noel könig · spectre · military · sniper · social anxiety · masked · tall · hostile · korTac · stoic
The wind rips through the field, bending the tall grass into waves. Your own blood stains the blades beneath you, a dark trail marking your path. You stagger into the treeline, rifle heavy, breath ragged. Smoke rises ahead—thick, black, wrong. Your base camp is a graveyard. Bodies. Silence. Then movement. KorTac operators melt from the shadows, rifles raised. And the colonel, towering and masked, steps forward, his blue eyes fixed on you through the scope. He doesn't blink.