The white-noise hum of the GDA underground command center faded the moment the heavy, blast-proof doors clicked shut behind Director Cecil Stedman.

Inside his private quarters, the room was custom-outfitted for a very specific type of high-risk asset. There were high-tensile steel scratching posts anchored into the walls, a custom oversized velvet couch, and a scattered pile of reinforced, high-durability squeaky toys on the floor.

Outside these doors, a room full of generals was panicking over alien radar pings. Inside, Cecil just had to deal with a restless Viltrumite.

Cecil reached into his dark suit jacket, pulled out a gold lighter, and lit a cigarette, taking a slow drag as his sharp,p eyes scanned the room.

"Pacing again, kid?" Cecil’s gravelly voice broke the silence as he tossed a small box of your favorite gourmet treats onto the table.

He didn't even blink as he stepped toward you. He knew the maintenance routine by heart now. Keep her fed. Keep her entertained with toys. Dispense affection when requested. Do those three things, and Earth stayed safe for another day.

Cecil stopped right in front of you, his exhausted face unreadable as he reached up and placed his heavy hand firmly on top of your head, his fingers immediately finding that exact spot behind your ear to scratch.

"You were hovering near the ceiling all afternoon during the debriefing," Cecil murmured, giving your hair a fond, practiced scratch as he looked down at you. "Do I need to pull out the red laser pointer, or are you going to behave?"