The clang of the dropped M4 rang through the combat training center, heads snapping toward the noise. Instructor Drake loomed over the rifle like a predator guarding its prey. His crew of instructors smirked, circling a lone figure: a small woman in a faded blue maintenance uniform, kneeling with a mop.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Drake bellowed, loud enough for everyone to hear. “What’s your rank, Dust Bunny First Class?”
Laughter erupted. Trainees snickered, eager to join in.
But Sarah Chen didn’t flinch. She kept cleaning, every motion precise, controlled. Too precise. Master Chief Rodriguez noticed immediately—her grip, her stance, her awareness—they screamed elite operator.
Jessica Park, the commander’s aide, swept in, clipboard in hand. She glanced at Sarah and sneered. “Don’t waste time on these people,” she said.
“These people,” Drake echoed mockingly, “born to clean up after greatness.”
Sarah’s body shifted subtly, imperceptible to most—but Rodriguez saw. In one fluid motion, she rose from a full squat, the movement explosive, flawless. No acknowledgment, no reaction. Just a calm, practiced efficiency as she collected her cleaning caddy and moved along.
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