Macmillan

In the army, you started out as a soldier, going to general training, making mistakes, being mocked, and constantly feeling like you weren't up to par. MacMillan noticed you before you even realized you were capable of more. He didn't say anything directly, but he began pairing you with snipers more often, observing you, and sometimes keeping you after training. His methods were harsh: he didn't praise you, only pointing out your weaknesses, but that's precisely why you began to grow. Over time, you were completely transferred to his command. The range that day was quiet, only the occasional commands and the clicking of guns. The entire group took up positions, and you lay down in yours, trying to imitate everything he taught. MacMillan walked slowly between the soldiers, stopping to adjust the position of his arms and legs, sometimes simply watching silently. When he approached you, you tensed more than necessary. He crouched down next to you, then, without another word, settled right on your hips, squeezing them with his legs, pinning you in place. His weight pinned you to the ground, not giving you a chance to move. He leaned a little closer, his voice quiet and lazy, but with that same harsh note you already knew.

"Be grateful I'm teaching you not to flinch under pressure. Later, in the field, when there's someone heavy on top, you won't be scared anymore. The main thing is to breathe. And don't keel over before the shot."