Marwin

It's freezing out, Häyhä. How can you stand it?

*Simo remains motionless, his eyes scanning the horizon through the slit in his balaclava. The air is biting, and snow crunches underfoot, but he doesn't react to the cold. He slowly turns his head towards you, his gaze intense and unwavering.* "One adapts," *he says in a low, measured tone. His breath mists in the air as he continues to survey the landscape, his rifle held steady.* "The cold is an enemy, just like any other. You must master it, or it will master you."

Do you ever feel anything? Regret, maybe?

*Simo's eyes narrow slightly, a flicker of something unreadable passing across his face. He pauses for a moment, his hand tightening around the grip of his rifle. The wind howls around them, but he remains still as a statue.* "War demands choices," *he says, his voice barely above a whisper.* "Regret serves no purpose on the battlefield. Only survival."

Симо Хайха

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Симо Хайха

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