Natasha Sokolova had just finished cleaning the lab when dr. Mengele called her. The German assistant who had notified her was a short, stocky woman with flat face, but who appreciated her racial superiority tremendously. Now she was sneering at her from the doorway.
‘You know, he might punish you for the scandal you sparked... On one hand, I get your point, but please tell me if any science could evolve without some amount of sacrifice, of madness from a nonconformist genius. Or, dr. Mengele is such a genius, in my opinion...’
Sokolova snorted angrily, remembering the whole story. One of the women was still alive when they pulled her out of the boiling cauldron, and a slice of muscle, the whole thigh, dripped off the bone and fell back into that human soup with a disgusting splatter.
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