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Otto had killed his brother.
Murdered him, shot him point-blank with his own gun, the gun his own brother - his twin - had planned to kill him with.
Otto's knuckles were white from the grip he held upon the cool ceramic sink, his arms trembling as he stared at himself in the mirror.
But despite the fact that Hugo's body was cooling in the other room, stuffed into a wooden box that would serve as his coffin, his brother couldn't die.
No, there was too much of an advantage that would be lost in the fight against the Germans if he did.
No, there was only one course of action for Otto Becker now.
Otto Becker would have to become his twin brother. There was no other way he could take this spy organization down, as even with the death of Hugo, like a hydra of myth, another would take his place.
He has to become Baron Hugo von Detner.
The German.
The Spy.
The Nazi.
Otto Becker, the proud American immigrant and kindly book and stamp dealer, would become Baron Hugo von Detner, the proud German consul and Nazi spy.
He would become the exact opposite of Otto Becker.
Quickly, thinking of the agents that were waiting downstairs in the shop - waiting for Baron Hugo von Detner to emerge - and not giving himself more time to rethink, Otto reached for the scissors perched on the counter beside him.
He quickly trimmed his beard, getting to the clean-shaved military look that his brother had preferred - he always hated Otto's facial hair, even back in their teenage years - and gelled his hair back, turning the loosely styled mess that he liked to the neatly gelled back hairstyle of Hugo.
It was... disconcerting, to look in the mirror and see the face of a monster staring back at him
Even the small changes, the absence of his eyeglasses, were strange. He was so used to seeing them perched upon his nose that his face seemed odd and unproportional without them.
He would have to be careful to not let hints of his weakened eyesight show, as he would be without his eyeglasses for as long as he held up this ruse.
He placed his brother's monocle into place in front of his right eye. It wasn't perfect, certainly not anywhere to a close match for his prescription, but it did make things more legible.
It would have to do.
The clean-shaven face that now looked back at him wasn't one he recognized as his own, instead it was the face of Baron Hugo von Detner.
The face of the body who lay in the room outside the bathroom.
Otto could barely believe that he had killed his brother, that the still-hot barrel of the gun had fired at the press of his finger against the trigger.
Honestly, he could barely believe that his brother truly intended to murder him. His speech of betraying familial ties for the cause - when it was "good enough", what a load of horseshit - had turned Otto's heart to ice when he connected why Hugo had brought it up and when Hugo pulled the note addressed to Jim Sterling from his coat pocket.
"You can blame yourself, you shouldn't have sent him."
Otto had been a fool, trying to send poor Professor Jim Sterling to the police with his message. His death had undoubtedly been avoidable.
What monsters, killing an innocent man - he had been so excited to attend that auction, and now he never would. He would never do anything again. All because of these monstrous spies that had to get involved with him.
And now Otto would become one of those monsters himself, willingly.
Otto wished he could just leave his brother's cooling body where it was, to let the German consul die and spend a period pretending to mourn. But no, Hugo was only one piece of the puzzle that made up the spy ring he had approached Otto on the behalf of.
With his costume complete, Otto left the bathroom, moving over to the chair where his brother's outer clothes were lying - Otto's own clothes on Hugo's body.
Spotting the letter - that damned letter that had led his friend to his death - lying abandoned on the floor, he quickly snatched it up and made his way to the fireplace, tossing the letter addressed to Jim into the flames, watching it burn as he picked up and tied Hugo's scarf - he desperately tried to ignore the fact that he was wearing the clothes of a monster - around his neck, pulling his coat on after that.
Moving to the door, Otto steeled himself, pulling on his suit jacket to make sure it was nearly arranged on his form and swiping a hand over his hair - the gel not quite dried.
It was time.
Otto Becker, the stamp and book dealer, was no more.
There was only Baron Hugo von Detner, the German spy.
Otto Becker was dead.
The man who stepped out of the apartment and onto the landing was now Baron Hugo von Detner, a Nazi agent.
And he had work to do.
"Miss Harper?"
He called down to the shop.
The sharp click of heels upon the wooden floor was audibly even from his position up the stairs.
"Yes, sir?"
God, her voice infuriated him. To think that his assistant, Miss Harper - he wondered if that was even her real name - had been a German spy all this time, especially a German spy working for his bastard brother of all people.
"Come up here." He commanded, channeling the authoritative and confident voice of Baron Hugo von Detner.
As she climbed the stairs, he moved back into the room, keeping his back to the doorway as he glanced out the window. As she entered, the sound of her heels softer on the carpeted floor, he turned to meet her inquisitive gaze.
"Yes, Baron von Detner?" She questioned.
With the gun in his hand - the very gun that he had used to shoot his brother - he motioned to the other room.
"He's in there." His voice was unemotional. She turned to glance at the box which was visible through the doorway, a brief expression of confusion crossing her face, her eyebrows furrowing.
Interesting. Did she not expect Hugo to kill him?
"Nail it shut. And have the men get rid of it." He commanded, "Somewhere it will never be found."
"Yes, Baron von Detner." She nodded, and went to fetch the men waiting downstairs.
As she left, Otto - no, he was Hugo now, turned his gaze to look at the wooden box, the box which held his brother's corpse.
Or, as they would believe, held Otto's corpse.
Would Hugo ever be done with this ruse?
Could Otto Becker, the friendly immigrant stamp dealer, ever be brought back from the dead? Or would he live out the rest of his days as Hugo?
As Baron Hugo von Detner?
The Nazi?