January 21st, 2019 — Berlin
Early in the morning.
Hans arrived at his office while the building still seemed asleep. The hallway was silent, and the faint light from outside barely managed to slip through the windows, filtered by an overcast sky that painted everything in a dull gray.
He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. The office was dark. He removed his jacket with automatic movements, hung it on the coat rack, and placed his briefcase on the desk. Just as he was about to sit down and turn on his computer, someone knocked on the door.
—Come in.
The door opened and Susanne walked in without waiting for an invitation. Her brow was furrowed, her expression tense—something unusual for her.
—Good morning, Hans —she said—. Have you heard anything from Niklas?
Hans sighed before answering. He finally sat down in his chair and shook his head.
—Good morning… No. Nothing yet. It's been twelve days without any news.
Susanne crossed her arms.
—The commander is under a lot of pressure —she said—. Mr. Schneider won't stop pushing about his daughter's disappearance.
She hesitated for a moment.
—Do you think something happened to Niklas?
Hans turned on the computer. The screen partially illuminated the room, revealing the exhaustion on his face.
—I don't think so —he replied—. But… I'm starting to worry.
He logged into the police system. He needed to complete a form related to a recent case and began filling it out without much enthusiasm. As the printer started working, he added, after noticing Susanne's tense expression:
—You know who Niklas is. And what he's capable of.
Susanne nodded slowly. She was a strong woman, accustomed to pressure, usually calmer than most. Still, the concern she felt for Niklas—was evident in her eyes.
—I know —she said—. Besides, we can't enter that place without evidence. We'd ruin his investigation… if he's still in there.
Hans nodded silently.
He picked up the freshly printed pages, but as he reviewed them, he noticed that a mandatory contact number was missing from the form. He frowned. He didn't have it in his files, so he opened his email to look for it.
He typed the name into the search bar and found it immediately.
Then he cleared the search field—and something caught his attention.
A new email.
It had been sent at 5:12 a.m.
Hans blinked.
—That's strange… —he murmured—. Who sends emails at this hour?
He read the subject line.
Niklas Schulz Case
His body tensed instantly. Susanne noticed right away.
—What is it, Hans?
Without answering, Hans opened the email.
The images began loading one after another.
Bars.Cells.Children.
The color drained from his face.
Susanne, intrigued by his reaction, walked around the desk and stood beside him.
—Hans… what are you looking at?
He swallowed hard and slightly turned the monitor toward her.
—Look at this.
Susanne leaned in. It only took a few seconds.
Her breath caught.
And the silence that settled over the office felt heavier than the darkness that had filled it at the start of the day.
—Did Niklas send this to you? —Susanne asked, barely containing her voice.
Hans nodded, his eyes fixed on the screen.
—It appears as anonymous… but it's him. I have no doubt.
Susanne stared at the photos again. Her lips trembled slightly.
Hans said nothing more. He began printing the images one by one.
Cells.
Children.
Documents and envelopes.
A map.
Among the files was additional information: the photographs Marcus had taken in Von Hohenwald's office.
Hans looked up.
—Go talk to the commander. Now.
Susanne didn't hesitate.
—Understood.
She almost ran out of the office.
09:00 a.m.
The investigation board was completely covered. The photos Hans had printed were pinned with red and blue tacks, connected by lines and quick notes. The compound. The map. The cells. The children.
Six people stood there:
Hans.Susanne.The commander.Michael.And two other veteran detectives.
The commander spoke.
—Alright, everyone. We're giving the green light to the operation.
Everyone straightened.
—This is exactly what we were waiting for to act —he continued—. With this evidence, there's no time to waste. But listen carefully: we must be precise. One mistake, and innocent lives are lost.
He pointed to the photographs.
—The police have already been alerted. Additional units will be deployed to the area.
Then he picked up the map image.
—According to what Niklas sent, this layout matches the compound where he infiltrated.
He paused.
—You have thirty minutes to prepare. We end this case today.
The commander left the room. The two detectives followed him immediately.
Only Hans, Susanne, and Michael remained.
Susanne turned to the youngest.
—Michael —she said—. This will be your first operation at this level. I hope you're ready.
Michael swallowed, then nodded firmly.
—I'm ready for anything.
The operation was underway.
Police vehicles and unmarked detective cars moved along the road, all heading toward the same destination.
The compound.
Elsewhere, inside the facility.
Niklas was in the main building, carrying boxes and placing them outside, pretending everything was normal. His movements were automatic, but his mind was alert—tense.
Suddenly, he heard commotion coming from the main entrance.
Shouts.Orders.Rushed movement.
Then the radio clipped to his belt crackled.
—Police! —a frantic voice said—. There are a lot of police units parked outside. Copy.
Another voice responded immediately:
—How many is "a lot"?
A second of silence followed.
—Shit… a lot. All armed. Get ready.
The compound erupted into motion.
Men grabbed their weapons and moved toward the entrance.
Niklas didn't hesitate.
Taking advantage of the chaos, he slipped back into the main building and headed straight for the basement.
He ran down the stairs.
At the bottom, he saw two men.
One of them noticed him.
—Hey —he said—. What are you doing here? Get outside.
Niklas approached slowly, feigning nervousness.
—Sorry… —he said—. With all the chaos, I got nervous.
When Niklas was close enough, the movement was clean and brutal.
The knife went straight into the man's throat.
He barely made a sound before collapsing.
The second guard had his back turned, crouched, searching through a box.
—Did you tell that guy to leave, Mike? —he asked, without turning around.
Something heavy fell beside him.
The man turned his head.
He saw the body.
The blood.
He didn't have time to react.
Niklas appeared behind him and slashed his throat a little.
As life drained from him, Niklas leaned in and whispered:
—You'll rot in prison, bastard.
The man let out a choking, almost mocking laugh.
—You ratted us out… to the police…
Suddenly, in a final act of desperation, he drew his weapon and fired.
The gunshot echoed through the corridor.
Niklas finished cutting his throat.
—What the fuck are you doing?! —he shouted.
He looked toward the cell the man had fired into.
A child collapsed to the ground.
—No… —he whispered.
He rushed to the bars and tried to open them, but they were locked.
His hands trembled.
He threw himself onto the bodies of the two men, searching frantically for the keys.
He needed them now.
Before it was too late.
Niklas found the keys in the pocket of the first guard he had killed.
His hands shook as he grabbed them.
He ran to the cell and opened the gate immediately. The metal screeched through the corridor.
He entered.
And then he knew.
There was nothing to be done.
The child lay on the floor, motionless. The bullet had gone through his head. His eyes were open—empty, lifeless.
Niklas dropped to his knees beside him.
—No… —he whispered.
He slammed his right hand against the floor. Once. Twice. Three times. Each strike filled with rage and frustration.
He had thought he was in control. He had believed he could handle the situation—and because of him, a child was dead.
Sobs began to echo around him.
The children in that cell—and the others—were terrified. They cried silently or pressed themselves against the walls, not fully understanding what had happened, but feeling fear sink deep into their bodies.
Niklas reacted.
He couldn't let them keep seeing this.
He stood and went to some stacked boxes near the corridor. He pulled out rough, old blankets and hurried back. He covered the bodies of the two men. Then he returned to the child, carefully removed the restraints, and wrapped him in a blanket with almost ceremonial respect.
He placed the small body near the stairs.
Then he moved from cell to cell.
Opening gates.
Removing chains.
Loosening cuffs.
When he reached the last cells, the impact was even worse. Children in a state of malnutrition he had never seen before. Fragile bodies. Bones visible beneath the skin. Empty eyes.
Something broke inside him.
But he couldn't stop.
He freed them carefully, without moving them too much. It was dangerous. Their bodies wouldn't withstand sudden movement.
When he finished, all the children were unbound, but still inside their cells.
Niklas spoke to them.
—Stay on the ground —he said firmly, even though he was breaking inside—. Don't move. This will all be over soon.
It was a harsh decision, but a necessary one. If another armed man came down and saw the children loose, the outcome could be fatal.
Niklas moved toward the stairs.
He listened.
Nothing.
He returned to the bodies and took the guards' weapons. He positioned himself where he could see both the corridor and the stairs.
He waited.
Thirty minutes.
No one came down.
Then, a violent door slam echoed above.
A bright light began spilling down the stairs.
Niklas raised his weapon immediately and aimed upward.
Voices.
—Berlin Police! —they shouted—. If anyone is down there, identify yourself!
The voices drew closer.
—Berlin Police!
Niklas didn't lower his weapon.
—This is Detective Niklas Schulz —he said firmly.
Figures appeared at the bottom of the stairs, weapons raised, flashlights aimed directly at him.
—Drop the weapon and raise your hands! —they ordered.
—I am Detective Niklas Schulz —he repeated.
A second of tension passed.
Then, from behind them, a familiar voice cut through.
—Lower your weapons! —Hans shouted.
The officers stepped aside and Hans moved forward, staring at him.
—It's him —he said—. Detective Niklas Schulz.
Weapons slowly lowered.
Hans took another step and noticed something near the stairs. Something wrapped in a blanket.
—What is that…? —he asked.
Niklas lowered his gaze.
His face was devastated.
—It was my fault —he said—. I was an idiot.
Police officers and detectives fully entered the basement. Some froze when they saw the place. The cells. The bars. The children.
—My God… —someone murmured.
Niklas raised his voice.
—Call ambulances now! —he ordered—. Every child needs immediate medical attention.
He paused, swallowing hard.
—But the ones in the last cells are in critical condition. There's no time to lose.
The hell was over.
But the price was forever carved into Niklas.