You were safe, until you weren't. Your back was turned when they struck.

Though clothed, you woke stripped of your belongings, tied to a tree in a makeshift camp. You'd stayed silent, fuming and planning your eventual escape, when one of the men stalked over with a bowl of soup. He was tall, and big, face shrouded by shadow. Silent, he places the bowl down and leans forward to untie you from the trunk.

"You run, love, and I'm not stopping the bullet that goes through your head, yeah?"