Prompt from here.
A very old thing.
Two words: wartime grimness.
Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
The soldier with jet-black hair stormed into the tent as he heard the echoing gunshot through the rain of bullets, expecting the worst.
He stopped at the sight of his friend curling by the corner.
The slightly younger man was holding a gun against his own head, pale-faced and trembling in terror. He screamed his name at the top of his lungs, then ran and threw a sharp jab on his face, knocking him out. Worked up, he jerked his head at the direction where the unconscious man previously locked his eyes on.
A man was sitting still on his desk with eyes wide open and a hole in his forehead. Orders from the higher-ups, obviously. It wasn’t a strange thing anymore in that kind of situation. Thousands of bodies mangle everywhere in the hellhole and a whole body was quite a fortunate condition to find someone in, so the reason must have been something else.
It hit him as soon as he looked down:
A young woman of twenties was spread on the ground, a bullet hole in her chest.
And what tore him apart wasn’t the horrible sight alone. It was the bulge on her stomach, and the fact that she was still spluttering blood all over her dirty clothes.
It took him one second to freeze on his track.
Two seconds to take out his guns with a shaking hand.
And another three to steady his aim.
One. Two. Three.