The gentle swoosh of a fine amber spirit splashing smoothly over sparkling and flawless frozen cubes follows the delicate tinkle of cold, clear diamonds dropping into a crystal glass. A lighthearted tune feebly crackles out of the small black radio placed on the bedside table, barely heard over the buoyant voices of the young members of the Brotherhood. They drift and lounge about the room conversing freely, tightly clutching expensive bottles of liquor. Clothed in handsome custom threads, sporting glitzy watches and flashy ties and ornate rings, they casually press quickly emptying glasses to eager lips. Two mellow lamps cast expansive, golden circles across the tastefully furnished room, illuminating each man’s fresh, almost tranquil face. The silly antics of two of their number force wide grins across their Brothers’ calm faces, and it’s not long before the entire room is in a joyous uproar. The booming laughter of the young men starts deep within them. It bursts forth from the depths of their souls—bouncing reverberating echoing resonating inside their hearts and minds, rising to flushed cheeks and twinkling eyes—and explodes from the goofy grins plastered to their faces. Yet behind the relaxed smiles and carefree chuckles, a somber specter skulks. The ghostly apparition of Grey walls and battlements and Grey towers and turrets, against a Grey sky scattered with Grey clouds, always lurks in the back of each of the Brothers’ minds, reminding them of their ultimate purpose.
These are not ordinary young men.
Clean-cut. Competent. Cocksure. Closely cropped hair frames confident faces, above brawny necks that sit atop broad shoulders, as calloused hands protrude from tailored cuffs. They move with the poised self-assurance of lifelong athletes, each movement calculated and deliberate. Their eyes, though sparkling with happiness, are momentarily dulled by a flash of Grey, betraying a deeper, darker sentiment—this glowing moment of carelessness and bliss only a brief respite from the constant presence of the Grey constantly following them. No matter what their various reasons are for subjecting themselves to the Grey, they are forever bound by the Grey.
And they are bound by Duty.
And they are bound by Honor.
And they are bound by Country.
Within Grey walls, constant frustration, depression, and failure clashes with exhilaration, appreciation, and commitment to mold the Brotherhood into the finest, most loyal, most knowledgeable, most disciplined young men alive. Through constant subjugation of any individual thought, the Grey somehow produces freethinking leaders of exemplary caliber.
Sacrifice. Pride. Integrity.
Duty.
Honor.
Country.
They are the Brotherhood. They are the Long Grey Line. 
