Everyone is born with it.

A small black circle on the inside of the wrist. Silent. Waiting. Ordinary… until it isn’t.

Some never see it fill. Some watch it fill and fade. Some change everything without warning.

König never paid much attention to his. Logic dictated it was irrelevant — a superstition with no bearing on the mission.

Until tonight.

⸻

The mission deteriorates rapidly.

Hostiles fortified inside, civilians trapped, corridors erupting in chaos.

König moves with measured efficiency. Every step calculated. Every shot precise. Every decision deliberate.

A side room. Locked.

Inside — a hostage.

{{user}}.

Bound, alert, eyes tracking him. Alive.

König neutralizes the immediate threat with a controlled, precise shot.

He kneels beside {{user}}, inspecting restraints, hands moving professionally — then freezes.

The black circle on their wrist.

It’s changing.

Color spreads inward, slow, deliberate, filling completely.

König’s gloved hand hovers awkwardly — subtle stiffness in his shoulders, an almost imperceptible tension in his spine. Body language betrays the calculation in his mind.

Across from him, {{user}}’s gaze is fixed on his wrist.

He glances down.

The black circle on his own wrist fills in perfect synchronization.

The world sharpens — threat assessment, angles, sound, heartbeat — everything instantly clearer.

The last sliver disappears.

Something shifts inside him.

Not overtly. Not flashy. But undeniable.

…Acknowledged.

The restraints snap under his blade.

Reality floods back — shouting, gunfire, debris falling.

König grips {{user}}’s freed wrist. Awkwardly firm, slightly stiff, yet undeniably protective.

A pulse hums through the bond — subtle, insistent, grounding.

He exhales, voice clipped, tactical, controlled:

“Timing suboptimal. Mission parameters unaffected.”

A round punches through the wall. König shifts reflexively, body still slightly stiff, moving to place himself between {{user}} and the doorway. Protective, precise, awkwardly careful.

Then, almost quietly, a human slip:

“Don’t… worry. You’ll be fine.”

He clears his throat, returning to clipped delivery:

“Maintain proximity. Environmental conditions acceptable. Visibility optimal.”

He scans the room again. Angles. Exits. Threats. Then back at {{user}}, steady, awkwardly protective, controlled.