CHAPTER 99: Tegel at 3:33 AM

**CHAPTER 99: Tegel at 3:33 AM**

Deep within Justizvollzugsanstalt Tegel, one of Berlin's oldest and most notorious prisons, darkness reigned. The concrete walls were cold and rough, the air thick, and the silence, sepulchral. At that hour, even the most restless prisoners succumbed to fatigue, but in cell 214, something broke the calm.

The inmate known as Klaus Ritter woke with a start. The faint glow of the moon filtered through the bars of the small window, dimly illuminating the gloomy space. A feeling of discomfort invaded him, as if something strange floated in the air. Turning over in his bed, the digital glow of the clock on the wall confirmed the time: 3:33 AM.

Klaus ran a hand over his face, trying to clear the numbness of sleep, then looked towards his cellmate, Otto. The man, completely motionless, was standing before the barred window, watching the fine, persistent rain hit the metal grates. Otto's eyes, wide as saucers, reflected a mixture of fascination and fear.

"It's raining," murmured Otto, without looking away from the outside. His voice was low and monotone, as if speaking in a trance.

Klaus frowned, still half-asleep. "So what? It's always raining in this city."

But something in the way Otto said it made his skin crawl. It was as if the rain was a bad omen, a grim portent.

Before Klaus could respond or get out of bed, he felt a chill run down his neck. A cold, firm hand rested on his head, exerting slight pressure. At the same time, another hand did the same to Otto.

Klaus froze.

"What the hell...?" he began to say, but his voice died immediately when a third figure emerged from the gloom.

It was Alex. His silhouette barely visible in the darkness, but Klaus's eyes could make out the childish and disturbing smile etched on his face. Alex tilted his head slightly, as if assessing two broken toys.

Then, in a soft, malicious voice, Alex whispered a single phrase:

"You know? The fun part is that we all know what's going to happen..."

Klaus felt an indescribable emptiness take hold of his stomach. Otto let out a short sigh, barely a whisper of contained fear. The cell plunged into a suffocating silence, as if time itself had decided to stop.

And then...

There was no more noise. No more words. Only the rain falling on Berlin.

In his room, submerged in the gloom, Phoenix was trying to find a comfortable position on the bed. But the pain in his broken arm throbbed relentlessly, making it impossible to fall asleep. The splint immobilizing it was a constant reminder of his vulnerability, something he deeply detested. He tried to turn over once more, but the pain stopped him short with a sharp stab.

He let out a frustrated sigh and, after a few seconds of internal struggle, decided to get up.

Moving slowly, he sat on the edge of the bed and looked at the digital clock on the nightstand. The numbers glowed red:

3:34 AM.

"Another damn night..." he muttered, running a hand through his disheveled hair.

He stood up and walked to the window. Parting the curtains, he was greeted by the rainy darkness of the city. Berlin slept under a constant rain, the drops hitting the glass with a soft but insistent rhythm, as if trying in vain to lull him. However, that night, not even the rain could calm the discomfort keeping him awake.

He placed a hand on the window frame and let his gaze get lost among the blurry lights outside. He couldn't sleep, and he knew it. The pain wasn't the only reason; something deeper kept him restless, like a strange sensation he couldn't quite understand.

After a few minutes of useless contemplation, he decided to go to the bathroom. The humidity in the air and the weight of insomnia enveloped him, like an old enemy he was all too familiar with.

He entered the bathroom and turned on the light. The white glare made him blink for a few seconds, getting used to the abrupt change. He approached the sink and turned on the tap, letting the cold water run. He leaned over the marble and washed his face, feeling the water run over his tense skin.

Finally, he raised his gaze to the mirror. What he saw was a tired version of himself: his face reflected exhaustion, and the cut above his eyebrow, still healing, promised to leave a permanent scar.

"One more souvenir for the collection..." he murmured, not bothering to hide the sarcasm.

He sighed, letting the air escape slowly from his lungs, as if it could relieve the weight of the thoughts overwhelming him. He knew it wouldn't work, but he did it anyway.

For a moment, as he looked at his reflection, he felt a slight shiver. It was as if there was something strange in his own gaze, a subtle shadow that didn't belong to him. He shook his head to clear it, attributing the sensation to accumulated fatigue.

"What a shitty night..." he muttered, turning off the light.

He returned silently to his room. Outside, the rain kept falling, and the pre-dawn darkness enveloped him again. He lay down on the bed, aware that he wouldn't find rest, but willing to try once more.

Meanwhile, the city remained calm, and the Berlin night, as always, became a silent witness to all the things that happen when no one else is watching.

The pain in his arm persisted, but more than the physical pain, there was another, deeper discomfort that wouldn't leave him alone. The idea of sleep seemed absurd, like trying to put out a fire with whispers.

"It's useless..." he murmured to himself, running a hand over his face.

With a resigned sigh, he grabbed the remote control and turned on the television. The screen flickered a couple of times before filling with static. Interference. Just interference.

He tried changing the channel, but there was nothing: every frequency returned the same succession of white and gray lines, accompanied by that constant, monotonous sound, like an endless digital rain. A perfect echo of the emptiness he felt inside.