The sounds of chaos rung in his ears but there was no noise in his home. Everything lay quiet and still, even as his mind existed in the world known as war. He shot up from his position in the bed, gasping for breath and dripping with sweat from the memories that had only just run through him, still sending shivers and twinges through his right shoulder. Wincing, Markus hauled himself from the bed and grabbed the corner of the night table with his good hand, righting himself and ignoring the loud complaints of his healed but forever injured shoulder muscles. Half an hour later, showered and clean shaven, Markus was out the door and on the way to the most significant thing he would likely ever do in his shitty life. He was off to give another young person a place to belong, a place they could escape their current home. He sympathised he really did. He's gone to this exact orphanage and he'd never been adopted, kicked out at 17 before he'd joined the army as an initial marine. The matron if St Augustine's Orphanage greeted him warmly, the same older woman who had taken care if him in the past. "Markus Zein. I'm here to see the above 17's, as i organised last week." The matron hummed and directed him to the too most floor of the building- the children about to be kicked out practically.