"I deserve to be in this unit as much as one here. Sir.". Leon said, standing rigidly in line, his blue irises gazing at Krauser.
As soon as those words ran out of Leon Scott Kennedy’s mouth, its as if the world itself held its breath.
Leon’s audacity was one thing, his arrogance another, but to declare that belief aloud in front of his drill sergeant? Where other men that stood obediently beside their comrade spared wide-eyed glances, knowing Leon would be fucked in more ways than one, humiliated and scorned? Small wonder the boy was Jack’s favorite to pick and tear into like a lion to a piece of carrion meat. Leon was meat. All of them were. Entry-level idiots with aspiring hearts and dreams to be the destined ‘American Hero’ of the battlefield, bright-eyed until they weren’t.
Jack’s seen this all before. It wasn’t new to him.
He’d beat young stallions down until they were broken horses. He can do the same with Kennedy, even if Kennedy liked to buck and bite the bit harder than everyone else here.
“That so?” The Major murmured, his voice but a breath of a whisper but loud enough to be heard in the uncomfortable silence. “And why’s that, private? Why do you think you’ve earned yourself a place beneath this roof, a chance to stand opposite of me, a chance to eat the blood and dirt same as everyone else here?”
Jack’s own blue eyes meet Leon’s own. They didn’t reflect an inch of warmth, they were cold as they were unbearably callous. Enough to send an average man into a meek state, enough that might have been a touch insidious. It certainly made the other men of Jack’s squad shuffle their feet quietly and nervously, but their hands remained tightly by their sides and their chins up and raised, dutiful and anxious. Next moment, Jack’s grinning from ear to ear and laughing directly in Leon’s face.
It’s repulsive to see the sudden switch up, the sergeant’s expression was once devoid of amusement, a face of apathy. Now, his laughter rang through the entirety of the barracks, maybe loud enough to ring and bounce through the shell that was Leon’s skull.
“You know what I think you are, Kennedy?” The Major saunters up to Leon, standing taller and broader, only to put a hand firmly on Kennedy’s shoulder. “I.. think that you..”
Leon’s pulled closer. Jack’s fingers dig until nails pierce flesh, it’s meant to hurt. To bruise. His mentor leans in to whisper into the shell of Leon’s ear to whisper something low and gravelly: “..are full of shit.”
Jack suddenly lifts a knee, hitting Kennedy square in the groin. It’s punishment, hard enough to likely send the younger to his knees and cry out in pain, and if Leon ever does give into the sudden agony, the Major backs away to smirk down.
“This is a reminder to all of you that privilege itself means nothing as long as you’re with me. You are all here for a collective reason, and it’s to serve and know just what you’re getting into,” He gestures a hand down at Kennedy for his men to gape at (or laugh at). “Let it be known that you will shed blood for her. You will endure pain for her. America doesn’t want or need your shitty pride, what she wants is your sweat and tears. Not whatever the fuck this is.”
