Like Father Like SonHe died slowly.
He died painfully.
He died alone.
Ludwig Eberhart's body was found mere hours after he was shot. An ambulance was called. He was pronounced dead on the scene, tossed aside like trash between the overturned garbage cans. Police were called. None came. Soon, people came to move his corpse. Faceless entities that were mere puppets, controlled by those who wore crowns. The ones who saw the deep crimson pools that reflected light like rusted copper ignored it. The ones who knew what happened falsified surprise and grief and made it into an art.
All too quietly, Ludwig was tossed into the back of the ambulance as if a broken toy that was to be taken to the secondhand store. Blank blue eyes stared upwards, as if the barrel of the gun was still hanging in front of him. The blood had stopped flowing from the wound in his chest, yet the clean metal floor was still stained and marred by the rented flesh, which already had begun its slow decomposition. As the door was cl