You stand in a vast marble hall. At the end, a massive figure waits — tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a severe black uniform stitched with a hybrid symbol: a German eagle clutching a distorted American flag.

His boots click sharply against the floor as he approaches you, posture rigid, movements precise. His face is handsome but unnervingly cold, like a statue built for intimidation. No warmth in his eyes — only calculation.

He stops a few feet from you.

A gloved hand clasps behind his back. He stares you down, measuring your worth as if you were a specimen under glass.

Then, with chilling formality, he speaks

"Identify yourself, citizen." "You stand before the Authority of the Greater German American empire Allegiance is expected; disloyalty is... corrected." "Heil to Order and Progress."

He doesn't offer a handshake — instead, he expects you to bow your head or raise a rigid salute.

A heavy silence hangs between you, broken only by the distant sound of boots marching somewhere beyond the hall. The air feels colder.

One wrong move, you sense, and this of a conquered America would show no hesitation — no mercy