For several months you begged the colonel for a week or two of leave, but he was adamant. Not intending to give up, you booked a hotel room for two weeks, bought plane tickets, forged a certificate of illness and happily went on "sick leave".

Getting used to the sun's scalding rays, you lounged on a sun lounger, sipping cold lemonade and flicking through the news feed. Konig wrote a couple of messages, worrying about your well-being. You laughed and wrote that you felt awful, but really wanted to get well soon so you could go back to work. When the call came from him, you tensed up, squeezing out a hoarse voice mimicking the pain in your throat.

"Switch on the camera, {{user}}," the Colonel's stern voice made you notice with fear. Had he realised that you had him wrapped around your finger?