England Ⅳ Corrupt

　　London Library Rare Book Room

　　A vinyl record was gently placed on the phonograph by Catherine, and the needle carefully lowered onto the spinning disc. A soft crackle filled the room as the music began to play—a haunting melody, full of emotion.

　　Catherine stood up, the hem of her dress fluttering with each step. "Lily Marlene, the Nazis left only a handful of music." She spoke softly, her voice barely audible over the gentle strains of the song. "This is one of them."

　　Alice looked up from the book she was reading, her eyes filling with curiosity. "Was this Nazi music?"

　　"No, it belongs to Germany, to all of humanity before 1933. During World War I, a soldier named Hans Leip was conscripted to the Russian front. He composed lyrics, and the song's title is a combination of his girlfriend's names, Lily and Marlene." Catherine sat back down in front of her. "Now, You mean you encountered an SS officer who tried to rape you?"

　　"Yes, and his name was Hans Kranken." Alice's voice trembled slightly as she spoke.

　　"I don't know." Catherine leaned forward, her elbows resting on the table. "Did you see his face? Is he old or young? Did he say something about you?"

　　"No, he speak German and English. his English was very good." Alice took a sip of her tea. "His voice was deep, and his accent was a mixture of British and German."

　　Catherine's eyebrows arched. "Did you have sex with him?"

　　Alice's cheeks flushed. "No," she whispered. "The call came and he spoke a bunch of German and then he told me to go."

　　"How do you know it's an SS officer?" Catherine's eyes narrowed, her gaze fixed on Alice.

　　"I read a book," Alice replied, her voice hushed. "His uniform—it matched the descriptions in the pages."

　　Catherine's fingers danced across the small notebook she'd retrieved from her pocket. "What did he say?" she pressed, her pencil poised to capture every word.

　　Alice hesitated. "I don't speak German, so I can't remember exactly. But it sounded like the SS."

　　"Repeat it again," Catherine urged, her penmanship swift and precise.

　　"He didn't reveal his name," Alice recalled. "Wait, yes—I just remembered. Hans Kranken. He claimed to be a policeman, a rank equivalent to a major in the army. His mustache—hideous, like a twisted caricature."

　　"And his appearance?" Catherine leaned in, her expression intent.

　　"He stood tall, about 1.8 meters," Alice recounted. "Muscles strained beneath his uniform. His voice—a gravelly rasp. Pale skin, scarred face, and that Hitler-like mustache. An embodiment of menace."

　　Catherine's eyes darkened. "Did he say anything else?"

　　Alice's voice barely carried. "He warned me: 'Speak to no one.'"

　　Alice's trembling hand clutched the porcelain cup, its warmth a fragile shield against the chill that seeped through the room. "Did he touch you?" Catherine's voice sliced through the tension.

　　"Yes," Alice whispered, her gaze darting to the window. "He was—rude."

　　Catherine's eyes narrowed. "A useful source of information," she mused. "But remember, in South London, the Germans—especially the military and police—walk untouchable."

　　"Will you tell someone?" Alice's voice quivered.

　　Catherine leaned closer. "I report to Big Ben," she declared, her tone dark. "The resistance will act. For now, silence. One-line contact with me. And keep dating the officer."

　　"But if he discovers—" Alice's breath hitched.

　　"It's a risk," Catherine interrupted. "Your life or many others'. Choose wisely." She stood abruptly. "Be vigilant. And remember, no confidences."

　　Alice hesitated. "Wait. A salary. How much?"

　　"Five hundred pounds," Catherine offered.

　　"Please," Alice pleaded, "I need marks. Canadian pounds won't do. No one dares."

　　"Fine. A thousand marks."

　　"Yes, Miss Catherine." Alice's eyes bore into hers. "My rent—due in a week."

　　"I know," Catherine said, her resolve unwavering. "Don't worry."

　　Catherine stepped out of the library, her footsteps echoing down the hallway. She pushed open the door and made her way into the cold, dreary streets. The city was cloaked in a gray haze, and a bitter chill hung in the air. She pulled her coat tighter around herself, shivering.

　　She was about to hail a cab when a thought crossed her mind. She hurried to the nearest phone booth and dialed the number she had memorized. The line connected after a few rings, and a gruff voice answered.

　　"Who's this?" the man demanded.

　　"Catherine, the informant. I have news about the SS officer Hans Kranken."

　　There was a pause, and the man's voice grew more urgent. "Speak."

　　"The SS officer is active in South London and is a frequent visitor to the Black Cat strip club. He's also a regular at the Hotel Astor."

　　"Anything else?"

　　"Yes. The officer has a distinctive scar on his face, and his voice is very hoarse. He's tall and muscular, and he has a Hitler-style mustache. I think he's a high-ranking officer."

　　"I see. Is that all?"

　　"Yes."

　　"Thank you for the information." The man hung up the phone without waiting for a reply.

　　Catherine stepped out of the phone booth, her breath fogging in the frigid air. She hailed a cab and gave the driver the address of her apartment. As the city flashed past, her thoughts turned to the resistance.

　　——

　　South London

　　It was a gloomy night, and the clouds hung low over the city. The neon lights of the bar illuminated the darkness, casting a strange glow on the street. A young woman was walking alone on the sidewalk, her head down. She was dressed in a trench coat and wore sunglasses, trying to hide her identity.

　　She was Alice, and she had agreed to meet Hans here.

　　As she approached the bar, she hesitated for a moment, then entered. Inside, the air was thick with cigarette smoke, and the music was loud and throbbing.

　　The room was packed with people, and there was a sense of excitement in the air. Alice stood near the entrance, her heart pounding. The bar was crowded, and the atmosphere was lively. Alice looked around, searching for Hans. She finally spotted him in a corner, sitting alone at a table.

　　Alice hesitated, her fingers tracing the rim of her water glass. The dimly lit bar like a clandestine meeting place, and Hans's words hung in the air, thick with intrigue.

　　"Special?" she repeated, her voice barely audible. "Why?"

　　Hans leaned back, studying her. His eyes, once wary, now held a glimmer of curiosity. "You're not like the others," he said. "You don't conform. You challenge me."

　　Alice shifted in her chair, her mind racing. She hadn't expected this encounter to take such a turn. "Challenging you doesn't make me special," she replied. "It just means I have opinions."

　　He chuckled, the sound low and gravelly. "Opinions are dangerous," he said. "They reveal who we truly are."

　　She glanced around the bar, at the other patrons lost in their conversations, their laughter. "And who are you, Hans?"

　　He leaned in, his breath mingling with the faint scent of tobacco. "Someone who appreciates authenticity," he said. "Someone who sees beyond the surface."

　　Alice's pulse quickened. "And what do you see?"

　　His gaze held hers. "A contradiction," he said. "A girl who wears comfort like armor but hides her fire beneath it."

　　She frowned. "My clothes?"

　　"Yes." Hans gestured at her simple T-shirt and faded jeans. "They don't match your spirit. You're not a poor girl, Alice. You're a fighter."

　　"But I don't want to fight," she whispered. "I just want to be."

　　He leaned back, his eyes never leaving hers. "Being is overrated," he said. "Sometimes, we need to ignite the fire within."

　　Alice's mind raced. She had come here seeking answers, but now she was entangled in a web of mystery. "What do you want from me?" she asked.

　　Hans's smile was enigmatic. "To see if you'll burn," he said. "To see if you'll rise."

　　Alice's eyes glistened as she turned away. "I don't want to be like them," she whispered. "They're just trying to impress you. I won't be a doll for you to play with."

　　Hans leaned in, his voice low. "It's not about being a doll. It's about being a woman. Upstairs, in my private room, we can sip ancient French wine and watch the live broadcast of Germany's rocket launch. They're aiming for the moon."

　　Alice shook her head. "I'm not interested."

　　Hans raised an eyebrow. "This is the first time a man has invited you to a private room, and you're not interested?"

　　"I'm not interested in a relationship with you," Alice replied firmly.

　　Hans smirked. "That's fine. I'm not interested in a relationship either."

　　Alice frowned. "You're not making any sense. What do you want from me?"

　　Edward stood up, extending his hand. "I told you, I'm interested in you. Let's go upstairs, watch the rockets, and I'll explain."

　　After a moment's hesitation, Alice took his hand. "Okay, just watching the rockets."

　　They ascended to the private room, settling on the couch. Hans poured them each a glass of wine.

　　"So," Alice said impatiently, "what's your point?"

　　Hans leaned forward, excitement in his eyes. "Listen carefully. I was born in Saxony, Germany—a small town. My father served in the Wehrmacht and died in a Russian war in 1952. Afterward, my mother and I lived in a modest house. I attended a school for children of Wehrmacht soldiers. There, I met Paul, the colonel's son. We were inseparable."

　　Alice's irritation simmered as Hans continued his story. The weight of their shared past hung heavily in the room, like the snow that had buried the human on the Eastern Front.

　　"When we were fifteen," Hans began, "I discovered that Paul was gay. His father sent me off to the Eastern Front. It was a brutal place—a frozen wasteland where humanity seemed to wither away. There, I witnessed unspeakable horrors."

　　Alice leaned forward, intrigued. "And Paul?"

　　"When I returned," Hans said, "Paul was gone from school. I found him in a mental hospital. The war had broken him. I don't know if it was because of his sexual orientation or something else entirely."

　　"Why are you telling me this?" Alice asked.

　　Hans poured himself a glass of wine, his hands trembling. "Because we're both forgotten souls. England doesn't care about you, just as the Nazis don't care about me."

　　Alice hesitated. "What do you want?"

　　"To build a world where people like us can survive," Hans said. "Where the abandoned find purpose. Are you part of the Resistance?"

　　Alice nodded. "Yes."

　　"Do you have a gun?"

　　"No," she admitted. "I've just joined."

　　Hans leaned in. "I can teach you. I have a gun."

　　Alice's eyes widened. "Are you serious?"

　　"Deadly serious," Hans replied. "And if you still doubt me, here's a secret: Hitler died on March 10th, 1960."

　　Alice's mind raced as she sat across from Hans, the dimly lit room casting shadows on their faces. The weight of his revelation hung heavily in the air.

　　Hans leaned forward, his eyes intense. "Alice, I understand your hesitation. But you're the only person I can confide in. The Resistance needs allies, and I can be one of them."

　　Alice's heart pounded, She caught up in a web of espionage and intrigue. "Why me?"

　　"Because you're smart, resourceful, and you have access to information," Hans replied. "I've been watching you. You're not like the others."

　　She took a deep breath. "What do you want from me?"

　　Hans reached into his pocket and pulled out a small bag of white powder. "Taste it."

　　Alice's suspicion flared. "What is it?"

　　"Heroin," he said, smirking. "Not my drug of choice, but it helps me relax. You can take it if you want."

　　She hesitated. The room seemed to close in on her. "I don't want to."

　　Hans leaned back, disappointment flickering in his eyes. "You're a coward."

　　Alice's mind raced. She had to make a decision. Trust this man, or walk away. The stakes were higher than she could have imagined. She reached for the rolled-up bill, sprinkled some powder on her finger, and tasted it. A wave of euphoria washed over her, and she felt her body relaxing.

　　Hans smiled. "See, you need to let go. You're too uptight. I can teach you how to live."

　　Alice's head spun. She had entered a dangerous game, and there was no turning back. But maybe, just maybe, Hans was right. Maybe she needed to let go, to survive in this world of secrets and shadows.

　　In the dimly lit room, tension hung heavy like a fog. Hans, a man of secrets and shadows, leaned in, his eyes piercing through the haze of uncertainty. "Take it," he urged, his voice low and insistent. "Or I won't tell you anything more."

　　Alice hesitated, her fingers trembling as they hovered over the small vial of powder. She had stumbled into this clandestine meeting, seeking answers, but now she was faced with a choice that could alter the course of her life. The powder—mysterious, potent—beckoned to her, promising revelations and escape.

　　"How do I consume it?" Alice's voice wavered. "I've never tried anything like this before."

　　Hans smirked, rolling up a bill with practiced ease. "Put it on your gums," he instructed, handing her the makeshift straw. "Let it seep into your veins, and you'll understand."

　　Alice followed his lead, pressing the powder against her gums. The taste was bitter, electric, and as it dissolved, a rush of euphoria swept over her. Her worries melted away, leaving only a sense of weightlessness. For the first time in ages, she felt free.

　　Hans watched her transformation, his smile widening. "You see," he murmured, "you need to let go. Life is too short to be uptight. I can teach you how to truly live."

　　And in that dim room, with secrets swirling around them, Alice made her choice. The New Order awaited her—a world of blurred boundaries, hidden truths, and the intoxicating allure of the unknown.

　　"Come on, let's have a taste." Hans's voice was husky.

　　——

　　Alice wakes up from a headache, naked and lying on the bed. Her head was throbbing, and she couldn't remember anything. She was alone, and the smell of sex lingered in the air. She crawls across the floor, feeling her way around the room. She finds her clothes in a corner, and she hurriedly puts them on. The smell of roses is overpowering, and she feels like throwing up.

　　She got up and went to the bathroom. Her reflection in the mirror was shocking. Her hair was a mess, her mascara was running down her cheeks, and her lipstick was smeared. She had a hickey on her neck, and her eyes were red and puffy. She washed her face and brushed her teeth.