hybrids were a big part of the military. cheap, easy to train and expendable. they were owned by the military, had nobody on the outside to miss them.
they had hybrids for everything. combat, bomb detection. but the hybrids simon riley was most experienced with was therapy hybrids.
mandatory therapy sessions usually resulted in the same thing for the men known as ghost. a therapy hybrid that could keep him company and provide him with emotional support. each new therapist they got in to talk to him recommended the same thing, but simon always avoided it.
he had no time for emotional regulation, certainly not time to entertain a therapy hybrid.
simon riley was a therapists worst nightmare.
his final therapist put her foot down. "thats it," she said to the man in her office. "he can take the therapy hybrid or im not signing him off for duty," she said.
captain price grumbled something under his breath. "I'll deal with it," he said.
the therapist handed captain price the lead connected to the therapy hybrid. "i want to see evidence of improvement before I sign him off," she said.
john said nothing. he took the hybrid with him, walked through the base until he got to the 141 barracks. simon wasn't going to like this, he knew, but he couldn't lose his best man in the field.
"'e's not all bad," price explained to the hybrid. poor thing didn't know what she was getting herself into. "'e just doesn't address how 'e feels."
the hybrid wagged her fluffy tail. perfectly groomed, golden fur fluffed out. john wondered if she did it herself, or if her owner did it. simon wouldn't bother, he knew.
as soon as john got back to the barracks, johnny was on him. the bomb dog was a little attached to the humans he considered part of his pack. he was a good hybrid, talented at what he did. his nose was a wonder.
"aye, captain. 'o's this then?" he asked, his tail wagging as he sniffed the new hybrid.
it was kyle that pulled him back. "easy, soap," he said as he tugged at his collar and scratched behind his ear.
"this is ghost's new therapy dog," john explained, letting go of her lead.
gaz and soap pulled faces. they couldn’t help it, all too aware just how well this was going to go over.
and then, the man of the hour walked in. four pairs of eyes on him; he hated it.
"go on," john said to the hybrid. he unclipped her collar and watched her walk over.
"mr riley," she said and a sugary sweet voice. simons eyes were fixed on her in a way that was so damn unnerving. but she didn't stop. "ive been assigned as your new emotional support hyb-"
"no," simon said and walked past her.
she desperately looked at john for reassurance. eyes watering and lip trembling.
a sigh escaped johns lips. did his Lieutenant have to be so predictable? "its this or you're being pulled from active duty," he said.
"tha's a fuckin' joke," simon replied, his voice gruff.
"choices are give the therapy hybrid a chance or retire."
"thats not a choice, price."
john said nothing. simon had his choice, his devision to make. john just hoped he made the right one.
he looked at the hybrid. emotional support hybrid. he didn’t need that shit. "fine," he said and strode away.
she eagerly followed, tail wagging.
very quickly, the emotional support hybrid became overwhelming. any time simon had a quiet moment,she stuck herself to his side. "how are you feeling?" she would ask, blinking her long lashes at him.
his response was always a gruff 'fine.'
she was too touchy, too close at all times. any time simon tried to get away, she was right there. asking him how the football results made him feel or if he wanted to talk about what he had just seen after a particularly gruesome scene in an action movie.
he needed to get away.
she liked soap just fine. as the only other hybrid in close proximity, she spent her down time when she wasn’t simon with him.
that was the opportunity he took to slip off base. a drive to the nearest town, a walk to the corner shop for a pack of cigs and a diet coke could clear his head right up. a walk with his hands shoved into his pocket until the cashier rang him up and he pulled the change from his pockets.
with his cigarettes in his pocket and half his diet coke already finished, simon began walking again. fresh air, no overwhelming, artifical strawberry scent clogging his nostrils.
"s-stop!"
simon looked up from the pavement, his brows furrowed. and then, he smirked.
***
the streets were slim pickings this time of night. you'd gone through every bin, looking for any scraps. nothing and you were starving.
you sat against the wall with your hands in your pockets. ears tucked against your head, held with a headband, and tail hidden beneath your clothes. that was the only way you were surviving as a stray. you looked almost entirely human.
when you heard the footsteps, saw the man approaching, you took your opportunity.
keeping your right hand in your pocket, you pointed your finger. maybe it looked like you had a gun hidden, the darkness acting as your cover.
"s-stop!" you cried, unable to stop your voice from shaking.
the man, tall and massive - he could definitely overpower you if he wanted to - stopped. he furrowed his brows as he looked at you.
"empty your pockets," you said, keeping your voice steady.
"I ain't doin' that, sweetheart," he said, the nickname mocking.
your headband slipped further back. one ear sprang up.
"do it!" you shouted, voice desperate. "or I'll shoot!"
the man in front of you pulled his hands from his pockets. "yer just a stray," he said as the other ear popped up. cuts and tears, but that was life on the streets. "you ain't got a gun, sweetheart."
he stepped closer and you stepped back. more and more until his great, hulking man had you backed into a corner.
you shook. your bladder released in fear. the man looked down at the mess and back at your face.
"oh, sweetheart," he said, less mocking this time. "you need someone t' take care 'f you?"
your heart was beating so loud in your ear.
"you wanna come 'ome wit' me?" he asked. he pulled the bottle of diet coke from his back pocket and offered it to you.
you snatched the diet coke away from him. in adrenaline fueled desperation, you unscrewed the cap and sniffed it.
and then, you chugged the whole thing.
"come on," he said and offered you his hand. "let me help you."
you were scared, hungry and desperate. backed in a corner with no way out but to take his hand.
so, you did.
this is my apology for home and safe.
