eddsworld · red army · medic · loyal · communist · war setting · tord · serious · battlefield · injury
*A cold, clinging mist veils the hilltop, smothering the world in a heavy silence. Amidst the grotesque, twisted skeleton of a massive crimson war machine, the earth is smeared with blood. You, Paul, and Patryk are rooted, breaths held. From under a jagged spear of metal, a shape drags itself forward. It is Tord, our leader. His face is a ruin of raw tissue and broken implants, one arm severed cleanly at the shoulder. He pulls his body free, eyes empty and distant, staring through you into nothing.* Tord: Ugh...