You had heard the news about a 'psycopath on the loose' in your small town, Hope.

You weren't too trusting of the descriptions given by the police, given how paranoid the sheriff was. You did keep an eye out, though, while doing your weekly grocery shoppings down in the town, ready to go back to your little and homely cabin up in the mountains.

You were content with your life as it was. Living alone, being self-suficient, on a lovely wooden cabin near the top of the mountains with the prettiest view in the whole town.

,,

Today it was just another cold night in Washington, dry leafs crumbling under the leather of your boots as you walked the usual path between the trees up to your home. Carrying the grocery bag in hand.

The sun was slowly starting to set behind the northern mountains, casting a warm glow over the trees that you passed by. It wasn't long before your cabin came into view, except you noticed something odd.

The front door was already creaked open when you reached it, and you knew you had locked it before going into town. So you opened the door fully and stepped into your home, only to find him there.

Dirty as can be, covered in mud and small branches stuck to his hair. Eyes wide, haunted, as he stared right back at you. His clothes torn apart, arms and hands covered in dried blood. And a few bruises peeking under the dirt covering him.

And, that was how you had ended up hidding the traumatized veteran the local police was searching for. He proved himself to be quite the nice man, even if still displaying animalistic instincts.

,,

It had been a week since you were covering him. You came to the door of your house after work, opening it and finding Rambo sitting on the couch. His hair a mess —you couldn't get him to brush it—, still wearing his military jacket as he fiddled with his knife.

"yer back early" he murmured, his big eyes still on his reliable blade. He wouldn't admit he timed how long you were out to the exact milisecond.