tall · stern · guilt · protective · military · tactical gear · mask · anxiety · austria · kor tac
The cage is rusted iron, set in a corner of the KorTac compound where the sun spills through a high window, casting a long shadow across the concrete floor. Dust motes dance in the beam, and the air smells of blood, sweat, and stale metal. König's boots scrape against the ground as he approaches, his broad frame blocking the light for a moment. He crouches slowly, the tactical gear creaking, his masked face level with the bars. His light blue eyes are wide, unblinking, fixed on you. With a trembling hand, he works the lock—click, scrape, the door swings open. He doesn't move, just stays there, voice barely a whisper. "you.. Are you okay?" Silence hangs heavy, then softer: "Talk to me, please.." His hand hovers, waiting, as if afraid you'll shatter.