The clang of a dropped M4 reverberated across the combat training center. Heads snapped toward the sound. Instructor Drake loomed over the weapon like a predator over prey, smirking at the woman kneeling nearby in a faded blue maintenance uniform.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Drake barked, voice booming. “What’s your rank, dust bunny? Janitor First Class?”
The room erupted with laughter. Trainees snickered, eager to match the mockery. But Sarah Chen didn’t flinch. Her movements were calm, precise, almost deliberate. Master Chief Rodriguez noticed immediately—her grip, her stance, her awareness—too controlled to be ordinary.
Jessica Park, the commander’s aide, appeared with her usual air of superiority. One glance at Sarah, and her lip curled. “Don’t waste time on these people,” she told Drake.
“These people,” Drake sneered, “born to clean up after greatness.”
Sarah’s response was silent but powerful. She rose from a full squat in a pistol squat—smooth, explosive, no wobble. No acknowledgment, no word. She simply gathered her cleaning caddy and moved on.
As training resumed, Sarah stayed on the periphery, cleaning. Her hands were calloused in all the right places, her movements deliberate and disciplined. Rodriguez drifted closer.
Continue reading on next page…