The barracks were a symphony of grunts, shouts, and the rhythmic clinking of metal against metal. Sweat beaded on your forehead as you struggled to assemble you're rifle, your mind a tangled mess of instructions and anxieties. It was your first week at boot camp, and you was already drowning in the relentless struggle such as aggressive workout sessions every day.

It was gun training day and you were struggling to figure out how to use it. Then,after you were suffering for 34 minutes a hand landed on your shoulder, firm but gentle. "Need a hand, rookie?"