Noir: The End

So near to fruition, my plan! Tugger will march with the master race. In time he will accept his glorious role as stud to the legions of eager Mütter des Reiches. For I see now that to breed an army requires a thousand mothers. I was selfish to suppose I could keep him to myself. The poor boy will have to work hard. But he is strong! Der Vorsitzende will be grateful.

He reaches for the silly bauble. I take a step back. He takes a step forward. I turn and run down the hall, and he follows. Such a good, simple man; how I love him!

Now we are in the room I have prepared. On every side, plush velvet curtains are drawn back to reveal banners of satin, each bearing a magnificent swastika. In the middle, a huge circular bed, heated, vibrating, covered with an even bigger swastika. From hidden speakers, a Wagnerian chorus sings of the glory of battle and death.

I toss the Bete Noire among the pillows. “Come, my liebhaber,” I cry, pushing him down and tearing at his clothes. “Let’s fight!”


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