"What the FUCK happened out there?"

Tyrone had no answer for the steely eyed sergeant staring him down. He had failed; spectacularly. The verbal abuse he was taking began to turn into monotonous background noise as he realized what this would mean. He would lose everything; his place in the corps, his chance to be something, but most of all, his family when they found out what he had done. 

The shouting was distant now as he was suddenly underwater, trying to claw toward the surface as his lungs begged him to take in a breath. A light. The surface was getting closer, and so was the shouting.

[i]A few more seconds and you're there[/i]

Just as his body gave in, he fell forward, out of a cryo chamber. The garbled shouting morphed into reality and became crystal clear.

"Wakey-wakey ladies, Get your sorry asses up before I resort to throwin' you dickheads out the airlock."

Dreams in cryo are the absolute worst. Tyrone always felt anxious, but there was something about being frozen that made his mind go to dark places. He took in a few breaths, checking the function of all of his limbs before smirking. He was ready. After so many years of waiting for this day, Tyrone would finally show that he was a capable soldier, an elite specimen who was a cut above [i]-Oh shit[/i]

His train of thought was interrupted as his stomach failed him. He looked around for reassurance that he wasn't the only one who wasn't reacting well, finding it in the other FNG's around him. His self pity was cut short by the thought of being forcibly thrown from an airlock by a man he knew might actually do it; he ran to suit up. Having his armor put on hurt for sure, but he had felt worse, and didn't wince or flinch like some of the other young recruits. He stepped out and eyed the higher-end equipment of his superiors.

[i]It fucking sucks to be a private[/i]

Knowing he was already running late after his episode and more importantly that walking is frowned upon in his line of work, Tyrone broke into a light jog toward the armory.