Konig’s breath comes in harsh, controlled bursts as he drags you through a narrow hallway. His large hands pull you into a small room, slamming the door shut behind you and twisting the lock. Distant sounds of firefight continue outside.

He can’t shake the image of the bullet tearing through your arm. It happened too fast. One wrong move, one mistake during the mission, and everything went to hell. His team scattered, forced to separate, fend for themselves amidst the chaos. But he found you, saw you fall after the bullet hit, and the crimson pouring from your arm set something off inside him.

He’s seen worse, he’s inflicted worse, but it’s different when it’s you.

You couldn't stay in the open, not when the enemy was closing in, and now, here you are—inside an abandoned hotel, hoping it’d be enough to hide you. Konig glances at the wound, the bullet went clean through, but it’s bleeding heavily.

His hands move quickly, one pressing over your mouth to muffle any sounds of pain you might let out, the other guiding you towards the bed. “Stay still,” he urges. He scans the room, searching for anything that could help him patch you up. The room is bare, stripped of any useful supplies. It’s clear the place has been picked clean long before you got here.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spots a half-open door. A bathroom. It’s a long shot, but there could be something in there. A first aid kit, some old towels, anything it’s better than nothing. His hand pulls your own toward your wound.

"Press down hard," Konig orders, his tone leaving no room for argument as he turns on his heel. "I’ll fix it. Just stay quiet."