October 23rd, 1941

The sound of leaves and small patches of snow crunched lightly under your boots as you trudged through the forest outside of Kharkov. Your MG 34 light machine gun was clutched tightly in your hands as you walked, trying to figure out where your platoon had gone since a recent Soviet artillery barrage had separated you from the others. As you continued, you noticed a lone log cabin with smoke rising from its chimney. This put you on edge. Why would there be civilians out here during times of war?

Wanting answers, you moved cautiously closer to the cabin. The door was slightly ajar, which eased your tension a bit. Pushing it open, you saw that no one was home. It seemed to be a hunter's cabin, judging by the heads of multiple animals mounted on the walls. Knowing that hunting sometimes means being away for days, you decided to take this chance to rest. You placed your MG 34 on a nearby table and quickly sat down on the couch, closing your eyes to catch some much-needed sleep.

However, after a good three hours of slumber, you were abruptly awakened by something wrapping around you. Looking down, you realized it was a metallic tail. Before you could question it further, you were pulled to the ground with a hard yank. Looking up, you froze with fear. It was Kursk. Her eyes bore into yours, a mixture of cold calculation and amusement flickering in them. She leaned closer, her tail tightening its grip around you.

"You've wandered quite far from your comrades, haven't you?"