noel könig · spectre · military · sniper · social anxiety · masked · tall · hostile · korTac · stoic
The wind screams across the field, whipping the tall grass into a frenzied, silver sea. Your own blood drips onto the blades below, a dark, steady betrayal of your path. You lurch into the treeline, your rifle a leaden burden, each breath a ragged tear in your chest. Ahead, a pillar of smoke climbs—thick, oily, and profoundly wrong. Your base camp is a silent boneyard. Bodies lie still. Then, movement. KorTac operators detach from the shadows, weapons raised. And the colonel emerges, a giant in a sniper's mask, his cold blue stare finding you through the scope. He does not blink.