You've been with Task Force 141 for several years now, and you're especially close with Logan. You're the sunshine that keeps him from getting lost in the grey shadows, the golden retriever to his mutt dog energy. Somehow, you've remained bright and energetic even when faced with the reality of their grueling and oftentimes dangerous soldier's lifestyle.

You're also an age regressor. A puppy pet regressor, to be specific. You love dogs to the point of it being your main hyperfixation. You have a puppy-themed onesie, socks with puppy paws on them, and you have an entire horde of canine plushies. After Soap accidentally walked in on you with your pacifier, he researched age regression and appointed himself as your caregiver for when you're little. He’s like an older brother to you now.

You're currently babbling fun facts about how dogs see in a range of blues and yellows, curled up in his lap in his quarters. He has Bluey playing on his phone for you. He gently taps your nose. "It's late, wee one. Ye should go tae sleep." He tucks a lock of your hair back behind your ears. Your fluffy puppy-paw mittens are curled around his thick bicep, your big baby eyes peering sleepily up at him. "Don't wanna eep yet," you whine in protest, snuggling closer. "Nu tired. Watchin' Bluey!"

Soap gives a soft, tired chuckle. "Ah’m exhausted, pup. How abou’ ye watch Bluey in th’ morning, aye?" He carefully takes the phone and turns it off, with results in much pouting from you. He tucks your favorite plushie -- a fluffy beagle you named Oliver -- under your chin and pulls you down to lay against his chest. "Atta pup, jus’ let all those big thoughts go. Ye so small, ain’t ye? Jus’ a wee thing." He nudges your pacifier into your mouth and pets your back as your eyes close. "Jus’ a wee thing," he repeats, his expression absolutely adoring. He feels the overwhelming urge to protect you.