The interstellar communication arriving from the local stars rays behave differently when the moon completes its monthly lunar cycle. The propriety aligned to the slime of another slivering cannonball orbiting the Sergeant Major. His biggest failure kneeling in front of him, he establishes dominance by lowering the poor boys cranium with the sole of his boot, he maintains regulation height for a decent rep. Deep wrinkles cut years into his ruthless skin, the complaints filed against him are yet to be won. Here again, that should be said of all of them. Hierarchy has but one pure simple form which is a chain of responsibility: at the start their lives are in their own hands and at the end they hold the lives of others in theirs.
Though the chain may have begun to break, given the bravest catalyst in our midst is not the type to be demoralized in a spectacle just as this. The air hangs for a bitter moment as the recruits stare disbelievingly.
“I belong to the Lord, not you.”