The Outskirts of Berlin
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As they left the airport, silence fell between them, heavy like an unspoken question. A note of tension lingered in the air as Mathis sat in the passenger seat, his gaze distant, his mind wandering. He had learned to live with silence, almost preferring it now—it drowned out the noise of his thoughts and the memories of all he had lost. Beside him, Bree kept glancing over, her fingers gripping the wheel a little too tightly, her lips pressed into a thin line. She was worried about him, but she was also relieved. He was back, and that was something.
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Mathis caught her looking and turned his head slightly. His eyes, sharp yet tired, flickered with a curious light. "So... where are we really going?" His voice was low and steady, but an edge of suspicion remained.
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Bree didn't answer right away. She kept her eyes on the road, watching the city fade into the distance and the long stretch of highway ahead. "We're going to visit a friend," she said finally, her tone careful and measured. "He might be able to give us some information."
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Mathis raised an eyebrow. "Might?"
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"He's not exactly... reliable," Bree admitted with a sigh. "But he's the only lead we have right now."
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Mathis leaned back in his seat, considering her words. He trusted Bree—he had to, given their circumstances—but his instincts were on high alert. He couldn't shake the feeling they were being followed, watched even. The Shadow Front had eyes everywhere, and after what had happened, Mathis had learned never to let his guard down. He wasn't just hunting the people responsible for Bram's death; he was hunting shadows, and he knew how dangerous that could be.
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"Does he know about the drone?" Mathis asked, his tone shifting to something more businesslike, pushing away the vulnerability that had briefly surfaced.
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Bree hesitated again, deepening the unease in Mathis's gut. "I'm not sure," she confessed. "But if anyone's got a clue where it's headed, it's him. He's been in contact with people connected to the black market... arms dealers."
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Mathis's jaw clenched. Black market dealings, the Shadow Front, missing drones—everything was tangled, and he had no idea how to unravel it. For a moment, he thought of Bram, of the betrayal that had set this entire mission in motion. Then he pushed it down, deep, where guilt and grief couldn't reach him. He had to focus, or everything he fought for would unravel.
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"Fine," he muttered. "Let's see what your friend knows."
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Mathis shifted in his seat, his eyes narrowing as he glanced at the rearview mirror. For a second, he thought he saw the shadow of a motorbike trailing them. The way it stayed in the blind spot, never fully visible, stirred something in his gut—a feeling he couldn't shake.
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He looked again, but the road was clear, nothing out of the ordinary. Just the hum of distant cars and the endless ribbon of highway stretching ahead. Still, the unease remained.
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"Do you see that?" Mathis asked, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade.
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Bree didn't take her eyes off the road, but her fingers tightened around the wheel. "See what?"
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"Thought I saw someone... following us." He turned his head slightly, trying to catch another glimpse of the shadow, but it was gone—if it had even been there at all.
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Bree's jaw clenched. "You sure?"
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Mathis hesitated. He wasn't sure. But the instinct—the one that had kept him alive all these years—buzzed in the back of his mind like a live wire. "No," he muttered. "But let's not take any chances."
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Bree nodded subtly, her posture straightening as she eased the car into the middle lane, her eyes scanning the road with new focus. The city had long disappeared behind them, and the open highway felt more exposed now.
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Mathis leaned back, still watching the rearview mirror from the corner of his eye. Whether it was real or just paranoia, he couldn't tell. But he knew one thing: they weren't safe yet.
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The rest of the drive passed in tense silence, the imagined shadow of the motorbike lingering in Mathis's mind. He kept stealing glances at the mirror, but the highway behind them remained empty. Still, something didn't sit right.
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Bree turned off the main road, the tires crunching on gravel as they entered a narrow, winding lane. The city was far behind now, and only fields and clusters of trees surrounded them. The further they drove, the more isolated it felt, as if they were stepping outside the world altogether. Finally, a small, weathered house came into view, tucked between thick patches of trees. It looked abandoned, the kind of place no one would notice.
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"We're here," Bree said quietly, though there was an edge in her voice. She parked the car a short distance from the house and cut the engine. The silence that followed was deafening.
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Mathis scanned the surroundings, his senses prickling. The house was dark, the windows covered by old, threadbare curtains. No signs of life, no movement. It seemed too quiet. Too still. The motorbike he thought he'd seen earlier returned to his mind, an invisible presence lingering just out of reach.
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"Doesn't look like anyone's home," Mathis muttered, his eyes narrowing.
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Bree shook her head. "He's here. He likes to keep a low profile."
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They stepped out of the car, the cool air biting at their skin. Mathis moved with calculated caution, his hand instinctively hovering near the gun holstered at his side. Bree walked ahead, her shoulders tense but confident. She knew this contact, and Mathis had to trust that. But still, the knot in his stomach tightened.
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They approached the house, and Bree pushed the door open with a soft creak. Inside, it was dim, the faint smell of dust and old wood clinging to the air. A single light flickered in the hallway.
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"Wait here," Bree said, her voice low. "Let me talk to him first."
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Mathis nodded, though his instincts told him not to let her out of his sight. He watched her disappear deeper into the house, swallowed by the shadows. Alone, he kept his back to the wall, listening, waiting. Every sound—the groan of floorboards, the wind rustling through the trees outside—seemed amplified.
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For a moment, Mathis considered checking the rearview mirror again, just to see if that motorbike had finally caught up with them. But then Bree's footsteps returned, and he pushed the thought away.
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"He'll see us now," she said, her expression unreadable.
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Mathis nodded once and followed Bree.
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The house looked like it had been abandoned for years, with the planks along the entryway so rotten that Mathis half-expected the entire structure to collapse under his weight. The garage beside it sagged dangerously, its roof threatening to cave in at any moment. As they stepped inside, the stale air hit him, thick with the scent of damp wood and decay. Peeling wallpaper clung to the walls like dead skin, and heaps of collected scrap and debris littered the hallway. Mathis's mind reeled with words like "charming," though the sarcasm did little to lighten the pit forming in his stomach.
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The deeper they went, the worse it got. In the kitchen, plates of old food had grown mold, untouched for what must have been years, while thick layers of dust and dirt coated every surface. It looked as if someone had simply walked out one day and never returned. Bree, walking ahead of him, glanced over her shoulder and caught his expression, stifling a laugh.
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"Don't worry," she said, smirking. "It's not as bad as it looks."
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"Charming," Mathis muttered under his breath, his distaste apparent.
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Bree led him to a door in the hallway, and as she swung it open, a cold draft swept up from the darkened stairwell. Thick cables snaked along the walls, disappearing into the cellar below. Mathis hesitated for a moment before following her down the creaking wooden steps. His senses were on alert, the scent of mildew stronger now, mingling with the metallic odor of something more recent—perhaps the faint trace of machinery.
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The last step landed him in a completely different world.
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The basement was lit by the glow of multiple computer screens mounted on the walls, their displays flickering with streams of data. The low hum of machines filled the air, mingling with the faint, acrid scent of overheated electronics. In the corner, a man sat hunched over a keyboard, his fingers moving so fast they sounded like drumsticks tapping out a steady rhythm. The room was cluttered but meticulously organized, a stark contrast to the decaying ruin above. Rows of servers lined the walls, their blinking lights casting an eerie glow that reflected off the concrete floor.
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Mathis scanned the setup, his tension easing only slightly. He'd seen plenty of hidden bases, but the stark contrast between the deteriorating house upstairs and this high-tech lair made him uneasy. His eyes flicked to Bree, who seemed unfazed, as if this was exactly what she expected.
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The man at the computer looked up, pausing for a moment before nodding at Bree. "Mathis Kristensen, right?" he said, his voice rough but controlled. "She told me you'd be coming. Name's Vincent."
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Mathis gave a curt nod, his eyes narrowing. "You have information?"
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Vincent smirked, revealing a hint of yellowed teeth. "Always do. I tracked the drone you asked about. It wasn't easy, but through various networks and some less-than-legal means, I managed to trace it to a van heading to Rome. I lost track of the van, but it reappeared after the police investigated an explosion. The van is a wreck now. From intercepted communications, it looks like there's still something significant happening in Rome."
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Bree's eyes lit up with a mix of excitement and determination. "So, what do we do next?"
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Vincent leaned back in his chair, his expression serious. "You'll need to dig deeper in Rome. The explosion and the wrecked van are just the beginning. There's more to uncover. Time's running short—if you don't act quickly, the opportunity to find out what's really going on might slip away."
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Mathis felt the weight of urgency press down on him. "Understood. We'll head to Rome."
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Vincent nodded, his fingers already returning to the keyboard. "Be careful. There's a lot more at stake than you might realize."
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As Mathis and Bree emerged from the basement, the chill of the night air seemed to press down on them, intensifying the weight of their new intel. They moved quickly toward their car, their steps hurried by the urgency of their mission.
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Suddenly, the roar of a motorcycle engine pierced the silence. Mathis's instincts kicked in. He grabbed Bree's arm and pulled her behind a nearby car just as a bullet sliced through the air, embedding itself in the concrete where they had stood moments earlier. The sharp, metallic scent of gunfire hung in the air.
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The rider, dressed in black with a tinted visor obscuring their face, circled them with menacing precision. The engine's growl was a constant threat as the bike swerved, preparing to take another shot. Mathis yanked Bree further behind the vehicle, his pulse quickening as he scanned for an escape route.
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"Get down!" he barked, his voice cutting through the chaos.
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They crouched, their breaths shallow and fast, while the rider circled again, the tension thick in the air. Mathis drew his weapon, the cold steel a stark contrast to the heat of his anger. Before he could aim, the rider seemed to sense the danger and sped off into the night, disappearing around a corner.
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A deafening silence followed. Mathis and Bree remained crouched, their hearts pounding in their chests. As the sound of the motorcycle faded into the distance, Mathis cautiously stood, his eyes scanning the dark, deserted street.
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"Where did that come from?" Bree's voice trembled, her eyes wide with shock. "Was Vincent's location compromised?"
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Mathis's jaw clenched, suspicion gnawing at him. "If the Shadow Front is tracking us, they might have known we were here all along," he said grimly, frustration evident in his tone. "I saw a motorcycle tailing us earlier. Should've trusted my gut."
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Bree's face was a mix of frustration and fear. "The Shadow Front? Not this again, Mathis." Her voice carried a hint of exasperation. "You pushed me away, chasing this vendetta. What if it's just a thug hired by the gray-clad man? It's too convenient that they show up just as someone tries to kill us."
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Mathis's gaze hardened, his mind racing. The attack only confirmed his fears—the Shadow Front was still very much a threat. The possibility of betrayal by Vincent or someone else loomed larger with every second.
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He looked at Bree, the shared weight of their predicament clear in her tense posture. "No, Bree. If Vincent's intel is accurate, the gray-clad man isn't working alone. The Shadow Front has the reach for something this significant. It makes sense."
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Bree's frustration boiled over. "And if you're wrong? Vincent has always been loyal. There's no way he'd be involved in an assassination plot."
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Mathis met her gaze, conflicted but resolute. "We can't afford to take chances. We need to find out if Vincent's involved or if we've been played. We need to be ready for anything."
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Bree nodded, her expression hardening with determination. "Okay, but we need to be smart about this. Let's regroup and plan our next move."
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