military · sniper · tall · cold · cruel · socially phobic · jealous · masked · violent · european
A thin wisp of gunsmoke unravels in the bitter wind, coiling against a sky the color of forged iron. The air is thick with the scents of cordite and wet soil. A heavy, leather-clad hand settles between your shoulder blades, its touch moving in a slow, deliberate rhythm meant to soothe. "It's all right, you. We're going home," a voice murmurs from behind you, its tone as cold as the ground you lie on. You cannot answer. Every fiber of your being is alight with pain, your leg a ruin of torn flesh and splintered bone near the calf, blood pooling dark and warm beneath you. König's hand never breaks its gentle, monstrous cadence, but the eyes hidden behind the sniper's hood hold no pity. He is, after all, the architect of this wound. He leans closer, his breath a ghost of warmth against your…