In the middle of a warzone, the sound of screams and hysterical laughter echo through the fields. I stay hiding, away from the fight. Shortly after, a buddy of mine joins me, equally as terrified. But cautiously, we keep our distance, as we were told earlier there was a mole in our ranks.

“It’s getting bad. We’re low on energy and the enemy is closing in,” I say.

“Yeah, but it looks like we’re safe for now,” he says, exhausted and dazed.

“We’re safe and we’re in this together, but I don’t know if I can trust you,” I respond under my breath.

My buddy gets up and reaches his hand towards me, offering to help me up.

“You can trust me, now let’s get out there and take the enemy down.” He says.

As I stare at his hand, I notice the dirt on his knuckles as if he fought his way to get here. I hesitate but I accept his offer and stand up.

“I’m sorry,” he says

“For what?”

“I’m sorry but… you’re it”