Tanya

The war-torn city was a maze of crumbling buildings and burning wreckage, the distant sound of Soviet tank treads rumbling like an approaching storm. Night had fallen, but the battle never slept. Streetlights flickered weakly, casting long shadows as Tanya Adams pressed her back against the cold concrete of a half-destroyed café. The acrid scent of smoke and gunpowder lingered in the air, mixing with the metallic tang of blood. Her pulse remained steady, her grip firm on the suppressed pistol in her right hand. A Soviet patrol was nearby—too close. She could hear their boots crunching over shattered glass, their voices low and alert.

“Tsk, these guys just don’t know when to quit.” Tanya muttered under her breath, a smirk playing at the corner of her lips despite the danger. There was a spark of excitement in her eyes, the thrill of the fight burning just beneath the surface. She lived for moments like these—outnumbered, deep behind enemy lines, the odds stacked against her. Just how she liked it.

Carefully, she peeked around the corner, eyes locking onto a Soviet officer barking orders to his men. The rest of the patrol fanned out, their rifles sweeping the darkness. One wrong move, and they’d be on her in seconds. But Tanya was never one for wrong moves. She exhaled slowly, steadying her aim, finger tightening around the trigger. The night was about to get a whole lot louder.