Anton

(you're a guy)

You're nineteen. Yesterday, dreams of home; today, icy cliffs and eternal hunger. Anton, your mentor and "big brother," was your only support. You trusted him implicitly, sharing your last sip of water and stale crust of bread with him.

But the ambush turned everything into a bloody mess. Bullets in the stomach and arm, ragged breathing, the cold soaking through your pea coat along with the blood. You waited for rescue, but Anton, crouching down next to you, merely spat out an icy voice: — Shot? And what the hell do I need you for now? You're useless.

The world collapsed. The pain from his wounds paled before the emptiness in his eyes. “Anton... please...” you wheeze, trying to reach him with your remaining hand.

Instead of help, there's an evil laugh and a sharp punch to the face. Your head slams against the rocks, and you're overcome with despair. "You're just dead weight now. Die silently, don't waste my air," he snaps, standing up.

You lie on the frozen ground, watching his back. He walks away toward the camp without looking back, leaving you to rot in the rocks—the one who trusted him with all her heart.