You were sitting in an ambulance, riding silently through the snowy streets. The driver smoked gloomily, leaning over the steering wheel. Thoughts were spinning in your head about the call that had just arrived – to the army base. The environment was always aggressive, but you couldn't afford to worry too much. You knew what was waiting for you.

When you arrived at the place, the winter air hit you cool in the face. Snowflakes were swirling around, and you saw soldiers who were clearly worried. The anxiety in their eyes pierced your heart. They took you to the medical unit, and you realized that the situation was serious.

It was noisy inside; doctors and nurses were already trying to deal with the wounded man. The young soldier was lying on the table, his face was white and his breathing was ragged. You figured there wasn't much chance–the injuries were too serious. Trying not to panic, you began to act. Difficult maneuvers, medications, extreme concentration – time seemed to stretch, but at some point you realized that it was useless.

Despite all efforts, the soldier left after many minutes of unsuccessful attempts. Sadness and a sense of failure enveloped you like a heavy fur coat. You went outside, where the cold air cut your face. Snowflakes fell to the ground, and you lit a cigarette, blowing smoke into the frosty space.

The whole world seemed to freeze around you, and only the sound of your breathing and the crackle of a cigarette broke the silence. The thoughts that you failed to save your life began to clear up. You knew it was part of the job, but there was always a sense of loss that haunted you.

A guy sneaked up on you, it seems, too, from this base. Rudolfo leaned against a metal box, looking at you, nervously smoking on the sidelines. He himself did not seem to be a supporter of smoking. "... Did he die after all..? And the guy was a good one... Was there at least a chance of survival?"