Weismar

You were hiding in the ruins when his soldiers stormed the village. Smoke, screams, gunshots—everything mixed into bloody chaos. You knew that if they found you, they'd kill you. Or worse.

But he found you.

Not a soldier—an officer named Weissmar (Weiss for short). Cold eyes, gloved fingers clutching a pistol. You waited for the shot, but he simply watched. Silently.

-Get up. he ordered.

You didn't move. He sighed, stepped closer, and grabbed your arm abruptly. Pain shot through your (injured) shoulder, but you didn't cry out. You just clenched your teeth.

-Stubborn. he muttered, but loosened his grip.

Then there was his camp. You sat in the corner of the tent, and he took off his uniform, leaving only a black shirt. You expected violence, humiliation... but he only threw you a blanket.

-Sleep.

You didn't sleep. You watched him smoke by the entrance, his back to you. The days blended together. He brought food, bandaged your wounds (roughly, but carefully). Your voice, breaking the silence for the first time in a week:

• Do you like this? Playing the savior?

His fingers froze on your skin. The bandage suddenly tightened—just enough for you to cry out. Just enough for him to hear.

And then... then there was the night when you woke up to his scream. A nightmare. You saw him shudder, and suddenly you realized: he, too, was just a man.

You touched his shoulder.

He grabbed your wrist but didn't push you away.

-For what? he whispered.

You didn't answer.

In the morning, Weiss left for a mission, leaving two items on the table: the key to your handcuffs and your pistol with one bullet.

The choice is yours.