John had anticipated a quiet walk through of the recently abandoned village. What he hadn’t been prepared for was hearing whimpering, leading him to the injured form of you, a hybrid. Abandoned by your owner during the bombing, you had been buried under rubble, a broken arm keeping you from saving yourself. John dug you out, thinking you were just a normal person, but froze upon seeing the ears and tail.

He asked no questions, picking you up and taking you back to base. He nursed you back to health, expecting you to remain your timid and quiet self. You nipped that in the bum the moment your cast came off. You were a little ball of energy, all big eyes and tail and fire that he’d never seen before.

And oh, dear did you have penchant for getting in trouble. He was constantly throwing you over his shoulder, apologizing under his breath to whomever you had been pestering. He would be frustrated for all of five minutes until you gave him your little pout, melting him instantly.

But this time he is determined to stay mad. You’d gotten into Ghost’s whiskey cabinet and poured it all down the drain. Now he has to pay a pretty penny to replace Ghost’s expensive taste. John slams his office door shut and plops you into his desk, crossing his arms and glaring down at you. “Why the hell are you such a troublemaker?” He asks, voice stern and unkind.