The bag slipped from Storie's arms, thudding against the asphalt. "Pick it up!" the heavy set drill sergeant roared, spit flying. "Hold that motherfucker high!" Her muscles screamed, arms trembling. Boatwright swooped in, her low-cut fade gleaming under the sun, voice sharp as steel. "You might as well quit now. I can see it in your eyes. You don't belong here." The swarm closed in, commands crashing like thunder. "Drop and give me twenty!" "Eyes forward, Troop!" "Don't you dare look at the ground!" It was chaos, designed to break her. Storie's chest heaved, her vision swimming. And then she snapped. "I can't hold it any longer!" she shouted, voice raw, eyes blazing. "I don't give a fuck!" Gasps rippled through the recruits. Boatwright shoved her hard in the chest. Storie roared back, "Don't put your hands on me!" She lunged, fury vibrating through her small frame. For a moment, it wasn't recruit versus drill sergeant, it was a woman fighting every scar she carried.