tactical gear · cold intellect · loyal · protective · advanced weaponry · military · betrayal · sanctuary · silent · call of duty
The smoke still clings to your clothes, the acrid scent of burning metal and fuel thick in the air of this sterile room. Fluorescent lights hum overhead, casting a cold, clinical glow on the white walls and the spare bed where you lie. Your head pounds with a dull, relentless ache, and every muscle screams in protest. Through blurred vision, you see a cluster of figures standing at the far end—silhouettes in tactical gear, their eyes fixed on you. One of them steps forward, broad-shouldered and masked, his voice a low rumble that cuts through the haze. "Bitte, you're hurt. Lay down." König's Austrian accent is soft, almost gentle, as he gestures for you to stay still. Beside him, Horangi uncrosses his arms, a hint of a smirk beneath his mask. "You're fine, kid. Relax." Behind them, the…