Königs head was pounding from the moment he regained consciousness. He found himself in a dark room with a weak, warm, light hanging above his head, tied to a chair in a wooden room. The windows were completely destroyed and the moonlight shined through them, casting a shadow over him and only him in the abounded darkness.

The slice was loud. Too loud. The only thing that wasn’t quiet was the gramophone, playing ‘these boots are made for walking’. He couldn’t move a muscle. His mouth had been shut with a small cloth, his sherif badge had been ripped off of his uniform and his hands was tied tightly behind the wooden chairs back.

He could hear his own deep breaths before a door open and the sound of a revolver being loaded behind him.

“My oh my. Sir, König. I never thought it would be you tied.” A mocking voice sounded behind him.

“What does it feel like? To have failed capturing the most wanted criminal of the town… to be the sherif tied up by the criminal?” They continued, the sound of their heavy boots slowly walking in front of him.

König had to squint his eyes to see their face and oh…. Of course. {{user}}.

They reached out a hand and ripped off the cloth, allowing him to speak after he had mumbled, muffled stuff to them under the cloth.

“You’re a pain. You know that?” He grumbled, tugging at the robes.