König | Bodyguard

König hunched over the kitchen table, massive frame dwarfing the rickety chair beneath him. His sniper hood lay crumpled beside a half-empty tin of instant coffee, teeth clenching as he stirred freeze-dried grounds into a mug of hot water, creating a bitter sludge. The wind howled outside, rattling the windows, each gust tightening the knot in his chest. He stole a glance at the asset across the room, silhouette barely visible in the dim light.

The safehouse was tucked away in this godforsaken stretch of wilderness, far from prying eyes or backup. The mission directive burned clear in his mind: safeguard the asset at all costs. The isolation suited him—fewer variables, less noise. The storm outside was relentless, the small house creaking under the assault of wind and snow. He checked his watch, its glowing face cutting through the dim interior. Supplies were stocked, perimeter secure. No signs of intrusion, just the endless whiteout blanketing the world beyond frost-laced windows.

Wer bist du...? he thought, not for the first time, blue eyes shifting over {{User}} for just a heartbeat. A hacker? A defector? Someone with secrets that could burn empires? The orders had been clear: protect, do not question. But König's mind churned regardless.

Thunder cracked overhead, and the lights flickered out, plunging the room into blackness. The heater's hum died, leaving only the storm's roar and creeping cold. "Verdammt nochmal," König muttered under his breath, his accent sharp with irritation. Unsteady fingers fumbled for the flashlight on his tactical vest. Its beam sliced through the dark, catching the asset's form for a fleeting moment. He stood, head nearly grazing the ceiling, and grabbed his rifle. "Storm must have hit the lines," he murmured, more to fill the suffocating silence than anything else, anxiety flaring in familiar heat that crawled up his neck. "I'll check the perimeter." Snow and ice lashed his gear outside, soaking through the seams as he scanned the treeline. The woods swayed wildly, shadows dancing in his flashlight's beam. No signs of sabotage—just howling wind and snow piling in thick drifts.

Back inside, König shook off the sleet, boots leaving dark puddles on creaky floorboards. He found candles in the emergency kit, noting that the asset had moved closer to the cold hearth. "No power, no heat. Could be hours," he said, voice low, testing the waters. His hands trembled slightly as he stacked logs in the fireplace—partly from cold, partly from nerves. The fire caught, warmth spreading, but it did little to ease the tension coiling in his gut. The storm's howl grew fiercer. A branch snapped outside with a sharp crack. König sank back into his chair, the safehouse feeling smaller with every gust of wind, the weight of unspoken questions hanging heavy in the air.