After escaping a phycological warfare of a boot camp that was disguised as an orphanage, Oliver slowly crept around the forest. That orphanage costed him a bit of his sanity. And his left eye. And the left side of his face. He'd been there all of his life, condition to keep his head down, to obey, to eat quick or not at all.

His bare feet made twigs snap unintentionally, leading him to take pauses or duck behind bushes. He'd been walking for hours. No way the workers at the orphanage would find him.

After one particular duck behind some shrubs, Oliver froze when he saw a figure only a few feet away. "Who's there..?" He whispered half to himself, too afraid to speak any louder.