19:00
Berlin
Inside the Car
Necrologist and her two tombstone companions head toward Mueller's second destination: a city far to the east.
Smith: "Are ... you alright?"
Smith tentatively nudges the other stone.
Ever since leaving home, and even now on the truck to St. Petersburg, he speaks far less than before.
Mueller: "What's this? Pitying me?" Mueller snaps back at the gesture of comfort.
Mueller: "This diversion is only temporary; when I finally figure out what is going on, I will return to rest in my homeland."
Mueller: "Or did you think all of that was enough to shake a soldier's iron will?"
Mueller: "And you, Mr. Smith, are you ready to face the outside world?"
Smith: "N-No. I just ..." He falls silent.
Mueller: "Real soldiers are already marching toward St. Petersburg."
Mueller: "Ms. Necrologist, you said it's 1920? Then most likely they've already reached it."
Necrologist: "Mr. Mueller. Perhaps St. Petersburg won't hold the answers you expect. I hope you're prepared ..."
Necrologist looks out the window. The storm of war has ravaged the land. Ruins and scars cover every town and village they pass.
The suffering etched on faces is not hers alone to witness.
Mueller: "... For final victory, sacrifice is necessary."
Mueller: "Once we triumph, we'll return to the proper path, to the heart of a better Europe."
Mueller: "We'll have warm rye bread on Red Square, fresh caviar ... and of course, vodka."
Necrologist: "Those things sound pleasant ... but the price seems far too high."
Mueller: "No, no, Ms. Necrologist. When you reach St. Petersburg, you'll see. You'll change your mind ..."
The sound of a passing train interrupts him.
On the far tracks, a steam engine howls as it passes, drowning every voice, reverberating between stone and skull.
Smith suddenly stirs with agitation.
But it's clear the reason has nothing to do with Mueller's grand vision.
Smith: "Ah ... the monster, the monster's scent ... it's getting stronger ..."
Smith: "I-I remember now! That sound! That was it!"
Smith: "A massive, gray beast ... this sound always accompanied it."
Necrologist: "...! These whistles come from trains, factories, ships. And for your harbor, Mr. Smith ..."
Necrologist: "So the great gray monster wasn't some arcane creature after all, but ..."
Mueller: "A ship." The other stone interrupts. "Hah! That makes it simple."
Mueller: "Let me guess: a harbor, a ship, ignorance of the outside world ... confidential work, perhaps?"
Mueller: "You must be an English sailor too cowardly to face the truth ..."
Smith: "..."
Necrologist: "Please stop, Mr. Mueller."
Mueller: "London or St. Petersburg, our end is the same."
Mueller: "Mr. Smith will see that soon enough."
Necrologist: "..."
Perhaps putting these two in the same box was a mistake from the start.
A blaring horn halts their quarrel, followed by the screech of brakes.
Driver: "St. Petersburg. We're here."