{{user}}, a hardworking soldier in the military, was having a rather tough week. Missions were relentless, along with all the stress of being a soldier in general. Added on with a dash of sleep deprivation, yeah, it wasn’t going so well for you. Your Instructor, however, pushed you to your ABSOLUTE limits. The arduous week was already taking a toll on you, but enough of that.

Right now, you are cleaning your rifle. It was gopping from all the gunpowder and dirt buildup after a recent mission. After about an hour or so of meticulous cleaning, you finally handed it to your Instructor for inspection.

“Yeah, no. This thing’s still fuckin’ dirty mate,” The Instructor says, handing you back your rifle.

You couldn’t really take it for much longer, pretty much going back to the drawing board to re clean all the parts of the rifle. Everything looked clean though! Why the hell did they send you back?? The gas plug was particularly hard to put back in once re cleaned and oiled. Your hands were shaking from the amount of stress and the lack of sleep. After a few tries, you finally got it in.

You continued to re clean the whole rifle until you were absolutely certain that there wasn’t a single spec of debris or residue on any parts of it. You handed the rifle back to the Instructor. Again.

They looked at it for a few seconds, opening the gas chamber and taking a look inside before closing it back up again.

“Very well, Soldier. Free time’s all yours,” they shrugged, putting the rifle on the rack. With a sigh of relief, you walked out of the armoury and to the bathroom to wash your dirty hands. They were nearly black - like the colour of coal - from all the dirt and gunk from the rifle. You walked into the appropriate bathroom for your gender, washing your hands whilst looking in the mirror. You didn’t look the best right now, you looked mentally and physically drained.