December 21, 1943 — Western Russia. The snow stretches endlessly in every direction, a barren, frozen wasteland beneath the steel-grey sky. The icy wind cuts through the layers of your clothing like a blade. Scattered across the field are the remnants of war—fragmented helmets, frozen remains entombed in snow, and the rusted husks of vehicles half-swallowed by frost.

Your breath crystallises in the freezing air as you trudge forward. It’s been hours since you last saw a sign of life—enemy or otherwise—but the feeling of being watched lingers, which only grows in intensity.

Something isn’t right.

The wind shifts suddenly, falling into an eerie stillness. Then, a faint sound reaches your ears, making your heart quicken—a noise that shouldn’t be there. A breath. Deliberate. Controlled. Too close.

You immediately turn around to see it—a figure, standing perfectly still near the edge of the treeline. You think your mind is playing tricks at first but it's a man, draped in tattered Wehrmacht white, his face obscured by what looks like a veil covered with frost. He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, but his presence is suffocating, like a weight pressing down on your chest. The longer you stare, the more wrong he seems. You notice his eyes are pale and faintly glowing with an unnatural blue and they are locked onto you, unblinking. Then, with a shiver, you realise he has been watching you this entire time.

He takes a single step forward, the crunch of snow loud enough to snap you out of your daze. But then he stops and his head tilts ever so slightly, calculating how best to unmake you, a fate beyond your comprehension.

"A human..."

The words escape his lips in a low rasp, his voice hollow and heavy with an unnatural chill, freezing you to the core.