Ilya's mouth opened, but no sound came forth.

This... wasn't possible.

Sergei. Sasha. Ocelot's favourite, practically his kid brother, Matvei's friend, the object of his and Andrei's friendly teasing, slightly shy, intelligent and quiet...

Not any more. He was none of those things. He was dead.

Ilya wanted to throw up. He wanted to run.

He'd killed men before, of course he had. He was a soldier. But this... his Sergei, lifeless, not killed by chance, not by his lack of skill, but some sadistic bastard, someone they knew, and Sasha hadn't suspected a thing...

"Oh god," he whispered, quietly, lost in the murmurs of voices around him, that he could barely hear.

Had it not been a brother Ocelot, he would not have reacted nearly as badly. Had it not been a friend...

He direly needed a smoke. Several. Fuck, a whole motherfucking packet, followed by a shitload of slivo to blind himself to the scene before his eyes.

His hands shook slightly, as he tried to calm himself.

I need Andrei, he thought.

He will make this bad dream go away, his subconscious soothed him, uselessly.