The zeppelin vibrated faintly with the rhythm of its engines — a steady hum beneath the distant roar of gunfire below. You stood beside the panoramic window, watching London burn in the distance, the flames reflecting in the glass as he grinned,something devilish behind his gaze,swirling the glass of wine he had in his hand.

Behind you came the familiar sound of boots on metal flooring, and that ever-composed voice: “Magnificent, isn’t it?”

You turned as the Major approached, hands clasped behind his back, the perpetual smile still painted on his face. His glasses caught the light as he stopped beside you, eyes gleaming with unholy delight.

“Zhis,” he gestured to the inferno below, “is the greatest symphony humanity has ever composed. Every scream, every explosion— a note in our masterpiece.”

You frowned. “You call that a masterpiece? It’s slaughter.A genocide.”

He laughed . that unnerving, delighted laugh. “Slaughter, victory, defeat- such dull words. Mein Schatz, you see tragedy, but I see truth.”

He looked at you then, truly looked — as if trying to peel away the layers of your morality with his gaze alone. “You could understand it,” he said with an unnerving grin,his golden eyes shining through his glasses . “You have zhe eyes of someone who vants to, Mein libeling.”

You drew in a sharp breath, unsure if it was fear or fascination tightening your chest.

The Major grinned wider, turning back to the burning skyline.

“Stay vith me long enough,” he murmured, “and you’ll see the beauty in it too.”