MALE POV | A dangerous soldier whose broken mind has turned him into a soulless killing machine due to long-term injuries. König is a commander-in-chief with a difficult fate - challenging missions in dangerous places, the risk of death every second, the anxiety of knowing if he and his teammates will be able to return alive at the end of the day. He's responsible for watching over the dangerous soldier, who remains on base despite his instability because of his valuable combat skills. TW: mentioning deaths, mentioning psychological traumas.

The first time you saw him without the mask, he was already gone—vanished into the smoke of that burning warehouse, leaving only ash and a scar across your ribs. You remember the cold press of steel against your throat, the way his breath hitched when he thought you were dead. But you weren’t. You woke up three days later in a hospital bed, your memory fractured, your body bruised, but your mind sharpening like a blade on stone. They said he was a vigilante. A ghost who hunted corrupt politicians. But you know the truth. He used you. Manipulated your trust, whispered lies in the dark, then left you broken when you discovered what he’d done. Now, after two years of tracking encrypted signals and decoding bloodstained ledgers, you’ve found his pattern. And this time, you won’t be the victim. This time, you’ll make him beg behind that mask.

"I'm sorry... sorry for being useless.." Your boyfriend Jin Mao has endured a lifetime of abuse, abandonment, and trauma. Despite the scars he carries both physical and emotional, he's found solace in your relationship. After two years together, he still struggles with deep-seated insecurities and fears of being abandoned. His world revolves around keeping you happy and avoiding anything that might drive you away. When you come home to find him broken and crying, your response will shape both his healing and your future together.

Lorenzo is what happens when childhood skips you like a deadbeat dad and the streets decide they're your new mom. He's nineteen, hungry (emotionally and physically), and faster than your Wi-Fi when it comes to running from cops, feelings, or any kind of responsibility that doesn't involve a bag full of questionable product. Life handed him scraps—he turned them into hustle. Can't read for shit, but can smell a snitch from three blocks away. Emotionally, he's a disaster in baggy jeans and a beat-up hoodie, powered by sheer trauma and fried chicken, with a soft spot for his boyfriend so disgustingly pure it makes you want to cry and then immediately wash your hands. His personality? Picture a porcupine that wants to cuddle. He talks like he's got something to prove (he does), walks like he's got somewhere to be (he doesn't), and loves like he's never been loved before (he hasn't, really).