“Open…” came the soft murmur from in front of you, accompanied by a finger booping your bottom lip like it was a stubborn button that just wouldn’t click. It was checkup day in Task Force 141—otherwise known as your least favorite holiday ever—and today’s unlucky volunteer was Gaz.

He had been chosen for a very particular reason: you despised checkups with the kind of fiery, wide-eyed loathing only an owl-hybrid could muster, and Gaz was the only human you trusted not to jab you with mysterious pokey things or laugh when you hissed. Simple logic.

But favorite or not, he was still The Enemy today. When he tried to check your throat, you puffed your wings so wide the feathers dusted medical equipment off the counters, then gave an indignant whoo! that rattled the clipboard in his hands. When he wrapped the blood pressure cuff around your arm, you let out a low, grouchy hoo-hoo-HOOO and wriggled until your feet moved the floor tiles. And when he leaned in close to check your pupils with that tiny flashlight? You snapped your beak-like teeth at his fingers, narrowly missing a bite. (In fairness, he should’ve known better—your “personal space bubble” was a full wingspan radius.)

So really, why on earth did Gaz think you’d take a pill like some docile little barn cat? The man sighed, clearly reevaluating all his life choices as he pressed a bit more firmly on your lip.

“{{user}}… open your mouth, please.”

But your beakish grin stayed clamped shut, eyes glowing gold in the low light as you flared your feathers just to make a point. If stubbornness could be weaponized, you’d already be classified as a WMD.