“And are you dying—?” gave Freder as answer. His bewildered eyes ran along the walls in the niches of which slept the thousand-year-old dead. “There is no justice in this world!” “Uttermost justice ...” said eleven thousand eight hundred and eleven. “From weakness—sin.... From sin—atonement.... Warn ... the town!—Warn...!” “I’m going to leave you alone—!” “I beg you to ... beg you—!” Freder got up, despair in his eyes. He ran to the passage, in which the multitude had died away. “Not that way—!” said Georgi. “You won’t get through that way any more—!” “I know no other way....” “I’ll take you....” “You are dying, Georgi! The first step is your death—!” “Won’t you warn the town? Do you want to be an accessory?” “Come!” said Freder. He raised Georgi up. With his hand pressed to his wound, the man began to run. “Pick up your lamp and come!” said Georgi. He ran so that Freder could hardly follow him. Into the ten-thousand-year-old dust dripped the blood which welled up from the freshly inflicted wound. He held Freder’s arm clasped, pulling him forwards. “Hurry!” he murmured. “Hurry—there’s not time to lose!” Passages—crossings—passages—steps—passages—a flight of stairs which led steeply upward.... Georgi fell at the first step. Freder wanted to hold him. He pushed him away. “Hurry!” he said. He indicated the stairs with his head. “Up—! You can’t go wrong now ... hurry up—!” “And you, Georgi?—and you—?” “I—” said Georgi, turning his head to the wall—“I am not going to answer any more questions....” Freder let go of Georgi’s hand. He began to run up the stairs. Night embraced him—the night of Metropolis—this light-mad, drunken night.... Everything was still the same as usual. Nothing indicated the storm which was to break out from inside the earth, under Metropolis, to murder the machine-city. But it seemed to Joh Fredersen’s son as if the stones were giving way under his feet—as though he heard in the air the rushing of wings—the rushing of the wings of strange monsters: beings with women’s bodies and snakes’ heads—beings, half bull, half angel—devils adorned with crowns—human faced lions.... It seemed to him as if he saw death sitting on the New Tower of Babel, in hat and wide cloak, whetting his propped up scythe.... He reached the New Tower of Babel. Everything was as usual. The Dawn was fighting the first fight with the Early Morning. He looked for his father. He did not find him. Nobody could say where Joh Fredersen had gone at midnight. The Brain-pan of the New Tower of Babel was empty. Freder wiped from his brow the sweat which was running in drops over his temples. “I must find my father—!” he said. “I must call him—cost what it may!” Men, with servants’ eyes looked at him. Men who knew nothing apart from blind obedience—who could not advise, still less help....