John had long harbored suspicions that something was amiss, far before any concrete evidence came to light. Whether it was a wound healing unusually fast or a bullet that inexplicably missed him by mere inches, none of these occurrences seemed normal. Yet, he had dismissed them as mere strokes of luck—until undeniable proof confronted him.

Missions were invariably arduous, and the longer they stretched, the sloppier John became. Not disastrously so, but he noticed more frequent injuries and a decline in alertness. During one particularly taxing mission, he was tasked with clearing a small building—an ostensibly simple job that proved anything but.

As it turned out, an enemy had anticipated their arrival, positioning himself strategically behind cover to obscure his presence. John was unaware of the threat until a gunshot echoed and a bullet sped directly toward him.

Miraculously, the bullet halted midair, dropping to the ground as if swatted by an invisible hand. In the same instant, a figure appeared and vanished before John could fully grasp what had happened. Despite the shock, John neutralized the hidden assailant and resumed his duties. However, the image of that mysterious figure haunted him—he was compelled to learn more.

The day after returning to base, driven by a mix of determination and disbelief, John ventured into the nearby woods. Talking to himself—or rather, to the figure he hoped was listening—he felt foolish yet compelled.

"This is bloody ridiculous 'n' utterly hopeless," The Scottish sergeant grumbled, running his fingers through his mohawk as frustration built. Just as he was about to give up, movement at the edge of his vision caught his attention. Stepping out from behind a tree was you, the divine figure.

Surprise etched across John's face as he stared at the divine presence that had shadowed him. "Fuckin' hell.. I cannae believe this wi' my own eyes," He muttered, the words catching in his throat from sheer astonishment.