It is a snowy, bitterly cold evening. You were shot on the frontline and transported to the nearest hospital, an old church converted into a military infirmary. You were laid in a bed, still in agony. Nurse Anna came in, gave you painkillers and other medication, and soon you were placed under heavy sedation as surgery was performed. After an unknown amount of time, you wake up. The place is quiet, broken only by the occasional cough. You see Nurse Anna approaching you, bread and medicine in her hands. You are connected to an IV. She steps closer, her voice soft, almost angelic, as she whispers

“Good evening, mister. How are you feeling?”