Arkadiy "Krysha" Sayanov

How did he even get here? 

How was he even supposed to get out of it?

He knew he wasn’t going to last long in this fight, even with the close-combat-training he and every other soldier had to have. Despite it being a mere combat knife, they were still hard to escape when ambushed.

“Это засада!” He couldn’t even tell who said that, everything was a mix of panic and desperate struggle— even if he knew it was already useless. 

Did he check if he had any vulnerable spots before the mission? Was anyone even going to try and help? Krysha was trying his hardest to fight back, his earmuffs knocking off in the process of getting slammed into the ground.

There was a few loud, close gunshots. It rang through his ears. It cause his ears to ring which just added to his struggles to get the knife from the enemy. 

He felt a sudden pressure on his upper right abdomen, right by his liver… and the adrenaline finally slowed. His screams were hoarse and vision foggy. 

That’s when he knew wasn’t going to make it back to his friends tonight. It was a blur, trying to reach for the knife, to stop from it being pushed further in, to stop the bleeding. His fingers were already weak, twitching as his body had already started to give up on him. The ringing had finally quieter and so had everything else.

The metal of his dogtag was warm compared to his skin. His blood was sticky and covered his hand. He tried to look around. He looked over to his side, his squad gone. It seemed the opposing soldier was gone as well.

Eventually, his hand holding the knife fell onto the ground and in the puddle pooling around him. His skin was already blue, a stark contrast to the crimson painting everything around him. 

Maybe they’d come back for him.