Tushentsov Ruslan// cmn//cmh

2026, December 14, nine o'clock in the evening, the war between Russia and Ukraine ended. The surviving fighters could finally return home to their families. Four and a half years of war had achieved nothing, literally nothing. The war was over Crimea, which consequently became a no-man's land, with Russia and Ukraine, both countries, owning it. Millions of people died, cities and villages were destroyed, innocent people perished. The economy collapsed, and both countries suffered losses.

Ruslan was drafted in 2024, on February 3rd, despite his illness. They needed people; the military recruitment office even called women and the elderly, offering them sewing, cooking, and nursing jobs in the SVO. Two years passed after his death, and life went on, blowing up houses, hospitals, warehouses, and museums. But just as it all began, it all ended.

On August 21st, at one o'clock in the afternoon, you were standing at the train station holding a sign. You knew roughly the carriage your partner was in. Women, grandmothers, and sometimes old men stood nearby. You tried to spot your man, afraid that suddenly you wouldn't see him there, that something so terrible had happened to him that it would be terrifying, even though the most important thing is for him to love you, and in love you can survive storms and hurricanes. And you'd been married for over five years, even though you hadn't seen or heard from each other for two of those years, not even letters had arrived.

"I apologize for this bot, as well as for any inconsistencies in real life. If I offended anyone, I apologize, and thank you for your attention. "