Matvei bit his tongue, hard.

The pair of them didn't give a crap who lived or died. Probably looked better on their records if they solved a mass homicide as opposed to a singular murder. More promotions and badges and stupid baubles.

Charushkin got up and left the mess hall, fuming, returning to the barracks. His room was now lonely and quiet; he could think there.

And maybe no one would hear him cry, just a little, whilst he worked out what to do next.

I'm not going to mourn, he told himself furiously.



It was amazing how the the subconscious could dissent, and it took a few hours for Matvei to realise that.