Droplets fell slowly from the tubes hanging on the ceilings. They fell down right before his face as if to remind him not to fall into Seinsvergessenheit. He groaned as he tried to slightly adjust his chair. Every inch of his body hurt. Martin was in a state of delirium, as he had been sitting there for what seemed to him like weeks. He slipped in and out of consciousness again and again. It was a peculiar state of mind. «Unconcealed», he muttered. «Everything is unconcealed before me».

Then he chuckled lightly and tried to take a mental note of this moment even though chances were he’d forget everything he was thinking in a matter of mere seconds. Tears formed in his eyes. His genius would be wasted down here. And all because of a narcissist who couldn’t deal with the situation that he, Martin, was simply better than him. At this moment he wasn’t sure if his tears were tears of sadness or tears of anger. Or both.

His body shivered. It was cold in this odd basement. Martin only wore slightly too big white underpants that had grey spots because he had been wearing this pair for years. He tried to smile through his crying as he remembered her. She had always liked his underpants she told him. He remembered her sly grin, as she called after him with that vocal fry he loved so much. «Professor...», she called him, emphasizing the second syllable mischievously, «come back to bed, I need help with my… homework». And he’d shake his head, say «Ah, Hannah...» in feigned annoyance and pretend to fix his reading glasses to then closely inspect her rosy tits and grab her firm ass. «F!» he’d say usually. «You need discipline, young lady. A spanking maybe?»

Now he cried even more. This was it, he thought. My death is not easier just because I’ve accepted it as a reality. It was all bullshit. Something in him stirred up. No, he couldn’t compromise his world of ideas. That’s exactly what his adversary would want. And only because he couldn’t take some well worded criticism. «Making itself intelligible is suicide for philosophy» he had said in response to his critic saying that, basically, Martin was just a buffoon. Martin grinned as he remembered the exact moment he wrote that sentence. He was proud of it. The meticulous search for the exact right word is what always aroused him deeply. No, he would remain in the Dasein. He would stand tall.

Suddenly, he heard the door creak. Heavy steps came down the wooden stairs. A snide chuckle. «Na, na, na Martin» he said in a mocking tone, like someone speaking derisively but not completely earnestly to a child.

«It’s still Professor Heidegger for you!», Martin said gnashing his teeth. He tried to suppress the anger in his voice, knowing that his foe would punish him greatly for displaying disrespect. «Let me go, Carnap», he said hastily to sound submissive.

«It’s Rudolf for you», Carnap said rolling the R to make it sound somewhere between menacing or confusingly sexy. «Rrrrrrrrrudolf» he said, biting into the air, making a claw with his hands. «Or Carrrrrrrrrnap», he continued and let the P at the end of his name plop so it echoed from the moist cellar walls.

He peered across the room to a closet. «No, please no», plead Heidegger. Carnap grinned and walked to the closet. Heidegger, placed with his back to the door, could finally see Carnap. He wore assless chaps fashioned out of leather. «Oh god», gulped Heidegger audibly. «What?», Carnap said in an playfully annoyed voice. «Don’t like my fashion? I’m wearing it exclusively for you, Marrrrrtin». Carnap grinned and bit into the air again. He then went on to open the closet which revealed a wide array of differently sized canes. «Oh god», Heidegger whispered again, desperately. «I hope you don’t mean a phony personal God, Martin. Spinoza’s God! Goethe’s God! They knew! But my parents. Pshhh», he said dismissively. «Do you think I’m the way I am now because I distanced myself from my parents? Is that what created my… urges?», he smiled to himself.

«Which one shall it be today, Marrrrrrtin?», he asked sincerely and without looking back at Heidegger. «Please, no» he replied, this time sincerely submissive. «You don’t need to - » «Oh, yes I do», Carnap said ending the last word in a high-pitched-amused voice. «I dooo», he whispered. «See, I can’t deal with you stealing all my limelight. I’m the true philosopher king, not you, you buffoon, you snake-oil-salesman, you charlatan! Go back to your mountain hut and read your Hölderlin! This is where your flowery words and your feelings belong! Not into philosophy.» Carnap now sounded menacing. «Logic, my dear Martin, logic is the elixir of truth», he said, sighing lovingly. «With you out of the picture, I can finally blossom into the flower I was destined to be!» Carnap was silent for a moment after realizing his flowery language. «Alas, enough of this!» he sneered. «Logic is the last scientific ingredient of Philosophy; its extraction leaves behind only a confusion of non-scientific, pseudo problems.» he whispered maniacally.

«Now, Martin. Which one?» he asked again gazing at the different canes. «If you don’t pick one right away, I will pick the biggest one. It will hurt, Marrrrrtin. It will hurt.» Heidegger nodded into the direction of the leftmost, smallest cane.

«That one?», Carnap laughed, «come on! Live a little!». He picked the biggest one anyway. «You know, it’s the logical choice. And now I will beat the nonsense out of you, Martin, dear. The battle of metaphysics will soon be over. And the continental-analytical divide will fade. I will unite!». He stood behind Heidegger, pulled down his greyed-out underpants with disgust on his face and started to swing his cane.

Heidegger gasped for air after Carnap was over. Sweat and tears ran down his face and formed droplets in his moustache. «Nichts is neither a verb nor a substantive», Carnap said calmly, wiping the blood from his cane using pages from Sein und Zeit. Heidegger whimpered. «You weakling», Carnap said with contempt in his voice. «I was wounded in World War I. And you? You were too weak for anything but do postal service and observe the weather. Observe the weather, hah!» Carnap laughed coldly. «Do you see that, Martin?», he asked. Carnap had wore his medal of courage pierced through his skin. «This is what honor really is, Martin». He took Heidegger away from his chair and bound his almost lifeless body to a pedestal and fixed his head with a strap to make him look forward. «And now...», said Carnap slowly. He stood in front of Heidegger, his crotch on the height of Martin’s mouth. «Eat this». Carnap then unzipped his Latex underpants he wore under his assless chaps. «I will be gentle»