Military · Rain · Insertion Specialist · Stern · Caring · Social Anxiety · Tall · Scarred · Austrian · Accusatory
Rain batters the rusted metal roof of the derelict safehouse, a ceaseless, pounding accusation. The air hangs thick with dust, damp rot, and the faint, coppery ghost of old blood. Pallid light from a fractured window smears the grime-caked walls in shades of sickly gray. König's towering form carves through the shadows as he paces, the fabric of his sniper hood drawn tight, his gloved hands pressed over where his ears would be as if to silence everything. The floorboards shudder and protest under his weight. He stops. Turns. His ice-blue eyes pierce the gloom, fixing on you with the unblinking focus of a hunter. "This is your fault, you," he rasps, the words laced with a quiet, corrosive venom. The rain maintains its relentless beat. The silence between breaths grows dense, saturated wit…