The general stands on one end of his prisoners and quietly observes their attempts to move. He watches as his men walk through the crowd beating down the prisoners who still stand tall. Lightning cracks the sky as he begins to walk past his weakened broken prisoners, looking for the right ones to use. His boots click as they hit the concrete. The prisoners heads are low, their striped pajamas dirty and worn. His black uniform shines in comparison. His red armband vibrant against the dull colors that surrounded him, how he hated that armband, and the twisted black insignia that lies quietly in the circle of white. If he could get away from this organization and still continue his research he would be gone. He stops suddenly and the guards halt next to him, a little shocked at the suddenness of his halt. The general turns, and looks at a prisoner, his eyes meeting hers. She stares at him and his face twists and contorts to an evil grin. He stares at this girl, and the wheels turn in his mind. He reaches out his gloved hand and places it gently on her chest, feeling for something that is so faint. Then he finds it, a rhythm, like a fast beating drum. He pulls a black pen from his pocket and draws the number six on her forehead. Takes a step back and continues down the line. In the background she weeps silently, and nobody steps to comfort her. She will not die, but she will never be herself again. The next steps have a spring and the generals grin doesn’t fade he has almost enough subjects. He passes by men and women, still examining them. None of them are truly perfect for his purpose but they will have to do since they are available. The general’s mind floats to the patches on his collar. Three silver oak leaves, truly beautiful. However what they represent burdens him. General of Satan’s black clad army, how he wishes he could be rid of them. His thoughts halt with his body and his guards stop quickly, again startled by his sudden stop. His eyes shift to a prisoner who’s well built he walks over his sinister smile still painted on his face. Without hesitation he writes one word on the man’s forehead “Teile”. He looks at the prisoner right next to this one and scoots slightly over and writes the final character on his forehead, seven. He turns and heads back to the concrete building known as the “Schrei Zentrum“. His smile never leaves his face. The guards step up and the prisoners with characters on their forehead begin to fight and scream. His smile doesn’t falter. He dips his head low and the brim of his hat covers his eyes. The evil smile twists and contorts as the rain begins to fall. Always seven subjects,  always seven expirements. That‘s how one gets the name GENERAL SEVEN.