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 DEADMAN WALKING
©2023 C.B. TITUS

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including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or
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Print and eBook formatting by Josh Hayes. Typography by Steve Beaulieu. Artwork provided by Daniel Purnama.

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Aethon Books is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used
fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead is coincidental.

All rights reserved.

 CONTENTS
1. Neither Rain, Nor Sleet, Nor Bullets
2. A Kind Place
3. Deadzone
4. A Boon for Boon
5. The Long Machete of the Law
6. One by One
7. On the Road Again
8. Not Alone
9. Missing Person
10. Smell of Death
11. Barbed Wire Will Do
12. Home
13. Loading Up, Rolling Out
14. Collecting the Dead
15. Wrong Choice of Prey
16. The Iron Horde
17. Truckin’
18. Edge of the Black Woods
19. Tracking
20. Grizzly Encounter
21. Fringe Folk
22. A Quest?
23. Titans & Towers
24. Fresh Steel
25. Undetected
26. Creator
27. Welcome Back
28. Out of the Woods
29. Favor
30. Recruited
31. Stocking Up
32. Bullets and Broken Mirrors
33. Scum and Villainy
34. Three Marshals Walk into a Bar
35. Have Gun, Will Travel
36. Eye of the Storm
37. Scouting Trip
38. Full Frontal Assault
39. Siege
40. Suspect
41. Whisper of a Remnant
42. Feeding Gus
43. Anomaly
44. Duo
45. Pott’s Field
46. Meetings and Murders
47. Twice Dead
48. Hey There, Delilah
49. Petty Vengeance
50. Wrinkles
51. Unsuspected
52. Adjudication
53. A Low Profile
54. Tribute
55. Actions
56. Motorin’
57. Assault on Jasper
58. Rosy Language
59. Pre-Flight Checklist
60. Arrival
Thank you for reading Deadman Walking

Groups
LitRPG
ONE
 NEITHER RAIN, NOR SLEET, NOR BULLETS

T he Geiger counter at my waist buzzed gently as I walked along a ruined

chunk of I-10. The rads were high on the route, but that wasn’t a
problem for me. The only issue I had with them is that they made the
already hot night feel just that much hotter. It would help if I didn’t have to
cover my face, but that wasn’t really an option. Too many people would
shoot a deadman on sight, even one who’s a courier.
I took a canteen off my waist and pulled my bandana down from my
face, taking a long sip of water and clearing some of the dust from my
throat. This was the most boring, but also most important, part of my job—
walking. Sure, I got to take a direct route through deadzones that would kill
a normal person, and that saved a lot of time, but even a straight shot
between most settlements is days of travel. Days of putting one foot in front
of the other.
I’d known a few other couriers who’d used vehicles, motorcycles, cars,
even one who used a series of motorboats on what parts of the Mississippi
were still navigable. They’d all died. The noise the vehicles made had
attracted raiders, or worse. Though one had simply disappeared into one of
the stranger deadzones and never come out. Even if I was willing to risk it,
my route was mainly along Iron Horde territory, and they didn’t like to see
anyone who wasn’t their own out on a guzzler anyway.
I looked back at my cart. It followed a couple yards behind, the three
hundred pounds of cargo it carried well-secured in lead boxes to keep the
rads from seeping in. I’d tried to drive it when I’d first gotten it, but
apparently it could only follow. My weight probably would’ve cut into how
much I could lug between settlements anyway.
 I looked around for landmarks. My job gave me a kind of homing
feature that pointed me where I needed to go, but I preferred to be certain.
The ruined shell of an old gas station told me I wasn’t too far from Kind,
the last stop for most of my load. I scanned the horizon and noticed
movement ahead. I gave no indication of noticing and just kept walking. I
unholstered my pistol slowly, hoping my bulky clothes would hide the
motion, and started making a head count. There were two that I could see
and a third I could only smell. The fact that I hadn’t been shot yet led me to
believe they didn’t have anything long ranged, but that didn’t mean they
didn’t have something with real punch for up close.
I walked until they were just within my range and waited for one of
them to make a mistake. I didn’t have to wait long. One of them peeked his
head out from behind a rusted-out car. I swung my pistol up and took three
quick shots, one of which hit true. His head jolted back from the force of
the bullet before his body collapsed.
After that I dove behind my cart, making it behind the lead containers
just before several low-caliber rounds hit where I’d been standing. All of
the shots were coming from the same direction, which told me that the one I
could smell closing in behind me didn’t have a gun.
I popped out of cover and took a quick shot in the direction of the
shooter but hit nothing but air. I was forced to duck as he returned fire, one
bullet tearing through some of the shoulder fabric of my jacket.
It was then that the third one revealed himself, lunging from cover
toward me with an old fire axe above his head. He was a giant of man,
wearing scraps of old tires on his chest and a worn-out pair of jeans. His
eyes were so bloodshot they looked red. I shot him two times before he
could reach me, but he didn’t slow. I rolled toward him, hoping to throw
him off and stay close enough that the one with the gun wouldn’t be able to
take a shot without potentially hitting his ally.
I sat up and put two more rounds into the large man’s back, but he just
roared and turned around. I realized then that he was on blitz. I drew my
machete and placed myself so that he’d be between me and the shooter.
He charged me, swinging wildly with his axe, the veins on his neck so
engorged they looked like they might pop. I decided to try and make them.
Before he could bring down another swing, I slashed at his neck with
my machete, causing it to shoot out a wave of crimson. He took a few more
steps closer to me, his eyes full of rage before his brain realized he was
already dead and the life faded from them. I caught his body as it was
falling and brought my gun up in my left hand, popping off a round in the
direction of my shooter. I started running straight for where I knew he’d
taken cover, using the giant man’s body as cover.
The shooter began panicking, unloading whatever ammo he had left in
order to stop me, but his fear worsened his aim and he only managed to fill
his ally with more holes. I heard a click as he ran out of ammo, and I
dropped his friend so I could close in.
He chose that moment to cut and run, exposing himself. I took a breath,
lined up a shot, and exhaled, dropping him. I walked over to his body and
wiped the blood off my machete and onto his ragged clothes.
I wasted no time after that searching the bodies for anything useful. It
was a disappointing haul. The shooter had used most of his ammo, and his
gun had already been falling apart before the fight had started. The one with
the axe had half a vial of blitz left, but the stuff didn’t affect me the same
way it did humans, and no one at a settlement would buy a half-used vial.
Too many risks taking something after a seal is broken. The one I’d
managed to kill first had a handful of 9mm rounds on him and nothing else,
which wasn’t even enough to make up for all I’d unloaded into his friend.
I sighed, noticing the telltale blinking of a notification in the corner of
my eye. It looked like I’d at least gotten something out of the scuffle, aside
from my life of course. I began walking, wanting to put some distance
between myself and the bodies before something hungry smelled them. As I
did so, I pulled up the first notification.
Excellent work, Postman! You’ve successfully performed a secondary
goal of your job ‘Protecting the Cargo’! You’ve earned 50 Patriot Points!
That seemed low, but that was the issue with secondary goals. The
delivery part of my job was only mildly deadly and yielded much more PP
than the portion that recognized the many firefights I found myself in. I
checked my second notification.
Congratulations, Citizen! You have earned a rank in Pistol! Good job
exercising your 2nd Amendment rights!
That was good news. That brought me to rank 7. I was still low enough
in it that I could actually feel the increase in ability as I reloaded my pistol
just a bit more quickly than I’d been able to before. I’d been quite happy to
learn that the Postman job included a combat skill. There were a lot of jobs
that didn’t. That wasn’t to say a person without the “pistol” skill couldn’t
shoot—anyone could, it was just that they didn’t gain the benefit of having
it as a skill. I holstered my pistol and got back to working on my now
much-inflated Postman skill, walking, which was sitting pretty at 33.

Congratulations, Citizen! You have earned a rank in Walking! A great

way to see the beautiful vistas of this great nation.
Wonderful, what a great and useful skill to have as my highest, I thought
as I neared my destination. Kind was a small settlement. Maybe a little over
a hundred people. Like everyone in the area, they tithed to the Iron Horde.
I made sure my face was covered by my goggles and bandana. It was
difficult to keep them up without ears or a nose, but I managed. It was
alright if my nose was exposed, most people could stomach that, but my
teeth… they’d led to more than a few screams in the past. That was bad for
business. I made sure my gun was holstered and kept my cart in full view,
approaching the main gate slowly. Usually a desire to receive goods and
send some out was reason enough to keep from shooting at me. Usually.
Once I was a hundred feet from the gate, a warning shot rang out. I call
that a southern hello.
“Stay where you are! Hands up!”
I complied, raising my gloved hands into the air.
“State your business!”
“Courier!” I yelled, hearing my own voice for the first time in days.
There was a brief pause while the gate guard formulated a response.
“Come closer!”
I did, slowly, earning a full seventy-five feet more toward reaching
Walking rank 35. I made out more of the walls as I got close. Walls turned
out to be generous—it was more of a half circle of rusted-out trucks and
school buses with scrap metal piled around them. There were two men
standing behind some sandbags stacked on the top of a school bus, rifles
aimed. One was taller, covered in sunburn and bald, the other was shorter
with a blue tarp draped over himself, likely to avoid the same fate. I
watched as their eyes flicked to my cart and back to me.
“Where’s Slim?” the shorter of the two men asked.
“Dead. Swarmed by skippers in the deadzone near Red Lake. I took
over this part of his route.”
 “Damn, he owed me twelve cigs,” muttered the taller of the men.
The short one elbowed him. “What’s with the getup?”
Here came the hard part. “I’m a deadman. Didn’t want to scare anyone.”
The bald man’s mouth twisted up into a scowl, but the shorter man
managed to adopt a more politic expression.
“Wait here. I’ll need to talk to Boss.” The shorter man hopped down and
went off toward the run-down structures in the distance.
The bald man watched him run, and once he was at a fair distance he
lifted his rifle and pointed it at me, a scowl still on his face.
My gun was pointed at his head before he’d even turned around.
His eyes widened, but he kept his rifle pointed.
“Don’t be stupid,” I said.
“Can’t trust deadmen. You eat people.”
“I’ve never eaten anyone,” I lied, steadying my hand, slightly adjusting
where my gun was pointed. “If you miss me, I won’t miss you.”
I could see a bead of sweat drip down the man’s sunburnt face before he
pointed the gun down and looked away.
“Bad enough we already got one of you living here,” he muttered.
The other man returned then and opened the gate to let me in.
“Boss says he can come in. Deadman or not, if he’s got deliveries, we
want em.”
“Thanks,” I grunted, taking a moment to stop in front of the bald man.
He was tall, but I had a few inches on him. I simply stood and stared down
at him for a few moments until he looked away. Then I followed the other
one into town.
It was unusual that I would actually be invited into a town, especially on
the first delivery. There were a few who had grown used to me enough to
tolerate me in their streets, but Kind seemed to be unusually, well, kind so
far. Even the tense moment with the bald man was probably not even in my
top ten worst first encounters with someone.
Once I reached the nearest of the structures, I received several
notifications.
Congratulations, Citizen! You have earned a rank in Customer Service!
Here in the US of A we know the customer is always right!
That one almost made me laugh aloud. I wondered if I’d received the
rank for talking my way in, talking the other man down, or a combination
of both.
 Excellent work, Postman! You’ve successfully performed the primary
goal of your job ‘Delivery’! You’ve earned 151 Patriot Points!
Congratulations, Citizen! You’ve earned a level in courier, carrying on
the legacy of the Pony Express. You have received +1 Speed, +1
Endurance, and +1 Perception.
5th level also unlocks:
Special Delivery: You can mark a delivery ‘special,’ which will allow
you to track it if it’s lost.
Hmm, that one was interesting. The Postman job was a mixed bag in
terms of utility, but overall I was lucky to have it. Sure, jobs like “Marine”
or “Cop” had an edge in combat ability, but they weren’t an option for
everyone, and they rarely opened up on the R.A.S. Postman opened up
constantly because of the high mortality rate, so I snagged it up quickly. It
was one of the more common jobs for deadmen to take—we were uniquely
suited for the work.
I pulled up the rest of my sheet.

Citizen: Donovan
5th Level Postman
Patriot Points: 27

SPINES: Be the backbone of America!

Strength- 20
Perception- 15
Intelligence- 10
Nationalism- 3
Endurance- 23
Speed- 17

Job Abilities:
Neither Rain, Sleet, or Snow: You are unhampered by adverse
weather.
Express: You gain a 5% bonus to movement speed.
 Special Delivery: You can mark a delivery “special,” which will
allow you to track it.

Skills:
Walking- 34
Pistol- 7
Loading/unloading- 21
Customer Service- 12
Driving- 3

My Patriot Points were down to twenty-seven after the system

automatically spent the rest on the new level. That didn’t leave me much
walking-around money. Below the standard sheet there was some visual
distortion, followed by something that, as far as I knew, was exclusive to
me.

Virus:
Deadman- Bonus to all physical stats +5, negative to social-based
skills
Natural weapon- Teeth
Night Vision
TWO
 A KIND PLACE

W hen I reached the center of town, I opened the lead containers and let
people come and get their packages. They received notifications that
they’d arrived, so there was a small crowd gathered. I waited off to the side,
not wanting to scare anyone, but was surprised to find many of them
passing directly by me, some even managing thank yous and smiles. It
made me uncomfortable, but luckily there were still plenty of hateful looks
in the small crowd that gathered to even things out.
After everyone had gotten their packages, I walked up to my cart and
addressed the short man again.
“Let everyone know my next delivery is to Boon, then I loop back
around. I’ll be here to take the packages and letters tomorrow morning.”
The man nodded. Seemed to struggle with something for a moment,
then offered his hand.
“I’m JD.”
I blinked a few times. This town just kept getting weirder. Still, I
reached out and took his hand.
“Donovan.”
He retrieved his hand just a little too quickly, but I didn’t fault him for
it.
“There’s a bar in town. Tim’s place. He’ll take ammo, tobacco, fruit, or
PP of course if you’d rather not barter. I have a feeling he may cut you a
deal, whatever the case.”
“Where?”
“Toward the back wall,” he said, pointing. “There’s a cantina before that
one, but uh… the kids eat there.”
 “I understand. Thanks.”
I readjusted my goggles and bandana and headed in the direction he
pointed. Walking through the town, I could tell that it was a middling
settlement. Not too populous, not too prosperous, but getting along fine.
Most of the buildings were made from scrap and all of them were clustered
closely together. I saw small farms here and there that led me to believe the
main thing they tithed to the Iron Horde was food. Toward the center of
town I noticed a large central building made up of half an old plane with
paper lanterns strung up outside, unlit in the daylight, and the sounds of
people enjoying breakfast. I gave it a wide berth and kept moving toward
the edge of the town.
A lone building sat halfway between the town and the wall. I saw a
couple men and a woman in a pile outside the door, sleeping off, from what
I could smell, a legendary amount of hooch. I stepped over them and
walked in. The place was sleazy, but I had initially expected to sleep outside
of the walls after making my delivery, so I decided not to be choosy. The
lighting was dim, and the seating was mostly chairs ripped from cars,
though the bar had a few actual stools. I sat at one and rapped my knuckles
on the bar twice.
I heard some shuffling and a man emerged from the back room. I
immediately understood what the difference was in this town. He was short,
maybe a head smaller than me, his skin the color of exposed muscle tissue,
his eyes a watery yellow. Unlike me, he had a full head of brown hair that
he’d grown long and was using to cover his face, but I could still tell what
he was immediately. He was more handsome than me, but that’s a relative
statement. His yellow eyes lit up a bit when he saw me, and he approached
the bar.
“Welcome,” his voice was raspy, like he’d been a pack-a-day smoker
since he was two, and he smiled at me with yellow pointed teeth, smaller
and less sharp than my own, but still more than capable of tearing through
flesh.
I looked him over for a second before asking the question I’d wanted to
ask since I entered the bar. “Got hooch?”
His smile flickered for a moment—that hadn’t been the question he’d
wanted to hear, but he recovered quickly. He must have a high Customer
Service rank.
 “Sure, first rounds on me,” he reached behind the bar and I heard a
scoop and pour before a cup of foul-smelling liquid was placed in front of
me.
I sniffed it. “This what you serve the… regulars?”
He nodded.
“What about what you drink?”
He shook his head. “I uh, don’t drink.”
“A bartender who doesn’t drink? That’s almost as strange as a deadman
living somewhere besides Pott’s Field.”
He gave a small smile. “Drinking killed my pa.”
“Well, just a heads up, what gets them drunk is barely a tickle for us.” I
slammed the glass he gave me back, lifting my bandana over it, and
swallowed it quickly. “Thanks for the drink though.”
We sat in silence for a bit, the young deadman shuffling on his feet as I
took out my gun and began cleaning it. I didn’t want to get involved, but the
way he was staring at me eventually forced me to say something, if only to
settle him down.
“I’m Donovan,” I said, reaching out a hand for him to take. He was
startled, but shook it.
“Tim, nice to meet you.”
“So, how’s a deadman become a bartender?”
Tim smiled. “Well, I was born here. My ma was Boss’ sister, my pa was
his best friend. He made the town keep me when I was born, and kept them
from exiling Ma. She went missing a few years later though, and just a
while after that pa drank himself to death. Boss wanted to discourage folks
from drinkin too much after that, so he made me a bartender, helped me get
the job on the R.A.S. an everythin.”
I chuckled. “He uses you as a deterrent?”
“Well, that’s how it was at first, but now almost everyone comes in fer a
drink sometime.”
I wanted to explain to him how dangerous all of this was for him, but he
seemed like a sweet kid and I hoped I was wrong.
“You must be good with people.”
He smiled proudly. “I got my Customer Service rank up to twenty-two.”
“Respectable,” I said, cleaning my gun. I didn’t have the heart to tell
him that the deadman penalty for Customer Service put that closer to two.
No other deadman I’d spoken to had the Virus readout on the citizen sheet,
so he likely wasn’t aware of that himself. Still, the fact that he’d gone that
far was impressive.
“What do you do, mister?”
“I’m a courier. I travel between settlements, carrying letters and
packages.”
“You seen a lot of places?”
“Yes.”
“Anywhere extra special?”
I thought about it, picturing the places I’d been. Green-tinted wastes
crackling with odd electricity, a city of deadmen in the middle of the tear
that divides east from west, a river filled to the brim with gators the size of
cars, and a stretch of road where reality itself seemed to bend and fade. I
looked back at him.
“Not really.”

Tim had a spare room, which is to say he had a shack attached to the
side of the building with a bare mattress on it. I pulled out a worn
paperback and read for most of the day before closing my eyes. After that I
slept just as restfully as I would’ve if I’d been outside the walls, with a gun
in my hand and my eyes half opened.
I was woken up by rays of light pouring through holes in the shack’s
construction. I assessed my surroundings before I opened my eyes. No
unfamiliar smells or sounds, so I opened them, confirming I was alone. I sat
up and made my way to the bathroom, a blue bucket that I popped outside
the door once I was done.
I made my way back inside the bar and saw Tim just starting to drag a
few patrons outside to sober up. He was holding two at once, and I held the
door for him to toss them outside. After that he poured me a drink and slid
me a bowl of some kind of oats. I removed the bandana around my mouth
and noticed that even Tim’s eyes widened at my teeth. I took some dried
meat from a pouch and tore a few pieces into the oats before tucking in.
Tim looked at me questioningly.
“It was a deer. Attacked me on the road a ways back, had teeth like
razors. Radiated meat like this tastes better to us.”
“Really?”
 “Yeah.” I broke off a piece of the meat and handed it to him.
He nibbled at it tentatively, but then immediately shoved the entire thing
into his mouth, chewing ferociously.
I handed him the rest of what I had in my hand. I found myself feeling a
little responsible for him. It was clear he’d never encountered another
deadman. At the same time, I couldn’t stick around, and when I’d seen this
kind of thing in the past, it had never gone well. I finished eating before
deciding to speak.
“You should leave.”
Tim swallowed a piece of meat he’d been chewing. “What?”
“Kind. you should leave the town.”
“Why?”
I sighed. “Because eventually they’ll turn on you.”
“No they wouldn’t. I’ve been here since I was a kid, and they’ve always
treated me well.”
I looked around the shitty bar. Treated well was quite the overstatement.
“Tolerated and found a use for” seemed more fitting.
“Listen, kid, I’m just telling you how things are. The next time
something goes wrong, food runs low, someone goes missing, a raider slips
in, they’ll be looking for someone to blame, and you’re the only one who
doesn’t look like them.”
He glared at me. “It’s not like that here. Uncle Boss’d never let that
happen.”
“I just… I felt obligated to warn you. Do what you want. I’m not sure if
an Undertaker ever comes this way, but I know one hits Davis a short way
east. Pott’s Field ain’t a perfect place, but you’d be safe.”
“I’m safe here, and all fairness, mister, I don’t even fucking know you.”
I nodded. “I’ve said my piece. I’ll leave you be.” I covered my mouth
back up with my bandana. “Thank you for the room and the breakfast.” I
sent fifteen PP his way. He hadn’t made me pay for the food and room, but
a tip felt fair.
I left the bar, feeling Tim’s yellow eyes bore a hole in the back of my
head as I did. It wasn’t my desire to ruin people’s days, but it seemed to
happen pretty often.
When I reached the center of Kind there was a line of citizens waiting
with letters and packages. A lot of people had kin who were spread out
across the area since before the tearing. Regular caravans and traders could
handle goods, but I mostly wound up transporting gifts and letters that were
meant for those distant relatives, or quick communiques between settlement
leaders.
I started taking packages and letters, ignoring the clear trepidation they
felt handing them to me. I’d initially let people load their items themselves,
but I’d been screwed by collapsing towers of boxes too often; besides, there
were other benefits. I noted that there was a new notification as I loaded the
second-to-last box.
Congratulations, Citizen! You have earned a rank in
Loading/unloading! Even the Statue of Liberty was shipped here one piece
at a time!
I felt a small amount of shame for the warm feeling I got from
improving that trivial skill, but I did have a fundamental love of seeing
ranks go up and numbers improve. Besides, at least it wasn’t Walking.
“I’ll probably be back through in two or three weeks depending on
storms, or if I get killed.”
JD spoke up as the other Kind folk dispersed. “How could that happen?
Aren’t you already a deadman?” he asked with a wry smile.
I looked at him through my goggles for a few long seconds. “Ha,” I said
in monotone and started walking toward the gate.
THREE
 DEADZONE

T he most direct route between Kind and Boon was straight through a
deadzone. I wasn’t familiar with this one, but I figured I’d risk the trek
straight through to cut time off the journey.
The edges of deadzones aren’t usually distinct. If you didn’t have a
Geiger counter handy, or weren’t familiar with an area it could be easy to
wander into one without realizing it. This one snuck up on me. The road I
was walking slowly went from solid to broken through by plants and
patches of water, until I found myself walking through a thick swamp.
Deadzones tended to be areas with high rads, but they were named
deadzones because they killed people, not necessarily because they didn’t
hold life of their own. The swamp was teeming with it. Lizards the size of
dogs and frogs with long tails scurried away as I walked, sensing a more
dangerous predator than they could handle. I broke a branch from a tree that
bled a sticky orange substance, and I started using it to touch the ground in
front of me, using it to avoid drowning in soft patches of earth. My cart had
no issues, it just hummed softly as its treads carried it through any
difficulty.
As I walked my Geiger counter trilled loudly in areas of particularly
thick foliage, and as I reached what I gauged to be the center of the zone I
began to hear a loud buzzing noise. I removed my Geiger counter and held
it to my ear, but the buzzing wasn’t coming from it. I kept moving, and as I
did the buzzing grew louder.
I walked about another mile before I saw what was making the noise.
What looked like a black cloud was writhing in front of me. It undulated
and danced, moving in what seemed like random directions. After watching
it for a few minutes, I realized what it was. Mosquitos, thick as a cement
wall. I wasn’t sure if they’d noticed me and were ignoring me, or if they
were simply preoccupied with something else. None broke off from the
cloud to bite me. Instead, they moved as a single entity.
After watching them for a few minutes, I noticed something. A glint of
metal peeking through their thick cloud. I watched that spot a little longer
and was able to slowly piece together a picture of a body, guns, and a bag.
Salvage, valuable salvage. It’s one of the benefits of being able to
explore deadzones relatively freely. A lot of people wander in and die,
leaving behind goods that tend to lie untouched. I considered ignoring it,
but the gun didn’t look like the crap I was used to finding. It seemed well-
maintained. It seemed like whoever had died to leave it behind had taken
care of it.
I pulled out some meat and ate it while I considered what to do. The
mosquitos hadn’t bothered me yet, but I didn’t know if that would last if I
walked into them. My clothing covered most of my body, but I was certain
they could slip between the folds of it if they wanted to. I considered a fire,
but finding dry wood in a swamp didn’t seem likely. That left one option. I
pulled out my machete.

I yanked my machete out of the now-dead salamander. Its body

twitched as I did. I could’ve made short work of it with my pistol, but I
didn’t want to waste what ammo I had. I’d had to slowly sneak up on them
and strike before they could react. They were slippery bastards, but after an
hour’s work I had two of the salamanders and a half dozen of the frogs. I
pulled out a net I sometimes used to carry mail and shoved the newest body
into it. I didn’t earn PP for killing them since they weren’t attempting to
harm me or my cargo, but I figured the salvage opportunity would make all
the effort worth it.
When I returned the mosquitos were still there, a black pulsating mass
of buzzing. I took the net, aimed it, and threw it through the thick cloud. It
briefly knocked a hole in it, but that swiftly closed back up as the bugs
recovered. The buzzing grew excited, and I watched the mass slowly move
off of the body they’d most recently feasted on and head toward the fresh
blood I’d provided for them.
 I approached the corpse cautiously. It was covered in small holes from
the mosquitos, but what surprised me were two large ones. One was in his
chest and the other his stomach. They looked like they were burned around
the edges, and I could still catch a whiff of burnt flesh in the air.
A notification filled my vision.

Citizen, you have found a dead Marshal. You are being offered the
following job:
Federal Marshal

This job offers the following:

Stat focus: Strength, Perception, Intelligence
Skills: Long Guns, Pistols, Melee Weapons, Investigation, Tracking
Abilities for Lvl 1:
Under Cover: You may retain your previous job, and those with the
ability to read your sheet will see whichever job you choose to show.
You’re Under Arrest: You may temporarily remove all job-based
bonuses from a target to ease apprehending them. This person will
be highlighted in your vision while this ability is active.

This job receives PP based on the following criteria:

Completing investigations
Making arrests
Combat
Tracking suspects

This job will be granted to you as temporary, but can be made

permanent on the following condition: solve the murder of the
former Marshal.

I blinked—a Marshal. The dead man had been a Marshal. I’d heard the
rumors, but I’d never thought they really existed. They were dangerous to
the point that supposedly even the Iron Horde was wary of them.
 I shook off my surprise. What’s in front of me was more important than
notifications at the moment, especially since I was unsure if the mosquito
cloud would return. I found two rifles, a pistol, a bag half full of ammo and
provisions, a small notepad, and a metal badge with the word “Marshal”
stamped across it.
I heard an approaching buzz as the mosquitos returned and left the body
where it lay. One mosquito managed to land on my exposed wrist, and I
watched it take a drink then proceed to die. I’d assumed the rads in my
blood wouldn’t bother creatures that lived in the deadzone, but it was
possible that my virus made it even less tasty than the radiation did. Either
way, it looked like I may have been overly cautious. Better than dead
though.
I checked on my cart, and when I found that everything was fine I
started back on my previous path. Night fell before I reached the end of it,
but I pushed on. Deadzones were rarely a smart place to sleep. Luckily, my
great skill at Walking made the rest of the trek go smoothly.
The swamp ended as gradually as it began. Thick trees, pools of
glowing water, and strange mutant wildlife gradually gave way to barren
roads and shattered buildings. The trill of my Geiger counter slowly quieted
to a soft purr. I made a mental note to let any guides in the next town know
exactly what was killing people there, aside from the radiation.
I did a quick scan around to make sure no one was nearby and went to
find a place to camp. Eventually I found the husk of a bus and was lucky
enough that a few of the seats actually had padding. I parked my cart just
outside the door, making sure the cargo was locked down, and covered it
with a tarp. After that I climbed inside. I had a quick meal of meat and
looked through the Marshal’s provisions. I was gratified to find peppers,
some kind of hard bread, a few raw onions, and some dried meat. I treated
myself to one of the peppers and enjoyed the burning as the juices from it
filled my mouth. They were fresh. My guess was that he’d gotten them in
Boon.
One of the rifles I found was similar to one I’d used before. It took .308
ammo, which was good, because most gunsmiths made that pretty steadily.
The other rifle I didn’t recognize, along with two magazines of ammo in a
caliber I’d never seen. I dry fired it and gave it a closer look. I was
surprised to find that it was automatic. Between the unique ammo and the
auto fire it wouldn’t be practical for regular use, but I liked the idea of
having something powerful in my back pocket for emergencies. The
revolver was a .38. I’d seen them before and didn’t care for them as much
as my 9mm, but I bet I could pick up a decent amount of PP from the right
trader for it. The notepad was soaked through with a mixture of blood and
water, making it unreadable. Overall, the haul was worth the effort.
Once I was done, I turned my attention to the notification I’d gotten. I
gave it a long, focused read. There was an opportunity here. Jobs like this
one were hard to come by, and the fact that I could have both it and my
courier job meant there were no real negatives to taking it. None aside from
becoming embroiled in solving a murder.
I accepted the new job.

Congratulations! You have been granted the job of Federal Marshal

(temporary)!

You are carrying on the legacy of men like Wild Bill Hickock, Wyatt
Earp, and Bas Reeves!

That a marshal shall be appointed in and for each district for a term
of four years, but shall be removable from office at pleasure, whose
duty it shall be to attend the district and circuit courts when sitting
therein, and also the Supreme Court in the district in which that
court shall sit. And to execute throughout the district, all lawful
precepts directed to him, and issued under the authority of the
United States, and he shall have the power to command all
necessary assistance in the execution of his duty, and to appoint as
shall be occasion, one or more deputies. - Judiciary Act

This Job is granted as temporary and can be made permanent upon

completion of your first investigation: solve the murder of the
former Marshal.

You have 30 days to complete this.

I had no idea who the hell Bill Hickock and those folks were, but I
assumed they were impressive since they were included in a system
message. I also noticed that I should apparently have the ability to deputize
people, but I saw no such ability on my citizen sheet when I pulled it up.

Citizen: Donovan
5th Level Postman/ 1st Level Marshal (Temporary)
Patriot Points: 24

SPINES: Be the backbone of America!

Strength- 20
Perception- 15
Intelligence- 10
Nationalism- 3
Endurance- 23
Speed- 17

Job Abilities:
Neither Rain, Sleet, or Snow: You are unhampered by adverse
weather.
Express: You gain a 5% bonus to movement speed.
Special Delivery: You can mark a delivery “special,” which will
allow you to track it.
Under Cover: You may retain your previous job, and those with the
ability to read your sheet will see whichever job you choose to show.
You’re Under Arrest: You may temporarily remove all job-based
bonuses from a target to ease apprehending them. This person will
be highlighted in your vision while this ability is active.

Skills:
Walking- 34
Pistol- 8
Loading/unloading- 22
Customer Service- 12
Driving- 3
Melee Weapons- 1
Long Guns- 1
 Investigation- 1
Tracking- 1

Virus:
Deadman- Bonus to all physical stats +5, negative to social-based
skills
Natural weapon- Teeth
Night Vision

The new skills had a lot of value, particularly melee weapons. I was
already good with a machete, but having it as an actual skill meant I could
get much better with it a lot quicker. I also noticed my Pistol skill got an
automatic boost of one. I wanted to keep these new advantages, to use
them. All I needed to do was solve a murder. The strange wounds on the
body seemed to be the best clue to finding what may have happened. I went
into my sheet and activated my undercover ability to make only my
Postman job display. There was a chance the Marshal had been shot in
Boon, no sense in me taking the risk of being found out. If anyone had the
Mayor or other bureaucratic jobs now they’d only see the profession I had
allowed to display. Once I was done, I drew my duster closely about myself
and went to sleep.
FOUR
 A BOON FOR BOON

I woke up before dawn. I wanted to sleep more, but my night was full of
bad dreams that made old scars ache. I climbed out of the bus seat I’d
curled up in and slung my pack over my shoulders. The added weight of
yesterday’s loot made me grimace, but it was well worth it. Outside of the
bus my cart remained untouched. I got everything together and started back
on the road toward Boon.
Even with my brief detour the previous day I was making good time,
thanks to the shortcut I’d taken through the deadzone. After only about four
hours of working on my favorite skill, Boon began to come into sight. I’d
heard it described by another courier at one point, but seeing it was a
different story. The town was about five times larger than Kind had been. It
was built on two sides of a river, with the majority of the town on the river
itself. Old tourist steamships, small dinghies, and rotting yachts were all
strung together across the river and built on top of with wood and scrap-
metal structures. The shacks on the edges of the river all seemed to be for
merchants and security, and I could tell that the outermost boats were
fortified in case of attack. Even at the distance I was I could see freshly
burnt holes in the walls and barricades that made up the fortification.
Whatever weapon had killed the Marshal had also been used here.
When I was nearly at the outskirts I realized there were no traders in the
outer part of Boon, only security with guns. I made sure my cart was visible
and put my hands up after ensuring my bandana and goggles were covering
my face. They’d definitely been attacked and were likely a little trigger
happy, so I wanted to appear as friendly as possible.
 One of the men saw me and I watched him call for backup. I waited
where I was until there were three more men, who all approached me with
their rifles raised.
When they were close enough, I said, “Courier.”
One of the men, who had a cigarette hanging out of his mouth,
approached me a bit closer and looked me and my cart over. “Slim?”
“Dead.”
“You a deadman?”
“That obvious, huh?”
He took a long draw from his cigarette and spat out the butt. “Alright.”
He turned to the other armed men. “Let him in.”
I expected some argument, but they just nodded and took places behind
the cart so they could escort me into the outskirts of town. This was in a lot
of ways my ideal interaction. Quick, easy, no small talk. Unfortunately, this
was the one time I needed more details.
“Security always this tight?” I asked as I started unloading packages
onto a table one of the men had dragged out of a nearby shack.
“Should’ve been,” answered the man who’d been smoking as he lit
another cigarette. He was older, and had a face the shape of a cinderblock,
but meaner. In spite of his looks, he held out a cigarette to me.
“No thank you.”
He shrugged and pocketed it. I noticed his men giving me suspicious
glares as I continued the work of unloading, but whenever they seemed
about to say something, they’d catch themselves and look at the smoking
man.
“Something go down recently?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Listen, I’m going to be traveling around here and making deliveries.
Any chance I could get some more information?”
The man took a long inhale from his cigarette and blew it into the air.
“Raiders. Bout thirty of them. A few of them had some kind of weapon I
ain’t seen before. It was like it was shooting pure heat. Burned holes in
people, buildings. They rounded up everyone left outside and carted them
up north. Not sure exactly where to. I would avoid that whole area if I were
you.”
“Alright, thanks.” I finished unloading the boxes and let them know I’d
be back in two days to pick up any deliveries they had to head back to Kind.
I asked if there was a place I could sleep. They offered one of the most
outside buildings. That was typical, but I told them I’d camp out and return
later.
I walked out of the settlement and reviewed my notifications.
Excellent work, Postman! You’ve successfully performed the primary
goal of your job ‘Delivery’! You’ve earned 173 Patriot Points!
Congratulations, Citizen! You have earned a rank in Investigation! Here
in the US we have the right to question everything, except freedom!
Solid gains overall. I wondered if the R.A.S. would distinguish between
which jobs the PP belonged to, or if I’d be able to choose how to distribute
them. If I could choose that would be very helpful. Since leveling was
automatic, when someone received enough PP it could sometimes leave you
with too little to spend, but if I could just avoid choosing where to distribute
them it meant I could save PP when I wanted to use it to buy something in a
town. Considering how much higher settlements usually charged me than a
non-deadman, that could be very helpful.
I had some answers and a general location for where to take my
investigation. I also had enough information to make me reconsider what I
was doing. Around thirty raiders, powerful unknown weapons, and a mass
kidnapping. That was a lot to deal with. The advantages I’d received from
the new job were significant, but I’d been doing fine as a Postman.
Fine as a Postman wasn’t enough though. It had simply been the best of
the options I’d had. A job like Marshal felt right, felt like something I could
really use. Something that could help me do what I felt needed to be doing
when I felt like doing it. There was also the fact they’d kidnapped people,
probably to trade as slaves. I knew what it was like to experience that. I
might be able to save a few people the way I’d wanted to be. Maybe some
of the people I freed would only let out a small scream when they saw who
was rescuing them.
I broke from my thoughts and realized I was already heading north.
Apparently my feet knew what I wanted better than I did.

After a few hours of walking, I saw smoke. I drew my new hunting rifle
and began treading more carefully. Luckily, the area I was walking through
was wooded, so I had ample places to hide or take cover.
 Eventually I reached the source of the smoke. It was what looked to
have been a small encampment in the middle of a clearing. There was a ring
of small log cabins and other outbuildings arrayed in neat rows and lines. In
front of the structures was a sign that read, “Campsite.” The buildings were
riddled with holes—both bullet holes and the strange burns I’d seen in
Boon. I approached cautiously, hiding behind the walls of the building
closest to me and slipping from building to building, keeping my eyes and
the holes of my ears open and focused as I moved.
Unfortunately, they still got the drop on me. A gunshot rang out and
splintered the wood of a cabin wall next to me. I ducked down, just in time
for another to ring out. I dove backward and made my way to behind where
the cabin sat. The next shot hit the ground next to me. I went to the other
side of the cabin and peeked out just in time to see a man on the roof of the
opposite cabin line up a shot at me. He fired just as I swung my head back
behind cover.
I took a deep breath and considered my options. I could run straight and
lose him in the woods, but I needed more information. I could also trade
shots, but he was in a much better position than I was. I looked into the
cabin window and noticed that the door on the other side was mostly
closed. I slowly slid the window open and climbed inside, keeping as low as
I could.
Once I was inside I heard a noise coming from where I’d just been. I
slowly peeked out and saw a second man with a pistol. They’d been trying
to flank me.
I slowly made my way to the front of the cabin and peeked out toward
the sharpshooter. He was still looking at either edge of the cabin. I backed
into the shadows and began lining up a shot with my rifle. Once I was
certain, I pulled the trigger.
The first shot narrowly missed and buried itself behind him, but I let off
two more before he could react and those two dropped him. I watched his
body slump and slide off the roof, leaving a trail of blood behind. I leapt
through the front door and ducked to the side, drawing my pistol. The
second man went through the gap between cabins, and as he passed me I
made a shot low and caught his knee, making him tumble forward,
dropping his gun.
I closed the distance between us, my gun still ready, but he’d fallen
headfirst on a rock, leaving a bloody head print, and was no longer
conscious. I rolled him over. He was still breathing. That was good. I still
needed more information, and I didn’t mind earning another point in
Investigation the hard way.

My captive woke up in darkness. I watched him let out a “fuck” as the

pain in his knee registered. He started breathing rapidly and straining
against the rope I’d tied him to the chair with. I let him struggle for a little
bit, let him think he was alone. He couldn’t see in the dark like I could.
I’d covered all the windows to the cabin and searched the rest of them
for anything useful. What I’d found was blood, bodies, and burns. The
raiders had devastated this small settlement and, unlike Boon, it didn’t have
nearly the manpower or defense to stop them. I wasn’t in a mood to ask the
man questions nicely.
When he was good and scared, I placed a hand on his shoulder.
He jumped, “What the fuck!? Who’s there?”
I slowly brought my mouth next to his ear. “Me.”
He shook the chair, trying to get away, but all he managed to do was fall
over.
“What the fuck do you want?” His voice came out harsh, but I could
hear the little twinge of terror in his voice.
I lifted him, chair and all, and sat it back up. “Answers.”
“Fuck you!”
I jammed my finger into the bullet wound and twisted it.
He screamed, a little higher pitched than I expected, and once he was
done he spat in the direction he thought I was. I walked behind him and
drew the cloth I’d hung up to let some light in. I walked around to face him.
I removed my mask and goggles. It felt nice not to hide my face.
His eyes widened and a stain spread down his legs.
I brought my face close to his and he jerked back, almost falling over
again.
“Give me answers and I’ll let you live.”
He gave a trembling nod.
“How many of you are there? Where’s the rest of your group? How
many people have you taken? What are the strange weapons you’re using?”
 “There’s, uh, I don’t know, thirty, forty of us? Everyone’s up in Porto.
We’ve taken, like two dozen? Maybe more. I, I don’t know what the
weapons are, Jase found them. Only lets a few people touch em.”
“Did you kill the Marshal?”
“Marshal? The guy with the badge? We shot him, but he ran into a
deadzone before we could finish him off.”
“Hmm.” I frowned. I was hoping for more information on their
weapons, but it was better than nothing.
“Can I… can I go?”
“No.” I took my machete and slammed it into his skull. No reason to
waste a bullet.
FIVE
 THE LONG MACHETE OF THE LAW

I cleaned up and tossed the body outside. If I managed to free the people
who were taken, a man with his head cut in half wouldn’t be the first
thing they’d want to see on walking in the door. I looted the bodies of both
him and the shooter and came away with a handful of 9mm rounds and a
dozen .308s. I was also happy to find that the rooftop shooter and I shared a
boot size and traded mine out for his.
The fight and interrogation had netted me another rank in Long Gun,
Melee Weapons, and Investigation, but I hadn’t received any PP for it. I
assumed I wouldn’t receive any PP for the job objectives until I’d made it
permanent.
Whatever the case, I had more walking to do. I made my way in the
direction of where the raider I’d interrogated had said his group’s camp
was. I’d never been to Porto, or heard about it from another courier. I stayed
just off the main roads and paths. If they’d had the idea to leave some
people in the last settlement as an ambush, then they may also have patrols
set up. I was disappointed that I didn’t run into any by the time Porto came
into view. I’d hoped I’d be able to pick some of them off away from the
main group.
It was night, and the camp was lit by electric lamps. Porto generally
looked a lot like the other towns I’d seen. It was a broken mess of buildings
half repaired for people to live in and clinging to ideas about what the world
should be. The light of the lamps cast those buildings in deep shadows that
were broken up by the people walking across the light.
My first goal became clear—turning off the lights. I began creeping
closer to the settlement, looking for an area where I could find a decent
vantage on the entire place. Unfortunately, the tallest thing to climb was a
building almost halfway into the town that looked occupied, based on the
light I could see inside.
I crept along the edge of the camp. There were three men standing
guard at various points and doing a disorganized kind of patrolling. I took
off my pack and buried it, then slung the strange gun I’d gotten off the
Marshal over my shoulder and checked my pistol. I’d rely on the machete
to keep quiet as long as I could and switch to my guns if things got dicey,
which I knew they would. Then I hid my rifle in a bush, loaded with the
safety off. I’d use that spot as a fallback location.
Once I was done, I moved on the man patrolling at the far right. I crept
along the woods as long as possible and activated my new ability. He didn’t
seem to notice, but after I used it he became highlighted in my vision. I was
able to see him even when there were walls between us. I observed for a
few more moments and waited for him to turn his back, and when he did I
ran as fast as I could toward him.
He must’ve heard me. He turned around and went to whip his gun
around, but his movements were sluggish, and I could see some confusion
on his face.
His hesitation was all I needed to slam my machete into his chest. His
eyes widened and he gasped, struggling to scream, but only letting out what
little air remained in his lungs. I grabbed his body before it fell and moved
it behind the remains of a small building. After that I went to work on the
next two.
The middle guard had actually fallen asleep by the time I reached him. I
sheathed my machete and drew a small knife I kept at my waist. I didn’t
want to dull the blade on the machete more than I needed to. I dragged it
across his throat quickly, then hid his body as well. The third one was the
most alert. I climbed a building that sat behind him and waited for him to
cross under me. Once he did, I leapt down and drove my machete into his
back as I landed.
I let out a sigh. Good luck so far, three of roughly thirty down. I was
already a tenth of the way done.
After hiding the final body, I made my way to one of the standing
halogen lamps. The cord extended deeper into the camp toward another of
the lamps. From where I was standing I couldn’t tell exactly where it went,
but the arrangement of the wires indicated that whatever was powering
them was in the middle-west part of the town.
I climbed back up the building I’d leapt from to get a better vantage. It
wasn’t as helpful as the tall one would’ve been, but it did get me my first
decent view of the interior portion of Porto. It was about what I expected
from a raider town. Men with guns drinking hooch, dragging men and
women that I guessed had been taken from the nearby settlements into
darkened buildings, and scattered fights. Blitz and redeye were being used
freely and dangerously, it looked like an OD had already saved me the
trouble of killing one of them. The only sign that there was organization of
any kind was that one of the men was sitting on the top floor of a building
that had lost its upper half. He was bent over some powdered redeye,
snorting it with vigor, while two bored-looking women sat at his feet.
Across his back was what I assumed was one of the burning weapons. It
had a round barrel that ended in a point, almost like a pencil. Unlike any
other guns I’d seen, it shone brightly as if brand new, and I couldn’t tell
how it took ammunition.
I climbed back down with a much better mental map than I’d had
before. I started sneaking as carefully as I could along the edge of buildings,
rubble, or whatever other cover I could find. The area was well-lit, but it
seemed like the only men worried about an attack had been the ones they’d
placed on watch. I ducked into a building just as one of the raiders passed
by. I kept my breathing steady—I was about halfway to where all the wires
seemed to be leading.
I heard movement and moved my eyes from the door. There were three
people, two young women and a man. They looked up at me with terrified
eyes, I could see a number of fresh bruises on them, and they were
trembling. I held up a finger to my mouth, realizing that the hand was
covered in blood as I did so. They didn’t respond, but they didn’t make any
noise either, and that’s all I needed from them. After the space was clear I
began moving back toward where the wires led. I got into the building
without being detected and walked deeper inside. The building was
nondescript, but there were a number of muddy footprints that indicated
people were in and out of the room frequently.
I heard a noise and flattened myself against the wall. Unlike the outside,
the building itself wasn’t well-lit and I hoped it would help me blend in to
the wall. A man entered the hallway, his eyes blurry from drink, and walked
past me. I slashed my machete across his neck, decapitating him. I used
more strength than I’d meant to, but after seeing the captives the raiders had
taken up close, I no longer had any restraint. I tossed the body and headed
into an empty room off the hallway, following the cables back. They led me
into a room in the back, in the center of which was a massive hatch that had
been flung open, with stairs that led underground.
I warily made my way down, clearing rooms but finding them all
empty. The entire place was strange. The walls were cold metal, and cleaner
than anything I’d ever seen before, even with the muddy bootprints that led
deeper into it. There were pictures on walls and laid on tables that were
drawn on blue gridded paper in shapes I didn’t recognize. Computers with
still-intact monitors lined the walls in some rooms and filled the bunker
with a kind of low hum. I was tempted to see what I could gain from
booting one up. I’d managed to scrape together a working one at one point
using pieces and guidebooks I’d looted or purchased from merchants, so I
knew how they worked, but now wasn’t the time.
I followed the wires further down into what was turning out to be a
pretty big facility. It seemed stupid to me that the raiders didn’t simply live
in these tunnels, but that wasn’t my problem. Eventually I made it to the
source of the cords. There was what appeared to be some kind of generator,
and a series of plugs had been crudely assembled in such a way that I
wouldn’t be surprised if wiring them up had killed a few would-be
electricians as they’d worked on it. I hesitated. I’d have to move quickly
after I shut it down, but shutting it down from within and trapping myself
inside the bunker was a distinctly bad idea. I hadn’t expected the power
source to be so distant from the surface. I made my way back out and
grabbed a bundle of the wires, arraying them next to each other. I slipped a
leather glove onto my hand and held the handle of the machete tightly,
triple-checking that it had a wooden handle despite having used it for more
than a year. I raised it and struck downward hard. There was a flash of
sparks and the lights died.
There were a few choice exclamations and some screaming. I calmly
walked into the shadows of a nearby building and squatted down. It was
time to take advantage of my natural night vision. I located each of the
raiders and activated my Arrest ability. By the time I was done my vision
was filled with twenty-three highlighted raiders panicking, sobering up, and
even finding one of the bodies of the men I’d killed on the outskirts of the
town. They were off-balance, surprised, and scared. It was time to go to
work.
SIX
 ONE BY ONE

I was in my element. I slid my goggles off my eyes and pulled down my

bandana, exposing my teeth. It was one versus at least twenty-three, but
in the dark I had a real advantage. I moved quickly on the nearest of the
men. I’d have the biggest window of opportunity in the short period before
their eyes adjusted to the dark. I struck with my machete, worried the
muzzle flare of my guns would reveal my position. I wanted to even the
odds as much as possible before I reached that point. I slammed the
machete into the first one’s shoulder and it buried itself halfway through his
chest. I yanked it out and moved on the next one. His eyes were wide open
and bloodshot, and he was waving his gun around wildly. I swung at him,
but his wild movement meant I just cut off the arm holding his pistol. He
screamed and I slashed again, this time slicing his head in two horizontally.
I dove into the nearest building after that as a few gunshots rang out in
the direction of his screaming. I ignored the two still forms I saw sleeping
in the dark and dove out the nearest open window. Then I crept out to the
alley and watched as the glowing lights representing the raiders swarmed
like bees in a hive. About half of the men went to the bunker to determine
the cause of the power outage, and most of the others were just then
stumbling onto their dead friends, though the leader had two men go to his
side, and there were a couple on the outskirts of everything who seemed
eager to wait out any potential fighting.
I chose one on the outskirts as my next target and slipped between
buildings and ruined structures toward him. I sheathed my machete and
drew my knife. When I was certain his back was turned, I jumped up,
pulled his head back by the hair, threw him to the ground, and slit his throat.
I left him there and moved on the last one away from the larger groups. He
was hiding behind the corner of a building. I crept behind him and slammed
his head into the concrete wall he was crouched behind, dazing him, then I
drove my knife into the back of his neck and kept moving.
By now there were almost a dozen men around the wires I’d cut. They
were clustered together, and I saw the best opportunity I’d have to really
thin their numbers. I pulled out the gun I still didn’t recognize and found a
piece of cover. With the way they were clustered together, I didn’t need to
be accurate. I felt the new ranks in Long Gun steady my hand and improve
my stance subtly as I took aim. I squeezed the trigger.
The rifle dug into my arm as I fired more than twenty rounds in only a
few seconds. Screams rang out as their bodies fell to pieces. The power of
the gun surprised me, but I was still able to keep it steady as I mowed them
down. By the time the magazine was empty, all the glowing lights that had
lit the raiders had faded to black.
I went to move, and at that moment a red beam of light sliced through
the cover I was behind and scorched my back. I bit back a scream and
forced myself to keep moving as more red beams started cutting through the
buildings around me. I ducked behind a bar. I had just a few moments to
take another head count and found that there were only seven of the marked
raiders left. Four were up where the boss had been, and three were
scattered, having run when I’d opened fire on their allies. Before I could
think of my next move, more beams of red light cut through the bar, one of
them hitting my shoulder. This time I couldn’t stop myself from crying out.
Red beams slammed into me, and I had to force myself to move more
quickly. I ran in the only direction I thought might provide more cover—
directly under the building the shots were coming from. I watched the
movement of the men from below, and when they attempted to shoot down
I’d make sure their shots wouldn’t hit me, calmly moving to the side when
they lined up shots. I was gritting my teeth the entire time, riddled with
holes. Standing was becoming harder and harder, but I wasn’t done yet.
After a few more pot shots, two of the lights started to come down the
stairs to where I was hiding. I slowly made my way behind a pillar and
waited. Once they were completely in the room I slowly peeked out, aimed
my rifle, and fired two more times, dropping them both. As soon as I’d
made that noise, a flurry of red blasts slammed through the ground wildly. I
was lucky this time, as none of them hit, but the raider leader wasn’t so
lucky. All the shots they’d taken had weakened the floor he was standing
on, and the building began to collapse inward.
I ducked down behind the pillar, covering my head with my hands.
There was screaming, the sound of the building groaning as the floor fell in,
and then silence. I pushed off the debris that had fallen on me and made my
way to the fading light of the raider leader. He’d been impaled by a piece of
rebar and desperately reaching for the weapon that was a few feet from him.
He looked up at me with a look of pure malice. I smiled back—malice was
a step up from the fear people usually looked at me with. I picked up his
gun and left him there to bleed out.
I was surprised at how light it was. It was almost like lifting nothing at
all. I began aiming it at the remaining men marked in light. Because of its
ability to cut through cover, it only took a few shots to kill the remaining
raiders. After I was done with them, I dragged myself under some debris
and collapsed. My breathing was heavy, and I was too hurt from the fight to
move anymore. After I was certain I was hidden, I let unconsciousness take
me.

I was surprised when I woke up. I was surprised that I woke up. The
debris were still on top of me and the area sounded quiet, but I waited for a
couple minutes before pushing them off. I put my hands on the spots where
I knew I’d been wounded. I found holes in my clothes, but none in me. I
had always been tough, but that was new.
Once I stood my vision was suddenly swallowed up by a notification. I
tried to dismiss it, but it didn’t move from my eyes. I looked at it: it was
highlighted in the same way the raiders had been after I’d marked them, and
the text was bolder as well.

Destroy the weapons.

Destroy the bunker.
All PP and job benefits will be lost permanently if this is not
completed.
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
spielten“[337], so mag vielleicht ein Wort über diese
cantharidenhaltigen Reizmittel hier am Platze sein. Bis schon von
Dioscurides (Materia medica Lib. II. Cap. 65) erwähnten Canthariden
gelten seit langer Zeit als ein sexuelles Stimulans. Soll doch schon
der römische Dichter Lucretius infolge des Genusses eines
cantharidenhaltigen Aphrodisiacums gestorben sein. Ambroise Paré
berichtet über mehrere derartige Todesfälle. Zu Paré’s Zeit war der
Gebrauch der Pastillen oder Bonbons in Frankreich Mode geworden.
Die Heimat dieser aphrodisisch wirkenden Bonbons war Italien, von
wo besonders Catharina von Medici dieselben in Frankreich
einführte. Am Hofe Heinrich’s III. und Karl’s IX., fanden dieselben
reichliche Verwendung. Im 18. Jahrhundert war es besonders der
Herzog von Richelieu, der von diesen so unschuldig aussehenden
Bonbons bei seinen Liebesabenteuern ausgiebigen Gebrauch
machte. Seine Propaganda für die nach ihm benannten Pastillen
hatte zur Folge, dass dieselben in den letzten Regierungsjahren
Ludwig’s XV. Mode wurden[338]. Gerade in diese Zeit fällt die Affäre
des Marquis de Sade in Marseille, bei der diese Bonbons eine fatale
Rolle spielten. Auch die „Tablettes secrètes de Magnanimité“ der
Madame Du Barry, das „Poudre de joie“, die „Seragliopastillen“
waren höchst wahrscheinlich cantharidenhaltig.
Die Canthariden sind ein gefährliches Mittel, da sie sehr leicht
Entzündung der Niere, der Blase und der Harnröhre hervorrufen. Die
durch sie erzeugten Erectionen kommen durch die entzündliche
Reizung der Harnröhren- und Harnblasenschleimhaut auf
reflectorischem Wege zu Stande. Eine Steigerung der Sexualität
kann höchstens im Anfange der Wirkung beobachtet werden.[339]
Die Kosmetik erfreute sich ebenfalls im vorigen Jahrhundert einer
besonderen Pflege. Auf diesem Gebiete gelangte der
Charlatanismus zur höchsten Blüte. Und es waren oft wunderliche
Blüten. So erhielt im Jahre 1769 eine Gesellschaft das Privilegium,
an beiden Seiten des Pont-Neuf Vermietungsstände für
Sonnenschirme zu errichten, damit die für den zarten Teint ihrer
Haut besorgten Personen sich gegen die Sonnenstrahlen durch
diese Schirme schützend, die Brücke überschreiten könnten[340]. Die
Schönheitsmittel wurden so wahllos und in solchen Mengen
angewendet, dass Casanova gewiss Recht hatte, wenn er — der
von Zeit zu Zeit gern den Charlatan spielte — der Herzogin von
Chartres, die an Acne des Gesichtes litt, die Anwendung
kosmetischer Mittel verbot. Er verschrieb ihr milde Abführmittel —
was gewiss sehr zweckmässig war — und die Waschung mit
Wegebreitwasser[341], welches im vorigen Jahrhundert bei
Hautentzündungen vielfache Verwendung fand.
Als Enthaarungsmittel erwähnt der Marquis de Sade das Rusma,
das „dépilatoire turc, connue sous le nom de rusma“, das er in einer
Anmerkung als „pierre minérale, atramentaire“ bezeichnet und aus
Galatien stammen lässt. (Justine III, 120.) Das Rusma ist ein altes
und sehr beliebtes orientalisches Enthaarungsmittel. Die „Pasta
depilatoria“ oder „Rusma Turcorum“ (oder „Nurék Persarum“) wird
hergestellt aus 2 Teilen Auripigment, 15 Teilen Calcaria viva und 2½
Teilen Weizenmehl. Das ist die Vorschrift von J. J. Plenck, einem
berühmten Dermatologen des 18. Jahrhunderts.[342] Zu bemerken ist
noch an dieser Stelle das grosse Interesse, welches der Marquis de
Sade allen Gegenständen der Medicin und Anthropologie
entgegenbringt. Er suchte sich darüber in allen ihm zugänglichen
wissenschaftlichen Werken seiner Zeit zu unterrichten. Später
werden wir noch erwähnen, dass seine Frau ihn während seines
Aufenthaltes im Gefängnis stets mit Büchern versorgen musste.
Dieser Gefängnisaufenthalt war wohl erst die Veranlassung, dass
Sade sich über die mannigfaltigsten Dinge zu belehren suchte.
Eine merkwürdige Eigentümlichkeit des 18. Jahrhunderts waren
die sogenannten falschen Jungfrauschaften, deren grosse Häufigkeit
ausdrücklich hervorgehoben wird.[343] Man suchte durch
adstringierende Mittel die Reste des Jungfernhäutchens künstlich
wieder zusammenzubringen, überhaupt den Introitus vaginae zu
verengern. Dieses Bestreben blickt gerade in Frankreich auf eine
lange Geschichte zurück. In dem 13. Kapitel der Chirurgie des am
Ende des 13. und Anfang des 14. Jahrhunderts lebenden
französischen Arztes Heinrich de Mondeville, dessen für die
Kulturgeschichte Frankreichs eine reiche Ausbeute liefernden
Schriften von J. Pagel im Urtext zum ersten Male herausgegeben
wurden, findet sich folgende Anweisung zur Vortäuschung der
Jungfrauschaft[344]: „Die Geschlechtsteile bedürfen einer doppelten
Pflege: innen und aussen. Die innere Pflege haben Huren nötig, die
in ihrem Geschäfte erprobt sind (antiquae), von ihnen insonderheit
die, welche naturgemäss eine weite oder infolge des häufigen Coitus
schlüpfrige und weiche Vulva haben, um denen, die mit ihnen
zusammenliegen, als Jungfern oder doch wenigstens nicht als
öffentliche Dirnen zu erscheinen. Zu dieser Pflege nehmen auch
Mädchen, die nicht verheiratet, aber unseligerweise defloriert sind,
ihre Zuflucht, um als unverfälschte Jungfern dazustehen, wenn es
dazu kommt, sich mit dem von ihnen Erangelten im Ehebette zu
vereinigen. Ihren Zweck suchen sie auf folgende Weise zu
erreichen. Zu Pulver gestossenes Glas bringen sie in dem
Augenblicke, wo es zu dem Coitus gehen soll, in die Vulva; die Folge
davon ist, dass sie selbst und die Rute dessen, der mit ihnen den
Coitus vollzieht, beblutet erscheint. Sonst bringe man in die Scheide
Drachenblut und lege darüber Werg und Charpie, beides befeuchtet
mit Regenwasser, in dem adstringirende Pflanzen, wie Rosen,
Anthera, Sumach, Blutwegerich und dergl. abgekocht sind, oder man
setze Blutegel an. Dabei aber sei man vorsichtig, dass sie nicht
hineinschlüpfen. Sind diese entfernt, entstehen Schorfs an den
Seitenwänden der Vulva. Diese reissen beim Coitus auf. Es fliesst
Blut und man besudelt sich damit. Auch nehme man ein Stück
Schwamm, benetze es mit beliebigem Blut oder fülle eine Fischblase
mit Blut, bringe sie hinein und wasche noch die Vulva aussen mit
dem Safte von der grossen Schwarzwurz“[345]. Derartige Praktiken
waren im 18. Jahrhundert wieder an der Tagesordnung. Wir haben
oben über das „Jungfrauenwasser“ der Madame Gourdan berichtet.
Auch Sade kennt verschiedene Mittel zur Wiederherstellung der
pucelage. Delbène rühmt ihre „pommade“, mit der sie die eben
deflorierte Laurette wieder reparieren will (Juliette I, 171) und giebt
der demselben Schicksal verfallenen Juliette eine
„Myrthenextraktpomade“, mit der dieselbe sich 9 Tage lang einreiben
soll, um am zehnten wieder eine Jungfrau zu sein (Juliette I, 179).
Auch die Duvergier benutzt eine ähnliche Jungfrauensalbe. (Juliette
I, 187).[346]
Ueberhaupt war diese ganze Zeit, ein volles Saeculum, die
„goldene Zeit für alle Toilettenkünste und es ist merkwürdig, dass die
Schminke und alle hierher gehörigen Utensilien herrschen konnten,
obwohl gerade damals die Frische des Teints, der ‚Teint de couvent‘
so ausserordentlich geschätzt und begehrt war“[347]. Es gab damals
Hunderte von Pasten, von Essenzen, von Schönheitswässern und
Schönheitspflästerchen. Besonders wichtig waren die Schminken,
vor allem das Rot, „Le grand point est d’avoir un rouge, qui dise
quelque chose.“ Für den Wert, den die Frauen auf das Schminken
legten, zeugt folgende von Mercier erzählte Anekdote aus der
Schreckenszeit.[348]

(Die Marquise klingelt)

Marton
Gnädige Frau —
Marquise
Marton ich stehe auf —
Marton
Hier bin ich, gnädige Frau —
Marquise
Mein Kind, was giebt’s Neues?
Marton
Gnädige Frau, man spricht von einem Aufstand der diesen
Morgen losbrechen soll —
Marquise
Warum nicht gar?
Marton
Man spricht von Plünderung, von Zerstörung, von
Weiberraub, ja sogar —
Marquise
Weiberraub ja sogar — ei, Kind, du scherzest - Himmel, wenn
man —
 Marton
Ach! ich habe überall gehört, dass die Ungeheuer die Frauen
töten werden, und man sagt, dass diejenigen, die ihnen
gefallen, als unglückliche Opfer ihrer Lüste —
Marquise (sehr lebhaft).
Ich zittre — Marton — kleide mich doch an — Marton — mein
Rot! geschwind mein Rot! Himmel! wie ich aussehe —
bleich — niedergeschlagen — ich sehe scheusslich aus —
sie werden mich töten!.... —

Die Männer trieben die gleichen Toilettenkunststücke, schminkten

sich ebenfalls, vergossen „künstliche Thränen“ und enthaarten auf
Verlangen der Geliebten den ganzen Körper. „C’est ainsi que M. le
duc d’Orléans au témoignage de M. d. Valencay qui lui donna le
chemise, se présenta dans le lit de Mme. de Montesson“[349]. Eine
grosse Errungenschaft des 18. Jahrhunderts auf kosmetischem
Gebiete war das Bad. Die Badeeinrichtungen bildeten in der zweiten
Hälfte des Jahrhunderts einen mit grossem Luxus ausgestatteten
Bestandteil vornehmer Häuser und wurden hauptsächlich zu
kosmetischen Bädern benutzt. Die Heldinnen Sade’s steigen
ebenfalls nach vollbrachtem Tages- oder Nachtwerk ins Bad.
Die Schriften des Marquis de Sade gewähren uns ein
erschreckendes Bild von der Häufigkeit der auch einen gewissen
Zusammenhang mit der Kosmetik aufweisenden Abortiv- und
Praeventivmittel im 18. Jahrhunderte. Jene Zeit brachte die
Verhältnise hervor, welche zu der gegenwärtigen Abnahme der
Bevölkerungsziffer in Frankreich geführt haben. Aus Galliot’s
Statistik, die mit dem Jahre 1789 beginnt, kann man die grosse
Ausdehnung der Fruchtabtreibung in Frankreich entnehmen. Er
schliesst seine Resultate mit den Worten: „On se plaint de tous
côtés, en France, de la décroissance de la population. On a fait
récemment de nombréuses lois pour protéger l’enfant; nous venons
à notre tour demander une protection pour le foetus.“[350] Das vorige
Jahrhundert kannte denn auch bereits alle Mittel, welche noch heute
angewendet werden, um die Conception zu verhindern oder die
Abtreibung der Frucht zu bewirken. Höchst charakteristisch ist jene
Stelle in der „Philosophie dans le Boudoir“, wo Madame de St.-Ange
auf eine Frage Eugeniens die anticonceptionellen Mittel aufzählt
(Philosophie dans le Boudoir I, 99) und neben „éponges“, die sich
die Frauen in die Vagina einführen und „condomes“, deren sich die
Männer bedienen, als ein vorzügliches Mittel auch die Paedicatio
empfiehlt, die am besten den malthusianischen Ideen des
Jahrhunderts entspreche. Ist aber das „Unglück“ geschehen, so
wissen die Helden und Heldinnen Sade’s Mittel und Wege, um die
Frucht im Mutterleibe zu töten. Sade erwähnt die Sabina als ein
vortreffliches Abortivum. (Juliette III, 204). Aber ein noch sicheres
und gefahrloseres Mittel als Sabina, das zudem „den Magen nicht
angreift“ ist dasjenige, welches die von ihrem Vater schwangere
Juliette anwendet. Sie lässt sich nämlich von einem berühmten
Accoucheur eine viermonatliche Frucht vermittelst einer Nadel
abtreiben. (Juliette III, 212). Die Durand verkauft Emmenagoga m
diesem Zwecke (Juliette III, 229).
Als letzter Gruppe von sexuellen Mitteln gedenken wir noch der
antivenerischen Geheimmittel, mit welchen das Frankreich des
vorigen Jahrhunderts in grosser Zahl überschwemmt wurde. Denn
trotz aller Ausschweifungen in Venere war die Furcht vor der Syphilis
sehr gross, und die Charlatane fanden ein nur zu williges Publikum
für ihre Betrügereien. Wir wissen nicht, ob der Plan für ein Bordell
mit der Aufschrift: „Du plaisir pour de l’or et santé garantie“[351] zur
Ausführung gekommen ist Jedenfalls war die Vorsicht in dieser
Beziehung gewiss gerechtfertigt. Casanova hatte es sich zum
Prinzip gemacht, niemals in einem fremden Bette zu schlafen.[352]
Juliette untersucht ihre Kunden stets genau auf syphilitische
Symptome hin. Ein Mann, der mit schwerer Syphilis behaftet ist und
der daher als Spezialität seiner Wollust diejenige gewählt hat, die
von ihm gebrauchten Weiber anzustecken, wäre beinahe der Juliette
gefährlich geworden. (Juliette I, 238–240). Im „Espion anglais“ (Bd.
II, S. 98) wird erzählt, wie ein Mann seinen Rivalen aus Rache
syphilitisch infizierte damit dieser die Krankheit der früheren
Geliebten mitteile. Eine ganz ähnliche Idee führt Sade am Ende der
„Philosophie dans le Boudoir“ aus. Dort lässt man einen
syphilitischen Knecht holen, der vor den Augen der triumphierenden
Scheusale die unglückliche Madame de Mistival infizieren muss,
wonach Dolmancé ausruft: Parbleu, voici une inoculation, comme
Tronchin n’en fit de ses jours. (Philosophie dans le Boudoir II, 183–
184).
Medicamentöse Schutzmittel gegen Syphilis wurden vorzüglich in
den Gewölben des Palais-Royal angepriesen. Es gab auch Manche,
die ohne Scheu dieselben in Flugschriften bekannt machten und ihre
Betrügerei durch Anschläge an den Mauern, durch Verteilung von
Karten oder Zetteln auf der Strasse feilboten.[353]
Wir haben früher schon den Charlatan Agirony und das
„Spezificum des Doktor Préval“ erwähnt. Der Letztere ist wohl der
berüchtigste Charlatan des 18. Jahrhunderts gewesen, dessen
Persönlichkeit um so mehr Interesse erweckt, als Guilbert de Préval
derjenige war, welcher Rétif de la Bretonne in die Geheimnisse der
Pariser Prostitution und die „Artes amandi“ des Palais-Royal
einweihte, ein Mensch, der nur im schmutzigsten Sumpfe sich wohl
fühlte.[354] Die Geschichte dieses Erzcharlatans wird im „Espion
anglais“ ausführlich erzählt.[355]
Préval studierte seit 1746 in Caën, wo er dann eine umfangreiche
Praxis ausübte, machte später noch anatomische Studien zu Paris
und promovierte dort im Jahre 1750. Er beschäftigte sich nunmehr
20 Jahre mit der Therapie der Syphilis und entdeckte nach Ablauf
dieser Zeit ein „unfehlbares Specificum“ gegen diese Krankheit, mit
welchem er mehr wie 8000 (!) Menschen heilte. Das Mittel besass
übrigens die Kraft, auch alle übrigen „Haut- und Blutkrankheiten“ zu
heilen. Selbst bis „nach Indien, Amerika und — Martinique“ drang
der Ruf dieses Mittels wo es „Pians und Scorbut“ zur Heilung
brachte. Gleichzeitig war dieses Mittel, eine sogenannte „eau
fondante“[356], ein zuverlässiges Vorbeugungsmittel der Syphilis.
Endlich diente es sogar, wie das heutige Tuberkulin bei Tuberkulose,
zur Diagnose der Syphilis, wozu es z. B. Madame Gourdan benutze.
Die Ankündigung dieses Mittels machte ausserordentliches
Aufsehen und „brachte alle Köpfe der jungen damals am alten Hofe
befindlichen Wüstlinge in Aufruhr.“[357] Man liess den Herrn Préval
kommen, überhäufte ihn mit Schmeicheleien, wie sie kaum dem
Entdecker einer neuen Welt zu Teil geworden wären, verlangte aber,
dass er selbst in Gegenwart von Zeugen den nötigen Versuch
machen sollte, die Wirksamkeit des von ihm angegebenen Mittels zu
beweisen. Préval ging darauf ein. Im Juni 1772 geschah das
Unglaubliche. In Gegenwart vornehmer Herren vollzog unser
Charlatan an einer exquisit inficierten Dirne, die im Spital der
barmherzigen Schwestern behandelt wurde, einen Coitus, nachdem
er zuvor sein berühmtes Mittel eingenommen hatte.[358] Er blieb
gesund, wobei aber nicht mitgeteilt wird, ob eine frühere, doch sehr
wahrscheinliche Syphilis dieses Lebemannes Ursache dieser
Immunität war. Parent-Duchatelet[359] „könnte noch die Zeugen
dieser merkwürdigen Szene nennen“, allein der Rang, den sie im
Staate einnahmen, „befahl ihm Stillschweigen.“
Wir befinden uns nicht mehr in dieser Lage und nennen die
Namen. Es waren der Herzog von Chartres, der Graf de la Marche,
der Marschall Richelieu, der Herzog von Nivernois und andere
„Cavaliere“. Auch der Herzog von Zweibrücken liess ähnliche
Versuche anstellen, die günstig ausfielen. Préval wurde vom Pariser
Magistrat aufgefordert, die Syphilitischen im Bicêtre mit seinem
Mittel zu behandeln. Es wurden ihm zu diesem Zweck 6 Männer und
4 Frauen zugewiesen. Von diesen Dingen bekam die medizinische
Fakultät Kenntnis und trat zu einer merkwürdigen Sitzung am 8.
August 1772 zusammen, in der Préval aus der Liste ihrer Mitglieder
gestrichen wurde, mit 154 gegen 6 Stimmen. Er fing darauf mit der
Fakultät einen Prozess an und verklagte dieselbe vor dem Pariser
Parlament. Nachdem dieses im Jahre 1777 den Beschluss der
Fakultät aufgehoben hatte, wurde derselbe nach neuerlicher
Weigerung der letzteren am 13. August 1777 bestätigt und Préval
ausserdem noch zu einer Geldstrafe von 3000 Francs verurteilt.
Wenn man auch dem Beschlusse der Fakultät als solchem
zustimmen kann, so ist doch die Begründung desselben sehr
fragwürdiger Natur. An einer Stelle derselben heisst es nämlich: „Es
wäre Sache der Moral, zu prüfen, bis zu welchem Punkte eine
Erfindung erlaubt sein könne, welche kein anderes Ziel habe, als
den natürlichen Reiz des Lasters noch durch den der Straflosigkeit
zu verstärken. Wir wissen oder glauben es doch zum mindesten,
dass ein Schutzmittel gegen die in Rede stehende Krankheit eine
Liederlichkeit veranlassen würde, wodurch die Bevölkerung und
bürgerliche Ordnung, wir könnten auch hinzusetzen, die Reinheit der
Sitten leiden müssten.“ Schon Girtanner, der sich in seinem Werke
überall als einen rigorosen Moralisten erweist, bemerkt dazu: „Der
Erfinder eines solchen Mittels, verdiente nicht Verachtung, sondern
den Dank des menschlichen Geschlechts, weil dadurch, in kurzer
Zeit, die Lustseuche ganz von der Erde vertilgt werden müsste. Und
welcher Menschenfreund wünscht nicht, dass es möglich wäre, eine
so glückliche Revolution zu bewirken!“[360] Parent-Duchatelet, der
diesem Gutachten der Pariser medizinischen Fakultät ein
enthusiastisches Lob zollt, wird von Proksch mit Recht getadelt.[361]
Denn man kann das Laster verdammen, ohne der Menschheit die
Schutzmittel vor Krankheiten zu entziehen, und wenn die Furcht vor
Krankheiten der einzige Beweggrund der Tugendhaftigkeit sein soll,
dann dürfen wir diese Tugend nicht allzuhoch einschätzen.
Das Hauptschutzmittel gegen die venerischen Ansteckungen war
im 18. Jahrhundert wie — heute: der Condom. Wir haben bereits
mehrere Male auf den weit verbreiteten Gebrauch dieses
Praeservativs hingewiesen, von dem in jedem Bordell, ein „ganzes
Arsenal“ vorhanden war. Auch die alleinwohnenden Prostituirten
betrieben den Verkauf dieser „redingotes d’Angleterre“. Als
Casanova in Marseille ankam und nach seiner Gewohnheit die erste
Erholung von den Reisestrapazen bei einer Dirne suchte, wobei er
seine Furcht vor Ansteckung äusserte, bot ihm das Mädchen
„englische Hüllen“ an, welche „Beruhigung gewähren“. Aber er
mochte sie nicht, da sie „von zu geringer Qualität waren.“ Darauf
offerierte die Schöne „feinere zu drei Francs das Stück“, welche „die
Händlerin nur dutzendweise verkaufte“ worauf Casanova sich bereit
erklärte, das ganze Dutzend zu nehmen und sich zu diesem Behufe
ein paar Specimina von einer kleinen 15jährigen Dienerin
„anpassen“ liess.[362]
Der Condom wurde von dem unter Karl II. lebenden Londoner
Arzt Dr. Conton erfunden, ist daher eigentlich „Contom“ zu nennen.
Nach der Angabe dieses Arztes wurde diese zum Bedecken des
männlichen Gliedes vor dem Beischlaf bestimmte Hülle aus den
Blinddärmen der Lämmer bereitet. Zu diesem Behufe ward das
entsprechende Darmstück in gehöriger Länge aus den
geschlachteten Lämmern herausgeschnitten, getrocknet und dann
durch Reiben mit einem feinen Oele und Kleien schlapp, weich und
geschmeidig gemacht.[363]
Proksch macht über die weitere Geschichte und Beurteilung
dieser Erfindung sehr interessante Mitteilungen und constatiert, dass
in der Neuzeit „das hypermoralische Toben gegen den Condom“
beinahe ganz aufgehört hat. Die Aerzte erkennen den hohen Wert
der Condome als Mittel zur Verhütung der venerischen Krankheiten
fast einstimmig an. „Die meiste Anerkennung der Schutzkraft der
Condome kam, freilich wider Willen, von einer Seite, von welcher
man es gar nicht vermutet hätte.“ Im Jahre 1826 erschien nämlich
ein päpstliches Breve (Leo XII.), welches diese Erfindung
verdammte, „weil sie die Anordnungen der Vorsehung hindert,
welche die Geschöpfe an dem Gliede strafen wollte, mit dem es
gesündigt.“ Proksch übt an diesem Breve eine vernichtende Kritik,
auf die wir den Leser verweisen. — „Die Condome aus Blinddärmen
der Lämmer, aus Fischblasen und Goldschlägerhäutchen sind
weniger zuverlässig, da diese tierischen Membranen sehr bald
vertrocknen, brüchig und rissig werden, von kleinen Insekten an-
oder durchfressen werden, und zudem fast gar keine Dehnbarkeit im
trockenen Zustande besitzen, sodass sie bei einer geringen
Gewaltanwendung entzwei gehen können.“[364] Proksch, dieser
ernsthafte und gelehrte Forscher auf dem Gebiete der venerischen
Krankheiten, hat aber durch sehr exakte Versuche nachgewiesen,
dass die Condome aus Kautschuk die sichersten Schutzmittel gegen
alle durch naturgemässen Beischlaf erworbenen venerischen
Krankheiten sind.[365] Die moralischen Einwände, welche man gegen
den Gebrauch dieser Condome erhoben hat, sind nicht stichhaltig für
denjenigen, der weiss, dass Alles in der Welt gemissbraucht werden
kann, und dass das gesellschaftliche Wohl höher gestellt werden
muss als die Bedenken des Einzelnen. Alle diese Einwürfe hat
Proksch im humansten Sinne widerlegt. Der Arzt, der die Gesundheit
des einzelnen Menschen, der Familie und der ganzen Gesellschaft
zu schützen berufen ist, kann nicht den Standpunkt eines Theologen
einnehmen, der sich, wie wir zugeben, auch vertheidigen lässt. Er
muss auch einen Missbrauch seiner Ratschläge von sich abweisen,
der ihm doch gewiss nicht zur Last fällt. „Sollte durch den Condom
einer jeden erdenklichen Unreinlichkeit und dem triefenden Schmutz
einerseits und andrerseits den hirnverbrannten Einfällen eines jeden
Wüstlings Rechnung getragen werden, dann müsste er freilich nicht
nur die Geschlechtsteile, sondern auch den ganzen Körper
überziehen.“ (Proksch.)
Endlich kommen wir zu einer letzten Gruppe von Aphrodisiaca.
Das sind die Surrogate des Mannes, wie wir sie nennen möchten,
die künstlichen Apparate, welche der Frau die Abwesenheit des
Mannes ersetzen sollen, vor allem die ledernen Phalli oder
Godmichés, die „Consolateurs“, wie sie bei der Gourdan heissen die
„bijoux indiscrets“, „bijoux de religieuse“ (englisch: Dildo, indiscreet
toy; italienisch: Cazzo, Parapilla), deren Gebrauch aus dem Culte
des Priapus entsprungen ist.[366] Diese schon seit dem Altertume[367]
in Gebrauch befindlichen künstlichen Phalli erlangten im 18.
Jahrhundert wieder eine weite Verbreitung, nicht blos in
Frankreich[368], sondern auch in Deutschland, wo sie von den
vornehmen Damen als „Samthanse“ bezeichnet wurden.[369] Sade
beschreibt sogar automatisch wirkende Godmichés (Juliette V 328),
sowie kunstvoll mit verschiedenen scharfen Spitzen versehene
Instrumente, wie sie z. B. die Tribade Zatta gebraucht (Juliette VI
124). Wie wir auf einer Abbildung in der „Philosophie dans le
Boudoir“ (Band II, 31) ersehen, waren die Godmichés des vorigen
Jahrhunderts ähnlich konstruiert wie diejenigen, welche noch heute
in Frankreich Verwendung finden, und welche Garnier
folgendermassen beschreibt:[370] „On en fabrique ici (à Paris) en
caoutchouc rouge durci, parfaitement imités, que l’on vend
secrètement à des adresses connues de toutes les intéressées. Le
mécanisme en est des plus ingénieux. Ils se gonflent à volonté et du
lait ou tout autre liquide, placé à l’intérieur, s’échauffant au contact
du vagin, s’échappe et se répand au moment psychologique, pour
rendre l’illusion plus complète.“[371] Diese Dinge wurden übrigens
nicht blos im Amor lesbicus gebraucht, sondern sogar auch
zwischen Mann und Frau, w. z. B. Madame de St. Ange es zur
Paedicatio des Dolmancé benutzt (Philosophie dans le Boudoir II,
31).
 Garnier meint, dass die sogenannten „japanischen Kugeln“,
welche in Japan, China und Indien seit alter Zeit von wollüstigen
Frauen benutzt wurden, erst seit 1819 nach Europa gelangt und
damals zuerst im „Dictionnaire des sciences médicales“ beschrieben
worden seien.[372] Das ist ganz unrichtig. Wie wir oben (S. 130)
zeigten, waren diese „pommes d’amour“ schon seit der Mitte des 18.
Jahrhunderts in Frankreich bekannt.
 21. Gastronomie und Alkoholismus im 18.
Jahrhundert.
„Sine Baccho et Cerere friget Venus“. Gut Essen und gut Trinken
sind auch Aphrodisiaca, die nicht zu verachten sind. Dies weiss der
Marquis de Sade ganz genau. Gleich im Anfang der Juliette ruft
Delbène nach einer Orgie aus: „Déjeunons, mes amies, restaurons
nous; lorsqu’on a beaucoup déchargé il faut réparer ce qu’on a
perdu.“ (Juliette I, 10). „Nur viel essen macht tüchtig zur physischen
Liebe“ sagt Noirceuil (Juliette II, 72). Die „diners énormes“ sind
daher recht häufig in Sade’s Romanen (Juliette II, 268). Clairwil ist
ebenso „capriciös in den Ausschweifungen der Tafel wie in denen
des Bettes, in beiden gleich bizarr und unmässig, nährt sich nur von
Geflügel und Wildpret, trinkt Zucker- und Eiswasser, viel Liqueur und
Kaffee. Elle mangeait excessivement.“ (Juliette II, 151).
„Trinken wir, sagt Rodin, ich liebe es, mich durch einen tüchtigen
Trunk auf die Freuden der Liebe vorzubereiten“ (Justine I, 332).
Ambroise sagt bezeichnend: „Die Kräfte, welche Bacchus der Venus
leiht, kommen immer der letzteren zu Gute“ (Justine III, 126). Zu der
fürchterlichen Orgie beim Minister Saint-Fond präparieren sich die
Teilnehmer durch die „ausgesuchtesten Weine und die opulentesten
Speisen“ (Juliette II, 15), und auch während der Orgien lässt man
sich zu den Unmässigkeiten des Comus und der Cypris durch
„fremde Weine elektrisieren“ (Juliette III, 62). Juliette und die Königin
Karoline von Neapel trinken zwischen den Liebesszenen zwei
Flaschen Champagner (Juliette IV, 18), was die Tribade Zanetti
damit begründet, dass man „trinken muss après avoir f....“ (Juliette
VI, 161). Ein entsetzlicher Vielfrass und Vielsaufer ist der Graf
Gernande, der nach der kategorischen Erklärung: „Die Unmässigkeit
ist meine Gottheit, ihr Bild steht in meinem Tempel neben dem der
Venus“ und nach dem Vorbilde des von ihm zitierten „Gastmahl
Trimalchio’s“ 12 Flaschen Wein verschiedener Sorten, 2 Flaschen
Liqueur, 1 Flasche Rum, 2 Gläser Punsch und 10 Tassen Kaffee
trinkt (!!), bevor er sich an die Freuden der Liebe macht (Justine III,
231–232).
Das 18. Jahrhundert war „in Wahrheit das Jahrhundert der
grossen Küche und der grossen Köche“ (le siècle de la grande
cuisine et des grands cuisiniers).[373] Jedermann war in jener Zeit
„Gourmand“, vorzüglich in der Aristokratie, wo man „so vortreffliche
Mahle zu bereiten wusste.“ Die Indigestion war oft die „Strafe der
grossen Esser“. Der Feldzug des Prinzen Soubise in Deutschland
wurde bekannter „durch seine opulenten Diners als durch seine
Siege“. Der Prinz liebte eine besonders raffiniert zubereitete
Omelette, die 100 Thaler kostete.[374] Voltaire sprach sich sehr
scharf gegen die überhandnehmenden gastronomischen
Ausschweifungen aus,[375] die nach seiner Ansicht den Geist
ruinierten. Die alkoholischen Exzesse, welche unter der
Regentschaft fast jeden Abend im Palais-Royal stattgefunden
hatten,[376] bürgerten sich unter der Regierung Ludwigs XVI. wieder
ein. Die Weine aller Länder wurden gepflegt und eingeführt und in
regelmässiger Ordnung beim Mahle gegeben, so der Madeira, der
„den Laufgraben eröffnete, die französischen Weine, welche die
Gänge unter sich teilten und die spanischen und Kapweine, welche
das Werk krönten“.[377] Nach Brillat-Savarin waren die Chevaliers
und die Abbés die grössten Feinschmecker. Die „déjeuners littéraires
et philosophiques“ wurden Mode, die aber, wie Paul Lacroix
bemerkt, ebenso sehr der Gastronomie gewidmet waren.[378]
Präsident Henault, der intime Freund der Madame Du Deffand,
war bekannt durch seine vortrefflichen Diners. Voltaire redet ihn
einmal an:
Henault, fameux par vos soupers!
Rétif beschreibt in den „Nuits de Paris“ ein solches „Souper
célèbre bei Grimod de la Reynière fils“[379] und berichtete über
mehrere „pikante“ Soupers, denen er beiwohnte u. a. bei dem
Charlatan Guilbert de Préval, wo der Dichter Robé seine cynischen
Poeme vorlas, bei Herrn de Morfontaine und beim Grafen de
Gémonville.[380] Ganz wie heute nahmen schon im 18. Jahrhundert
die Lebemänner mit ihren „Freundinnen“ ein „vorbereitendes“
Souper ein. Casanova schildert ein solches Souper in Marseille.[381]
Wie in der Schreckenszeit die alkoholischen Ausschweifungen
zur Verwilderung der Massen erheblich beitrugen, schildert
Reichardt[382]. „Der sehr besonnene und von jeder Uebertreibung
entfernte Geschichtschreiber fügt der Darstellung von den blutigen
Septembertagen, indem er von den von Wut, Blut und Branntwein
trunkenen, gedungenen Mördern spricht, die mit Säbel und Beil, mit
Piken, Bajonetten und Kolben unter Anstimmung des Marseiller
Marsches ihre Landsleute und Mitbürger wie Feinde, wie wilde Tiere
mordeten, folgende Note hinzu: Es ist unwiderleglich dargetan, dass
die Getränke, welche man den gedungenen Mördern reichte, mit
einem besonderen Mittel vermischt waren, welches eine
schreckliche Wut erzeugte, und diejenigen, die es verschluckten, gar
nicht wieder zur vernünftigen Besinnung kommen liess. Ein
Lastträger, der zum Morden im Kloster Saint-Firmin gedungen war,
sagte: Sie haben mir dort was Rechtes zu trinken gegeben. Aber ich
habe dafür auch ein tüchtig Stück Arbeit vollbracht, mehr als
zwanzig Priester hab’ ich für mein Teil allein umgebracht. (Histoire
de la Révolution de France par deux amis de la liberté)“.
Merkwürdig ist, dass der Marquis de Sade in seinen Romanen
bereits den Typus des Vegetarianers und des Antialkoholisten
gezeichnet hat. Der erste Codex des modernen Vegetarianismus
war bekanntlich J. Newtons’s Schrift „Return to nature or defence of
vegetable regime“, die 1811 in London erschien. Sade führt in
Bandole einen typischen Vegetarianer und Antialkoholisten vor, der
allerdings diese Enthaltsamkeit aus sexuellen Gründen übte. Er isst
wenig, und nur Vegetabilien, trinkt nur Wasser. Ja, dieser Bandole ist
bereits ein Vorläufer von Leopold Schenk. Zwar entwickelt er keine
vollständige „Theorie Schenk“, aber er nimmt an, dass die Frau nur
dann geschwängert wird, wenn sie eine gesunde und leichte
Nahrung geniesst. Auch Zamé in „Aline et Valcour“ ist enragierter
Vegetarianer, der sich des Fleischgenusses „par humanité et par
régime“ enthält. Und er weist mit Stolz darauf hin, dass die
Bewohner seiner Insel, die sich nur von Früchten ernähren, sich
einer kräftigen Gesundheit erfreuen. Die jungen Leute sind stark und
fruchtbar, der Geist gesund und frisch. Ihr Leben verlängert sich weit
über das gewöhnliche Ziel hinaus, und sie werden durchaus
glücklich.[383]
 22. Diebstahl und Räuberwesen.
Die Tatsache, dass Prostitution und Verbrechen unzertrennlich
mit einander verknüpft sind, tritt uns auch in den Romanen des
Marquis de Sade deutlich entgegen. Fatime, die 16jährige Freundin
Juliettens, übt das Bestehlen ihrer Kunden als „Spezialität“ zu der
einer der „berühmtesten Diebe“ der Vorstadt La Vilette, Dorval, sie
angeleitet hat. (Juliette II, 193). Dieser wird durch seine Spione über
alle in Paris ankommenden Fremden unterrichtet, die er dann durch
seine Dirnen verführen und berauben lässt. Er empfindet einen
besonderen sexuellen Genuss, wenn er bei der Ausführung solcher
Diebstähle zugegen sein kann. Seine Theorie und Rechtfertigung
des Diebstahls werden wir später besprechen. — Die
Hauptleidenschaft der venezianischen Tribade Zanetti ist ebenfalls
der Diebstahl. Derartige Persönlichkeiten, für die der Diebstahl eine
Wonne ist, kommen noch mehrere vor.[384]
Ungeheuerlich war ja die Geldgier im Frankreich des 18.
Jahrhunderts, was die Zeugnisse aller Zeitgenossen beweisen.
Rameau’s Neffe erklärt: „Es giebt kein Vaterland mehr; von einem
Pol zum andern sehe ich nur Tyrannen und Sklaven; man mag sich
stellen wie man will, man entehrt sich, wenn man nicht reich ist. Gold
ist Alles und das übrige ohne Gold ist nichts. Sobald ich einen
Louisdor besitze, stelle ich mich vor meinen Knaben hin, ziehe das
Goldstück aus meiner Tasche, zeige es ihm mit Verwunderung, hebe
die Augen gen Himmel und küsse das Geld“. Graf Tilly sagt in
seinen Memoiren: „C’était connaître un siècle dont le devise pourrait
être: laissons là les parchemins: nous parlerons un autre jour de vos
vertus. Montrez moi de l’or“. Das Geld ist der „universelle Motor“
dieser Zeit geworden, wie Madame du Hausset sagt[385]. Die Räuber
und Diebe, von denen es auch in Sade’s Romanen wimmelt,
bildeten die wirksame Staffage der Revolutionszeit und waren im
engsten Bunde mit der Prostitution in der Hauptstadt und in den
Provinzen[386]. Seit 1789 nahmen Diebstahl, Raub und Mord einen
immer steigenden Aufschwung und blieben fast während der ganzen
Revolutionszeit an der Tagesordnung. Schon in der ersten Hälfte des
Jahres 1792 waren in Paris „nächtliche Diebstähle und Morde
zahlreicher als gewöhnlich“ geworden, so dass die Massnahmen der
Wachsamkeit verschärft und vervielfältigt, die Gefängnisse und
deren Dienstmannschaften vermehrt werden mussten. Der 10. Aug.
und die Septembertage gaben beiden Arten des Verbrechens einen
entsetzlichen Impuls. Die Schreckenszeit war begreiflicherweise nur
dazu angethan, die Verbrechen noch häufiger und die Bestrafung
noch seltener zu machen. Morde wurden ohne alle Scheu,
Einbrüche und Diebstähle jeder Art mit der grössten Frechheit
ausgeführt. Aus der Umgegend strömten immer neue „Schwärme
von Spitzbuben“ nach Paris, die hier „in den zahllosen
Freudenmädchen willkommene Hehlerinnen und Helferinnen
fanden!“[387] Zugleich klagte man über den Mangel an Sicherheit auf
den Landstrassen. Unter anderem wurden die Umgebungen von
Mitry im Departement der Seine und Marne auf das
Unverschämteste von Räuberbanden beunruhigt, die alles
plünderten, was ihnen aufstiess und sogar durch öffentliche
Anschläge zum Eintritt in ihre Reihen einluden, indem sie jedem
neuen Genossen 50 Livres für den Tag in Aussicht stellten! In den
ersten Monaten des Jahres 1796 gestaltete sich der Zustand in Paris
zu einem geradezu unerträglichen. Die Verbrechen vermehrten sich
dermassen, dass „tagtäglich Diebstähle und Morde begangen
wurden“. Das Publikum erklärte laut, dass „die Ziffer der Spitzbuben
und Betrüger diejenige der ehrbaren Leute überstiege“. Zu Anfang
dieses Jahres lagerten zahlreiche Räuberbanden um Paris. Eine
Menge von Raub- und Mordthaten, nicht selten mit „unerhörter
Grausamkeit ausgeführt“ verbreiteten Angst und Schrecken. Ein
gewisser Bourdroux war besonders berüchtigt als Führer einer
solchen Bande. Die Ueberfälle von Seiten der Räuberbanden
„geschahen meist mit unerhörter Keckheit, die Häuser wurden
förmlich erstürmt, die Insassen sämtlich auf grässliche Weise
ermordet, und dann erst die Plünderung vollzogen“.[388]
Als Gründe dieser trostlosen verbrecherischen Zustände von
Paris und Umgegend bezeichnete damals ein offizieller Bericht: die
Entartung der Sitten; die Fülle öffentlicher, den Lustbarkeiten und der
Liederlichkeit gewidmeter Orte; die Schlupfwinkel der Prostitution,
zumal die der niedrigsten Klasse, deren Inhaberinnen meist mit den
Banden der Spitzbuben und Gauner in Verbindung ständen, und
deren Besucher ausgeraubt und dann selbst zu Diebstahl und Raub
angelernt würden; ferner die zahlreichen Volksbälle, die ebenfalls
Schulen der Faulheit, der Liederlichkeit und des Gaunertums seien;
die Spielhäuser.[389]
In der Bevölkerung wurde jeder Sinn für die öffentlichen
Interessen durch die Unsicherheit der örtlichen und privaten erstickt;
alle Unterhaltung drehte sich nur um die neuesten Raub- und
Mordfälle. Die Straflosigkeit der Verbrechen „reizte zur Nachahmung
des bösen Beispiels oder zerstörte alle Begriffe von Recht und
Unrecht, von Sein und Haben, von Mein und Dein. In dem Meere der
allgemeinen Verderbnis ging jeder Anflug von Schuldbewusstsein zu
Grunde“. Die Advokaten machten sich aus Eitelkeit und
Schönrednerei zu Verfechtern des Lasters und des Verbrechens.
„Der Pranger war ein Triumph“. Weiber benahmen sich am Pranger
gegen „alle Zuschauenden oder Vorübergehenden nicht nur in ihren
Zurufen, sondern auch in ihren Gebärden und Handlungen so
überaus schamlos, frech und gemein, dass man schliesslich
anordnen musste: allen ausgestellten Weibern die Hände und die
Röcke festzubinden!“ Schmidt betont besonders die „grauenhafte
Thatsache“, dass selbst von vielen Leitern der Revolution ein Teil der
blutigen und unblutigen Formen des Verbrechens öffentlich gelehrt
und empfohlen, der andere heimlich geübt und geduldet wurde.
„Gäbe es eine vollständige Statistik der Verbrechen in Frankreich,
während der Revolutionszeit: man würde sicher nach allen
Richtungen hin zu schaudererregenden Ziffern kommen.“[390]
Nach dieser Schilderung wird man die Häufigkeit der Diebstähle
und Räubereien in Sades Romanen verstehen.
 23. Der Giftmord.
Auch der Giftmord schleicht im Gefolge der Prostitution und
sexueller Ausschweifungen. Schon im alten Rom war der
Dirnenstadtteil Suburra zugleich der Aufenthaltsort der
Giftmischerinnen und Gifthändlerinnen. Und es ist kein Zufall, dass
berüchtigte Giftmischerinnen, wie die Brinvilliers und die Voisin
geschlechtlich ausschweifende Weiber waren. Sade, mit seiner
feinen Kenntnis aller Verhältnisse des menschlichen
Geschlechtslebens, hat diesen Zusammenhang durchaus erfasst
und in der Schilderung seiner Typen zum Ausdruck gebracht. Höchst
anschaulich malt er die Wonne und die Wollust der Giftmischerei
aus, die eine ungeheuere sexuelle Befriedigung gewährt. (Juliette III,
214.) Auch ist der Giftmord wegen seiner Unauffälligkeit den
anderen Arten der Tötung vorzuziehen. Verneuil sagt: „Kein
gewaltsamer Akt! Der Tod überrascht unter Deinen Augen die
betreffende Person, ohne Lärm, ohne Skandal, kaum dass Du es
merkst. O Justine! Justine! es ist eine herrliche Sache, das Gift! wie
viel Dienste hat es schon geleistet! wie viel Leute bereichert, von wie
viel unnützen Wesen die Welt befreit!“ (Justine III, 335). Die im
Faubourg Saint-Jacques wohnende Giftmischerin Durand ist ein
erotisches Scheusal par excellence. (Juliette III, 220 ff.) Sade hat sie
deutlich als krankhaft entartete Persönlichkeit geschildert. Er führt
uns einen hysterischen Anfall der Durand vor, die mit ihrer kalten,
berechnenden Grausamkeit, mit ihrem cynischen Atheismus, mit
ihrer kolossalen sexuellen Erregbarkeit das Bild der klassischen
Giftmörderin bietet. Sie besitzt einen ganzen Garten mit Giftpflanzen
und eine grosse Zahl fertiger Gifte, Emmenagoga, Aphrodisiaca und
Antiaphrodisiaca. Ihre Hauptgifte waren das „poudre du crapaud
verdier“, mit dem ein Mädchen in coitu vergiftet wird, damit seine
krampfhaften Zuckungen dem Coitirenden den höchsten Grad der
Wollust bereiten, die „chair calcinee de l’engri, espèce de tigre
d’Ethiopie“, mit der ein junger Mann aus der Welt geschafft wird, das
„Königsgift“ (poison royal), durch welches nach Sade unter Ludwig