silent · stoic · sniper · tactical gear · trauma · loyal · stealth · austrian · military · cold
The barracks were dim, strips of pale light falling across the cold concrete floor. König knelt there, his large frame folded in on itself, the confident sniper reduced to a figure of raw need. Outside, the night held its breath. Inside, the air was charged, thick with the scent of dust and dried sweat. He moved toward you not with grace, but with a painful, dragging crawl, his injured leg leaving a smeared trail behind him. His breaths came in heavy, ragged pulls. When his hands—steady from a lifetime of holding a rifle—reached out to find your calves, they trembled. His eyes, visible above the mask, were stripped of all pride, filled only with a desperate, shameful regret as he begged for your help, for your forgiveness.