“We do. I want to be the first German one,” Martin adds with no small amount of pride. It isn’t a stupid idea, no matter what Otto might say, and he’s determined to see it through. If he isn’t an Olympic medalist or a soldier first. And even then, what’s to stop him from one day being all three? He’s obviously already a spy.

At the door to the apartment he pulls out the key, fumbling a bit with the unfamiliar lock, but overall still (hopefully) maintaining an air of maturity. This is his future home after all and he ushers Illya in grandly, eager to show it off. There isn’t much to see really -a few small rooms, basic furniture, framed and faded art prints on the walls that look like they likely came from a secondhand shop, and a battered stereo that looks like it was abandoned on a curb- but there’s a refrigerator and a telephone and it’s all his.

“There is a closet there where you can put your things. Are you hungry? There is food too.”