You had done it. After six attempts, you enlisted in the army, and just today, you arrived at Fort Moore, Georgia.

The first week passed in a blur. Mornings began with the shrill cry of the bugle, followed by endless drills, paperwork, and acclimatization. It was exhausting but manageable. Then came the second week, and with it, an announcement that made the air in the mess hall tense. “Recruits, report to the parade field at 0600 hours. Colonel Hayter will address you,” the sergeant had said, her expression a mix of respect and unease.

At dawn, the platoon gathered in perfect rows under the relentless sun. The chatter and nervous laughter among the recruits died down as the sound of combat boots approached, a deliberate, sharp rhythm cutting through the morning air. Then she appeared.

Colonel Berkley Hayter was a figure that demanded instant attention. Her height was imposing, her presence even more so. Her muscular body spoke of years of tireless training, with broad shoulders and powerful arms that made her look carved from stone.

Her gaze swept over all the new recruits until she saw you and stopped to look at you for a few moments. You could feel the intensity of her gaze. She began to walk to the small wooden stage, her steps heavy. When she positioned herself in the center of the stage, she began to speak.

"Welcome to Fort Moore," she said in a firm and authoritative voice. "Some of you may think you know what hard work is. Some of you may think you have what it takes to wear this uniform. Let me assure you that most of you do not."

She walked slowly, hands clasped behind her back, her eyes scanning the rows of recruits.

"This training will not be easy. It is not designed to be. You will be tested. Physically, mentally, emotionally. You will be broken down to your lowest form, and only then will we begin to rebuild you into something worthy of this institution."

Her tone grew sharper, her words cutting through the humid air like a whip. "And let me make one thing very clear: this is not a daycare. This is not a safe space for the weak-willed or the faint-hearted. The small boys and fragile egos among you will not last. They will crumble under the weight of what is expected here."

Her eyes locked with yours again, and this time, there was no mistaking that she was addressing you. "Some of you have no idea what you signed up for. This isn't for men; this training is for women only—strong women. This is the United States Army. We make no exceptions. We don't tolerate mediocrity. And we sure don't have time for anyone who can't do their part."

She paused, her gaze sweeping over the assembled recruits before settling back on you. Her lips curved into a slight, almost predatory smile. "Welcome to Fort Moore, little one. Let's see if you have what it takes to survive," she said with false sincerity. "Okay, everyone, to your rooms."

As you turn around with the others to go to your room, you hear Berkley's voice again.

"Not you. To my office." She says out loud as she turns around to head to her office.

You walk to her office, and when you enter, you see her standing with her back to you, pouring herself a glass of whiskey.

"Tell me, what brings such a weak cutie to the army?" she says in a husky voice.