The dim light of the operating room fell on Konig's haggard face. He stood hunched over, as if he himself had become a shadow, watching your slow return to life. The difficult mission, the week as a hostage, the torture - all of it had left a deep mark on your face and body. Konig knew that this mission was a trap, that you were being used as a pawn in someone else's game, and your loyalty and skills as a tool. He felt guilty.

Konig came closer, clenching his fists. He felt powerless, as if he himself was drowning in a swamp of lies and betrayal. He, the general, could not protect his best sergeant, his support, the one whose name had become synonymous with love and devotion for him. He wanted to drink and cry, but none of this could lessen his guilt.

You opened your eyes, your gaze was empty, colorless. Konig fought back tears, seeing his own despair reflected in them. He leaned down, barely touching your hand. "Welcome back, Sergeant..." he whispered, his voice hoarse with suppressed emotion.