Jean punched the wall, cracks split across the wall webbing out like lightning bolts.
He roared, driving his body forward clashing against the wall.
Exploding it outward, spraying dust and rubble.
Sunlight poured onto their faces through the jagged hole.
"Come on, let's go!" Jean barked, grabbing Lydia and pushing her forward.
Lydia stumbled, shielding her face from the hot sun, Jean followed, body beginning to tremble.
Everything felt on fire; his blade-covered arms were jagged, alien-like, as his digitigrade legs felt weak.
They stumbled onto some soft grass, blinking with teary eyes from the blinding light.
The warmth of the sun felt great on their skin.
The synthetic sun in the dungeons didn't feel warm; it was always cold.
Jean turned back to look for Elise, but the wall was disappearing like smoke.
There was no sign of her coming with them.
"No going back, I guess," Jean mumbled to himself, his voice low but monotone.
His legs wobbled beneath him, feeling weak under him.
He fell to one knee, crumbling to the floor, darkness swallowing his vision.
Jean woke to the warmth of the blaring sun.
The smell of grass wasn't dull like when he first arrived.
For once, everything felt real: the grass, and the sunlight washing over his face.
For but a moment, he thought he'd finally escaped the Door's presence, but as his eyes opened, the world around him looked too perfect to be real.
Buildings around him stood perfectly neat, in their uniform rows; their walls looked too clean, as if they had been built in seconds.
The grass was too soft, too precise; it was trimmed without even one spot longer than the rest.
The sky above was a cloudy but deep blue; it looked like a painting.
Lydia groaned as she pushed herself up.
"Jean?" she said, her voice sounded higher-pitched.
"I'm here," he muttered, forcing himself to sit up.
That's when he heard another familiar voice.
"Hello," Elise was lying a few feet away, silver hair fanned around her like an angel's halo.
She turned her head, her pale eyes unfocused, and sat up slowly.
"Elise," Lydia said, voice cracking. "Where have you been?
"I..." Elise looked around. She sounded dazed. "I was with you, Jean, one moment, the next I was here. I don't remember. I just woke up here.
"Jean turned to speak, but he froze.
His arms were different, his legs were different.
His body, once warped, with its elongated limbs and sharp blade like bones, was gone.
His arms were human again, lean muscle wrapped around his frame.
His legs felt weird.
Just when he got used to his digitigrade legs, they went back to normal.
His skin didn't feel charred anymore.
His face seemed normal for once.
He felt much taller than before, though he seemed to be around eighteen years old now.
His body was taller, and his shoulders were broad.
He touched his face, tracing along his jaw.
The bone helm that was around his head earlier had disappeared.
Lydia gasped.
"Jean... why do you look... older?
"Uhm..." Jean felt lost for a second. "I just feel a little taller;" Jean turned to her and stared for a good minute.
Lydia looked entirely different.
She was a battle hardened office women.
She used to look around thirty years old, her eyes sharp and wary.
Now she looked eighteen, maybe nineteen, her face seemed smooth but youthful, though her expression still looked like a warrior who was on their edge.
Elise, too, used to look the same age as Jean.
Elise and Jean used to look their age, fourteen.
Now, she looked eighteen, her eyes striking silver and intense, her posture still the same, graceful and confident.
Jean caught Elise glancing at him.
Her lips parted slightly before she looked away from him, brushing her hair behind her ear.
Jean looked down and realized he wasn't in his original torn outfit.
He was in a stiff camouflage jacket that stuck to his frame, his pants matching, and he wore heavy boots just like the ones Callum would always polish.
Lydia tugged at her uniform with a grimace.
"Huh?" she glanced at Elise. "Why the hell are we in military uniforms? I've never been in the military."
Elise stared at the insignia stitched onto her sleeve.
"This is... isn't this the German flag?" she mumbled to herself. "This isn't like the other doors.
Before Jean could get up, a voice yelled from afar, its voice booming.
"You three!"
A soldier in a dark green uniform marched towards them, his boots clicking against the pavement with sharp precision.
His eyes seemed cold, stance seemed strong."
"What are you three loitering around?!" he snapped. "Get to basic training! Training starts now!"
Jean felt tense.
"Yes, sir," he said with a shaky voice.
"Follow me!" the soldier yelled at them.
They all exchanged glances but obeyed.
Elise glanced back at Jean for a second, and he felt her gaze linger on him much longer than before; her eyes kept flickering towards him.
He didn't know why, but she kept doing it.
The path opened into a gigantic courtyard lined with recruits.
Dozens of young men stood at attention, their faces all looked very similar, blank expressions, their uniforms perfectly identical.
They looked like copies of one another.
At the front stood a towering drill sergeant; he was the only one who looked different.
His voice raspy and booming, like a predator.
"Line up!"
A shove from behind sent Jean tumbling forward, and Lydia and Elise stumbled forward but caught themselves on their feet.
"Get up!" the drill sergeant yelled.
Jean jumped up as a whistle shrieked.
"Drop and give me fifty!" the sergeant grizzled.
They immediately jumped down, their palms felt rough slamming into gravel.
Jean gritted his teeth, forcing his body to move.
In that moment, everything ached; it felt almost like jelly.
The drill sergeant kept on yelling
Workouts, pushups, sit-ups, squats, sprint around a track.
He barked insults without remorse.
"Where the hell is this?" Lydia heaved, unable to breathe properly from the laps they ran.
"No clue," Jean panted. "This doesn't feel like an illusion... but it has to be fake.
"This is different," Elise murmured. "It's like we've been dropped into someone else's life."
The drill sergeant's shadow fell behind them again.
He pulled out a clipboard and scanned the names.
"CALLUM!" he yelled in an angry tone.
Jean froze for a second while Elise and Lydia kept running.
It seemed they didn't hear the name.
There was no answer.
"Callum!" the sergeant barked again.
Elise and Lydia finally heard it and whipped their heads back.
Silence.
"Callum, get over here right now!
Someone emerged from the back of the formation, and a boy stepped forward.
Jean felt sick.
The Callum they knew was a giant, almost like a fortress.
He looked as if he were built purely out of muscle, but he was always calm.
This boy was nothing like him.
He looked frail, but with a gangster's face.
His uniform was unkept, and his posture was terrible.
He was skinny but looked like he was ready to fight.
"That can't be him," Lydia mumbled, horrified.
"I agree, that can't be him," Elise said softly.
The sergeant rushed up to the boy.
"Are you deaf, son?!" he barked, grabbing the boy's collar.
Callum grimaced.
"Do not yell, sir.
"The sergeant's face turned as red as a tomato.
"Excuse me?"
"I told you not to yell in my face," Callum repeated himself again, his voice calm but like a blade ready to fight back.
The sergeant pushed him back into the formation.
"You think you're funny, boy?"
"No, sir..." Callum said in a calm demeanor. "Just honest.
"Jean stared, his heart knew it had to be Callum, but he just looked too different.
This wasn't the man he trusted his life with; this was someone else.
Sharp, bitter, and full of quiet rage.
"This has to be Callum," Jean whispered until he thought to himself for a second.
"Hey, this might sound crazy, but I think this is Callum's past.
Hours later, their bodies felt like a mess.
Jean's arms felt in pain from exhaustion as he followed the other recruits to the mess hall.
The air smelled like stale bread and old grease.
Callum sat alone in the far corner, hunched over his tray.
"Let's try talking to him," Jean said.
He slowly advanced towards Callum.
"He's probably been trying to escape this memory.
"Lydia approached him carefully, trying not to scare him.
Lydia spoke softly.
"Callum?"
His gaze immediately shot up, and his expression seemed annoyed.
"Do I know you?" his voice sounded similar to the Callum they knew.
"It's us, come on, man," Jean said, leaning in. "This isn't real. We have to go. It's a trial. The Mind Demon is trying to kill us.
"Callum clutched his head for a moment.
"You must be crazy. How did you even join the Army with mental issues?
"Jean felt annoyed.
"Listen to me! We need to hurry up; this place is consuming our emotions. Ronan is in danger, too. We need to go."
Jean grabbed Callum by the arm and gave him a little tug.
"Come on, we need to go!
"Stop," Callum snapped, shoving his tray away.
He stood up and walked five steps forward.
"I don't know what the hell you're talking about. I also don't want to know.
"Jean grabbed him by the shoulder.
"Callum, please let's go..."
"Get off of me, man."
Jean's grip tightened around his shoulder.
Callum spun around and punched him.
His right arm swiftly caught Jean square on the jaw, sending him sprawling onto the floor.
Jean gasped for air as he lay on the cafeteria floor; no one moved around him.
They all sat blankly, motionless.
"Jean, are you ok!" Elise cried, kneeling beside him to help him up.
Callum glared down at the two of them.
"I don't talk to crazies," he spat, then stormed off.
Jean groaned, rubbing his jaw as Elise gently helped him up.
"That can't be him," Lydia whispered to herself, her voice seemed uneasy.
Jean shook his head.
"No... it has to be him. Why would we conveniently be placed here right next to someone named Callum?"
The cafeteria returned to its lifeless chatter as if nothing had happened earlier.
The three felt out of place.
"We have to get out of here with him," Lydia said to Elise.
Jean clenched his hand into a fist.
"Before this place destroys us emotionally, we need to escape."
"As they stepped out of the cafeteria, a shadow moved alongside them.
It was as if the Mind Demon itself was following, watching from afar.
The Mind Demon was here.
And he was ready to bear fangs.