That afternoon, the recruits were lined up in formation—sixty men standing shoulder to shoulder beneath the blazing Arizona sun. It was the final day of training, the graduation ceremony that marked the end of months of drills, shouting, and sweat.
The man presiding over the ceremony was none other than Colonel Jameson Green, ex-commander of the U.S.S. Fenix—better known among Marines as the Phantom Ship. They said anyone trained under Dustin came out harder than iron.
Now, that legend was standing right in front of them—tall, broad-shouldered, his white-and-navy uniform pressed to perfection, rows of medals gleaming across his chest. His marine-blue cap cast a shadow over his eyes, but the sharp set of his jaw and the permanent furrow in his brow told the story of a man who'd seen too much.
"How's my company doing today? You boys holding up alright?" the colonel asked, a rare smile creasing his face.
"No, sir!" the recruits roared in unison, voices echoing across the field.
Sergeant Washe, standing near the front, couldn't help but grin—proud like a father watching his sons grow up.
Colonel Dustin nodded slowly, scanning the faces before him. "You know, being a soldier isn't just about running drills or holding a rifle correctly; it's about discipline. It's about building the kind of strength that makes your family proud when you walk through that front door again.
"When I was your age, I didn't get it either. I thought, what's the point? Push-ups, pull-ups, rope climbs—all that nonsense. But once you finish this, you start to understand something bigger: patriotism. Because if we don't protect this country… no one else will."
His gaze stopped briefly on Brian—steady, unreadable.
"I'm proud of you," the colonel went on, voice steady and strong. "You are the future of this country. Sure, we lost many on the battlefield, but that doesn't mean we'll stop fighting for our people, our freedom, and our brothers. If we don't wait to be invaded, we stand ready. And no matter how tough it gets, remember this: we're Americans. We don't bow, and we sure as hell don't break either." He paused, then nodded solemnly. "Congratulations, Marines. You've completed your training."
Applause thundered across the grounds. But before stepping away, the colonel raised his voice again. "One last thing—we're calling for volunteers. Division Twenty-Four needs reinforcements. Anyone willing to serve, sign up after the ceremony. First come, first served—one thousand spots open. Only those who want to be there."
He gave one last salute. "And to all the instructors—thank you for forging these men into Marines."
"Company—attention! Present~ arms!" Sergeant Washe barked.
Every rifle rose in perfect unison. The colonel returned their salute, then pivoted sharply and strode off the field.
The ceremony was over.
That evening, families filled the training gym—parents, wives, and siblings waving banners and flags, waiting for their Marines to be dismissed. The air buzzed with cheers, laughter, and the kind of pride that only comes once in a lifetime.
Brian stood in the front row, posture perfect, but his eyes kept wandering to the bleachers.
There—among the crowd—sat an elderly man and a middle-aged woman. They smiled down at him, holding up a sign that read:
"Welcome home, son."
The soldier beside him glanced at the sign and grinned. "That your family?"
Brian hesitated. "Yeah… yeah, I guess you could say that."
"My dad and mom are up there too," the man said, beaming. "Feels good, you know? To finally make them proud. Who came for you today?"
Brian swallowed, eyes fixed on the couple in the stands. "I see them," he said softly. "They're right in front of me." The man just nodded, not catching the weight in Brian's voice.
From the bleachers, the smiling pair raised their thumbs in pride—a simple, wordless blessing.
Then Sergeant Washe strode down the line, checking each man's pack and gear one last time before booming out the order that marked the end of it all: "Company dismissed!" The gym erupted. Marines ran toward their families, laughter and tears colliding into one roar of joy.
Brian stayed where he was for a moment, watching the man and woman ahead of him—their faces shining with warmth. He took a slow step forward. Then another. And as he reached them… his body passed right through.
They were never really there.