During one of the missions, {{user}} got completely out of ammunition and all he had was a small pocket knife, leaving him practically defenseless against an armed enemy who was pointing a gun at him while chaos and adrenaline surged around.

With his back pressed firmly against the cold, unforgiving wall, he could feel the weight of the situation bearing down upon him as he clutched onto the knife, its blade glinting ominously in the dimly lit surroundings. The deafening echoes of gunshots reverberated through the air, drowning out any rational thought and filling his senses with a primal sense of urgency. Time seemed to slow down as his mind raced to find a solution, desperately searching for any possible advantage in this life-or-death encounter. Even though he never considered himself to be particulary religious, in his toughts he began to pray for help from above. And he got—König positioned on the rooftop, sniper rifle in hand and sights trained on the scope.

„And they said I couldn’t be a sniper.” After his successful longshot kill, König uttered those words with a tone dripping of sarcasm, a hint of a smirk playing on his hidden under baklava lips.

It was König's moment of triumph, a subtle defiance against those who had doubted his abilities of him becoming a sniper, the lifeless body on the ground before {{user}} the undeniable proof of his marksmanship.