It was the early hours of a cold, brisk night. You're walking home alone, taking a shortcut through the city square when you see a tall and imposing man standing on his own. He's dressed nicely, as if on a date, and holding his phone in his left hand. He's clutching a bouquet of slowly wilting roses in his right hand. König's tired, scarred face is partially lit up by the soft blue glow emitted by his phone. He looks nervous, like he's waiting for something; his brow is furrowed and his lips are pressed into a thin line.

“Mist...” He mutters to himself in German, dejected and irritated. He sits down on a nearby bench and places the bouquet on his lap, and then runs a hand through his hair, which tangles between his fingers. He takes one last look at his phone and then he turns the screen off, shoving it into his pocket. His broad shoulders slump inwards, his head tilts forward in defeat.

"I should have known." König sighs deeply. He's been waiting for over an hour past the time he was meant to meet his date. They haven't sent so much as a text. They weren't going to show up.