there were multiple scenarios running through my mind, all of which end up with me dying. However, once I had arrived it was clear that the situation was very different.  I remember this quite vividly, and doubt that my memory of it will ever fade.
He was sat as his big oak desk. Once I had entered he gestured for me to take a take a seat. Once I had sat down on the chair facing him he began asking questions.
“Where are you from #777”
“Berlin, sir”
“What is your faith?”
“my family has been catholic for generations sir”
“even with most the country being protestant?”
“yes sir”
He paused and thought for a minute. During this time, I noticed that the Nail was laying on a white cloth to my right.
“have you broken the Ten Commandments or done anything that the church would consider sinful or blasphemous?”
“I don’t believe I have sir”
“even ‘Thou shalt not kill?” he said eyeing me suspiciously, no doubt thinking me a coward
“I have taken many prisoners sir, and only shot to maim”
He slid the nail and cloth across the desk to the centre, between him and I.
“This nail, has killed everyone who has tried to wield it as you did. The scientists cannot explain why, but the more religiously-minded of us have some clue.”
“It has something to do with me being catholic sir?”
“this was one of the three nails used to crucify Christ, according to legend this one impaled his right hand. This steel has been soaked with the blood of Christ, sanctified by his disciples and locked away in a vault in Egypt for the past two thousand years”
I looked down at the simple nail in a new, awed light. Christians spent their entire lives trying to follow the words and actions of Christ, but fate has had me touch this steel, the very steel on which he bled.
“I assume you are quite aware of this site’s particular brand of wunderwaffe?”
“only vaguely sir”
“this site specialises in what is best described as the occult. The Furher is quite superstitious, so he sent me to find artefacts and manuscripts from across the planet that can be used in the war. A grand majority of them unfortunately are useless, mostly due to them being fakes or objects of misplaced worship.”
He shuffled in closer on his chair.
“but some are real, #777, artefacts of untold power and danger. Slowing time, mystical beasts, programmable flesh, the living dead! Once these weapons are perfected, not only will we conquer our enemies, but the entire world and beyond! You see this place is not a mere place of research, it is a womb for the future of humanity”
I was shocked by his change in demeanour, from a serious superior officer to an excited visionary sharing his dreams for the future.
“I see, but all this seems to be much more than a soldier like me should know”
He smiled and, using the cloth, pushed the nail over to me.
“you are not just a soldier, you are our newest Wunderwaffe”
This recent turn of events is certainly not what I had in mind for a future career. But if the commander’s vision of the future becomes reality, it will be a far more fulfilling use of my life.
Day 10
By order of the Commander, I have been excused from regular duty until further notice. Much to #666’s dismay, he is not allowed to accompany me to the deeper levels or on off-site training sessions.
My guide through the deeper levels was Senior Researcher Heinrich. Before we started he gave me my codename, Angel’s Sword. our first stop was what Heinrich called ‘The Restless’.
The restless are the living dead. They are largely ‘free’ meaning that they cannot be controlled and will eat whoever comes near. The first of the Restless were recovered from the jungles of the Amazon where the locals would punish serious criminals by throwing them in a pit of Restless and watch as they were either converted to a restless or torn apart.  Some however are ‘Recruited’ and are given uniforms and gas masks to hide their lifeless features. The two gas-mask-clad men #666 hated were Recruited Restless. Maybe I should have listened to #666’s conspiracy theories more closely. The Recruited Restless have been proven to be combat ready and have been deployed to isolated parts of the eastern front. Without the uniforms they are quite ugly, as I observed as they pressed up against the thick glass of their cell. Though they didn’t seem as eager to eat me once I walked up to the glass.
Next was the ‘Fleshforge’ a large mass of biological matter of indeterminate origin. in an inactive state it acts similar to a liquid, so the scientists just have a big hole in the floor full of flesh. Somehow the Forge can be ordered to form things out of its mass. A successful product of the Forge is the panther that I saw on my first day. While it looks fairly normal at a glance, it is actually full of. Actually it is easier to explain like this. The outside “Zimmerit” is actually like skin that uses the steel as a skeleton. Inside, the crew positions, save for the commander, have all been replaced with fleshy tendrils. I saw an automatic loader, muscles replacing the turret drives. It was disturbing, really. Like someone had taken apart a person and strung up their pieces all over the place. Then there was a gun. This thing was all hard stuff, like a thick fingernail. It spat acid like a flamethrower, with a big, blobby sac that was shouldered like a backpack.
The next wunderwaffe I met was #667. At first I was confused, but Heinrich said he was the wielder of a wunderwaffe, not a wunderwaffe himself, like me. Through a bout of teasing, I ended up fighting #667 in a battle with wooden swords. The battle was short-lived. I do not know the how to use a sword beyond simply hitting the enemy, however, before I could even use my rudimentary skills the battle was over. #667 for a split second was everywhere, striking from every possible direction. Needless to say, I wasn’t keen to continue after that. His wunderwaffe is a pocket watch that when opened, slows the flow of time while allowing the user to move as usual.
Die Glocke is a device that looks quite like a bell, hence the name, but Heinrich tells me that it is the site's failsafe, should there be a uncontrollable breach or similar circumstance occur, it will be activated. Die Glocke, when activated, causes crystals to form within blood, not nice crystals either, these horrible spiky things that seem to just erupt from inside, effectively impaling the poor creature or person on their own blood. Heinrich showed me photographs of the tests. I have to say I am curious as to how it works, although for a man of science like Heinrich to answer "it just does" I doubt that I, or even he, can know exactly how it carries out its terrible task.
The final wunderwaffe that Heinrich was willing to show me, to my eternal disgust, was a creature similar to the one that haunts my dreams. This one was almost completely encased in a slab of concrete. I hope it gets dissected. I don’t feel like writing any more about it.
Day 10
First day of my training with the Nail. I was taken to the forest and told to use the nail again. I took it out of its cloth, and similar to last time, blew up some trees. Around the fourth time I made some progress, I could summon the sword and light without blasting anything. Though I still passed out afterwards. I’m afraid the training has drained me and cannot write anymore without falling asleep!
Day 20
I must apologise for not keeping my book updated, the training has been quite gruelling. I have almost mastered my skills with the nail. I don’t pass out anymore. I have focused the swords power to be like a bullet rather than a cannonball. I suspect that is why I was passing out, too much energy in a single blow. The golden light has begun manifesting as great golden wings, like an angel’s as #666 suspected. I should also mention the Halo. Even when I’m not in contact with the nail I have a disc of faintly glowing light hovering behind my head, like a living painting of one of the lord Christ or one of his disciples. That is one of the reasons it has been tough to sleep. #666 has been overjoyed at my ailment, saying something about salvation. The rest of my comrades have been fairly understanding, mutations are fairly uncommon but do happen around here.
Day 21
I probably will not be able to write much in the future, word is, that the Russians are closing in. the Commander is very angry, the grand majority of our wunderwaffe are imperfect and not ready for use. The ones that are, however are being mobilised in defence of this Site. “Berlin can fall, the Reich can turn to ash, but we will remain, WE MUST REMAIN! Not for our sakes, but for the sake of all of humanity, for mankind’s glorious future!” he shouted to the gathered shoulders. I will face the red tide with all my strength for the preservation of this site.


Day 0
God damn it all, all to hell
The red tide is here

To the filthy Red who has no doubt looted my locker. go to hell, you can’t even read this but
GO TO HELL
g O

           T
              O

                        H
                               E
                                       L
                                                L
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I placed the book down again and I thanked whatever god was listening that the sun was finally rising. I jumped out of my sleeping bag and ran over to my motorbike. I grabbed a small booklet and a radio set. I flipped through the book until I found the page I was looking for, ‘SHTF Frequencies’. I never thought I’d need /k/ommando backup, but in a case like this… all that came through the radio was static. I frowned, there should be at least some local stations I could pick up. I scan the tops of the mountain range, yes, just a few peaks away was a radio tower. I began to have a sinking feeling. I should be able to get a signal, unless there was interference, which there is no natural barriers to the tower. Which means the signal is being jammed, and if what I read Is true, it’s by a large group of Nazis who don’t care about the outcome of the war. I picked up the uniform, I didn’t think I’d actually have to wear it, maybe just hang it up somewhere nice or sell it to a museum.
Soon I was suited up, looking fresh ‘40s style, shotgun loaded, and Scho-Ka-Kola slightly consumed. Packing #777’s diary and my bayonet, I started up the path I took yesterday. This time, I was more aware of my surroundings. Out of the corner of my eye I caught an angular shape that did not belong in such a natural environment. A T-34, so heavily rusted and covered in moss that it could almost pass for part of the forest. I inspected the tank for damage, walking around to the front. What I found was what a certain sticky tape salesman would describe as “A LOTTA DAMAGE”. A single cut, curving from the right of the turret, cleaving straight through the armour, and turning around to kill the two crew in the hull. Further up the hill, an IS-2 lay in two parts. I ended up just jogging up the overgrown road, past the bisected tanks, wrecked trucks and occasional skeleton. I finally reached the two watchtowers that #777 described. The gate was pushed in, another wrecked T-34 lay just on the other side. There was indeed some barrier that made the dome beyond invisible, but it was tattered in places, and there were patches of rust floating in mid-air. I carefully walked through the gate, looking around the massive dome and its surroundings. About 50 metres away, was an intact-looking Panther. It was moving, but not how a tank should move. It was nudging a truck, it managed to slip it’s muzzle brake under the truck’s chassis. It flipped the truck over and bounced up and down on its suspension in delight. The turret then spun around, looking for something else to do. It came to rest on me. I stood frozen, unable to do anything but stare as the Panther raced over to me. It screeched to a halt a few metres from me, skidding and tearing up some concrete in the process. I closed my eyes and waited for the painful, explosive end but it never came. The panther was bouncing up and down, wagging its radio antenna. A series of excited tapping erupted on its frontal armour, it took the message to repeat twice before I realised it was Morse code.
F-O-L-G-E-N
“uh, okay I’ll follow”
The tapping continued, as if I hadn’t said anything.
“Ja?”
The Panther nodded with its gun and, to my shock, a staircase formed out of the Zimmerit coating on the frontal armour. This would be that Fleshforge Panther then, I thought. I tried to climb the steps as confidently as I could, but I couldn’t stop myself from cringing as I stood on the squishy substance. I sat down on the hull roof with my legs resting on the frontal glacis. The Panther then raced around the dome, pointing at things and tapping their name to me through the hull roof.

Eventually we came to the Dome’s entrance, the massive steel doors now melted shut, the figure of an angel in Wehrmacht kit was formed out of the doors’ metal, joining them together. I pointed to the door and asked the panther if it could be opened. The panther told me to get behind the gun and it would try. I moved to the back of the turret and gave the all clear. The panther launched an armour piercing round at where the gap between the doors should be. leaves and dust got kicked up by the blast of the KWK. The dust and gun smoke slowly cleared, revealing the steel angel to have cracked in half from the force of the shot, making the door once again useable. I examined the door, and judging the crack to have properly split the doors in half, I told the panther to tow the door open. I unhooked the tow cable from the hull side and wedged one end in between the doors
The inside of the dome was dark, the sole illumination streaming in through the doorway. After about fifty metres the light could no longer cut through the darkness. I swallow my fear and cautiously edge into the room, the Panther couldn’t fit through the wrecked door, but still tried to cover me with its 75mm gun. I crouched in the centre of the patch of light, fumbling through my bag, looking for the torch. Once I had the torch I realised that there was a problem. My shotgun requires two hands to use, and the torch needs one hand, so I can’t use the torch and gun at the same time. It is only now that I regret not falling for the tacticool AR meme. I try holding it in various positions, under my arm, between my neck and shoulder, but none would serve me well if I have to fight anything. If only I could attach it… I dug further into my bag and grabbed the holy object of repairs – a roll of duct tape. I set the torch against my right arm and bound it there. I flicked the torch on and pointed it around the room, testing the stability. After adding a few more strips to further solidify the torch, I picked my shotgun back up, the torch illuminating the area in front of me. I gave a last, brief glance over my shoulder to the Panther. With my shotgun cocked and my finger on the trigger, I marched past the border of the lit area. The floor here is filthy with dust, shell casings and the occasional set of bones. I heard a scratching sound nearby and swung my torch and gun to bear on the source of the noise.
The creature before me could only be described could accurately be described as a walking emaciated corpse. Whatever clothes it was earing had almost completely disintegrated with age, leaving the creature wearing a few meagre strips of cloth. I had no doubt that this was one of the Restless that #777’s diary described. The Restless did not seem happy to have this sudden bright light invade its world of darkness. It lumbered towards me, while I decided whether to shoot or stab it. I decided on shooting, I’m not risking fighting zombies hand to hand. The Restless’ head exploded and the body slumped to the ground with no signs of getting back up. I flashed the torch around again, trying to find if there were any more Restless around.
There were two more, dragging their rotting forms toward me at a snail’s pace. Another two booms later, they were no longer a threat. I shone the torch around again, now noticing a large disc-like object off to my right, its silver plates shining brightly in the torchlight. Between the UFO and I was a square of pure darkness, with rusty remnants of a crane. I nervously make my way up to the hole, stopping one meter from the edge. One look at the endless black void froze my feet in place. Images of me stumbling and falling off the edge flash through my head. I lay down on my stomach and crawl closer to the edge, my fear of heights quelled somewhat by the guarantee of not carelessly falling into the abyss.