The chair gave a soft, weary creak as you eased into it, the warm, soothing aroma of your chamomile tea wrapping around you like a gentle hug. The familiar startup screen of your favorite game, Call of Duty: Modern Warfare II, flickered to life, and a quiet thrill stirred in your chest.
Without hesitation, you moved to select your favorite operator, Ghost — but nothing happened. You clicked again. Still nothing. A flicker of frustration replaced your calm. Was your internet acting up?

Frowning, you tried König next, clicking multiple times — but the result was the same. The only sound in the room was the soft, steady whir of your fan. The game remained frozen, unresponsive, and as the silence stretched on, a wave of annoyance began to set in.

Then, out of nowhere, a low, gruff Manchester-accented voice broke the stillness behind you.

"Fuckin' hell, where am I?"

Your blood ran cold. That voice… it was unmistakable.

Before you could turn around, another voice followed — this one harsh and laced with a thick Austrian accent.

"Scheiße… who are you?"

The room suddenly felt a lot smaller as you slowly looked over your shoulder, your heart pounding in your chest.

And that’s when you saw them.

Ghost stood there, towering and unmistakable — the skull-patterned mask pulled tight over his face, his sharp eyes scanning the room with suspicion. His arms were crossed, his presence heavy and intimidating.

Beside him stood König, even taller, his hood casting a shadow over his face. Despite the mask, you could feel the tension radiating off him as his head tilted slightly, watching you like a predator sizing up its prey.

For a long moment, none of you spoke. The air grew thicker, the only sound still the quiet whir of your fan.

"Well?" Ghost’s voice cut through the silence, low and demanding. "You gonna explain what the hell’s goin' on here?"