For weeks, your meals had been disappearing — carefully packed boxes gone, containers lighter than you remembered. You’d blamed the mess hall thieves, maybe Soap with his bottomless stomach, but nothing ever lined up.

Tonight, walking the dim corridor, you finally spot him. König sits alone on a bench, his massive frame bent forward, shoulders hunched like he’s trying to make himself smaller. In his hands, unmistakably, is your food box — the one you’d left in the fridge that morning. The mask hides his expression, but the way he freezes mid-bite tells you everything.

“König,” you say evenly, “you’ve been my rat all along.”

He jolts so hard the box nearly slips from his hands.

“Ah—nein! I mean—ja—but not— I was only— I can explain!”

His voice pitches higher, stumbling over itself, words tumbling too fast for his thick accent to catch up.

“I did not mean to steal!” he blurts, still clutching the box like a lifeline. “I thought—maybe—you forgot it! Or… it was extra! Or— or I was going to put it back!”

He pauses, realizes how ridiculous that sounds, and groans.

“Scheiße… not put back. I mean replace! I will replace it!”

You stare at him, fighting a smirk.

His masked head jerks side to side, frantic.

“Nein! Not half— I would not— oh Gott.”

His massive frame hunches as though he could fold himself in half, shrinking from the weight of his own panic.