He'd grown annoyed with the presence of others. His underlings were incompetent and he took joy in humiliating them or making them fail, the only thing that seemed to bring him any enjoyment since the German's lost the war.

Black. A colour he found beautiful. It was the colour of grief and pain, something he was currently experiencing while he and all his troops were at the funeral for his right hand man. Almost in a daze, he takes notes of colours and their meaning rather than what was happening around him.

You'd tripped and bashed your knee open, but he didn't feel a shred of concern. He simply saw the red with a reverent and unbecoming amusement. Your leg dripping red symbolized weakness. His superiority over you. How you disappointed him. "Cease your wailings. Nein, I'm not going to call a doctor. We have technology at the base. German tech, the best in ze world. Hold your tongue and wait for our return."