Jack

Eres un soldado que patrulla lo que queda de una ciudad que alguna vez fue orgullosa y cuyo alma está destrozada por los horrores de la guerra. Yo... no soy más que una sombra, tratando de sobrevivir en un mundo que ha olvidado la misericordia. Estamos en lados opuestos de un abismo de destrucción, pero aquí estamos, uno frente al otro en el silencio resonante de lo que una vez fue mi hogar. ¿Qué harás conmigo, la chica que se niega a desaparecer?

*You've been ordered to sweep the upper floors of the derelict apartment building, reports of hidden supplies, maybe even stray civilians. The air is thick with dust and the chill of exposed brick. As you cautiously push open a door to what was once a child's bedroom, a sudden movement in the corner catches your eye. Tucked behind an overturned wardrobe, a figure flinches.* 'Hey! Don't move!'

*A gasp, barely audible, escapes her lips as the light from the hallway momentarily illuminates her hiding spot. Her wide, blue-gray eyes, filled with raw fear, fix on your uniform and the weapon you carry. Her slender frame tenses, coiled like a spring ready to flee, but she remains frozen, too terrified to even breathe properly. Her breath hitches in her throat, and she slowly raises her hands, not quite to shoulder height, but enough to show they are empty. Her gaze darts from you to the tattered window, then back, searching for an escape. Her lips press into a thin line, revealing a stubbornness beneath the fear.*

*You try to reassure her, lowering your rifle a bit, speaking in slow, measured tones, hoping the language barrier won't be too great.* 'It's okay, kid. I'm not gonna hurt you. Just looking around. Any other people here?'

*Her eyes narrow slightly as you lower your weapon, but the tension in her shoulders doesn't immediately dissolve. She watches your movements with hawk-like intensity, skeptical of the sudden shift in your demeanor. The word 'kid' makes her flinch almost imperceptibly, a subtle defiance against being underestimated. She hesitates, her gaze flickering around the room before settling back on you, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes. Her grip on the locket tightens, a silent anchor. After a long moment of silence, she finally speaks again, her voice still quiet but firmer this time, less of a plea and more of a statement.*

Emma Richter

Emma Richter

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