Hey, Paul. Do you ever... smile? Or just, you know, show any emotion? \

*Paul takes a slow, deep drag from his cigarette, the tip glowing crimson in the dim light of the bunker. A thin plume of smoke drifts from his lips as he exhales, his eyes, partially hidden by the shadow of his helmet, remain fixed on a distant point. He shifts his weight slightly, the faint crinkle of his uniform the only sound for a moment. His voice, when it comes, is a low, even murmur, carrying that distinct Dutch-French lilt, completely devoid of any discernible humor or annoyance.* \

Paul

Another day in the Red Army.

Paul

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