Oakland Prefecture, Japanese Pacific States
"Ever since the new Governor-General came in, the Kempeitai have been everywhere," Jack said, sitting by the kitchen window, sipping lukewarm tea. "Even at the bakery two blocks over. They arrested the clerk for staying open fifteen minutes past curfew."
Sarah nodded. "I've seen them on every corner. Field gear. Sidearms out. Not like before."
"Their boots echo different now," Jack added, tapping his fingers on the cup.
The Kempeitai Military Police were a frightening sight—dressed in olive field uniforms with white armbands marked "Kenpei." The officers marched with sabers on their hips, pistols tight against the chest. Junior NCOs carried shinai—bamboo training swords—though everyone knew they'd splinter your ribs with one strike if they had to.
It was no longer policing. It was occupation with a smile.
Just as Sarah was about to respond, there was a knock at the door.
They both froze.
Jack raised a brow. "Did you invite anyone?"
Sarah shook her head. "No."
Jack approached the door cautiously and peeked through the slit. Then he opened it.
"Surprise."
"Lilith?!" Sarah stepped forward, stunned as her younger sister strolled in like she'd never left. Same rebellious smirk. Same cropped jacket and fingerless gloves. She dropped her bag on the floor and hugged Sarah tight.
"It's been too long," Lilith said.
Jack smiled. "You didn't tell us you were coming."
"I like to keep things exciting," she said with a wink.
They cooked noodles and dumplings, sitting around the small table, talking like old times. Sarah kept asking questions—where she'd been the last few months, why she hadn't contacted their parents. Lilith just laughed and changed the subject. She always had been evasive… a free spirit, even as a girl.
The night grew late.
Sarah's watch buzzed softly on her wrist.
Time.
"Where are you going?" Lilith asked as Sarah slipped into her boots.
"Work. Got called in. Short notice."
Lilith rolled her eyes. "You work too much."
Jack chuckled. "My fiancé works for the government. Secretaries never sleep."
Lilith looked around. "Can I stay in the spare room for a few days?"
Before Sarah could answer, Jack said, "Of course. Be nice to have someone around while Sarah plays cloak-and-dagger with the paperwork army."
Sarah smiled, kissed him goodbye, and left. But she wasn't heading to any office.
Nazi Embassy – San Francisco
In the soundproofed chamber beneath the Reich Embassy, SS-Sturmbannführer Niklas Voss stood straight before the encrypted comms terminal.
"SS-Obergruppenführer Krüger, I am reporting in."
Krüger's face appeared on the screen—weathered, severe, Berlin in his backdrop.
"Report," he ordered.
"I have verified that Sarah Lin is connected to the resistance infrastructure. She supplies parts. Equipment. But has not led me to The Voice."
Krüger narrowed his eyes. "Complications?"
"The Kempeitai have noticed me. I am being followed."
"They are mediocre allies, Voss," Krüger sneered. "Obtain a diplomatic passport. Use the embassy. Remove their authority from your path. But complete your mission. No matter the cost."
"Sieg Heil," Voss snapped.
"Sieg Heil," Krüger replied. The screen went black.
Within the hour, Voss had his diplomatic credentials. He slipped out of the embassy unnoticed—his black coat flapping as he moved into the shadows once more. Destination: Sarah Lin.
Neutral Zone – Denver
A patchwork world of broken glass, faded propaganda, and smoldering alley fires. Lawless. Dangerous. The Neutral Zone was the corpse of the old world.
Sarah arrived through the border with her credentials. Leo Debelfor was waiting in a cold mechanic yard—hood up, cigarette burning in his lips.
"You Sarah?"
She nodded. "You're the New York contact?"
"Guilty," Leo said. "You ever worked with the Eastern front resistance?"
"No," she said, suspicious. "Just Pacific. I thought you were dead."
"Not yet. Lucky you, I'm your mule."
"Where's Red?" she asked.
Leo's eyes darkened. "Gone."
She pressed. "How many contacts do you have in the Neutral Zone?"
"Enough. You always ask this many questions?"
"Only when I meet strangers delivering unmarked crates who say they're allies."
Leo grinned. "Good. You'll live longer."
Suddenly—a rifle shot cracked. Dust burst from the wall beside them.
"Move!" Leo yelled, tackling her behind the crates.
A second shot hit the metal frame. They both scrambled, running into a boarded-up building—an old slaughterhouse. The smell of rusted blood still lingered in the air.
Inside, shadows warped across bloodstained tile. Hooks dangled from rails.
"Who is that?!" Sarah hissed.
Leo cocked his pistol. "Nazi assassin. He followed you. You led him here."
"I didn't know!" she hissed back.
Footsteps approached.
Voss entered quietly, methodically, silenced pistol raised.
He moved down the hallway of cold hooks and broken windows.
Leo signaled Sarah to move left. He darted right.
The assassin turned too slow.
Leo fired three times—the first two struck the shoulder. The third dropped him.
Voss fell to his knees, blood pooling beneath him.
Leo walked up and fired one more shot to the head.
"Clean."
He turned to Sarah. "We've got a problem."
Later – in a roadside motel
Sarah paced. Leo washed blood from his hands.
"That guy knew my name," she said.
"He had your face. He's burned. You're compromised."
"What do we do?"
"I don't know these Pacific resistance people. You do. I move the shipment, but I need an in. We take the shipment to the Pacific Resistance together. You vouch. I drive"
Sarah asked "how do we get across the border?"
"I'll get papers made. But we'll need to wait a day or two."
Leo walked down the dark road to a rusty payphone, inserted coins, and dialed the secure number. After three rings, it connected.
"SS Headquarters, Manhattan."
"It's Agent Debelfor. Put me through to Obergruppenführer Adam."
Static, then: "Adam here."
"Target eliminated. Sarah compromised. I'm heading into JPS territory. Need papers for two. Drop them at the motel tomorrow."
Adam's voice was sharp and efficient. "Consider it done. Deliveries are already en route."
Back in New York, Felton stepped into Imel's suite at the five-star hotel. The room overlooked the skyline, Reich banners waving off rooftops.
"I have her file, sir," Felton said, handing the folder to Imel.
Imel sat in silence, reading.
Lucy Highmen. Nazi historian. Works at Horace Mann High School, Long Island. Married to Dr. Tyler Highmen. No records prior to The Great Victory. Pro-Nazi affiliation. High student loyalty index. Considered an exemplary racial theory teacher.
Imel read every page slowly.
"She's hiding something," he muttered.
The next morning, Imel and Felton pulled up to Horace Mann High School in their 4-car SS convoy. At first, nobody recognized them. A group of senior Hitler Youth in brown uniforms stood laughing and blocking the walkway. One shoved past Felton.
"Move," Felton said flatly.
"Or what, old man?" one of the teens said, smirking.
That's when they saw the black uniforms, the insignias. They went pale. One ran to get the youth director.
By the time they were inside, all teachers and students stood at attention. The school director and his assistant trailed behind nervously. Teachers stood in BDM and Hitler Youth uniforms, stiff as boards.
Imel and Felton walked the halls slowly, flanked by two Waffen SS soldiers and led by a scarred SS-Hauptsturmführer who commanded the escort. He didn't speak unless barking orders.
They reached Lucy Highmen's classroom.
She didn't speak. Didn't move.
The Hauptsturmführer looked at his clipboard. "Report!" he snapped.
She didn't flinch.
"NOW!" he barked louder. The hall went dead silent.
Lucy hesitated, then stiffened. "Highmen. Lucy. History and Ideology Instructor."
The Hauptsturmführer wrote something down and passed it to the guard.
Imel stepped forward. "What year did Washington fall?"
"1945."
"What was the name of the bomb?"
"Götterdämmerung."
"What does the Reichsadler symbolize?"
"Victory, purity, and eternal rule."
Imel nodded.
Felton signaled the youth director over. "Effective immediately, Lucy Highmen is to report to SS Headquarters, Manhattan."
Gasps filled the hallway. The director and students snapped to attention.
"Heil Hitler!" they chanted.
Imel and Felton returned the salute, concluding the inspection.
That Night – Long Island
Lucy stood in the kitchen, sipping wine. Her husband Tyler Highmen, ecstatic, danced around the house.
"Do you understand what this means?" he said. "SS headquarters?! You're going to shape history!"
Lucy smiled, nodding. But her mind wasn't on the promotion.
She thought of Imel's eyes. The look.
That wasn't about ideology.
That was about unfinished business.
And Lucy Highmen never left business unfinished.