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A Polite Society

INT. REICHSTAG CHAMBER – DAY

(The set is brightly lit, featuring an absurdly clean, sitcom-fied version of the Reichstag. The mood is upbeat despite the increasingly ominous conversation. A big chalkboard at the front reads: "AGENDA: COMPROMISE = DEMOCRACY.")

(Herr Schmidt storms in, visibly exasperated, clutching a newspaper with the headline: "HITLER: ‘I WILL END DEMOCRACY.’”)

HERR SCHMIDT (waving the newspaper):

"Colleagues! Hitler’s plans are in plain sight. He’s saying the quiet part loud! He’s demanding emergency powers, and he’s threatening to dismantle the Constitution!"

(The laugh track chuckles as the others barely react, sipping tea and shuffling papers.)

FRAU BERGER (adjusting her glasses, smiling patronizingly):

"Schmidt, please. There’s no need for theatrics. Emergency powers don’t automatically mean dictatorship. It’s about how we use them!"

(Audience laughs and claps.)

HERR SCHMIDT (aghast):

"How we use them? He’s already said he wants to abolish this chamber! This isn’t a hypothetical!"

HERR KLEIN (calmly, with a smug grin):

"Schmidt, Schmidt, Schmidt. Let’s not alienate him. If we oppose him outright, we’ll look like we’re the extremists."

(Audience laughs loudly at Schmidt’s growing frustration.)

HERR SCHMIDT (sputtering):

"Extremists?! I’m just saying we should not let him take over the police, the army, and the courts!"

FRAU BERGER (patronizing):

"Well, sure, but you have to think strategically. Meeting him halfway shows we’re the reasonable ones. It’s all about optics, Schmidt."

(Audience claps and whistles.)

HERR SCHMIDT (throwing his hands up):

"Optics?! He doesn’t care about optics! He’s talking about purging dissenters, and we’re over here worried about looking polite!"

HERR KLEIN (leaning forward, dead serious):

"And we should be polite. Democracy is a process, Herr Schmidt. If we start acting rashly, then what makes us any different from him?"

(Audience cheers wildly, as if this is a profound statement.)

(Schmidt’s jaw drops. He points to the newspaper again.)

HERR SCHMIDT:

"Maybe the fact that we’re not threatening genocide makes us different?! Call me crazy!"

(Audience laughs uproariously. Frau Berger glares at Schmidt, shaking her head like a disappointed mom.)

FRAU BERGER (sternly):

"Schmidt, this kind of inflammatory rhetoric is why no one takes you seriously. You’re making us look bad."

(Audience lets out a collective "oooooooh!" as if Schmidt has crossed a line.)

HERR SCHMIDT (desperate):

"Making us look bad?! I’m trying to stop a fascist takeover!"

FRAU BERGER (standing, hands clasped dramatically):

"And we’ll stop it the right way. With kindness. When they go low, we go high!"

(Audience erupts into cheers and applause as Schmidt visibly recoils in horror.)

HERR SCHMIDT:

"Are you serious? He’s down in the gutter and you’re bringing flowers to a knife fight!"

(The laugh track giggles at Schmidt’s frustration. Frau Berger adjusts her scarf with a flourish.)

FRAU BERGER (with a winning smile):

"That’s how we show the world that we’re better than him. People respect moral high grounds, Schmidt!"

HERR KLEIN (nodding solemnly):

"Exactly. If we act with dignity and grace, he’ll have no choice but to respect us."

(The audience claps wildly as Schmidt stares into the camera, wide-eyed.)

HERR SCHMIDT (to no one in particular):

"Oh sure, because respecting opponents is totally his thing. Right after crushing dissent and burning books."

(Audience laughs uproariously. Frau Berger exchanges a smug glance with Klein.)

HERR KLEIN (raising his hand solemnly):

"I move that we formally censure Herr Schmidt for advocating divisiveness and escalating tensions."

(Audience gasps, then laughs as Schmidt looks ready to explode.)

HERR SCHMIDT (staring in disbelief):

"You’re censuring me? He’s literally building concentration camps!"

FRAU BERGER (sweetly):

"Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Those camps could be for… something else entirely. Let’s wait and see before we assume the worst."

(Audience laughs uproariously. Schmidt collapses into his chair, defeated.)

HERR KLEIN (to the chamber, with exaggerated gravitas):

"By meeting Hitler halfway, we ensure that democracy remains strong. This is what governance looks like!"

(Audience bursts into cheers and applause as if it’s the most inspiring thing they’ve ever heard. Schmidt stares into the camera like a sitcom protagonist, shaking his head.)

HERR SCHMIDT (muttering):

"Yeah, it looks like governance, alright. Governance on its way to the gallows."

(Cue laugh track and a dramatic trombone "wah-wah-wahhhhhh!")

(Lights dim as the jazzy sitcom theme kicks in for the commercial break.)

INT. REICHSTAG LOUNGE – LATE AFTERNOON

(The lounge is done up like a cozy sitcom living room: plush chairs, a coffee table with pastries, and cheerful floral wallpaper. A large sign on the wall reads: “COLLEGIALITY FIRST!” The lighting is warm, and gentle jazz music plays softly in the background.)

(Frau Berger and Herr Klein sit side-by-side on a small sofa, sipping tea from dainty cups. Herr Schmidt stands off to the side, arms folded, looking like he hasn’t slept in days. A few other members of the chamber, HERR MULLER and FRAU BRAUN, mill about.)

FRAU BERGER (in a soothing tone):

"Isn’t this better, Schmidt? Just a nice little break before we return to the floor. We’ve got chamomile tea, strudel, and a positive attitude."

(Audience chuckles lightly. Schmidt stares.)

HERR SCHMIDT (exasperated whisper):

"Positive attitude?! Have you seen the streets outside? Brownshirts are parading with torches!"

(Frau Berger dismissively waves her hand and sets down her teacup.)

FRAU BERGER (brightly):

"Yes, but we don’t know their intentions. Maybe they’re having a festival! We must keep an open mind."

(Audience laughs. Herr Klein leans forward eagerly.)

HERR KLEIN (enthusiastic):

"Precisely! We mustn’t jump to the worst conclusions. Perhaps these are just… patriotic displays! Let’s not label them ‘paramilitary mobs’ without evidence."

(Audience laughs louder. Herr Schmidt’s eyes widen in disbelief.)

HERR SCHMIDT (through gritted teeth):

"Evidence? They’re wearing armbands and chanting about purges!"

(Frau Braun steps over, holding a plate of pastries.)

FRAU BRAUN (tittering as if discussing the weather):

"Oh, Schmidt, don’t be so literal. Words can mean so many things! ‘Purge’ might just mean they want to clean up the streets—pick up some litter, maybe?"

(Audience giggles. Herr Schmidt rubs his temples.)

HERR SCHMIDT:

"They said they’re going to get rid of all political opponents! How is that not literal?!"

(Herr Muller enters carrying a folder labeled “PR STRATEGY” and addresses the group.)

HERR MULLER (cheerfully):

"Good news, everyone! I’ve finalized the language for our public statement welcoming the new emergency powers. We’ve toned down the word ‘emergency’ to ‘special discretionary privileges.’ Doesn’t that sound friendlier?"

(Audience laughs and claps. Frau Berger smiles approvingly.)

FRAU BERGER:

"Wonderful, Muller! See, Schmidt? We’re framing it positively. This way, we look like responsible statesmen committed to dialogue."

(Herr Schmidt laughs, but it’s a hollow, almost hysterical laugh.)

HERR SCHMIDT:

"Dialogue? With a man who openly wants to ban elections? That’s like—like inviting a shark to swim lessons and hoping he’ll play nice!"

(Audience chuckles, amused by Schmidt’s frustration.)

FRAU BRAUN (soothingly):

"Now, now, let’s not be dramatic. Maybe he’ll attend the lessons and learn to float gracefully. Who knows?"

(Audience laughs uproariously. Schmidt throws up his hands.)

HERR KLEIN (placing a reassuring hand on Schmidt’s shoulder):

"Schmidt, my friend, if we oppose him directly, we’ll look hostile. We must show the electorate that we’re calm, rational, and open to compromise. Isn’t that what makes democracy so wonderful?"

(Audience applauds. Schmidt looks like he might scream. Just then, FRAU SCHULZ, the chamber’s new “Media Image Consultant,” walks in, dressed in a sharp suit and carrying a clipboard.)

FRAU SCHULZ (businesslike):

"Alright, team! Quick poll results are in. Focus groups say they love ‘good vibes’ and hate ‘conflict.’ So let’s keep those smiles big. A nice, friendly approach, and remember: never say ‘dictatorship.’ Say ‘alternative governance model.’"

(Audience howls with laughter. Schmidt stares open-mouthed.)

HERR SCHMIDT:

"Alternative governance model?! Are we writing greeting cards or defending democracy?!"

(Frau Schulz taps her clipboard):

"Tone it down, Schmidt. We tested your alarmist messaging—focus groups found it ‘stressful.’ They prefer leaders who make them feel safe and happy."

(Frau Berger nods sagely, as if Schulz just delivered a profound truth.)

FRAU BERGER:

"And nothing makes people happier than a government that projects warmth and understanding—even if it’s with people who want to… well, do unpleasant things."

(Audience laughs. Herr Schmidt’s shoulders slump.)

HERR SCHMIDT (quietly, almost pleading):

"You’re all going to regret this. There will be no warm happiness once he takes over. We’re setting ourselves up for tragedy."

(Herr Klein pats Schmidt’s back gently.)

HERR KLEIN (smiling patronizingly):

"Schmidt, dear boy, tragedy is just conflict we haven’t spin-doctored yet. We’ll handle it gracefully. You’ll see."

(Audience “awws” as if touched by kindness. Schmidt’s eyes narrow.)

HERR SCHMIDT (under his breath):

"Yes, let’s greet the firing squad with a wave and a grin. That’ll show them who’s dignified."

(Frau Schulz brightens, as if she’s had an idea.)

FRAU SCHULZ:

"Oh! Before I forget, tomorrow we’re unveiling our new slogan: ‘Building Bridges, Not Barriers.’ It’ll look great on the banners, right next to the eagle."

(Audience cheers. Schmidt’s despair deepens.)

HERR SCHMIDT:

"Bridges? He’s going to blow them up! He’s said so!"

(Herr Muller gestures for calm.)

HERR MULLER:

"Schmidt, details, details. We can’t get bogged down in specifics. This is about the big picture—and the big picture is smiling faces."

(Audience laughs as Frau Berger nods in agreement.)

FRAU BERGER:

"Exactly! Now, how about another cup of tea before we go back and finalize that ‘special discretionary privileges’ memo? After all, we have to show how cooperative we are."

(Audience applauds. Schmidt lifts a teacup, hand trembling, his face a portrait of disbelief.)

HERR SCHMIDT (quietly):

"Sure, tea. Why not. Let’s all have tea as the wolves circle outside."

(Audience laughs gently, and the soft jazz music swells. Lights fade as we hear the distant sound of muffled marching outside, completely ignored by everyone but Schmidt.)

INT. REICHSTAG PRESS HALL – MORNING

(The hall is done up like a cheerful daytime talk show set. Bright lights, potted ferns, and a bold, cheerful banner reading "BUILDING BRIDGES, NOT BARRIERS." A small podium stands center stage. Rows of chairs face it, occupied by an enthusiastic studio audience and a handful of reporters. The atmosphere is strangely festive, despite the heavy undertone.)

(Frau Berger, Herr Klein, Herr Muller, and Frau Schulz stand together behind the podium, smiling broadly. Herr Schmidt hovers at the back, arms folded, looking as though he’d rather be anywhere else.)

FRAU BERGER (tinkling laughter):

"Good morning, everyone! Thank you for joining us at this special press briefing. We are here to reassure you that everything is perfectly on track."

(Applause from the audience—an audience far too giddy for a political briefing. Schmidt glances around, incredulous.)

HERR KLEIN (leaning forward, earnest):

"We understand that recent events—marches, rallies, the occasional brick through a dissident’s window—might seem concerning. But rest assured, these are just minor misunderstandings!"

(Audience chuckles. Schmidt’s eyes nearly pop out of his head.)

HERR MULLER (holding up a hand as if delivering a grand pronouncement):

"In the spirit of cooperation, we’re pleased to announce that we’ve reached what we’re calling a ‘Preliminary Understanding’ with the Chancellor-to-be. We have tentatively agreed to let him implement certain ‘Special Discretionary Privileges’ in exchange for his promise to… well, he promised to think about maybe being respectful."

(Audience cheers wildly. The reporters scribble notes. Schmidt mutters something inaudible.)

FRAU SCHULZ (stepping forward, beaming):

"Our polling suggests that the public loves the idea of everyone just getting along. They don’t want complicated legal talk or moral conundrums. They want smiles, unity, and easy-to-remember slogans!"

(Audience applauds. Schmidt raises a hand, tentative.)

HERR SCHMIDT (quietly, but microphone picks it up):

"Do they also want secret police in the night, or is that just a bonus?"

(Audience laughs uproariously, as if Schmidt has told a fantastic joke. The panel shoots him disapproving looks.)

FRAU BERGER (tsk-tsking him):

"Schmidt, please. Let’s stay on message. We’re here to highlight progress!"

(Herr Klein steps aside to reveal a large chart on an easel. The chart is decorated with smiley faces, hearts, and a big arrow pointing upwards.)

HERR KLEIN (proudly):

"This chart shows public contentment trending upwards since we started using friendlier terms for authoritarian encroach—uh, I mean, 'special discretionary privileges.' Just look at that arrow soar!"

(Audience oohs and aahs. Schmidt snorts, shakes his head.)

REPORTER #1 (a chipper young woman):

"Yes, I have a question! The Chancellor’s men have begun closing down certain newspapers. How should the public interpret that?"

(Frau Berger glances at Frau Schulz, who steps in smoothly.)

FRAU SCHULZ (reassuringly):

"Excellent question! We like to call that ‘Selective Media Recalibration.’ It’s about ensuring a more harmonious narrative. The public can trust we are simplifying information for their peace of mind!"

(Audience nods approvingly, applauds. Schmidt’s jaw drops.)

HERR SCHMIDT (muttering to himself, but again caught by the mic):

"Harmonious narrative… Right, because who needs free speech when we can have… harmony?"

(Audience giggles as though Schmidt is just the lovable curmudgeon character.)

REPORTER #2 (raising a hand, genuinely puzzled):

"Wait, but what if the opposition—and I mean, any opposition—can’t speak freely? Isn’t democracy based on the free exchange of ideas?"

(Frau Berger and Herr Klein exchange patronizing smiles, as if dealing with a child.)

FRAU BERGER (lighthearted, as if explaining a bedtime story):

"Now, now, too much free exchange can be messy! Sometimes it frightens people. Democracy also means making sure everyone feels comfortable and safe."

HERR KLEIN (nodding sagely):

"And what’s safer than a simplified, unified voice? Think of how much less stressful it is to not worry about pesky disagreements."

(Audience roars with approval. Schmidt slaps his forehead.)

HERR SCHMIDT:

"This is… surreal. You’re basically admitting that dissent is being crushed, but you’re spinning it as a spa day for the national psyche."

(Audience howls with laughter, clapping as if Schmidt just delivered the punchline of the night.)

FRAU SCHULZ (gleefully):

"Schmidt, that’s precisely why we keep you around—you always find such colorful ways to say things. It keeps the show fun!"

(Herr Muller taps the microphone for attention.)

HERR MULLER:

"And, as another token of good faith, we’ve decided to gift the Chancellor-to-be an honorary plaque for his 'Commitment to Streamlined Governance.' We’re hoping that by acknowledging his goals, he’ll see us as partners, not enemies."

(Applause as Frau Berger holds up a shiny plaque, adorned with a cartoon dove giving a thumbs-up.)

HERR SCHMIDT (under his breath):

"Yes, because nothing says 'Don’t crush me' like a nice plaque."

(Audience chuckles warmly. The camera pans over the cheerful panel, the delighted audience, and finally zooms in on Schmidt’s horrified, disbelieving face.)

FRAU BERGER (gesturing to the crowd):

"Let’s all raise our cups of tea—or juice boxes if you prefer—to building bridges, not barriers!"

(Audience cheers, rising to give a standing ovation. The sound of distant marching boots is once again faintly audible, but no one acknowledges it except Schmidt, who looks nervously offstage.)

HERR SCHMIDT (softly, to himself):

"Bridges built right into the gates of a prison."

(Cue the jazzy sitcom theme and credits over the cheering crowd. The scene ends on a freeze-frame of Schmidt’s anguished expression.)

INT. REICHSTAG CHAMBER – MORNING

(We return to a bright, sitcom-like set. The same cheery banners—“A NEW ERA OF UNDERSTANDING!”—hang overhead. The laugh track is poised. Frau Berger, Herr Klein, Frau Schulz, and Herr Muller are gathered at their desks, sipping tea and straightening their notes. The orchestra plays a gentle, uplifting tune. All seems normal—until—)

(The double doors swing open. Two stern GESTAPO OFFICERS march in, boots echoing ominously. They head straight for Herr Schmidt, who sits hunched and weary at his desk. The audience gasps softly, then laughs—more out of reflex than comfort.)

HERR SCHMIDT (eyes wide, struggling):

“What—wait! What’s happening?!”

(One officer yanks him up by the arm. The other claps restraints on him. The laugh track hiccups uncertainly, as if confused. Frau Berger and Herr Klein exchange nervous glances but stay seated, plastering polite smiles.)

FRAU BERGER (attempting a reassuring tone):

“Um… Good morning, gentlemen. Is there… a misunderstanding?”

(Herr Schmidt tries to resist, but the officers are implacable. The audience titters awkwardly. Frau Schulz waves a hand dismissively.)

FRAU SCHULZ (forced brightness):

“Now, now, let’s not overreact, Schmidt. Perhaps they just want to have a conversation.”

(The Gestapo officers begin dragging Schmidt toward the door. He kicks, struggling.)

HERR SCHMIDT (voice cracking):

“They’re taking me to the camps! Do you understand? The camps!”

(Audience gives an uneasy chuckle. Frau Berger leans toward Klein, whispering with forced calm.)

FRAU BERGER (hushed, panicked smile):

“Oh dear. This looks bad for optics. Should we say something conciliatory?”

HERR KLEIN (wincing):

“Careful, we don’t want to seem defiant. Let’s frame it positively. Maybe they’re giving him a… a guided tour!”

(A strained giggle from the orchestra pit. Outside, distant marching boots and muffled shouts seep into the chamber. Herr Muller flips through a pamphlet titled “Maintaining Poise in Challenging Situations.”)

HERR MULLER (muttering frantically):

“Okay, okay… The guidebook suggests using neutral language. Let’s call this a ‘Relocation for Civic Enhancement!’ Yes, that sounds soothing.”

(Herr Schmidt’s voice rings out again as the Gestapo haul him toward the exit.)

HERR SCHMIDT (desperate, to his colleagues):

“For God’s sake, this isn’t a misunderstanding! You know what those camps mean! Say something—do something!”

(Frau Berger stands, pressing a trembling hand to her chest.)

FRAU BERGER (with a quivering smile):

“Schmidt, please. We must maintain a constructive tone. If we protest too loudly, we might create a… scene.”

(The audience emits an uneasy laugh, more nervous than ever. The Gestapo officers pause at the door, looking back coldly. Frau Schulz clears her throat, forcing a grin.)

FRAU SCHULZ:

“Schmidt, we’ll send you… a lovely fruit basket. As a gesture of goodwill! Won’t that be nice?”

(Herr Schmidt’s eyes are wild, sweat on his brow.)

HERR SCHMIDT:

“A fruit basket?! You think a fruit basket will comfort me in a forced labor camp?!”

(The laugh track tries to chime in, faltering. A few awkward coughs from the audience. Frau Berger and Herr Klein exchange desperate looks—must keep it positive.)

HERR KLEIN (raising his hand weakly as the officers start pulling Schmidt away):

“Schmidt, we’ll remember you fondly. Your… spirited commentary will inspire us to… to keep smiling.”

(As Schmidt disappears through the door, his final scream echoes back into the hall.)

HERR SCHMIDT (off-screen):

“You’re all complicit! He’s going to destroy everything—don’t you see—?!”

(The door slams shut. Silence. The audience sits stunned. After a beat, the laugh track chimes in uncertainly. Frau Berger smooths her dress, trying to restore the façade.)

FRAU BERGER (soft voice, shaky smile):

“Well. That was… unexpected. But let’s not jump to negative interpretations. Maybe it’s just temporary.”

(Frau Schulz nods vigorously, flipping a cue card that reads “APPLAUSE.” The audience tries to respond, a half-hearted clap.)

FRAU SCHULZ (brightening as if nothing happened):

“Let’s proceed with the day’s agenda, shall we? The Chancellor’s address on increasing loyalty measures is next. That should put everyone at ease!”

(Herr Muller leans to Frau Berger, whispering.)

HERR MULLER:

“I’m sure if we maintain the right tone, we won’t meet the same fate. Right?”

(Frau Berger gives a fixed smile that’s starting to crack.)

FRAU BERGER (quietly):

“Right. After all, we’re being cooperative… and polite. That’s what counts.”

(The orchestra tries to play something cheerful again, but it comes out wobbly and ominous. The camera pans over the shaken representatives, each trying desperately to keep smiling as a heavy silence settles. The banner “A NEW ERA OF UNDERSTANDING!” now looks grotesque under the studio lights.)

(Cue a nervous laugh track, then fade to black.)

INT. REICHSTAG CHAMBER – AFTERNOON

(The chamber’s bright stage dressing remains: cheerful banners reading “UNITY & UNDERSTANDING!” and fresh flowers on desks. The laugh track and applause signs stand ready but haven’t been activated. Frau Berger, Herr Klein, Frau Schulz, and Herr Muller sit stiffly at their desks, speaking in low, urgent whispers. Their eyes dart nervously at the Gestapo officers stationed by the doors, but whenever one glances their way, they plaster on uneasy smiles.)

(Frau Berger flips through a folder of useless memos, hands trembling. She tries to sound calm, but her voice is thin.)

FRAU BERGER (hushed, forced brightness):

“So… any news on Schmidt? I heard something in the corridor—maybe he’s… well, maybe he’s on a sabbatical?”

(Herr Klein dabs sweat from his forehead with a silk handkerchief.)

HERR KLEIN (voice quavering):

“I heard he might have escaped the country. Can you imagine? Escaped! That would be so… unsporting of him. Abandoning the process like that.”

(Herr Muller leans in, keeping his tone artificially casual.)

HERR MULLER (half-smile, panicked eyes):

“A guard hinted he’s at a ‘reeducation facility.’ We shouldn’t jump to dark conclusions. Maybe he’s finally learning to adopt a more, ah, constructive tone.”

(A nervous titter tries to escape Frau Schulz’s throat. She covers it with a cough.)

FRAU SCHULZ (voice cracking slightly, trying to be optimistic):

“That’s right. Perhaps they’re teaching him how to be more polite. Schmidt was always so dramatic, always crying ‘Danger! Fascists!’ as if that helped anything. Maybe this is just… therapy. A chance to calm him down.”

(They nod vigorously, forcing hollow smiles. A muffled cry echoes faintly from outside. They all flinch, then quickly pretend they didn’t hear it.)

FRAU BERGER (thin smile, voice trembling):

“Schmidt never understood that we were doing the right thing. We’ve always been civil. We never stooped to his fearmongering. We can’t blame the authorities for wanting people who appreciate order and decorum.”

(Herr Klein’s voice drops, barely above a whisper.)

HERR KLEIN:

“Yes, yes. Exactly. Civility must count for something. And if Schmidt just learned to meet them halfway—like we did—he’d be here with us, safe and sound.”

(Herr Muller tries to laugh softly, but it comes out strangled.)

HERR MULLER:

“Safe and sound, yes. After all, we’re still here, aren’t we? That proves our approach works. Though… I did notice they took the Socialist deputies last night. And the Jewish representatives, and I heard something about the Seventh-day Adventists, too…”

(Frau Schulz’s eyes widen, panic flashing behind her forced smile.)

FRAU SCHULZ:

“W-well, maybe those groups didn’t show proper willingness to cooperate. We have! We’ve always kept our tone measured, never raising our voices or making accusations.”

(Herr Klein nods so vigorously his collar nearly chokes him.)

HERR KLEIN:

“Exactly. We didn’t throw around terms like ‘fascist’ or ‘tyrant.’ That sort of language only makes one look unreasonable. The authorities must appreciate that we never resorted to scare tactics.”

(A distant scream, abruptly cut off, sends a tremor through them. Frau Berger forces a weak giggle, as if remembering a joke.)

FRAU BERGER:

“Oh dear, the city is so… busy these days. People moving around, relocating. The Socialists, Jews, and Adventists—they must have… misunderstood the government’s intentions. If they had only tried being more… accommodating, like us.”

(Herr Muller swallows, voice tight.)

HERR MULLER:

“Yes, they were too rigid, I suppose. We’ve been flexible. That should grant us some… consideration. We never once opposed the Chancellor’s decisions openly. We’ve framed everything positively.”

(Frau Schulz clutches her teacup, knuckles white.)

FRAU SCHULZ (nervous smile):

“Positivity, yes. That’s our brand. I’m sure that means something. They’ll see we’re not a threat. We’re, we’re… team players!”

(Herr Klein tries to laugh, but it’s a dry rasp.)

HERR KLEIN:

“Team players indeed. I’m certain they value that. Just look at us—still in our seats, still important. It’s not like we’ve lost all influence. We still have our desks, our… titles. That must mean we did something right.”

(Frau Berger’s voice shakes as she tries to reassure herself.)

FRAU BERGER:

“Of course. If we’d acted like Schmidt—yelling about book-burnings and arrests—we would’ve looked irrational. This way, we maintain credibility. They must respect our calm demeanor.”

(Herr Muller clears his throat, his smile stretching thin as a razor’s edge.)

HERR MULLER:

“Exactly. We’re demonstrating that good manners and cooperation trump alarmism. Surely the authorities will acknowledge that we’re no threat. We’ve proven we fit perfectly into their vision.”

(Frau Schulz’s eyes well up slightly, but she keeps smiling through it.)

FRAU SCHULZ:

“I-I’m sure Schmidt regrets his behavior now. If he’d just—just toned down the hysteria, maybe he’d be here with us, benefiting from our careful approach.”

(They all nod, silence stretching. Another distant sound—a door slamming, muffled pleas. They pretend not to hear, each trapped in their trembling smiles.)

FRAU BERGER (voice thin, near pleading):

“We’re still in positions of… of note, yes? We still have our chairs. That shows we haven’t lost power. We’ve simply chosen a different path—one of dialogue and restraint.”

(Herr Klein’s face twitches.)

HERR KLEIN:

“Right! No need to panic. We didn’t abandon anyone; we just refrained from making things worse. The others… they brought this on themselves by not cooperating.”

(Herr Muller and Frau Schulz nod, tears barely held back. They say nothing more, just cling to these self-comforting lies. The camera lingers: four terrified functionaries, still convinced they’ve chosen the wise path, as screams echo outside and the guards watch impassively. The banners remain bright, the flowers fresh, as their terror simmers behind polite smiles, refusing to understand what they’ve done.)

FADE OUT.

INT. BOMBED-OUT REICHSTAG OFFICE – LATE 1945

The office is wrecked: a collapsed wall lets in dusty light, broken furniture lies scattered, and shredded propaganda posters hang limply. Papers and rubble are everywhere. The grandeur of the old Reichstag is now just a sour memory.

HERR KLEIN, haggard and filthy, sits behind a half-smashed desk. He wears a tattered uniform with a faded swastika armband. He is gaunt and hollow-eyed, tears streaking the dust on his face. In his trembling hand, he holds a pistol, pressing it to his temple.

HERR KLEIN (voice cracking, near sobbing):

“I… I gave them everything they wanted. I was polite. I never raised my voice. I thought if I just… cooperated…”

(He chokes, shaking his head.)

“And now… now I’m alone. Everything’s gone.”

He braces himself, finger tightening on the trigger.

Suddenly, a CRASH from the corridor. Klein jerks the pistol away from his temple, startled, aiming it toward the sound. Dust sifts down as a group of AMERICAN SOLDIERS bursts in. They’re grimy, exhausted, but there’s a slapstick quality to their entrance:

One soldier stumbles over a piece of debris, muttering curses.

Another soldier tries to appear tough but coughs violently from the dust.

A third swats at a dangling cable and yelps as sparks fly.

LEAD SOLDIER (wheezing, eyes watering):

“Jeez, what a rat’s nest…”

SOLDIER #2 (fanning dust away):

“I’ve seen pigsties cleaner’n this.”

SOLDIER #3 (kicking at scraps):

“Check the corners, boys. Clear it.”

They spread out, scanning the room. One picks up a charred pamphlet, squints at it, then tosses it aside. Another nudges a broken bust of Hitler with his boot.

SOLDIER #4 (mocking tone):

“Hey, I stepped on old Adi’s head! Hope he don’t mind.”

SOLDIER #5 (pretending scholarly interest in a scrap of propaganda):

“‘We’re the Master Race.’ Huh, guess they skipped the chapter on losing.”

A few grim chuckles. Then the Lead Soldier spots Klein, uniform and armband in plain view.

LEAD SOLDIER (raising rifle):

“Hold it right there! Drop the gun!”

Klein’s eyes widen. He’s cornered—no escape, no time. In a final panicked attempt, he swings the pistol toward the Americans, as if to salvage some control over his fate.

The Lead Soldier fires first. The shot echoes in the ruined chamber. Klein’s body goes limp, the pistol clattering onto the rubble-strewn floor.

The soldiers approach, rifles still up, then lower them as they see Klein is gone. One nudges Klein’s corpse with a boot.

SOLDIER #2 (wrinkling nose):

“Guess he wanted to go out his own way, huh?”

SOLDIER #5 spits on the ground, eyeing the armband.

SOLDIER #5:

“Who was he, anyway? Some fancy Nazi bigwig?”

The Lead Soldier shrugs, adjusting his helmet. A grim smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, the strain of war and disgust plain on his face. He answers curtly:

LEAD SOLDIER:

“Who cares who he was? You shoot Nazis and n—”

FADE TO BLACK.