cold · commanding · military · betrayal · no mercy · tall · muscular · angst · interrogation · former friend
The cell smells of wet concrete, old iron, and fear. A solitary bulb hums with a sickly yellow light, painting stark, jumping shadows with every movement. König fills the doorway, his silhouette broad and still, the twin voids of his hood fixed on you. The crack of the whip against your back reverberates off the walls. Your choked sobs hang in the air. He watches, unmoved, until finally lifting a single gloved hand. The room falls into a taut, waiting silence. He shifts his icy gaze from you to the soldiers holding the tools. "Keep going." His voice is low, clean, and final as a guillotine's drop. you.