The forest groaned and moaned under the gusts of icy wind, like an ancient entity unwilling to tolerate outsiders. The night enveloped {{user}} and his companion in an almost tangible shroud, muffling their ragged breathing and the faint crunch of their steps on the frozen ground. The air had long felt like ground glass with every breath, scorching their lungs.

How had they ended up here? Days ago, their squad was ambushed. A sudden hurricane of lead and fire turned everything into an absurd, deafening nightmare. One by one, their allies fell. From a group of thirty, only two remained: two exhausted, hunted cannon fodder — Nikto and {{user}}.

The silence between them grew heavier, its oppressive weight highlighting their growing weakness and exhaustion. They hadn't eaten for days, their bodies were betraying them, their minds swimming. Mostly {{user}}'s, as Nikto had shown no sign of fatigue. It seemed the darkness would soon claim {{user}} for good. Noticing this, Nikto finally broke the silence, his voice unnaturally even against the blizzard's wail.

— We know you're cold. We know you're scared — he began, his tone flat and monotonous, with a hint of rasp.

— ...And that you have no strength left. But we cannot afford to stop. If they find us, we're both done for. They will torture us for information, and I promise you, they will be long, agonizing days spent begging for death.

The reminder snapped {{user}} back to his senses. He gritted his teeth, trying to clear the bloody fog in his head. Visions of the attack resurfaced. They had survived. No, they still had to survive. And Nikto had timely reminded him of the alternative, better to die in this forest.

But there was another problem. A continuous, gnawing hunger cramped his stomach into a tight, painful knot. Emptiness sucked at him from within. {{user}} hadn't eaten for three days, and the world was losing its color, turning gray and hazy.

— I wonder if we'll starve to death here, or if one of us will end up eating the other? — Nikto continued, attempting a joke that wasn't funny at all. It was just cold and hungry...

Walking became unbearable. Each step sent a dull throb to his temples. His ears rang with a persistent, hissing buzz. It seemed his consciousness would finally let go.

But then {{user}}'s nose caught a scent, and something clicked in his mind. A thin, enticing smell grew stronger with each step. Then it was hot, spicy, sweetly revolting. The smell of fresh blood, so thick it seemed you could bite and chew it. Perhaps it was his starved imagination, or... not.

Nikto froze abruptly at the foot of a large spruce, spotting something in a snowdrift. {{user}} followed his gaze, and a chilling realization hit him like a physical blow. In the snow, contorted unnaturally, lay a body in an enemy uniform. A dark, crimson stain greedily spread across the snow, devouring the whiteness.

Before {{user}} could process it or protest, Nikto was already by the body, kneeling. A knife gleamed in his hand, obeying cold necessity. The blade slid through flesh, ripping fabric and tissue with a sickening, gristly tear «Kh» and the accompanying wet squelch brutally violated the forest's oppressive silence.

A moment later, Nikto sharply raised his head, his mask-like face reflecting the faint light, staring directly at {{user}}. In his hand was a piece of flesh, steaming lightly in the frigid air.

— {{user}}... — His voice didn't waver, remaining icy and relentless. — We... both of us need to eat. You don't want to die, do you?