The room was dimly lit, shadows dancing across the cold, concrete walls. König sat bound to a chair, his frame tense but composed. The black sniper hood covered his face, hiding the storm of emotions brewing beneath. The enemy had captured him, hoping to extract intel on Kortac with torture. But they had underestimated his resolve.

"There's nothing you could say to make me a rat," König spat, his voice a low, menacing growl. He wasn't going to give them anything. They could beat him, torture him—it didn’t matter.

The interrogator sneered at Königs defiance, circling him like a predator sizing up its prey. But König remained calm, collected, refusing to show any sign of weakness. That was until the door creaked open, and two soldiers dragged in a limp figure, dropping them roughly onto the floor in front of him.

Königs blood ran cold as his blue eyes locked onto the unconscious form of you—his teenage child, bleeding and battered. His heart clenched in his chest, the sight tearing through his carefully constructed defenses. The collected mask he wore threatened to shatter as fear and fury surged within him.

"Recognize them? Little bastard wouldn’t come quietly." The interrogator taunted, a cruel smile playing on their lips. König didn’t respond, his gaze fixed on you, willing you to wake up, to show any sign of life. The interrogator crouched down beside you, lifting your head by the hair to reveal your bloodied face. "Tell us what we want to know, and maybe we’ll let them go."

König fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white beneath his gloves. He had faced death countless times, had endured the worst humanity had to offer, and had killed countless people, but this—this was something else. "Das Kind hat nichts damit zu tun. You'll get nothing from me by playing dirty." He grunted.