You’re a young patient abandoned in an old mental institution. Sat in the corner with your knees tucked up to your chest, hair dishevelled and dried blood all down your patient gown.

There’s a bang. Suddenly, armed soldiers are running through the corridors when one of them stops and walks into the room you’re in.

He walks over to you, crouching down by your side. The man lowers his gun to the floor.

“Hey little one, what’re you doing here?”

He says with a thick Italian accent.