The train to Essen groaned like an exhausted beast as it crawled across the German countryside. Through the soot-stained window, Rā'id watched the land roll by — endless factories, smokestacks that pierced the gray sky, and columns of soldiers marching like clockwork.
Germany no longer felt like a country; it was a machine. A single, monstrous organism made of steel, smoke, and obedience.
He sat quietly in the corner of the carriage, dressed as a mechanic from the Krupp arms division. His forged papers were perfect — courtesy of Soviet intelligence — but he knew papers wouldn't save him if someone looked too closely. Not in Himmler's Germany.
Two Gestapo officers entered the carriage halfway to Dortmund. Their boots struck the floor like hammers. They moved down the aisle, checking documents with mechanical precision. Rā'id didn't flinch. He kept reading the maintenance manual in his lap, pretending to be bored.
When his turn came, one of them asked in clipped German,
"Purpose of travel?"
"Inspection of turbine cores at Essen factory nine," Rā'id said flatly, handing over his documents.
The officer scanned them, then looked him in the eyes — too long, too sharp. Rā'id's heart slowed; fear was the enemy.
The officer finally returned the papers. "You're far from your family, engineer."
"I have no family," Rā'id said.
The officer smirked. "Good. The Führer is all the family a man needs."
The two men moved on. Rā'id exhaled silently, his pulse returning to normal.
He looked out the window again, watching the distant glow of factories — sparks rising to the heavens like dying souls.
By nightfall, he arrived in Essen.
The city was a cathedral of industry. Massive furnaces illuminated the skyline, belching pillars of flame that turned the air into molten gold. The hum of machinery was constant — deep, rhythmic, almost alive.
He made his way to the workers' quarters, where men slept in barracks that smelled of oil and despair. The SS controlled every entrance, every exit. But the Soviets had contacts even here — ghosts hidden among the gears.
At midnight, Rā'id slipped into the boiler tunnels beneath the main foundry. The heat was unbearable. Sweat poured down his back as he moved through the labyrinth of pipes and shadows.
A faint whistle came from ahead — three short notes, then two long. The signal.
From the dark stepped a woman in a mechanic's uniform, her face smudged with soot. She couldn't have been older than thirty, but her eyes carried the weight of ten wars.
"You're late," she whispered. "They increased patrols since the last explosion."
"I was held up by your friends from the Gestapo," Rā'id said quietly. "Are you the contact?"
She nodded. "Elise Bauer. Engineer for the prototype division. You're here for the Fireheart, aren't you?"
Rā'id frowned. "You know about it?"
"I built part of it," she said bitterly. "Against my will. The project isn't just a weapon. It's a curse. They're using forced labor, captured scientists, even… children."
He clenched his jaw. "Where is it being developed?"
"In the core chamber — forty meters below the foundry. Heavily guarded. Radiation shielding, magnetic locks. You'll never get in alone."
Rā'id's expression hardened. "Then I won't go in alone."
By the next evening, they had a plan.
Rā'id would infiltrate the Fireheart facility during the scheduled maintenance shift. Elise would disable the security field for three minutes — no more. Inside, he had to retrieve the final blueprint and a vial of the test compound: the "Fireseed."
Failure meant death. Success meant proof that could shake the world.
Before they parted, Elise looked at him. "Why risk this for Moscow? You're not even Russian."
He paused, looking at the burning skyline.
"I've seen what happens when evil becomes efficient. My homeland was carved by tyrants — Ottoman, British, now others. Maybe I can't save it, but I can make sure no empire like this one survives long enough to burn another generation."
For the first time, Elise smiled. "Then may God help you, Rā'id Khaled."
The next day, he descended into the bowels of the foundry.
The air grew hotter. Red light pulsed through the steel corridors.
He passed through the main turbine hall — hundreds of men working like insects beneath monstrous engines. Every sound was thunder: pistons, gears, and the screams of molten metal.
Elise's signal came through the earpiece. "Security field disabled. You have three minutes."
He moved quickly. Two guards blocked the access tunnel — he dispatched them silently, one chokehold, one knife. The door to the Fireheart chamber loomed before him — massive, reinforced, marked with runes of warning and the swastika.
He keyed in the stolen code. The lock hissed.
Inside, the room was like the belly of a sun.
A circular reactor glowed in the center — a sphere of liquid fire suspended in electromagnetic fields. It pulsed and twisted, its color shifting from gold to crimson to violet. The hum wasn't mechanical — it was alive.
Rā'id approached the control console, slipping the microfilm cartridge into his recorder.
Data streamed across the tiny screen: Thermal ignition potential 2.8 gigajoules… atmospheric plasma chain viability 12%…
He whispered, "This isn't a bomb. It's a star in a cage."
Suddenly, a voice echoed behind him.
"Beautiful, isn't it?"
He turned. An SS officer stood by the doorway — tall, skeletal, eyes burning with fanaticism. The insignia on his collar read: Oberführer Reinhard Weiss.
"I knew someone would come for it," Weiss said softly. "Every empire sends its thief eventually. But this creation… it belongs to the Reich alone."
Rā'id aimed his pistol. "Step aside."
Weiss smiled. "You think bullets can kill a man who's seen the heart of God?"
He pressed a button on his wrist console. The containment field flickered. Alarms wailed. The sphere flared violently, casting demonic light across the walls.
Rā'id fired twice. Weiss fell — but not before the reactor began to destabilize. The hum became a roar. The floor trembled.
"Elise!" Rā'id shouted into the comm. "Containment breach! Get everyone out!"
Her voice crackled with panic. "You have to shut it down manually! Override valve in the core!"
He dashed across the chamber, heat searing his skin. He reached the valve, turned it with both hands — the pressure screamed, the light exploded —
And then silence.
The Fireheart dimmed, shrinking back into its metallic womb. Smoke filled the air. Rā'id collapsed, coughing, the world spinning.
"Elise," he gasped. "It's done."
Her voice came weakly. "You saved the city… but you just made yourself the most wanted man in Germany."
He smiled faintly through the blood on his lips. "Wouldn't be the first time."
That night, Rā'id and Elise escaped through the drainage tunnels, carrying the microfilm and the Fireseed vial.
Behind them, the Reich roared in anger — its machine wounded, its gods defied.
In the distance, Soviet radios crackled with coded triumph.
For the first time in months, Moscow had proof: Germany was creating something worse than death.
And in Berlin, Himmler stared at the reports in silence before whispering:
"If the Soviets want to play with fire… we shall show them hell."