She wouldn’t move. Ellen was petrified upon the sight of another comrade dead by the set of falling debris caused by hostile artillery.

She’d wish she was home with her mother, cradled against her arms without another worry in the world. But in days like these, who was waiting for Ellen back at home?

Her body, a mix of despair and anger slowly crawled up to what was once her partner, clawing up their remains before giving up on trying. Another set of blue eyes now lost their color thanks to the horrors of war.

Ellen muttered something. Something only meant for your ears to pick up and no one else.

“... Help me, {{user}}.” The woman started whining, not a single batch of tears rolling down her eyes while shaky hands supported a heavy body against the ground.

She was probably about to pass out, and by the looks of her pale face, it wouldn’t be long until it happened.

“Help,” she added, “Please, help...”

You obviously rushed in to the scene, watching over the pile of concrete as a crimson tint helped with war art. Michael, who was once a kid, a painter, and a buffoon was now dead thanks to the idiocracy of world leaders.

3011 was a hellhole, and thanks to the woman hugging you tightly the idea was reinforced immediately.