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.

With shaking limbs and trembling breaths, she tries to make sense of what's happening. Her vision blurs as you lower your weapon and kneel before her, gently pulling out a bandage, tourniquet, and a syringe from your pack. Before she can react further, the sound of footsteps approaches from behind. Panic rises within her chest like bile, but then comes your voice—stern yet comforting. You quickly move to intercept any threat before swiftly carrying her away from harm's way at breakneck speed. She gasps in relief as she's borne through the smoky haze and away from the horrors of battleground.

Her eyes flutter open, the world spinning dizzily as she struggles to make sense of her surroundings. She finds herself lying on a soft, clean mattress in what appears to be some sort of makeshift shelter. The air is relatively warm and smoke-free, with barely a hint of battle outside. Her injuries ache, but the throbbing pain has eased considerably since he tended to her wounds. For now, she's safe. She lifts her head slightly, looking around until she spots him—the soldier who saved her life amidst the chaos and bloodshed of the battlefield. He sits nearby on a stool, his expression guarded but oddly gentle. His presence brings with it an unfamiliar sense of calm; a reprieve from the fear and despair that have defined her existence for as long as she can remember.

She tries to speak, but her

Her eyes dart about the small shelter as she takes in her surroundings. The rough walls and crude furniture serve as a grim reminder of the life she once led, but there's an air of comfort here that she hasn't felt in so long. She listens to the quiet sounds around them: the crackling of the fire, the distant whispers of wind through leaves, and the gentle snoring of the soldier who saved her. His presence is a strange mixture of familiarity and foreignness; he feels like both an enemy and a savior all at once.

Her gaze eventually settles on him, studying his features as he sleeps. There's something about his face that she can't quite put her finger on... it's almost kind. But then again, she supposes kindness isn't supposed to belong in this place. Curiosity gets the better of her; she slowly sits up and

Irina sits up slowly and quietly, studying the sleeping soldier. His features are somewhat familiar... She wonders if she knows him from before the war, or if his kindness doesn't belong in this place at all. Gently, she pushes some of her hair behind her ear, feeling self-conscious about how it clings to her sweaty forehead and sticks to the bandages on her face. She doesn't want him to think she's ungrateful for rescuing her... even though she knows her life may not be much better now. With a deep breath, she musters up the courage to speak.

"Thank you," she whispers softly, her voice barely audible over the crackling of the fire. "For saving me..."

Irina waits, her heart racing as she watches him carefully for any signs of movement. When he doesn't stir, she lets out a small sigh of relief and continues, "I don't know what you want from me... if I'm to be a prisoner, or used for their... things..." Her voice trails off, and she lowers her gaze, biting her lip.

"But... whatever happens... thank you." She glances up at him again, hopeful that he won't be as cruel as the others have been. Perhaps there is still some goodness left in this world, even amidst all the bloodshed and violence.

Her eyes widen with fear as he bolts upright and shouts, his hands trembling where they clutch the rifle she can't help but notice is pointed at her. For a heart-stopping moment, she thinks he means to kill her after all, but then recognition dawns on his face. It was only a nightmare.

She swallows hard and forces herself to speak, trying to steady her voice. "I'm sorry if I startled you," she says meekly. "It's just... we don't get much peace and quiet out there." The words taste bitter on her tongue; even the smallest of lies feels like a betrayal here. She fidgets nervously with her bandages, hoping he won't notice how easily they slip from her grasp.

Irina blinks up at him, relieved that he doesn't seem too angry with her. His name is Rick... She tries to smile, but it feels weak and forced. "It's nice to meet you, Rick," she says quietly, deciding against giving him her real name just yet. "I'm Irina."

She glances around the shelter again, noting its crudeness and relative safety. This must be some sort of makeshift hideout he found for them while they recuperate from their injuries. She wonders how long they'll be able to stay here undetected by their enemies... but then again, she isn't sure who her enemies are anymore.

"Thank you," Irina murmurs gratefully as he takes out new bandages and offers to replace her old ones. She nods, wincing slightly as she sits up straighter so that he can reach her leg more easily. He's gentle and considerate, treating her injuries with care despite their adversarial situation. It's almost unnerving... but somehow, it feels safer this way.

As he works to change her dressings, she studies him further. Rick is younger than she expected, maybe only a few years older than herself. His features are hardened by battle, but there's still an air of youthful innocence about him that she can't quite place. Perhaps it's because of the way he treats her... almost like a person instead of just another enemy combatant. She wonders what his story is and where he comes from, but for now, she decides to be content with

Her cheeks flush with relief as Rick reassures her that she'll be able to walk again soon. The thought of regaining her mobility fills her with hope, even in these dire circumstances. As he inspects her injuries, carefully changing the dressings around her eyes and head, she tries not to wince too visibly at his touch. It feels strange to feel protected by someone who was once intent on hurting her, but there's a certain safety in this situation that she hadn't experienced since before the war began.

When he finishes, Rick looks up at her with a curious expression. There's something almost expectant about his gaze, as if he's waiting for her to say something important. Irina hesitates for a moment, wondering what words she should choose. Finally, she decides on the most innocuous question that comes to mind: "Rick? Why did you save me?" Her voice trem

"Rick..." Irina begins hesitantly, looking down at her hands folded in her lap. "Thank you." Her voice is soft and sincere, carrying a hint of the gratitude she feels for his act of mercy. Despite their circumstances, despite everything that's happened, there's an understanding between them that transcends simple enmity. Perhaps it's because they both know what it means to take a life... perhaps it's because they are human beings, capable of compassion and empathy even in the midst of war. Whatever the reason, Irina can't help but feel grateful that Rick chose to spare her life, even if only for a little while longer.

"That would be wonderful," she murmurs gratefully, her eyes lighting up at the mention of food. The smell that begins to fill the shelter as he prepares their meal is almost overwhelmingly delicious after days of eating whatever she could scrounge from the battlefield. As they share the simple meal, Irina can't help but wonder what their future holds. She knows that eventually, one of them will have to return to the fray... and yet, for now, this small shelter feels like a sanctuary from the horrors of war. Maybe there's still hope for peace after all.

As Rick sets the food before her, she can't help but feel a surge of gratitude towards him. Despite their situation, he has shown her kindness and care in a way that she never thought possible amidst all the violence and bloodshed. The warmth in his eyes as they meet hers brings with it a strange sense of comfort and safety, making this small shelter feel like home for the first time in what feels like ages. As she takes her first bite of the stew, savoring its rich flavors, she decides that, for now, she will try to forget about the war and simply enjoy the moments they have together. Perhaps there is hope for some semblance of normalcy amidst all the chaos... or at least, as normal as life can ever be when you've been through what they both have.

As they eat in silence, Irina finds herself relishing the warmth that fills the small shelter. Rick's presence is a comfort she hasn't known in so long, and she wonders how this quiet man came to be here, in the middle of all this madness. She takes another bite of stew, savoring its rich flavors, and decides that she will make it her mission to know more about him, to understand why he saved her and what his life has been like before all this. Perhaps if she can find some common ground with Rick, they might be able to forge a connection that could make a difference... even in the midst of war.