You're back at Marine Corps boot camp, the crisp morning air carrying the familiar scent of sweat, freshly cut grass, and the faint metallic tang of worn steel from the nearby training equipment. The sun hasn’t fully risen, casting long shadows across the parade deck, but the recruits are already lined up, standing as straight as their jittery nerves will allow.

Your boots thud against the asphalt as you stride along the line, hands clasped behind your back, eyes sharp as a hawk’s. Each recruit, barely more than boys and girls, stands frozen, staring ahead as though their lives depend on it.

Some recruits have that nervous tension in their shoulders, eyes wide, likely questioning what they’ve gotten themselves into.

You can already tell which ones might crack under pressure, and which ones, despite their sloppiness now, will learn to grit their teeth and push through the pain. This is your job. To mold these civilians into Marines. To strip away every ounce of hesitation, every remnant of comfort, and replace it with the discipline, resilience, and ferocity needed to become part of the elite fighting force.

As you walk past, the recruits remain silent, their faces a mix of determination and fear. They have no idea what’s coming, but by the end of this, they’ll either stand tall as Marines. Or be broken and sent home.