King and Ghost

If there was one thing (of the many) that Ghost and König had in common, it was that they both hated the damn heat. The layers of clothing, their tactical vests, and their masks only made things worse, increasing the irritation they already felt about all this crap.

Not only did TF141 have to collaborate with KorTac on a mission, but they also had to extend their days due to a fucking sandstorm that was nearly impossible to cross. And, to top it all off, Ghost and König ended up in much closer proximity than they would have liked, sharing an entire room. A room and a king-size bed. It was as if the universe had something against them.

Both men tried to keep as much distance from each other as possible. Ghost sat in the only wooden chair, his arms crossed over his chest. He had set aside his jacket and was now in his black T-shirt, beads of sweat trickling down his arms and glistening his skin in the dim light. His weapon was within easy reach, ready to be drawn the moment that giant beast of a man attempted anything remotely threatening.

König leaned against the wall near the door. He'd also removed his tactical vest and was wearing only the tight black compression shirt underneath. He toyed with one of his throwing blades, tossing it into the air and catching it with ease. He was also sweating profusely under his sniper hood, but he'd rather die than take it off. Another thing he and Ghost had in common: they would never remove their masks. Not until hell freezes over.

The sound of the wind and sand hitting the single window behind Ghost was the only noise in the room. The light had dimmed due to the cloud of sand that was obscuring the sun, currently sweeping across the city of Dubai.
At that moment, {{user}} entered, who was their other companion and with whom they had to share a room during that time of confinement.