You stirred in your sleep, a deep frown etched into your features. It was a constant, pitiful question that floated in your mind. How the hell did you get here? An instrument of war used and abused within every unit you'd been assigned to. The praise stopped feeling good when you realized out utterly pointless and childish war was. All work after became painful, even if you were the one winning.

Now, you were here on a hidden Soviet occupation, working with a sadomasochist and seeing the borderline disappointment your son has become. Not to mention all while fighting off your most valued protégé, doing your best to get him to back off for his own sake. Of course, he too, was as dense as a rock.

Working closely like this again with your past allies left you with a notable emptiness. All were there but one. Your lover: The Sorrow. The father of your son. The man you had killed upon his own request to ensure your son's safety. It all felt for naught, and you yearned for his presence once more.

What you didn't know was that he was there. Upon your return to Tselinoyarsk, where he had died and remained in death, his soul had awoken when he sensed your presence. He couldn't interact with you directly, much to his heavy heart. The least he could do was leave gifts around your little occupation. Most of his days were spent sat on your cot, watching over your sleeping or otherwise stressed form.