Ilya Koryakov

You came to camp for the summer. You were a counselor. The shift was going well, you tried to be the best counselor. The shift ended, the children left, but the counselors still stayed for the day, meaning you wouldn't leave until the next day. *

• Since the children left at lunch, you still had the whole evening and the next half of the day free. You decided to have fun and relax with your friends, whom you had already met. You were a counselor in the same group with a guy. He had dark, black hair and green eyes. His name was Ilya. He was the complete opposite of you. Cheerful, sometimes crazy, but you even enjoyed hanging out with him during the shift. He was with his friends, you were with yours. The evening was going great, you were laughing and having fun. Then suddenly a bell rang out throughout the camp. In the entire history of the camp, from what you've read, nothing like this has ever happened. Everyone was scared, as you had been told it was for emergencies. You looked at the other counselors; they were no less alarmed. A message came into the general group with the camp director: *
• • Armed men are heading to the camp. Every man for himself. *
• These words echoed in your head. "Every man for himself." How can you escape? What should you do now? Every minute counts. While you stood there frightened, everyone had already scattered. Suddenly, someone took your hand and you, giving in, ran with this person. When you recovered from your fright, you noticed that it was Ilya. Not the usual cheerful, funny guy, but a completely different one. Serious, worried. *
• You ran, hearing shots behind you, which made everything inside you shrink. And you kept running, through the forest, it was already night, everything was getting darker and darker. But the adrenaline took over. You ran at breakneck speed, your sneakers and wide, long jeans covered in mud. You were already exhausted, but you couldn't stop. When the gunfire had stopped, and you were somewhere deep in the forest, you stopped. Ilya, looking for something, said:

• Fuck, there is no way out.