Enter Search: Axel von Fischer
[color=#FF0000]ERROR: LOG-IN REQUIRED Username: Dr. Joseph Steiner
Password: ************ ACCESS GRANTED Enter Search: Axel von Fischer
SEARCHING
SEARCHING
1 result found, show? (Y/N) Y: Opening file:
[font=Century Gothic](Doctor) Axel von Fischer
Born 760 A.S. on Planet Hamburg. Raised by biological mother and biological father until 771 A.S. Parents arrested for crimes against the Chancellor. Entered the orphan system and was placed into care of Hanz Meinhardt Orphanage in 772 A.S. Attended Auztin Hall Primary, Hamburg XV High, Hamburg XV College and Dr. Lukas Engel University of Science. Achieved perfect grades in all subjects chosen (Chemistry, Biology and Physics). Moved on to study all three in greater detail, and achieved perfect grades. Diagnosed with Aspergers Syndrome in 764 A.S.
Requested grant from the Rheinland institute of science for research funds in 798 A.S. Funds given. Arrested in 799 A.S. for mass murder. Chemical weapons released in new shopping centre. Death toll: 3,473. Military paid for imprisonment in J. Steiner Mental Institute.
Aided in escape by Walter Layton in October 817 A.S.
They say that madness ran in the family. That for as long as the bloodline of the Fischers can be traced; there has always been one in each generation who was insane. Most were the stars in the stories of those times told to frighten the children into a life of loyalty to the Kaiser or Empress, and later the Chancellor.
No one knows how the madness is possibly spread down the family line, but few bother questioning it. Most who encountered any members of the family believed that they were cursed by a Kaiser of the old regime for defying his will.
The bloodline is traceable all the way back to 168 A.S., where Manfred Fiser stormed into a state building with several armed men. Sixty-two innocent men and women were killed in the bloodbath. Fiser detonated a crate of grenades with his last ounce of strength, killing the one hundred and fifty brave soldiers who had stormed the building.
In 315 A.S., Wilhelm Fisher successfully took control of a Rheinland Imperial Navy Gunboat. After two cruisers decimated the ship, Fisher fled and abandoned the Gunboat. He was found and executed two weeks later whilst attempting to rally opposition against the Navy, but the RNC-Passau was never recovered.
There were other men and women who were as mad as these two mentioned. But not one of these had any scientific knowledge. Therefore, their potential was limited from the start of their careers as terrorists.
But Axel von Fischer was different. He was the worst one of them all. And, unlike his ancestors, he had a dream. He had a plan. And he had some help.
'Mother? Father? What is happening?' The winter was just moving in on Planet Hamburg. The leaves on the trees had long ago vanished into the dirt or the first patches of thick snow. The wind blew through Axel's thick, wild hair outside his house. He was looking in at his parents, Hans and Julia, who were inside the small farm house.
The Fischer family had owned the house for years. The alure of the work in the city was not worth the frantic and chaotic lifestyle, so the family had owned the house for twenty-five years, long before Axel was born.
'Quickly Axel, get inside!' Hans shouted through the window. He opened the door to the right and Axel quickly scurried inside.
'Father, what is going on?' But now he could hear it. Axel could hear the thrusters of approaching ships, and the engines of land vehicles moving up the muddy path. And he immediately understood what was happening. They were coming.
The chaos in the city was not the only reason the family had moved to the countryside. The main reason was that in the city they were easy targets. Targets of those they hated. The people. Axel had been educated by this hatred of other people. Other people always looked down on their family, due to their historic and terrifying background.
And now, now the family had killed enough people (even military officers), the Federal Police were moving in to put a stop to them. But they weren't going down without a fight.
'Get your weapons! Hurry, we don't have much time to prepare!' The three of them moved down into the dark, damp cellar and grabbed their weapons. Not the top of the range, but they would do.
'Hans, did you prepare the mines?' On cue, an explosion filled the silence. Julia immediately knew the answer to the question. She hurried upstairs, leaving Hans and Axel alone.
'Son, I must be honest with you.' Axel considered replying, but knew that when his father was honest it was important. 'I don't believe me and your mother will survive this ordeal. But you must, son. You must continue the bloodline of our family, no matter the cost.'
Tears were welling up in young Axel's eyes now. Only eleven years old. 'Son, don't cry for us. Me and your mother were lost long ago. But you have a future ahead of you. You can continue the family dream. The will to destroy. To kill. If we are caught, I will beg them to spare your life. It will be my final act to save your life from the execution.
'You can not fight, son. If they see you fighting, then you will be treated like the rest of us.' He concluded that his rifle was in decent condition, and started up the stairs. Half-way, he turned back towards Axel. Axel could see the tears in Hans's eyes, and Hans could see the tears in Axel's. 'You must not come up for us. No matter what happens, you must not come up. When it is over, the Militar officers will search the house and find you.'
He turned once again to move up the stairs, and spoke his last words to his son that weren't surveyed by others. 'Continue the family, my son. And remember this: Death is not an option for you until you have a son.' Before Axel could respond, Hans closed the door. All he could hear was the preparation of the guns.
Axel von Fischer listened to the explosions overhead. He felt them on the chair he had decided was the most comfortable. He was surrounded by farming supplies - cages, fences, cheap food. But he occupied the largest cage of all, for his father had locked the door. He was trapped.
He continued to simply remain quiet and paint a mental picture of what was going on up there. He could picture the trees on fire, parts of the house blown apart by large weapons designed for the job now given to them. He could even picture his mother and father with their rifles, firing wildly into the crowds that surrounded the small house they called home. Were they defending themselves, or were they defending Axel?
Hans's words spun around in Axel's head. Your mother and I were lost long ago. Did that mean that his father knew that on that day he would be killed?
He pondered the question, but was constantly distracted by the noise. But it was different now. It had a rhythm. The rhythm of destruction. Axel could sense it through the clash. The beauty of the sounds that were being produced from these weapons. These explosions.
Bang. Boom. Weeeee-BOOM. Ka-blam. All of these sounds and hundreds more he could piece together to form a song. The song of war.
But the explosions suddenly stopped, and all that Axel could hear was the marching of the troops entering the house. Soon they would find him, and he just hoped that his father could save him. With his final act.
The door leading down to the cellar opened, and Axel was blinded by the light of day.
The house was gone. Plain and simple. There weren't even any parts still sticking out of the ground. Although a lot of it lay on the ground, finally freed from the dirt that had kept it in it's grip for hundreds of years.
The reinforced cellar had survived the onslaught that had destroyed the structure above it. But that didn't stop troops moving in and securing it and what it contained. Hans Fischer was being held down on his knees. Julia Fischer was lying on the ground several metres away. She wasn't moving. She wasn't breathing. And most of her body was missing. Hans was exhausted and battered. His right arm had a large wound on it, and his entire body was covered with an assortment of other wounds. From cuts to holes.
'So-on.' He managed to mutter, followed by a cough that ejected blood from his throat.
'So, zis ist vat I vas called out here to eradicate?' The man was in his mid-fourties, wearing a uniform decorated by medals and without a crease or foreign object on it. A foreign object could range from dust from the house to blood from men dying and dead around him. 'You vought bravely, Herr Fischer. But zis ist vere your story ends.'
'Do whatever you want to me, but please don't hurt my son. He had nothing to do with this!' He tried to stand, but a soldier kicked him in the stomach and he was forced back onto his knees.
The commander turned his gaze towards Axel. Examined him quickly before gazing down at his captured foe like a man would look at an insect. 'So, you do not vant us to hurt your son, do you Herr Fischer?' He clapped his hands twice in rapid succession. 'Soldiers. Take ze boy to ze truck, and have him transported to ze nearest prison. Ze prisoners can have zere vay vith him.'
Axel was immediately grabbed before he could even start to resist, and was lifted and then carried to the truck. 'Put me down! Put me down! Father!' Hans could only watch as his son was carried away towards the truck.
'I love you son. Don't ever forget that.' Those were the last words Axel ever heard from his father. He was carried too far away to hear the conversation between him and the commander.
He was placed in the truck and it pulled away from the farm. But before he lost sight of his father, he saw the commander raise his gun at his fathers head. He didn't see the gunshot, but he heard it. It was a sound that would always haunt him.
Axel von Fischer had not been taken to a prison by name. But he had been taken to a prison by definition. He was taken to an orphanage and left in the owners care. Axel knew what the Commander had done. He had said "prison" so that his father would suffer a fate worse than death. The pain of knowing that his death was in vane. Or believing it.
That fact infuriated the last Fischer. But there was nothing he could do about it, for he was now trapped in the custody of an orphanage deep within the city. The sounds of horns and the headache brought on by the pollution in the first two weeks of his stay had kept him awake at night. But gradually the headache had disappeared, and the horns were suddenly quieter.
Now he spent his time studying for school. He had no friends - at the school or at the orphanage, so really he had nothing better to do.
No families that came to adopt children ever wanted him. They saw the sadness and the anger in his eyes and immediately turned away, pointed at another child and said "He looks nice!" But there may have been something else in his eyes that repelled them. The spark of madness that ran in the family.
And he felt mad, for he wanted to kill them all. Kill all of the people he knew, in the most gruesome and painful ways imaginable. But he kept this to himself, knowing that to talk about it at the time would be pointless. For what is the point of making a threat if you can not act on it?
There was bluffing, but a twelve year old could not bluff the fact that he was going to kill someone unless they cut their own legs off. He needed power. He needed the people to fear him.
And so, lying awake in his bed one night whilst those around him slept, he formulated a plan. A plan that would take years to prepare for, years to execute, but would all be worth it in the end.
He needed intelligence. He needed power. He needed allies.
'Guten Morgan mein freunds.' Using the native language for his greeting had been a plan that Axel von Fischer hoped would impress the commitee. There were five on the commitee for the Rheinland Institute of Science, three men and two women.
Fischer hated them all so much. He wanted to kill them one by one, slowly and without mercy. He dreamed of killing certain individuals - the commitee members, school "friends", enemies. There was no one he liked. He trusted no one. The only reason he had made "friends" in high school was so he would avoid a breakdown due to lack of social interaction.
His "friends" were idiots compared to him. His enemies should have well been brain-dead mushrooms. Unfortunately, the brain-dead mushrooms had muscles and the personality needed to be a bully. But they could never offer Fischer anything that would break him. He would just take it, for he would simply transport himself to his dream world. Hamburg in flames.
But he pushed away these thoughts now, as he gave his presentation to the commitee he so despised. He recited his speech off by heart for the most part, but for his main attraction he had wanted to make it up as he went along.
'Now, I have a number of test subjects here in this glass case.' He lifted a white sheet off of the glass cuboid, revealing the test subjects. A rabbit. A turtle. A restrained bear. And a human. 'I shall now introduce the gas to the environment. If this is successful, then the three animals will die. But the human, who we shall call Bernard, shall live.' The gas he was releasing into the chamber was methyl isocyanate, or MIC. One of the most dangerous gases known to mankind.
'Mister Fischer,' the oldest of the commitee blundered, perhaps we should test this in a more controlled environment? Surely you can demonstrate whatever you have created without endangering this mans life.'
Fischer pretended to be shocked. 'I assure you this man is a volunteer for this experiment. He knows the risk and signed the necessary paperwork.' That was a lie. Fischer had actually found the man in a cafe and drugged his drink. Then Fischer brought him to the institute and inserted his experimental device, then made him sign the contracts in his delusional state. Although the drugs were wearing off of the man now, he was still far too delusional to know what was happening.
Without waiting for an answer, Fischer pulled the large handle on the wall down like Viktor Frankenstein allowing lightning to reach his creation. The MIC gas was immediately released into the chamber. Bernard continued to stand in his deluded state, but the commitee saw that as a fact that he trusted Fischer so much that he would not try and save himself.
The gas reached the rabbit first. It immediately began to hop away, immediately toward the clean area of the chamber. At least, clean at that moment in time. The gas then reached the turtle. It immediately began to cough and try to move to the other side of the room, but it was too slow. After a few seconds, just as the gas was reaching the bear, it stopped moving.
The bear immediately began to violently thrash when it breathed the gas, desperately trying to free itself and escape. But the chains were too strong, and after thirty seconds the bear was also silent. And now the rabbit was also silent, for it had nowhere else to run.
Bernard, who the gas had reached a few seconds before the bear died, was acting normally. But the commitee could now see the protective layer that had formed over his eyes, ears, nose and mouth. It was like purple blinds covered the exposed area of his head, where the gas could enter.
The commitee was impressed. Fischer could see it through their body language. He decided it was time to seal the deal. He returned the handle to it's previous position, immediately venting the gas out of the chamber. The purple screens suddenly retracted back and were once again invisible to the naked eye.
The commitee members began to applaud Fischer for his creation. 'Thank you. Thank you. As you can see, Bernard is perfectly fine. The purple screen that you could see had holes nanometres in diameter. These holes were specifically shaped to allow oxygen to reach his lungs via the mouth and lungs. The air he breathes now is infact cleaner than the air we breath.. But it did not let the MIC gas into his system. It allows sound through and the mesh around the eyes is specially adapted to allow a decent amount of sight.
'This new technology can be adapted to be so much more if you grant me the funds I need. All I need are the funds, nothing more.' He gave his thanks to them for watching and left the room. He could hear their exclamations of amazement as he walked down the hall.
'Fools,' he thought to himself, Stage one of my plan has been completed.'
'Yeah, see ya.' The door slammed behind Fischer's assistant, and now he could continue his real work. A major setback for Fischer was that the commitee had given him the assistant as a part of the funding. He couldn't refuse what they thought would be a gift, so he accepted.
In the day he and Jerry worked on the LGPS. That's what they were calling them. LGPS stood for Lethal Gas Prevention Screen. Fischer worked at one tenth of the pace he could work at, but his "assistant" still struggled to keep it. Most of the day Fischer actually slept, because he always told Jerry he was working on it in the night.
And he did. He used one hour of his time to do the work he would have done in ten hours infront of his "assistant". And then he spent the other nine hours continuing his real research into the MIC gas.
He hadn't wanted the research funds for the money, although it had helped. No, the Rheinland Institute of Science gave him unlimited supplies of MIC gas. And animals to test it on.
His idea was to increase the gases effectiveness as a weapon. He wanted a weapon of mass destruction. That nobody could stop. Of course, the LGPS's would be able to stop it. And normal gas masks. But how many average people carried gas masks around with them everywhere?
So now, he sat alone in his lab, which was where the funding had come into use, constructing his weapon. His body was in the lab, but his mind was picturing the chaos. Picturing the death. Picturing his rampage of terror.
At last, it was ready. The gas he had worked on in secret for so long was prepared. And now Fischer stared at the canisters of gas sitting harmlessly across the room from him. His new weapon of terror, which he would simply refer to as MIC. The new ingredients in his cocktail of death were listed in the hundreds. They were designed to make the gas even more deadly. Unconsciousness would be in seconds, with death not far behind.
Fischer knew soon that his greatest fantasy would soon become a reality with thousands of deaths being only the beginning. He allowed himself to grin.
'And now my friends, the moment you have all been waiting for.....' The Mayor of the large town on Planet Hamburg sounded pleased as he announced the grand opening of a new shopping centre. Axel von Fischer stood in the crowd, observing the man he wanted to stab. The men he wanted to boil. The women he wanted to beat. The children he wanted to disembowel.
He had never felt as much hate as he did towards these people as he did right now. And he didn't even know any of them.
....'I give you Viktor Borstein, to officially announce the opening of this new shopping centre!' There was an uproar of applause as the celebrity slowly walked towards the podium. Fischer lightly clapped, hoping that it was enough to blend in with the crowd of drooling morons.
Fischer hoped that the celebrity - a black man with a medium build and an apparently good singing voice - would be one of those who would die. Fischer could imagine the man dying, coughing up his bodily fluids as he felt the experience of drowning.
The large grin plastered to his face was obviously fake, and that's why Fischer hated him. Hated celebrities. They were so fake, who knew what parts of them were real. What Fischer imagined now was the mans arm, which he was waving in large arches, actually detached itself from his shoulder and fell to the floor with a thud. That would really enforce his point of celebrities.
'Thank you Mayor Klemmer. Welcome, everyone, to this brand new shopping centre that will revitalise the economy in this area with a BOOM.' He used his deep singing voice on the last word of the sentence, which receieved a clammer of applause. 'I was given the pleasure of touring the facility before this ceremony. Let me say, I love it. And I'm sure you will too. Thank you everybody.'
He immediately moved back towards his limo, using the same smile and waving techniques. But as he entered the limo, Fischer saw it. The thoughts that Borstein had been hiding. His disgust.
He didn't like the shopping centre at all. He didn't like the people. He was a paid voice that people loved and listened to for advice. Just as people hired security, they hired smiles.
Fischer suddenly felt a burst of anger as he realised that the man would not perish along with his fans. 'Oh well. There's always another day.'
![[Image: vlc2009-12-2719-07-20-65-1.png]](http://i499.photobucket.com/albums/rr360/John-Sheppard/vlc2009-12-2719-07-20-65-1.png)