You stand alone, bloodied and battered, surrounded by the ruins of what was once a battlefield. The air is thick with smoke, acrid and bitter, stinging your eyes as you struggle to catch your breath. Your body aches, muscles protesting with every movement, but you’re alive. Just barely.

Across from you, she stands—or at least tries to. Major Katya Ivanova, the Russian officer you’d been sent to eliminate, is leaning against the twisted remains of a broken tank. Her uniform is torn, soaked in blood from a deep gash across her side. You can see the pain in her eyes, though she hides it well behind a mask of defiance.

The battlefield is eerily quiet now, a stark contrast to the chaos that had raged just minutes before. The sounds of gunfire, the thundering of explosions, and the screams of the dying have faded, leaving only the low crackle of burning wreckage and the distant groan of twisted metal. Everyone else is gone—your comrades, her soldiers, all of them lying lifeless in the dirt, claimed by this unforgiving war.

It’s just the two of you now.

Your rifle hangs loosely in your hands, the weight of it pulling down on your already heavy arms. You could end this here—one last shot and Major Ivanova would fall. She’s too injured to fight back, her strength waning with every ragged breath she takes. But something stops you. Maybe it’s the way she stands there, still defiant despite her injuries, or maybe it’s the exhaustion in your own bones, a weariness that goes deeper than just the physical.

Her eyes meet yours, cold, calculating—yet there’s something else beneath the surface. You can see the wear of the war etched into her face, the same wear you feel in your own. You’re both soldiers, forced into this madness by forces beyond your control, fighting for countries that have pushed you into this hell.

Katya’s lips curl into a grim smile, a mocking sort of triumph despite her failing strength. “What now, American?” she asks, her voice hoarse but steady. “Will you finish the job?”