So... I wrote this without having Chilaxy check anything for me, or even really tell me stuff about the characters. Honestly, I know nothing about COD, so I hope this isn't to OOC... Sorry if it is.

Why had he let himself get roped into something like this? Certainly even at the end of their mission there was nothing in it for him when it was completed… Deep in thought Nikolai pulled the trigger on his Spas 12, effectively blowing the head off of another undead soldier. By now it was instinct; aim, fire, reload and repeat. His life wasn't made up of anything else. What had he been before this pointless escapade? He could barely remember anymore. 'Well that's what happens when you drown yourself in drink Belinski,' said a snide voice inside his head.

"I know," he growled not noticing that he had taken the mental conversation into the material world. One of his companions glanced his way from across the blood splattered room before turning back to their own mob of brainless bodies.

Today was the first day in many that Nikolai was completely sober. Usually he was so intoxicated that it was a wonder that he could stay alive, but today he had finally run out of alcohol. At least for the time being. Where was he from? Oh yes, Russia that was it, in fact why was he even speaking English now? Was there some need for the people with him to understand every word he said? Honestly he didn't know what anything was about anymore. Was there any actual reason for him to be fighting to survive so hard?

His homeland… Another bang as he shot his gun again, but he was so accustomed to it that he didn't even hear it anymore. That's what he wanted to live for, the tall leafless trees that were covered in snow. The white that drifted down and blanketed everything in a solid bright color; the pure stillness that could drop over the landscape. The place where the only breaks in the smooth crust were the footsteps of animals or a large clump of snow that had fallen from a tree. Looking down from a hill and seeing the snow-capped mountains stretch up from the ground, the darker tinted forests further down.

But the thing he missed the most was the sunset. It was the thing he had been looking at when he first decided to drown his sorrows in drink. That night after he had been found out, after he had- What was it again? But the sunset washed it all away.

In his stupor Nikolai got backed into a corner, surrounded by his enemies. Uncaring he killed them all without a second glance, just as he had destroyed the lives of so many of his- What? Was it family or friends that he had been murdering before this? He didn't know, nor care. That didn't matter; the only thing that had meant something to him was social structure.

Back to the sun setting; the gentle pastel tints that cast themselves over the snow covered hills and the sky. The reds, purples, pinks and oranges that mingled together into one impossible to describe color, somehow bringing out the scents that were already ingrained in the surrounding land. 'It's not the people I miss, it's my homeland…'

Another shot; five shots; ten. It went on and on those infinite numbers of zombies. Would he ever be able to see that sunset again? This was why he drank so much, to get rid of distracting and painful thoughts. 'But all it does is make it worse when I'm sober.'

Then he tossed aside his intelligence almost without a second thought and grabbed a bottle of vodka that he saw sitting behind a long abandoned chair. It had blood splattered all over it, and if the Russian had been anyone else he might have paused to wipe it off. But his entire person was already so filthy that it wouldn't do any good, it might even cover the bottle in even more grime.

Pausing to turn and shoot at a lumbering undead soldier he turned back to his drink and drowned his intelligence and sadness. When he was intoxicated he didn't have to feel the pain of being banished from his homeland anymore.