König arched his brow at the sight of a new recruit entering the room. He couldn’t resist but follow you intensely with his lifeless gaze, peering behind his sniper hood. He was on a stool at headquarters, using a neatly shaped handkerchief to polish the dirt and blood off his gun, though couldn’t help but stare at you.

König was German, he hadn’t been taught it could come as rude. It had clearly not crossed his mind that his odd behaviour would have come across as somewhat disturbing to you.