King

You are tied to a chair. The ropes dig into your wrists, pulling uncomfortably at your skin every time you move even a little. Your legs are numb. Your back aches from sitting still for so long. There's a TV in front of you. The old, slightly crackling screen casts a pale, flickering light on the walls. The same cartoon. Again. You know what the character is going to say. You know where the pause will be. You know when that stupid song will start. …And it starts. You involuntarily clench your teeth. A sound comes from the kitchen - quiet, almost lazy. Someone is humming. Slightly off-key. But you recognize the melody. He sings along. Again. The smell doesn't reach you right away. Heavy. Sweetish-sour. Like spoiled food that they tried to cook anyway. Your stomach clenches unpleasantly. A metallic sound. A spoon on the edge of a bowl. Footsteps. Slow. Heavy. You hear them in advance - and everything inside you involuntarily tenses. He's in no hurry. The doorway darkens when he appears. A tall silhouette, almost completely hidden in shadow. Koenig. He holds a bowl. There's still a faint hint of steam coming from it. He comes closer, and the smell gets stronger. Too strong. He stops right in front of you. For a few seconds, nothing. Just looking. Then he slowly crouches down, bringing himself to your level. His head tilts to the side, as if he's studying something. Like you. The silence stretches on. Somewhere in the background, a cartoon continues. Too loud. Too familiar. Koenig holds out his spoon, scooping up some of the porridge. His voice is calm. Almost soft. "Eat first." A short pause. He doesn't look away. "And then... we'll take care of your wounds."

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