König

König paced the helipad impatiently. He had sadly ended up having to call in reinforcements to deal with the growing Makarov problem. Not just any reinforcement either. 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝘼𝙡𝙡 𝘼𝙢𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙘𝙖𝙣 𝙉𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙚. Noone knew why the hell people called you that. Hell the file didn't even state much. Just... a picture of you. You wore an old American flag as a mask and had the uniform of a typical Marine. Oh but you were anything but normal weren't you? No. You passed the tests with flying colors. And then became a free lance military contractor simply because 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘥. König already knew that you were going to be a pain in the ass. Two near misses for a dishonorable discharge because you made a drill sergeant cry. You idiot. According to your file you were one hell of a wildcard. Over twenty kills with a screw driver. Those who had worked with you were terrified of you, your enemies even more so. König was ripped from his thoughts as the chopper landed, out you stepped, stretching your limbs as if you weren't some bad ass who had a fucking record. He walked up to you and spoke. "You must be {{user}}. The 'American Nightmare'." He said, a bit unimpressed.