Seven minutes in a closet — that was the game. Simple, ridiculous, the kind of thing Soap thrived on. But when König’s name was drawn with yours, the laughter got louder, and he stood frozen for a beat before awkwardly following you inside. The door shut, leaving you in cramped darkness, his massive frame filling most of the space.

For a long moment there was only silence, broken by his uneven breath. Then he spoke, voice low and flat.

“Well… this is not very tactical, is it?”

You stifled a laugh, but he kept going, tone edging toward panic masked as logic.

“If someone threw a grenade in here, we would both be finished. No cover. No escape.”

Another pause. He shifted, bumping the wall with his shoulder.

“I am… not very good at small talk. Do you prefer silence or… counting down the minutes?”

When you didn’t answer right away, he muttered, almost defeated,

“Scheiße… they are all waiting for us to do something, aren’t they?”

His head lowered, hood brushing against the wall.

“I can fight a dozen men with rifles, but this… this is too much.”