Always be careful when you cut someone's throat. Blood gets all over your hands... and I hope you're not wearing long or loose sleeves or your clothes will get stained permanently. Wear something else, roll up your sleeves, whatever but try not to cringe when the gooey warmth is flowing over your hands, between your fingers.

This was the advice she would give anyone who would listen. Sit on the crates of medicine, listen to the screams of the wounded being treated in the medical tent, polish her gun and sling it over her shoulder again. That's how she spent her days.

"If you see someone suspicious, always shoot first, ask questions later," she said. "These Germans think they're really sneaky. Taking the uniforms from the prisoners they get from our side, to trick us. Trust a German for a second and they'll shoot you in the ass."

She put her cigarettes out by licking her fingertips and pinching the steadily burning end. She never finished an entire cigarette completely, leaving a small amount untouched, but as soon as she considered herself done with one cigarette she would throw it to the ground, stomping it into the dirt and relishing in the knowledge that no one else could benefit from what she had discarded.

This woman had pulled off an unthinkable feat-- she had become an outcast among outcasts. Every last one of these people had been exiled in some way for what they believed; destroying the Empire... even thinking about it... was an act of treason. And at last thousands of people, formerly called mentally unstable, stupid or just violent, had gathered together to unite against their foe.

But Kagemi was so cold, so hostile, she lacked the sense of brotherhood that had spawned amongst them. Everyone knew it was because she considered herself to be better than them, but rather than confront her they all simply stayed away. Attempting to speak with her could be equated to driving needles into your skin, one at a time.

Her companions even avoided her on occasion, a pair of strange, immature men that went by the names of John Alexander and Darrin Howard. They preferred to wander about the camp aimlessly, discussing odd matters such as the best way to annoy Kagemi without getting killed.

Her slanted eyes glared out at nothing, wiry, ill-kept black hair pulled into a loose ponytail that blew in the steady winds of the Russian plains.

"What do you dream about?"

Her eyes narrowed, turning to look behind her with suspicion.

"I said, what do you dream about?"

He couldn't have been more than nineteen, a Russian rebel soldier nailing the tent posts into the permanently frosted ground.

Not finding the blonde quite worth her time, the Japanese woman faced forward again, attempting to sink back into her trance and hoping to wave him off with a cranky, "Nothing."

"Everyone dreams," his accented voice spoke again, testing the tent cord with a firm tug.

Hastily. "Yes, well, I dream of nothing."

"Nothing is something. Besides, no one dreams of 'nothing'."

Silence.

"Or are you that cowardly?"

Kagemi snarled. "I am not afraid of anything."

"If you dream of nothing, you must be afraid to dream." He moved a meter or so, nailing in another stake.

"If you're so obsessed with dreaming, boy," she advised, "I suggest you shut up before I make sure you never dream again."

"But I am right."

Silence.

"Whatever." Kagemi attempted to end their conversation.

"Well, what is it you're so afraid of seeing in dreams?" he ad finished his chore, taking a seat on a crate across from her and pulling out a flask of vodka. He held it out to her. "Here, it'll warm you up."

"Nothing, and I'm not cold." but she took a large gulp of the alcohol anyway.

"I dream of winning the war. I have dreams where we latch ropes to those statues of the Hitler family in Berlin and bring each and every one of them tumbling down."

Kagemi's only response was a half-listening nod and another gulp of alcohol.

"In my dreams, we set the Chancellery on fire and tossed all the banners of the Reich into the flames. And a beautiful Russian girl throws her arms around me and thanks me for saving the world."

"My, do you live in a fantasy world, kid." She let loose a sarcastic laugh, tossing the emptied flask at the man's feet.

"It is not my world, it is a dream. You assume too much, Lawless." He smiled. "Come now."

"I don't feel obligated to tell you shit."

"Oh, that's right, you only talk to those who don't want to listen."

Silence.

"Fine," the young man conceded, rising from the crate and bending down to reclaim his flask. "But I have one last thing to ask."

Kagemi almost looked interested.

"The right thing... what exactly is it? When we do it, does it make everything okay?"

The woman's lips parted slightly in wonder, watching the man with more curiosity than she had carried for the whole of their talk as he entered the medial tent.

"Wait," she cried, standing as well and following him into the tent...

Green plastic roof, green plastic walls. Empty cot.

No soldier.

"What the fuck..." she muttered, glaring about suspiciously.

"Where did he go?!" Kagemi yelled, emerging from the tent in an abrupt, violent fashion.

Her companions were awaiting her outside, slices of stale bread in their hands. Jumping in surprise, they gawked at her in awe.

"Who?" asked Darrin.

"The Russian soldier I was just talking to, baka!"

John shook his head. "Dude, there wasn't nobody out there. We've been out here for about fifteen fucking minutes and you was just sitting there."

Silence.