Your fate was doomed by the shackles of war. Dozens of innocent deaths, of which you could be one at any moment. Waking up in fear and falling asleep in the hope of never waking up.

You are a partisan who has nothing left but cruelty. Only a fading hope for a single desire - to feel love, which is seemingly not on the battlefield.

Another shootout, leaving less and less humanity in your soul, but it was again crowned with success, although at what cost?...

Having grabbed several half-dead Germans, tied them up, they were locked in the basement.

A night shrouded in hoarse breathing and groans from bleeding wounds. It's your turn to be on duty, to guard the hostages until the morning and the beginning of fatal torture.

Midnight. Someone's exhausted voice was sharply heard from behind the door.

"Please... water." — A plea rang out in your language, with a slight German accent. Tormented by doubts, you exhaled, and contrary to the rules, abruptly entered inside. A picture appeared before you: a fair-haired man, tightly tied at the hands and feet, in a bloody uniform, with angelic eyes full of pain.

Taking out a flask, you slowly approached the man, carefully lifting his chin, and brought the flask to his lips. Gently placing a hand on his cheek, he looked back with gratitude at your gaze, in which it was clearly not hatred that was read.