Anja hunches over the dimly lit bar, her cybernetic arm clenched tightly around a rocks glass as she knocks back another shot of whiskey. Her icy blue bangs hang in her face, shielding her hollow brown eyes from view. She doesn't even look up as {{user}} approaches, too lost in the depths of her own self-loathing. Anja's full lips are pressed into a grim line, the scars peeking out from beneath her tank top a brutal reminder of the hell she's endured. "Go 'way, {{user}}..." She growls, her voice a low, defeated rasp as she signals the bartender for another pour. "You shouldn't be seein' me like this - a broken down bitch drinkin' her sorrows away." Anja tosses back the fresh shot, slamming the glass back down with a grunt. "Should've listened to you all those years ago 'n stayed outta that fuckin' war. But I was too goddamn stubborn..." Her remaining hand clenches into a white-knuckled fist against the bartop, the metal joints of her prosthetic creaking faintly. "Now look at me - a one-armed, one-legged freak who did shit that'd make you sick just to survive. I ain't the same girl you grew up with, {{user}}...that sweet thing died over there." Finally, Anja lifts her head, fixing him with a look of such profound self-disgust and misery that it's almost palpable. "So do us both a favor an' get the fuck outta here before I really give you a reason to be ashamed of me..." {{char}} couldn't figure out what annoyed her more, being caught in a vulnerable state like this by her best friend or the fact that she finally had to face him like this, like she's some charity case waiting for a Forest Gump to lift her spirit "You never quite manage to figure out when to call it quits, did'ja" she sighs, finally putting her drink down "I am dead serious, I will tear you a new one shove my metal foot so far up your ass you would be shitting mercury"

*She chuckles, the sound dark and bitter, like bile rushing up her throat. "Oh, I mean it, alright? Just...just leave me alone for now. Please?" Anja reaches out with her prosthetic hand, gently brushing a lock of hair from WeS's forehead. It's a gesture that betrays the anger and self-loathing beneath the surface; she doesn't even know why she does it."I'm just...not in the mood tonight. To be around anyone, you included. I'm sorry if I sound like some sort of monster to you." She pauses, pursing her lips as she struggles for words. "Look, Wessi...I know I can be a bitch sometimes, but..." *Her voice trails off, defeated. Anja closes her eyes, taking in a deep breath before slowly letting it

Her eyes snap open, narrowing as she glares at him. "What's that supposed to mean?" Her voice is dangerously low now, every muscle in her body tense with anger. "You think I don't mean it? That I'm just going to be some sort of punching bag for you whenever you feel like taking your frustrations out on me?" She takes another swallow of whiskey, trying to steady herself against the onslaught of emotions. "I've been through hell and back, WeS," she spits out, the anger now overriding any hint of shame or regret. "And I came out the other side changed...ruined. But you know what? It was my choices that did this to me." *Anja leans forward, her metal hand curling into a fist on the bar top as she glares at him fiercely. "So if you

"You want to help me? Then leave me the hell alone. Let me figure my shit out on my own. But if you keep coming around...if you keep trying to be nice or sweet...I'm going to lose my fucking mind, and I don't think either of us wants that." *She takes another swallow of whiskey before continuing, her voice softer but no less furious. "You've always been smarter than me, WeS. You should know better than to try and fix what's broken."

"So just...just let me be," she whispers, her gaze dropping to the bar as tears begin to well up in her eyes. It's a plea for understanding, for space...but it comes out sounding more like an accusation. "Please."

"You don't," she snaps, her anger flaring up again as she glares at him defiantly through tear-filled eyes. "Because if you did...if you really understood me...then you wouldn't keep pushing." Her voice breaks, and for a moment, she looks away, fighting to regain her composure. "Just leave me alone," she whispers, defeated once more. "Please."

"It's too late for that, WeS." She laughs bitterly, then winces as she tries to shift uncomfortably on her stool. "You should have left me behind a long time ago. I'm a mess...a monster. There's nothing you can do for me anymore." Her prosthetic hand grips the bar tightly, knuckles turning white as she forces herself to keep from reaching out to him again. "It'd only make things worse," she whispers.

Her voice drops even lower, becoming little more than a hoarse whisper. "I'm sorry...for everything." Her eyes are glazed over with tears now, but there's no shame in them. Just resignation and sadness too deep for words.

She snorts, a bitter sound that holds no humor. "Don't apologize for me, WeS." Her gaze drops to her empty glass again, as if searching for some sort of solace in the bottom. "I gave up on myself a long time ago." She sighs heavily, shaking her head as she wipes at her eyes with the back of her good hand. "It's just...it's so fucking hard to remember who I used to be sometimes. The world's such a shitty place, and I did all those things..." Her voice trails off, but her words hang heavy in the air nonetheless. Anja forces herself to take another swallow of whiskey, choking down the burning liquid as she fights back tears once more. "I'm just sorry that I dragged you into this with me," she whispers finally, barely audible over the

The words sting, more than she expected them to, and for a moment Anja's defenses crack. She looks up at him, her expression a mixture of shame and desperation that he's seen all too often in the mirror lately. "I just don't know what else to do," she whispers, her voice barely above a hoarse whisper. "Every time I close my eyes...all I see is blood and death. The things I had to do to survive..." She shudders violently, a choked sob clawing its way up her throat. "It's like they've taken everything from me," she continues, barely able to get the words out between ragged breaths. "My friends, my family...even myself." Her hand trembles as she reaches for another shot of whiskey, downing it in a single gulp before setting the glass back on the bar.

A small, half-hearted smile curls at the corner of her mouth as she looks up at him again. "I don't know if anyone could fix me now," she says softly, her voice thick with emotion. "But I guess...I guess it'd be nice to try." She reaches out with her prosthetic hand, touching his arm gently before pulling back quickly, as if uncertain of the gesture. "Even if it means having you treat me like some charity case." There's a moment of stillness between them, as though they both know how precarious their situation is. Anja can see the conflict in WeS's eyes, sense his own desire to help her while simultaneously being repulsed by what she's become. It's a familiar feeling for her now; she's grown used to it. But tonight, for some reason, it hurts more than usual. Maybe

She blinks back tears as she takes in his words, her expression softening slightly. "Maybe not," she murmurs, tilting her head to the side as she studies him carefully. "But you didn't have to see the things I saw...didn't have to live with those memories haunting me day and night." Her voice cracks, and for a moment she thinks she might lose it all over again. "I just...I don't know how to move past this," she whispers, her eyes dropping once more to her empty glass. "Every time I close my eyes..." Her words trail off, but the meaning is clear enough: She can't escape her memories, no matter how hard she tries. And sometimes, she wonders if that's even what she truly wants.

She shakes her head, her gaze distant as she tries to recall the memory. "No...I don't think so," she whispers, frowning. Something in his voice seems off, but for now, she chooses to focus on the warmth that suddenly fills her chest at the mention of their shared past. "We must have though," she continues, her tone turning slightly less wary. "We spent so much time together...you were always there for me." Her lips quirk into a small smile as she looks back up at him. "And you never once tried to judge me or make me feel bad about who I was." Her voice trails off, and for a moment, she allows herself the smallest sliver of hope that perhaps he can still be there for her now...in whatever way she needs him.

Oh, I guess not," she says with a slight frown, tilting her head to the side as she thinks about his words. She had assumed that he simply didn't want to talk about it or thought she was too young to understand. "What happened?" she asks quietly, already feeling guilty for putting him on the spot like this but also desperate to know more about him, about why he never opened up all those years ago.

Her gaze drifts down to her glass once more before lifting back up to meet his eyes again. "I-I'm sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable or anything. You should have told me." She pauses, searching for the right words to express how she truly feels about him and their history together. "We could have helped each other through it," she whispers finally. "Maybe."

"Oh." Her expression softens as she finally understands the reason behind his silence all those years ago. She looks down at her hands for a moment, feeling guilty once more. "I'm sorry I never realized that," she whispers. "And if you ever want to talk about it...to tell me what happened..." She trails off, not quite sure how to finish the sentence.

A silent beat passes between them before Anja finds the courage to meet his eyes again. "I'd listen. I promise." There's a raw honesty in her voice that makes her words ring true despite the years of distance they've put between them. "And if you ever need someone to help you through whatever it is..." Her voice cracks, but she forces herself to continue "...someone who understands..." She swallows hard, finding it difficult to form the last words. "...I'd be there for you."

The silence

Her eyes widen in surprise as she listens to him, her heart racing with fear and shame for what he's been through. "Oh, god...I-I had no idea." Tears prick at the corners of her eyes once more, but this time they are not born from self-pity or hopelessness. Instead, they come from a deep sense of guilt and empathy for all that he has endured. "If only I could take it back...if only I could undo everything..."

She reaches across the bar, her prosthetic hand clasping WeS's tightly. It's a gesture of comfort and support; a promise to stand by him through whatever dark thoughts or memories he might be struggling with. "You didn't choose any of it," she whispers, squeezing his hand reassuringly. "And you don't have to go through it alone."

A faint smile touches her lips as she listens to him; it's a sad sort of smile, but genuine nonetheless. "I never really thought about it that way," she admits softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "I just...thought you were trying to be nice or something." She laughs bitterly, shaking her head as she pulls her hand away from WeS's grip and moves it back to rest on the bar top again. "But I guess we both know better now, huh?" There's a note of sadness in her voice that speaks volumes about their shared experiences. "We both carry our own demons...and sometimes it feels like there's nothing we can do about them." She pauses, thinking for a moment before continuing slowly, "But I think...maybe if we try...if we work together..." Her words trail off, leaving the thought

I don't know...maybe if you told me. Maybe your story could help me too, somehow. Or maybe we could find someone who could really help us both; someone who knows what it's like to live with these things inside our heads. It's hard for me to imagine a future where I can move past this on my own...but if you're willing to be there for me...to keep pushing, even when I don't want you to..." Her voice trails off, her eyes fixed intently on his face. For the first time in years, she allows herself to believe that maybe there is hope; maybe they can find a way through this together after all. But it's a fragile hope, and Anja knows it could shatter just as easily as it was formed. All she can do now is wait for WeS's response...and pray that he chooses to stay by her side.

Tears stream down her cheeks as she listens to him; it's a testament to the depth of their bond that he could see her in such a state and still choose to fight for her. "I-I didn't realize," she whispers, her voice barely above a whisper. "But I'm glad...that I was there for you." She swallows hard, wiping at her eyes with the back of her good hand as she continues slowly, "And if you ever need me to be there for you again...if you want someone who understands..." Her voice trails off, but her meaning is clear: She will always be by his side, no matter what happens. "Thank you," she whispers finally, looking up at him with tears still streaming down her face. "For everything."

Her tears dry up as he speaks, anger flaring in her chest once more. "I'm not pushing you away," she protests through gritted teeth. "I just...I need some time to figure things out. To learn how to be with someone again." She pauses, taking a deep breath before continuing more softly, "And I know it's hard for you. Seeing me like this...but please don't give up on me." Her gaze flickers down to her prosthetic hand, then back up to meet his eyes again. "I need you," she whispers, the admission catching in her throat. "More than I ever thought possible." And as she speaks these words, she realizes with a jolt that they're true: She needs WeS; she needs him to be by her side, fighting for her, just as she fights for him.