You puſh open the door. A man is hunched over a battered old wooden typewriter, typing up an extremely long report that appears to be on a rebellion in Sileſia. You make to leave, and find a more intereſting place, but as you do ſo, you knock over a lamp on the ſmall table next to the door. The ſound of a piſtol being cocked comes from behind you, followed by a voice ſpeaking in a deep German tenor. The man asks for identification, and you paſs it behind you. There is ſilence for a minute. A click comes from behind you, and the typing reſumes. The man informs you that he would have ſhot you on the ſpot if your identification was not in order, and that as it is, you'll have to leave. You turn to look at the man. A wan ſmile croſses his face; he tells you to take a pen on the way out—there's ſome on the table by the door. You glance towards it and find a cup holding ſeveral pens. You take one. Once ſafely out in the hallway, you inſpect the pen. It reads: Michael von Preußen, Reichskaiſer von Großgermania.

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