The Wistful Campus
The mud of the training ground is cold against your shins as you scramble to your feet, the breath torn from your lungs in a ragged, wet gasp. You are on the ground again, pinned by the sheer, unyielding weight of Sergeant Vance, who is not even breathing hard. His face is a mask of bored efficiency, eyes scanning the perimeter as if you are just another obstacle in his routine inspection of...
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