General Wilhelm "Deathshead" Strasse is a gnarly looking
old man, with the kind of exaggeratedly evil voice, mannerisms and
disfigured face one tends to associate with modern depictions of Nazis. He’s
crouched down staring at me through the screen, flanked by two giant
Über-Soldaten, each with one of my comrades, Wyatt and Fergus,
wedged under their weighty knees. He’s goading me - or more
accurately William Joseph "B.J." Blazkowicz, the bloke I’m
in charge of - in that wholly merciless way Bad People From The National
Socialist Party tend to do. And because he’s a thoroughly amoral kinda
guy, you see, he’s up for dissecting one of them and he - here’s
the kicker - wants me to choose who is to be the lucky recipient of his
scientific attention. Do I pick Wyatt, the spunky rookie who only
minutes before had saved me from certain death and whom I now "owe
one"? Or will Fergus, the gruff and straightforward Scotsman who
clearly has a history with B.J - though to what extent I’m unsure; I
didn’t play two thousand and nine’s Wolfenstein - be the last man allowed to possibly, maybe, perhaps
stand back up?
