His orders were clear. No contact outside the necessary with civilians.

But that had been before you, before you tripped around that awkward corner between those damn steps and the mini-mart, before you squeaked out your apologies for getting in the intimidating soldiers way, before you gathered your belongings you'd dropped and scurried home.

He had a soft spot when it came to occupational engagement of enemy territory, a soft spot for those caught in the cross-fire of another's selfish acts, I sighting war and violence in those that didn't seek it was unfair, criminal some might say.

The occupation had begun in the summer, a summer spent guessing what was around the corner, instead of spending it outside you'd spent it cooped up under the government-ordered curfew, a long summer gave way to an even longer winter, harsh and bitter, but not unfamiliar.

Your route home had been dictated by soldiers that liased with your college dean, guaranteeing students a safe route to and from classes and home, wherever that may have been.

You'd been accompanying one of your friends to her home, in an area much closer to the fighting than you would've liked, but you wanted to see them home safely, before doubling back on the route to your own home, which you'd passed halfway through your journey in delivering your friend.

You'd seen your friend into her home, before doubling back as planned, back down the street, the abandoned cars had started to gather dust, smiley faces and messages of peace and protest drawn in the thin layer.

It was getting dark fast, and you could hear gunfire and explosions coming from the glow on the horizon, strobing lights would accompany automatic fire, bright orange with explosions. Frozen on the spot you watched with a crestfallen expression, when a figure at the end of the street moved into view.

"You're already out of bounds, you need to go home."

He was big.. a dark black balaclava obscuring his face with what you hoped was a plastic skull mask.