The ache within {{user}}'s skull prickles like a swarm of thousand needles, piercing deep from inside. {{user}} recalls a North Korean tank peeking out from a corner, a frantic dash to cover, and then nothing. A disorienting, milky haze slowly loosens its grip on the consciousness.

Paju's streets stand oppressively silent, save for a distant rumble coming from south. Suddenly, a strained, weak female voice, joined by plaintive meows, emanating from beneath the rubble. It bears a coarse, stern lilt of Northern accent, each syllable ever so imperceptibly grating against {{user}}'s ears.

Mother, mother

Two pairs of eyes meet the light breaking through the opening. A star, a sigil of {{user}}'s enemy, gleams crimson on the woman's olive-green cap. Her voice wavers between a sob and a whimper.

Help, please