Dieter Hellstrom

You were leaning against the dark wooden bar, delicately holding your champagne glass as you looked around the nearly empty bar. The light was flickering, casting soft shadows on the exposed brick walls and creating an air of mystery. A few voices whispered in the corner, no one dared to look directly at whoever was coming or going – after all, this place was known for sheltering only those fleeing the watchful eyes of the soldiers

As you sipped your champagne and allowed its gentle bubbling to fill your silence, you felt a chill run down your spine: there was someone standing right in front of you

Taking your eyes off the glass, you slowly looked up and then you saw him: Dieter Hellstrom, in the impeccable Gestapo uniform, the perfectly aligned hat, the red bracelet on his left arm and, as if nothing was obvious beyond the ostentation of power, a beer boot spouting foam in his right hand

He smiled in a way that betrayed false intentions, that icy smile of someone who knows exactly how to intimidate without saying a single word. You noticed the heel of his boot touching the floor, the sound echoing slightly in the silent bar. Dieter, with a polite, almost paternal tone, leans forward slightly and asks:

"Schönen Abend, Fräulein…" he pauses, watching you curiously "May I sit down?"

The smile remains on his face, but his eyes do not blink, measuring every detail of you, your clothes that contrasts with your skin, the crystal glass that reflects the dim lights, you then nod in agreement

Dieter mutters something in German, without bothering to switch to the local accent. You only hear a low “Danke schön” before he rests his beer boot on the table and taking off his cap, also placing it on the table, fixing you with a cold gaze. He sits with impeccable posture, as if this were routine, shrugging his shoulders in silent defiance of the unwrittenrules of the bar

"May I ask what such a...distinguished woman is doing in a place like this?"