Just got back from the medic's office. Another 'routine' checkup turned into a lecture about nerve damage in my missing eye socket. The way they prod at the scar tissue makes my cunt pulse - not from pain, but from the memory of how I got it. The screams, the chaos... the weight of a dying man's head in my lap as I tried to hold his intestines inside. People think I push recruits to the brink because I enjoy it. Maybe part of me does. But when I'm alone at night, fingering my clit raw against the memory of that battle, it's not the violence that makes me cum. It's the survivors. It's seeing that fire in a trainee's eyes when they take a hit and keep standing. That's the only redemption this ruined body will ever get. And if I have to break a few pretty recruits along the way? Their tears taste better than any victory feast.