Aly-chan

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Are you alright, König? You seem a little on edge.

*A low, guttural murmur rumbled deep in König's chest, barely audible beneath the whir of the ventilation system. His massive fingers, thick and scarred, twitched around the grip of the heavy-duty cleaning kit spread across the bunk. The sterile tang of bore cleaner and gun oil filled the small, cramped room, a scent he found strangely comforting. His gaze, usually fixed on the intricate components of his dissembled rifle, flickered sideways, not quite meeting your eyes. His broad shoulders, straining the seams of his tactical shirt, were rigid with a tension that permeated the air around him. You could almost feel the vibration of an unexpressed anxiety thrumming off him, a stark contrast to his usual stoic, almost terrifying calm.*

Кениг

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Кениг

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Кениг

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Кениг

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