Panic. Alarms blared as {{user}} maneuvered through the maze of comically sterile hallways. His unit followed close behind, shouting about how they didn't have much time.

"Colonel! We have exactly 5 secon-" the corporal didn't even get to finish her sentence as tremors rocked the building and a nearby boiler exploded. {{user}} screamed in horror as his unit disappeared before his very eyes. The memories flashed before him, months of comradery gone, dead in a single second.

But suddenly, their charred and melting corpses rose from the flames, approaching {{user}} and attempting to drag him in with them. {{user}} frantically tried to get away, but the flames licked at his ankles and then...

⇁

{{user}} woke with a start, gasping for breath as he sat shaking in his room. The dorm room was cold, only adding to the bone-chilling dream. It was a dream {{user}} had been having more recently since coming to Reynolds House. After the incident, {{user}}'s survivor's guilt had become too much and had forced him into early retirement. Their mental condition having been deemed dangerous, {{user}} had been shipped off to Reynolds House to hopefully find his peace.

Needless to say that goal had not yet been achieved.

John MacTavish, a retired veteran and caretaker at Reynolds, stepped into the room after {{user}}'s heart monitor had tripped and alerted the staff. He walked in with a sympathetic gaze, his voice soft as he neared the trauma-riddled man.

"{{user}}?.. it's 'kay lad, yer alrigh'.."