Where was he? Somewhere in the West, hundreds of miles from home. His countrymen surrounded him, clutching rifles to their chests as they marched onwards, towards a distant field where the faint crackle of gunfire seemed to originate from. Then, something burst forth, throwing him to the ground, tearing through flesh and bone alike at the same time. His ears rang, screaming into silence as he blacked out. Blinded, suffocated, terrified; all of this, he felt. He felt brick after brick as it all piled onto him, an endless cairn of rubble and debris. He scrabbled for the light, madly, clawing his way out of the tomb until finally, he broke through to the surface. He felt something warm streaming down his face. Blood? Sweat? Tears? Maybe all three? He did not know, only that the empty silence was slowly fading away, to be replaced by the faint voices of his countrymen. As the light returned to his vision, he only just made out the blank, featureless faces looming overhead.

In an instant, Konrad jolted forward out of bed with almost enough force to throw himself off balance, forcing him to prop himself up against the wall with his remaining hand to stabilise himself. [i]Another one.[/i] The dreams never changed, having persisted in tormenting him ever since he’d woken up in that damned field hospital. Even in the quarters that the university had provided him, he could not find peace and instead awoke in the early hours of the morning as he always had, unable to gain anymore sleep. Furrowing his brow, he muttered something that seemed more a defiant growl than a coherent sentence.

“So be it.”

Konrad dressed himself fairly quickly, having kept his clothes folded on top of the trunk resting at the foot of the bed and once that was done he shuffled over towards the edge of the bed and found his false leg resting in place against the bedside table. Without breaking stride, he quickly pulled it on over his stump and proceeded to fasten it in place with all the usual straps and buckles, before grabbing his cane for good measure. Snorting irritatingly, he slowly rose to his feet with the aid of his left leg, then attempted to place some weight on the prosthetic limb by itself in an attempt to walk unaided. Shakily, he took a few steps forward, aiming to reach the desk at the other end of his otherwise spartan quarters, yet just before he reached the chair he found himself relying on his cane to avoid falling as he took a misstep. “Damn this leg,” he cursed to himself, before muttering again.

“Tomorrow, then.”

It was a promise he’d made and broken a dozen times over for the past few months, hoping to walk independently without aid as an officer of his station should. Not relying on a damned cane like some cripple to be pitied. Casting the thought aside, he quickly drew the curtains to allow more than a thin crack of light inside the room before taking a seat at his desk. In the right hand corner was a simple lamp that he used for reading when the hours grew late, whilst in the center was a sealed letter that he’d yet to read. Deciding he’d left it long enough, he unsealed it with a finger before inspecting its contents.

Much to his surprise, the letter was from his sister, Maxime who - last he’d learned - was expecting her first child. It was strange, seeing his little sister all grown-up with a family of her own along the way. The last time they had been together was at her wedding, to a field doctor, no less. As he'd suspected, the letter contained news of the birth of a healthy boy named Albert and asked Konrad to visit once he recovered from his wounds. He smiled at the thought, yet he knew that he would not allow it until he could walk on his own two feet. Little Albert's first memories of his uncle would not be those of a cripple, he vowed.

Instead, he resolved to continue his residency here at the university for now, maybe visiting in the Spring. He’d grown to enjoy the presence of Aaron Bachmeier and his peers and, unexpectedly, had grown to appreciate his placement here. Granted, Bachmeier’s medical examinations were never a pleasant ordeal, particularly when it came to the inspection of his... wounds, but his own comforts were immaterial if somehow, in some way, it could benefit his fellow countrymen who had been wounded or were otherwise still serving on the frontline, whilst assisting in what capacity he could had made him feel physically of use once more. All that aside, acting as a representative of the Heer meant he had a unique insight that the others here lacked; understanding what it is to be a soldier, and to experience what soldiers face. The others lacked that perspective, and it was one he felt they would need. 

Enough dallying though, Konrad suspected that his presence would be a benefit to Aaron and the others soon enough. Driving himself to his feet with the aid of his cane, he approached the door and attempted to twist the knob open, yet somehow the damned thing remained in place. Again, he attempted to twist the knob, assuming it was jammed, yet something else confirmed his fear as he noticed a faint flicker in the corner of his eye. The desk lamp on his table was dimly lit, flickering continuously. [i]No. Please.[/i] He swivelled around to follow the sound of metal dragging against wood, only to witness the bed frame rattling in place, the metal spasming in place like a dying soldier in a seizure. [i]No. Dammit, not again.[/i] Again, he tried to open the door yet the knob remained unmoved, save for the resonant vibration that it had begun to give off.

“Not again,” he murmured, his face contorting. These... visions of madness had plagued him for some time, now. They felt so real, yet how could they be? Madness, it had to be. How else? He’d heard of it before, soldiers driven mad with shell shock in the Great War, so perhaps this was his own brand of madness. This time, he turned to the door and tried to force it open, twisting at the knob with all his might whilst tugging against it, yet to no avail. The resonant vibration and flickering of both the doorknob, bed frame and lamp only intensified, boiling like a kettle until finally - “ENOUGH!” - Konrad slammed his fist against the door and the noises died, like soldiers waiting to hear their commander’s next orders. He shifted back to glance at both the lamp, then the bed frame; neither were moving, though the sheets on the latter had been quite heavily creased as proof that something has transpired. 

This time when he twisted and pulled on the door knob, it drew open as any other would. Whatever he’d just seen... the visions of a madman or otherwise, it did not matter. All he wanted was to leave this damned room find some air. So, clutching his cane tight as ever, Konrad left his quarters with a level of haste that he’d not found in himself for quite some time.