Richtofen always hated sleep. Yet, no matter how hard he tried to elude it; his body would eventually betray him. He was still human after all - for the time being at least. He had many plans, ideas and projects that he wanted to carry out; yet, the fallibility of the flesh held him back from reaching his full potential. Whenever he finally did give into sleep he never usually dreamt. But recently, the dreams became more and more vivid.
Initially, his dreams began as non-coherent and unintelligible illusions. But regardless, they would always cause him to awaken with a jolt. He would suddenly sit up sweating and gasping for breath as his pulse raced. And it didn't take long before these messy dreams evolved into something more familiar.
At first, they were more like abstract impressions of past events. But soon Richtofen's dreams became more akin to recollections. It was as if a dam had burst in his mind - and all the memories rushed back like a tsunami.
Richtofen saw his life in chapters; once one came to a close, he would lock it away in his mind and banish it to the inner recesses. He would even go to great lengths to remove any trace of it in the physical world - always tearing down what he had built and rebuilding it somewhere else.
His reluctance to experience the past caused him to fear sleep all the more. Whenever night set in, he would always try to occupy his mind with projects and experiments in a vain attempt to stay awake. However, his circadian clock always rang without fail. The feelings of dread would overcome him at the onset of the symptoms; heavy eyelids, limbs which felt like lead weights - they were the harbingers of what was to come.
Richtofen and his men spent their fourth night at the Ragnarök facility. It was 3am as Richtofen sat at his desk writing up his notes - after a fairly bloody expedition into the corpse of an undead soldier. The clock in the room ticked incessantly as his mind rang with the sound. His head began to feel light and the palpitations set in. Richtofen felt the familiar feeling of doom and gloom as his body cried out for sleep. In fact, considering the two days he had gone without it, his body was practically screaming.
Soon enough, Richtofen dropped his pen and dragged himself to his makeshift bed - kicking off his boots and taking off his jacket. As he stood over the bed, he slid off his tie and undid the top buttons of his shirt. He then shrugged off his braces which hung down as they remained attached to the waistband of his trousers.
Richtofen's muscles ached and his bones groaned as he lay down on his back. It wasn't long before his eyes closed and he began to dream. The mirage of shapes and colours slowly formed into a familiar place.
In 1928, on a busy street in East Berlin; the locals were engaged in their usual rumour spinning. Everybody feared the doctor who was tasked with seeing to their medical complaints. And these fears had been heightened after the disappearance of one resident. An elderly widower had made his descent down the stairs to the basement flat which functioned as the medical practice. Despite complaining to acquaintances about the pain in his left knee - he was never seen again.
However, the doctor's terrifying reputation would soon become expunged and replaced with high regard - all thanks to one patient. His name was Hugo Lang, a father of twelve who stayed with his wife and children in the same tenement block as the practice. He earned a living for his family by working in a factory after the Great War.
Germany was reeling from her defeat and the Treaty of Versailles only added to the wounds. Food shortages were commonplace and power was scarce. As those on the front lines migrated back to Germany they began to flood the cities - the increased demand further hindering the country's recovery.
During his conscription, Hugo had been in a mortar explosion where fragments of shrapnel had embedded themselves in his head. At the time, surgeons removed what they could but it had been impossible to extract every last piece. His injuries also left his face visibly scarred and disfigured. The chronic pain resulting from his battlefield injury also carried through long after his initial wounds had healed.
One day, after working a twenty hour shift at the factory, Hugo collapsed as his left side became paralysed. In the absence of a local ambulance service; his colleagues carried him home through the streets. As dawn arose, the clicking of shoes and tired grunts echoed inside the tenement stairwell. Curious neighbours rushed to their doors as they watched the men ascend the steps to the third floor. Once they reached the landing, the men were met by Hugo's wife who stood by the door - her eyes filling with trepidation.
Days had passed and the prospect of recovery was not in sight. Many of their children took on jobs to support the family but Hugo earned the largest income. Upon hearing of his continued distress; neighbours finally suggested that the Langs finally seek help from the strange doctor downstairs. However, each day they refused the more desperate they became. No one ever sought out the doctor unless they were on death's door.
Eventually they relented and decided to visit the practice. Even with the abject property the country found itself in, the doctor would often offer his treatment free of charge. He did so to try and encourage patients to come through the door - though, it was to simply aquire flesh to practice on rather than any altruistic motivation. But his abrupt, sinister demeanour had the opposite effect.
The atmosphere of the surgery was hushed as a few patients sat trembling in the waiting room. Each time the doctor's door opened; the patients would cower in fear as they preemptively tried to catch a glimpse of him. Hugo's wife reluctantly made her way down the basement steps and into the practice. As she opened the door, the young lad sat by the desk welcomed her in.
"Ah, hallo Mathilda!" The young man smiled and waved over. The woman cautiously made her way over to the desk as she looked around the reception.
"H-hallo, Johan. I am -- my husband is not getting any better. I zhink ve need zhe need zhe doctor", she whispered as her voice wavered. The young man smiled before opening the large book in front of him.
"Jou should have brought him sooner. Dr von Rohr has time later zhis evening. I'll speak to him now und he vill call in a few hours", Johan explained. Mathilda nodded quietly before turning to leave. She immediately stopped as she heard the consulting room door creak open. An elderly gentleman emerged as he quickly made his way out. As she tried to catch a glimpse inside, a tall man also emerged from the room.
"Oh, Doctor von Rohr! I have a patient who needs to see jou. His wife here has requested jou see him but he's housebound. Jou have time zhis evening und I suggested zhat you vould call later on", Johan called out - catching the doctor's attention. The man wore a white coat with a crisp white shirt and blue silk tie underneath. His black suit trousers were impeccably free of creases and his black welted shoes were perfectly polished.
The young doctor turned to Johan and Mathilda as she stood looking on with morbid curiosity. He sauntered over to them before speaking.
"Vhat is wrong vith him?" Dr von Rohr snapped impatiently without looking at the woman.
"He uh-- collapsed four days ago at vork. He does not seem to be getting better now matter how long he rests", Matilda said tearfully. The doctor ignored her emotional state and quickly turned to Johan before issuing an order.
"Johan, I require mein doctor's bag. Fetch it for me und I vill shee to him now", the doctor commanded. The young man quickly got up to get it without any hesitation. He seemed completely comfortable around the doctor and unphased by his terrifying demeanour. As they waited for Johan to return, Dr von Rohr shook off his white coat before putting on his suit jacket.
"Show me vhere he is", the doctor snapped at Mathilda. She pointed up before turning to leave. Dr von Rohr grabbed his leather doctor's bag and marched behind her. They briskly climbed the stairs before entering the flat. Hugo lay in bed as he heard footfall enter the flat. His eyes widened at the sight of the doctor before he looked to his wife.
"Hugo, Doctor von Rohr has come to see jou. Jou're not getting better no matter vhat I try", Mathilda explained as she tried to calm him down.
The doctor walked over to Hugo before he stopped - as his bag thudded against the floor. He opened it and began extracting various pieces of equipment as he readied to set to work on the man. The doctor had been completely absorbed in the task at hand and failed to look at Hugo's face. When he finally lifted his head to look at him; the doctor jerked back slightly as he took in the man's disfigurement. Instead of the usual horrified look Hugo received, the doctor simply smiled.
"I am going to examine jou, Mr Lang", the doctor ordered as Hugo reluctantly allowed him. Ten minutes had passed before Dr von Rohr was satisfied with the examination. He quickly slid his equipment back into his bag before closing it and standing up.
"I shee jou have vhat looks like shrapnel vounds. Vhere zhey able to remove every piece?" The doctor enquired.
"N- no, zhey said zhere vas some lodged in my brain, Doctor", Hugo quivered.
"Ahhh, as I zhought. Zhe shrapnel is affecting jour brain. It vill require surgery to remove", the doctor explained with a malicious smile.
"I vill book jou in to have it removed", Dr von Rohr stated abruptly before turning to leave - completely oblivious to Hugo's distress.
End of part two...