The labyrinth of service tunnels beneath Berlin's central station was stuffy, damp, and lit only by dim industrial lamps that flickered sporadically. The muffled sound of the trains above vibrated off the rough concrete walls, creating a claustrophobic atmosphere.
Hanna moved forward with impressive ease, navigating the shadows like a wildcat. Behind her, Arthur kept a steady pace, his strengthened physique allowing him to keep up with the brisk pace without showing fatigue. The efficiency of his newfound skills gave him an unusual composure for someone who, just days before, had been a low-level security guard in the CIA.
After ten minutes of brisk walking through pipes and secondary corridors, Hanna stopped abruptly before a heavy metal door marked with a fire warning sign. She pressed her ear to the cold surface, listening intently to the surroundings on the other side.
"Clean," she whispered, pushing the door slightly open.
They emerged into a spacious, abandoned warehouse on the city's industrial outskirts, where piles of empty crates and dusty tarps served as makeshift hiding places. In the center of the warehouse, a solitary figure stood near a broken window, observing the street activity with long-range binoculars.
It was Erik Heller.
The man's face bore the marks of time, subtle scars from a lifetime of hiding and fleeing, and the tense posture of a soldier who never rested. In the original story, Hanna had met Erik alone after days of extreme tension and relentless pursuit. But the faint sound of footsteps behind him made Erik turn in a fraction of a second, drawing his pistol with lethal precision and pointing it directly at the chest of whoever was entering.
The gun jammed in mid-air when he saw Hanna. But then, Erik's hard eyes darted to the side, focusing on Arthur, who kept his hands visible but his posture completely relaxed and ready to react.
“Who is this?” Erik’s voice was deep, rough, and sharp as glass, laden with pure distrust. He looked at Hanna, expecting an explanation. “Did you bring a CIA trail straight to our safe house, Hanna?”
Hanna stepped forward, entering direct line of sight between Erik and Arthur. Surprisingly, she didn’t adopt a defensive stance against Erik, but made a brief gesture with her head, indicating the street’s field of vision.
“He’s not a trail. He eliminated the containment team at Camp G and got me out of there,” Hanna said, her voice direct and straightforward. “In the desert, he covered my rear. Without him, I wouldn’t have made it this far.”
Erik narrowed his eyes, assessing Arthur from head to toe. His experience as an elite agent allowed him to see beyond the makeshift uniform; he noticed the balanced combat stance, the absence of panic, and the way Arthur controlled his breathing.
“Utrax guard?” — Erik asked coldly, holding his weapon steady, though the barrel had dropped a few centimeters.
— Ex-guard. Let's just say I discovered the rot in that facility shortly before they decided I was expendable — Arthur replied with calm pragmatism, keeping his voice steady to demonstrate that he posed no threat. — And if you think Marissa Wiegler will stop just because we crossed the border, you're mistaken. Her squads are already mapping Berlin.
Erik stared at Arthur for long seconds, weighing the risks. The presence of a competent ally — one who knew the CIA's internal protocols — was not something to be easily dismissed, especially now that the hunt for Project Utrax had entered a critical phase.
With a heavy sigh, Erik holstered his weapon and turned to an improvised table laden with maps and medical supplies.
“If what you say is true, we don’t have much time before they discover this shed,” Erik said, picking up a communication radio and checking the encrypted frequencies. “We need to move to the hideout in the forest before the net closes in completely.”
Hanna glanced at Arthur. The initial chasm of distrust had given way to a silent partnership. The she-wolf and her shadow were ready for whatever came next.