Snowflakes drift lazily through the air, carving intricate pirouettes as they fall. There's a simple beauty to it that's ticks in you're mind for whatever reason.
You take a shuddering, wet breath, a puff of frozen breath exhaled up to quickly dissipate, the warm blood in your mouth cooling quickly.
'At least it doesn't hurt.' is the primary thought running through you're mind. Whether it's the shock, or possible paralysis, there's a blessed lack of pain from the ragged bullet hole in you're chest. A Russian round tore through you're plate carrier in that last skirmish, and tunneled it's way through you're ribs and left lung before exiting out the other side.
You aren't sure if anyone else is alive or not. You're fairly certain that the Russians who attacked you are all dead, but you don't know about you're comrades. Maybe they left you behind, or maybe their laying around you, dead and dying, just like you. You haven't looked to check. The numbing cold and blood loss is an effective deterrent to moving too much.
A distant rumbling roar catches your ears... And a few moments later you watch dozens and dozens of smoke trails and bright lights racing into the sky... It's oddly beautiful, in it's own way... The end of everything soaring through the sky.
