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*The look of easy victory on Fritz’s face faltered. He hadn’t expected me to actually get up. He took a frightened step back, then remembered we were on top of a cable car. He did the German Look over his shoulder to get his bearings, planted his feet again, and drew his dagger. With his other hand, he picked up the suitcase with the bomb in it. He wasn’t just going to let me kick it off the roof. If I wanted to throw it over the side, I was going to have to take it from him.

Fine. Then that’s what I would do.

The tram rumbled onto another one of the support pylons, and I used that moment to charge him.* I tackled Fritz over with full force, slamming his body onto the roof of the cable car with a loud rattle. Immediately, a dagger swiped inches away from my face. I retaliated by digging my fingernails into his wrist hard, trying to pry the suitcase from Fritz's hand. He had a stubborn grip, refusing to let go of the suitcase with all his might. I let my nails burn deeper into his skin. I had to do whatever it takes to get him to let go of that suitcase before it was too late.

Fritz doubled down and whimpered in pain. To my advantage, it was working. Fritz's grip was slowly faltering, and I took the opportunity to quickly kick the suitcase far away from both of us. Unfortunately, it didn't fall off, but it was no longer within Fritz's reach.

"Get off of me!" Fritz growled and cursed, thrashing wildly underneath me. "You traitor, I shouldn't have saved you!" He tried to kick his way out, but he wasn't capable of overwhelming me. He learnt everything from me to begin with. My grip tightened around his wrists, and Fritz groaned in frustration. I could hear my heart pounding like a storm in adrenaline, and my ears were ringing loudly. My body ached in exhaustion. I was at my limit, and so was Fritz.

As a last resort, Fritz jerked his head forward and bit my arm hard. I tensed in pain for a moment. Then I quickly elbowed Fritz in the chest, and his dagger slipped from his hand. I’d had enough. I had to get this over with quickly. I stood up and grabbed Fritz by his navy collar and dragged him to the edge of the cable car roof. His dishevelled blonde hair swayed in a sudden gust of wind. He stood at the very edge, just able to secure his footing. Fritz was too weak to fight back. He looked exhausted, ready to collapse at any moment. But he didn’t surrender. He refused.

I held my dagger closer to Fritz, pointing it towards him as a threat. I haven't felt this furious and filled with heart-pounding adrenaline in quite some time, and I was trying my best to fight the nausea I was feeling from being this high up. My body struggled to process handling the daunting anxiety and adrenaline at the same time. I tried to recall anything to calm me down, but I couldn't. Not when I was so livid.

 "I won't hesitate to drop you from this cable car," I said through shaky breaths. Fritz looked at me in horror, as if he couldn't recognize me with such cruelty in my voice, and I couldn't either. Fritz was a bloody mess again; his nose was bleeding, his lip was cut pretty badly, and one of his eyes was partially bloodshot from all the punches I delivered. Not to say I wasn't any better looking, I was pretty sure he left my shoulder raw from the teeth he penetrated through with my uniform earlier. The cold air breezed past us, but I kept my ground. Fritz cursed under his breath. "This is how you repay me after I saved you?"

 "We're enemies now, right? Then so be it." I shot back, gritting my teeth and staring at him. There was no ounce of remorse found. I meant what I said; this wasn't a game of playing pretend. This was real. Fritz was too far down the rabbit hole; he couldn't be redeemed. So what if he was a kid? He was just as ruthless as a regular Nazi; he was no better than them. The stupidly innocent Fritz I once knew, with a knack for following me around like a puppy, was long gone. It was buried along with the other things he threw away of himself. I felt a pang of sorrow thinking about his transformation, but ignored it. He was Quex now. There was no point in reminiscing. It was already too late.

Fritz hesitated to say anything, but he swallowed thickly nonetheless. He brought my hand with the dagger close to his neck, shakily pressing the tip of the blade onto his delicate skin. Droplets of bright crimson emerged from the small cut. Then, he smiled hysterically.

"If you want to get rid of me so bad, then do it. I'll die in honour of Germany." He licked the blood off his swollen cut lip. "Drop me, if you dare, but you're going down with me. Both of us." Fritz eyed the suitcase that was inches from us. I looked at the suitcase as well in fear. How many seconds were left until it exploded? My stomach dropped at the realization. I was too focused on separating Fritz from the main mission.

"Sieg Heil!" Fritz confidently yelled, as if he wanted that sentence to be his final words before blowing our guts out.

No, no, no, no. I panicked. Realizing how little time I had left, I quickly hit Fritz in the neck sideways a little harder than intended, knocking him out cold. I wasted no time in placing Fritz's body down and rushing towards the suitcase like my life depended on it. I kicked the heavy suitcase with all my force, and it tumbled harmlessly into the vast emptiness. I was gasping for air, questioning what would happen next.

It didn't go off. I suddenly felt doubtful about the suitcase. Was I too late? Why didn't it go off? There had to be a bomb in it, I was sure. Just then, a distant THOOM was heard below me. I breathed a sigh of relief. I was right. Of course there was something; the suitcase was heavy for a reason. My relief was immediately replaced with surprise when I felt shock waves so strong I could feel them vibrate the cable car. I peered over to my side, avoiding looking down. It sounded like thunder in the distance. To my surprise and absolute horror, it wasn't a storm. It was something far worse and deadlier.

The explosion had triggered an avalanche.

I cautiously slipped my way back into the cable car's window and nearly stepped on Fritz's limp body. I shivered from my soiled uniform and the sight of him. What was I thinking? Bringing him in here was a stupid mistake. I should've left him to rot and let the avalanche sweep him away. There would be no witnesses, anyway. Now, he was inches away from Professor Goldsmit, the target he desperately tried to assassinate. For a moment, I intrusively thought about throwing his unconscious body out the window to get it over with, but I shook off the thought immediately. Fritz was still alive, and I could see his chest rising and falling. I couldn't. After dusting off the remaining bits of ice on my uniform, I finally began processing what happened on the rooftop with Fritz, and my heart sank at the disturbing truth.

I tried to kill Fritz Brendler in cold blood.

 In a state of adrenaline, fear, and violence, I nearly turned into a monster. I stared back at Fritz's body, then back at my shaky hand. What have I done? I usually set up boundaries on how far I'm willing to go, but today I definitely crossed over the line. Badly. Maybe it was because I didn't need to hold back, but it didn't justify anything. I nearly murdered someone. Fritz was crazy, horribly cruel, even. But he was still a kid. My head throbbed as the racing thoughts continued. Even in the midst of duty and survival, I couldn’t bring myself to do it, even at risk of jeopardizing the whole mission. It wasn’t worth it.

Despite discovering my true identity, Fritz had still held onto me. He caught me steadying myself against the vertigo of my acrophobia, and praised me for the effort, like nothing between us had changed. His loyal nature still acted out, even when our friendship was at its worst, and perhaps at its end. Fritz’s reasons for it were crazy, but he still kept me alive. He listened to me when I told him to spare the innocent lives and relocate elsewhere. Underneath that brainwashed exterior, he wasn’t a monster. Fritz was just a kid, and I had proof of it.

I looked at Fritz again and scooped up his body, my cold hands still trembling at my horrifying actions; unsurprisingly, Fritz was light but also unexpectedly strong for his short stature. He was able to hold onto me with a strong grip when I fell. Slowly, I placed him in a seat upright, then I took my dagger and cut up the swastika armband sewn onto one of my sleeves. Not like I would've needed it anymore, my time served at the Hitler Youth and SRD was up.

I carefully took off Fritz's SRD gauget before taking the beaten-up red armband and tying it around Fritz's thin neck, where the cut of my dagger had been. Then, I used my other uncut sleeve to wipe the caked blood off Fritz's battered face. For some odd reason, Fritz looked peaceful while unconscious. There wasn't a trace of malice or cruelty, just a blank, peaceful expression. I secretly hoped Fritz would remain unconscious for the rest of the ride; he was already too much of a problem. When I finished cleaning up his face, I stood up. It wasn't proper medical treatment, but it was all I could do for the time being.

I approached Professor Goldsmit (who was looking at me the whole time) with my dagger, offering it to him in case of an emergency.

"I don't know if he will wake up, but if  he does and he attacks you, don't hesitate to use it, okay?" I told him bluntly. It sounded harsh, but Fritz was hired as some crazy assassin to eliminate him. I couldn't risk any compromises of the mission. Not when I had already completed it.

Professor Goldsmit gave me a hesitant nod in his seat, glancing at the embellishments of the handle, but then he asked me something that caught me off guard. "Why did you save him?"

He had heard everything Fritz and I said on the roof to each other. The cursing, punches, and threats. All of it. My neck burned in embarrassment. "He tried to kill you." Professor Goldsmit said, staring at the back of my bloodied uniform.

 I paused in my steps, and I looked back at him with an unsure expression. "I don't know," I replied stiffly. "I really... don't know." And it was true, why did I save Fritz? Because moments ago, I was on the verge of throwing him off the cable car right then and there, but I didn't. There were no benefits to keeping him here. In fact, there were more negatives than positives. But if I let him die, I’d have to answer for it later on his behalf. As much as I disliked the Hitler Youth, I didn’t want to have their blood on my hands. If I’d done that, I’d be no different from the kind of person the Nazis wanted the next generation to become. It was better to keep an eye on him anyway, within arm's reach. It was risky, sure, but it was better than having him out there against us. Now, I had to deal with him throughout the ride, worried that he might wake up and tackle Professor Goldsmit to death. And what then?

I hesitantly glanced back at Fritz, but he was knocked out cold. I must've hit him harder than I thought, but maybe that was a blessing in disguise; I really didn't want to go through another beat-down with someone too stubborn to call it quits. My arm still ached and throbbed from the blows he’d delivered— my skin felt hot and swollen, every movement sent a sharp jolt up to my shoulder. Ugly bruises were blooming in purples and reds, and the bite mark throbbed under the torn fabric. It made me wince at the sight, but I could tolerate it. Besides, I had other things to do. I sat down with a sigh and readjusted my focus on something that mattered even more than my injuries and Fritz being here.

The blueprints for Projekt 1065.

I felt unsure what to do, and the weight of the situation was beginning to daunt me. I replayed the disaster over and over—should I have seen it coming? Was there a split-second where I could’ve grabbed them, despite my fear, and spared us all this mess? Maybe. Maybe not. The worst part was knowing what losing them meant for everyone else. What it meant for the Allies. I could try to recreate it, but doing it a second time felt impossible. No matter what I chose, someone would pay for my mistake. I just didn’t know who yet.

I could only hope I would be able to salvage the blueprints with what was left of my memory, which I was uncertain if would be possible. There were too many little numbers that I couldn't think about at once. The main reason why I was here was destroyed, torn apart into nothing but tiny speckles in the cold Swiss air. There was nothing to restore the original piece.

I glanced at Goldsmit, who still held onto my dagger cautiously. He must’ve been frightened with all the assassination attempts today, and I couldn’t blame him. Fritz had nearly blown us up. I was lucky enough to knock the suitcase over in time. If it were a few seconds too late, then none of us would have been alive. We would’ve been buried underneath the snow, with nobody knowing what happened to us until decades later. By then, Hitler would’ve already conquered the entire world.

“The Nazi’s are trying to conquer the Allies by building a deadly plane,” I confessed to him. “They call it Projekt 1065.” Professor Goldsmit looked up at me, alarmed by the sudden information.

“How long have they been developing this plane for?” He asked, worried about the advantage that was at stake. If the Allies were at risk of a surprise invasion, then there was a chance everything would crumble.

I hesitated to give an answer, “I don’t know, but I had the blueprints.”  Goldsmit’s eyes brightened with hope, but I stopped him short—I couldn’t let him believe there was a chance when there wasn’t. “They’re gone. It was destroyed before I even got to hand it over.”

The pang of regret and rising fear were too overwhelming for me to suppress. I should’ve hidden the blueprints in a better spot. How could I have been so careless? Fritz had already seen me holding it. I should’ve just kept it; they didn’t even bother to check if I had anything on me. Stupidly enough, I had let my guard down around Fritz. He saw through me right away— the moment he came to check on me, he recognized the truth. I’d underestimated just how observant he could be, and ironically, I’d made the foolish mistake adults so often do: assuming kids and women are harmless.

Professor Goldsmit gave me a soft look, “You’ve done all you could— more than enough for your age.”

I nodded and turned away in silence. It didn’t feel like I did. In fact, it seemed like the opposite. I felt hopeless, thinking Simon's death was in vain. He sacrificed his life for those blueprints, and now they’re gone. He died for nothing. I quickly corrected myself. No, it wasn't. He was the reason why I was here in the first place. The reason why Professor Goldsmit was still alive, and not blown to bits. The person who taught me how to sharpen my memory for this mission. The Allies still had a chance, and Simon was counting on me to ensure that we didn't lose that advantage.

*"A good man died to save you," I said to Goldsmit, startling him. My voice sounded harder than I’d meant it to, like an accusation.

“I didn’t ask him to,” Goldsmit said defensively.

“Well, he did, whether you wanted him to or not.”

“I—I'm sorry,” Goldsmit said.

“Don’t be sorry,” I told him. “Just ... make that bomb. Save the world. Do something that makes your life worth saving.”

Goldsmit took off his glasses, cleaned them with his handkerchief, and put them back on. “I’ll do my best,” he said.*

We sat there in silence as I looked at the window, patiently waiting for our never-ending cable car ride. The world stretched out beneath me in an endless sweep of wilderness. Sunlight shimmered in the snow, sending sharp flashes into my eyes. I narrowed my eyes, turning my face away from the glare.

Suddenly, a shuffle came from someone across from my seat. I panicked, unsure of what to do. I watched as Fritz slowly regained his consciousness, and yet, he didn't move. Not even an inch. I saw his pale eyes dart around the inside of the cable car lazily, as if he was processing his surroundings. I simply stared at him, worried about his reaction. Was he going to attack?  Do I have to beat him unconscious again? Anxious thoughts tangled in my head, but I forced them aside. Fritz saw Professor Goldsmit sitting a few seats away from him, holding my dagger cautiously, worried about what Fritz might do. I stood up protectively, blocking Goldsmit from Fritz's view. But he didn't do anything. He just sat there, blank and unexpressive, like a statue.

 Our eyes locked onto each other. Then, as if something registered in his brain, he recognized my face— and his facial expressions immediately turned sour. He squinted at me gingerly as he began to piece things together on how he ended up here, and not splattered onto the ground 8,422 feet below us. Fritz tugged hard at the armband tied around his neck, but it wouldn't budge. He stared at the cut-up sleeve of my uniform. My arm was exposed with bruises, scratches, cuts, and a swollen, arched-shaped mark imprinted on my raw skin. They weren't treated, but his were. Unprofessionally, at least. I stared back at Fritz, anticipating a response from him.

"You don't get my thanks," He spat out bitterly. I didn't say anything; I knew that I didn't deserve to hear those words come from his mouth. But he was no saint either. Especially not after what he'd attempted to do moments earlier.

 I kept the thought to myself while Fritz sat there quietly, looking at the ground with that blank expression of his again. He seemed zoned out, as if he was processing something heavy. Fritz tightly pressed his lips together. I was confused at first, until I heard a sniffle from him, and then another. He began to breathe heavily, each gasp being strained than the last. He looked up at me with glassy eyes. And that’s when it hit me.

Fritz was... crying?

"Oh dear," Professor Goldsmit mumbled.

"You're such a horrible person, Michael," Fritz muttered,"...throwing me off the cable car like that." He spoke in between shaky words. Tears rolled down his chin with a thin trickle coming from his nose. I've never seen Fritz cry before, and I certainly didn't expect him to say that, but they struck me like a blow to my chest. It was more painful than him beating me into a bloody mess.

"That hurts, you know? I really thought I was going to die." Fritz continued through hiccuped sobs. "I... I was fully prepared to give up my life, to finally finish doing God's work for the Führer." I mentally cringed as Fritz spat out the usual propaganda at me. I had no idea what to do in this situation. How do you even comfort someone like him? I was unsure if he even deserved comforting, considering what he'd done, but Fritz was clearly hurt. I glanced at Goldsmit, trying to seek out any advice, but all he did was offer a rueful smile. I had to try to explain my reasons to Fritz first, even if it probably wouldn't work.

"You're the one who unsheathed your dagger first," I told him, but it didn't make things any better. "I got defensive after that."

Fritz shot back quickly with a mix of anger, "Who was the one who tackled me? The one who held my wrists down until they bled? The one who pulled me to the brink and threatened me with your dagger?" He pulled the sleeves below one of his arms, revealing angry, bloody crescent-shaped marks. Fritz wiped the tears off his face with his other arm and sniffled a bit. I stared at the caked blood underneath my fingertips; some of it had to be Fritz's.

"You know, Michael. I thought you had changed, that you were going to kill me for your beliefs. I really did. But you didn't," Fritz said with a scoff. "Deep down, I knew you wouldn't throw me off. You're too soft for me. That isn't good. We were taught to think with our blood. He paused for a moment, and then he pointed his finger at me. "Then again, you're also a traitor, so it makes sense you wouldn't."

I stared at Fritz in surprise at his remark. The truth of what he said stung, because I knew he was right. Stupidly enough, he wasn't lying. I just didn't realize it was obvious. A spy like me wasn't supposed to get close to anyone, especially towards people like him, but I had to play the part where I had to pretend. When I stopped treating this mission as a game, things were different. Those times when I started dropping by Fritz's house every day to get a sneak peek at the blueprints, he would always get me to do something with him. From reading his illegal novel collection to training him for our next test. It felt too genuine, to the point where I eventually blurred the lines between acting and being honest with him. Obviously, I wasn't actually a part of the Hitler Youth or the SRD, but I ironically ended up caring for someone there. There was a difference, however. The person I became friends with in that group, the one I cared about, was nowhere to be seen.

"You're not Quex anymore, Fritz," I told him. "We're just boys dressed up in silly uniforms pretending we're adults." I took my SRD gauget off my neck and dropped it uselessly to the floor. All I had now was a navy blue uniform with a torn-up sleeve. Nothing Nazi related was on me.

Fritz stared at me agape, fully offended by what I said and did. After Fritz had adopted the nickname Quex, he's been doing everything he can to live up to that title, as if it were his only source of pride. I should've known something was off the day SS-Obersturmführer Trumbauer complimented Fritz. It was a trap in disguise, meant to further devolve him in his crazy obsession with swastikas. And it worked. Fritz had become a stranger; the timid boy I once knew was now masked by cold cruelty. He was unpredictable now, and I couldn’t do anything about it. It was SS-Obersturmführer Trumbauer’s fault for bringing a monster like Quex into this. But it was also my fault for training him to be one in the first place.

"The Nazi's have gotten you in a propaganda chokehold," I pointed at my tied swastika armband around Fritz's neck. He really was, metaphorically and literally. Fritz eyed me, but I quickly interrupted him before he could part his lips. "Do you really think it's glorious for you to die for some middle-aged man who spouts racial nonsense?" What a joke. Seeing how fast the opening was to the science team after I had taken out Horst, or how quickly people moved on from Max’s guts being blown out, I wasn’t surprised. All we ever were was expendable to the Nazis. To them, it was all just a twisted game to ensure victory at all costs. Nothing more, or less.

 Fritz had nothing but angry disgust in his reaction to the words I spoke. He clearly didn't understand my point and wasn't willing to. Fritz wasn't backing out of his beliefs, and I shouldn't have believed he would. Sacrificing lives for Germany has always been hammered into his head. To die for your country would be the most honourable thing you could do, and to kill proved that you had the potential to be more. That you had the power over others. Fritz grew up with this logic for years. This is what he was meant to do, what he was born for. Telling him otherwise was equivalent to saying his entire life is a lie.

 I sighed, but continued nonetheless. "You're right. I care, but for completely different people. I cared about Fritz, not Quex."

He raised an eyebrow at me, "What do you mean? This is me. I am Quex, and Quex is me." He blankly said, as if he didn't even need to spare a second to think about his response. Fritz truly believed in leaving a legacy in someone else’s name. That this was his identity. I wanted to facepalm right then and there, but I composed myself.

"Quex isn't you. He was some random guy caught up in the history textbooks." I huffed, "You're Fritz Brendler. It's time you start acting like him."

"Oh, really? Acting is all you do, Michael." Fritz angrily shot back. "It's contradictory to tell me to stop pretending when you're no better." He stood up and unsteadily approached me. I took a step back, keeping distance just in case.

"Speaking of acting, you use it to fool everyone," Fritz said, glancing up at me with his short stature. "I'll admit, you had everyone convinced at first. Including me." He slowly took steps in circles around me. I had no idea what he was trying to do, but Fritz continued to explain.

 "You had that perfect and ideal energy coming off of you. Strong, fluent in multiple languages, and most of all? You weren't a jerk like the others. Or so I thought." He smiled sadly, like he held onto a lingering thought, then scoffed as he pointed at my chest. "All those times I thought we were friends were just an excuse to steal a copy of Projekt 1065."

 "We were," I argued, “Those times we had together training weren’t for nothing.” But it was already too late. Fritz had completely shut me out.

"You can keep playing the act, Michael. But I'm not falling for it this time." He continued, "You never actually cared about me; you cared about the blueprints. That's the Fritz you claim to care about." He spat out bluntly. "Meanwhile, I thought we had something going for us. You always listened and complied with what I wanted to do, and I never understood why until now."

Just then, Fritz suddenly knocked me over with surprising strength, and I almost fell on the ground headfirst, until Fritz's hand caught my back, while he politely held my hand with his free one, like a "true" gentleman. I was awkwardly leaning on a slant, just a few inches from the ground, but Fritz pulled himself further to my face.

"Look, I saved you from the fall!" He exclaimed, referencing the times when he held onto me. "That's what friends do, right? Aren't I such a good person?" Fritz grinned widely, then paused. "...Or, that's what you think. Sorry, but the blueprints come first."

His expression fell flat, the polite act quickly dropped, and he let go of both hands.

I hit the ground with a painful thud, and the cable car slightly rattled from the impact. Professor Goldsmit looked at me with a concerned glance between us, unsure if he should intervene. But a quick glare from Fritz backed him away. It was cowardly, but it was arguably the safest move. We locked eyes in silence.

"...Okay, okay, I get it," I said, rubbing the side of my head where I had been hit. "You're mad at me, and I understand why."

Fritz only exchanged a blank expression. "I'm not mad, I'm hurt. I tipped you over to get back at you." He said, seeming satisfied at my pained expense, which was probably deserved. I treated him horribly. Probably even more than that, words couldn’t describe the things I’ve done. I used him to infiltrate access, and then sabotaged everything. He had every right to beat me up, but he didn’t. Fritz was the kind of person who rarely gets mad, and it was unnerving at times. Especially in moments like this, where you're expecting a punch, but you get nothing from him.

I propped my elbows up from the floor, glancing above at Fritz, who was merely dusting off his uniform. "That doesn't mean I don't hate you, though. You're still an enemy." Fritz paused hesitantly, "But you were an enemy who helped me." He said, picking at the red armband around his neck. "You're really weird for someone who shouldn't be helping me. Not like it matters anyway."

I gave him a confused look as he said that, but Fritz decided to play nice and explain. "I failed my mission because of you, Michael. And it frustrates me, because my target is only inches away from me, but I can't do anything."

Then, it clicked. My stunt at the cable car had knocked some sense into him. Fritz didn't dare to take another step forward because his body physically wouldn't allow him. He was left in some traumatic shock, and some part of him refused to put himself in danger again, because if he did, then who knows? Maybe I would really have to throw Fritz out the window.

"I would rather die a glorious and honourable death, rather than this. But you're crueller than it seems," Fritz said, looming over me. "You kept me alive and let me process everything I had gone through. This is a different kind of agony than death, Michael. It's torture."

"Fritz—" I tried to say, but he interrupted me.

"I was meant to die. I was fully prepared, but you tampered with everything. Now? I can't even move an inch near that scientist, because I had understood everything that was supposed to happen to me."

Fritz didn't admit it, stubbornly enough, but this was his equivalent of saying he was too scared. His body suffered a life-or-death shock experience, and he was physically unwilling to go through that again. Even in his wildest moments, fear lingered beneath the surface. Which is understandable, considering I nearly dropped him right then and there. I was fully committed, and so was Fritz.

“Tell me, Michael,” He said, “How many benefits are you getting from this? What use do I serve this time in your game of pretend?”

Zero. I thought bluntly, but I helped you anyway. My eyes darted to the floor, and I could feel Fritz’s burning gaze lock on me. He knew I had no answer, and as pathetic as it sounded, it was true. I had no reason to save him, and Fritz was fully aware of it. Moments of silence stretched between us, each second becoming tenser than the last, but I kept my mouth shut. Eventually, Fritz came to the realization he wasn’t going to get an answer, and his expression fell flat. He sighed, then crouched down to face me at eye level. I took this as an opportunity to properly sit up from the ground.

Fritz’s hand found my chin and tipped my face toward his, forcing me to look at him, glaring. “You’re not doing this out of kindness.” His voice dropped, “So what is it? Guilt? Pity? Or do you just want me around until I’m useful again?”

I flinched, jaw tight. He saw the look of surprise in my eyes, confirming his suspicions. He had already seen past my act. I wanted to spill the honest truth, but I bit it back from habit. Being truthful about something meant you were caught, and that’s what I feared the most. When you were cornered, you either stayed silent or gave in to the pressure and cracked. I chose to let the silence answer for me, despite it being the less effective option. I didn’t want to say anything. I couldn’t.

Fritz’s patience was thinning, and he wasn’t waiting around for a reply anymore. He looked at me with a wild expression in his eyes and grabbed both of my shoulders, nails digging into my skin. “Say something. Anything. Or I swear—”

I hesitated from the pain, but I spouted the first half-truth that came to mind. “If you died, it would’ve caused too much suspicion—too many things would surface.” The reason sounded hollow, even to me. It was cold, practical, and not entirely true, but it was all I could offer.

Fritz’s lip curled. “That’s it? You kept me alive because it was convenient?” He didn’t buy it, and I could hardly blame him. Fritz paused and released the tension on my shoulders. Then, almost immediately, he tightened his grip again. “As if anyone in that group cares about me.” He harshly said, “Did you forget that this was a suicide mission?”

My throat tightened; the lies were falling short. “I didn’t.”

“Then say it.” He gritted his teeth, “Why did you save me?”

I paused—there was no point in hiding anymore. I felt exposed, like a deer caught in headlights, so I figured I might as well confess.

“I couldn’t bring myself to do it,” I admitted, “To drop you to your death was wrong. You aren’t a monster, and I have proof of it.” Words tumbled out of my mouth, “I just wasn’t thinking right in the moment. If I had let you go right then and there, I would be no better than the people I was against.”

He hummed in satisfaction of my answer, “So it was for preserving your beliefs and dignity,” Fritz said. “I can respect that, but your logic is flawed. I’m worse than you think,” He jabbed at my chest. “You know what your problem is, Michael? You’re soft. I slipped into that rotten little heart of yours, just like a parasite.” He said, “That’s the only reason I’m still breathing. Don’t pretend it’s anything else.”

My eyes dropped to the floor again, shame burning in my chest. The words wouldn’t come— not because I was hiding something, but because I had nothing to offer. I was caught in the spotlight head-on, exposed and vulnerable.

Fritz gave me a bitter scoff at my unresponsive answer. “You wanna know something? I didn’t catch you from that fall because I care. I did it out of respect, unlike you. I thought you were different from the rest of them.” He flicked a finger against my forehead. “ I admired you, you know that? I shouldn’t have, especially when you’re selfish.”

His words hung in the air between us, too heavy to ignore. The silence that followed made everything ache sharper, stretching out the shame until I could barely stand it. For a moment, we just sat there—not saying a word, both of us too stubborn or too afraid to admit what we really felt.

Finally, Fritz broke the tension with a tired sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re hopeless,” he muttered. “How am I supposed to return to Germany empty-handed? There was no glory or honour to my contributions because of you.” His eyebrows furrowed as he glared at me. “One of us is supposed to be dead.”

I swallowed thickly. Fritz had a point. It was either I lived, or he lived. But did it really have to be that way? It all sounded calloused, but again, so was everything we've gone through. Was it soft to spare him, like Fritz said, or considered a sign of pitiful mercy?

"Then lie about it, and say I died," I told him blankly. "When you get back, tell them the mission was a success, and you didn't need to do suicide."

Fritz just stared at me with a tense expression. "You know from experience, haven't you?" He gritted. "There's nothing honourable about not sacrificing yourself."

"But it is honourable to say you killed a traitor within the group," I argued, "Ottmar and Erhad know about my truth, too. They'll believe you."

He seemed convinced about my idea. I knew he’d agree, I thought to myself.  He was someone who chased after glory and legacy, after all. But as Fritz was thinking about the choices, he abruptly pointed fingers at a frightened Goldsmit. "Then what about him? "  

"Sprinkling a few more white lies won't hurt, wouldn't it?" I said without a second thought. "A fish that doesn't open its mouth doesn't get caught."

Fritz looked at me hesitantly, as if he was thinking about taking my advice from someone like me. He uncrouched and stood up, thinking about what I had said. Fritz had a fixed expression on his face as he was stubbornly trying to decide. There wasn't really a choice, though; this was his only option in order to cover up. It was either that, or he actually tries to kill one of us, but it was clear he wasn't capable anymore. He must've come to that realization as well, because after a short while of silence, Fritz offered me his hand. I took it, and he roughly pulled me up from the ground in an unfriendly manner.

"I despise you," he muttered. It seemed like he had to swallow his pride, as he expressed it with a sense of resignation. I stared at him back, but I didn't say anything. There was nothing to argue against; it was understandable. I wasn't necessarily the person who had the cleanest records, despite my age. Of course, Fritz wasn't any better, but I let him have this one. I finally took a proper seat inside the cable car, while Fritz sat purposely on the edge, far away from me and Professor Goldsmit. He had gotten all the answers he needed from me. There's nothing else he has to talk about. We sat there, in tense silence, for the few remaining minutes we had left on the ride.