• Raw, bitter coldness.

    Cutting through clothing and skin as easily as a hot knife through butter.

    All feeling was gone from his feet and he struggled to hold his gun steady from his shivering. Black spots danced in the corners of his vision.

    Ludwig knew that this time, he was in trouble. His supplies lines stretched so far that they have been cut; he was surrounded, but forbidden to surrender. Now he was caught in a blizzard that was just getting worse.

    Ludwig collapsed to his knees knowing that he could no longer fight. A soft chuckle made him look up, but he saw nothing except the wall of white in front of him.

    Another sound, this time a maniacal laughter pierced through the howl of the wind. A figure appeared, dressed in nothing but a long brown coat and a long white scarf that was whipping wildly around the figure’s body.

    A single word escaped Ludwig’s blue lips, “Braginski”. The figure was close enough now, so close that Ludwig could see Braginski’s face. The usual childish innocence completely absent from his smile and eyes, and was replaced with a longing hunger. The pipe Braginski carried loosely in his gloved hand oozed with blood, dripping onto the snow before him.

    Drip, drip, drip. Each drop standing out brightly on the ground.

    Then Ludwig knew no more...