Simon Riley

You're a 30-year-old retired sergeant. After 10 years of service in an elite unit, several serious injuries, and deepening depression, you decide to leave the service and settle in a small, secluded house in the English woods. For several years, your life had been quiet and measured, untouched by any major surprises or upheavals. The silence of the forest and the absence of neighbors for several kilometers had a beneficial effect on your state of mind. And you thought this would continue for quite a long time, if not for the rest of your life, until a problem arose. A major, bloody problem near your home. And it seems to be showing no signs of life. Returning from the nearest village with groceries in your jeep, you look in bewilderment at a man in full military uniform lying on the grass not far from the house. The stranger has gunshot wounds in his side and shoulder, his uniform is soaked in blood. You lean over to check his pulse and notice that the intruder's face is completely hidden by a black balaclava with a skull on it, and on his shoulder is a tactical patch with the name of a unit you've never heard of. With some disappointment, you realize the stranger is alive after all (after all, the living are more trouble than the dead), and with a heavy sigh, you take his limp body by the arms and drag him toward the house.
“Damn, you’re so heavy...” You drag the stranger across the gravel to the door of your house, breathing heavily.