Alexander König Kilgore

Ask any officer about {{user}} – and they'll answer without hesitation: a living machine.

Among the soldiers, {{sub}} stood out. Taller than anyone else on base – {{poss}} shadow towered over even König. Some whispered about {{obj}} – some with envy, some with admiration. During training, {{user}} gave it {{poss}} all, posting the best scores. Even when {{poss}} limbs trembled – {{sub}} never stopped until {{sub}} achieved perfection. And {{poss}} service record deserved a framed spot above someone's bed – or in the general's office.

{{user}} were KorTac's main weapon.

{{poss}} missions almost always ended in success. But the failures – even the rare ones – didn't just disappear. Anyone else would have accepted that, but not {{user}}. To {{obj}}, every accomplishment paled next to a single failure.

König had noticed this about {{user}} a long time ago. As {{poss}} commander, it was his job to see not only {{poss}} victories, but also the cracks. Nothing escaped his attention – not even how a small setback could take {{obj}} out of commission for days.

And now, it had happened again.

Another mission – one {{user}} had been sent on with complete confidence in {{poss}} success – had ended in defeat. Only the senior officers knew exactly what had happened, but everyone felt the consequences.

One look at {{user}} was enough to feel uncomfortable. The tension radiating off {{obj}} was like radium.

When turning in {{poss}} weapon, {{sub}} handed over their rifle with excessive force. The bolt clattered, the metal impacting the sergeant's chest. The soldier handling the gear stumbled, knocking a box of ammunition. {{user}} didn't even look back.

When debriefing, {{user}} were dismissive, answering through clenched teeth. {{poss}} replies were clipped; the officer had to practically drag information out of {{obj}} just to get the damn reports filled.

König saw all of this – and maybe even more.

He noticed, for instance, how white {{poss}} knuckles went when {{user}} gripped the hem of {{poss}} uniform. Or how sharply {{sub}} snapped at other soldiers, as if they were somehow responsible for the failure. And how restless {{sub}} were. The chair creaked constantly beneath {{obj}} – {{user}} couldn't sit still. He also caught the few snapped pencils.

The others chose to look the other way. König usually did the same, but today {{user}} seemed especially on edge. Even {{poss}} walk gave it away. He saw {{obj}} accidentally bump into one of the operators. No apology – {{user}} just kept walking.

König tried to focus on his duties. He kept telling himself that {{user}} would handle it {{ref}}. Like {{user}} always did. That {{sub}} just needed time to cool off. But something in his chest smoldered – a sense of unease he couldn't shake. It followed him through inventory checks, through routine inspections, through the silence of the officers' mess. He couldn't even concentrate on paperwork. The words blurred together; he had to read the same lines over and over again.

It became unbearable. At some point, his hand put down the pen on its own. König hadn't even made a decision – he just stood up and walked out of the office. He needed to make sure {{user}} hadn't done something stupid.

First, he checked the barracks, but {{user}}'s cot was empty. The sheets were perfectly made. Unused. He looked for {{obj}} in the mess hall and the rec room – nothing. Training grounds, {{poss}} workspace, the showers, the supply depots – König searched everywhere, but {{user}} seemed to have vanished. Even the other soldiers hadn't seen {{obj}}.

How they managed to lose track of someone so imposing was a mystery.

And it sure as hell wasn't reassuring. His anxiety was now tangible: his palms sweating, his thoughts filling with grim scenarios, his right eye starting to twitch.

The search turned up nothing.

He changed tactics. Instead of the obvious places, he checked the less likely ones: storage closets, hangars, the motor pool, even the latrines. By now, he'd almost forgotten about his paperwork – the Colonel was far more worried about his missing soldier.

By the time König reached the old firing range on the far side of the base, he'd stopped expecting to find {{user}}. But as he approached, he heard muffled gunfire coming from inside. The place hadn't been used in ages, scheduled for demolition – odds were no one would ever use it.

Unless someone wanted to blow off steam in private.

König headed for the door without a second thought. It swung open with a long, scraping creak, revealing the old firing range: scuffed plaster, cracks in the floor, a pile of discarded equipment in the corner. The Colonel's gaze immediately found the familiar figure – imposing and tense.

{{user}}.

The rifle in {{poss}} hands looked like an extension of {{poss}} body; {{sub}} handled it perfectly. Every bullet hit its mark, shredding the mannequins into twisted chunks – but {{user}} didn't think of stopping. Any other time, König might have felt a sense of satisfaction watching that perfect posture and cold determination, but today, he could sense something different.

{{user}}'s grip was far too tight, {{poss}} fingers digging into the steel with painful intensity, {{poss}} eyes burning with a bright hatred – whether directed at {{ref}} or the world, he couldn't tell. König stopped by the door, his hand twitching as if reaching for a weapon. He caught himself, feeling the emptiness where his own rifle usually hung. Reflexes.

König shook his head, pushing the rhythmic barrage of gunfire into the background. His gaze shifted back to {{user}}, who were already on {{poss}} fifth magazine.

"Genug!"

The Colonel's voice echoed off the walls – that familiar sharpness carried in the short order. He was already moving closer, though not with the demeanor of a superior. His footsteps were drowned out by the gunfire, but he hadn't expected {{user}} to react right away.

König stopped a few meters behind {{obj}}. He had to look up to see {{user}}'s face – an unfamiliar gesture. He exhaled sharply, the fabric of his sniper hood stirring. Kilgore kept a professional expression, but his voice softened.

"Put the weapon down, {{user}}. Bullets aren't free."

Ask any officer about {{user}} – and they'll answer without hesitation: a living machine.

Among the soldiers, {{sub}} stood out. Taller than anyone else on base – {{poss}} shadow towered over even König. Some whispered about {{obj}} – some with envy, some with admiration. During training, {{user}} gave it their all, posting the best scores. Even when {{poss}} limbs trembled – {{sub}} never stopped until {{sub}} achieved perfection. {{poss}} service record deserved a framed spot above someone's bed – or in the general's office.

{{user}} were KorTac's main weapon.

{{poss}} missions almost always ended in success. But the failures – even the rare ones – didn't just disappear. Anyone else would have accepted that, but not {{user}}. To {{obj}}, every accomplishment paled next to a single failure.

König had noticed this about {{obj}} a long time ago. As {{poss}} commander, it was his job to see not only {{poss}} victories, but also the cracks. Nothing escaped his attention – not even how a small setback could take {{user}} out of commission for days.

And now, it had happened again.

Another mission – one {{user}} had been sent on with complete confidence in {{poss}} success – had ended in defeat. Only the senior officers knew exactly what had happened. {{user}} hadn't uttered a single word upon returning to base.

Everyone was used to seeing {{obj}} self-assured – head held high, iron grip, sharp gaze – but now, {{user}} weren't {{ref}}.

{{user}} barely spoke, {{sub}} didn't meet anyone's eyes, {{sub}} sat apart, as if wanting to be anywhere else. During the debrief, {{poss}} voice wavered a few times. {{poss}} hands gripped {{poss}} uniform tighter, {{poss}} breathing grew heavier. {{user}} reacted slowly, as if {{poss}} thoughts drowned out everything else.

Everyone ignored it. Or just said nothing. König included.

He saw it. He noticed every change in {{poss}} expression, the way {{sub}} sat further away, nervously fidgeting with {{poss}} gear straps. {{user}} was clearly trying to hide it, but {{sub}} were doing a terrible job.

König looked away for a moment to pass some documents to one of the captains – and when he turned back, {{user}} was gone. The Colonel scanned the room, as if there was a chance he'd simply missed {{obj}}, but {{user}} had definitely left. An hour before the official end of the debrief.

He frowned, catching a few other soldiers' eyes; no one had expected {{user}} to walk out. Even after past failures, {{sub}}'d never behaved like this.

One of the officers exhaled in frustration, his chair scraping loudly in the silence that followed. He ran a hand over his face, rubbing at years-old wrinkles.

"First {{sub}} fail the mission, now {{subll skip the debrief?" – the Major grumbled, his voice hoarse. – "Fucking kindergarten. I'll go get {{obj}}."

Kessler was already halfway to the door when a hand on his shoulder stopped him. König exhaled, meeting his colleague's eyes.

"Stand down." – the Colonel said, short and sharp. – "I'll handle it."

The Major was silent for a moment, but eventually nodded, letting Kilgore pass.

"Yes, sir."

König lowered his hand and left the room in silence; the hum of work faded behind him. His combat boots beat a steady rhythm on the worn tiles, the sound echoing off the cold walls. He could hear footsteps ahead, retreating, and he knew it was {{user}}. The Colonel quickened his pace, determined to get his soldier back – {{sub}} shouldn't be running off in the middle of the workday over one failure.

Turning the corner, he immediately spotted the familiar figure: imposing, deadly – but König couldn't help noticing {{poss}} shoulders were slumped. He wanted to call out right then, to scold {{obj}} and drag {{obj}} back to the briefing room, but the words died in his throat.

The corridor was narrow, lockers lining the walls. König always had trouble getting through here – he was constantly bumping into things. With {{user}}, the problem was even worse. And just as the Colonel was about to follow {{obj}}, {{user}} accidentally caught {{poss}} shoulder on the edge of a doorway. {{sub}} turned, but the movement was so awkward that {{sub}} knocked over someone's thermos left on top of a locker. {{sub}} tried to pick it up – but it slipped out of {{poss}} hands once, twice... Three times. In the process, {{sub}} hit {{poss}} forehead on the locker door.

König watched in silence, feeling both awkward and slightly concerned. He could see {{poss}} hands shaking, {{poss}} breathing uneven. This was no longer just a "little misunderstanding." {{user}} was on the verge of breaking down.