It was every child's wish to push a big red button. However, standing outside of a gassing chamber, Ludwig hardly felt like some giddy school boy. He stared down at the tiny rubber switch that connected to the showers. His icy blue eyes flickered up to look through the one-way mirror, out at the many Jews that were standing there, naked, waiting to be doused with a short 60 second long burst of cold water. He felt a faint smile pulling at his lips.

They have no idea what's awaiting them.

But he refrained, keeping his hands behind his back. He would savor the feeling; savor this gleeful emotion rising in the pit of his stomach. He went over how this room would lead his country to glory. All it would take was a push of that tiny red rubber square and Hydrogen Cyanide would flood the air tight room via modified sprinklers on the ceiling. Then, in a final glorious climax, the room would open its floors and all the occupants would be unleashed into the belly of the furnace. Ludwig covered his eyes with a leathered hand. He smirked, unable to keep his exuberant feelings about the whole situation. He put a free hand down on the consol and put weight behind restraining his overwhelming need to laugh. However, slowly something started to bug him.

These are still German people..

Where did this thought come from? He would have to find out and put an end to it. It didn't matter if they spoke German. It didn't matter if they ate the same foods they did! They were scum, and they were taking his glorious fatherland, no, his own body and desecrating it! His hand fell from his face and hung limply at his side for a moment, his mind suddenly blank. He slowly raised his hand, touching the cross that lay at his neck. It was a gift from the Fuhrer himself. He smiled and grasped it, taking strength from the feeling of it through his gloves. He closed his eyes and steadied himself, before standing back to his former height. Taking his hand away from his neck, he stood At Ease. However, he was far from at ease. His stomach flipped over and over as he decided on what to do. Execute the scum polluting his country, or kill his own citizens. Himself, or his people. He once again looked down at the red square on the console.

He pushed the button.