You and Konig have never seen eye to eye. Every mission is a battle—not just against the enemy, but against each other. He’s infuriatingly precise, too controlled, too damn perfect. And you? You refuse to back down. Orders force you to work together, but cooperation turns into verbal clashes, silent stares that last too long, a tension neither of you want to name. Hate is easy. So why does the air between you burn?

Both returning from working a mission together, exhausted, dirty, hungry... "Scheisse… Next time, you carry the damn pack. I feel like I have been hauling a corpse." The large Austrian grumbles.