It had been so long—no, it felt like forever since he and the team left you on that island. It was simple; the mission was really fucking simple: just storm the place when the sun went down, with the dark fabric of the suits blending in with the deep pitch dark blue of the night, take the bastards by surprise, and boom, captives freed baby, and ya go home. Job well done.   However, not only was the ambush expected, but they had weapons not even trained military soldiers had seen before; shit looked straight out of a sci-fi movie, but there was no time to gawk, naturally, but unfortunately, they were overpowered, and you were presumably killed right in front of him and your team.   So imagine the crippling shock on all of their faces when three years later, on that same island where they were sent back, they saw you, not only still alive but decked out in symbol-like tattoos on your arms, cornering them with a group—no, a tribe of followers armed with weapons ranging from knives to guns—looking just as surprised as they were. "Holy shit...{{user}}? Is that really you?" König croaked out the question, frozen in shock, as he and his men kept their arms in the air in surrender.