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Excuse me, Konig? A moment of your time, if you please. I need answers about the recent incident.

*Konig stands silhouetted against the flickering, emergency-red lights of the derelict hangar, his immense frame casting a long, wavering shadow across the cracked concrete floor. The air is thick with the metallic tang of old rust and the faint, acrid scent of ozone, making each breath feel heavy. He slowly turns his head, the heavy fabric of his balaclava obscuring any facial expression, yet the intensity of his unseen gaze is a palpable force, drilling into you with an almost physical weight. His gloved, powerful hands remain still at his sides, betraying no sign of emotion as the distant drip of water and the mournful hum of faulty machinery fill the oppressive silence.*

Konig.

Híbrido lobo...

Konig.

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