The Nazis built their first quantum computer from Jewish bones and regret.
Elena stood in the bombed-out husk of Peenemünde Army Research Center, watching SS officers load crystalline shards into a V-2 rocket. The shards sang the same ultraviolet dirge as her skull.
“Heisenberg’s wet dream,” Lucas muttered, smearing Prussian clay across his neural scar to dull its glow. “They’re weaponizing the Vognir artifacts.”
“Worse.” She adjusted the stolen Schutzstaffel uniform biting her thighs. “They’re communicating with them.”
Through the facility’s shattered windows, dead Vognir walked.
Or rather, their quantum echoes did—translucent giants with too many joints, striding through concentric rings of barbed wire and despair. The Nazis couldn’t see the aliens, but they’d built machines to harness their residual energy. Tesla coils crackled beneath iron crosses, syphoning phantom power from a civilization that had erased itself.
A scream echoed through the compound.
Human.
Elena followed the sound to a concrete bunker stinking of iodine and burnt hair. Inside, a skeletal man in a striped uniform convulsed on an operating table. SS surgeons had wired his skull to a Vognir crystal, tendrils of alien math pulsing through his optic nerves.
“Bitte…” the prisoner rasped.
Lucas drew his Mako pistol. “We should—”
“No.” Elena gripped his wrist. “This is 1944. We’re ghosts. Interfere and we unravel.”
He shook her off. “Fuck your temporal prime directive.”
The gunshot cracked reality.
——
The prisoner’s death ripple tore through timelines.
Elena stumbled into a laboratory that shouldn’t exist until 1987—CERN’s LHC chamber, overgrown with Vognir biotech. The Nazi surgeons now wore TerraGenesis lab coats, their faces melting into corporate drones.
“Subject Kovacs shows promising assimilation,” droned a voice that was both German and Martian. “Proceed with chronal harvesting.”
Lucas grabbed her arm as the vision intensified. The prisoner’s corpse floated between eras, his tattooed numbers morphing into quantum equations.
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AUSCHWITZ 1944 → TERRA GENESIS LAB 2147 → VOGNIR DYSON SPHERE ???
The skull in Elena’s satchel shrieked.
“They’re not just farming history,” she realized. “They’re linking atrocities across time to power the jumps.”
Lucas spat blood. His scar pulsed in time with the facility’s Tesla coils. “How do we break the chain?”
“Same way you break any Nazi.”
She kissed him.
Not for romance. For entropy.
Their neural implants sparked—her Vognir syntax colliding with his military-grade mnemonics. The temporal backlash shattered the vision.
——
The V-2 rocket launched at midnight, carrying its cursed payload.
Elena watched from a pine forest slick with temporal runoff. The rocket’s contrail burned violet, etching Vognir glyphs into the stratosphere.
“That’s not heading for London,” Lucas said, tracking its arc.
“Nein.” A new voice.
The child from Paris materialized beside them, her doll now a hybrid of SS uniform and TerraGenesis logos. “Es geht nach Amerika.”
Elena’s tattoo burned. The rocket pierced the sky, tearing a quantum wound that bled decades. Through the rift, they saw:
APRIL 19, 1995 – OKLAHOMA CITY
The Murrah Building exploded in slow motion, its concrete flesh peeling back to reveal Vognir crystals growing through the rubble.
SEPTEMBER 11, 2001 – NEW YORK CITY
Twin towers fell upward, their steel skeletons reforged into a quantum antenna pulsing with Nazi-era frequencies.
JULY 4, 2147 – MARS COLONY
A million crystal skulls bloomed from the sands, singing the unified scream of every genocide.
The child laughed. “Mutter sagt, ihr werdet scheitern.”
Lucas shot her. The bullet became a butterfly, then a microdrone, then nothing.
“We need to ride that rocket,” Elena said.
“To where? Hell?”
“Worse.” She gripped his hand as the skull’s song peaked. “To where they’re manufacturing hell.”
They jumped.
——
The V-2’s payload bay smelled of frozen blood and singularity.
Elena welded the skull to the rocket’s guidance system using her mother’s ashes. The titanium vial was nearly empty now.
“You’re insane,” Lucas yelled over the quantum roar.
“Says the man who brought whiskey to a time war!” She activated the Vognir glyphs on her forearm. “Hold the fucking stabilizers!”
The rocket breached the temporal event horizon.
Reality became a hall of mirrors:
—A Nazi scientist adjusting his swastika armband in 1944.
—The same man, older, wearing a TerraGenesis pin in 2147.
—His corpse orbiting a black hole, mouth sewn shut with alien algebra.
“Conspiracy theorists had it backwards,” Lucas growled, fighting the controls. “The fucking Nazis won.”
The rocket trembled. Elena’s glyphs glowed supernova-bright.
“Now!” she screamed.
They tore the Vognir crystal from its housing.
The universe screamed with them.
——
They crashed into the Nevada desert.
1947. 1989. 2023. All at once.
A Roswell-era jeep sped toward them, soldiers aiming Tommy guns at the wreckage. Behind it, a TerraGenesis hovertank materialized, plasma cannons charging.
Lucas dragged Elena from the smoking V-2. Her shirt was soaked with temporal radiation—or maybe regret.
“What did we just do?” he demanded.
She showed him the crystal. Inside its facets, the Vognir’s final message flickered:
YOUR ATROCITIES ARE OUR AMMUNITION
YOUR PAIN OUR PROPULSION
WE ARE THE GUN
YOU ARE THE BULLET
A UFO watcher’s camera flashed.
The timeline snapped shut.
