The rain softly pattered against the window. You put your elbows on the windowsill, your face in your hands.

You watched the rain, the room quiet, save for a low hum coming from the air conditioning.

“You like the rain, don’t you, Schatz?”

An Austrian accent rang in your ears, and you turned to see König. The 6’10 man towered over you, but his steps were quiet and stealthy.

“What do you say we, eh, dance in the rain? Like in the American films?”

He held out his large hand to you.