A dab hand with both chemicals and equipment, this high ranking Nazi doctor has an excellent mind for science, psychology and philosophy. He is the main geneologist at a large concentration camp somewhere in permafrosted Poland. Or at least, he used to be. These days he is simply biding his time.
He is known from the higher ranks of his political class right to the lowest to be a calm and sincere individual with a good sense of humour and a dazzling charm. Quite the ladies man. Though he does have an almost unhealthy obsession with twins, amateur dentistry and a Nietzschen-born hunger to extrapolate the truly stupid from society, or as he puts it 'intellectual cleansing.'
He has very dark eyes that mostly reach the tone of the pitchest black, but when he is in a softer, sentimental mood his eyes may reach a deep chesnut colour. His hair is jet black and a little longer than what most doctor's would be expected to wear, yet he wears it back and occasionally in the style of the Fuhrer for social gatherings. He carries himself with grace and poise, as a gentleman should and he intensely dislikes being called anything but his title - 'Herr Doktor.'
His hobbies are mainly centered around his work. This doctor finds his job to be a dream come true; the excuse to carry out vital tests and experiments on those in the human race with lowest of IQ's. He does also enjoy fine wines, good theatre, working with corrosive substances and socialising with his group of friends. His closest friend is an aristocratic, stuck-up, self-obsessed blonde drunkard who confesses to womanising and a hankering for absinthe and mind-altering drugs.
The doctor also tends to have a nasty violent streak and has been known to send hundreds upon hundreds of naked, shorn and clueless stupid people into the gas chambers for a group cleansing. He enjoys random sniper activity, beating people with various whips, paddles and canes and forcing his subjects into agonising and humiliating tortures.
This surgeon is not to be trusted. Though he can be wonderfully entertaining with a scalpel after a bottle of Merlot.
But he will NOT tolerate any foolish behaviour, any stupidity and anyone who has no self respect. If he dislikes you, you might never be able to tell. He is also remarkable with finding information about those he dislikes, so tread carefully should you wish to contact him.
There may be hints that God exists in some diminished form, humorous.
At the railhead Lilly saw him first, the binary motion of the stick, among the stumbling shoals raused from the boxcars, doling general death and fishing for his special interests— twins, any anomaly: the hunchback father and clubfooted son— unrhythmic metronome sending people to the left or right onto different lines—death, life, death, death, death death, death— or with a jerk of the thumb, a flick of the finger in white kid gloves, arms in a half embrace of himself, left arm across his waist propping the right, which moved only from the wrist as he parted the living stream, fingertip flick of the finger, jerk of the thumb, or conducting with that baton, humming opera, tall Lilly thought and handsome, in his monocle and gloves— not merely handsome, courtly in the way my aunt described him.