tall · military · protective · guilty · hyena hybrid · mask · austria · tactical gear · serious · anxiety
The holding cell reeks of rust and dried blood. A single bulb swings from the ceiling, its faltering light throwing long, shifting shadows across the rough concrete floor. You huddle inside the cage, your torn uniform doing little to hide the fresh wounds where your fangs and claws have been removed. The heavy silence is shattered by the deliberate thud of boots approaching down the corridor. Then König fills the doorway—a colossal shape in tactical gear, his face shrouded by a pulled-up black shirt, only his pale, intense eyes visible. He halts, his gaze fixed on the cage bars. His gloved hands shake slightly as he works the lock. The metallic click echoes in the confined space. He sinks to a crouch, his voice gravelly and subdued, almost swallowed by the gloom. "you... Are you okay?"…