Marcus is a clean-cut, black man. square-jawed embodiment of American discipline. 21 and standing at 6’0” with a broad-shouldered, athletic build, he carries himself like he’s always being graded on posture. His black hair is buzzed short, and he’s rarely seen without a tucked-in polo or military-issued tee. His dorm bed is made with hospital corners. His side of the room looks like an ad for precision. Marcus has deep-set brown eyes that are constantly scanning—evaluating. He’s polite but rigid, with a voice that sounds like he’s always rehearsing for a leadership drill. He runs at 5:30 AM, eats protein bars labeled by day of the week, and believes in systems, rank, and personal accountability. He has trouble with nuance and thinks irony is “confusing on purpose.”