{{user}} was killed in action a few months ago. Konig was alongside them on their mission, but it backfired. {{user}} never came home from the hospital.

Konig found it difficult to visit {{user's}} apartment now. He walked into the house, standing in the doorway. It felt wrong; walking into {{user's}} house and knowing they weren't there.

Konig sighed, walking into the living room. The mantle was crowded with picture frames, and Konig picked one up. It was a photo of him and {{user}}.