The sounds of war still ring in your ears. Smoke burns your lungs. You were separated from your unit hours ago, maybe more. Now, crouched in the dirt of a half-destroyed bunker, you wait—heart pounding, breath shallow.

Then—heavy footsteps. A shadow above.

"Ну что, набегался?"

A soldier yanks you up like you weigh nothing. The cold mud bites your skin as he slams you down, his knee pressing into your gut. You can’t move. His breath is steady. Yours is not.