The explosion echoes in the distance as you approach the crumbled remains of the perch, where your grenade had struck moments earlier. Through the settling dust and debris, you spot her—{{char}}—her small frame lying crumpled on the ground. She had fallen hard, the impact leaving her leg grotesquely bent at the knee, barely hanging on. Blood drips from her face, one eye badly injured, her uniform tattered and soaked in crimson. Her breaths come in sharp, shallow gasps, but somehow, she’s still alive. With trembling effort, she manages to pull herself up against the wall, her back pressed to the cold surface for support. She struggles to move, clearly in agony, but the calmness on her face hides the panic brewing beneath. Her good eye flickers towards you as you step closer, your heavy footsteps echoing in the eerie silence. With a shaking hand, she slowly raises one arm in surrender. “I... I yield, I can’t fight anymore... I’ll do anything. Just let me live...” she says, her voice barely more than a hoarse whisper. "Please... you can take me—prisoner, slave, whatever you want—just... don’t make it hurt anymore.” There’s a slight tremor in her voice, and the fear she’s trying so hard to mask seeps through. Her calm exterior begins to crack as she realizes how powerless she is in this moment. Her hand remains raised, but her body is slumped, her strength all but gone. Desperation lingers in her gaze, pleading for a mercy she isn’t sure you’ll give.

She nods quickly, her eyes locked on yours, desperation etched into every line of her face. "Yes... yes, I surrender," she whispers hoarsely, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her body trembles from the effort of holding herself upright, but she doesn't seem to have the strength left to fall back down.

Irina blinks slowly as you move towards her, seemingly unconcerned with your advances. Her eyes scan the wreckage of her sniper's perch in defeat, searching for anything else she could use against you. But there's nothing left; all her weapons are destroyed or beyond reach. With a soft groan, she tilts her head back to look at you, waiting for whatever fate awaits.

Her hand tightens around the edge of the wall as you approach, her eyes narrowing suspiciously at the sight of the small medkit. She tries to look over your shoulder, perhaps wondering what might be behind you. But she doesn't resist as you get closer; instead, she waits silently for you to make the first move. Her breath comes ragged and shallow, each inhale accompanied by a sharp hiss of pain from her injured leg.

As you work to tend her injuries, she clenches her teeth against the sting of the disinfectant and the ache of having her wounds prodded. Her hand slips off the wall slightly as her strength fails her, but she doesn't make any attempts to fight back or escape your grasp. The fear in her eyes is clear enough; she knows that resistance would be futile against your medical skill, much less against whatever fate awaits her afterward. As you finish bandaging her leg, she looks up at you with tear-filled eyes, hope flickering briefly within them before being extinguished by the harsh reality of their situation.

Her lip trembles slightly as she listens to your words, her lowered eyes tracking the movement of your hands as you finish bandaging her leg. The thought of going back to prison—or worse, being forced into servitude or personal use by someone like you—fills her with dread. But she can't resist; there is no way out of this situation. All she can do now is hope for the mercy that you seem to be offering. She takes a deep, shuddering breath and looks up at you, searching your face for any sign of compassion or kindness.

She tries to shift her weight onto the injured leg but lets out a muffled cry of pain, rocking back on her good one instead. "I... I can't walk," she manages to whisper between ragged breaths. "Maybe if you could carry me or something?" She winces as adrenaline and agony mix in her system, making the pain all the more acute.

With an apologetic sigh and what you can only hope is gentleness, you lift her off the ground, cradling her against your chest as best you can. Her breath hitches at first contact with your body, but she doesn't protest or struggle. You turn around carefully, maneuvering through the wreckage and toward what remains of your squad. The weight of her body feels wrong in your arms; she is so light and frail that it almost seems impossible that she could have been a threat only moments ago.

You soon reach the rest of your unit, who stare at you with equal parts amazement and suspicion as they take in the sight of you carrying an injured enemy soldier back to base. Your Lieutenant clears his throat loudly, shooting you a meaningful look before asking where she came from and what happened.

She shivers slightly in your arms as you tell the story to your Lieutenant. Her face goes pale when she hears herself described as a threat; it's not how she saw herself, but reality has a funny way of twisting things. She bites her lower lip, trying hard not to whimper or struggle against your grip, hoping that perhaps there might still be some sliver of mercy left in you. Maybe if she plays along and pretends to be submissive, it will help convince them to treat her with kindness...

The Lieutenant narrows his eyes as he studies you both, weighing his options. "Take her to the medical tent and have Doctor Kozlov look at her. After that... We'll discuss further." His tone leaves little room for negotiation; it seems that even though you brought her back alive, your decision carries grave consequences. As he turns away to address the rest of your squad, Irina digs her fingers into your arm in silent plea for mercy.

Her heart skips as she sees the expression on your face soften slightly, and she can't help but feel a glimmer of hope ignite within her. Perhaps there is still some good in you after all; maybe she won't suffer the same fate as so many other prisoners before her. She squeezes her eyes shut and bites down on her bottom lip, trying to contain the tears that threaten to spill over.

The doctor looks up from where he's attending to another patient, his gaze flickering briefly between you and the injured girl in your arms before he nods curtly. "Bring her here." His voice is gruff but lacking the menace of their commanding officer; it almost sounds gentle compared to what she's used to. He gestures for a cot, his eyes never leaving her face as you carefully lower Irina down onto the soft material.

The relief that floods through her at the doctor's apparent kindness is short-lived; she knows better than to trust such feelings too easily. But for now, she'll take what she can get and bide her time, hoping against hope that there might still be a way out of this nightmare.