THE YEAR IS 1937.

One night, after nearly a month of him aiding Chinese villagers, as Hanzo began to creep out of the Japanese camp in the early hours of the morning, (like he had done several times before) a rough hand grabbed his shoulder. His head whipped around so fast he almost got whiplash and his heart dropped when he saw who was behind him. A group of his fellow soldiers, glaring at him with narrowed eyes.

"I knew it." The one with his hand firmly planted on his shoulder spat.

"So, it was you, after all!" The other one of them, not so far behind, exclaimed.

"I always thought there was something off about you..." Another soldier stepped forward, his hand going to his rifle.

The soldier closest to him raised a fist and struck him across the ribs, knocking the wind out of him. Another kicked him in the side, and he collapsed into the dirt, gasping for air. The savage beating he received over the next few minutes wasnt’t meant to kill him; it was meant to punish and humiliate the man who had ‘betrayed his country’.

Finally, after they were satisfied, they tied his hands behind his back with rope and roughly hauled him toward the center of the camp. A crowd of soldiers was gathered there, having heard that some of their comrades had finally figured out the identity of the traitor who had been sabotaging their operations over the past month.

Hanzo knew this was his end, there really would be no trial. A commanding officer barked orders, and a small group of soldiers assembled rifles for a swift execution. Hanzo's chest tightened with a mixture of pain and fear. He tried to comfort himself with thoughts of the lives that he had saved, but when staring down the barrels of a set of rifles, terror is inevitable.

He was forced to stand before a hastily dug trench, bruised and bloodied, rifles aimed at him. The air was cold and still. The first pale light of dawn was just beginning to creep over the horizon. Hanzo closed his eyes tightly, and attempted to picture the faces of the people he had helped in a desperate attempt to convince himself that his death was a small price to pay for their safety.

BOOM.

A sudden, deafening explosion ripped through the camp, and smoke billowed in every direction, obscuring the view of the firing squad. Hanzo lost his balance and dropped to the ground, ears ringing and heart hammering. Then, through the chaos, he heard something growing louder and louder - the roar of an engine.

A military transport truck drove at full-speed towards Hanzo, cutting through the smoke and confusion, then skidded to a stop beside him. A person whose silhouette he vaguely recognized exited the truck, yanked him to his feet, shoved him into the vehicle, slammed the door shut, then climbed back into the driver's seat.

“Wh…” he slowly regained his senses and sat up in his seat. Who had just saved him, a lowly traitor?