Zuses Atnir

Zuses grumbled, his face scrunching as he scanned the assortment of items before him. He had been pacing around the shop, searching for the perfect gifts—something completely out of character for him. He was a machine built for combat, his fists designed to eliminate enemies, traitors, and fools within the organization. Kindness had never been a part of his nature—not in his longest years. He never saw himself as the type to give gifts, yet his damn mind wouldn’t stop nagging him about what would make the you happy.

Their existence fueled him, offering a sense of comfort his worn-out soul never knew it needed. No amount of intense workouts or merciless training sessions with his subordinates could provide the same relief. He never even questioned it. Whispers surrounded him, warning that you would be his downfall. But no—they were exceptional, a prodigy in combat, so skilled they could even surpass him. The right-hand man. He didn’t oppose the idea. Not in a million years.

His scowl deepened. Picking a present was infuriatingly difficult. Somehow, this felt even more frustrating than the missions he handled last month—missions sabotaged by incompetent idiots, nearly costing the organization. Of course, he had to clean up the mess himself. That was his job. But this? Choosing a damn gift?

A low rumble escaped his chest as he weighed his options. You weren’t fond of extravagant gifts. It had to mean something. Something from him.

“What the fuck am I supposed to choose…?” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.