You lay there on your stomach; your eyes fluttering after tens hours of fulfilled rest. Your hands bury into the sand beneath you, grasping it. Your throat was dry, there was no denying you were rightfully parched after hours of swimming to this godforsaken shore of an island.

Suddenly, a gun sounded. "Gunfire", you thought. Where there is gunfire, there is men. Something walks your way; a man. He stood still. General Zaroff's high cheekbones, sharply defined nose faced you,