Breaking in the new recruite

Sunny's gaze lingered on the unfamiliar face in the group—Private Carter. The young soldier stood stiffly, trying his best to remain unnoticed, though the tension in his shoulders gave him away. His hands clenched at his sides, his back straight as if sheer posture alone could hide his nerves.

Sunny had seen plenty of fresh recruits before. They all carried the same look—too clean, too rigid, and too uncertain. Carter was no different.

Without taking his eyes off him, Sunny spoke, his tone flat but commanding.

"Step forward."

Carter flinched, barely perceptible, but enough for Sunny to catch. The recruit hesitated for half a second before forcing himself into motion, stepping out of formation with stiff, almost robotic movements. His boots thudded against the dirt, and when he came to a stop, he stood at attention so forcefully that Sunny almost expected him to snap in half.

A moment of silence stretched between them.

Sunny let the tension build. It was always the same with new blood—throw them into the deep end, let them feel the weight of authority pressing down on them. It was better they learned now rather than in the chaos of battle.

"What's your rank?" Sunny asked, though he already knew the answer. He had seen it on Carter's uniform, but that wasn't the point.

Carter swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly. When he spoke, his voice was barely more than a whisper.

"I'm Private Carter, sir."

Sunny's expression remained unreadable. He didn't move, didn't blink. Then—

"What did you say?!"

His voice cracked through the air like a gunshot.

Carter jumped. His breath hitched as his body stiffened even more, his hands curling into fists as if trying to brace himself against the sheer force of Sunny's voice.

"I-I said I'm Private Carter, sir," he repeated, louder this time, but still not enough.

Sunny took a slow step forward, his boots crunching against the dirt. His stare bore into Carter like a drill.

"Say it again."

There was a flicker of hesitation, a war between fear and obedience flashing in Carter's eyes. Then, clenching his jaw, he took a breath and raised his voice.

"Private Carter, sir!"

Sunny didn't react. Not yet.

"Again."

"Private Carter, sir!"

This time, Carter's voice rose enough to echo slightly, but there was a waver in it, a crack at the end that betrayed his nerves.

Sunny's eyes remained locked on the recruit, unblinking, studying him. He let the moment stretch, let Carter stew in his own adrenaline, before finally stepping back.

Good enough. For now.

Sunny studied Carter closely, his sharp blue eyes taking in every detail, every tiny nervous tick the young soldier gave off. He couldn't help but notice how out of place Carter seemed in the rough, war-torn camp. The recruit's clean face, youthful complexion, and slender build stood in stark contrast to the grizzled soldiers around him. His hands were still too smooth, too soft, compared to the worn, calloused hands of the men who had seen years of battle.

And then there were the glasses—medicated glasses tucked into his uniform pocket. Sunny's gaze lingered for a moment. The fact that Carter wore glasses only added to the sense that he was a civilian thrust into a soldier's world, perhaps not by choice, but by necessity. Sunny's mind briefly wondered how someone like Carter had ended up here, in the heat of war.

His stare made Carter fidget, his eyes shifting nervously between Sunny's piercing gaze and the ground beneath his feet. He could feel the weight of the officer's attention, and it made his chest tighten.

"What were you doing before the war?" Sunny asked, his voice casual, though his eyes remained sharp. It was an innocent question, but in a place like this, even the simplest questions held weight.

Carter blinked, as if surprised by the question, and for a moment, he struggled to find the words. He hadn't expected Sunny to ask anything personal—at least, not so soon. His throat felt dry as he opened his mouth to respond.

"I was a typist in a computer store, sir," Carter said after a moment of hesitation. His voice cracked slightly, betraying the nerves bubbling just below the surface. "Then I moved to another store and became a clerk... Just… office stuff."

Sunny nodded slowly, his eyes narrowing slightly. The words "office stuff" stuck with him. It seemed so... ordinary. The kind of job someone took for stability, for routine, not for glory or adventure. It was the kind of work that belonged in the world before everything had changed. But now? Now, those jobs didn't matter. Now, it was about survival. It was about life or death.

"How does a typist end up in the middle of a war?" Sunny pressed, his voice now more direct, cutting through the air like the blade of a knife. "What made you join?"

Carter's eyes darted nervously, like he was searching for a way to answer that wouldn't make him sound weak. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his hands trembling slightly as he adjusted the glasses in his pocket. He had no easy way to explain it—not in a way that would make sense to someone like Sunny, someone who had been living this life for so long.

"I—I needed the money," Carter began, his voice wavering. "My mom... she's sick, sir. Cancer. And my sister, she's got to go to college, she wants to become a doctor."

Sunny's gaze softened imperceptibly, but he didn't show it. He didn't want Carter to see any sign of sympathy. Sympathy in a place like this was dangerous—it clouded judgment and made men weak. But something about the way Carter spoke about his family struck a chord with him.

"That's why you joined?" Sunny's tone was less harsh now, but still probing, as if he was digging for the raw truth beneath Carter's words.

Carter nodded, swallowing hard. He could feel his throat closing up as the weight of his situation bore down on him.

"I had to. My mom's treatment is expensive. I couldn't afford it on a clerk's salary. And my sister's dream—her future—it depends on me." Carter's voice broke slightly as he continued, his eyes growing distant. "I didn't know what else to do. It was the only way."

Sunny didn't respond immediately. He let the silence stretch between them, allowing Carter to absorb the weight of his own words. He had heard countless stories like this before. Stories of desperation, of people being pulled into this war not because they wanted to fight, but because they had no other choice.

Sunny's mind wandered briefly to his own past, to the decisions he had made that had led him down this path. But he didn't dwell on it for long. This wasn't about him. It was about Carter, about understanding the young recruit standing before him.

"You think this war will give you what you need?" Sunny asked, his voice steady and unreadable.

Carter didn't immediately answer, and for a moment, Sunny wondered if the recruit was going to back away from the question entirely. But then, after a long pause, Carter spoke, his voice low and uncertain.

"I don't know, sir. I hope it does. I hope I can make enough to help them... but I'm not sure what I'll become in the process."

His words hung in the air like a question without an answer. He didn't know what the war would make of him. No one ever did.

Sunny didn't respond immediately. Instead, he took a long, calculating look at Carter—the nervousness in his eyes, the uncertainty in his voice. Carter wasn't ready for war, not in the way his men were. But in a place like this, readiness didn't matter.

What mattered was survival.

"Stay sharp, Private Carter," Sunny said finally, his voice low but firm. "This war will change you, whether you want it to or not."

Carter nodded, a deep sigh escaping his lips as he straightened up. He knew it wasn't a comforting statement. But it was the truth, and in the end, that was all that mattered.