1: Who Are You?

Something isn't right.

The thought surfaces in my brain slowly. My mind is thick and the words drift around in my head.

Something is NOT right.

The previous day flows back to me gradually. I remember what I felt first. The cold snow. The smell of blood and gunpowder. The pain in my stomach as I fell. That's right. I was shot, wasn't I?

So am I dead, or what?

Then, the images return. I was walking through a field and found a village. The snow was crunching beneath my shoes as I decided on a house. There were already people in there. They were probably good people. But they drew first and I had to act. I had to—

"AH!" The pain hits me. Adrenaline courses through my veins and my eyes widen. I'm in a bedroom and there is a man at my side with dark hair and a hard face. My stomach is on fire. It hurts so bad that I cry out again. A woman walks in, her blonde hair is tied back and she rushes to my side, pushing the man out of the way.

"It's okay! You're okay, you're—"

"I can't let you do this."

"It's okay...It's okay."


"It's too late for me, just go!"

"I can't...I can't do this without you."

"You're going to have to. I...I love you."

When I wake up again, the pain is still there, only duller. My throat is dry and my back hurts. I open my eyes. The room is dark and I can barely see anything around me. Sluggishly, I move my arm to where most of the pain is coming from—my stomach. Bandages are wrapped around me. Great.

Then I remember the man who was sitting next to me the last time I was awake and my head darts to my left. Gone. A lamp is sitting on a set of drawers next to the chair he was sat in and I reach over and turn it on, filling my part of the room with warm, yellow light. The room is simple and bare. A window on the right and a door on the left. Another, larger set of drawers sit at the foot of the bed next to a wooden wardrobe.

I hear voices from somewhere outside the room. I don't have any time to react before the door swings open and the same woman steps in. The moment she sees me, her eyes widen and she sits herself down on the chair. I recoil immediately, but the pain in my stomach flares and I wince loudly.

"Woah, woah, stop," she grabs something from under the bed and holds it out to me. It's a small water bottle that sloshes around as it moves. "Here, take it. Come on, you've got to be thirsty." For a moment, I hesitate, but the urge is too strong. I take it from her gingerly and take a swig. The woman sighs and composes herself for a moment. She looks a few years older than me and her hair is still pulled into the ponytail, revealing a small earring. "Look, I'm gonna be honest with you. You're the first person we've found in...half a year? So some of us are a little sceptical about you. If you tell me your name or something, it'll probably help a lot." For a long moment, I don't speak.

"Why?" I ask finally. She frowns.


"Why did you help me? Why am I still alive?"

"Because..." her face contorts a little as she thinks. "Because it was the right thing to do, wasn't it? We heard the shots and thought there was someone who might need our help." She gestures to me with both hands. "And here you are. But—like I said—we don't know anything about you. Who are you? What's your name?"

These people—whoever they are—just saved me because it was the right thing. They're going to die. They're going to get themselves killed. Like everyone does.

"Dennis," I say finally. "My name is Dennis."

A/N: Hi. Thanks for reading. This is just a little story I thought I'd start doing. Chapters will be short, but hopefully, there'll be plenty of them. See you next time :)