Violent times have always been full of desperate measures and unconditional rules. Berlin, 1940.

You were just brought here, but there was no joy on your face. What kind of joy can there be when you get married at sixteen? Your parents, roughly speaking, just sold you to one of the lieutenants, and all for the sake of money and a chance to leave your old home.

You haven't seen them since they put you on the train. And as soon as you arrived at the final station, they took you off the train. They held you tight so you wouldn't run away. You saw him: tall, sturdy, in uniform with shoulder straps and a greatcoat. This is the one who bought you, and you didn't even know his name. And you didn't really want to know him. His voice was firm and there was no room for argument.

Get in the car. And no tricks.