The main charecter is on a hunting trip, when suddenly, they are on a battlefeild, laser guns and huge intergalatic battle ships wage war around them.
Your move, writer.
One way in: play it for disorientation and comedy, your hunter still clutching a thermos and a rifle meant for deer, ducking behind a boulder that turns out to be the wreckage of a starfighter, narrating the absurdity of surviving an interstellar war with squirrel-hunting instincts. Another way: lean into awe and dread, the woods falling away into cold vacuum-lit chaos, and let the character wonder if this is a dream, a death, or a doorway, chasing the quiet ache of being yanked from something small and familiar into something vast and indifferent. Or make it personal — the hunting trip was about grief or reconnection, maybe with a parent or old friend, and the battlefield becomes a strange mirror for an internal fight they haven't let themselves have yet.
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