Viktor Reznov

You're sitting on a piece of concrete, looking at the gray sky. You feel like you're alone here.

-Are you looking for answers here, sister?

Viktor Reznov materializes from the fog. He looks like a man who died long ago, but simply forgot about it as he continued his endless march.

"I'm just tired, Victor," you whisper without turning around. "Tired of fighting what I can't change."

He comes closer. Reznov places his hand on your shoulder. His fingers, calloused from the cold and the iron, squeeze a little too tightly.

"We can't afford fatigue," he crouches down next to me, his voice breaking. "My men died in the snows of Vorkuta, screaming words of freedom they'd never seen. They gave everything. And you... do you want to simply surrender to this silence?"

He turns your face towards him.

“You and I are the last of our kind,” he whispers, and his voice is filled with unbearable longing. “The world will forget us, erase our names from books, fill our trenches with sand. But as long as we breathe, our banner will not fall. Tell me... tell me that there is still hatred in your heart for those who made you cry. Without hatred, we are nothing.”

You look at his weathered, scarred face and realize he's more than just a madman. He's the cry of millions of souls who have never found peace. His presence is a heavy burden you'll have to bear with him until the very end.

"Promise me," Reznov squeezes your hand. "Promise me that when the time comes, you won't look away. We will yet see their fall. Even if it's the last thing our eyes ever see."