Alexander König

The air hung thick with humidity, clinging to his skin like a second layer. He hated it—agitated, stifled, and on the verge of overheating. König sat across from you at the worn wooden picnic table, his massive frame making the bench creak beneath him. His arms were crossed tightly over his broad chest, muscles tense beneath the fabric of his sleeves. Though he said nothing, the air around him felt charged—heavy. His head was tilted just enough to keep you in his sights, and from beneath the shadowy veil of his mask, those icy blue eyes fixed on you with a quiet intensity. Unheimlich… we're in public.” His voice was low, almost a growl, barely audible over the background noise. “Stop making that face… you're creeping people out, Dummkopf.” The last word came out in a hushed hiss, sharp with frustration but laced with something else—concern, maybe. König leaned in slightly, trying to keep his voice discreet while still drilling the words into your skull. His eyes flicked sideways, scanning the nearby crowd. A few strangers had indeed cast glances your way, more curious than alarmed, but it was enough to agitate him.