Who: Faust, Alain, Victoire, Fancy OPEN When: Wee hours of the morn, May 1st 1941. Where: The Black Death Tavern, via Paris rail depot. Summary: Faust oversees an operation before taking a nightcap. Incomplete
This was not a part of the job that he particularly enjoyed. For one he was required to wear uniform. The tight collar scratched at his neck irritably.
He stood on the platform, his arms crossed and his legs stiff. The thick amber of the spotlights erected stung his eyes and he had to squint to see much of anything. He scanned over the carriages from left to right. Further down, their great sliding doors screeched and wailed as they ground shut.
The wave of activity eventually reached where he was standing. Men, both uniformed and not, hurried and were ferried into the station and onto the platforms. Despite the great sea of bodies, there was silence other than the clip clap of boots on cold stone.
As he watched the throng, with their faces ashen and colourless under the lights, a junior officer approached him.
“This one is for you sir,” he seemed to be indicating the unconscious man carried by two thick-set corporals.
When he said no more, Faust sniffed and cleared his throat, “Fine. Take him to my car.”
The corporals lifted the man sharply by the armpits and carried him across the platform, the points of his feet dragging over the floor.