Ragged gasps shake Seumas awake and he flails about, kicking away the sheets tangled in his limbs. Sweat drenches the bed and his clothes alike. His breathing calms as he realizes where he is. Home.

	[i]I wasnae in any war,[/i] he thinks. [i]And now I'm glad I fer it.[/i] The impact of the German bullets still rattles within his chest. He shifts to sit at the edge of his bed, scooping his flask off the floor and taking a quick swig.

	Rays of the morning sun fall between the blinds on the window beside him, illuminating specks of dust in the air. His home is mostly barren, with only old books and tools to dress the walls. A cold wood stove sits against a nearby wall, and a burnt-out oil lamp hangs from the low ceiling. His favorite toy, a long Scottish blade with a leather-bound hilt, is propped against the wall, but he dismisses it quickly. [i]Nae mood for such havers today.[/i]

	Seumas then realizes the time, casting his gaze on the wind-up clock beside his bed. He's almost late.

	"Crivets!" He curses aloud, quickly pulling a pair of oily jeans on. He steps quickly into the next room and to the sink. Copper pipes rattle as he turns the tap, and he splashes his face with cold water. A few wet-handed pats and his sandy brown hair is satisfactory, and he buttons his shirt snugly against his well-built frame. A thick beard paints his jaw. [i]It'll have to do fer without a trim.[/i]

	Seumas quickly makes his way outside, pausing only to grab his wallet, keys and flask. Before his garage is a cream-colored Renault GS, a new acquisition of his. He steps inside, starts the engine, and makes his way into the city to find this "John Smith".