Colt’s Point Of View
Berlin wasn’t a city that welcomed ghosts, but that night, I became one. I arrived in Berlin with two burner phones, a forged passport tucked into the lining of my coat, and a bulletproof plan sharpened by sleepless nights and a growing taste for vengeance. The city was gray and wet, the sky smeared in streaks of cold light, buildings standing like sentinels of some forgotten war. I moved through it like a shadow, blending into alleyways, riding trains without faces, and slipping through cracks the way ghosts did.
Elias had orchestrated a precise sequence of drop points, each marked with codes only we understood. Packages hidden in cracked bricks, hollow lampposts, lockers in rundown gyms. I collected them one by one—files, burner sim cards, voice recordings. Each w
