Chapter 4 - Descent

The first few seconds were pure freefall, his enhanced senses processing every detail of the plunge with excruciating clarity. Each snowflake burned a brief trajectory across his vision. The wind's howl decomposed into discrete frequencies. Berlin's lights below fragmented like a shattered mirror then reassembled themselves into tactical patterns his altered brain couldn't help but analyze.

He counted. One. Two. Three.

The chute deployment hit like a hammer blow. His augmented muscles absorbed the shock that would have injured a normal man. For a moment, the ETT surge made the world kaleidoscope. He was simultaneously falling through snow and floating in space, his body temperature spiking dangerously close to 108 degrees.

Focus.

The descent steadied. He guided the chute with mechanical precision, compensating for wind patterns his enhanced senses could read in the air currents. The Grunewald's dark canopy rushed up to meet him, tree branches like reaching fingers in the moonlight. His pupils dilated impossibly wide, turning the winter night almost as bright as day. Something was wrong. The cold was affecting him faster than calculated. Despite his burning core temperature, his extremities were already going numb. The compound in his system responded by increasing his metabolism further, turning his body into a furnace that would either keep him alive or cook him from the inside out. The trees were closer now. He could hear the wind in individual branches and track the movement of night animals fleeing his approach. Reality stuttered again. For a split second, he was back in Palestine before the present snapped back into focus with brutal clarity.

Impact.

His enhanced reflexes took over. The landing was textbook perfect but it felt like his bones were vibrating at the wrong frequency. He collapsed the chute with practiced efficiency, every movement precise despite the tremors starting in his hands. Time for another dose but not here. Not yet.

The snow around his feet had already melted in a perfect circle. Steam rose from puddles of melted snow, marking his trail like breadcrumbs. He needed to move. A distant train whistle cut through the night. His brain automatically calculated its distance, speed, and heading. 3.2 kilometres east. Freight train. 47 kilometres per hour. The data flooded in whether he wanted it or not. He oriented himself against the city's glow. The Reich Chancellery was 5.7 kilometres away. The resistance safehouse, 2.1 kilometres. Every step would need to be perfect. In this state, there was no room for error. Moving through the trees now, each motion calculated to minimize sound. His vision kept shifting between normal and enhanced, the forest alternating between darkness and unnatural clarity. The Erythrotestropin was trying to stabilize, but the cold was fighting it. Behind him, the Beaufighter's engines were already fading into the distance. No going back now. Just him, the ETT burning through his veins, and a city full of enemies ahead.

Time to hunt.

The Grunewald's winter silence shattered under his enhanced senses. Every snapped twig was a gunshot, every animal's heartbeat a drum. He moved like a ghost between the trees but his internal furnace left betraying signs. Patches of melted snow. Steam rising from bark where his hand had briefly touched. A patrol passed two hundred meters to his left. His altered hearing picked up their conversation, grumbling tones and irritated gestures telling him all he needed to know about their enthusiasm, or lack thereof, for their current shift in this weather. He didn't need to understand German to recognize the universal language of disgruntled soldiers on guard duty.

He froze, becoming part of the darkness. His pulse thundered in his ears, the compound pushing his system too hard against the cold. The maintenance dose in his breast pocket felt like it was burning through the fabric. Not yet. The safehouse first. The city grew closer. Through gaps in the trees, he caught glimpses of Berlin's western suburbs. His vision zoomed and shifted without his control, picking out details: a Wehrmacht staff car parked at a corner, frost patterns on windows, a cat slinking along a garden wall. Too much information, all of it demanding analysis. The tremors in his hands were getting worse. Temperature differential between his core and extremities was approaching critical levels. The ETT had turned his body into a weapon, but weapons could misfire.

A gap in the forest ahead. He paused, scanning. The safehouse would be in the transition zone between trees and buildings, a small groundskeeper's cottage that had been abandoned early in the war. The resistance had chosen well as it straddled the boundary between city and forest. Between civilization and wilderness, just as he now straddled the boundary between human and something else. There. A structure hunched against the treeline. His vision shifted again and he quietly sniffed the air, analysing heat signatures. One person inside. Normal body temperature. Human.

He approached from the darkest angle, moving in short bursts between patches of shadow. The snow beneath his feet turned to slush with each step. Thirty meters. Twenty. Ten.

A coded knock would identify him, but Moore's words echoed in his memory: "They'll recognize you by your body temperature."

He was running hot enough that anyone inside would feel the heat radiating through the walls before he even reached the door. Five meters now. His enhanced hearing picked up movement inside - someone moving away from the door, the metallic click of what could only be a weapon being readied. The tremors were getting harder to control. He needed that maintenance dose soon. Very soon.

Time to make contact.

The safehouse door looked ancient, its wood warped by countless Berlin winters. His heightened vision caught every detail - the rust patterns on the hinges, microscopic scratches around the lock, a loose splinter that could give away if someone had entered recently. Standing this close, his radiating heat had already started melting the frost on the doorframe. His hand hovered over the wood. Three quick taps, pause, two slow. The recognition sequence they'd drilled into him during briefing. Inside, he heard the occupant's breathing change. A sharp intake then deliberate control. Professional. Trained.

A voice barely above a whisper ordered, "Step back three paces."

He complied. The door opened a crack, and he felt a rush of warmer air from inside. Even in the darkness, he could sense the woman's sudden tension as the wave of heat from his body met her.

"They said you'd be..." she whispered before letting the sentence trail off, "Get in. Quickly."

The tremors were getting worse. As he stepped inside, he had to steady himself against the doorframe, leaving a damp handprint on the wood that began to steam in the cold air. His hand moved to his breast pocket, where the maintenance doses from England's case were secured. Six left - more than enough to complete the mission if everything went according to plan.

"You'll want to take that soon," she stated, watching him with practiced assessment. "They briefed me about your condition. I'll check the perimeter while you do what you need to do."

There was a flicker in her eyes, a mix of awe and concern, perhaps reflecting the same turmoil he felt inside. Auerbach. Her name came to him, a piece of the puzzle in this shadowy game. She moved to the window, her focus outside, yet her presence felt oddly comforting.

He withdrew one of the small vials from his breast pocket. Even through his gloves, he could feel it was warm - his elevated body temperature had been keeping the compound at the precise 37.2 degrees required for stability. At least something was working in his favour.

The fog in his mind seemed to thicken as he prepared the injection, the reality of his mission muddled by the physical sensation of his body betraying him. The needle gleamed in the dim light as he prepared it with mechanical precision, movements rehearsed countless times. The compound entered his bloodstream like liquid fire. He clenched his jaw, refusing to make a sound as the familiar cascade of sensations washed over him. First the burn, then the clarity, then the momentary sensory overload as his enhanced capabilities reset themselves. Colours shifted. Sounds sharpened, then dulled to normal levels. His pulse steadied at 85 beats per minute - optimal operational rhythm. The tremors subsided.

Five doses left.

He secured the empty vial in a special compartment - Standard Operating Procedure: leave no trace of the compound behind. As his system stabilized, he began processing the safehouse with renewed clarity. One room. Sparse furniture. Multiple exit points. A false panel in the floor, barely detectable but obvious to his enhanced vision. Emergency escape route.

"Better?" Auerbach asked, her voice carrying a note of genuine concern as she turned from the window.

"Better," he confirmed, his voice steadier now. The maintenance dose had brought his temperature down to more manageable levels, though he could still feel the heat radiating from his core.

She gave him a proper look now, her eyes scanning him with tactical assessment. Mid-thirties, short dark hair, a thin scar along her jawline. "They said you'd be... different. I'm Auerbach. Your contact for the next phase."

He nodded, already scanning the room more thoroughly. Three exits - door, window, and the concealed tunnel beneath the false floorboard. A civilian might have mistaken the space for abandoned, but he noted the subtle signs of occupation: recently disturbed dust patterns, slight wear marks on the floorboards indicating regular patrol routes, the faint odour of gun oil.

"The package?" he asked.

Auerbach moved to a seemingly solid section of wall, pressing in a sequence that revealed a narrow compartment. "Maps, documentation, and the security rotations for the facility. Memorize them quickly. We'll need to destroy them afterward." She paused, looking at him with something akin to empathy. "They also said you'd need somewhere to... cool down before the infiltration tomorrow night."

The basement. He could feel the cooler air seeping up through the floorboards. They'd thought of everything. She lifted the panel with practiced ease, revealing narrow stairs descending into darkness. A rush of cool air hit him, and his body instinctively moved toward it. The compound had made him into a living furnace, and even with the maintenance dose, his system craved the cold.

"Twelve hours," Auerbach said, handing him the package. "That's your window to memorize everything and get your temperature down to acceptable levels. The facility's thermal sensors aren't as sophisticated as newer models, but they'll still pick up anything above 38 degrees."

He took the package, noting how the paper felt fragile against his still-too-warm fingers. "And my extraction point?"

"That's in there too. But first..." She gestured to the stairs, "Cool down. I'll keep watch up here. Three taps on the floor means trouble. Two means all clear for your hourly check-in."

As he descended the stairs, the fog in his mind seemed to lift slightly with the cool air. Yet, each step took him further from the man he once was, into the unknown territory of what he was becoming. The mission, his duty, the potential to save lives. All felt like distant lights through the fog, guiding him but never fully in reach.