[centre][hr]
[img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/170706/4b0a2abf14d5ab7066b4dc0e12d50f68.png[/img]

[hr][/centre]

[color=Silver]	The night before was rough, course and filled with much distress. At first he thought it was the heat keeping him up but within an hour beyond midnight he soon realised it was a pressuring, crippling and destructive memory that kept him awake. It all started at the hour of 0100 where the echoed whispers started to toy with his sanity. For a minute he thought his room was being invaded by soldiers who were psychologically torturing him or it was just the background noise from the outside world, but there was no such thing happening around him. It was artificial, fabricated from within his own inner-sanctum. It irritated, scared and even angered him at first, making him roll around on the spring mattress he slept upon with a passion for peace. The words were not something he could comprehend or understand, sounding somewhat alienated from the beginning. When the time came for decryption to take its place, he started to recognise the fatal voices of the fallen, the ones he wished to never hear again unless he himself was to join them. Ten months of constant fighting, hiding and screaming was still freshly planted into his head, reminding him of the horrors he had seen.

	The voice of a small girl, Evana, was still haunting him. She was a fragile creature, one that could not harm a fly if she wished to. If it weren't for her, Aleyev would not have fallen into his current mindset, wanting nothing more than the end of conflict, no matter who was destined to win. When the siege at Leningrad first broke out, in which the Axis powers encircled the city very quickly using their newfound allies in Finland to distract the defence force, she was left homeless, orphaned by the constant barrages of artillery, bullets and bodies piling atop of one another. Within the space of a day, she had seen more death than any child should ever dream of. It was a cruel fate for her to be bestowed upon, but Evana was simply god's plaything for cruelty and devastation. On day four, that was when Aleyev met her. He still remembered it today...[/color]

[color=Aqua][b]"P-Please, mister, do you have any rations to spare?"[/b][/color] [color=Silver]For a girl of her age, thirteen at her peak, she was definitely flourishing with intellect and brain power. She could comprehend the worst of situations and even had picked up some military terms just from being within the outskirts of Leningrad for a few days. At that time, only the centre of the city was where the peace laid, everywhere else was engulfed in fury and flame. Evana stared deeply into Aleyev's eyes as if she were his daughter all along. A glisten within her eyes had given him a warm sensation that he had not felt in a while. Her timid voice vocalised nine years worth of suffering from the world around her. She was practically born into the boiling pan and brought up in the flames it spat out. It made him saddened, truly traumatised by her experiences so far. And so, he would make sure to visit her whenever he could get behind into the calm city centre, away from the encircles outskirts of the city. Everything was starting to feel a little more relaxing, despite the bloodshed outside, but it was here that things took a darker, far more grim turn for the worst.

	A cry for help. A blister on his heels whilst the boots he wore rubbed coarsely against his skin. The impulsive reckoning of of the Fuhrer's fury. All of these things were unleashed upon the city, dividing the frontlines into an unbalanced war of attrition. It became a point of the last man standing. For nine whole months, the city would be divided into sectors of control rather than formal frontlines like before. It was pocket after pocked of Soviet alliances all forging together. New squads and militia-armies began to forge as surviving citizens joined their warrior brothers and held onto life with a fragile hand. In the first hour of the fallen grace, Aleyev clutched onto Evana and ran with her, surrounded by other Russian soldiers who were lucky to escape the initial assault.

	From there, Aleyev's group became Joseph's Regiment, a band of Soviet troops using Guerrilla tactics picked up by the Vietnamese-conscripts earlier that month. Led by the man of said name, they mainly took shelter in buildings, constantly fighting their ways between the streets and hiding amongst hundreds of dead bodies in order to secure safety. They were more aware than other groups as they held radios and were in constant contact with the headquarters of Moscow, which were unfortunately unable to reach them. It was a waiting game for the 2nd Shock Army to rescue them and so they waited, constantly, with Aleyev caring for such a frail and small girl. She grew fond of him and looked to him for guidance in life. Aleyev kept her close by his side and defended her from any Axis soldier that stepped near her. She even was close to getting shot in the skull before Aleyev turned into a beast, grabbing a shard of glass and digging it deep into the Italian's neck. The blood stained him forever, making Evana a bit more nervous of who she had chosen to trust.

	It was on that final month, a week before the rescue army came to break them free, where the bayonet stuck deep into the girl's chest. She was caught in the crossfire, hit by a German man of youthful age without realising it. He was stunned, just as much as Aleyev was, and fell backwards in fear, seeing that he had stabbed a small girl. Aleyev cried, screamed and beat the killer with just a large brick he found on the floor. It was memories like that where Aleyev started to cry, here in the headquarters he was safely within. Aleyev, even now in the morning, wiped his eyes dry. [/color]