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()<Speaker></Speaker>||<SE1>AVG_keyboardtype_sci</SE1><黑屏2><BIN>845</BIN><narrator>:■FILE■ NUSSRA276483759065746, decrypting...
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()<Speaker></Speaker>||<BGM>BGM_ev2412_tranquility</BGM><黑屏2><BIN>839</BIN>:November 18, 2064.
()<Speaker></Speaker>||:Bearfang is dead. We couldn't take him with us. +At dusk we hugged the walls, pulling back southwest, keeping out of the drones' line of sight. But when we crossed the bridge, there was no cover. A drone swooped in—Bearfang took the hit. +He could've dodged it, on another day. But the fighting earlier drained us dry. His reflexes slowed. +His last words to us were, "Run."
()<Speaker></Speaker>||:I've seen comrades taken suddenly before. This time I didn't even have space for grief. The rally point was five kilometers west, and we had to reach it before dark. +I took Bearfang's armband. Roma kept cursing those damned short-sighted politicians. +Bearfang's wife is still waiting for him back in Volgograd. His kid is three years old. I've no idea how to tell his family.
()<Speaker></Speaker>||:By the time we reached the rally point, night had already fallen. +Winter bites, but in the city the wind isn't as harsh as the open steppe, and the roads are smooth. If Death wasn't always swinging his scythe at your neck, the march might almost be tolerable. +Plenty of familiar faces had made it there, plenty hadn't. +Writer showed up with fresh bandages. Looked ridiculous, but healthier than he had a few days ago. +When he saw the bloodied armband in my hand, he asked if Bearfang suffered. I just shrugged. I tried to speak, but nothing came out.
()<Speaker></Speaker>||:Rome and I scrounged food. Thank God—hot borsch. +While eating, Roma's tears dropped into his bowl. A burly, bearded slab of muscle crying into his soup—it looked almost pitiful. But everyone pretended not to notice. +I just bent my head, grabbed another hunk of bread, and crushed it into the soup.
()<Speaker></Speaker>||:That night we had a meeting. Dentist told us things weren't looking good. +The General was in the middle of final talks with the Kremlin. The politicians still refused to admit their mistakes, refused to correct them, and worse—they were tricking other soldiers into fighting us. +In the south, units that had been faking an attack turned it real, piling more pressure on us. +We all cursed the fence-sitters, but Dentist shut us down quick. No point in complaining—he broke down the field situation, and how we'd deal with it.
()<Speaker></Speaker>||:It's as clear as day—if the talks collapse, it'll be a slaughterhouse tonight. +On the maps, we still hold some advantage. But if we can't turn it into victory, we won't survive against the endless reinforcements from elsewhere. +Dentist said the General has given everyone a choice—walk away now, and he'll see you paid and sent safely to the Yellow Zone. +I know it's the General's way of protecting his men, but to me that choice is meaningless. +Sure enough, nobody chickened out. Anyone still here by now is loyal, brave. I'm proud to stand among them.
()<Speaker></Speaker>||<CGDelay>0.5</CGDelay>:This is our last chance to save the Motherland. Either we give the Neo-Soviet Union new life, or we die as its burial offering.
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