The war is over. Adolf Hitler is dead. And I am forever marked, both figuratively and literally, with a past I am forbidden to forget. It was all fun and games at the start of being on the winning side of the war. But then there came a day when these group of Jews, these...bastards, as they appropriately titled themselves, gained the upper hand in the rules of warfare, and it almost became too late to know that I was now on the loosing side. I was always considered something like a rat. Sneaky, conniving, manipulative. So, when I agreed to surrender myself and help the Americans in killing the Fuhrer and his men, I did not know that I, Hans Landa, would soon be faced with a fate worse then any of my fellow officers' deaths. When the radio operator was executed right before my horrified eyes, I found out too late I was now at the mercy of these two men. One of them, one Aldo Reine by name, pulled out a hunting knife on me, and marked my forehead with agonizing pain, carving into my skin a symbol as equivalent as the mark of the Beast.