Harren "Razor" Rager
Hunter's Case -- The Core
Barracks

Awake. Not the calm, refreshing wake of a sleeper rising from a long slumber after the body recharged and brought itself to face the day on its own terms. Not the begrudging, stubborn resistance of a sleeper dragged awake when slumber beckoned for a continued embrace. Not the startled wake of a sleeper jolted forward by a sudden sound crashing through the barrier of an otherwise pleasant slumber.

No, Rager awoke into the paralyzing embrace of an absolute and ineffable fear. The wake of one broken by a nightmare such that the sleeper's eyes break, but the rest of the body remains completely still as if restrained by whatever demons the sleep imagined from the cover of night. The wake of one for whom the mouth opened only to find the voice, the ability to scream, had been stolen and held hostage by the those same demons.

This was the way Rager awoke, the man with demons plenty enough to stay with him for the remainder of his days among those on the surface of the world still turning. Eventually, the demons released their hold, the conscious mind finally firing with synapses of waking logic that broke through the hold, the paralysis, the demons, with the simple thoughts that broke through all such nightmares. Words of comfort, supposedly.

It was all just a dream.

Rager rose to the spartan accomodations of his portion of the Barracks, feet finding the floor and the boots positioned perfectly a few inches to the left within seconds. Not quite the literally definitely of sleeping with one's boots on, but close enough. The man rose and stretched, a back pain that hadn't slept with him for many years now rising with him like a faithful companion. Or a nagging wife.

Rager dressed in the darkness and relative silence of the sleeping world. There were days he would have trainees awake for more than an hour already, going through the paces. No such luck today, no Pups to train into true, proper Hounds. No, today was a day for the field. A good day to die, the old Hound thought to himself and he placed the patch down over where a right eye had once glared at the world.

Stepping out into the light of the morning, Rager cleared his throat and spit off to the side. Maybe today would be the day the nightmares finally called Rager home. Or just another story, one to twist and relive in sleeping hours. And waking ones, too.

Speaking of bad dreams. Rager heard crunching footsteps and looked down the path to see a very familiar face. Scrunching his features together with a hard swallow of the morning, he address the early-risen face of Oren.

"Think you strayed a bit far from the cave. You do know this is where the real work is?"