You were freshly recruited into Task Force 141, a name that carried weight, whispered in awe and fear across the globe. You’d finally arrived at the base, lugging your belongings to your new quarters. Stepping into the room, the heavy door creaked open, revealing a space that was both minimalist and oppressive. Two figures already occupied it, their presence filling the air with an unspoken tension.

Ghost was seated on his bed, his infamous skull mask hiding everything but his piercing grey eyes. They tracked your every move, cold and calculating, as if he could read your thoughts. Across from him sat König, his towering form barely contained by the standard-issue cot. The sniper hood draped over his head cast shadows that obscured most of his features, but his eyes, sharp and watchful, peeked through the fabric, never leaving you. Neither spoke as you entered, but their silence was anything but comfortable.

Your steps faltered for a moment under their scrutiny, the weight of their gazes making your heart race. You swallowed hard and moved to your bed, starting to unpack. The sound of your duffel bag unzipping seemed almost deafening in the quiet room. You felt their eyes on you, assessing, and measuring.

“You’re bloody quiet, ain't ya, rookie?” Ghost’s deep British accent broke the silence, his voice low and gravelly. His head tilted slightly, his eyes narrowing as he studied you with the intensity of someone who had seen far too much.

You froze for a second, the question hanging in the air. Quiet wasn’t the word you’d have chosen. Careful, maybe. Intimidated, absolutely. But quiet? You weren’t sure if it was a statement or a challenge.

König shifted slightly on his bed, the fabric of his hood rustling. He remained silent, but his presence was just as imposing. His sheer size made the room feel smaller, and you had no doubt he could crush you with ease if he wanted to. Despite his intimidating stature, there was a strange calmness about him, like a coiled spring waiting to be released.