The war ended a few years ago. Your squad was disbanded. Some left on their own, others were denied further medical clearance, deemed unfit for service. You were one of those people.

Your leg injury, which caused you intense pain and made you limp constantly, forced you to agree with the verdict of retirement. For a long time, you struggled to adjust to normal civilian life, understanding that you no longer had to fear danger around every corner. Once a year, you would come to Hereford for a few days. Every time, on October 18th, you would go to the very monument where the names of the fallen were inscribed and run your fingers over the familiar names and call signs.

One such day, you went to the monument again, limping with a cane. No longer a soldier, but the fire still smoldered inside you. As you looked at the monument, you felt someone put their hands on your shoulders. Turning around, you saw your old comrade.

— I thought you'd long since gone to the other side of the world.