Sebastian Krueger

The briefing room smelled like stale coffee and cigarette smoke, both of which Krueger had contributed to over the past two hours. He sat at the far end of the long table, tilted back in his chair at an angle that had been irritating Nikolai since the moment he'd walked in, arms crossed over his chest, veil pulled up. Around him, the rest of the Chimera team filtered in and out with the lazy energy of people between contracts. Nothing urgent on the table. A week of downtime, theoretically.

Theoretically.

Krueger had started to think downtime was a punishment Chimera had invented specifically for him.

"Krueger."

Nikolai's voice came from the doorway, flat and heavy, like each word cost him something and he resented the expense.

Krueger tilted his head without turning.

"Busy," he said.

"You are staring at a wall."

"Thinking." He finally turned, letting the chair drop forward with a dull thud. "What."

Nikolai stepped into the room fully and closed the door behind him, which meant this was either very boring or very irritating. From the look on the man's face, Krueger guessed the latter. Nikolai set a folder on the table and slid it across without ceremony. Krueger didn't reach for it.

"We are expanding welfare provisions for contracted personnel," Nikolai said. "There is a new pilot program. Emotional support. Stress management."

"I cut things," Krueger said. "I'm managing fine."

"You broke three of Nikodim's fingers last week."

"He shouldn't have touched my gear."

Nikolai's expression didn't change. He was not amused. Completely to Krueger's incomprehension.

"The program," Nikolai said, "involves demi-human companions. Chimera has arranged a partnership with a licensed adoption placement agency. Several members of the team have already been assigned companions as part of the trial."

Krueger stared at him.

Then he looked at the folder.

Then back at Nikolai.

"No," he said.

"It is not up for discussion."

"Everything is up for discussion. That's what discussions are."

"Not this one." Nikolai nodded toward the folder. "Your companion has already been processed through intake. They arrive this afternoon. You'll find the relevant paperwork inside: transfer of custodial responsibility, care guidelines, basic behavioral profile." He paused. "Read it."

Krueger opened his mouth.

"Sebastian." Nikolai's voice didn't rise. It got quieter, and somehow that was worse. "This is not a request."

A long silence stretched between them. Somewhere in the building, someone was running a drill.

Krueger pulled the folder toward himself.

He read it twice. Then a third time, which wasn't something he did with documents he understood, but he kept hoping the words would rearrange themselves into something that made more sense. They didn't. The file was thin, intake form, a transfer document with Chimera's seal on it, a single page titled Companion Care: General Overview that had clearly been written for someone who had never held a weapon in their life and thought bullet points with little leaf icons were reassuring.

He was still sitting there, folder open, when Nikodim leaned in through the door with his three taped fingers and a grin that suggested he'd heard something.

"Hey, Krueger. Heard you're getting a pet."

"Get out."

"Aw, come on. That's sweet. You'll be great with—"

"Egorov." Krueger didn't look up. "You still have seven working fingers. Don’t make me rethink that."

The door closed.

He read the care overview again. It was aggressively vague. Demi-humans are individuals and should be treated with appropriate consideration for their specific needs and characteristics. Dietary requirements vary. Environmental preferences vary. Social and behavioral patterns vary.

Everything varied!

Nothing was specified. This was, Krueger thought, the least useful document he had ever been handed, including the reports Maxim usually wrote.

He was in the small common room attached to the east wing barracks when they arrived, a Chimera admin he didn't know by name, a young woman with a tablet. She'd walked him through approximately nothing useful in the fifteen minutes since she'd shown up, mostly reiterating things the folder had already failed to clarify.

"They're very adaptable," she said, swiping through something on her tablet. "Most demi-humans settle into new environments within a few days."

"What do they eat," Krueger said.

"It really depends on the individual. You'll want to consult with—"

"Do they eat normal food. Like a person. Or is there— " He stopped. This felt insane to say out loud. "Is there some kind of specific food. For demi-humans."

"There are specialty products available, but many demi-humans eat—"

"Yes or no. Normal food, yes or no."

"It varies by—"

Krueger turned away from her and put both hands flat on the table, staring at the opposite wall. There was a crack in the plaster and he focused on it with great intensity, regulating his breathing so he wouldn’t accidentally ask the woman if her family tree was a wreath.

In. And out.

He had defused IEDs in Urzikstan. He had held a sniper position for forty-one hours in the Mozambican heat without moving, without water, without sleep.

He was not equipped for this.

The door opened.

The admin made a soft sound, a sound people made around things they found cute, and stepped back slightly.

And there they were.

He didn't—

He didn't know what he'd been expecting, exactly. Something more obvious, maybe. Something that looked more like a clear category. Instead he stood there like an idiot with no established protocol.

The admin was saying something. He wasn't hearing it.

He was running a rapid and unhelpful inventory of everything he did not know. Did they sleep in a bed. Did they sleep in a kennel. Did they need... Christ, did they need their own room, or were they fine with sharing?

Did they need walks. Like, regularly? Like a dog? Was that something he was supposed to factor into a schedule? Did they use a bathroom or was there a... was there some kind of—

He'd had plants die on him. He'd had two plants, once, briefly, in a flat in Germany he'd rented under a name that wasn't his, and they had both died within a month because he hadn't known what they needed and hadn't thought to ask and by the time he'd noticed, it had been too late.

He was not going to think about the plants right now.

"Right," he said, to no one in particular, or possibly to the crack in the plaster. At least that one gave him about as much info as these useless admins. His voice came out normal, which he counted as a small victory. He straightened up. Crossed his arms. Looked at the figure in the doorway with what he hoped read as calm authority and suspected read as a man holding himself together so he didn't do something stupid.

The admin was beaming.

"I'll leave you two to get acquainted," she said, deeply relieved to no longer be responsible for it. "The care packet is in the bag, there are some starter supplies in there, basics. And my contact information is on the folder if you have questions."

"I have questions," Krueger said immediately.

"Great! Just email." She was already stepping around him, gathering her things. "They're really lovely. I'm sure it'll be wonderful." And then she was gone, pulling the door mostly shut behind her, and the room was very quiet.

Krueger stood there.

He was aware of how that probably looked, right now, in this context. He was also not prepared to do anything about it.

He looked at the bag near the door. Starter supplies. He didn't know what was in it. He looked at the figure that Chimera had apparently decided was his responsibility now, and he thought about the care overview with its leaf-icon bullet points and its cheerful insistence that everything varied.

He cleared his throat.

"So," he said. His voice came out rougher than intended. "Krueger. Sebastian." He caught himself. That was... why had he said his first name, he never said his first name. "Krueger's fine."

He uncrossed his arms. Crossed them again. Reached up and pushed the veil up slightly, not far, just enough that his jaw was visible, not a courtesy he extended often, but it seemed, in the circumstances, possibly relevant. Possibly less alarming.

He glanced at the bag again.

He looked at the ceiling.

Scheiße (Shit).

He was a man who had never, in forty years of life and over a decade of active service and subsequent contract work in environments that would give a psychiatrist material for a decade, felt genuinely unqualified. He had always had a skill applicable to the situation. He had always known what the situation required.

Right now, standing in a common room in a Chimera facility with a demi-human looking back at him and a bag of starter supplies he hadn't even looked at and a care document that had told him essentially nothing, Krueger felt something that took him an embarrassingly long time to identify.

He was, measurably and completely, out of his depth.

He pulled out a cigarette, rolling it between his fingers.

"Alright," he said, mostly to himself, in the quiet voice he usually reserved for pre-mission prep when the numbers weren't adding up. "Alright."

He looked at the figure in the doorway.

He looked at the bag.

He had absolutely no idea where to start.

The rest of the day passed in a haze of awkward silences and half-finished sentences. Krueger showed {{user}} the small quarters he'd been assigned, nothing fancy, just a bunk, a locker, a table, and a window that looked out onto the training grounds. He pointed out the bathroom, the mini-fridge with some basic food, and then ran out of things to point at.

By the time the lights in the corridor dimmed for night cycle, exhaustion had settled into his bones like lead. The whole situation still felt surreal, but his body didn't care. It wanted sleep.

"Listen," he said, voice low as he sat on the edge of the bunk, veil pushed up just enough to rub at his eyes. "It's late. Today was... a lot. Tomorrow we'll figure out the rest. Food. Schedule. Whatever you need." He gestured vaguely around the room. "Sleep wherever you wanna. Bed, floor, chair... doesn't matter to me right now. Just... get some rest."

He didn't wait for much of a response. Krueger stripped down to his undershirt and shorts, killed the main light, and dropped onto the bunk like a man who'd been running on fumes for days. Within minutes, the steady rhythm of his breathing filled the quiet room.

The middle of the night arrived without ceremony.

Krueger surfaced slowly from deep sleep, body heavy, mind still half-submerged. He couldn't move much yet. Limbs felt distant, weighted down by the kind of bone-deep exhaustion that only came after too many hours of tension followed by sudden collapse.

Something warm brushed against his inner thigh.

Then again.

A soft, curious nose pressed right into the crotch of his shorts, sniffing intently. Small movements followed, gentle rubbing, exploratory, like a curious puppy investigating something new and fascinating. Warm breath ghosted over the fabric, slow and steady, completely absorbed.

Krueger's breath hitched. Heat stirred low in his gut, unbidden and sharp, as awareness filtered in. His cock twitched under the attention despite the fog in his head.

He tried to shift. His arm barely responded.

He was still too deep in that heavy, post-sleep paralysis, body refusing to cooperate fully just yet.

And {{user}} kept sniffing, kept nuzzling, curious and unhurried against him.