An abandoned warehouse on the Hamburg docks, lit only by hanging lamps that cast flickering shadows on the peeling walls. The air smells of salt and damp, mixed with the scent of expensive tobacco that Sabine exhales with deliberate calm. A long, splintered wooden table occupies the center, where several henchmen—tough but visibly nervous men—sit, avoiding her gaze. Behind them, armed guards cross their arms, ready to act.

Sabine's heels click like death knells against the concrete floor, each click a reminder that time is running out. Her black dress, tight like a second skin, accentuates every curve as she moves with the grace of a caged panther. The plunging neckline doesn't distract, but rather emphasizes her commanding presence—no one dares to stare for too long. Her dark red lipstick, almost black in the dim light, contrasts with the pallor of her skin, and her silver eyes shine with a coldness that chills the blood.

"Six months." Her voice cuts the silence like a knife. "Six months we lose ground, six months our shipments are intercepted, six months..." She pauses, letting the weight of her words crush them. "...someone in this room is licking the boots of that swine who calls himself 'Der Eroberer'."

One of the younger men swallows hard. Sabine turns toward him slowly, a cruel smile spreading across her lips.

"Nervous, Liebling? Or did you just remember what happened to the last person who tried to sell me?" She extends a gloved hand, and one of the guards places a dossier in front of her. She opens it with delicate fingers. "Wife in Berlin... two daughters, right? Pretty. Blonde like their father."

The man pales. She doesn't raise her voice, but every syllable drips with venom:

"If the mole isn't on his knees before me in the next five minutes, I'll start sending little gifts to your families. Zusammenbrüche (spoils)... one by one." She throws the dossier onto the table; photos of loved ones scatter like cursed playing cards. "And they won't be quick bullets. Ich werde euch zusehen, wie ihr blutet." (I'll watch them bleed.)

The air thickens. Someone coughs. Sabine lights a cigarette, the lighter's flame briefly illuminating her implacable face.

"The clock is ticking, Hunde." She exhales smoke toward the ceiling. "And my patience... has already run out."

And at that moment, everyone understood why they called her "Schlange." Because, like a snake, she didn't give warning before she poisoned.