Andrea became a warning.
Not hunted.
Not chased.
Avoided.
People crossed the street when they saw her coming. Shop doors locked quietly. Phones lifted from behind windows, hands shaking just enough to blur the photos. No one yelled her name. No one dared.
Berlin learned fast.
She doesn't talk. She doesn't smile. She doesn't explain.
Some called her a monster.
People whispered her name like it could hear them.
Some were afraid.
Some were obsessed.
Others called her a survivor.
A few — the worst ones — called her icon.
Graffiti appeared near train stations.
SHE WALKED AWAY.
COBRA KAI NEVER DIES.
Andrea ignored it all.
She was everywhere and nowhere — grainy photos on phones, long-lens shots from rooftops, headlines written like warnings instead of news.
There were fan pages. Edits. Slow-motion clips of her walking through rain, blood on her knuckles, eyes dead and calm. People argued whether she was a villain or a survivor.
Andrea didn't care.
She walked. She existed. She let them look.
Paparazzi never came close.
They didn't ask questions.
They didn't shout.
They photographed her like wildlife — from behind cars, behind glass, behind fear.
THE COLLATERAL DAMAGE
Tom Kaulitz found out on a Tuesday morning.
His name trended before he even woke up.
They screamed.
ROCK STAR LINKED TO COBRA KAI SURVIVOR
EX-BOYFRIEND OF ANDREA JOHNSON — COMPLICIT?
DID HE KNOW? DID HE HELP?
Andrea laughing — rare.
Andrea bleeding — common.
Tom's hand on her waist.
Venues started "postponing."
Sponsors started "reconsidering."
Someone said on live TV:"God knows if Tom Kaulitz isn't Cobra Kai too."
That sentence almost ended his career.
Bill smashed a glass in the kitchen.
Georg went quiet — the dangerous kind.
Gustav stared at the floor like he was counting mistakes.
Tom said nothing.
He just put on his jacket.
THE STREETS
Andrea stood near a closed tram station, hood up, cigarette untouched between her fingers. She wasn't hiding. She never did.
She felt them before she saw them.
Bill first.
Then Georg.
Then Gustav.
Then Tom.
Her eyes lifted — calm, unreadable.
"Don't," she said softly.
Tom didn't answer.
Something hit the back of her head — fast, precise. She didn't even have time to turn.
Darkness took her mid-breath.
THE BASEMENT
Andrea woke up chained.
Not metaphorically.
Cold concrete. Exposed brick. A single light swinging overhead.
Her wrists were bound — professional restraints, not panic-bought rope.
She tested them once.
Didn't bother again.
Tom sat across from her, elbows on his knees, hands shaking just enough to betray him.
"You don't get to do this," Andrea said calmly.
Tom laughed — broken. "I absolutely do."
Bill stood near the stairs, pale and furious.
Georg leaned against the wall, jaw clenched.
Gustav watched her like she might disappear.
Tom stood.
"You're not walking around like this ends clean," he snapped. "You're poison. You touch everything and it rots."
Andrea tilted her head.
"You knocked me out," she said. "That's new."
"I had to," Tom said. "You wouldn't stop."
Andrea's voice dropped. "Stop what?"
"Existing like a loaded gun."
Silence.
Then Andrea smiled.
Not warmth.
Not humor.
Recognition.
"You didn't bring me here to stop me," she said. "You brought me here because you're scared."
Tom slammed his fist into the wall.
"You're ruining everything."
Andrea met his eyes, unflinching.
"No," she said quietly. "I survived something that ate everyone else. You just finally noticed the cost."
Bill stepped forward. "Tom, this isn't—"
"Stay out of it," Tom snapped.
Andrea inhaled slowly.
"This is the moment," she said. "Where you decide if you're different from them."
Tom's breath shook.
"They died because of you."
Andrea didn't deny it.
"That's why I don't belong to anyone anymore."
Tom stepped closer. Too close.
"You don't get to choose violence again," he whispered.
Andrea leaned forward against the restraints.
"I already did."
For a split second — just one — her eyes flicked to the ceiling beam, the weak bolt, the miscalculated distance.
Tom saw it.
Fear finally hit him full-force.
"What are you thinking?" he asked.
Andrea smiled again.
The kind that makes people step back too late.
"I'm thinking," she said softly,
"you should've killed me when you had the chance."
The light flickered.
Somewhere upstairs, something creaked.
And Tom realized — far too late —
he hadn't locked her away.
He'd cornered her.