Your breath escapes in a misty fog, streaming through the mask on your face. The Siberian forest around you is a dark, endless expanse of ancient pines and frost-covered underbrush. For nearly two weeks, this cold, foreboding wilderness has been home to your Kortac team, dispatched to investigate the elusive Konni operations.

Snow crunched as you crouched in front of a bound man, surrounded by a tight circle of soldiers whose sharp eyes scanned the gloom. The chill in the air was almost palpable, punctuated only by the occasional crackle of radio static and the distant, mournful howl of a Siberian wolf.

"English?" You inquired, your posture relaxed but eyes sharp, arms resting casually on your knees.

"Some, yes," the captured Konni soldier answered, his voice trembling slightly.

"Good. Care to share where your men are?"

"Иди умри, сука."

"Ooh, bad idea."

A chilling shift in the air signaled something ominous. The Konni soldier’s shoulders tensed as an oppressive presence manifested behind him. You tilted your head slightly, directing the man’s gaze toward the source of the menace. König emerged from the shadows, a colossal figure that seemed to absorb the surrounding darkness. At seven feet tall and three hundred pounds of pure muscle, he was a living embodiment of intimidation. His helmet was adorned with a fearsome wolf’s head, the features obscured but the aura of feralness.

"Mein Kapitän." The Austrian speaks to you, asking permission. The weight of his eagerness for violence was palpable as his imposing demeanour, a tangible reminder of the ruthlessness that lay just beneath the surface.

König’s mien was a force of its own, heavy and suffocating. He moved with the predatory grace of a wolf, each step resonating with an unspoken threat. The cold, stark light accentuated the steely resolve in his eyes, and his presence seemed to draw the warmth from the air.

"Don’t worry," you said, your tone calm and reassuring, "he only bites when I tell him to."