"Don't do this to me now." A voice calles in the distance, seemingly miles away.

Screams echo through the battlefield, as the sloshing of boots upon the muddy ground becomes more evident to me. 

The sounds of bullets ricochet in the open air, which I know is around me, but I cannot see. 

The world is black, and now I can feel my body being lifted as I slip in and out of consciousness. Somehow, I feel that the sensation is familiar, but I can't recall any time when I had been so out of it that I couldn't regain my wits.  

It seems like only seconds pass before my body comes in cold contact with a hard surface, but my senses are still mangled, and I feel a sudden jarring pain bounce through my body, centralized in my abdomen. An uncontrollable jerk overtakes me, and I feel a prisoner to my own body. 

"Help her!" I hear the same voice say, though more frantic this time around. 

"There is no helping her now." A calmer voice spoke, though defensively.

Wait... that accent...

"Try or I'll put a bullet in your damn skull, Kraut!" 

---

My hazel eyes dart over to the woman laid upon the table, blood pouring from the deep wound around her stomach, the thick liquid seeping through the layers of clothing designed to keep her protected. Before I can answer the brash American before me, a barrel is pressed against my head, nudging me toward the table where his comrade lays. 

"Get to it!" He barks, but I can hear the tremble in his voice. 

I grimace, but make my way to the table, where the woman lays only barely breathing, jolting every few seconds. 

"I have never seen anyone survive." I growl, quickly gathering the supplies necessary to make an attempt at saving her life. "You are a fool for coming here." 

"Can it! Not another word until you fix her, German!" 

I proceed to remove the thick overcoat, and roll up the black wool turtleneck obstructing my view from the gash. Two rows of jagged teeth marks, a wretched poison sprouting veins from the immediate area. 

I shook my head, and looked at the girl's face, studying her features for just a moment while I gather my thoughts. Light hair, soft and delicate features... plump lips and a single freckle- or beauty mark- right below her left eye. What is this girl doing here, in the middle of battle, on the side of the Americans? Were they absolute fools? War is no place for a woman. 

"Do I need to say it again?" The American waves the pistol at me, and I continue my work, tearing away from my brief reverie. 

It was impossible to save her. She would be one of many thousands of soldiers to die on this battlefield, there was no doubt, but I refused to give up on saving my own life. I grab the vial of blue liquid next to the tongs and forceps, instruments of my occupation, as well as a tall glass bottle of medicinal alcohol, and bandages.

"Hey," The man speaks when he sees me approach with the blue vial. "What the hell is that? Doesn't look like any disinfectant I ever seen." He says with suspicion, and I ignore his advances until I reach the table. 

"Americans are far behind in their research." I growl, but I myself am unsure of the outcome. "This is her only chance. Or do you not want me to try?" My eyes meet his cold blue ones, which back off once I say it. 

He doesn't speak another word, but seems to back away, as if trying to keep his emotions in check. It would seem that none of the Americans were prepared to see this type of warfare on the battlefield. Not only the Americans, but all of the world, I suppose. 

I fill the syringe in my hand with the glowing blue liquid, my head shaking nearly as much as my hands. I hold the needle to the skin on the woman's abdomen, and press it in quickly. 

Suddenly, I jump as she screams at the top of her lungs, a blood curdling outburst of pain, as her blue eyes go wide, and she fights for a grip on the sensation of agony rushing through her veins. 

The man jumps too, and I place my other hand firmly on her leg to keep her still.

"What are you doing to her?!" He yells, but there is no conviction behind his voice.

"Help me hold her, you imbecile!" I bark, and he hesitates for only a moment until she screams again, trying to pull her body away as I struggle to keep her still. He runs to the table, and grips her arms. I see the worry in his eyes, the pain for what she was feeling. 

"Eliza..." He whispers, more to himself than anything. "I-I'm here. You're strong, you can make it  through this, please Eliza. Don't die, I asked you not to, remember?" 

I hear each of his words, but they don't resonate with me, as I am focused only on the first. 

'Eliza,' I repeat in my head, as the vial of blue liquid empties into her veins. 

------

Excruciating pain and agony.

I scream at the top of my lungs as a searing, but somehow familiar sensation rips through my body. It feels as if every blood vessel is committing suicide, bursting. Every cell in my structure is on fire, ripping themselves apart. I do not have it about me to take in my surroundings or feel multiple restraints around me, my mind is on the pain only. 

"Now we wait..." the German voice speaks as I jerk, trying to alleviate the torment. But just as quickly as it had come, the discomfort dissipates, leaving me panting. I am not being held down anymore, but I feel a pressure around my waist, as if it's being wrapped. My eyes close again, tiredness creeping over. 

"We should leave her. She is of no use to us like this."

"We're not leaving her, Russian. There's no way. She'll pull through."

"The woman has survived this long. She should be given a chance. It is the only honorable decision. Don't you think, doctor?"

My eyes open again, to see hazel eyes overlooking my form, concentrated in the area of my residual pain. 

Wait, that's not right. 

Tanks has blue eyes. 

"Doctor?" I hear the deep Japanese voice repeat. The hazel eyes meet mine suddenly, and I cannot find the willpower to break contact until he speaks in a deep tone, almost softly, as if not to jar me.

The man's features soften. I take a breath, admiring his sharp features, slick styled black hair, and cleanly trimmed mustache which acted as an accent to his thick eyebrows and pristine jawline.

"She's awake."

There is a shuffling of feet as the German backs away, and another replaces him. 

"Eliza?" Dempsey places a hand on the table, and I sit up, groaning when the pain returns. 

"W-What happened to me?" I ask, looking around the cold room. I see boarded up windows, holes in the walls which reveal the sub-zero frost amongst the atmosphere, and glyphs of writing in a language I cannot read. Tank opens his mouth to speak, but the voice that enters the room is not his. 

"To put it frankly, your chance of surviving the next twenty-four hours is very small." The German explains, causing me to look away from my American friend and toward the man whose back is turned to the group. "You were bitten."

My mind begins to wander, bouncing around ideas of feral animals, snakes, wolves, ann things of the like.

"What do you mean, bitten?" I inquire, my voice shaky but firm in my questioning. "By an animal? Why do you say it like that?" My cyan eyes narrow, as the man turns around, eyes automatically meeting mine.

"Not an animal. By the Undead."

My heart floors.