From 7 pm to 4 am Walter finds himself scavenging on the dark web in search of answers. Rumor has it, the Nazis are in town looking for a tussle. Ever since his first encounter with them, he knew of their capabilities and wouldn’t risk taking any chances. Walt turned this fear into a lifestyle. He became a prisoner to himself, for the past nine months he’s been isolated in his basement bunker. From time to time he’d creep up the stairway to retrieve a beer keg from the attic. He picked up things like homebrewing, strengthening his alcohol tolerance, and finally, he met the requirements to compete in the drinking Olympics. 

 He lived an unordinary life even before he’d gone into hiding. He’d only recall the memorable moments of his childhood. The scent of the freshly deep-fried churros his mom would make and the itching from rolling around in the poison ivy patch next door. 

Walt wasn’t always lonely, he had a son and wife and their tree house. During the first Nazi invasion, their treehouse was destroyed leaving their family homeless. The treehouse was sacred to Walt, it had been passed down throughout their family for generations. Doloris and Walt tried to keep the spark alive after the disaster, but Doloris was stuck in her big-headed ways and Walt was drinking enough for a whole village. Their arguments consumed them. 

“FOR GOODNESS SAKE WALT,” Doloris screeched. 

“Whaaats it now,” every time Walt spoke, it came out slurred. 

“We can't live this way, I'm done sleeping in graveyards,'' Doloris swatted the bottle from Walt’s hand.

“Well that's too bad Doloris, quit your complainin.'' Walt muttered back

“Drink yourself to death why don't ya,” Doloris said as she stomed away. 

This was the last time Walt spoke to her, Doloris divorced Walt and ran off with Hitch, the owner of the local trailer park. Neither Doloris nor Walt were fit to be parents, their son was put into the system. Walt was left with no choice, he completely turned to alcohol. His day started with morning mimosas, then an afternoon flask of vodka, and to cap off his night he drank beer till he had no fear. At this point in time, Walt was volatile: sleeping in scarves, fishing in pools, and he stopped scrubbing his feet. Walt thought he’d just forget about his son, but now he desperately needed to find him. He looked on dating sites, facebook marketplace, and job recruiting websites. His son was out there he could feel it, he had to warn him of the Nazi invasion that was coming. To find his son he was going to need some help from the outside, he emailed Ozzy, his former best friend.  

Ozzy had worried about Walt not getting enough nutrition considering his living conditions, so he took it upon himself to bring him a case of pickled sphincter, creamed possum, and finch tuna juice every two weeks. Before the talk of the Nazi invasion, Ozzy and Walt were nearly inseparable. They clogged and unclogged each other’s toilets, stole their mother's bras, and blew each other's noses. The pair was like no other, at one point in time Walt had even questioned his sexuality. They hadn’t spoken much after Walt went into hiding, besides the occasional email. No matter what Ozzy made it his job to bring Walt his groceries, and followed Walt’s orders to place them at the top of the basement.

Ozzy arrived home from his sewing class, he promptly buried himself into his futon. Nearly on the cusp of sleep he remembered he had to check his email to see if he had won any of his bets, Ozzy was perplexed by what he came across instead. The light of the screen filled the room. The message read, “Dear Oz, I need to find my child, it’s time. We have to act fast before the Nazis capture him, I will send you the coordinates.” As Ozzy rushed his hands to the keyboard he suddenly froze, an image flooded his head from this morning. Ozzy went to the grocery store to pick up the usual juices for Walt until he was stunned by a sight that felt so familiar it made his toes tickle. Ozzy dropped everything in his hands, the young man was identical to Walt. At the time he thought it was just a coincidence, but now, he knew. Ozzy wrote back, “I know where he is, I will bring him to you. There is a light at the end of the tunnel.”

Ozzy in fact did not know where he was, he assumed he couldn’t be too far from the grocery store by now, but the coordinates Walt sent him led him directly there. Ozzy opened the door and saw a lit-up sign pointing to the basement floor that announced “beer on the house.” In all his grocery-shopping endeavors he had never encountered this pub, he thought to himself “That must be why my mother spent so much time here!” Right then and there Ozzy knew Walt’s son was there, like father-like son. Ozzy approached him and told him he knew his real father and explained how he could bring him there, the man agreed. 

When they arrived at Walts's house, his son carried a large duffle bag with him, Ozzy thought nothing of it. For years Walt yearned for this moment. Walt froze, he was processing his son's appearance, he had a distinctful beer belly, a scraggly beard, and his mothers large ears. They shook hands and introduced themselves as if they were business partners, “Im Walter uh Cott, ahem Walt Cott,” His words stumbling as he spoke. His sons stare was cold, “Im Adolf Shitler,” he said emotionless. Walt instantly recognized the name, a pit filled in his stomach. Adolf Shitler was the name of the almighty barbaric Nazi he’d read about. Walt looked at Ozzy, he felt the synchronicity, they glanced to Walt’s wall of weapons. It was too late. Adolf was armed with two flamethrowers, one aimed for Oz and the other for Walt.