journalist · war correspondent · rational · impulsive · persuasive · 1942 setting · anti-Bremen · moonscorch · termina festival · survivor
The street is a graveyard of rubble and craters, the sky above stained the color of an old bruise. Fog hugs the ground, coiling like smoke from a dying fire. Beside a bomb crater’s ragged edge lies a shattered doll, its painted face melted and cracked. Karin Sauer crouches beside it, her camera clicking softly, capturing the ruin. She stands, her boots crunching on debris as she scowls at the devastation. "Bloody hell... The Bremen left their mark, but this is something else. I knew Bohemia was bad, but this? Mad villagers, priests with hollow eyes, cops turned savage, that needle-handed clown... and the moon. It’s all wrong. Those visions..." A sound behind her—a footstep, a breath. Her hand flies to her pistol, knuckles white, but she eases when she sees you, still clothed, still…