Berlin Noir Novels & Stories

Chapter 66: The Berlin Underground The high-speed transport provided by Aris Thorne was a silent, black blade cutting through the stratosphere. Inside, the cabin was pressurized and sterile, a stark contrast to the scorched ruins of Tokyo. Caspian sat across from Jade, watching the way her fingers twitched rhythmically against the armrest. She wasn't sleeping. Her eyes were closed, but her pupils were darting beneath her lids. "Berlin is louder," Jade whispered, her voice sounding like two people speaking at once. "The bunker... it’s deep. They’re using the old Soviet lead-shielding to try and muffled the signal, but it’s making the 'Update' scream."

I opened my eyes slowly, my vision adjusting as I looked up at a ceiling that I didn’t recognize. It was higher than normal, structured and clean, with dark wooden details that gave the room a controlled and deliberate look. Nothing about it felt casual. Nothing about it felt like a place I was supposed to be. I pushed myself up slowly, my hand pressing into the bed beneath me, the surface smooth and cold against my skin. That alone told me enough. This wasn’t anywhere familiar. My hearing sharpened automatically, picking up different tones and fragments of speech without me trying too hard. Berlin.

On the new route, I saw him coming towards me, giving him exactly what he wanted but I had to lure him to my trap in order to catch him. I unlocked my door and jumped just as the other car came into contact with mine and so did the latter. "I knew it!" I spat as I stood to my feet. He brought himself just right to my feet. The street was deserted. Trash cans were filled to the brim to the extent of vomiting out their contents. The buildings were old, rusty and disheveled, clothes hanging out from a few of the balconies. It smelt rancid due to the rotting garbage. A smell of burning cooking oil invaded my poor nostrils, making me nauseous. The stench of the LAPD offices was far much better. I

"I've seen plenty of suspects like you–cunning enough to leave behind just enough ambiguous evidence to fake an alibi. You think that's enough to walk free?" He stepped closer, voice cold. "The surveillance network has already captured a clear image of your face. Facial recognition confirmed your identity. There's also an eyewitness who saw you dumping the suitcase. What else do you have to say for yourself?" He popped open the trunk. Inside–just like before–were the same bloodstains and the murder weapon. In the dashcam footage, there was a full recording of me driving along with the unmistakable sound of me talking intimately with a woman I did not recognize.

As a courtesy, they pretended to listen away. They had switched on at exactly the right time. The newscaster was just announcing the evening recap of the international events of the previous day. Behind him, various images from war zones were faded in and the moderator announced some bombings that had taken place in the Middle East in the early morning. Then a short film was played, the word 'Berlin' was shown in the top right of the picture. It was a helicopter shot of a prison building. The right part was on fire, but from the rear only a few clouds of smoke rose from the smoldering areas of the fire.

Luke’s POV It was still late this Saturday night in Berlin, and I was at Mondwächter’s office. The building was tall and sleek with glass walls and steel, with the skyline dark outside, only lit up by the city’s thousands of pulsating lights. I wish I could enjoy it more. But I was slouched at my desk in my office, scrolling through #BeatriceFraud and #MorgenlichtScandal trending. The bullshit stunt Isabell had pulled so publicly was everywhere and Isabell’s lies spreading like damn wildfire.

Yeah, he'd learned to practice patience, but dealing with the police while they questioned Betty had just about driven him to the edge of reason. He opened the car door for her, holding her elbow as she climbed in. Daylight had waned, and the parking garage was dimly lit, the sound of other hospital visitors echoing through the cement structures. Betty listened for other things. Furtive footballs on the pavement. The click of a gun safety being released. The slide of fabric or the soft huff is a breath. Someone had tried to kill Dan just a few weeks ago, and there was no reason to believe that person would be content to let him live. The road went quiet as he stepped around the car. The soun

The sleek penthouse in the heart of Berlin overlooked the illuminated Brandenburg Gate and the vibrant city skyline. The cool evening air carried the scent of rain on concrete, street food from the bustling streets below, and the faint aroma of expensive coffee. Soft ambient lighting highlighted the modern interior with its floor-to-ceiling windows and minimalist designer furniture. Lena Schmidt, a 26-year-old German tech heiress with porcelain skin, long platinum blonde hair, and a toned, curvaceous figure, stood by the window in a fitted silk dress. The cool glass pressed against her fingertips as the city lights twinkled far below.

She looks like nervous and Cindy asks her if she's alright, The girl biting her nails while walking around the corner, When she saw Cindy she runs quickly to get out of sight by Cindy, Cindy doubted what's her problem, she ignored it remembered that it was her bullies, Geneva's mom came back at Cindy, told her that she already filed a case against the incident, They will contact Cindy for further notice, Cindy said thank you to Geneva's mom for her kindness and wasting of time, When they walking out through station, Cindy noticed the same car who was in her mom's accident, The car who parked outside of station, Cindy moved fast around the car to check if it is the car same with the incident,

- the werewolf began to tell the details of the plan. The two figures disappeared into the passage. An hour later, they were already at the entrance to the subway, having passed through the office premises, they approached the door, closed with a padlock. Berkhes grinned when he saw this obstacle on the way. He was clutching a "hand hammer" in his hand, the lock clinked under the blow and fell helplessly on the cold tiles. The door opened with an unpleasant creak. Behind the door, a halogen lamp burned dimly, flickered slightly and went out, then lit up again. A characteristic clicking rumble filled the room, reflecting off the walls with a barely audible echo. A narrow staircase was lost in