What a truly messed-up dream.
That was what one newly conscious soldier would've liked to tell himself as soon as he regained enough of his higher bodily functions to actually think.
But just as Curtis muttered that to himself while trying to wake up properly by scratching at his face like he usually did, he was plenty surprised when his own hand smacked against his cheek with a hard, dull thunk!
"Ow! What the—"
He froze.
"...Hell?!"
Curtis stared blankly at his own right hand, squinting through the throbbing pain in his cheek. His jaw slowly dropped as he realized that there was a literal ceramic jar stuck over his hand, and he could not for the life of him understand just what the heck was happening!
Had he been drugged?!
Or had the phenomenal air quality finally gotten to him?!
Unfortunately, before Curtis could properly decide which explanation made more sense, he suddenly heard someone say,
"Umm... good morning, Lord Curtis!"
"!"
