B.J. stood up, his massive frame nearly touching the ceiling. "Then we don't let them finish it."
Before the guards could scream, B.J. had his dual Schockhammers leveled. The room erupted in a rhythmic thumping of buckshot. He moved like a force of nature—a whirlwind of scarred skin and vengeful intent. Every Nazi who fell was a debt repaid to the world they had stolen.
"Not a ghost," B.J. grunted, the violet light reflecting in his blue eyes. "A nightmare." Wolfenstein 2 The New Colossus
The air inside the U-boat, Eva’s Hammer , always smelled of stale grease and desperation, but today it felt heavier. B.J. Blazkowicz sat on the edge of his cot, the mechanical joints of his Da’at Yichud power suit whirring softly as he tightened a bolt on his prosthetic limb. "Hey, Terror-Billy," a voice rasped.
B.J. plummeted through the clouds, the wind roaring in his ears. For a second, looking down at the scarred earth of America, he saw it not as it was, but as it could be. Then, his parachute jerked open, and the long walk back to the fire began. had his dual Schockhammers leveled
He reached the core chamber, where a pulsing violet orb hovered, distorting the very air. A high-ranking Kommandant sneered from a shielded balcony. "You are a relic, Blazkowicz! A ghost haunting a world that has moved on!"
The world turned inside out. Gravity flickered. B.J. felt his feet leave the floor as the room began to pull itself toward the orb. He grabbed a railing, his metal fingers denting the steel. With his free hand, he pulled a pack of explosives from his rig and jammed them into the orb’s housing. Every Nazi who fell was a debt repaid
He kicked off the wall just as the timer hit zero. The explosion wasn't a bang; it was a silent, crushing implosion that folded the spire in on itself.