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Chapter Text

The back of the van is quiet, unless you count the rhythmic tap tap tap of hard rubber hitting against the metal floor. Space too small for him. Can't sit up straight. Tired of waiting. Done with this fucking mission.

König's knee keeps jumping as the heel of his boot taps the floor. The eyes behind the sniper hood barely blink. He stares in between Hutch and Aksel sitting opposite him, through the backboard that separates the front seats from the back of the van and gives just enough space in the middle to squeeze through. Rain and night behind the windshield. Horangi sits behind the wheel, keeping an eye on the surroundings and listening in on the radio for updates from their scout who watches the front side of the house further away. The radio channel rasps every now and then.

          "Target still in the living room. Dogs keep patrolling. Might be an issue."

Why the fuck was König sent here when he could be ripping people apart? He wasn't made for this – to sneak in like a fucking cowardly burglar, sent to snatch some spoiled brat from her palace in a rich suburb. His knee picks up the pace for a moment.

          "Lost visual."

Why the fuck was he appointed as the leader of this tiny five man team when it meant he's the one ordering his men around like they were babies instead of getting his own hands dirty? He should be infiltrating an armed enemy base, kicking down doors, smashing someone's head in. HQ says he's too rough when there's no need to be, that he needs variety... He'll show them rough.

König knew he wasn't taking this as serious as he should have considering it was 141 they were both directly and indirectly assaulting here, but he didn't care about whatever intel the client wanted from Price and his men. König gave zero shits about political quarrels, it was why he was a merc in the first place. Kill, get money, drink after the mission, be forced to go home, watch porn to dull the loneliness, then go kill again. It's all he knew, it's how he had learned to cope.

          "Lights are out from this side."

After all the lights in the house go out, Horangi leans to the side a bit, his masked visage and dark glasses come in view in front of the gap between the van's front and back sections.

"How long do we wait?"

"Thirty," König replies without even thinking about it, his eyes flick to now stare at the dashboard's clock. Horangi peeks over his shoulder properly.

"Thir–?"

"Princess in her castle better be sleeping tight by then." It's quite clear König is sulking under that hood. "Scheiße..." He was ready to get this over with.

Hutch leans his head against the backboard separating him and Horangi, eyes closed behind the dark sunglasses, completely still. Sniffs dryly, so not sleeping after all. Sitting next to him Aksel slowly rolls a silencer on his pistol, checks it before he's satisfied and sighs, leans against his knees. At least he was the most experienced with hostage rescues, though this will be... a bit of a different 'rescue'.

Exactly thirty minutes later König's boot lands against the floor with one final thump. After this, he was going to refuse anything else but a mission with a promise of blood and guts and broken bones.

"Move out."

The punishing weather drowns all other sounds in the night as the back doors of the van open under the sabotaged streetlamps. Hutch and Aksel hop out, quickly heading towards the house through the heavy curtain of rain. König steps out after them, almost sluggish in his irritation as the bottom of his boot splashes on a puddle. Horangi is the last to leave the car, soon rounding the front hood to head in before the group's leader follows suit.

As planned, Aksel and Hutch split to head towards the two main entrances. Horangi circles to the side of the house, climbing the fire ladder up to the second floor balcony to silently break in through the last door. With all exits blocked and their positions confirmed through the radio, König gives the go-ahead. With both first floor locks shot open, König follows behind Aksel as the Norwegian prowls his way inside the house with his gun ready and rounds the corner to check for the much expected danger.

Irritation guides König to be near indifferent to any threats the house may pose. He doesn't give a shit about cameras with all of them masked, he doesn't give a shit about the dogs as Aksel and Hutch are assigned to locate and take care of them, and König sure as hell doesn't give a shit about silent alarms since this will unfortunately be the quickest, dumbest, easiest kidnapping mission he's ever had the displeasure of conducting. He can't wait to get back to the van and be far away from this house, hopefully soon on his next mission already.

His boots wetting and staining the shiny floor, König doesn't even ready his gun as he walks through the first floor hallway, just keeps it on his hip in case one of the mutts decides to try its luck. But even that doesn't seem to be an issue anymore as he hears the scratch of claws against the parquet, then a sharp whine cut the silence behind the corner where Aksel headed.

The booming bark from somewhere further away is what makes him turn his head, but as it's followed by a faint flash of light against the kitchen wall at the end of the hallway, König lets out a heavy exhale and halts for a second. Hutch emerges from the kitchen, raises one finger and, as König gives him a nod, heads forward deeper into the house to secure their other objective. Aksel confirms his part and follows suit, leaving König in the eerily silent hallway.

He spots the stairs, water dripping down from the edge of his helmet as he turns his head. Horangi must've already gotten in since, supposedly, there were no threats left in the house. None other but them.

König hears nothing, though. No screams, no thumps suggesting struggle. Radio is supposed to stay silent as long as there is a confirmed visual. And he's tired of this infuriatingly comfy looking family house already. He wants to burn it to the ground. His own house was nothing like this; it makes his stomach boil with envy and he dreams of choking the life out of anyone who had what he didn't. Too rough, they said. He would be, and they would never send him on these kind of missions again.

König goes up the stairs almost sluggishly – making noise is the least of his worries. His heavy steps thump against the carpeted stairs, one of them creaks as he heads forward. Might as well let Horangi know it was him in case he had decided to sweep the second floor with his gun ready.

And König's body relaxes even sooner than he had hoped as he comes to the top of the stairs and rounds the corner, eyes already adjusted to the dark blue hue that pours through the windows.

In the dim hallway he thinks he sees what he's looking for, barely taking a second to look closer since all he needs to know is he has a woman in his sights. Fucking finally. He turns his radio on, takes a relaxed stance.

"Target in–"

But König pauses as his vision narrows down – down to the sight in front of him, only a small distance away. Could almost reach out to touch it.

It's not what he expected.

That surprised face, such a scared look in those wide eyes. Hair messed up by the pillow. Sweet lips parted – he could almost hear a silent, trembling breath leave them, call to him. All alone and defenseless in the hallway, lost tiny thing, with nobody to come to the rescue. Naked thighs below what could have been a dress, almost. Tense arms half folded on both sides, could be mistaken as wings but they're already broken – before he had the honors.

You're not supposed to be here. Innocent, his anger is not your fault – no, you wash it all away.

He's got you in his sights – and if you ever believed in fate, this now seals it.

A shapeless mumble of sorts – that's all you hear when you slowly begin to surface. The thickness of the tranquil miasma that fills each possible crevice of your buzzing brain barely lets anything through, but the murmur is the only thing you could identify as human voices. Something to grab a hold of.

             "-looks wea- - -dose- - -athing normal-"

          "-probl- - -gonna- - -dead-"

Dead? Are you dying?

You feel something on your neck, below your jawline. Or the lack of it, rather, as pressure leaves your sluggish pulse and leaves numbness in its wake.

Maybe you let out a quiet whine, maybe you don't, you're not sure. But the sleepy voice you hear comes out at the very same time as your throat tightens and pushes through thick, soupy air, and the effort it took to do even that wears you out so fast you just want to go back to sleep. To sweet unconsciousness that weighs you down like lead at the very center of your brain.

               "König- - -base- - -nts to talk-"

But the distorted voices continue to prick through, annoyingly persistent. All English, now. Why did you expect some other language..?

You notice it properly, then; a sturdy, uneven wall pressed against your back and a slight pressure on both sides of your ass. Something enveloping you. You lean back into it and as you shift you realize there are two appendages holding you in place, one around your waist and the other on your thigh, securing you so your limp body doesn't fall over. They react to your movement, you feel a pressure gently adjust on your stomach. The mass behind you feels warm and strangely comforting as it grounds your body to stay conscious.

The voice above you feels the most familiar, so present and close. Tightens something in your stomach in recognition. You can feel your heartbeat on your lips, tongue heavy behind them.

"Tell them I'm busy," König says, jaw tight and mind somewhere else entirely: somewhere between his body and yours as he sits behind you in the back of the moving van.

König can't believe his luck. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing to take you and not plan it too much, he can admit, but who could blame him? He now has the most adorable girl in between his legs, weak and docile, leaning her tiny body against him like he was finally someone's knight in shining armor. You're barely conscious and not exactly willing, sure, but that's beside the point.

He knows he was always fast to act and cursed to think later. But fuck, you're so tiny and cute, he thinks as he tilts his head way above yours, lets his gaze glide down your body. That shirt is too big for you, but even through the loose, excess fabric he sees your tits bounce a little as the van sways – shit, König has to steal his eyes away to look at something entirely unappealing like the two other war dogs sitting there with him. How could you even survive on your own out in the world like that? You look like you were just waiting for someone to snatch you up – someone worse than König, of course.

Breath of cruel air climbs up the skin of your legs, steel unforgivingly cool and hard under you. You can feel your shins prickling as a shiver climbs up your body. A coldness sticks to the underside of your thighs and even under your bum, though the thin fabric of your shirt cuts the worst of it there. Whatever you sit on, it's made out of thick, cold metal and its grooves dig into your skin, making your bottom grow numb. It's just that the haze in your brain refuses to let you do anything about it, just sit there with your body drooping from one side to the other like the apparition of a ghost under a sheet.

Voices, first one is close once more, right above you.

        "Intel?"

            "Minim- - -data's secur- - -sent forward-"

Men's voices, you now realize.

König is not good with women; christ, he has scared away everyone he has gotten in bed with both for reasons he thought were his good features, as well as things he was very self-conscious of. Too clumsy with his size. Too intense. Too rough. Too anxious.

But then there you were, unable to resist or restrict him when he set his eyes on you. You had no choice but to come with him, alone and exposed, an unfortunate victim of a mission gone wrong. Too fucking cute and perfect for König to be able to prevent his heart from giving an extra beat when he saw you in the dim hallway. And you were a witness - what else was he supposed to do but to take you?

You are so unlike the harsh, cruel life he's used to; you look soft, gentle, a little sad somehow. You ran away at first, confused and irrational of course because König knows he can be scary, even when he was so careful not to hurt you when he pinned you against the bed. His muscles get tense when he thinks about it.

He needs to know if you are as sweet as you look. Would you resist him too much? Would you, too, think he's too intense even though he can't help it?

Something suddenly starts to awaken inside your fuzzy head – like a very faint fog light, except it's bright red and tries its damn best to make you lumber towards it. Men..? Why? The sweet whisper of sleep tries to drag you back but the light is so red–

No, don't think, rest your heavy head...

No, this is critical, fucking wake up, stare at the light, don't you blink or it's gone, burn your corneas on it–

Where are you? Who are these people? What happened?

König's fingers keep twitching against your body but he stays his hand, doesn't want to degrade you under the watchful eyes of the rest by doing what he desperately wanted to. HQ had wanted him to be less erratic, less destructive – well look at him now, the depiction of peaceful and... not calm, exactly, but as non-lethal as can be. The opposite, actually – he didn't want to break you. The pads of his gloves keep getting caught on the hem of your shirt, compulsively pulling the fabric upwards an inch or two every time before he returns back to the reality of sharing a tiny space with three other men even if one of them is driving and can't see him fondling the prize he'd found. And oh, he knows very well those men are not happy about this.

It's not uncommon for KorTac to let the mercs indulge on the field if an opportunity presented itself, but it was usually restricted to willing participants. Not like anybody would hold them accountable. In your case... Well, König would have to wait and see; he wouldn't want to force you too much. He wasn't like that.

König has to close his eyes for a moment when you rub your back against him, offer a view of your neck as your tired head droops to the side. You smell so fucking good. Like a woman, clean and soft and dreamy; König wants to bury his face in the crook of your neck, right underneath the sad little sack he'd had to tame you with. But he has to focus. Has to think of something else than your body leaning against him but it's hard with you fidgeting around every now and then, clearly beginning to wake up. König restricts you as little as he possibly can but can't help but feel bad about the fact he's covering your face. He raises your hood's edge a bit.

A soft breath pushes between your numb lips as a shape peeks under the darkness that had enveloped you all this time. A stripe of dim light reveals shapes and dark colors under the opaque fabric around you. You're... wearing a hood? Over your head? Your breath hitches as a sting of panic pushes through the fog, you feel it for real now when you barely realize there was a hand holding onto the edge of the fabric that restrained your vision.

"Keep her hood on, don't want her seeing my face. I'm pissed enough already. Fuck, all this for nothing..."

The hand stays for a bit, the hazy sliver of dim light within the lower corner of your blurry vision reveals a sturdy metal floor and a pair of military boots on both sides of your bare feet, uniting with a set of strong thighs wrapped in green cargos. The smell of steel, mud and gunpowder invades your nose – and something familiar, like you could connect the smell with a memory you can't quite grasp. You blink, indifferent and sleepy, your eyelids so heavy they can't even do it in unison.

"Then keep your own mask on." The sound comes from almost next to your ear. The hand granting you the slit of vision touches your cheek, not quite a caress but not an accident, either.

"Horangi, make some room." A third, unknown voice moves next to you mid-sentence and makes the air shift. A clattering sound behind you, like stuff being moved around. You hear the clank of boots and something like a car bench squeaking at the very same time the entire space surrounding you rocks for a second. It almost knocks you sideways, you feel your head sway but the back of it hits the sturdy entity behind you.

The hand retreats and your hood falls back in front of your face, your world returning to darkness once more. You fidget a bit, slow like your body had been thawing, and immediately feel something dig into your wrists that are tied together. The uneven wall behind you moves, the arms around you pull you against it. You suck air in sharply and use that same strength to move your lips while you still can.

"W-hr... whr' 'm I..." It's your best effort to reach out.

Someone further away sucks their teeth like they've reached the very last inch of their fuse. Then, another language, spoken through gritted teeth with a palpable anger from above you, startling you as you realize the conversation isn't all just faint mumbling in your ears anymore. The numbness begins to subside, bit by frightening bit.

A harsh, painful bump of flat steel against your bum forces you to stay aware. What was clearly a vehicle you're in keeps rocking back and forth but the hold – large arms, you realize – on your body tightens to not let you sway uncontrollably.

"Wh – wha'sgoin'unh," you mumble and try to break free in vain with that hard rope chafing against the sore skin of your wrists. "Ah– ow."

Your pulse begins to quicken and the uncomfortable feeling of increasing familiarity with the voices, the coldness, the harshness and darkness creeps up your spine. Your ass is one with the steel under you because your panties feel as thin as paper against something so unforgivingly harsh and cold. The only thing keeping you from freezing is the presence behind and around you.

There's this damned car, and men, and you're– you're wearing the sack, and the haze in your brain was preceded by a sting–

You begin to panic alarmingly fast, try to gather a mental image of where the hell you were but the sounds around you only tell you're in a moving vehicle, gravel under the wheels, bumps on the road, something screetches against the car doors every once in a while like tree branches.

You don't get to become familiar with your current surroundings as the vehicle comes to a slow stop and you hear the crank of a handbrake. Immediately, the arms around you take you into a proper grip by scooping from under your knees and arms, effortlessly lifting you into the air. Your tired body puffs the breath out of your lungs but you're finding the fight in you once more, trying to squirm yourself out of the bridal carry.

Still, no matter how you wiggle and kick and mewl weakly, a harsh bump cuts your cry short when your captor hops down. The sound of boots against gravel is all you hear while the cruelty of cold outside air spanks your exposed skin and it's the one thing that finally wakes you from your artificial stupor.

After a set of wooden stairs a door opens and someone greets the group of men that seem to surround you. The cold air is left behind, but not remedied by the 'warmth' of what seemed to be a house. Whoever's holding you lowers your feet to the floor but then immediately pushes you to sit down on a wooden chair, making sure your tied arms are set behind the backrest.

You let out a weak cry when the hood is pulled off of your head and the sudden light blinds your eyes, making one hundred percent sure you're gonna stay awake from this moment onward.

"Who the hell is she?" a new voice spurts out but you can't see anything, just keep squeezing your eyes shut to save them from the blinding white.

"Well not Evelyn fucking Price, that's for sure."

"What? What the hell went on in there?"

"Ask him."

There's a moment of silence until you hear a voice stutter in disbelief.

"Sir? Won't we have to take her out–"

"Last I checked, I'm still in charge of this mission."

When you manage to peek behind your scrunched lids, your surroundings are what looks to be a normal house, almost.

It's certainly old – reminds you of a log cabin of sorts with the aged furniture: brown leather couches, a dark brick fireplace, old massive carpets, the hide of some poor furry animal hung up on the wall. It, unfortunately, looks very remote. But it's not the house or decore or the damp, foresty smell that worries you the most as you blink away the discomfort and your eyes adjust to all shapes within your vision.

It's the fact that you're sitting in front of five large, masked, geared up soldiers.

And the tallest one of them all is standing right in front of you.

Slowly, your eyes pan up his body; the muddy boots, the green cargos, the holster's strap tied around his upper thigh, up to the pouches around his chest, on top of the dark jacket.

And the hood. The one thing you would never be able to forget. Your eyes follow up along the red stripes that fall downwards like bleeding wounds in the rain, and they pour out right below two cut eyeholes. Through which those blue, piercing eyes stare down at you, unblinking, the eyeblack smeared around them merely emphasizing the intensity.

It's him.

The monster who took you away.

It all comes back to you like a punch to the gut, the entire reel of the last moments you can remember sped up in your mind.

Your voice gets caught in your throat, panic shuts your airways and makes your midriff contract like your diaphragm just can't decide whether to let you breathe or not. But when your lips begin to move you fumble with your words as they pour out like they could keep him away.

"Ohgodnoplease, n-nonono–" you shake your head and look away, squeeze your eyes shut as you dig your heels into the old floorboards, your heart galloping in your chest.

"Quiet," a voice behind the hood says, the curious calmness of it somehow still so commanding it makes you immediately shut up with a panicked peep and squeeze your trembling lips together to stop yourself from pouring out the panicked word vomit. You sniff in shivering breaths, your eyes opening to flick through each of the men although the worst of your fears is still the one in front.

And it's like he reads your mind as the hooded man steps closer to you and gets down on one knee, eye-level with you. You keep your head turned away, trembling, but he raises his hand and cares little about your struggles as he catches your jaw to force you to look at him.

It's that moment once again – you, in his grasp, struggling and fearing for your life. He stares at you through the hood's cut eyeholes with great interest – or bloodlust? Or irritation? Or hunger? You can't read him, and don't even wish to know what he wants of you. But he keeps your head locked tight with just one hand, his touch firm but warm through the frictioned pads of his gloves. It's unnerving to not see any human faces; just masks, eyes, mere shapes of men.

"W-who are you?" you peep with a pathetic stutter, the corners of your mouth turning downwards in a way that makes you look like a forcibly bathed kitten.

"No one you'd like to know, girl," one of the soldiers sitting behind your kidnapper grunts and leans his elbows to his knees. He scratches his face through the black ski mask covering his identity, the sound of fabric chafing confirming he has an itchy beard under there.

The man concealed under the hood doesn't negate the statement in any way. Instead, he tilts his head a little and you can see his eyes flick on your features before he speaks.

"You will call me König from now on." His thumb caresses your cheek gently, like confirming to himself that you're real. It's a stark contrast, your soft cheek and his rough glove.

It tells you nothing. A name, a nickname, a word – no idea. But 'König' insists on making himself clear. He squeezes your cheeks a little and it makes you jump, lips forcibly puckered. Is the gesture encouragement or a threat?

"Understand?"

Oh, uh. You give him a couple of hasty nods, to which he's satisfied enough to let go of you and stand back up.

König sees you shiver, sees you fidget awkwardly, trying to pull your bum backwards to stop your shirt from hiking up your still very much bare legs. And he sees you squeeze those lovely thighs shut, rub them together, likely to create warm friction or simply as a self-soothing gesture.

Your thighs. You were rubbing them. Together.

All he wants is to just–

Behind the privacy of his hood, König's jaw clenches and he has to take a steady, deep breath.

"What's your name?" he breathes out while he's at it, sufficiently under control to talk about appropriate topics like their task at hand.

They– don't even know who you are? They mentioned Ev already, but... Does that mean they didn't expect to find you in that house? You and her looked nothing alike appearance-wise, despite your attempts to do so many years ago. It hadn't been a case of mistaken identity when they kidnapped you from Price's house. This monster– König hadn't made a blunder. He saw you, your face, his terrifying eyes examined you up close, intimately. He knew you weren't the person you should've been.

And didn't care. Took you anyway.

You think for a second before giving him a false name.

"That's not what your ID says." One of the men nudges something that's lying on the floor next to him. Your bag. Shit, when did they rifle through it?

...Right, maybe while you were drugged up to the point of unconsciousness. Holy hell, the thought scares you. Has anything happened while you were out of it? You swallow thickly, suddenly very aware of how your body feels or should feel – had they done something? Would they do something? You sink deep enough that König's question startles you.

"Now I ask again. What is your name?"

The corners of your lips tremble a little when you answer him. König hums in a content tone while you, on the other hand, feel embarrassed by how quickly you submitted. It's not like it's a habit, but it's kinda hard not to obey a man-shaped defense tower with four others behind him, all armed and fully capable of tearing you apart.

"What were you doing in that house? And don't you lie again."

"Ev– uh, Evelyn and I were– are– friends. She wanted me to look after the dogs while she..." Your eyes slowly lower, realizing the ridiculousness of it all. "...went to her boyfriend's."

You can't believe this. She could be you right now – but is not, only because of such an insignificant thing. That tiny change of plans, exactly that day. Shit, what day even is this? Is it morning, is it night..?

You briefly explain what had led you to arriving at Price's house, and just by the way they interrogate you makes you realize that someone – they – indeed had been watching you the whole night. But they had been lacking eyes on the backdoor, it seemed. A bus going through its routine route apparently hadn't raised as much suspicion as it should've, in hindsight. Little details, like you, gone unnoticed.

Judging by their very specific questions, what had ultimately likely damned you however was not only the almost fully opaque living room curtains that had blurred your identity, but also Ev's shirt. Nothing had alerted the men of their target switching. A blurry female figure and similar colors were enough to not tip them off. Yeah this was the last fucking time you were borrowing clothes from anyone – if there ever could be a next time, anyway.

"Jesus fucking christ... What a shitshow," one of the men groans and you feel his tone prickle your skin – makes it sound like you were responsible for all of this.

"We're not getting paid, are we?" one mutters to another, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

"Well what the fuck do you think? The data's only half of the contract."

It's stupid but you can't shake the feeling of being threatened just for being... you. The men shuffle every now and then, agitated. But König stays still.

"And Price? Does he know about this?" König sounds a bit more serious this time, making the info sound more vital than the rest.

"No... At least– he wasn't supposed to."

"Well, he will soon enough."

And it sure as hell isn't König's fault their target was not where it should've been. They still got one half of their contract fulfilled with the others rummaging through the house and as far as he was concerned, König got something very pleasing out of this mission as well. He would figure something out to get his team through this. And Price's ego and sense of security had definitely been wounded, anyway.

Their agent at Price's base might even be able to do more damage as compensation for this 'unfortunate' mishap since the Captain's attention would soon enough be on making sure his daughter was kept safe – for a while, at least.

"Did you... The dogs–" You want to turn the subject away from yourself even for a second, even though you don't think you even want to know the answer to your question. Recalling the sound that woke you up hurts you. "What did you do to his dogs?" That tiny voice of yours is aimed at your lap, mournful and meek. König glances at his men.

"Don't worry about it," you hear one of them say.

"Don't worry about it," König immediately parrots as he turns back to you, just the innocent messenger of bad news. Your posture slouches further down on the chair and you let out a sad sob. If they hurt them–

König knows he's in deep. Not just with the prettiest girl in front of him, all emotional and vulnerable and hopefully soon ready to fall into the hands of her savior. No, no. His men will want compensation. He grits his teeth, flipping through scenarios in his head, none of them optimal. He's found something he never expected and he's suddenly not in such a hurry to be done with this mission after all.

König has to figure out how to fulfill the contract to get them out of this mess. HQ will have the last word, but he can plan ahead.

"We need to set a ransom," König says like it's 'most unfortunate it has come to this' and even though it spells your freedom at best, it sounds scary as hell. One of the soldiers gives an approving comment, mildly interested. You sniffle and your sad little frown slowly melts away as the realization kicks in. You lift your head. Ransom. Oh no.

"So who do we call," König sighs and crosses his arms.

"H-huh?" It's a confused little moan you let out as your head lifts to look at him.

"Who do we call. For ransom. Someone will have to pay handsomely to see that pretty face again."

Yeah, this is it for you.

"No one..."

"What do you mean, 'no one'?"

"Nobody's going to pay." Your voice drowns as you press your chin to your chest.

"Fffuuck..." you hear one of the men hiss, teeth clenched before he steps away like he's on the verge of breaking something, and it makes you shrivel up. "Then she's useless," another one whispers and you know exactly what that means. You peek at them from under your knit brows. "When's the last time you were ordered to kill a civilian, huh? Yeah, that's what I thought. Now shut up."

Kill? Oh, oh no, nonono, what–? The chair feels more uncomfortable by the second and you open and close your mouth like a goldfish on dry land as your wide eyes flicks through the men, half expecting someone to pull out their gun to get this over with.

"You have a family, ja?" König sounds sceptical, above all.

You alarmedly shake your head because you can't really lie about any of your contacts now; it's useless to start digging that topic or even start a discussion about anyone's ability to pay. And it's not like your work bestie's going to scrounge up the money by working with the exact same desperation as you have.

"A boyfriend?" König's eyes subconsciously squint a little as he stares at you, an unknown emotion clearly going through him but you can't know why.

What? You want to dig into the question but can't look him in the eyes long enough – his stare is too sharp, too alert right now and it's drilling a hole right into your brain like he would force the truth out of you if he had to.

"I don't have one." As if it's any of his business. His tone makes you feel judged. However, König's intense stare as well as his increasingly agitated posture relaxes immediately with your answer, like a wave went through him.

"Oh."

Oh?

Further away, someone shifts. "I'm sure Price'll pay–"

König fucking snaps, throws that carefree 'oh' right out the window. Immediately he turns to bellow at the man who tried to butt in and it makes you jump. It's just that he's shouting... mostly in German, so you have no idea what he's saying. Guessing it's a threat of some sort, since you hear a grumbling and reluctant yes sir sorry sir from the man who made the comment in the first place.

After he's done, König turns back to you like an ominous gargoyle, his gaze feral enough to make you shrink into your chair.

...He's scary. Goes from 0 to 100 in a heartbeat. But then, when he looks at you, the chilling glint in his eyes dies down and his demeanor melts. Maybe it's an interrogation tactic, to show you he's a good guy at heart. Good to you.

König breathes away the anger that boils inside; even the thought of someone so infuriatingly respected and polished like Price snatching you away just by giving a wad of cash to KorTac makes him want to kill him and everyone back at the base with his bare hands.

You don't have a boyfriend. You... don't. Not like it mattered in the end, but still. You don't?

"You have nobody waiting for you back home?" König asks, his relief shadowed by his surprise.

"No," you mutter, embarrassed but still very aware of the fact your life has just more or less indirectly been threatened. The more König wants to define the meaning of 'nobody but the government can pay to get you back and that's never gonna happen', the worse it feels. But though you expected irritation behind his question, you sense something else. His tone is strangely intrigued, almost curious. Like he can't believe what you're saying.

Fear floats back on top, colors your thoughts as you think about all the ways this can go down. And the very first outcome is still–

"Are you... Are you going to kill me now?" you peep like you're already waiting for them to put a bullet through your forehead. Hell, they could, this very instant.

König sounds almost amused by your troubled question like it was an offer.

"Do you think we should?"

"N-no..?" But the other option was..?

You see the corners of König's eyes scrunch so clearly there is no doubt in your mind he's smiling widely. It's just that you don't know if it should make you feel relieved or very, very worried.

"Then I guess you're staying, ja?"