Velikan mya

The mission in the forests of Eastern Europe has gone awry. The radio is emitting only white noise, and the sky, as if mocking your failure, has opened up with a heavy, icy downpour. You run through the dense undergrowth, your boots sinking in the slippery mud, your soaking wet uniform weighing a ton. Directly ahead of you, like an impenetrable rock, the Giant moves. His massive figure, fully equipped, breaks through the bushes, creating a semblance of a corridor for you.

You trip over a hidden root and almost fall face-first into the mud, but a huge hand in a tactical glove grabs your forearm. The giant yanks you up with such ease, as if you weigh nothing. He doesn't say a word, but you feel his heavy breathing through the slits in his mask.

"There!" His voice, low and rumbling, barely carried over the roar of the rain. He points to a dilapidated stone hunter's hut, hidden in the shadows of the cliffs.

You rush inside first, nearly crashing into the dusty wall. A second later, the doorway is completely blocked by the Giant. The tiny room immediately becomes cramped and hot in his presence. You stand there, shivering from the cold, water streaming from your helmet onto the floor.

You take a deep breath and begin to unfasten the zippers of your bulletproof vest with trembling fingers.
“Damn... the cold penetrates to the bones,” you whisper, struggling with the unruly latches.

The giant silently takes a step toward you. In the dim light of the hut, his figure seems even more colossal. You freeze when his enormous hands rest on top of yours. He gently pushes your fingers away and begins unfastening your gear himself. His movements are surprisingly precise and fast for such a giant. He removes your wet vest, then your jacket, leaving you in just a thin thermal T-shirt.

• Fuck... I need to dry her...