— Watch your back.
Achim laughed that warning off.
If I lose my life, it’ll be behind bars after getting caught — not something I need to worry about right this second. That was his thinking.
On top of that, there was an underlying belief — one he couldn’t quite articulate — that even if the job failed, things wouldn’t turn ugly. The reason for that was the target of this operation: Michael Bernhardt, who ran the voluntary welfare organization “Maaconi.”
Michael Bernhardt was a descendant of Benjamin Bernhardt, the founder of “Maaconi” — the longest-standing nonprofit voluntary welfare organization in Germany.
He knew of Bernhardt partly because the man was more famous than most celebrities, but also because it would have been strange for Achim, an orphanage kid, not to know the related institution.
For that reason, Achim felt as though half his unease had somehow lifted. It was a little absurd, really — romanticizing the generosity of someone whose home he was about to rob. But well, he’d already made up his mind, hadn’t he? Might as well think positive.
His ironclad principles had already slipped his mind entirely. Achim’s brain was now running entirely on rationalization.
He sat thinking hard about something for a moment, then dug around in his trouser pocket. What he pulled out was a phone that was practically an antique.
Achim pressed the power button and lit up the cracked screen — a spiderweb of fractures spreading from one corner. He found a familiar name in his contacts and called. It wasn’t long before he heard a click.
[Yeah, babe.]
Linus picked up in a half-asleep voice. Achim skipped right past the familiar term of address and got straight to the point.
“Linus, look someone up for me.”
[Who?]
It was a pretty abrupt request, the kind that might reasonably irritate someone. But Linus didn’t seem bothered — he asked in his usual tone.
Achim stared hard at the bundle of bills sitting in front of him, then parted his lips.
“Michael Bernhardt.”
[……]
Linus went quiet. Achim had a feeling he knew what the silence meant, and was rubbing the underside of his nose with his index finger when, after a long pause, Linus said his name. His hoarse voice was heavy with concern.
And with good reason — asking someone to be investigated was something you said after you’d already made up your mind to do something. It meant the water had already been spilled.
On top of that, the target was none other than Michael Bernhardt — a Royal Alpha. It was only natural that Linus would be worried before he’d even heard what was going on.
Achim shifted his gaze awkwardly in the silence that followed.
“The fee is 500,000 euros.”
[……What?]
“That’s just the advance. 50,000.”
[Achim, stop. You’re scaring me. What kind of job pays that much? We said no more dangerous work. I went through all the trouble of wiping your records clean for exactly this reason — you can’t just go and do this.]
“I’ll split it with you.”
[So what’s the job?]
The instant flip had Achim snorting. And before Linus could change his mind again, he got right to it.
“I need to steal something.”
Achim tapped the back of his fingers against the bundle of bills in front of him.
“Michael Bernhardt’s……”
[……]
“Semen.”
Linus went silent — just as Achim himself had done only minutes earlier. Then, without a word one way or the other, he hung up. He’d told Achim to wait before doing so.
Achim slipped the phone back into his trouser pocket. A call would come back in thirty minutes at the earliest, an hour at the latest.
Thud. Achim leaned back against the worn chair and reached for the Glock that had come into his line of sight, taking it into his hand.
It was loaded — one pull of the trigger and a round would fly out and punch straight through whatever was in front of it.
Tap, tap tap. The sound of rain against the window was all that filled the cramped underground space. In the quiet stillness, Achim stared at the Glock in his hand for a long time, as though turning something over in his mind.
A familiar texture. A familiar grip.
And with it, naturally, came certain scenes.
“……”
After stroking the Glock with his thumb for a while, Achim pulled the hammer back. He pressed the hammer down with his thumb, lightly squeezed the trigger, then eased the hammer forward again. A dull click sounded briefly.
He decocked with practiced ease, then slouched back in the chair again.
It had been over ten years. Around the age of sixteen — young by any measure — he’d joined a small private military outfit, and spent about four years there as a mercenary.
Back then, his commander would take any job as long as the money was right. Risk level wasn’t a factor. Achim simply had to push through, doing whatever it took to complete each mission as it came.
It was grueling, physically and mentally — but thanks to his natural agility and his stubborn, tenacious personality, it suited him down to the bone. The proof was in how, even in an organization that ran on seniority and even at such a young age, he’d had two men under his command.
But a series of events had forced him out of the outfit — practically thrown out — and after that, Achim could no longer work as a mercenary.
“……”
Achim rubbed his right knee out of habit and looked around the cramped space. There was only one reason he was still here, paying all that rent for a damp, musty underground room.
To survive.
He was sitting with those memories — the days when he’d been at his most vivid and alive, before being flung headlong into the mud in an instant — when his pocket vibrated. Achim pulled out his battered, barely-functional phone. Linus.
He pressed the answer button.
“Done already?”
[Yeah.]
Good work. Achim replied briefly.
Linus’s ability to dig up information wasn’t something anyone needed to question or push back on. He and Achim had come from the same orphanage and served in the same mercenary outfit — reason enough to trust him unconditionally.
Even back in the mercenary days, Linus had done the mental work rather than the physical — planning optimal routes and approaches, stripping targets of their information down to the bone. His skill had been proven there.
A genuine, born talent.
[Babe.]
Achim said yeah, and Linus continued.
[Something’s a little off, though.]
Achim immediately sharpened his attention at that. He asked, guarded, “What is it?” — and Linus answered.
[Too clean.]
“What?”
[It’s so clean it’s actually suspicious. Have you ever heard of the “uncanny valley”?]
Achim had no idea what that meant and said so, and Linus explained the concept before going on.
[The head of a voluntary welfare organization with over 300 years of history, and a direct descendant of Benjamin Bernhardt — that’s who Michael Bernhardt is, on paper.]
“And?”
[That’s what the surface looks like, I’m saying. Someone like that — when you dig this deep, something’s supposed to turn up. You know that. Especially when it’s Michael Bernhardt of all people. You know this man is more famous than the president, right?]
Of course I do. Achim said as much, and Linus went on, clearly unsettled.
[I’ve never seen anyone with this kind of money be this spotless……. Well, I guess with Michael Bernhardt, it’s less about the money and more about the prestige.]
Achim couldn’t easily argue with Linus. His instincts had a pretty solid track record, and more often than not, what he said was reasonable enough that anyone would see the logic.
But given the circumstances, it wasn’t easy to just agree either, so Achim held his tongue — and Linus suddenly let out a short, dry hff through his nose.
[God, I’m so fucking jealous.]
