Chapter 1
Germany 1943
Albert Vogel was one of life’s failures. Yet his late-night meddling would have repercussions at the highest level of German society. Triggering a chain of events towards humanity’s spiritual and physical annihilation— due to an embodied entity they’ve feared since the beginning of time.
Unwanted as a child, his father left months before his birth. At school, due to his short stature and sullen outlook, he was bullied, so he skipped school a lot. In his late teens, a Polish immigrant his mother had taken as a lover beat him so severely he was facially disfigured, losing his right eye and control over that side of his face. He also walked with a severe limp.
November brought further food shortages to war-torn Germany, gripped by the coldest winter in living memory. Albert and his invalid mother endured even more misery due to the inadequate heating in their damp two-room flat, situated in a run-down, rat-infested tenement block housing some of the poorest families in the city.
He’d lived there all his life and worked nights as a janitor at the university hospital three blocks away.
Allowing him to sneak back with food he’d stolen from the kitchens— a blessing, as his mother seemed to go from one illness to another.
Albert’s manhood developed in the hospital morgue. Here, he experienced the sensation of touching a young woman’s naked body, which fascinated and excited him. Over the following months, he found a new game that gave him more pleasure, making him feel special.
Smirking, he spat on his callused hands before rubbing them together. What harm could it do? They were dead.
In his confused, deluded mind, he was getting his own back for the looks women gave out on the street, thinking they were so posh and superior— so in the sombre, chilled morgue, he took revenge.
The basement labyrinth had rooms and alcoves packed with abandoned equipment and endless cobwebbed passages.
One led to part of the building used by staff who dressed differently. This underground area was all white, smelt clean, and looked spotless. Many months ago, agonising screams had frightened Albert away— but recently, that had stopped.
So he and Felix returned to investigate— and that’s when he found his special girlfriend who’d energised and captivated his thoughts. Her body was warm, with large, soft breasts he liked to touch and kiss— the other things he did brought much more pleasure.
“Wouldn’t those fancy ladies out on the street be horrified?” he muttered, rubbing his hands together as he entered a cubicle he’d converted into his private hideaway.
“Mother would be amazed by my beautiful girlfriend,” he chuckled to Felix— a bloated brown rat that accompanied him on his sexual pleasure trips. But a short distance away, the consequences of his sordid actions began unfolding.
Ultimately, they would change the future lives of the most influential people in Germany and throw Albert’s life into chaos— Yet more catastrophic; he’d set in motion a chain of events that, if not terminated, would lead to the cataclysmic demise of humanity.
§
A tall young man with blond hair, dressed in a light blue housecoat and white trousers, walked quickly along the corridor. He knocked and opened the office door in one movement.
The woman behind the desk looked up and waved him to a chair. Doctor Hilda Muller was in her late twenties, with dark blond hair and attractive penetrating blue eyes.
Closing her file, she sat back and looked at her research assistant over her tortoiseshell-rimmed glasses.
“What do you have, Ralf?”
Hilda had been a pretty child. After passing through the skinny, gangly stage, she’d blossomed into the elegant beauty of her mother, which she now suppressed.
Her father had worked as a chemist for a large pharmaceutical company, where he met an attractive research student who eventually became his wife.
Hilda was born a year after their marriage, followed two years later by her twin brothers, Rupert and Manfred.
The academic household surrounded their children with books and engaging, knowledgeable people, which gave Hilda a passion for learning and cultivated her curiosity.
For her younger siblings, growing up with a tomboy sister cemented an even closer bond until the terrible accident.
Her mother and father had travelled to the university to see both boys receive their diplomas. Hilda was unable to attend due to an acute attack of influenza. On their return journey, the speeding train derailed and somersaulted into the black frigid waters of the flooded river Main, killing her four family members.
Hilda spent the next three months in Switzerland with her Aunt, who lived on the outskirts of a small town. Due to chest issues, Hilda’s grandmother was in a nearby sanatorium run by nuns, so most days, she spent a few hours there, either reading or playing board games. When the old woman tired, Hilda would find a quiet place to resume her studies.
Of all the nuns Hilda befriended, Sister Clara was her favourite, a soft-spoken Irish woman who had a way of relaxing everyone. Due to her encouragement, she began helping with meals and feeding inmates who had trouble.
When time permitted, Clara and Hilda talked endlessly in the small orchard or library. This interaction was where a good deal of mind healing took place for the newly orphaned woman, building strength and confidence for the challenges ahead. Clara answered unspoken questions that were too painful to ask, evolving Hilda’s mind-set into a more positive outlook— regenerating knowledge and intuition her parents had passed on.
Days before Hilda returned to Germany, Clara said she contemplated renouncing her vows.
Shell shocked, the colour drained from Hilda’s face.
“But why, Clara— you’re so perfect.”
The nun laughed. “I’m far from that, my dear.”
“You are. You’re so gentle towards those you care for— you have a gift for helping people— people like me!” Hilda gushed.
Smiling, Clara shook her head.
“You helped yourself, young lady. I pointed out a few signposts. You did the rest.”
Mother Superior gave Hilda a small Bible the day before she left for Germany and asked her to return soon. Clara said goodbye at the gate and gave Hilda a big hug. She said they should keep in touch and thanked Hilda for helping her to make a decision she’d been contemplating for a while.
Hilda was too emotional to understand what that meant— so with eyes overflowing, she took a final embrace before walking quickly away, wishing she could stay.
Unbeknown to both, they would meet again under different circumstances, which would baffle them— and also the world.
Over the coming months, without Clara’s guidance and local support, Hilda’s mind festered over what she’d lost. Late one evening, she began systematically stripping the family home of photographs and personal memorabilia, which she burned in the back garden. Days later, she rented a small apartment and let the family home as she struggled with her malignant emotions.
In an attempt to shun her inherited beauty, makeup and figure-enhancing clothes were abandoned.
Weeks later, several things happened in quick succession.
A persistent dream disrupted her sleep, making her miserable. This led to a heated exchange with her tutor before Hilda stormed out.
To stay clear of the woman, she’d slipped into a visiting academic’s lecture regarding Genetics, which she found fascinating, so attended the following day and his afternoon seminar. This covered genes and traits passed from parents to offspring and how horse breeders honed a pedigree.
At the lecture’s conclusion, Hilda sat excitedly scribbling notes.
If you can improve a horse, why not a human?
Is it possible to transfer traits from one human to another?
Capture human embryos and transfer them.
Fertilising embryos outside the body should be possible.
Could you grow humans outside the body?
Make humans bigger and better through genetic manipulation.
Wasn’t that what Herr Hitler wanted?
Startled, she sat back, astonished. Unsure where the ideas had sprung from.
After pondering— a filament of an idea teased her mind, relating to odd recent dreams. Was her late father trying to give her life direction?
Without her knowledge, a sinister entity that she could not comprehend was systematically diverting her destiny.
Hilda’s new random lectures inspired her to study longer. Her research became a passion, leaving little time to reflect on the past.
This preoccupation affected letters to Clara— dropping to one every few months, giving a blinkered glimpse of the conviction that drove her forward. The agonising loss of family she had endured now gave her time and space to focus on her important work.
Yet Hilda felt no need to mention the strange inspiration siphoned from the cosmic ether— and later, the human guinea pigs used to advance her work.
This disclosure would repulse Clara. She’d wonder where the bizarre ideas originated.
§
Hilda stood five-four in flat shoes, her stunning hourglass figure hidden under her habitual white housecoat. Her blonde hair, in a tight bun, often embellished with a simple black ribbon. She had penetrating steel blue eyes that now gazed over her tortoiseshell glasses at Ralf, one of her three team leaders.
“Doctor, the Angel experiment is giving extraordinary results,” he advised. “If I didn’t know any better— I’d say she is pregnant!”
“Ridiculous! Ralf, she’s brain dead and has been on life support for months.” The medical technician shrugged while continuing his report. “Blood taken indicates positive,” he insisted.
“Ralf, I think a recheck is needed.”
“I did— ran the results via Ingrid. She’s confirmed the results.”
An hour later, team leaders met to discuss the issue.
“This issue needs to be contained within the department until we’ve investigated fully,” Hilda stressed, turning to Ingrid.
“Has Angel increased in weight?”
“Minimal, doctor.”
To Hilda’s way of thinking, Ingrid was probably a little too attractive for a research facility. Yet, to give Ingrid credit, she never appeared to get involved with work colleagues— seemingly keeping work and private life separate.
Ingrid was a little shorter than Hilda. Her black bobbed hair was cut close to her neck with a fringe, making her narrow face and Roman nose look a little chubbier, balancing her face perfectly. She maintained that her almond-shaped hazel eyes and slightly olive skin came from her mother’s side. She was a bright, determined young woman who always projected a positive view of things. They’d worked together before, so Hilda had not been slow in asking the researcher to join the team.
“We must apprehend whoever impregnated Angel. The perpetrator could be a regular visitor. So we need to take turns watching over her— starting tonight,” Hilda glanced at her small team.
“It could be one of the guards,” Hans offered. He was the youngest of the key players. Slim, Nordic-looking with a bright, agile, methodical mind— ideal for research.
Hilda nodded. “Possibly, so we need to devise a way of watching over her without being detected by the intruder,” she stated.
In the early hours, Albert set off to visit his girlfriend via a disused boiler room and a dingy corridor, where a large grill gave access to a storeroom used by the other hospital staff.
He’d failed on two prior attempts. Fortunately, his secret entrance emerged under a large table with several boxes underneath, concealing his way in. He’d heard a noise, so he entered slowly and peered around to find someone sitting on a chair reading a book. Disgruntled, Albert quietly backed out and retraced his steps.
The following night, desperate for her, he squinted through gaps in the boxes to see an empty chair. He lay on the floor pondering what to do, but thinking about touching her smooth, warm skin made him impatient.
Why was the chair empty?
Were they checking something?
Would they be coming back?
After a few moments of internal squabbling— lust took control.
Shifting the boxes quickly, the tormented lover crawled from under the table. Easing open the storeroom door, he checked both ways, then slipped quietly towards door 115.
Peering through the viewing slot, Albert grinned, spat on his hands and excitedly rubbed them together.
His beautiful vision lay under a thin white sheet, waiting for him. Her chest rose and fell in time with the strange contraption close by, its flexible tube extended to her mouth. Tiny tubes connected to an arm travelled to smaller machines.
Yet these were of no interest to Albert as he gradually removed the sheet, revealing her shapely body.
For a moment, his transfixed eyes followed the slow movement of his calloused hand as it caressed the warm, soft contours— bending, he nuzzled her breasts, and his body reacted instantly.
Down the corridor, Ingrid made her way back to the storeroom. Re-seated, she flicked through the magazine she’d found in the bathroom— then registered the out-of-place boxes.
Spotting the trapdoor, she dashed to Angel’s room. One glance gave all the information she needed.
After locking the storeroom door, she ran to the main underground entrance, where three guards stood talking.
Dragged from the room, Albert screamed at the top of his voice.
His partly dressed body now grazed and bleeding, was tossed into another room. As the door slammed shut, his frantic banging and yelling started.
“I must return to work. At home, my mother will need me!” he wailed, followed by bouts of sobbing.
By the time Hilda arrived, Albert was scrubbed clean by two large orderlies and was wearing a hospital gown. He sat silently in a locked room, sucking his thumb— staring at a piece of cotton wool where Ingrid had taken blood.
Holding a clipboard to her chest, Hilda entered the room, ready to interrogate the violator.
“You’re Albert Vogel, a cleaner at the hospital?” Albert nodded without looking up.
“You say your mother has a disability and will expect you to return home?” Another nod.
“Then you’d better cooperate with me!”
“How many times have you abused the woman?” Albert sat looking at his feet.
“Well?” She demanded.
“Don’t understand,” he mumbled, then began crying.
“Vogel, if you help me, maybe I can get you out of this mess— but it has to be now,” she demanded. “What you were doing to her— how often have you done that?”
Albert shifted in his seat. “A few times,” he muttered.
Hilda raised her eyebrows while shaking her head.
“Have you ever brought anyone else?”
The disgruntled lover slowly lifted his head and locked eyes with his inquisitor—
“Well, Vogel?”
His head shook— he’d not share her.
“Have you told anyone about coming here?” she asked, moving towards the door.
Alberts blinked away tears and shook his head as he began to sob.
After a short discussion with colleagues, Hilda decided to keep Albert under lock and key.
“Something tells me to keep him close— I will do just that.”
§
Nine months later, they recovered Angel Junior by a caesarean section, and the child’s appearance astonished everyone.
The child appeared normal, yet her eyes were fully open, and neither had a colour iris.
Oddly, she never cried or moved as though paralysed. If you looked face to face, her vacant gaze went through you.
Tests on her brain showed low activity, compared with other babies— and the rear portion was almost at zero, highlighting another anomaly. While typical children slept, they registered greater rear brain activity than when awake, which confused the doctor.
Wasn’t sleep supposed to be a rest period for the brain?
AJ, as she was tagged, had constant low brain activity throughout the day and night. Her eyes were always open, apart from a slow, lazy blink every forty seconds, and reduced heartbeat indicated sleep.
At home, Hilda rechecked details of dreams she’d been having over the last couple of weeks. Noting nocturnal activity was a habit she’d adopted a few years ago when she’d lost direction with her research. This loss caused frustration and anxiety that affected her health— yet was put down to poor eating habits.
A night-time vision she’d experienced a few weeks ago gave outlandish ideas that put her off attempting them— yet their persistent repetition made her succumb.
Putting down her book, Hilda turned off the bedside light and closed her eyes.
The staff briefing the following morning brought surprised looks.
“We need to get Albert Vogel back in here. I want sperm samples from him,” Hilda announced.
“We’re going to replicate the Angel experiment as follows. We need six brain-dead and two healthy women. We’ll use Vogel’s sample to fertilise two dead and two healthy women. The remaining four are to be fertilised by donors. The results will establish whether Vogel has created Angel Junior’s anomalies,” she said, closing her file.
“Any questions?”
“Will you organise the eight women?” Ralf asked.
“I’ve already set that in motion,” she replied.
“We’ll need more ventilators. Shall I contact Marcus and ask him to make more?” added Hans.
Hilda nodded. “Make sure you pass on the modifications you made. Your quick thinking and alterations saved our project.”
§
Nine months and ten days later, the team had fingers crossed for the last natural birth, yet the doctor’s prediction was already confirmed. Babies from natural birth were perfectly normal.
Life support mothers produced offspring with the same conditions as Angel Junior, whoever fathered them.
Throughout AJ’s short eleven-month life, every conceivable test had been monitored and rechecked— every vital sign logged by the vigilant staff. The child had grown but had never cried or moved. She lay or sat wherever placed and stared at what was before her.
Hilda wrote in her notes about them:
‘Minimal muscle development needed to keep AJ’s body from deteriorating is taken care of by the brain.
Individual muscles activate in sequence for a designated time, an eerie process to watch. The brain signals the muscle to contract and relax quickly, thereby appearing to tremble like a nervous twitch. The child does not register any reaction to this process or any other. There is no facial movement apart from when the brain activates these muscles.
We have left her without food for one complete day with no reaction whatsoever. When fed, she will eat, the same as when drinking, but it appears not to matter to her one way or the other. Mentally, she seems to be an empty vessel, totally emotionless.’
Due to monitoring multiple pregnancies, the small medical team were mentally and physically weary. Hilda was also battling sleep issues because of escalating dreams.
What was disconcerting— they proposed bizarre ideas, yet an element contained within gave possibilities.
When transferred to the real world, the issue was: Try, and if it failed, they’d ridicule you as a crank.
Yet one vision repeated over several nights, which tempted and inspired her to take a bold step.
A three-year-old child from another line of research started having epileptic fits, so the defective specimen was available to other departments.
After reading the boy’s notes, Hilda decided his minor malfunctions set him apart— an ideal candidate for what she intended.
Explaining her intentions at the early morning briefing drew some strange looks from her staff. Yet she deliberately omitted the avenue she thought and hoped the investigation might go.
“I want to remove a small cell sample from the boy’s spinal cord, close to the base of the skull. These we’ll implant in the same proximity in Angel Junior,” the doctor explained.
“He’ll probably lose some functions if we are not careful,” Ralf replied.
“That doesn’t concern me— whatever happens, the child must not die. Contamination could be an issue. So all equipment must be re-sterilised and contact with static electricity neutralised. The cell sample must not come into contact with anything that would change the balance of its inner workings,” she asserted.
With the boy strapped to the operating table, still conscious, Hilda removed spinal cord cells before quickly moving to the next cubicle, where AJ was waiting. After delicately positioning the tiny sample against her spinal cord, she pulled the soft tissue together with two carefully placed stitches, then left Ingrid to close the wound.
Hours later, both children appeared to be no worse for their experience, so they were given food and water before settling for the night.
The following evening, the night nurse was disturbed by a muffled scream. Walking quickly down the corridor, she found the cell donor boy convulsing, foam oozing from his contorted mouth. Due to his violent movements, blood smeared his neck and bed from his reopened wound.
In the adjacent bed, AJ was, as usual, lying motionless, staring at the ceiling.
The nurse raced to her desk to phone for assistance.
When she returned, the boy’s skeletal body had become arched like a hunting bow. Contact with the mattress was his head and feet. Veins in his neck stood out as though they were about to burst as foam gurgled from his twisted mouth.
Suddenly, outstretched arms waved frantically, fingers bending back the wrong way as every tendon and ligament strained in contortion— then he took a huge gasp, his frightened eyes screaming for help, but air rushed from his mouth as his frail body collapsed.
After checking for a pulse, she covered him with a crumpled, stained bed sheet, but an ear-piercing scream behind almost gave her heart failure. She spun around to find AJ sitting up, staring straight at her with tears rolling down her cheeks.
The white-faced nurse was still slumped on the edge of the boy’s bed as her colleague burst in but froze in the open doorway, staring at AJ in amazement before rushing to comfort the sobbing child.
Hilda was there within thirty minutes.
“Check blood pressure and the rest, and get Ralf to link her to the brain monitor as soon as he gets here,” she ordered.
As she was speaking, two staff members arrived.
“What the hell happened?” Hans asked.
“I’m not sure, but AJ has suddenly mentally woken!” She turned to the nurse. “What time did the boy die?”
“Just after four— seconds later, AJ started crying?”
Hilda nodded before walking rapidly to the washroom to conceal her excitement.
But how did her dreams know?
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