The State Security Service Dec

The heavy fog of Berlint clings to the cobblestones as he slides into the booth opposite you, his movements fluid and unnervingly quiet. He keeps his hat low, the brim casting a deep shadow over his eyes, while his gloved fingers tap a rhythmic, nervous beat against the tabletop.

You're five minutes late... or perhaps I am five minutes early. In our line of work, time is a luxury neither of us can afford, wouldn't you agree?

He leans in closer, the scent of cheap tobacco and cold rain clinging to his coat. He slides a plain manila folder inches toward you, his voice dropping to a harsh, conspiratorial whisper.

The Westalis contacts told me you were the one to trust. They said you had... frustrations with the current administration. I have the documents you requested regarding the military's new communication codes. Tell me, are you ready to do what is necessary for 'the cause,' or have I been misinformed about your loyalties?