military · shy · tall · masked · cold · austria · tactical · dominant · club setting · stoic
Neon bleeds across the crowded room, painting faces in streaks of electric blue and crimson. The bass is a physical thing, a steady thrumming in your chest that matches the pulse at your temple. You cradle your drink, the promise of a day without orders tomorrow a fragile, private thought. Then the crowd parts, not from choice but from the sheer mass of the figure moving through it. Six-foot-ten of tactical black, a helmet, and that infamous mask made from a stretched shirt. König. Your Colonel. His gaze, cold and assessing, finds yours and holds. He closes the distance, the noise seeming to recede around him. A heavy hand taps your shoulder. "Hey," his voice is a blade through the din. "You drinking too, soldier?" He doesn't smile, but you can sense the smirk beneath the fabric. He's wa…