[center][h2]Emil Günther[/h2]

Physical state: A slowly subsiding adrenaline rush
Mental state: Sane[/center]

[color=39b54a][i]He doesn't like me. Service. In France, most likely. A stalemate. Michael's father went blind. W. Steinkopf.[/i] Senfgas.[/color] Emil's mind flashed across the French trenches in a blitz, drawing on the canvas of his mind eerie images of men walking faceless through a miasma of poisonous gas, howling in that deathly stillness of the Western front. Maybe he was imagining it, but the muscles of the man of imposing stature seemed to take a subtly scornful look, from what he could see, being on the man's flank; but even that minute hint of possible hostility triggered in Emil the consciousness of his belonging to the German race. Emil had a different approach to life, and the political schemes and games were not a part of it. At least not in the amounts that would warp the way he approached people. 

[color=0072bc]”Perhaps not,”[/color] he said when his professor, Dr Steiner, told him to contact the authorities. 


A few minutes later he span the wheel on the telephone several times, the cold speaker pressed between his earlobe and shoulder. Tootoo. [color=39b54a][i]The wheel. Father wears it on his armband. Why did he jump? The Sun-Wheel. Misused, I believe. Indo-European disk of the sun.[/i][/color] Tootoo. [color=39b54a]Kolovrat, the Russians call it. Slavic version. Same root. Doubled. Maybe he saw it rise bef.[/color] The voice on the other side interrupted his thoughts and before her knew the ambulance and the policemen were on their way and he was back in the yard, but a bit farther away from the scene than before. He leaned on the wall near the doorway leading into the dormitories and watched, curious, then curious even more after a while, seeing and following with his eye a slender woman sneaking past the commotion unseen and now sneaking around as if she were looking for someone.