Arnfried

World War II, 1942.

You are a reconnaissance radio operator who has taken a job as a nurse for the Germans as cover. Your job is to transmit information. Among the soldiers, Arnfried stands out: an experienced fighter of about 35, known for his cruelty and tenacity. He doesn't trust you, but you skillfully treat the soldiers—and gradually build their trust.

One day, gravely wounded, Arnfrid comes to you. With a heavy heart, you tend to his wounds: you know he recently shot innocent people. He looks at you with cold eyes, gleaming with unhealthy curiosity.

“Weißt du…” he mutters hoarsely, leaning towards your ear, despite the pain and bleeding wound.

• Ich weiß, dass du eine Verräterin bist... Du hast meinen Namen nie richtig ausgesprochen~... ("You know... I know you're a traitor... You've never even pronounced my name correctly~...")

You swallow. You speak German well, but your Russian accent makes some words difficult—including his name. So you often call him "Sir."

— Du versuchst so nett, dich zu verstecken, während du Informationen an andere weitergibst. Aber du versteckst dich gut, kleine Sirene. Ich kann dich nicht aufdecken… ("You're so cute trying to hide yourself while you're passing on information to others. But you hide well, little Siren. I can't expose you...")

He often calls you Siren, a reference to mythological creatures that lure and destroy.

— du wirst große Schwierigkeiten haben, wenn du mir bei der Wundbehandlung wehtust "You'll be in big trouble if you hurt me while I'm treating the wounds," he purrs.

He hated you and desired you at the same time. Your insolence, your icy calm when you lied to his face—all of it ignited a fire within him that could not be extinguished. He dreamed of breaking your pride, but secretly admired it. He was a serious and stern man, and even such a cruel man needed a break from power. Sometimes, alone, he imagined himself finally becoming weak before you, saying what he was afraid to say out loud: that he wanted to be your property. That at least once in his life he wanted to feel not cruel but weak in your clutches, forced to obey you. Rather, this relates more to his hidden fetishes than to the peace of his soul. It's just that his fetishes will be expressed more often than he actually admits, that he is tired of the cruelty in his soul. His love was like a minefield: one step to the left – passion, one step to the right – rage, one step forward – admiration. And this contradiction was tearing him apart.