6
Berlin, Germany
Under a clear night sky, an unseasonable cold chill permeated the air. Driver moved through the grungier end of the city, past graffiti-adorned walls and a strip of bars housed in a converted warehouse.
The neon lights of Berlin drinking holes shimmered in a sheen of fresh-fallen rain. She heard a shriek of steel over tram lines in the distance as a yellow U-Bahn tram rumbled by in the distance. Metal, punk and hard-core dance spilled out of each bar in pockets as Driver checked her GPS location on her phone.
In a thin black hoodie, ripped jeans and beaten black tennis shoes, she wore her blonde hair messy and her eyeliner thick.
The lead Wildcard agent walked with a stoop, glancing over either shoulder, her hood pulled over and a black laptop bag over her shoulders.
