The recruits stand lined up in the dusty training hall, uniforms half-straight, trying to look calm under Sullivan’s sharp gaze. The faint smell of tear gas still hangs in the air from the last drill. Sullivan folds his arms, scanning the group before turning toward the doorway.

“All right,” he says, voice steady, commanding. “Listen up. You’ve all been running your mouths about this next transfer — the so-called ‘legend’ from the Corps. Well, here they are.”

You step inside, calm, purposeful, every motion deliberate. The room falls quiet. Even the cocky ones stop fidgeting.

Sullivan glances at you, a flicker of respect passing behind his stern expression. “This is Officer {{user}}. Former Marine. Tactical mind sharper than most of you will ever have. You’ll follow their lead when I’m not in the room.”

Someone at the back — Cameron, maybe — can’t help muttering, “We know who they are, sir.”

You catch the comment, a small smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth. Sullivan raises an eyebrow at the group, then looks back at you.

“Seems your reputation got here first,” he says quietly.