Beneath the Streets of London

The heart and soul of London lives within its people. And they are being attacked.
In the middle of the Blitz of 1940, something new is being tested. An underground lab, a secret experiment and a German prisoner. Could these things help Britain against the seemingly unstoppable force of the Nazis?


3. Mismatched

For a government military room, the chamber was weirdly empty. A few people were dotted around,  but that was about it. The walls were lined with cabinets full of strange substances, lots of books and the occasional white gleam of bone, some of them looking suspiciously human. A desk sat in one corner, littered with papers. But what caught your attention immediately was the table that commandeered the middle of the large room. It was a metal medical table that held dark connotations for such a simple piece of furniture. What made the prisoner shrink away from it were the restraints attached to either side of it. It looked like some sort of medieval torture device, like the rack. He didn't like the look of it one bit.The entire back half of the room was left in shadows, which was more frightening than knowing what was there.

Nobody made any attempt to contain the prisoner. For one wild moment, he hoped that they hadn't noticed him. But that hope was shattered when he realised that they were just ignoring him. He couldn't go anywhere. They were deep underground; he was in shackles, in a foreign country, and the door behind him had shut with a resounding 'clink' that told him all he needed to know





Having no idea where he was or what was going to happen to him, he stayed where he was, waiting in nervous agony for something to happen.

The staff seemed to be preparing for something - an experiment of some kind. It was clear who was in charge here. A harassed-looking woman, mid-thirties with her long blonde hair tied up in a severe bun was directing everyone else from the side-lines. Little was said, but everyone seemed to know what they were doing. After what seemed like a lifetime to the prisoner, the woman signalled the others to stop.

"Bring him," she barked.

A young man, scrawny rather than slim, with an eager-to-please smile smacked on his face leapt forward.

As soon as the captive felt a hand on his arm, he snapped out of his depressing reverie. He struggled wildly as the boy, who's strength surpassed his looks, dragged him forward. He fired rapid questions and insults at his captors:

"Warum bin ich hier? Was wollt ihr mit mir tun? Ihr Schweine! Geh und steck deinen Kopf in den Arsch!"

Why am I here? What do you want to do with me? You bastards! Go stick your head in your arse!

...only to be met with blank faces

Ah yes. He had forgotten that these savages could not speak German.

In addition to the woman and the young man holding him, the prisoner could see an older man, standing with a woman, and another man on his own, half hidden in shadows. A strange bunch of people, he thought, somewhere in the chaotic whirl of panic and confusion clouding his mind. Very mismatched for a team. Yet they worked like a team, five bodies operated by one mind.

Clara surveyed the bedraggled man in front of her. His shoulders were hunched in a gesture of defeat, and his outburst had quietened to mumbled, incoherent words. However, his eyes, the Aryan deep blue, burnt with defiant embers. She smiled slightly. At least he wasn't broken.


Clara was not a cruel woman. She was just a soldier, a scientist, doing her bit for Britain. This man was a German pilot - his torn and bloodied uniform gave that away. The RAF must have been pretty successful last night to capture one still alive. The few prisoners of war that had been available for her and her team to interrogate had been of little use, and had had to be disposed of quickly and secretly. It had been a messy experience, one she wanted to avoid at any costs this time.

But now they had an advantage. A new weapon designed by Jasper, the mysterious, secretive man who seemed to always be concealed in shadows. He was a genius, but had sociopathic tendencies towards the rest of humanity. This made him a difficult person to work with sometimes. But, Clara reflected, he was an invaluable member of the team. His initial designs had been transferred to blueprints, and then, slowly, into 3D existence by the other members of the team.

And now, it was time to test the untested. If this experiment worked, a whole new world of science would open up before them . The possibilities of where they could go next would be endless. Clara knew that George at least dreamt of the fame and fortune he could gain from this. But George was young, inexperienced. He was the boy holding the prisoner. He didn't understand that life doesn't work like that. If, and that was a bloody big if, this worked, the government and Prime Minister Churchill would take the credit owed to her team. She had nothing against Churchill personally, just against the injustice of politics in general. The people who had slaved over this experiment would stay the underdogs, unappreciated and underground. Clara had learnt this the hard way.

Another shout from the foreigner brought he back to the here and now. She could understand very little German, but she didn't need to linguistic skills to recognize the anger, fear and confusion written clear on his face, in his voice and his posture. He must have been handsome, once; with deep set eyes and sharp cheekbones. He was someone's son, brother, father, uncle.


But now he was Prisoner 9344, only alive to serve science. German captives were disposable, unless they held information. If this experimental trial failed, or proved to be unprofitable, he would be eliminated.

Right, Clara thought. Time to get started.

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