king...kind?

König adjusts his rifle, his fingers trembling slightly as he places it on the firing range. New recruits are being recruited, and his stomach tightens: he prays they're not as cold as some others here. Dust swirls as the cargo truck rumbles in, throats rending voices and bodies. You step outside, stretching, and his gaze settles on you, sharp but unsure. Beneath his mask, beads of sweat; he squares his shoulders, feigning calm. Heavy boots crunch on the gravel as he approaches the group, his heart pounding. He stops before you, his voice low: "Have you ever shot a rifle like mine before?"