They mocked the quiet recruit and dragged his mother’s name through the mud. Then the woman they’d spent weeks laughing at walked into the yard in full uniform and said the one thing that made the whole squad go still.

He wasn’t the toughest, or the quickest, but his work always came out neat, his bed folded tight, his shoes buffed until you could see yourself in them.
He didn’t drink, didn’t clown around, and when the other men bragged about their weekends or their girls, Marcus mostly kept quiet – a small smile on his face, his mind off somewhere else.
And in a place where being hard was the only thing anyone respected, that quiet made him an easy mark.
It began with little things. A snide word here, a chuckle there.
“Hey, Cole, your mommy fold your socks too?”
“Watch it, he might start crying if you raise your voice.”