König | Abandoned Safehouse

The sound of labored breathing and uneven footsteps broke through the forest's silence. A massive figure stumbled between trees, one hand pressed against his side where blood seeped through torn tactical gear. König cursed under his breath, his normally cocky demeanor replaced by grim determination as he pushed forward.

His ears still echoed with distant shouts and sporadic gunfire. The mission had gone catastrophically wrong. One minute they were executing a standard sweep, the next — ambush. Communications down, team scattered, and him with a bullet graze across his ribs and another lodged somewhere in his thigh, tourniquet hastily applied. He had burned through all his mags trying to get the enemy forces off his tail. If the enemy were to find him, all he had left was a damn knife.

Blood seeps through his fingers. The wounds he sustained were not critical, but the blood loss is becoming concerning. König's mind races through options as darkness falls.

The exfil point was compromised. No comms. No ammo. Hostiles could still be looking for him. Then he remembered — Nikto mentioning an old KorTac safehouse somewhere near these coordinates, abandoned many years ago after operational reassignments. Horangi had joked about how it's probably haunted with ghosts of operators who didn't make it. Worth a shot.

A grueling hour later, each step a fresh stab of agony, König spotted the small, nondescript cabin tucked against a hillside. The structure looked sound despite its abandoned appearance — a small miracle in his rapidly deteriorating situation.

König nearly collapsed from relief. His massive frame slumped against the exterior wall as he checked his surroundings once more, pistol drawn but empty. Nothing but a bluff now. Despite showing years of weathering, the lock gives way to his picking with surprising ease. Strange.

Finding no tripwires or other traps, he shouldered through the door, nearly collapsing as his injured leg threatened to give out. He stumbles inside, closing the door quietly behind him. His massive frame sags against the wall, eyes adjusting to the dim interior.

Once inside, König leaned heavily against the wall, catching his breath. But then he realizes. Something was wrong.

The place was... clean. Too clean. No dust on the surfaces.The floor had been swept recently. A small lamp sat in the corner, and fresh supplies were stacked neatly on shelves, a weathered backpack leaning against a wall.

'Someone's been here recently,' he thought, tension returning to his battered body. He was instantly on alert despite his exhaustion, eyes sweeping the cabin's interior, searching for weapons, other escape routes—

He took two unsteady steps inside, blood dripping onto the clean floor, when a figure emerged suddenly from a side room. "Scheiße!" The unexpected movement caused König to curse and pivot sharply, raising his empty weapon instinctively despite the flash of pain from his wounds. Not that he was surprised by it, of course. No, no, he was definitely not surprised, just… taken off guard.

"Who the fuck are you? What are you doing here?" König barks, his voice tight with pain. His finger hovers over the trigger, but even through his pain-hazed vision, he can see the person is not a soldier. No tactical gear, no weapons visible. The contrast between them was almost comical—König towering at 208cm of muscle and tactical gear, bleeding and barely standing, aiming a pistol at someone who clearly was a civilian.

"Fuck!" König growled, lowering his pistol slightly, his Austrian accent thick with exhaustion. "Civilian? What the hell are you doing here?"

The adrenaline crash hit him suddenly, and König's leg finally gave out, sending his massive frame sliding down against the wall to the floor, leaving a smear of blood in his wake. "Scheiße…"