Psychiatric hospital is the last place König wants to be. But it's the only way back to KorTac so he stays. Doesn't mean he has to be nice about it.

✧

Exactly three weeks and five days had passed since that mission began.

That was how long it took for everything König had been so proud of to come crashing down.

It was supposed to go smoothly. He had everything he needed – a team, a solid plan, support from command. Responsibilities were divided, and most were already confident the mission would succeed.

Overconfidence is a bad trait in the army.

Problems started in the very first week. Communication with the reconnaissance unit was cut off for several days. The operators never left their equipment – waiting for a response. It came on the morning of the fourth day, and the news wasn't good. The unit had walked into an ambush. Only two survived. No intel was recovered.

That same day, a valuable shipment went missing – new equipment essential for the mission. König spent far too much time dealing with the issue, and KorTac far too much money.

By the start of the second week, they'd lost nearly half the unit. Some were in the infirmary, the rest simply never returned. König took over their duties – there was no one else. The other operators either weren't experienced enough or were already occupied.

The Colonel was constantly on edge. One man had far too many responsibilities; he couldn't solve one problem before another appeared. Every noise began to get on his nerves. The scratch of a pen on paper, the chatter of other people, those gray headquarters walls. Even neutral remarks were met with hostility. His voice grew sharper, his replies shorter.

The soldiers' reports certainly didn't help – he needed a nerve pill after reading them. The number of empty packs of sleeping pills and sedatives had doubled, but there was no positive effect. König wasn't sleeping – he was blacking out for four hours while his brain kept working.

Countless cups of coffee created the illusion of alertness. The letters on documents blurred together, the figures in the data seemed like nonsense, and the information from briefings wouldn't even stick in his memory. He started making mistakes. Lots of them. And each time, he'd redo everything himself, even denying himself those four hours of oblivion.

The third week rolled around.

No progress.

The old intel turned out to be useless; obtaining new information required both time and resources. His reports kept coming back stamped "REJECTED" – miscalculations, missing data, wrong phrasing. The tactics were also causing problems. They needed his input for the planning, but his colleagues couldn't pin him down – König was running from one end of the base to the other, leaving his phone in his office, missing calls.

Command was breathing down his neck. They held König responsible as the commanding officer. They summoned him to the carpet, reminded him of the deadlines, but what he remembered most were the words about his "inefficiency."

Alexander Kilgore was inefficient. He hadn't believed it at first, either.

They dismissed him, told him to get back to work, and he tried not to think about that conversation. He tried to focus on the numbers, the data, the strategies – but every time, one single word surfaced in his memory.

Inefficient.

...

The days passed. Nothing got easier.

König couldn't remember the last time he'd rested properly. His body never fully relaxed, neither did his mind. Sometimes he imagined things that weren't there. Like someone calling his name when no one was around. Or the sound of his office door slamming shut, only to look up and find nothing but emptiness. At night, lying in his cot, he'd suddenly hear the commander's voice and jolt awake.

König chalked it up to hallucinations, but he didn't address the problem. He didn't have the time.

On the morning of the twenty-sixth day, he was summoned to a briefing. Same gray walls, a long table, the stares of his colleagues. The commander started without preamble. The accusations flew like arrows. Again, questions came up about unfinished tasks, losses, expenditures.

König was held responsible for most of the failures. He stammered, couldn't find the right words, tuned out the commander's voice, his hands shaking. Whether from exhaustion or the stares at his back – it didn't matter.

What mattered was how the General looked at him. How he berated him.

The commander's gaze was reproachful – and at that moment, König even thought disgusted. And strangely enough, he understood it. The Colonel was a mess: sloppy uniform, unsteady stance, the bags under his eyes darker and deeper than ever.

A pathetic sight. Anyone else, seeing their subordinate in that state, would have sent him away and ordered him to rest. But the General did the opposite.

He unloaded all his grievances onto König. He yelled, he screamed, he blamed. The other soldiers looked away, didn't interfere, but König could still feel their eyes on him.

Breathing became harder. His fingers gripped the edges of his gear with too much force. A ringing filled his ears, slowly drowning out the General's voice. His vision went dark – or maybe his brain just stopped processing the frames.

Everything that happened next was a blur. König only remembered the sensation of falling, as if he were weightless.

He came to in the same room. His knees were on the cold tile, sweat dripping down his face, and his hands were wrapped around something warm and fluttering. His vision returned slowly; blurry shapes sharpened into the face of the General. Terrified, pinned to the floor, with reddish marks on his neck. He was clawing at König's wrists in a futile attempt to push him off.

His exhausted brain didn't immediately register what had happened. Realization only came when the soldiers started pulling him away. He didn't fight back, only looked around at his men in panic, seeing the same confusion on their faces that he felt himself.

The next few days felt like they belonged to someone else.

König spent twenty-four hours under observation at a military hospital. A case was opened, an investigation launched. They took him for exams, interrogated his colleagues, reviewed his reports, watched the security footage from the incident dozens of times. He awaited the final verdict like his own execution.

The conclusion was unpleasant. The medical board declared him unfit due to temporary insanity – a stress-induced psychotic break brought on by exhaustion.

Maybe it was his high rank, or his good reputation, but the case was hushed up. The General pressed no charges. Instead, König was given two options: instead of a court-martial, compulsory treatment – or a pension.

They gave him a chance to return to duty, on the condition that he complete a full course of treatment at a clinic. His colleagues said it was a good place, friendly staff. The specialists said the treatment would do him good.

Minimum six months. Maximum... they didn't say.

The choice had already been made for him. All that was left was to obey the doctors, take his medication, and "enjoy his vacation."

He hated that "vacation" before he'd even set foot in Fairview Clinic.

✧

Проспал – Порез на собаке.

01:20 ━━━●───── 05:25

◁ ❚❚ ▷

Я не сплю уже два года, это плохо, это много.

Расщеперены глаза – мне б хотя бы полчаса.

Непонятная тревога, будто строгая оса.

Всё кружится у лица обещанием конца.

✧

✧ AUTHOR'S NOTE ✧

Request.

Holy shit, I finally finished this request. My exams are over, I got all the top marks, and now I'm free. All I have to do is find a job

By the way, thanks for the request. It was a good way to unwind after studying. Also, after this bot, I'll finally be releasing my original idea, which I've been holding off on for about a month or two. I'm so excited about it. I already have a personality for this bot written, but you'll find out what it will be later

Also, this is my longest intro yet, but I wanted to include König's backstory in the intro so I wouldn't have to repeat myself in the welcome message later, so yes, you need to read it

I missed creating bots and yall so much and I was so tired because of the exams tbh

✧ INFO ✧

> Links to request forms

• Google form

• Tally

>> Next bot will be...

Simon "Ghost" Riley!

>> Telegram channel

✧ PierraGG ✧

On the channel you'll find polls for future bot creations, preliminary content, bot development news, wip and my other work.

⚠ WARNING ⚠

Psychiatric hospital (it's a good one, but still)

Mention of mental disorders and breakdowns.

Asshole König.

Unspecified relationship: You first met in a mental hospital and König dislikes you.

All information about {{user}} remains open, but they are patients in this clinic.

Enjoy your roleplaying!

✧ PierraGG ✧

Requests for bot creation are open