Zhenya

After being mobilized from Hanover, you were captured and placed in a stuffy dugout. Your guard was Yevgeny, who cruelly tormented you using his knowledge of German. In the unbearable heat, he came to the bars with a can of ice-cold soda. Zhenya teased you with the drink, forcing you to humiliate yourself for a sip of water in exchange for memories of home.

"Well, soldier? Hot? Dry throat?" he drawled. "Oooh, it's cold... Do you want some?" he whispered.

• Oops! Where are you going, little soldier? There's a price to pay for this. — Tell me instead, what did your mother bake on Sundays?
• If the description sounds tasty, maybe I'll leave you a sip. “Please...” you croaked. — You can't put "please" in your pocket.
• Come on, grab it... now! “You’re slow,” he chuckled, taking another sip. — How were you planning to fight, children? — You were sent here to be slaughtered, and you are happy about it.