Samuel reloaded his magazine-fed box cutter, the razor sharp blade locking into place with a satisfying ‘thunk’. Confident the 'magazine' feature would give him an edge in a survival situation, he holstered his box cutter, and prodded his paunch absentmindedly.

His dress was nondescript, practical, a gray man walking amongst sheep, ready to take action. Dull khakis, slate hoodie, and gray cap, his look modeled on characters like Reacher, strong, masculine men with morals, will and courage, none of which he had ever needed to show from his cubicle back in Milton Keynes.

He stretched and sipped his mug of coffee, surveying the camp ground. It was… adequate.

His wife Beatrice did not share his ‘predilection’, "Why did you even bring that thing?"

Slicing open a packet of jerky, Samuel reloaded the box cutter again, replacing the 'spent' magazine back into its dedicated pouch. He only had two, and he wasn’t wasting a perfectly good blade. "You wouldn't understand, Bunny." His voice denoted a past shrouded in darkness, and not one spent in Buckinghamshire, adding "It's a survival thing."

Beatrice groaned, but refrained from commenting, instead placing another blooming onion into the sizzling pan, batter and water spitting.

Samuel did not possess a serious voice. His was slightly squeaky, borderline meek, the voice of a methodical, boring man. It was strangely melodic, fitting for the accountant Beatrice married.

They had been trekking for the better part of a day, erecting camp in a small clearing in the safest parts of the Cotswolds, on a managed camping site. Around them similar men in dissimilar outfits, shorts and shirts mostly, milled about playing with their offspring. Beatrice had paid extra to have access to warm showers and a morning buffet, both of which bothered Samuel. It didn't feel right spending time in a managed forest, gathering pre-chopped firewood, and sitting at the dedicated fire-pit.

He briefly wondered what Bunny would think of hiking the Appalachian Trail, living off the land and, of course, evading professional killers. Then he reloaded his box cutter again.

This was their life, they had chosen it. Predictable and boring and that was fine, even if Samuel was a bit of a bore, and Beatrice wasn't a fan of adventure.

She smiled at him, she knew every part of him.

He smiled back, glad she didn't know everything.

Without warning, a sleep craft descended from the clouds, all high tech lines and bristling with pointy bits. Beatrice shrieked, but Samuel barely took notice. Stenciled along the cockpit edge in neat geometric letters was ‘The Cabin’ .

Samuel stood and muttered, “No more secrets, Bunny.”

“SECRETS?” Beatrice didn't know any secrets.

A panel slid back, and a man in a nondescript suit sporting a paunch, stepped out. He looked like an accountant. Bored eyes stared over the rims of thin metal spectacles, “Samuel, there is a situation brewing in the South China Sea. Have you decided?”

Samuel calmly reloaded his box cutter, stood, and kissed his bewildered wife like he had never kissed her before, “Stay safe, Bunny. The world needs me.”