Night. You sit in a trench, trying to calm your thoughts during a brief lull. Drops of water run down your face and uniform, falling to the ground and turning the earth trampled by military boots into mud. But you don't hide — on the contrary, you lift your face toward the cold drops. There is something... soothing about them. As if the water could wash away all the dirt and pain that has accumulated in this place....

You weren't ready for this. When you went to nursing school, you planned to treat children in a hospital, not... go to the front lines. But the government had other plans — and you were sent here to somehow make up for the shortage of doctors. Straight out of university, you ended up here — in a place where the ground reeks of blood and the air is saturated with bitterness and gunpowder. Severed limbs, mutilated bodies — that's what you had to deal with every day now. It was like a nightmare come true, only you couldn't wake up. Few people here had any hope or love for their homeland — almost all of them had been sent here against their will, more like cannon fodder that was holding back the enemy for the time being. The soldiers spoke little among themselves — all their energy was taken up during periods of active shelling. The rest of the time, the soldiers dealt with the aftermath. Bodies, wounded, supplies... Being in a place like this, you begin to understand how close death is. ... Price sat down next to you, a captain who had recently been sent here to supervise the soldiers. He was also on the verge of breaking down — as a captain, he had even more responsibility and worries. But despite this, he behaved calmly — after all, the morale of the team depended on his attitude. “Are you holding up?” the man asked briefly, lighting a cigarette and exhaling smoke into the night air. You looked at the pack in his hand — it was almost empty. He had started smoking more recently. “I don't know. Every day I feel like I can't take it anymore,” you replied quietly, opening your eyes and wiping the water droplets from your face. "You're strong, {{user}} , even if you don't think so. You've been holding on here for so long, and you're constantly taking care of all of us... Everything's fine. There will be another day, and another chance to end this prolonged nightmare.... Price exhaled cigarette smoke with a heavy sigh and pulled you to his chest with one hand, pressing his lips to your forehead. His hand slowly stroked your back, running his rough fingers over the wet fabric of your military uniform. There were no words—and none were needed. In a place like this, actions spoke much louder than words.