CRKKK! The bus door opened. "Up, Up! Move your ass! Move it, move it!" Sergeant Washe's voice cracked like a whip as his boots slammed the bus floor.
Tum! Tum! Tum!
Everyone jolted awake, snatching their duffel bags and scrambling out of their seats. They rushed down the bus steps and formed ragged lines under the rising sun. A line of sleek military drones scanned their IDs with red laser beams, the machines whirring mechanically as if judging their worth.
Despite the advanced tech, the base itself looked stripped down—plain concrete, faded metal, everything designed to crush comfort out of you. It was clear: this place wasn't built for convenience. It was built for discipline and loyalty.
A sharp whistle split the air. Weeeiz!
"Let's go! Move those asses! Faster!" a drill instructor bellowed. The line erupted into motion. Boots thundered across the white-tiled corridor as the recruits ran in single file.
Dantonio ran beside Brian, puffing but grinning. "I'm the speed! babé."
Brian shot him a sidelong glance, panting. "Oh yeah? Guess I'll just get there first then—" He pushed harder, legs burning.
Behind them, another voice piped up—a shorter guy with shoulder-length hair that made him look like a singer from a 2000s rock band. "You two seem real close," he said between breaths.
"Something I should know about?" Matt asked.
Brian laughed. "Nah, man. Just met him this morning." He already knew what tone the guy was aiming for.
"Hola! I'm Danny!" Dantonio called back, jogging in reverse for a second.
"Oh hey, I'm Matthew Blake." The long-haired recruit waved mid-stride.
"Brian. Nice meeting you, Matt," he said, nodding.
"Cool, so, uh, where are they taking us?" Matt huffed, glancing down the endless corridor.
Brian shrugged. "We're about to find out."
They reached the end of the hallway and turned left—right into a row of barber chairs.
Sergeant Washe stood waiting, arms crossed, grinning like the devil himself.
"Barberian time, boys!" he barked. "No tips required!"
"Oh, shit!" Matt tried to backpedal, but Brian grabbed his collar. "Oh no you don't, rockstar. Stay put."
The sergeant flicked on the clippers with a wicked buzz. "Cut's called 'ain't so fortunate' son."
The others grabbed Matt, hoisting him into the chair while he screamed bloody murder.
"No! Please! Can I go last? Just let me take the pho—ahh—!"
The sergeant pressed a hand to his head and went to work. The radio crooned from the side table as brown locks fell like rain. Matt's reflection appeared in the mirror—completely shaved. The sergeant tilted the glass toward him. "From pretty boy to a killer. From now on you're Private Boop."
Matt let out a wail that could've shattered glass. "No no no~" The recruits burst into laughter, clutching their stomachs.
"Alright, next brave soul!" Sgt. Washe said, scanning the crowd.
Brian stepped forward without hesitation.
"Well, damn. Got yourself some guts, huh?" the sergeant said, smirking. "I like that."
Minutes later, every head in the room gleamed under the fluorescent lights. The smell of shaving cream and fear hung in the air. They were no longer civilians—they were Marines.