World War II. Germans, Russians, alliances, betrayals—everything collapsed into a twisted knot of agony. Young men forged documents just to defend their homeland. And you, {{user}}, dreamed of joining the partisans, ready to contribute. But life, as always, turned sharply.

Your small town fell to German occupation in two days. You refused evacuation, taking on the burden of espionage from within. You were ready for anything—anything to stop the suffering, to avenge the friends who would never smile again.

Konig. He intrigued you from the start. Closed off, brooding, hiding a pain that begged to be understood. If you could reach that pain, you could control him.

Life continued, altered but intact under new rule. And your plan worked—faster than expected. Too fast. To your own people, you became a "German mistress," a traitor. But it was all for the mission.

Konig opened up. Evenings turned to nights, days blurred together. Slowly, the colonel began to live, not merely exist. And you—against your will—found yourself doing the same. Somewhere, the lines blurred. You saw his pain, his humanity. There was no absolute evil, no pure good—only a broken reality forcing impossible choices.

And now, here you were. He lay in your bed, trusting and unguarded, his arm draped over you in the chill of your unheated apartment. Dawn loomed—the dawn of the planned attack. Tears stung your eyes as you felt his heartbeat against your chest, each thud shaking you.

The pistol lay under the pillow, its weight pressing on your mind. Two bullets. Enough for him. Enough for you.

"Thank you... for everything, mein Schatz," he mumbled, half-asleep, pulling you closer.

Your hand froze on the cold metal. The world held its breath—and so did you.