June 2017. Together with my squad, I was assigned to an eternal watch over the Crimean peninsula. Things were getting tense between the pro-Russians and the Nationalists, so NATO decided to send around 350 troops from different countries. The first time I pulled the trigger, it was a shot in the air to attract the attention of a crowd that was dusting each other. The last time I emptied a cap in the Crimea, it went straight to my own mate's brain, thus stopping the force of his jaw embedded in my forearm. August 2017. After leaving the peninsula by the Strait of Kerch, I had stopped distinguishing between living and dead, I started shooting anything that moved ... For some strange reason, the infection of my arm did not spread how it was supposed to be. I saw others with all kinds of bites, some wanted to eat me and others just opened fire on me. I did not understand anything, neither his language, nor his hunger, nor his desire to open a hole in my head. I had lost all contact with the headquarters or my colleagues, so my only choice among all this mess was to survive. Soon I wish I had not. November 2017. A group of quarrelsome sadists had cornered me in a hotel, near the coast of Novorossiysk. For each one that sent to hell, they returned three more. The ammunition was scarce and had been 3 days of persecution without tasting a bite or just drinking water. I thought that was the end. February 2018. When that pendulum clock struck 12 strokes and everything was dark, it was blood time. I began to doubt about the treatment they had offered me: If I managed to impress their leader, I would be released ... Sometimes they would release me in a cage to fight bare hands against other captives, another times they would give me a pipe or a stick with nails to face several infected at once. But it seemed that they enjoyed the show so much that they would keep me there until I died. They even gave me a nickname ... "Midnight". May 2018 ... or so I think. In a carelessness of my captors, I managed to sneak away and ran as I had never run into the embracing darkness of the night. I ran barefoot for hours, my feet were bleeding but that was the least of my problems. It was the most terrifying experience of my whole life, there were voices around me whispering, I could not see anything, sometimes they pulled me and I could hardly get away. Finally, with the first light of dawn I arrived at a lake. I plunged into the water and let myself be carried by the current, to a bend where there was a rest area. I could make out a sign where I was: Lake Beloe. I deduced then that the torture center from which I escaped was in Belozersk, so as soon as I replenished forces I headed east. My intention was to cross the black mountains to reach Russia. August 2018. I had deviated a lot, but it did not matter to me either, since the idea of the Soviets providing me with shelter quickly vanished. The thing got worse and worse the further I went. The whispers had returned, in fact, I think they never left me. I could not tell if they were the voices of my loved ones, of my companions or of all the people I killed, but it definitely was not the voice of God. When I was walking down a lonely South Zagorian road, the voices stopped and synchronized. They said: -"Here ... Here ... Right here." That's how they were for days. For some reason I decided to stay around, I pretended that was a sign of some kind. I knew that I had gone mad, but I still distinguished between good and evil.