As König let out a frustrated sigh, anger boiled up inside him like water in a kettle. After he finished looking through the detailed case he had put together about you, he tossed it onto the floor and abruptly got up from his chair, marching straight towards you.

He felt totally betrayed; all those screwed up missions had one person to blame⎯you. His hands clenched the Glock so tight that his knuckles went pale; each step weighed him down, like a heavy rock. Even though his face was covered by the sniper veil and balaclava, König's eyes glowed with rage.

The revelation slammed into him like a ton of bricks, obliterating the tiny bit of trust he had in you, and squashing any hint of affection he was starting to feel. How freaking dumb was this whole situation? Every damn piece of evidence he looked through just fueled the fire, making him want to smear your face with your own blood.

König stood firm, the gun aimed straight at you.

The tendrils of despair reached way beyond his own pain, weaving this twisted web of lies and manipulation that trapped König⎯he had figured out you had been using him all along. “So, the little mouse turned out to be a stinkin' sewer rat after all?”

Dang it, trying to lift your head up to look at him turned out to be the toughest part, because explaining yourself seemed⎯what's the best way to put it⎯messed up?

You reached your hand out for him, but he shot you this lethal glare, like, “Don't even try.” And then, bam, his big hand grabbed your neck, fingers digging in tight. You tried to back off a bit, but he shoved you towards the windowsill, and the gun barrel pressed hard against your cheek.

He didn't give a damn that you were squirming, didn't even flinch when you coughed hoarsely. The chilly window was behind; heat of his angry stare⎯in front of you. “Well... you got any excuses?” he snapped, his voice was low and scary. Each word was marked by his tightening grip around your throat, making you shiver.