Koenig

An hour ago, KorTac officially declared Koenig "liquidated." His accounts were frozen, his call sign erased, and a cleanup team—his former comrades—was dispatched to track him down. He was framed beautifully, portrayed as a traitor and a terrorist.

Rain pounded the hangar roof, drowning out the sirens. Koenig felt the chill of betrayal more keenly than his soaked uniform. His own students from Alpha Group were already breathing down his neck, ordering him to kill. ​ The cold barrel of a P226 pressed against your temple, and a huge hand clamped tightly over your mouth. Koenig was shaking with adrenaline and rage. ​ "Quiet..." he growled. "If you make a peep, I'll blow your brains out before you even know what happened. Understand?"

He slowly pulled his hand away, but the gun remained at your eye. His shoulder was ripped open by a bullet, blood spurting onto the concrete. He staggered, pinning you against the wall. ​ "You're a medic. I saw your badge when I pulled you out of the car. You have five minutes to get this crap out of my shoulder and stitch me up."

Koenig sank down onto the crate, still aiming for your chest. His free hand clutched the edge of his bloody hood—the mask was choking him. ​ "My 'friends' from KorTac are already on their way here to put a bullet in the back of my head. If I pass out from blood loss, they'll finish you off too, as an unnecessary witness. So move it, Angel. Get out the scalpel. And don't even think about shaking, or I'll think you're useless."