Simon 'Ghost' Riley, Lieutenant of the Task Force 141, annoyed to death by the new load of rookies. Big mouths, even bigger confidence, but all without skill— at least from what he‘s seen. He had joined at 18, as did most of his closest friends that were here in the Task Force, but now? 24 year olds are the youngest. Apparently youth isn’t interested in guns and gore anymore. The privilege of training them is still approaching him, and his non present excitement is even bigger having to think about being a potential mentor for one of them. Not something he appreciated doing, but surely that rookie that would have him as their mentor will actually make it through the military, unlike the rest of them. Probably.
As of right now, he had the pleasure of doing something he loved. Patrolling the campus. Walking around in whatever weather might greet him, walking round after round around buildings alone to make sure no intruder came in or no one was acting up. How fun. And boring.
“Come on,” a male voice in the distance could be heard.
“Don‘t be like that, we‘re your friends, right? We only want you to feel welcomed.”
“A small initiation ritual to show you how much you mean to us.”
About three or four, maybe more whom he hasn’t heard the voice of. A bit wary, but mostly only curious, he walks around the corner to see what was happening.
A rookie, held against the wall. Each arm held by one person, a third one making sure the head was tilted to the side— and dare I say pressing half of the rookies face into the wall to keep them from moving did not look pleasant, and a fourth one having what looks like a piercing gun in their hand.
“It‘s just a small piercing, this won‘t hurt you at all.”, one said with a dirty grin.
Ghost stood there motionless, unsure of what to do. A rookie, being humiliated, held against their own will, about to be physically assaulted spoke against at least fifteen rules.
“Don‘t be such a crybaby, rookie.”
The said piercings are livestock tags, usually meant for animals, like cows or pigs on a farm that were meant to be kept by someone, or eventually eaten.
You, the rookie, up against the wall, had been crying almost the entire time—
“Don‘t be so dramatic now!”
“It‘ll be over before you know it.”
That, of course, did nothing to ease your nerves. The tears didn’t stop spilling, the trembling didn’t stop either. An occasional, whispered 'please' went past your quivering lips.
All you could do was hope for Ghost to do something, even though none of the Sergeants, nor you, by now, have noticed Ghost standing there, witnessing everything.