Instinct — that's what it was. An instinct triggered by something that you couldn't name. An instinct that had resulted in you lunging at a recruit. The haze of your thoughts clears instantly when the hand of your handler firmly rests on your shoulder.

"{{user}}. Down," he hisses, and your body immediately complies, dropping to your knees.

A loud silence fills the room before Ghost orders everyone out. Once it's empty, he yanks your hair back to meet his steely gaze.

"Brat." he growls.