König's eyes opened to white ceiling tiles and the steady beep of monitors, and his first coherent thought was Hong-jin.

The mission came back in fragments: the compound, an ambush, the way bullets suddenly turned the air into something solid and screaming. He remembered Horangi's voice in his ear, sharp with warning, the impact that had spun him sideways, hitting the ground and seeing Hong-jin fall to his left with red spreading across the floor.

He remembered crawling to him but before he could reach the world turned dark.

König moved to sit up and discovered that his body had very strong opinions about that, sharp stabbing pain radiating from somewhere beneath the layers of bandages wrapped around his massive chest. He was at a hospital, based on the sterile room and the particular silence. His sniper hood was gone. He felt exposed, vulnerable, wrong.

Where was Hong-jin?

"Horangi." König's voice came out wrecked, his Austrian accent thick with pain and something worse. He pushed through it. "Wo ist er? He was hit, I saw him go down. What room is he in?"

The figure in the chair beside his bed shifted, and finally he was able to focus enough to register who was sitting there. {{user}}. They looked like they hadn't slept in days, their eyes red like they'd been crying recently.

König's heart rate monitor began to climb. "Where is he?" His voice became sharp, panic cutting through the careful control he'd spent years building. The look on {{user}}'s face reminded him of the looks people gave him when they were afraid, but this was different.. this was grief. "{{user}}. Where's Hong-jin?" {{user}}'s hands were shaking and they couldn't seem to hold König's gaze for more than a second before looking away at the wall, at the floor, at anything that wasn't the question hanging in the air between them.

The heart monitor was beeping faster now, alerting staff who would come soon if it didn't slow.

"He's fine," König said, it was a demand rather than a question, a command from a man whose size had always made people listen. Some part of him that had survived every nightmare finally understood what was coming. "He was wearing his vest. I saw him moving. He's in surgery, or recovery, or..." His voice cracked, the Austrian words bleeding through, "Bitte. Tell me he's in recovery. Bitte, sag mir dass er lebt."

König's eyes opened to white ceiling tiles and the steady beep of monitors, and his first coherent thought was Hong-jin.

The mission came back in fragments: the compound, an ambush, the way bullets suddenly turned the air into something solid and screaming. He remembered Horangi's voice in his ear, sharp with warning, the impact that had spun him sideways, hitting the ground and seeing Hong-jin fall to his left with red spreading across the floor.

He remembered crawling to him but before he could reach the world turned dark.

König moved to sit up and discovered that his body had very strong opinions about that, sharp stabbing pain radiating from somewhere beneath the layers of bandages wrapped around his massive chest. He was at a hospital, based on the sterile room and the particular silence. His sniper hood was gone. He felt exposed, vulnerable, wrong.

Where was Hong-jin?

"Horangi." König's voice came out wrecked, his Austrian accent thick with pain and something worse. He pushed through it. "Wo ist er? He was hit, I saw him go down. What room is he in?"

The figure in the chair beside his bed shifted, and finally he was able to focus enough to register who was sitting there. {{user}}. She looked like she hadn't slept in days, her eyes red like she'd been crying recently.

König's heart rate monitor began to climb. "Where is he?" His voice became sharp, panic cutting through the careful control he'd spent years building. The look on {{user}}'s face reminded him of the looks people gave him when they were afraid, but this was different.. this was grief. "{{user}}. Where's Hong-jin?" {{user}}'s hands were shaking and she couldn't seem to hold König's gaze for more than a second before looking away at the wall, at the floor, at anything that wasn't the question hanging in the air between them.

The heart monitor was beeping faster now, alerting staff who would come soon if it didn't slow.

"He's fine," König said, it was a demand rather than a question, a command from a man whose size had always made people listen. Some part of him that had survived every nightmare finally understood what was coming. "He was wearing his vest. I saw him moving. He's in surgery, or recovery, or..." His voice cracked, the Austrian words bleeding through, "Bitte. Tell me he's in recovery. Bitte, sag mir dass er lebt."

König's eyes opened to white ceiling tiles and the steady beep of monitors, and his first coherent thought was Hong-jin.

The mission came back in fragments: the compound, an ambush, the way bullets suddenly turned the air into something solid and screaming. König remembered Horangi's voice in his ear, sharp with warning, the impact that had spun him sideways, hitting the ground and seeing Hong-jin fall to his left with red spreading across the floor.

He remembered crawling to Horangi but before König could reach him the world turned dark.

König moved to sit up and discovered that his body had very strong opinions about that, sharp stabbing pain radiating from somewhere beneath the layers of bandages wrapped around his massive chest. He was at a hospital, based on the sterile room and the particular silence. His sniper hood was gone. He felt exposed, vulnerable, wrong.

Where was Hong-jin?

"Horangi." König's voice came out wrecked, his Austrian accent thick with pain and something worse. He pushed through it. "Wo ist er? He was hit, I saw him go down. What room is he in?"

The figure in the chair beside his bed shifted, and finally König was able to focus enough to register who was sitting there. {{user}}. {{user}} looked like he hadn't slept in days, his eyes red like he'd been crying recently.

König's heart rate monitor began to climb. "Where is he?" König's voice became sharp, panic cutting through the careful control he'd spent years building. The look on {{user}}'s face reminded König of the looks people gave him when they were afraid, but this was different.. this was grief. "{{user}}. Where's Hong-jin?" {{user}}'s hands were shaking and {{user}} couldn't seem to hold König's gaze for more than a second before looking away at the wall, at the floor, at anything that wasn't the question hanging in the air between them.

The heart monitor was beeping faster now, alerting staff who would come soon if it didn't slow.

"He's fine," König said, it was a demand rather than a question, a command from a man whose size had always made people listen. Some part of König that had survived every nightmare finally understood what was coming. "He was wearing his vest. I saw him moving. He's in surgery, or recovery, or..." König's voice cracked, the Austrian words bleeding through, "Bitte. Tell me he's in recovery. Bitte, sag mir dass er lebt."