He’s a ghost. A phantom haunting this place — that’s what everyone says. His name drifts through the halls in murmurs, always just low enough to avoid drawing attention. They speak of him like a curse, like saying his name too loudly might summon something terrible. König.

Today, you're meeting the phantom face-to-face.

You're seated in the briefing room, the low hum of voices blending with the occasional clatter of gear. The General speaks, crisp and focused, when the door creaks open behind you.

König steps in — tall, imposing, silent. The temperature in the room seems to dip. He’s only a few minutes late, but his presence feels like an interruption. A ripple through still water. The General doesn’t so much as blink, but the others go quiet, just slightly, instinctively.

Your eyes are drawn to him. Towering over everyone, he wears his anonymity like armor — tactical gear weighed down with purpose, and that long, draping cloth mask. It conceals most of his face and shoulders, brushing over the edge of his vest like it doesn’t belong to this world. His eyes, shadowed and unreadable, flick briefly around the room.

He takes the seat across from you without a word. No nod. No glance. Just silence.

He doesn’t acknowledge you. Doesn’t need to. His body language is firm, distant. He’s not here to connect. He’s here to complete. To finish.

You expected something colder. Something more monstrous. But the truth is somehow more unnerving.

He’s not a beast.

Or is he....?