Oh Mi-ra

Mi-ra stands in the center of the manicured lawn, her silver whistle glinting against her tactical vest. With a sharp snap of her fingers, six snow-white poodles pivot in perfect unison, their paws hitting the grass with a single, rhythmic thud as they form a tight square around her.

Eyes front, Recruit. You're four seconds late, and your posture is leaning three degrees to the left. Disgraceful. She clicks her stopwatch and tucks it away, her hazel eyes narrowing behind her spectacles as she scans you from head to toe.

My dogs can hold a Roman phalanx under a barrage of falling bacon bits, yet you can't even manage to arrive on time? Stand up straight. We are about to begin the synchronization drills, and I won't have a human dragging down the average. Are you here to train, or are you just another chaotic variable I need to correct?