Lars aimed his weapon straight at the man.
He wasn't any of the guards he had seen patrolling outside. The light above Lars flickered intermittently, casting uneven shadows that made it impossible to clearly see his face. The clown mask lay discarded on the floor, forgotten; he hadn't put it back on when the man appeared. From the man's perspective, all he could clearly see was an outstretched hand and the gun aimed at his chest.
"Who are you?" the man asked. "What are you doing here?"
The question ignited something inside Lars.
"What the fuck is this?" he snapped, his voice thick with rage. "Why are there so many children here… and in these conditions?"
The man didn't answer right away. He stayed silent for several seconds, staring at the weapon.
Lars stepped forward.
"I'm talking to you," he insisted through clenched teeth. "What the fuck is all this? Answer me."
His index finger settled on the trigger.
The man swallowed and slowly raised his hands as Lars closed the distance.
"It's…" he finally said. "It's a human trafficking network."
Lars already knew. But hearing it out loud made the anger surge to his head.
"And what else?" he demanded. "There were two women upstairs putting things into blue boxes. What the fuck were they doing?"
The man tried to deflect.
"Hey, wait—how did you even get in here? With the security this place has—"
Lars lost his patience. He lunged forward and pressed the barrel of the gun directly against the man's forehead.
"I'm the one asking the questions here."
The man froze.
He was standing directly beneath a light that didn't flicker, fully illuminated. For the first time, he could clearly see the face of the person aiming the gun at him.
His eyes widened.
He stared at Lars, disbelief etched across his face.
"It can't be…" he murmured. "It can't be you."
Lars frowned.
"You don't know me," he said coldly. "Don't try to play games with me."
The man slowly shook his head.
"You're Lars Braun," he said. "Yes… it's you."
Lars's heart skipped.
"Who are you?" he asked, unease creeping into his voice. "And why do you know my name?"
"My name is Niklas Schulz," the man replied. "I was investigating your disappearance for some time—but wait, how the hell did you get here? How do you know about this place?"
Lars took a step back without lowering the gun. That name… he had heard it before.
"What do you mean you were looking for me?" Lars asked, deliberately avoiding the last question.
"I'm a forensic detective," Niklas continued. "Your mother, Melissa, went to the police. She reported your disappearance… and your daughter's."
The words hit like a blunt blow.
Too much information crashed into Lars all at once. The horror of the place, the children locked away, and now this. His breathing became uneven again.
"Then what is a detective doing in a place like this?" Lars asked at last.
"I'm undercover," Niklas replied. "And it's not a good idea for us to stay here much longer. I won't ask how you survived—and from what I can see, you want to help these kids. If you want to help me, I need you to do something."
Niklas lowered his voice.
"When I came in, they took everything from me. Luckily, I brought a burner phone. I can't leave until they trust me, and I haven't been able to contact anyone outside for almost two weeks."
"And you didn't tell your station?" Lars asked. "Didn't you say where you were going undercover?"
"I did," Niklas said. "But I can't get out without proof. Without something solid. The police can't come in here without a warrant… unless there's certainty that serious crimes are being committed."
Niklas glanced toward the cells.
"Take photos of everything," he said. "The cells. The children. This place. Then send them to this email: [email protected]. In the subject line, write: Niklas Schulz Case."
Lars looked into the cells. "What do you mean, take photos? I should get them out of here. Now."
Niklas looked at him seriously. "Don't be an idiot. Think clearly. I know this is overwhelming—I struggle to process it myself—but how are you going to get all these kids out without being noticed?"
"Somehow," Lars replied. "But I will."
"Damn it, if they see you, you won't just put yourself at risk—you'll put all the children at risk," Niklas said. "These sons of bitches won't hesitate to shoot. Now take the photos and don't make this worse. I promise you, if you do what I'm telling you, this will end soon."
Lars didn't know why, but he felt he could trust him. There was something in his voice, in the way he spoke—something real. Too real to be a lie.
He holstered the gun.
Took out his phone and wrote down the email address Niklas had given him.
He began photographing every cell, every set of bars, every face. Meanwhile, Niklas moved toward the stairs, keeping watch, making sure no one came down.
The children watched in silence.
For the first time in a long while, someone was truly seeing them.
Lars finished taking the photos. He put his phone away and picked up the mask from the floor, then approached Niklas.
"It's done," he whispered. "I'll send them when I reach a safe place."
Niklas didn't stop watching the top of the stairs.
"Good," he said. "Now it's time for you to leave. It's almost dawn, and everyone here wakes up early."
Before moving, Lars looked one last time at the cells.
The small faces were still there, watching him in silence. He felt a strange knot tighten in his stomach—a mix of rage, helplessness, and guilt. The worst part wasn't just seeing them… it was knowing he couldn't do anything right now.
He clenched his teeth.
Niklas turned around.
"Come on," he said. "Let's move. Quickly."
They started up the stairs, their footsteps barely audible.
"Niklas," Lars whispered. "Is Von Hohenwald involved in all this?"
Niklas looked at him, startled.
"Lars… it's very strange that you know all this," he replied quietly. "Why are you here? I don't understand any of this."
Lars didn't answer.
Niklas glanced at him from the corner of his eye and noticed the tension in his face, the restrained anger.
"Have you seen your mother?" he asked. "Or anyone who knows you?"
"To everyone, I'm already dead," Lars replied. "And it's better that way."
Niklas was about to ask about Jenny. About Lars's daughter. But he stopped himself.
They had reached the upper door.
Before opening it, Niklas turned to him.
"Contact me when you're outside," he said. "We have a lot to talk about. Especially how you're still alive… and why you want to stay disappeared. Don't worry—I won't tell anyone if that's what you want."
Lars stared at him.
"I don't know if that's a good idea."
He put the clown mask back on.
Niklas frowned.
"Why the mask?" he asked. "Are you part of something?"
Lars didn't answer.
Niklas carefully opened the door. Everything was still dark. He peeked into the hallway and watched for a few seconds.
"It's clear."
He signaled Lars.
They moved cautiously through the hallway toward the main door. Just before exiting, Lars stopped.
"What's in that room at the other end of the hall?" he asked. "You didn't answer before."
Niklas grimaced.
"Nothing good," he said. "If you get out of here and do what I asked, you'll see it. This will be on television for sure. Especially with the person involved… though I already suspect you know what they do there."
Niklas looked through one of the windows.
The guard was still at the entrance, talking to the other one.
"That idiot," he muttered. "Never does his rounds, just stands there talking. Alright, let's go. Run straight to the first small house."
"Understood."
They went out.
Lars ran silently. No guard saw him. He reached the house and stopped beside the wall. Niklas arrived behind him, breathing a little harder.
"Damn…" he said. "You're faster than a normal person."
"So how are you getting out of here?" he asked.
"Over the wall," Lars replied. "Well… goodbye."
Without another word, Lars jumped and caught the edge of the roof with his hands. In a single motion, he pulled himself up. Niklas stared at him, eyes wide.
Lars's cape whipped violently in the wind. He pulled up the hood and, without hesitation, jumped again, reaching the top of the wall.
Niklas took a step back, stunned.
"What the fuck…?" he murmured. "How did he jump that high? That makes no sense…"
Lars disappeared on the other side of the wall.
Niklas stood there for a few seconds, staring at the empty space. Then he took a deep breath and went back inside the house, closing the door carefully.
Outside, Lars was already beyond the perimeter.
He moved back into the forest, advancing with extreme caution. He knew guards were still patrolling, and a single mistake could ruin everything.
Dawn was approaching.
And what he had discovered that night could no longer be undone.
A few minutes later, Lars reached the car.
He was safe.
He disabled the car alarm to avoid any unnecessary noise and opened the door carefully. He started the engine immediately; it was barely audible, not enough to draw attention. He was also far enough from the facility.
Before driving off, he removed the mask, the cape, the gun, and the knife. He put everything into the bag and took a deep breath.
Then he drove away.
Throughout the entire trip, the children's faces haunted him. No matter how hard he tried to focus on the road, those eyes remained, burned into his mind.
When he was close to Berlin, he pulled over in front of a small roadside shop. He decided to send the email from there. Even though he planned to do it anonymously, using a VPN to hide his identity and location, he wanted to take every possible precaution.
He took out his phone.
He had already written down the email address Niklas had given him in his notes. He entered it carefully and began uploading the photos, one by one.
He clenched his teeth with each image.
Cells. Bars. Children.
In the subject line, he wrote: Niklas Schulz Case.
Finally, he pressed "send."
Lars let his head fall back against the seat and rested his neck there. He closed his eyes and released a long, deep breath, as if his body was only now allowing him to breathe.
He started the car again and continued toward the palace.
He tried to distract himself by turning on the radio, but it was useless. The music was nothing more than background noise.
Half an hour later, the palace of Dominion rose before him—imposing, silent. The morning sun was already shining.
Lars parked and got out of the car.
He entered the palace.
Everything was calm. A few servants were cleaning. Lars nodded slightly in greeting as he walked through the halls without stopping.
He reached his room.
Opened the door, left the bag on the desk chair, and collapsed onto the bed, face up.
His cheeks were wet.
He covered his face with his hands.
Lars was crying.
He made no sound.
But the weight of everything he had seen that night had finally caught up with him.