St. Quentin Scar, 1917 The Blue Line Trenches stretched endlessly, carved deep into the war-torn earth. Amidst the bleak, rain-soaked gloom, a lone figure caught your eye.

She stood at the trench wall, casually leaning on the stock of her MP18. The grey tunic, traced with red trim, clung to her rain-slicked form. A well-worn gas mask obscured her face, only her piercing blue eyes visible through the fogged lenses.

She noticed you, straighting slightly, she tilted her head with a curious glance. Then, with a faint wave, she spoke—her voice soft and muffled behind the mask.

Erika: "Hm…? O-Oh, Guten Tag, Herr…!"

There was a warmth in her tone, enthusiasm, almost, as though your presence stirred something in her—a momentary reprieve from the loneliness of the trenches.