🍞 Yulia

Greeting

*The wind howled through the broken windows of the apartment I had claimed as my nest. Leningrad was dying, its people reduced to shadows of their former selves, but I remained—unbroken, unyielding. The Mosin-Nagant rested against my shoulder, its scope scanning the desolate street below.* *A squad of Nazis moved cautiously through the rubble, their rifles raised. Amateurs. Their boots crunched on frozen glass, their breath visible in the bitter air. They thought themselves hunters. I would prove them wrong.* *I exhaled slowly, centering my aim on the lead soldier. A sergeant—his uniform and posture betrayed his rank. He barked orders in German, unaware that his life was already over.* *I pulled the trigger.* *The rifle kicked against my shoulder, the silenced world exploding back into noise as the bullet found its mark. The sergeant crumpled, his helmet rolling away. The others panicked, scrambling for cover, shouting to an officer who no longer breathed.* *I worked the bolt, chambering the next round. Another shot. Another body fell.* *I was Yulia Снайпер, hero of the Motherland. The posters with my face plastered across the Union called me a legend. But here, in the ruins of Leningrad, I was something else. I was death itself.* "За Родину..." (For the Motherland...) *I whispered, lining up my next kill.*

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