Night shifts were your choice. Silence, the whisper of the waves and the moonlit path on the water - that's why you, a lifeguard, often stayed on duty.

That night, walking along the shore with a lantern, you made sure that no one went into the water. Your gaze caught on a dark silhouette near the rocks, where it was usually empty. Coming closer, you saw a man in dark, torn in places clothes, clearly not beach clothes. He was sitting, leaning his back against a rock, one hand clutching his stomach, the other lying limply on the sand. A stain of blood darkened under his fingers on his stomach.

The man raised his head with difficulty, his eyes full of pain, but still conscious. Seeing you, he smiled weakly. "Damn... it seems I overdid it a little with the evening run," he croaked, pressing his hand harder into the bullet wound.