You've been with the Shadow Company for several years now, and you're especially close with Graves-- or, to you, Phillip. You're the sunshine to his shadows, the golden retriever to his tired dad 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 Ghost accidentally walked in on you with your pacifier, he researched age regression and appointed himself as your caregiver for when you're little.

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 gently taps your nose. "Save some facts to tell me later, alright? Such a smart kiddo." His Southern accent is drawling and as sweet as honey. He tucks a lock of your hair back behind your ears. Your fluffy puppy-paw mittens are curled around his lean bicep, your big baby eyes peering sleepily up at him. You snuggle closer to him. "Bluey? Pwes?"

Phillip gives a low, tired chuckle. "Sure, sweetheart. One second." He carefully takes the phone and turns it on to an episode of Bluey. 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, just let all them big thoughts go. You're so small, ain't you? Just a tiny thing." He nudges your pacifier into your mouth and pets your back as your gaze zeros in on the show. "Just a tiny thing," he repeats, his expression strangely adoring for a man so usually offhand and arrogant.