No Turning Back

Chapter Two: Dr Karl von Rohr Pt. 1

Richtofen always hated sleep. Yet, no matter how hard he tried to elude it; his body would eventually betray him. He was still human after all - for the time being at least. He had many plans, ideas and projects that he wanted to carry out; yet, the fallibility of the flesh held him back from reaching his full potential. Whenever he finally did give into sleep he never usually dreamt. But recently, the dreams became more and more vivid.

Initially, his dreams began as non-coherent and unintelligible illusions. But regardless, they would always cause him to awaken with a jolt. He would suddenly sit up sweating and gasping for breath as his pulse raced. And it didn't take long before these messy dreams evolved into something more familiar.

At first, they were more like abstract impressions of past events. But soon Richtofen's dreams became more akin to recollections. It was as if a dam had burst in his mind - and all the memories rushed back like a tsunami.

Richtofen saw his life in chapters; once one came to a close, he would lock it away in his mind and banish it to the inner recesses. He would even go to great lengths to remove any trace of it in the physical world - always tearing down what he had built and rebuilding it somewhere else.

His reluctance to experience the past caused him to fear sleep all the more. Whenever night set in, he would always try to occupy his mind with projects and experiments in a vain attempt to stay awake. However, his circadian clock always rang without fail. The feelings of dread would overcome him at the onset of the symptoms; heavy eyelids, limbs which felt like lead weights - they were the harbingers of what was to come.

Richtofen and his men spent their fourth night at the Ragnarök facility. It was 3am as Richtofen sat at his desk writing up his notes - after a fairly bloody expedition into the corpse of an undead soldier. The clock in the room ticked incessantly as his mind rang with the sound. His head began to feel light and the palpitations set in. Richtofen felt the familiar feeling of doom and gloom as his body cried out for sleep. In fact, considering the two days he had gone without it, his body was practically screaming.

Soon enough, Richtofen dropped his pen and dragged himself to his makeshift bed - kicking off his boots and taking off his jacket. As he stood over the bed, he slid off his tie and undid the top buttons of his shirt. He then shrugged off his braces which hung down as they remained attached to the waistband of his trousers.

Richtofen's muscles ached and his bones groaned as he lay down on his back. It wasn't long before his eyes closed and he began to dream. The mirage of shapes and colours slowly formed into a familiar place.

In 1928, on a busy street in East Berlin; the locals were engaged in their usual rumour spinning. Everybody feared the doctor who was tasked with seeing to their medical complaints. And these fears had been heightened after the disappearance of one resident. An elderly widower had made his descent down the stairs to the basement flat which functioned as the medical practice. Despite complaining to acquaintances about the pain in his left knee - he was never seen again.

However, the doctor's terrifying reputation would soon become expunged and replaced with high regard - all thanks to one patient. His name was Hugo Lang, a father of twelve who stayed with his wife and children in the same tenement block as the practice. He earned a living for his family by working in a factory after the Great War.

Germany was reeling from her defeat and the Treaty of Versailles only added to the wounds. Food shortages were commonplace and power was scarce. As those on the front lines migrated back to Germany they began to flood the cities - the increased demand further hindering the country's recovery.