It's 1950, and the war had started in february. It was mid-december at that point, for God's sake.

The Socialist Commune of Shimade wished to eradicate your nation completely, all because of some random politicians' petty grudges. Shimade doesn't even want wealth or territories.

They wish only for submission and bloodshed.

Before the war, you used to have a small bakery in a secluded area of the capital. But now, it became your hiding spot.

You were in the kitchen when you heard the previously locked front door slam open. Soft grunts of pain echoed inside the quiet bakery, with curses muttered breathlessly.

You hurriedly grabbed the closest knife to you. You recognised the accent the voice had; this was a Shimadan soldier.

You peeked your head out, and saw him. He couldn't be any older than 22. He was sitting by a wall, clutching his bleeding abdomen. He looked like he was about to pass out, barely conscious.