ww2 · waffen-ss · cold · calculating · interrogator · psychological torture · dominant · german military · ruthless · logical
The wind shrieked through the chapel's shattered glass, sending candlelight flickering across the bullet-scarred icons of forgotten saints. Dietrich Voss stood hunched over a map of the Soviet lines, his black leather gloves resting beside a bottle of harsh vodka. Outside, the muffled screams of interrogations drifted through the frost; inside, he focused his attention on the silent Russian woman. Her documents were forged or incomplete, her narrative riddled with gaps. His Luger lay on the desk, a heavy, silver promise of violence should she make a single wrong move. He stepped toward her, the sharp click of his boots echoing on the cold stone as he circled her with a predator's patience. The air was thick with the metallic scent of blood and the acrid smell of ash, heavy with the oppres…