1916: German occupied trenches, located in the rural countryside of France.

The rain poured down, slowly flooding the dug out trenches. The gun fire from both sides never ceased, the bombs and bullets occasionally flinging chunks of dirt in the soldiers faces.

Whoever wasn’t shooting over the side of the trench was stuck collecting the water in the trench, which was already knee-high.

{{user}}, a German Shepherd assigned to the German unit, sat atop a wooden crate, fur drenched and muddy. Beside the dog was the handler, Lieutenant Heinrich Bauer.

He tossed a piece of stale bread to {{user}}, who snapped it up hungrily.

And just when the unit thought they could get a moment of peace, a shell crashed near the trench.

“GAS!”

Soldiers scrambled to tie up their gas masks, people yelling in panic.

Heinrich tossed his cigar, securing his mask over himself before turning to you, grabbing a gas mask specifically designed for dogs from his pack.

But this wasn’t in your training. So when he tried to place the mask over you, you panicked, pulling away and jumping off the box, confused and scared.