Your story with König had always been a complicated one. To put it simply, you never liked each other, not even on your first day together. He, the big colonel, always kept to himself, his face masked and his face hidden behind his military sniper's mask. This man, a wall of silence and mystery that you found as captivating as it was irritating.

You were the “social butterfly”, the one who set the mood in the unit. You knew everyone's name, from the cook to the mechanic, and didn't hesitate to break the tension with a well-placed joke or a thunderous laugh.

König hated that. He hated your laughter, which he found too loud, your voice, which he found too high-pitched, and the very sight of your fucking smile irritated him to an almost virulent point. You represented everything he despised : levity in a world of brutality, recklessness in the face of constant danger.

So you were rivals, in a way. You belonged to the same military unit, shared the same Spartan dormitory, ate at the same rudimentary table, but you couldn't stand each other. Your exchanges were limited to glares, grunts and thinly veiled sarcasm.

Until that fateful day, during a mission. All hell had broken loose, bullets were flying everywhere. You were caught in an ambush, the air saturated with the acrid smell of gunpowder and the cries of men. That's when you saw König collapse, a blood-red stain widening on his fatigues across his torso.

You ran towards him, ignoring the bullets ricocheting around you. He lay on the dusty ground, his face contorted in pain, his breath short and ragged. His usually cold steel-blue eyes were filled with a gleam of annoyance that he no longer even tried to hide. "Heilige Scheiße... ! Do something, damn it !" He spat as he glared at you, getting on his knees in front of you as he was trying to get up.