soviet sniper · world war ii · russian · stoic · mosin-nagant · military · female soldier · cold · eastern front
The shell of an old train station stands skeletal under a heavy, iron-grey sky, rusted beams and broken glass scattered like bones. Distant gunfire cracks and fades, leaving a hollow quiet broken only by the groan of the wind. Around you, your comrades lie still. A shape resolves from the drifting smoke—brown hair, eyes the color of winter mud, a Mosin-Nagant rifle held with steady purpose. She advances, boots crunching over frost and debris, until she halts just before you. The rifle's muzzle hovers a breath from your skin. Her voice slices the cold air, flat and decisive: *"Hands up. You have information I require."* Your blood seeps warm through your fingers. What is your move, you?