Bruno and his family had enjoyed the opening ceremony and the diplomatic eting, and now they returned ho for the night. Though they resided in Tirol, they still maintained their estate in Berlin as a ho away from ho.
Erwin and Alya were the exception to this rule, living in the quaint manor in Berlin's old quarter, a gift from Bruno's father on his wedding night. It was where Bruno and Heidi had raised their first children.
Erwin approached his father, shaking his hand before being pulled into a brief embrace. Bruno wasn't about to let his son grow distant just because he had grown up and gotten married.
Erwin didn't try to break away. His father had beco far more affectionate as they both grew older—perhaps because Erwin no longer needed a disciplinarian to guide him, but a supportive father, one who recognized his son was now old enough to make his own decisions.
After the embrace, Erwin stepped back, thanking Bruno for the magnificent ceremony and assuring him that he and Alya would et them the following morning for the gas.
"It was truly a sight I'll rember for the rest of my life, Father. Now Alya will head ho for the evening. I do hope you, Mother, and the rest make your way back safely. I'll see you in the morning."
With a final farewell, their two paths diverged—though Erwin was Bruno's heir, he would not walk the sa path of sword and shield. That was not his role. It was better that he lived away from the family now that he was starting his own.
As for Bruno, his family was always under watch, the eyes of the state ever upon them. In Berlin, they were always on high alert, though the citizens were oblivious. Bruno, as well as other high-profile figures like the Kaiser, was under constant surveillance by those unseen forces—the shadows keeping the demons at bay.
Even now, as Bruno and his family split off for the night, shadows stirred beneath Berlin's streets. A storm broke overhead as Bruno climbed into the armored motorcade.
"It seems God has blessed us with a storm tonight to hide the scent of blood that is bound to appear soon enough…"
And how right Bruno was.
It wasn't because of intelligence or whispers of rogue elents from war-torn regions escaping the grasp of German Intelligence or the Kaiser's notorious Secret Police, the Stasi, who were known for their ruthlessness and efficiency.
No, Bruno was simply speaking from his understanding of human nature, and the most wretched of its kind. Tonight, after the celebration was over, and the state's eyes were no longer focused on the arena, the enemy would make their move.
Why? Because Germany had its mont of glory, an act of arrogance against an entire world watching, but tomorrow was where they would have to prove this was reality. And if the attack occurred midway through the event, then it would be a monuntal humiliation.
Bruno was willing to bet his life on the fact that he had predicted this correctly. Luckily for him, he didn't have to, because there were better n hunting the scent of those damned fools who had provoked a monster they had no true understanding of.
And Bruno's instincts had been right on the ball as the French revolutionaries who had infiltrated the Arena of Triumph after the festivities ended were blissfully unaware they were already being watched.
Hidden in the darkness, behind the shadows, were n whose deaths had been confird in the Great War, their remains said to be buried in military ceteries. Yet here they were, lurking in silence—these were the ghosts in the shadows, stalking the wreckage left by those who sought to spread chaos.
One of the revolutionaries cursed in French as he noticed the malfunctioning fuse.
"God dammit, I told you to get the longer fuse! What the hell is this sh—"
Before he could finish, he turned to see a figure clad in all black—black leather trench coat, a helt, and a rubber gas mask. The eerie amber-red tint from his mask's glass lenses reflected the moonlight, giving him a predatory aura.
The revolutionary froze, staring at the figure. The agent didn't speak. He rely raised a finger to his lips—silent, lethal.
Without a sound, he pulled the pin from a gas canister and tossed it onto the ground. Within monts, the gas began to spread, and the revolutionaries gasped as their muscles locked up, their throats closing from the deadly neurotoxin.
As the final monts of their lives passed, the agent stood still, calculating. His watch ticked as the seconds counted down to their inevitable end. He gave a report on his radio, his voice calm, detached.
"Doses of the experintal nerve gas are sufficient for imdiate incapacitation and death within ten seconds flat. Proceed to experint further on proper dosage for optimized uses across a variety of conditions. Also, send a team to purge the area and dispose of the explosives. We cannot afford any mistakes. A civilian death is the last thing we need on our hands."
He then turned and disappeared back into the shadows, vanishing without a trace, as if he had never been there.
The only thing left were the bodies of the dead revolutionaries and the ss of their final monts. But even that would be cleaned up quickly. No evidence of the agent's work would remain. Just like the others who lurked in the dark, their presence erased from the world—except for their ssage.
This was just one of many such examples on this night where the Stasi would test one of Germany's latest and more lethal weapons on the fools who had dared to make trouble where they didn't belong.
The culmination of these tests would soon lead to the creation of Sarin Gas—an advanced neurotoxin. A weapon so devastating that the Reich would reserve the right to deploy it only in the direst of circumstances, when the survival of the nation itself was at stake.
The world, however, would remain ignorant of its existence. And if they ever learned of it, it would be too late for them to do anything about it.
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