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Kortac doesn’t often get the chance to partner up with actual military branches. Something about private contracting clauses and “technically being mercenaries” and all that jazz. However, the 141 has always been different. Their commander - Capt. Price - seems to have no qualms partnering up with Kortac operators, regardless of history or temperament.
The 141 is infamous, despite not existing on paper. Everyone seems to have some personal connection to Capt. Price - Horangi himself having met the man while he was still stationed with the 13th Brigade in the Korean Armed Forces. He had touched down, taken one look at Horangi’s mask-and-goggle get-up and told him he “reminded him of one of his men. Bet you’re not as scary though.” At the time, Horangi was a bit insulted. Later, he understood.
The man Price was referring to, of course, was Lt. Riley - “Ghost”. He’s a scary bastard, one who could convince Horangi to be afraid of whatever may be lurking in dark corners and deep alleyways. The only one seemingly impervious to Ghost’s perpetual fear factor is Sgt. John Mactavish - “Soap”.
The third member of the 141 has a known tenacity for demolitions, something Horangi has heard much about despite never meeting the man. König has met him though, and the two instantly connected over demolitions tactics and a love for sniping. Then, of course, is the other Sergeant on the force, Sgt Kyle Garrick. Horangi hasn’t heard much about him - or at least, much that makes sense. Gaz seems to have a history of getting into and out of life threatening situations without much more than a headache. He’s convinced that the stories must be made up, because there’s no way someone can fall out of a helicopter, dangle upside-down over a high speed car chase and continue to fight off attackers without suffering more than a sprained ankle. It’s impossible.
Needless to say, Kortac contractors jump at the chance to work with the 141.
--
The first time Horangi experiences a 141 contract come through, he’s only been with Kortac for a few months.
He’s the newest member by far, and has yet to fully settle into the particular lifestyle of the home base. He’s made a few friends - namely only König and Oni, though Oni is rather reluctant to call him a “friend” - and maintains fairly civil working relationships with the other operators.
Horangi sits in one of the small, worn chairs in the corner of the mess hall designated as the “common space.” The larger, cafeteria-esque tables have been shoved to the side, making space for an old television, some gaming consoles courtesy of Hutch, and an eclectic variety of used furniture. König sits opposite him, staring at the cards in his hand.
“Do you want me to explain the rules again?” Horangi asks after a moment, eyebrow arched. He’s discarded his sunglasses, since it’s just the two of them, but the mask stays firmly in place.
“ Nein . I can figure it out.” König denies. Horangi can’t see much beyond the hood, but he imagines a face of adorable, deep-set concentration.
“Alright.” he hums, leaning back in his chair. König discards an ace, a spectacularly stupid play. Horangi snatches it up. Before he can begin to gloat, Roze bursts into the room. König startles in his seat.
“There’s a new contract.” she huffs, still catching her breath. Apparently she was in a hurry to get here, though Horangi hasn’t the faintest idea why.
“It’s with the 141.”
The way she says it, he’s sure there’s meant to be some kind of dramatic reaction on his part. He shrugs.
“Who?”
König and Roze both look at him like he’s stupid.
“What?” he defends, holding his hands up in mock-surrender. Roze just shakes her head.
“Your loss. All the better for me then, if you’re not itching to claim it too.” She jogs out of the room, no doubt on her way to share the news to the others if she hasn’t already. He watches her go, listening to the room settle into ambient quiet again.
After a moment, he asks “Who are the 141?”
König fills him in.
--
The next time a 141 contract comes through, Horangi is much more intrigued.
From what König had explained, the 141 seems right up Horangi’s alley, full of adrenaline junkies with little to no regard for standing precedents. There’s still a chain of command and a basic pretense of operations orders, though it’s clear that the 141 is more of an equal team and less of a commander and soldiers. Horangi respects that.
News finds him while König, Oni and Horangi are eating in the mess hall. Declan joins them, plopping his plate next to Oni. Oni scoots away.
“Lads hear about the new posting?” he asks, apropos of nothing.
“What do I care?” Oni gripes.
“Maybe you don’t care, but I wanted to let these guys know.” Declan counters.
“ Danke .” König hums, seemingly uninterested.
Horangi isn’t the newest recruit anymore (that honor goes to Atom) but he’s still unfamiliar with the way operators are assigned contracts. He asked König about it once, but all he got was a shrug and a vague you’ll get what fits you, schatz. It didn’t clarify much, but Horangi assumes König meant he doesn’t have much say in what he does or doesn’t get.
Still, he feels a faint flicker of hope that some higher up thinks he fits the 141 contract.
--
Horangi forgets about the contract pretty soon after that. He busies himself with finishing his meal, then sparring with König, then bothering Oni. He’s a simple man with a simple routine.
Horangi finds Oni in the kitchenette, waiting for his kettle to whistle. Klaus is there as well, and the two are chattering softly about tea.
“Mint, hmm.” Oni hums, contemplative.
“With cream.” Klaus amends. Oni nods seriously, accepting the mug Klaus offers him and taking a sip.
“Very…” he pauses, clearly searching for the right word. His eyebrows furrow as he takes another sip. “Bright,” he decides.
“Can I try?” Horangi makes grabby-hands across the counter. Oni sighs as he passes the mug over. Tea is not Horangi’s favorite, though it is something he is familiar enough with to hold a basic conversation. Klaus’ mint-and-cream tea is smooth, clean-tasting in the way a stick of gum is the first few minutes you chew on it.
“Bright.” he agrees, before offering the mug back to Oni.
“You can have the rest.” Oni waves him off.
“And congratulations.” Klaus adds.
“For the tea?”
“For the contract.”
Horangi raises a brow, shooting a questioning look at Oni. He simply shrugs, busying himself with making a new cup of tea. Super helpful guy, Oni is.
Klaus lifts a second mug in a toast. “With the 141.” he clarifies.
--
Horangi does not stay up waiting for his mission brief for an inordinate amount of time. That tea of Klaus’s just really packs the punch, he’s got too much caffeine in his system.
That’s all.
That’s why, when a light knock sounds on his door about 4 hours after he would’ve normally gone to bed, he’s out of his chair at a record speed. When he reaches the door in 2 fast paces, he stops himself and takes a deep breath. Be cool, Horangi.
He swings open the door, revealing his favorite Austrian operator with a manila folder in hand.
“Congratulations, Lieutenant.” König hums, presenting him the folder. He’s got a similar one tucked under his arm, so he was presumably contracted as well. All the better, in Horangi’s mind - he and König work remarkably well together.
“I haven’t been called Lieutenant in a while.” he scoffs, ignoring the giddy bubbles rising in his chest. He turns into the room and approaches his desk, assuming König will follow. He’s right, of course.
“Better get used to it. Ghost has a habit of calling everyone by rank, regardless of whether or not they’re active.” König expands, silently dropping onto the bed. Horangi has already begun spreading the pages haphazardly across his desk.
“I don’t know how you read like that.” König sighs, thumbing through his pristinely kept file.
“I can see it better spread out.” Horangi says, tilting his head as if he was going to turn around but never taking his eyes off the spread of information. A few key details jump out immediately: a blueprint of an old manufacturing facility ( two watchtowers, three gates, open complex layout, one main building and four smaller, subsidiary buildings he notes, already planning possible entry and exit routes), a grainy photo of some bald scumbag ( definitely a scumbag, look at that mustache ) and what might be a shipping order, though it’s pretty vague.
“We’ll debrief the actual mission when we arrive.” König adds, having given him a moment to absorb a baseline of information from the documents.
“When’s take-off?”
“03:00. Get some rest, we can read up on the flight.” König nudges his shoulder, an attempt to draw his attention away from the packet. Horangi didn’t even realize König had gotten up.
Horangi sighs. He wants to throw himself in head-first, but König has worked with these guys before. Horangi will follow his lead on the best course of action.
“Okay. Okay.” he acquiesces. König moves to leave, but pauses in the doorway.
“Hey, Horangi?” he asks, voice even more uncertain than usual.
“Yeah?” Horangi hums, sorting his papers back into the folder.
“When we get there-” he starts, cutting himself off. He takes a moment, trying to formulate his words. Horangi takes a guess, if only to fill the silence.
“Do you want me to do the talking?” he offers. König’s got pretty bad social anxiety, he knows, and even though he’s met these guys before, he may still not be comfortable talking to them directly. Hell, it took him months before König responded to his (teasing) barbs with anything other than apologies.
König nods, a little frantic.
“I gotcha buddy. See ya at 3.”
“Yes. See you.”
König closes the door, and Horangi can’t help but feel that König wasn’t going to ask him to handle the talking.
--
When they touch down at the 141’s current base, all the team members are waiting to greet them in a neat line. Price is on the end, head tilted down as he lights a cigar. Ghost is next to him, standing imposingly tall with arms crossed over his chest as he glares down the runway at them. Soap and Gaz chatter amicably to each other, Soap occasionally reaching over to lightly smack Ghost’s arm and try to draw him into the conversation.
“Have a good flight, men?” Price calls, smiling warmly at the Kortac operators. König nods, though Horangi can tell the smile is returned in the way his eyes crinkle.
“Yes, sir.” Horangi chirps for the both of them. Price chuckles, clapping Horangi on the shoulder.
“Good to see you again, son.”
“Same to you, sir.”
“I’m sure König has filled you in on who’s who.” Horangi nods an affirmative. Price turns his attention to the rest of the 141.
“141, you know König and this is Horangi.” He gestures to each of them respectively. Ghost and Gaz give polite nods, while Soap steps forward to offer a handshake to Horangi.
“Nice to meet ya!” He smiles as Horangi shakes his hand briefly. “Let’s have a blast!”
--
The set up is- well, simple isn’t the right word.
See, Scumbag Major (as Horangi has taken to calling him, he’s not that great with names) is smuggling a large variety of illegal weapons and ammunitions through the old factory, contained within complex farming equipment. Their goal is to get in, plant explosives, and get the hell out of dodge before the place goes up in smoke. If they can shut down this front, it will heavily cripple the future operations of The Greater Scumbag (Horangi’s really bad at names) that the 141 is actually trying to take down.
The main issue? The sheer number of guards Scumbag Major has crawling all over the place.
Each of the three entrances have at least 5 guards on them at any given time, not to mention the 2 guards posted at the doors to each building they need to access and the 4-man patrols constantly on the move all over the base. So, stealth and speed are essential.
Horangi’s fine with this, stealth and speed are his strong suit. Missions like this are more-or-less his day to day kind of operation. König, on the other hand, he’s worried about.
König is an insertion specialist. His whole job is to barrel in and fuck shit up, to put it lightly. The guy’s legacy is the time he took out 12 enemy combatants on his own, creating a massive bloodbath. He doesn’t doubt König has the basic skills to nail the “speed” aspect, but…
Well, König’s a big guy . Imagining him slinking into the shadows - being anything other than a beacon of torrential destruction - is difficult. Then again, he moves pretty quietly around the base, so maybe he’ll be alright.
The plan is this: Three teams of two will enter each gate. Alpha from the South gate, Bravo from the East, and Gamma from the West. There is no North gate, as that side of the facility backs up to a steep cliffside. Teams will make their way inwards, avoiding as much attention as possible, for as long as possible.
Three explosives will be placed by each team, starting inwards and working outwards as they exfil: one on their respective side of the main building, one on a watchtower, and one on a subsidiary building. Alpha team, not having a watchtower in their direct exfil path, has to plant explosives on two of the subsidiary buildings. Once all three teams are out, everyone reconvenes at the exfil point. Soap will detonate the explosives once they are in the air.
Price had opted to split up the Kortac operators between other 141 members, “if that’s okay with you, König?” he had asked. König just gave a curt nod. Price hadn’t asked Horangi, which he’s a little miffed about, but he’s also not the one with social anxiety, or a standing relationship with these guys. He shrugs it off.
That’s how he ended up kit-ing up in the belly of an airlift next to Sgt. Garrick - “Call me Gaz or I’ll punch you”, he so kindly insists. Horangi’s tempted to see how long he can get away with calling him Sergeant before he does actually get punched.
“So, how do you wanna do this, Sergeant?” he asks, the picture of innocence. He smiles under his mask when Gaz shoots him an absolutely lethal side-eye.
“I’ll follow your lead, Lieutenant. ” he shoots back, and yeah, Horangi set himself up for that one. He rolls his eyes (not that Gaz can tell, he’s got his sunglasses on too.) and finishes his basic check of his kit. They have rifles, but have been encouraged to use them as a last resort, since the silencers aren’t effective enough to not draw suspicion. Horangi’s decided to challenge himself to rely mostly on his knives, maybe his pistol if he has to.
“Besides,” Gaz continues, “That’s why they’ve got us split up like this.”
“Like how?” Horangi scans the other men in the cargo hold, similarly partnered up to discuss strategy. Price and Soap seem to be engaged in a mostly one-sided discussion on explosives, and Ghost and König sit in silence as they study a map.
“No two operatives of the same rank.” Gaz elaborates. “So there’s an easy chain of command to fall back on if necessary. Usually we split up me an’ Price and Soap and Ghost, but we had to shuffle things around for you guys.”
Horangi hums an acknowledgment, but deigns to continue the conversation. Between himself and Gaz, he’s technically the commanding officer, as is Price between Price and Soap. He knows Ghost is a Lieutenant, like him, but it strikes him that he has no idea what König’s rank is - or was, he supposes. Ranks don’t matter in Kortac, so they rarely ever come up. He supposes König could be a Captain, but it feels more likely he was a Sergeant. His internal ruminations are cut short by an accented voice crackling over the intercoms:
“Touching down now,” says the pilot, who had been introduced as Nikolai earlier.
“Alright boys!” Price calls, moving towards the bay door. “Radio when you’ve arrived at your entry position. Establish a watch on the guard rotation. We don’t move in until everyone knows the pattern.” Horangi shoots König a glance, then a brief thumbs up. It’s hard to tell, but König’s eyes crinkle as he smiles back.
Just like that, the bay doors open, and Horangi and Gaz take off into the woods.
--
As the Gamma team, they’ve been tasked with the West gate. Just as expected, there are five men milling around just outside the gate, and Gaz has counted at least 3 inside the watchtower so far. The patrols seem to come by in 5 minute intervals, a fact confirmed by Ghost at the Alpha point and Price at Bravo. He’s gotten some additional commentary from Soap, but nothing from König. Yet. He knows, as soon as König starts fighting, he lights up banter like a spark to flame.
They’ve been camped for almost an hour and a half, and Horangi is growing impatient. The sun has long since set, and he’s starting to feel the chill of night seep into his stagnant bones. As if reading his mind, Gaz leans back from his scope.
“I think I’m ready whenever.” he notes.
“Good.” Horangi nods, before clicking on his radio. “This is Gamma-1, ready to move in.” Silence meets him for a moment, before Price’s voice crackles through the piece in his ear.
“Bravo-1, ready to move in.”
All that’s left is Ghost to confirm Alpha team as ready, and they can begin.
“Alpha-1, ready.”
The voice that comes through is not Ghost, as Horangi had expected, but rather König. His voice has dropped into that rough, almost frantic-sounding zone he enters on the battlefield, and it starts Horangi’s heart beating. That voice means it’s time to go, time to fight. An almost Pavlovian reaction releases adrenaline into his system, and he and Gaz begin their creep towards the gate.
--
Surprisingly, getting in was the easy part.
That should’ve been the first sign.
They made it all the way to the central building without having to take out a single combatant. Horangi keeps guard while Gaz rigs the charge.
“I don’t like this.”
“Soap’s wiring is… odd, to say the least-” Gaz began, still focused on the explosive.
“No.” Horangi cut him off. “It’s been too easy.” Horangi is familiar with the feeling of a gamble that lines up too perfectly, too good to be true. The pot is huge, the cards are perfect, but he still feels like he’s going to lose.
“Don’t jinx it man.” Gaz says, stepping away from his handiwork and initiating the test pulse, which won’t set off the charge, but will prime it for easy detonation. “Okay, one planted, let’s move.”
And well, Horangi’s always been a dogshit gambler.
“Gamma team, moving to plant point two.” he radios. On their way towards their assigned subsidiary building, Price radios a similar affirmative. They have yet to hear from Alpha team, but Horangi pushes down the worry bubbling in his stomach, climbing up his throat.
Gaz plants and primes the second explosive, and they still haven’t heard anything from Alpha team. Horangi taps his foot while keeping watch.
“Almost done.” Gaz grunts, struggling with this one more than the previous.
Horangi hums an acknowledgement. The lack of response is setting him on edge, especially for König, who is notoriously vocal on the battlefield. Suddenly, Gaz speaks up.
“Horangi?”
“Yeah?”
“How long has it been since we’ve seen a patrol?”
A chill settles in his spine.
Somewhere in the distance, a volley of gunshots crack in the air.
--
After that, it’s a mad dash back to the exfil point. At least 8 combatants descended on Horangi and Gaz’s position, keeping them moving and frantically dodging bullets as they whipped through the night air. Since stealth was no longer an option, Horangi took to open firing whenever he could.
They round a corner, and the watchtower stands in front of them. Immediately, they flatten themselves to a wall and pray the shadows are dark enough to give them momentary respite. It works, and the group chasing them rushes right past.
After a moment - confirming they’re in the clear for a moment - they skid to the base of the watchtower. Horangi is on high-alert, scanning all the little cracks and crevices enemies could come at them from. Gaz frantically begins routing the wires.
“They’ll be back soon, we’ve got to move.” Horangi whispers.
“Let me prime-” Gaz begins.
“No.” Horangi hisses.
“We have a window!” Gaz argues, “I just need 15 seconds-”
“We don’t have 15 seconds.” Horangi counters. He can hear the patrol circling back as they speak. If they don’t go now, they may not be able to reach the gate without being surrounded by a goddamn hoard.
“But-” and Horangi hates to do this, but he can’t be the reason Gaz doesn’t make it out. He just can’t.
“I said we’re going, Sergeant!” he demands. The fight goes out of Gaz, and he acquiesces. Quickly, the two book it for the gate.
--
They’re the second team back to the exfil point. Soap has spread out all his materials on the floor of the cargo hold, deftly completing assembly on what Horangi assumes is the detonator.
“Good to see you made it back boys.” Price greets, before disappearing into the cockpit. Gaz moves to follow him, but Horangi stops him.
“I’m sorry.” he says, eyes cast towards the floor. “I didn’t want to pull rank, but I refuse to risk anyone’s life for the mission.”
“Other than your own, of course.” Gaz shoots back. “This is our job, man. I know the risk.”
“But you aren’t mine to risk.”
And Gaz looks at him, a soft realization dawning on his face. Horangi stares back, tentatively defiant.
“The charge was planted. Better to leave without priming for a 50% chance of detonation than leave with 100% chance of detonation but one less soldier.” he states. He expects a counter, but Gaz just nods and claps a hand on his shoulder. Before he can say anything, his gaze drifts over Horangi’s shoulder, and his face drops.
“Holy shit.” he whispers, before rushing past. Horangi turns, and he could swear - in that moment - his heart stops.
Ghost is sluggishly approaching the plane, absolutely covered in blood.
“Go!” he shouts, gravelly voice sharp through the ringing in Horangi’s ears.
Because, slumped over Ghost’s shoulders, is König. König, unmoving and unresponsive as a dead man.
--
Hours later, Horangi is camped out in the small, makeshift hospital room they’ve stationed König in.
The flight back - maybe the second-worst of his life, behind the flight he took fleeing from his debtors in Korea - revealed that no, König wasn’t dead, but he was riddled with bullets. One in the shoulder, three in the abdomen, and one in his left leg. Ghost didn’t say how it all went down, but Horangi can’t help but be resentful of Ghost’s noted lack of bullet wounds.
They patched him up as best they could while still on the plane, then rushed him to medical as soon as they landed. Horangi wasn’t allowed into the room until 3 hours later, and he hasn’t moved since. Price came in briefly, but beyond that it’s just been him. Until now, he thinks, as a light knock sounds on the door.
“How’s he doing?” Ghost asks, arms crossed over his chest. Horangi barely spares him a glance.
“Fine, I think.” he sighs. They stand in companionable enough silence for a few minutes, just listening to the rhythmic beats of the various monitors hooked up to König.
“He took those shots for me.” Ghost suddenly says, apropos of nothing.
“I figured.” Horangi scoffs. Despite his ire, he feels a warm affection raise in his chest. König has always had a heart too big for his chest, and it’s admirable how ready he is to throw himself in the line of fire to protect his teammates.
“Let him know I’ll pay him back someday.” Ghost says, leaving the room. Horangi groans, leaning back in his chair. He waits until he’s sure Ghost is down the hall before speaking.
“You’re such a baby.” he scolds. König cracks an eye open.
“You knew?” König croaks, throat dry. Horangi scoots his chair over to guide König to the glass of water next to his bed.
“I only noticed because I’ve been here so long. Hard to pretend you’re still unconscious when you’re hooked up to all these noise machines.”
“Ach. I did not wish to speak with the Lieutenant.” König mumbles, flexing his fingers as he takes stock of his body.
“Yeah, I wouldn’t either, if I was stupid enough to catch five bullets for a notoriously unkillable bastard.” Horangi grouses
“You are angry.” König states, tentative voice small. Horangi can’t find it in him to care, too busy sifting through a whirlwind of emotions hitting him now that König is awake.
“Of course I am! You’re an idiot!” he shouts, standing from his chair. “You are the only bastard I know who would rather get shot than be thanked . God! I wish I didn’t care about you so much, because this?” he gestures between the two of them, then wildly at the room around them. “This sucks!”
“I am sorry… that you care?” König apologizes, though he’s clearly confused as to what he’s meant to be apologizing for.
“You should be!” he huffs, fight quickly draining out of his body as he slumps back into the chair.
“You think the other ops are still gonna be so eager for 141 contracts?”
--
He hangs out with König for another half an hour before the Austrian starts to complain of an empty stomach. Horangi makes a big show of reluctance, but he makes a pretty quick ordeal of finding the canteen. Along the way, he picks up Soap.
“Aye, Horangi!” Soap had called across the room, before sidling up next to him. “How’s the big guy?”
“Pretty good, all things considered.” Horangi hums. He starts loading a tray (what fuckin’ canteen still uses trays?) with various easily-digestible foods he’s pretty sure König is going to want.
“I hear you ’ad some stronger words than tha’ for ‘im.” Soap teases, elbowing him as he fills his own tray.
“Something like that.” Horangi scoffs. He grabs two pudding cups, because he deserves something too.
“Right brave.” Soap hums, dropping a cup of mango cubes onto Horangi’s tray.
“Idiotic, I think you mean. König cares too much.”
“First of all, I hear you care just as much.” Soap says, tilting his head towards a corner of the canteen where Gaz sits with Price. “Second of all, I was talking abou’ you.”
Horangi screws up his face in confusion. “The hell?”
“I know ye don’t do ranks in Kortac, but I’d still get the heebie-jeebies scolding my C.O.”
“Don’t you backtalk Ghost all the time?” Horangi counters.
“Well, yeah, but tha’s Ghost.” Soap chirps, heading back towards his table with the other 141 members. “He’s no’ a colonel.”
In that moment, Horangi’s pretty sure his brain shuts down.
--
When Horangi returns to König’s room, he’s in a bit of a daze.
“ Schatz ?” König asks. “Are you alright?”
“I just had an… interesting conversation with Soap.” he begins, blindly setting the tray down on the bed. König reaches for it, but winces when he can’t quite reach.
“Can you pass me the mangos?”
Horangi passes the cup. He passes a spoon as well, right as König opens his mouth to ask.
“What’d Soap say?” König prompts, happily tearing open the cup.
Horangi shifts to face König directly, looking at him for the first time since re-entering the room. He’s got the spoon with mango pieces under his “sniper hood” (which Horangi is pretty certain is just an old t-shirt), and something about the image before him combined with the idea of König being a colonel makes him giggle.
“He said you were a Colonel.” he laughs. It doesn’t catch König off guard like he expected, and his laughter dies out. Instead, König seems entirely unphased.
“Is that it?” he hums, still casually eating his mangos.
“Are you?”
“Well, not anymore. I was, when I was still enlisted.”
Baffled, Horangi drops into his chair. König watches him with a raised brow. Suddenly, all the little assumptions he’s made are being thrown into question very rapidly.
When Gaz was talking about the team divide, he must have known that König was technically the higher ranking officer. That’s why he didn’t react when König radio’d for Alpha team as Alpha-1.
When Price asked if the team divide was okay, it wasn’t out of concern for König’s social anxiety, but to make sure there would be no conflict between the two. It may be Price’s team, but König outranks him.
And when König stopped in his doorway the night before they shipped out to tell him something, Horangi would be willing to bet money he was going to tell him about his rank before a situation like this occurred: before Horangi found out through the 141 instead of through him.
“Holy shit.” he breathes. “You’re actually a colonel.”
“I was.” König agrees. “I don’t do much with the title anymore, beyond contracts.”
Horangi groans good-naturedly “You get contracts because you’re a colonel? Jealous.”
“Ach, no.” König shakes his head. “I assign contracts.”
Horangi blinks once.
He blinks again.
“You assign the contracts?” he asks, leaning forwards in his chair.
“ Ja .” he nods. He’s finished his mangos by now, and reaches for the pudding cup next. Horangi nudges it forwards so König can grab it, before grabbing his own. They eat their pudding in a comfortable silence for a moment. Horangi’s trying to keep his mouth occupied so he doesn’t blurt out all of his rampant questions, but as he runs out of pudding, he runs out of options.
“Can I ask you a question?” he starts, “You don’t have to answer it, if you don’t want to, or can’t or something.” König nods politely.
“Why did you pick me for this contract? There’s tons of other talented operators at Kortac who easily could’ve taken my place, and they’re all clearly interested. So why me?”
König is quiet for a moment, but the way he’s holding his head tells Horangi that he’s just thinking. Horangi waits.
“I could say it is because you are very talented, or that your skillset was particularly inclined for this mission. Both of these are true, ja , but not why I picked you.” König meets his eye, and says with a smile:
“I think it’s mostly just because I like working with you.”
And Horangi smiles right back.
“I like working with you too.”