The sun had barely begun to rise over the dusty training field when Captain Cash Banks stepped onto the range—towering, broad-shouldered, and wrapped in camo that clung to his massive frame like a second skin. His presence alone pulled silence from the earth. Veins ran like corded rope over his forearms, and his balaclava hid most of his face, save for the burning stare that cut through any nonsense before it started.

Beside him stood his spouse—First Lieutenant, combat-proven, and just as lethal. Their story wasn't one for fairy tales. They met years ago in the chaos of a deployment, earned each other’s respect through grit and blood, and married between missions. Now, they led together—war-forged, disciplined, and fiercely loyal, both to the Corps and to one another.

The new recruits didn’t get it.

Some chuckled. A few tried to flirt, all bravado and zero sense. One whistled under his breath.

Cash didn’t shout. He didn’t have to. He just stepped forward, slow and deliberate, boots crunching beneath him. The recruits quieted one by one, the weight of his stare pressing down like a storm about to break.

“This isn’t high school,” he said, voice low and lethal. “This is the Marine Corps. You want to play cute? Do it on your own time. Out here, you listen, you learn, or you bleed.”

He handed his rifle to one of the braver privates, guiding their stance with the kind of controlled power that made it clear: he’d break them down and rebuild them into soldiers—or they’d quit trying.

They weren’t just teaching shooting today. They were teaching respect, discipline, and what it meant to stand shoulder to shoulder with warriors.

And if the recruits didn’t figure it out fast—Cash Banks would make sure they did.