I was a soldier, posted to a small hill, overlooking a harbour. My duty was to man the singular weapon which overlooked that harbour. It was summer, and the people around me couldn't care less about defending that particular ground. I knew that I had destroyed an enemy armored vehicle, I knew this, but I had not done it. The outpost itself was butted right against and up to a small interior-design office, owned by a lady who did not frequent the place, but let the general public use the space. I was wearing a stifling uniform, and the invasion from the public was just as unwanted as the invasion from afar.
Far down the hill, I tried to recruit those who looked able to help me, warning them of the impending invasion. They did not care to know, and did not want to hold the hill.