CHAPTER 40: The Fugitive Part 11

CHAPTER 40: The Fugitive Part 11

The rain fell on Berlin with the insistence of a funeral drum. It wasn't a refreshing drizzle, but a cold, gray downpour that turned the streets into rivers of blurred neon and soaked everything in its path with a dampness that seeped to the bone. Under the lintel of the main entrance to Enid Corp., barely protected from the deluge, Fénix and Lucio formed a silhouette of contrasts.

Lucio, impassive under the downpour, his usual white suit now hidden under a dry black trench coat, looked at the curtain of water with disdain. Fénix, clad in his usual already-soaked suit, shuddered as a cold drop trickled down his neck.

"Lovely day," muttered Fénix, rubbing his arms. "Perfect for a tourist stroll."

Lucio didn't even turn. His voice cut through the roar of the rain with knife-like precision.
"Forget tourism, Rogers. Today we work." Finally, he turned to him, his gray eyes like flints under the brim of his hat. "We have a situation in the Mitte district. The Hotel Sakura, a Japanese luxury spot. Elegant, discreet, very expensive. Or it was."

Fénix arched an eyebrow.
"Sushi problems? Yakuza?"

"Worse," Lucio snapped. "Arachnids. Spiders. But not the common ones. Something infected them. Some idiot playing with variants of the vampiric strain has turned them into something... different. Bigger, faster, more aggressive. And with an appetite that has already claimed a dozen guests and staff. Those who aren't dead are locked in their rooms, terrified."

Fénix frowned.
"Vampire spiders. Great. Just what I needed to add to my collection of nightmares."

"The mission is simple," Lucio continued, ignoring the comment. "Go in, clear the place, secure the survivors, and recover any sample of the mutated strain we can find. Enid wants to know what the hell is going on." He paused, fixing his gaze on Fénix. "And you are going to learn to follow orders."

He took a step closer, the rain creating a curtain around them that isolated their conversation.

"Rule number one:" his voice was a whip crack. "Blind obedience. If I tell you to stop, you stop. If I tell you to run, you run. If I tell you to jump out a window, you ask 'from which floor?'. Don't think, don't question, obey. Your life and mine depend on it. Clear?"

Fénix nodded, the frivolity fading from his face.

"Rule number two:" Lucio continued. "Stealth and precision. This isn't a frontal assault. It's a hunt. We use silenced weapons, surgical strikes. I don't want to alert every damn spider in the building. If we provoke them all at once, we'll be swimming in a sea of legs and venom in minutes."

"Understood," said Fénix, his tone now serious.

"Rule number three:" Lucio pointed with his index finger, almost jabbing it into Fénix's chest. "Control. That monster you carry inside, that Lycan rage... they stay under lock and key. Unless I explicitly order it, you fight as a human. With technique, with strategy. Not like an enraged animal. Do you understand me?"

Fénix held his gaze.
"Yes, Instructor."

Lucio studied him for a second longer, as if searching for any trace of insubordination. Finding none, he nodded slowly.

"Good." His expression didn't soften, but the intensity in his eyes decreased a degree. "This isn't an Enid Corp mission. This is a test. Your test. I want to see if any of what I've taught you has sunk into that hard head of yours."

Fénix clenched his fists inside his jacket pockets. He knew what was at stake.

"I won't let you down."

"You'd better not," Lucio grunted. Then, unexpectedly, a flash of something that wasn't hardness crossed his eyes. "And if this goes well... if you come out of there without having turned the place into an eight-legged slaughterhouse and you prove you can follow a plan..." He paused, almost as if it was hard for him to say. "I'll take you out to eat. Meat. The best Argentine grill in Berlin. A place I know. No tasting menus, no microscopic plates. Real meat, for real men."

The surprise was so evident on Fénix's face that for a moment he forgot the rain. A genuine, not sarcastic, smile spread across his lips. It wasn't the prize that mattered, but the gesture. The recognition.

"Really?" he asked, unable to hide a hint of youthful excitement.

Lucio sketched what might have been a smile, but it turned into a warning grimace.

"Don't make me regret the offer, Rogers. Now, get in the van." He pointed to a discreet black van that had just stopped in front of them, its engine idling. "We'll go over the hotel plans on the way. And remember the rules."

Fénix nodded, a new determination burning inside him. He followed Lucio to the van under the relentless rain, but he no longer felt the cold. Only the anticipation of the hunt to come and the unlikely but tangible promise of a meal worth fighting for.

The black van slid to a stop in front of the Hotel Sakura, its tires whispering on the waterlogged asphalt. The building was a structure of clean lines and dark wood, a piece of Japanese tranquility transplanted into the rainy heart of Berlin. But the peace was an illusion. Emergency lights flickered weakly behind veiled windows, and the hotel's neon sign crackled irregularly, sending blue sparks into the puddles.

On the sidewalk, under a huge black umbrella, two figures awaited them. A Japanese man and woman, impeccably dressed in dark traditional suits, their faces masks of a professional calm fractured by the terror visible in their eyes. The man, elderly and with a rigid posture, bowed slightly upon seeing Lucio get out of the van.

"Lucio-sensei," said the man, his voice a tense thread of courtesy and desperation. "We thank you for coming. I am Kaito, the owner. This is my daughter, Aiko. The situation... is unbearable."

Lucio didn't bother to bow. His gaze scanned the hotel's facade like a surgeon evaluating a dying patient.