Chapter 353 - 136: Rift

Chapter 353: Chapter 136: Rift

Mid-May 1986, East Berlin.

Werner sat in the corner of a cafe, a cup of cold coffee in his hands.

Outside the window, pedestrians hurried along the street, many still wearing masks.

Two weeks had passed since the Chernobyl incident, but the panic had not yet subsided.

People were beginning to question the government, questioning the official statements that there was "no immediate threat." 𝘧𝓇ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝘣𝓃ℴ

The cafe was quiet, with only a few other customers.

Werner noticed two middle-aged men at the next table, talking about something in hushed voices.

"I have a friend who works at the meteorological bureau. He said the radiation data has been classified—they’re not allowed to talk about it. But in reality, the radiation levels are terrifyingly high."

"The government is nothing but a bunch of liars," the other man said indignantly. "They had us marching on May Day, telling us there was no danger. Now my son’s thyroid is swollen, and the doctor says it could be from the radiation."

"Did you take him to the hospital?"

"We did. The doctor wouldn’t say anything, just prescribed some medicine. I asked if it was caused by the radiation, but he just hemmed and hawed, finally saying, ’It’s not convenient to discuss that.’ They’re covering it up. My son is only eight. If something really happens to him..."

Werner listened to the conversation, feeling calm.

The Chernobyl incident had completely torn away the last fig leaf between the East German Government and its people.

People had begun to doubt, to get angry, to search for the truth.

Werner finished his coffee, stood up, and left.

**************

One week later, new merchandise appeared in Werner’s Black Market network.

Newspapers, magazines, and banned books from West Germany—even underground pamphlets—began to secretly flow into East Berlin through Werner’s channels.

"Franz, we need to be extra careful with this shipment." Werner was inspecting a box of *Der Spiegel* magazines that had just arrived from West Berlin. "When you distribute them, only sell to people you trust. You can charge a bit more, but we absolutely cannot let the Stasi get on our tail."

"Understood." Franz opened one of the magazines. The cover showed a satellite photo of Chernobyl. "Boss, this stuff is really risky. If we get caught, it’ll be more than just a fine."

"I know," Werner said. "That’s why we have to be careful. But this is business we have to do, because there’s a market for it now."

And a market there certainly was.

After the Chernobyl incident, the East German public’s trust in the state media had fallen to an all-time low.

People wanted to know the truth. They wanted to know how bad the radiation really was, and what exactly the government was hiding.

But the official media just kept repeating empty phrases like "everything is normal" and "no need to panic."

So people turned to the West German media, to the information circulating in the underground.

Werner’s Black Market hubs began secretly selling these "prohibited items."

A single copy of *Der Spiegel* sold for fifty Marks, but people still bought it.

"There’s a detailed report on Chernobyl in here," the Black Market contact said in a low voice. "And a map of the radiation cloud’s path. It’s much worse than the official reports say."

"How much?"

"Fifty Marks."

"That’s too expensive."

"It’s not," the contact said. "Do you have any idea how hard this stuff is to get? You go to prison if you’re caught with it."

The buyer grit his teeth, but still pulled out the money.

After getting the magazine, he clutched it like a priceless treasure, carefully tucking it inside his coat before hurrying away.

************

In early June, Werner received an invitation.

It arrived through a very secretive channel—a slip of paper, tucked inside a banned book he had previously sold, which the buyer had quietly returned.

The note contained only a few simple lines:

"Thank you for your help. We know you are a friend. If you are willing, Thursday at eight P.M., Prenzlauer Berg District, Zion Church basement. Knock three times, say ’a friend of Buer’s’."

Werner looked at the note, realizing it was an invitation from the dissidents.

Zion Church. He knew the place.

It was a hub for the East Berlin underground opposition, which had recently been using the protection of the Church to hold "unofficial" activities.

Reading groups, discussion circles, environmental campaigns—on the surface, they were religious activities, but in reality, they were political gatherings.

Werner burned the note and began to prepare.

*************

「Thursday night. Eight o’clock.」

The streets of the Prenzlauer Berg District were quiet, the streetlights casting a dim, yellow glow.

Werner wore a nondescript jacket and a hat, his head bowed as he walked down the street.

Zion Church was an unassuming building with brick-red walls and a pointed steeple. The main doors were closed, but a small side door led to the basement.

Werner walked up to the small door and knocked three times.

Footsteps echoed from inside before the door opened a crack, revealing a pair of wary eyes staring out at him.

"A friend of Buer’s," Werner said.

The door opened completely. A young man in his twenties stood behind it, dressed in jeans and a plaid shirt, with long hair.

"Please, come in," the young man said, stepping aside.

Werner stepped inside, and the door closed behind him.

The basement was lit by candles, the light dim.

About a dozen people were there, sitting on chairs or on the floor. They ranged in age from their twenties to their fifties.

There were young people who looked like students, intellectuals with glasses, and a few middle-aged men who looked like workers.

All eyes were focused on Werner.

"Welcome." A man in his forties stood up and extended his hand. "I’m Thomas."

"Werner." Werner shook his hand.

Thomas Klein. Werner recognized the name.

One of the core figures of the East German underground opposition. A writer who had been imprisoned for two years for publishing "reactionary articles." After his release, he remained active, organizing reading groups and distributing underground publications.

"Please, sit." Thomas pointed to a chair. "We were just discussing Chernobyl."

Werner sat down and looked around. He saw wariness in their eyes, but also curiosity.

"Mr. Werner," a young woman with glasses began, "we know you’ve helped a lot of people. During the Chernobyl incident, you gave out iodine tablets for free and sold protective gear at fair prices."

"It was nothing," Werner said.

"It was more than nothing," Thomas said. "You also deal in newspapers and banned books from West Germany. Those things allow us to learn the truth."

"I’m just doing business," Werner said.

"We know." Thomas smiled. "But in East Germany, some business is a political stance in itself. The fact that you’re willing to take the risk to deal in these things shows that, at the very least, you don’t stand with the government."

Werner didn’t deny it, merely nodding.

"We asked you here today to thank you in person," Thomas said. "And also to ask for your thoughts on the current situation."

"What situation?"

"The situation after Chernobyl," Thomas said. "The government’s cover-up, the people’s anger, the divisions in society. What do you think will happen next?"

Werner was silent for a moment before speaking slowly. "It’s going to get worse."

The room fell silent. Everyone was listening.

"Chernobyl wasn’t just a nuclear accident," Werner said. "It’s a mirror that reflects the true nature of this system. To save face politically, the government is willing to hide the truth, expose its people to danger, and sacrifice the health of its children. Once something like that happens, trust can never be regained."

"So you think the people will resist?" the young woman asked.

"Not necessarily right away," Werner said. "But the cracks have already appeared, and they will only get wider. People are starting to doubt, to search for the truth, to wonder what’s really wrong with this country. Those thoughts will slowly build up until, eventually, they erupt."

"Erupt?" Thomas stared at him. "Are you talking about a revolution?"

"I don’t know what form it will take," Werner said. "But change will come. Maybe in three years, maybe in five, but it will definitely come."

The people in the room looked at one another, their eyes filled with a mixture of excitement and fear.

"If change really does come," a young man suddenly spoke up, "which side will you be on?"