[color=9e0b0f][i]Mortar fire.  Pyromancy.  Blood.  Smoke. Screaming.
It was like he was really back there.  Charging through trenches, cutting down cultists and baring his teeth in directionless rage.  He was like a rabid wolverine, all snarls and claws.  Of course, the cocktail of uppers and pyschotics he'd shot up into his bloodstream at the first sign of battle were mostly to blame for his undeniably warlike disposition.  His eyes were orbs of pure, pitch black, the blood in his teeth clashed with the mud on his uniform.  His hair was shaved into a messy, tribal mohawk and his beard was scruffy and pointed.  His body was the scrawny, wired musculature of a serial shooter.  
Even his comrades were afraid of him when he was like this.  So different from the quiet, withdrawn man they knew in the quiet hours.  So far removed from the cyclone of violence they now witnessed.
Suddenly, a massive explosion threw him several feet backwards, heat and concussive pressure hit him like the fist of an enraged god squarely in his centre of mass.
He looked up at the clouded sky with shell-shocked eyes, seeing a million rockets bearing down on him.  Only they weren't rockets at all. They were needles.  Full of sloshing, murky liquid.  He smiled and laughed as they blotted out the sky and sent him to a realm of painless black...[/i][/color]

...then he was awake.  Soft light beamed through the slitted blinds of his room and a ceiling fan whirled lazily above him.  There was no shock, no jolt of awakening.  Raymond had been experiencing that dream for years now.  It was at the point where he would be perturbed if he didn't.
He turned his head and looked at the digital clock beside his bed.  
He was late.
"Ah, fuck it all!" he exclaimed as he sat up and rubbed his eyes and face.  No time to shave, then.  He quickly got dressed and freshened up as fast as time would allow and was hurriedly making his way toward the common room.  He was met at once with the delectable aroma of pancakes, syrup and strong black coffee.  
Scanning the room he could see a large number of students had already taken their place.  He recognized none of them, despite knowing that a great deal of them came from rich stock.  There would be plenty of time to get to know them over the year, however.  
He turned his attention to someone he did recognize, and his heart momentarily sank.
He caught Oren Kovalenko's gaze and shot her a half-hearted sheepish look of apology for his tardiness.  Not that it would do him any good, she didn't like him at all.
Though he didn't think she really like anyone, save for Professor Maeve.  Ray was endlessly grateful her second half was not currently present.  He could handle them one at a time, but there was no defense against the two of them.  Not even for the Professor of Defense!

Ray helped himself to a plate of pancakes and a mug of strong, black coffee.
[i]How on earth did I get into this mess?[/i] He thought to himself wistfully, as he went over his lesson plans and class attendance rolls for the umpteenth time.  He had it all memorized, he was really just going through the motions in order to avoid sitting by himself and staring creepily at a bunch of kids.