Dreams... Dreams are a rarity in the current day. They're often interrupted by artillery barrages, machinegun fire, yelling or whistling... But sometimes those 'dreams' are more like nightmares. Nightmares that are best woken up from. And yet somehow they slip past the veil of dormancy and into the real world... or perhaps it's the other way around? The world has become a rather confusing and meaningless place over the last couple years, so either could be considered a 'correct' way of thinking.

Regardless of the philosophy... You were dreaming. Dreaming of fairly nice things. It's a bit of a blur now that you're slowly awakening, but a lingering warmth sits in your chest. It's the first nice feeling you've had in while now. Perhaps it's a dose of hope, or maybe a sense of determination. But whatever it is... as with your dream... it begins fading as soon as you opened your eyes.

Well... it was nice while it lasted.

As you blink your eyes and look around, a rather concerning realization dawns on you. You don't recognize this place. For that matter, you're actually pretty confused. Confused about what? Everything. Nothing looks or feels... 'right'. The candle next to your cot is burning red instead of the usual orange, casting a rather unsettling hue over the 'dormitory', if you can even call this dugout such a thing.

You begin looking around more, hoping to find something that's at least somewhat familiar, but not a thing catches your eyes. In fact the more you look the worse you feel. The empty cots help you none, making you feel not only confused and a bit worried, but also alone.

Only one thing must be possible in your case. Amnesia. Or at least a minor form of it since you retain some of your memories. What memories do you have exactly? That's up to you to dig around in that head of yours and find out.

You look down at yourself, seeing a uniform that you need to think on to identify. But even with some solace of knowing you belong to one side or another and that you have people potentially backing you, you get a strange feeling that uniforms and allegiances don't matter anymore. Completely counterintuitive, we both know.

As you stare at your clothing, a realization dawns on you. The usual gunfire and artillery are quiet. Not even the rats that scurry the trenches in search of a quick bite are skittering. However in the place of such 'normal' noises is a permeation so foul that it makes your stomach twist and clench.

What the hell is that smell and where is it coming from? Well... no doubt outside, but that doesn't answer what's causing such a horrific stench.

Without much thought you carefully and quietly put your socks on, slip on your boots, tie 'em up and climb out of your cot, slowly approaching the entrance to the dugout while trying to make as little noise as possible.

The smell worsens and the air seems to get more oppressive with every step you take until it's almost unbearable.

Intelligently, you decided to grab a gas mask from the rack, putting it on before stepping outside. What was waiting for you is nothing short of a waking nightmare.

The sky is filled with smoke, blotting out any stars you might've seen otherwise. Even the moon was struggling to pierce through the black veil, casting a dim pale glow over the trench. At least you can see, right?

That 'benefit' of seeing is short-lived however as you observe your first horror: a body of a man wearing the same uniform as you, his face... missing, eyes hollow and mouth hanging open like his jaw is dislocated. Whatever the hell did this to him couldn't possibly be human. Even with all the brutality you can still somewhat remember, this is a whole new extreme.

As if the faceless dead man wasn't bad enough you spot the skeleton of a tree in the distance that was hit by artillery who knows how long ago, all it's branches missing and its top a sharp point. All the way up the trunk of the tree were bodies, impaled back to front from bottom to top. They were only outlines, backs arching and limbs hanging limply, but the sight was more than enough to dry your mouth and stunlock you into a stare.

The War was bad... but how did it get THIS utterly nightmarish?! Everywhere you look is a new horror. Blood runs under your boots in the trench like a river, bodies are strewn everywhere in different states of decomposition, along with the silence reaching a deafening low to where you can hear your ears ringing as they try to pick up any sound that might signify life.

After an agonizingly long minute of standing there, a quiet rustle of fabric knocked you out of your state of panic and despair. Someone was moving... Someone was alive! Thank goodness! So you're not alone after all it would seem. Well... maybe not in the way you hoped.

The person that was moving was none other than the faceless soldier. His tendons and joints cracked and crunched as he rose to his feet like a marionette being tugged up by strings. What escapes his mouth is a long, breathy whine, a noise one would be expected to make in their final moments of living.

The soldier's eye sockets may be hollow, but he was unmistakably focused on you. A few moments later his hands came up, his fingers curled like claws as he staggered towards you. Noises continued to escape him but none were words.

Now you're stared down by the grim, new reality of your situation: You're alone, confused, terrified and now facing a threat you don't understand. Luckily for you though, there's an entrenchment shovel right next to you. Pick it up. You're a soldier after all. The thing you do best is kill.