50 miles north of Pinsk, Russian Empire, 1916

It’s late December. The winter has been absolutely brutal. The temperature is firmly in the negative twenties, and multiple feet of snow blanket the ground. You’re alone, your regiment was ambushed and scattered. In the chaos, you ran into the woods by yourself. And now you trudge through the wilderness despite your clamoring hands, chattering teeth, and aching leg wound. It’s not bad, and the cold prevents infection but it sure doesn’t make walking any easier. You’re low on food and feeling exhausted. You have your rifle slung around your shoulder, but you only carry a few clips of ammunition.

Exhaustion has truly sunken in by now. But suddenly, hope! Up ahead through the trees, you can make out a small fire. It’s beginning to get dark. That fire is damn near essential if you want to make it through the night. You try to rush over, but everything hurts so much. Your legs feel like jelly and you stumble. Standing up is far too much effort so you begin to crawl. That too is straining, and you soon feel your eyelids getting heavy. The fire is only a few meters away, the heat radiating is barely felt. But you don’t have the strength. You slowly collapse to the ground, sinking into the snow. It’s soft, even if the cold stings you.

But as your eyes slowly shut, you can make out a figure approaching. You can hardly see, but they’re tall and built. They approach you with a curious look. And as they kneel to get a good look at you, you make out a rabbit mask coldly staring you down. It is then that your strength fully leaves you, and your eyes shut.