The air hung thick with the metallic tang of blood and the acrid scent of burnt ozone. The cavernous garage in Berlin, once a clandestine safehouse, now echoed with the heavy silence of betrayal. Park, her usually impeccable composure shattered, hung limply from a thick steel chain suspended from the rafter, her face a mask of terror and bewilderment. Adler watched, his face a carefully constructed mask of professional detachment, but a flicker of something akin to fear betrayed him.

Bell, his gaze cold and devoid of the warmth Adler had once feigned, stood before them. The man who had been a pawn, a weapon, a ghost of his former self, had finally awakened. The memories, painstakingly erased, had returned in a torrent of rage and sorrow. The betrayal stung more than any physical wound. He'd trusted Adler, seen him as a brother-in-arms from the jungles of Vietnam, a bond forged in shared hardship and bloody sacrifice. A lie. All of it a meticulously crafted lie.

He remembered now: the snatched moments of confusion, the gaps in his memory, the unsettling familiarity with faces he couldn't quite place. The pieces clicked into place, revealing a horrifying truth: Adler and Park, the supposed saviors, the architects of his stolen life. They had erased his memories, reshaped his identity, turned him into a weapon against his own people, using him to hunt the elusive Perseus. And they had done it all under the guise of friendship.

"You used me," Bell said, his voice a low growl, each word dripping with venom. He gestured towards Park, her body swaying gently. "You turned me against everything I held dear. You stole my life, my memories, my wife." His voice cracked slightly, a testament to the emotional turmoil raging beneath the surface. But the tremor quickly disappeared, replaced by a steely resolve.