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 yanks you back.

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

A loud silence fills the room before the rest of the recruits are dismissed. As room empties, he glares down at you.

"What the hell is your issue?"