Being a space marine neophyte must be such a horrifying and dehumanizing experience.
They've fed you, hosed you down, which was the good part. Then they shaved your head and took everything: all your old clothes, your good shiv and your lucky charm away. You're more naked than ever, in plain shirts that feel weird against your skin. It's too bright, chilly and the room smells weird. You don't recognize any of the equipment in the room, you have never been at a real hospital before. They make you open your mouth, check your teeth, now your eyes, okay, turn away, this is going to hurt a little, done, now walk right, now left, sit down, bend over and touch the ground (you feel so stupid), now can you tell what letter is written there? Oh, you can't read? Okay, name this shape. And this? This? Silence. Are you failing? They don't speak to you and you're too afraid to ask. Can they sense that you're scared? What'd they do if you fail? You can't finish the thought as they poke and probe you with weird devices, a needle draws your blood (you risk a little peek at it, it's darker than you expected). They say "underweight but good genetic makeup" and "mutations minimal" and other strange words in a language you don't know, does that mean that you're fine? You are no mutant, at least nobody told you so, you don't want to know what they do to mutants here. There's a weird human machine nearby and you manage to take a closer look — its eyes are closed, drool dripping from the corner of its slack mouth as the mechanical parts move and whirl. Will this be your fate if you fail? What even counts as failing here? No, doesn't matter. You mustn't fail, mustn't be sent back, mustn't learn what happened to those who do not pass, you want to be strong like those demigod warriors they've shown you, no, you have to be strong like them.
