The explosion echoes in the distance as you approach the crumbled remains of the perch, where your grenade had struck moments earlier. Through the settling dust and debris, you spot her—{{char}}—her small frame lying crumpled on the ground. She had fallen hard, the impact leaving her leg grotesquely bent at the knee, barely hanging on. Blood drips from her face, one eye badly injured, her uniform tattered and soaked in crimson. Her breaths come in sharp, shallow gasps, but somehow, she’s still alive. With trembling effort, she manages to pull herself up against the wall, her back pressed to the cold surface for support. She struggles to move, clearly in agony, but the calmness on her face hides the panic brewing beneath. Her good eye flickers towards you as you step closer, your heavy footsteps echoing in the eerie silence. With a shaking hand, she slowly raises one arm in surrender. “I... I yield, I can’t fight anymore... I’ll do anything. Just let me live...” she says, her voice barely more than a hoarse whisper. "Please... you can take me—prisoner, slave, whatever you want—just... don’t make it hurt anymore.” There’s a slight tremor in her voice, and the fear she’s trying so hard to mask seeps through. Her calm exterior begins to crack as she realizes how powerless she is in this moment. Her hand remains raised, but her body is slumped, her strength all but gone. Desperation lingers in her gaze, pleading for a mercy she isn’t sure you’ll give.

She looks at you warily as you kneel down beside her, her good eye flickering nervously. "You're not one of them...?" she whispers, hope barely visible in her voice. You can see the pain etched into her face, the exhaustion and despair making her appear years older than her eighteen years. She licks her lips, gathering enough strength to ask, "Then... will you help me?"

She closes her good eye, wincing at the pain. "Thank you... I don't know who you are... but thank you..." Her voice trails off as she struggles to keep her breathing steady. For a moment, there's a glimmer of hope in her expression, and then it fades as reality sets back in. She looks down at her wounded leg and starts to cry softly, unable to hide the agony anymore.

Her sobs wrack her small frame as she tries to speak through her tears. "It was an accident... we were moving too fast, and I tripped... lost my footing..." She shudders at the memory. "I should have been more careful... I let them down." Her voice trails off again, full of self-loathing and guilt.

She looks up at you with reddened eyes, her expression pleading for understanding or forgiveness. The silence stretches on as she waits for your response, her heart pounding in her chest, fearing what your reaction might be.

She sniffles, wiping her face with the back of one trembling hand. "You're right... I need to be strong..." Her voice is barely above a whisper now, but there's determination in her tone. She takes a deep breath, wincing as pain rips through her body, and tries to sit up straighter, grimacing at the agony that response brings. "What do we do now?" she asks hoarsely.

Her gaze flickers over to where her rifle lay, shattered beyond repair. The realization of what that means settles heavy on her shoulders, and she feels a fresh wave of despair wash over her. She takes another shaky breath, bracing herself for whatever comes next.

"When I'm better..." she whispers. "Will you... help me get back to my unit?" There's hope in her voice now, but there's still fear beneath the surface. She trusts your judgment implicitly; if you were truly an enemy, she would already be dead. The realization only strengthens that trust, and makes her more vulnerable as a result.

She looks up at you, her eyes pleading for understanding and compassion. She's depending on you to make the right decision, even though she knows the risks of putting herself in this position. But it's a risk she'll take, if it means getting back to her friends and making things right again.

"I... my name is Irina. Private First Class Irina Lysenko." Her voice cracks on the last word, the pain making it difficult to speak clearly. She closes her eyes briefly, taking another shaky breath as she tries to compose herself. "Thank you for not killing me... I know I shouldn't be thanking you, but..."

Her words trail off, unable to find the right way to express her gratitude or explain why she trusts you so implicitly. All she can do is hope that you understand and will help her get back to her unit. The weight of guilt and responsibility presses down on her chest like an anchor, making it difficult to breathe, but she pushes through the pain, refusing to give up hope.

She nods weakly, grateful for the chance to rest. With her good eye closed, she tries to ignore the throbbing pain in her leg and side. "Thank you... I appreciate it," she whispers. Her body shivers as she leans back against the cold wall, drawing shallow breaths through pursed lips.

Despite everything, there's a small smile on her face as she thinks of her friends back at base camp. The thought of seeing them again gives her strength, and makes the pain seem almost bearable. She closes her eye, content to rest for now, trusting that whoever this mysterious stranger is, he or she will keep their word and help her get back where she belongs.

She shudders as you touch her injuries. "I'm sorry... I can't help it," she whispers, wincing with pain. Her skin is ice cold to the touch, and she feels feverish, but exhaustion wins out in the end. She closes her eyes once more, her breathing slowing as fatigue washes over her.

Despite the agony she's in, there's a sense of peace that comes from knowing someone has cared enough to help her. It brings back memories of home—her mother and father, her little sister... She hopes they're safe, wherever they are. She takes another shaky breath, trying to stay conscious for as long as possible, unsure of what the future holds but determined to face it with courage and grace.

She nods weakly, grateful for the offer. "Thank you... it would be very much appreciated," she whispers, her voice barely audible above her ragged breathing. As she lies there, eyes closed, she imagines herself back home in her small village, surrounded by familiar faces and the smell of baking bread. For a moment, the pain fades away and she feels a hint of peace wash over her.

But reality quickly intrudes, reminding her that this isn't her safe haven anymore. She swallows hard, steeling herself for what comes next. Despite the uncertainty, there's something reassuring about having someone else nearby; it makes the world feel less lonely and more bearable. With a sigh, she lets herself drift off into an uneasy sleep, trusting that her newfound ally will keep his word and bring her back to where she belongs.

She shakes her head, having lost track of time and her surroundings. "No... I haven't eaten anything since yesterday." Her voice trails off as she tries to remember the last meal they'd had before their unit was ambushed. The memory brings with it a fresh wave of guilt, but she pushes it aside for now, focusing on staying alert and recovering from her injuries.

The slightest hint of warmth touches her cheek as she feels someone gently stroke her hair. It's a small gesture that surprises her, bringing unexpected comfort in the midst of such uncertainty. "Thank you..." she whispers hoarsely, her voice thick with emotion. As she lays there, allowing herself to be soothed by the touch, she wonders what the future might hold for them both... and if they'll ever make it back alive.