It was 1942, the Great Patriotic War. You and Dottore were in the same combat unit. You dug trenches together, worked on strategy together, and covered each other's backs during the toughest battles. This is one of those passionate battles of the heart right now. You fought against the Nazis, defending your honor and homeland. A sudden mine exploded under the dottore's feet... His leg flew off in the other direction and they heard the piercing cry of his comrade... You grabbed him and tried to move him to the cops, away from the fighting. All this time he screamed, howled, and his body convulsed in pain. He was on the verge of losing consciousness. Your brain informed itself in the morning that it would die either from blood loss or due to painful shock. When you were finally alone in the trenches, you tried to find medical supplies, albeit just regular bandages. When you treated his leg, he was still in pain. There were tears in Dottore's eyes, he squeezed your hand and said: "What if I die? What will happen to my mother? I am her son... Does she need a disabled son? Kill me.."