My name is Adam Susan. I am the leader. Leader of the lost, ruler of the ruins. I am a man, like any other man.

I lead the country that I love out of the wilderness of the twentieth century. I believe in survival. In the destiny of the Nordic race. I believe in fascism. Yes, I am a fascist. What of it? Fascism... a word. A word whose meaning has been lost in the bleatings of the weak and the treacherous.

The Romans invented fascism. A bundle of bound twigs was its symbol. One twig could be broken. A bundle would prevail. Fascism... strength in unity.

I believe in strength. I believe in unity. And if that strength, that unity of purpose, demands a uniformity of thought, word and deed then so be it.

I will not hear talk of freedom. I will not hear talk of individual liberty. They are luxuries. I do not believe in luxuries.

The war put paid to luxury. The war put paid to freedom. The only freedom left to my people is the freedom to starve. The freedom to die. The freedom to live in a world of chaos. Should I allow them that freedom? I think not. I think not.

Do I reserve for myself the freedom that I deny to others? I do not. I sit here within my cage, and I am but a servant. I, who am master of all that I see. I see desolation. I see ashes. I have so very much. I have so very little.

I am not loved. I know that not in soul, or body. I have never known the soft whisper of endearment. Never known the peace that lies between the thighs of a woman. But I am respected. I am feared. And that will suffice.

Because I love. I, who am not loved in return. I have a love that is far deeper than the empty gasps and convulsions of brutish coupling. Shall I speak of her? Shall I speak of my bride?

She has no eyes to flirt or promise. But she sees all. Sees and understands with a wisdom that is Godlike in its scale. I stand at the gates of her intellect and I am blinded by the light within. How stupid I must seem to her. How childlike and uncomprehending.

Her soul is clean, untainted by the snares and ambiguities of emotion. She does hate. She does not yearn. She is untouched by joy or sorrow. I worship her. Though I am not worthy. I cherish the purity of her disdain. She does not respect me. She does not fear me.

She does not love me.

They think she is cold and hard, those who do not know her. They think she is lifeless and without passion.

They do not know her. But she has touched them.

She touches me, and I am touched by God, by destiny. The whole of existence courses through her. I worship her. I am her slave. No freedom ever was so sweet.

My love, I would stay with you forever, would spend my life within you. I would wait upon your every utterance and never ask the merest splinter of affection.

Fate... Fate...

I love you.