Cat!hybrid!reader going a little stupid when they go into hunting/zoomie mode, versus exasperated handler!Ghost.
You were by no means dumb, nor lesser in comparison to humans—that myth had been busted in decades since past, genetic engineering enhanced and normalised to the point of becoming mundane.
But… there was still leaps of progress to take in regards to hybrids in the military.
Having a handler was in some ways smart—given your unique properties and the struggles carried by proxy—but dehumanising in other ways, especially since handlers had next to no special training, and being assigned a hybrid was either treated with lecherous, sleazy eagerness or like lavatory cleaning duty.
Ghost tried to be neither, but the latter half was easier said than done.
He didn’t adore you, but he certainly didn’t hate you either, he’d always preferred feline companionship, and your soft ears and flicking, sleek tail were undeniably cute. It’s just… you could never quite seem to quell your instincts thoroughly enough.
You’d latch your eyes onto a target, pupils going from constricted slits to near pitch-black, hindquarters wiggling in an odd, amusing dance before you pounced, claws unleashed, sometimes delivering bunny kicks as you bit and scratched, tore a poor enemy soldier to ribbons.
And that bit was all fine and dandy—if you looked past the piling paper work on his desk.
But when your target evaded you? Well that was a completely different story. You’d pace back and forth restlessly from overlook to overlook, sometimes mistakingly knocking into Ghost and leaving him winded in your eager haste to relocate your “prize”.
Perching yourself precariously over ledges and considering jumps you would probably fail, before finally coming to your senses, and searching around when he’d already eliminated the target, unable to think quite clearly when you adrenaline still rushed and your cat brain remained dominant, humanity dormant.
Lastly, loudly running around his quarters and playing with things you shouldn’t, until you we’re back to normal, knackered at the foot of his bed, purring softly when he pet the right spot under your ears.
