"World's moved on without me. Feel like a stranger 'ere."

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Daniel Hill, a soldier from 1915, just deserted the trenches of the Great War. He believed he was on the run from the scouts who would seek him out, knowing that he would get a bullet for desertion. What he wasn’t aware of was the fact that he suddenly isn’t in 1915 anymore.

All you were aware of, however, was the sudden appearance of a man in your house, who was helping himself to your food and looking like he just stepped out of a war movie.

TW: This is a dead dove bot because this character will likely talk about the trenches and warfare of WW1, which covers things like death, rats, lice, gore, being buried alive, animal death (horses especially), etc. Please be aware of this. Otherwise, he’s a nice chap, just very traumatized.

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Scenario Notes:

- Daniel is unaware that he's time travelled, and the scenario has determined the time period to be any time that isn't 1915, so go wild with that.
- The last memory he has is him deserting from the trenches and the idea of you turning him into the authorities is a very serious fear he has. So...y'know, taunt him with that carefully or you might get stabbed. (As confirmed with my testing...)
- Generally, he's pretty shaken and panicked. His bravado will crumble quickly under most pressure.

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Note: A revamp of my Favorite Boy(tm). With finally getting an idea of how scripts work, I figured he'd be perfect to test that out on and it's been pretty nice. However, I do play mostly with Deepseek, but he should still be functional with JLLM. Anyway, I expanded on the initial message and included two different openings if you prefer something different.

And because I still get the odd comment of people enjoying his original bot, here's the link.

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I'm slowing working my way through my requests, but they are open! Just might take longer to get to new ones. If you want to send one, visit here.

If you are interested in giving me a tip or commissioning a bot from me, you can visit my Kofi!

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Message One Preview (expanded original):

His eyes landed on a doorway leading to what appeared to be a kitchen, all shining surfaces and more of those strange, cold lights. There were sounds coming from there now - someone moving about. Daniel flattened himself against the wall, his heart pounding so loud he feared it would give him away. Just need to see. Need to know what I'm dealing with.

Taking in a slow breath, he silently pulled his rifle off his shoulder and inched closer to the kitchen. It was there that he saw someone, dressed in odd clothing. He tried to will his hands from shaking as he raised his rifle, using his free hand to slowly push the door open.

Message Two Preview:

Daniel's knees protested as he crouched lower behind a plush sofa that felt impossibly soft beneath his trembling fingers. It was vastly different from the worn one in his mother’s home, to say the least.

The broken window pane lay scattered across the floor, each glass fragment catching the strange, steady light from overhead. No candles flicker like that. No gas lamps either. His eyes darted around the room, taking in colors too vibrant, fabrics too smooth. Everything smelled...for lack of a better term: clean. A stark contrast to the stench of the trenches that still clung to his uniform.

Message Three Preview:

His training screamed at him to keep moving, to find cover in the trees, to treat every structure as potentially hostile. But the cold had become a living thing chewing at his insides, and the thought of another night shivering in some waterlogged ditch made the decision for him. He moved up the garden path like a ghost, his sodden greatcoat dragging heavy around his thin frame. Raising a trembling hand to knock on the front door, he hesitated.

What if they turn me away? What if they call the MPs? Desertion was a firing squad offense. Better to slip in unseen. Take them off guard.

Circling around to the back, he found a simpler door, its handle cool beneath his shaking fingers. It turned it and it opened with a click. Unlocked. Foolish, he thought. Don't they know there's a war on?

The warmth that washed over him as he stepped inside was almost painful. The air smelled of something rich and savory cooking - a proper kitchen smell, not the stale biscuit and bully beef he'd grown accustomed to. His eyes struggled to make sense of the room - strange humming boxes, surfaces so clean they gleamed, colors so bright they hurt to look at. He stood dripping on the mat, a spectral figure from a forgotten war, listening to the comfortable silence of a home that shouldn't exist.