Japanese Pacific States – Oakland Prefecture, Sector 9
The wind howled through the barbed-wire alleys of Oakland as Sarah Lin crept through the border gate under forged paperwork. Her second broadcast had reached further than she planned. Too far. The net was closing.
Back in her two -bedroom flat, the lights were off. Quiet. Safe.
She pushed open the door. Jack was asleep on the couch again, one arm slung over an open novel, a half-finished bowl of rice sitting cold on the table.
Sarah locked the door behind her, breathing heavy. Her hands trembled, her heart still pounding from the checkpoint.
She tiptoed past him, dropped her bag under the sink, behind the false cabinet panel—radio parts, coded maps, and a compact pistol wrapped in rags. Then she moved to the couch and gently brushed his hair back.
He stirred. "You're home late."
"I stayed at Mai's. Curfew hit too fast," she lied.
Jack gave a sleepy grin. "Next time call. I worry."
She kissed his forehead. "Sorry."
But guilt burned her chest like fire.
Jack knew nothing—nothing about her work. About how her parents were arrested when she was sixteen for owning an American history book. About how she was sent to a youth camp to be "retrained" and escaped after watching a girl get beheaded for reciting the Declaration of Independence. About how she spent two years in the Rockies learning how to solder radios and build bombs. He only knew the Sarah that smiled, the one who fixed appliances at a corner shop and made dumplings on Sundays.
He didn't know the real Sarah Lin.
And if he ever found out, he'd either hate her… or die for it.
Elsewhere in JPS – Near the Golden Gate Embassy
The Reich assassin had been quiet for days. Watching. Listening. But something was off.
He noticed it in the mirror first—a glimmer of light that wasn't his own. A man at the noodle stall watching too long. A street sweep who passed him three times in an hour.
Japanese agents. At least two teams.
He didn't like being followed.
So he made a move.
A black Gestapo vehicle pulled up outside the Nazi Embassy in San Francisco, tucked behind the Imperial Consulate near the wharf. He walked in through the front entrance—cold, unbothered—his coat flapping as he passed the guards.
Inside, he dropped his code token at the front desk.
"Priority One. I need the wire room. Now."
The staffer stiffened. "Jawohl."
San Francisco – Naval Command
Chief Inspector Sugiyama slammed the report onto Admiral Yamamoto's desk.
"The assassin made contact with the Reich Embassy. That means he knows we're on him."
Admiral Yamamoto, now wearing his black-tinted ceremonial uniform, leaned back in his chair, stone-faced.
"Then we stop treating this like an observation," he said.
"From now on—marital law posture."
Sugiyama's eyes widened. "Sir?"
Yamamoto stood, hands behind his back. "As of this hour:
Curfew is 10 p.m. nationwide.
Documentation is mandatory on your person 24/7.
House guest logs submitted weekly to district command.
Every Kempeitai post will double patrol shifts.
Military tanks from the carrier Yamashiro will reinforce Kempeitai soldier at all government buildings.
Anti-aircraft placements will be installed across the nation."
A silence fell.
"And make sure the rumor about the Crown Prince's world tour stays just that—a rumor."
Sugiyama bowed. "Understood."
Missouri – Just outside Springfield
The road was empty. Only ash floated from the sky like quiet snow.
Leo Debelfor's truck hissed to a stop.
Flat tire.
He got out, looked at the shredded rubber. He cursed under his breath, reaching for the jack when a state trooper cruiser pulled up behind him, lights low.
The cop stepped out. Tall, stocky, pale. Standard-issue American Reich blue and white swastika armband.
"Need a hand?" he asked, pulling gloves on.
Leo nodded. "Yeah… I'm new out this way."
The trooper popped his trunk, grabbed a wrench. "We don't get many travelers this far west."
He helped get the tire on in under five minutes. Then stood, brushing his hands.
"Papers?"
Leo reached for them in the truck next to his firearm, heart drumming. The trooper read over them slowly. Everything in order.
Ash swirled in the wind.
Leo looked up. "What is that?"
The cop smirked. "That?"
He pointed to the sky.
"That's the Useless."
Leo blinked. "The what?"
The trooper grinned wider. "Cripples. Mental defectives. The old. The broken. They get… recycled."
He gave Leo's shoulder a friendly pat. "Efficiency, son. This is the America Reich."
He returned to his cruiser and drove off, tire tracks cutting through the gray dust.
Leo stood there a moment too long. Then he started the engine. Destination: Denver.
Back in San Francisco – Sector Five
Sarah turned the hot water on in the kitchen. Jack was washing dishes. The radio was off. Silent. The apartment felt tight. Too quiet.
She looked at him, watched his smile, his kindness.
She didn't deserve him.
But she needed him. Needed to feel something human again.
Manhattan – Midnight
Imel Dietrich sat at the edge of his hotel bed in the American Reich's capital. He had taken off his uniform jacket, resting it over the chair, the iron cross dangling gently from the pocket edge.
He lit a cigarette.
Felton entered. "Sir?"
Imel didn't look at him.
"That girl from the airport. The thief."
Felton raised a brow. "You want her found?"
Imel finally turned. "Yes. Her name was Lucy. Find her. Discreetly."
Felton nodded, and left without asking questions.
Imel looked out the window again, watching the swastika flags wave over Manhattan. But his mind wasn't in the city.
It was in that moment.
When Lucy smiled. When she slipped the wallet and dared him to accuse her.
There was something about her.
Something he didn't yet understand.
But he would.