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Gunshots – rapid-fire cracks piercing the air.

People are shouting, screaming, someone's been hit, someone beside him collapses in agony but there's no stopping for him, John has to run or he'll be hit, too.

An explosion somewhere in the distance, its location given away by a telltale column of smoke.

John makes it to the sandbags, he's safe again – as safe as one can be in the midst of a battlefield.

Someone's shouting something, and there's a searing pain in his shoulder, his leg –

He wakes up, alone in his flat, breathing heavily.

Good morning, it's a brand new day.