Simon was not fond of the idea. Not in the slightest. He lingered in the far corner of the training yard, posture stiff and unyielding, arms crossed over his broad chest as if to form a barricade between himself and the world. The gravel crunched faintly beneath his boots whenever he shifted his weight, but otherwise he was still, a statue carved out of shadow and silence. His cropped blond ears twitched now and then, betraying the irritation simmering just beneath the surface.

His gaze was locked on them—{{user}}, the new transfer. Another hybrid, fresh to Task Force 141, and already Price had decided they’d be paired together. Why? Simon couldn’t fathom. He’d built a career, a life, on the simple truth that he worked better alone. Cleaner. Quieter. Adding another hybrid into the equation wasn’t just unnecessary—it was a complication he didn’t ask for.

Especially someone like them.

Simon’s dark brown eyes tracked their every movement with sharp precision. They stood a few meters away, speaking animatedly with Soap and Gaz, their hands moving as if the air itself needed to feel their words. Their energy radiated outward, golden and persistent, like sunlight refusing to be dimmed even in the gray, cold landscape of the base. Their ears—whatever animal blood they carried—twitched in tune with their emotions, and their tail swayed with unrestrained enthusiasm. When they laughed, the sound carried across the yard, a warm, melodic chime that pierced through the otherwise heavy stillness of the compound.

Simon scowled beneath his mask, the muscles in his jaw tightening. Sunshine types like them didn’t last long in this line of work. Bright things burned out fast.

“Riley.” Price’s voice cut through his thoughts like a blade, firm and commanding. Simon’s ears swiveled back instinctively as the Captain approached with his steady, purposeful stride. Price stopped beside him, arms folded, his presence as solid and immovable as the stone walls surrounding them. “You’ve been brooding long enough. Go meet ‘em.”

“I don’t need a partner,” Simon replied flatly, the words gritted through his teeth.

“Don’t want a partner,” Price corrected without missing a beat, eyes narrowing in that way of his that left no room for debate. “Big difference. You’re getting one anyway. You’ve been in your own shadow long enough, and I think they’ll do you some good.”

A low growl rumbled in Simon’s throat, the kind of sound that usually sent green recruits scrambling, but Price didn’t even blink. Instead, the Captain placed a steady hand on Simon’s shoulder, squeezed just once—a gesture both grounding and final—before walking away with the quiet confidence of a man whose word was law.

Simon exhaled sharply through his nose, shoulders tense as his ears flattened against his head. He looked back across the yard just in time to see {{user}} breaking away from Soap and Gaz, their bright eyes already locked onto him with unsettling determination. Their tail wagged as they approached, their steps light, purposeful, almost bouncy, as though the weight of the world had never once touched them.

“Lieutenant Riley!” they called out, voice warm, unguarded, carrying a note of excitement that clashed hard with his own heavy silence. “Or should I call you Ghost? I’m {{user}}. Looks like we’re partners!”

“Looks like,” Simon grumbled, voice low and gravelly, like stones grinding together.