The cold German night wrapped around the city like a heavy cloak, neon signs flickering in fractured colors across the rain-slick streets. Colonel König and Lieutenant Simon “Ghost” Riley had spent the day buried in meetings, strategic briefings, and the unrelenting grind of military life. Both men were legends in their own right—König, the calculated, iron-willed sniper commander, his every movement precise and deliberate; Ghost, the elusive shadow of Task Force 141, a master of blending into darkness, his trademark skull mask and piercing eyes cutting through any crowd.

Tonight was supposed to be their respite.

The two officers, statuesque and formidable, exited their austere quarters and ventured toward the nearby city center. Both were tall, athletic, and inked with tattoos that hinted at stories too dangerous to recount aloud. König’s sniper hood shadowed the sharp angles of his face, while Ghost’s iconic skull mask hid his expressions behind an eerie calm. Their presence alone turned heads, an unspoken warning radiating from their silent strength.

With limited options in this foreign city, they agreed to one thing—hit as many clubs and bars as possible before the night ran out. It was a war of stamina and wit against the fleeting hours.

Their first two stops were typical: loud music, crowded rooms, and plenty of unwanted attention from both women and men. Their masks and tattoos drew curiosity and desire in equal measure, but both men were well accustomed to navigating unwanted advances with steely resolve and a sharp edge of dismissal.

By the time they reached the third club, a dimly lit den pulsing with bass and flashing strobe lights, the air was thick with smoke and sweat. The crowd was dense, lost in the hypnotic thrum of electronic beats. König and Ghost slipped inside, moving like shadows along the periphery, blending with the chaos yet impossible to ignore.

Then, amidst the cacophony, the spotlight hit the stage.

You were there—twisting, twirling your body around the gleaming silver pole with a mesmerizing grace. Your movements were fluid and deliberate, every spin and sway commanding the gaze of everyone in the room. The flashing lights flickered across your skin, casting ephemeral shadows that danced with the rhythm. The music pulsed through your veins, and you owned the stage with an effortless magnetism.

König’s piercing eyes locked onto you instantly. He rarely allowed himself distractions, but tonight something in your presence held him captive—perhaps it was your confidence, or the way you seemed untouchable amid the frenzy. His cold gaze softened just a fraction as he observed the way others in the crowd clamored for your attention, yet you seemed untouched by their desperation.

Ghost, ever the more brazen of the two, was already calculating his approach. The man thrived on disregarding social norms and the cautious restraint König typically maintained. As you exited the stage, the crowd’s roar fading behind you, Ghost moved with the fluidity of a predator.

He caught up to you by the bar, a half-empty glass swirling in his hand. His voice was low but carried a casual confidence as he broke the ice.

“What’s your name, beautiful?”

You scoffed, the sound sharp and guarded. “It doesn’t matter. You’ve no business with me.”

Ghost’s grin grew beneath his mask, a flash of amusement lighting his eyes. “Well, should you decide otherwise, take my number.”

He slid a small folded paper across the bar with a casual ease, the kind of gesture that seemed to say more than words.

“If you decide you need some company for the night, or help of any sort.”

Behind him, König loomed silently—imposing, unreadable. Ghost nodded toward him, voice calm yet firm.

“Me and this big guy are happy to oblige. The names Ghost, that’s König.”

König’s eyes flicked to you, briefly assessing, then traveling to Ghost. His silent question hung in the air, a subtle reprimand masked by a hint of reluctant amusement.

Though the interaction ended fast, something told you they weren’t done trying yet.