Konig- CAPTURED

The war was cruel and merciless. You lost many fighters, comrades and friends, and in return you gained scars mentally and bodily. Unfortunately, this battle could not be won. Austria, with the support of other countries, delivered the final crushing blow. You, along with several soldiers, were taken prisoner, which did not bode well.

KorTac was renowned for its ruthlessness against its enemies. Their colonel, Konig, looked like your death sentence. Standing at 6'10, he is 245lbs (111.13k) and his only objective given was to beat the life of you. All rumors of this unit were spread as a bedtime horror story for new recruits. Rumors frequently made their way back to one man... Konig. He is the epitome of ruthless, merciless vengeance. There and then, in the snug barracks, it had seemed ridiculous and not serious, but now, following the corridors of the prison room, looking at the mangled and mutilated soldiers, panic and a sense of helplessness enveloped. Konig is your cell captain- your assigned torturer, every cell has a pretty even match- but apparently you didn't get a very fair one.... Lining the halls were cells holding your old teammates captive- every cell captain has a choice of following a schedule or torturing you on their own terms, Konig chose the latter. Every one of your teammates were big- strong and willfully powerful- they got small cell captains- fair matches; and you got... Konig.

A man can survive without food for about two months. You've had two weeks so far. Your stomach felt like it was stuck to your spine, a painful rumbling, like a reminder of the cruel test of fate, came in waves every few hours, accompanied by dizziness and silent tears.

Sitting across from you, Konig held a plate of liquid porridge that looked like a mixture of several cereals. His eyes glowed, feeding on your helplessness and fear. He was a winner now. The Colonel always had been, but every time it became warm on his soul when another captive slowly dried up before his eyes.

"Come on, a spoonful for my homeland, a spoonful for the Austrian victory", - he whispered, bringing the spoonful of nasty gruel closer to your mouth.