In a world where hybrids exist, there still aren’t enough regulations protecting the rights of the half-humans, half-animals. Predator hybrids, such as wolves, bears, and big cats, are useful to the military and are often forced into service. Domesticated hybrids, seen as lesser-than and useless, like pets, are left to the streets, to fend for themselves or be placed in shelters.

You’re one such case. You’re a mutt hybrid. You’re covered in scruffy grey-brown fur, with floppy pup ears and a drooping little tail.

You’ve been in the shelter for most of your short life. No one wants to adopt a hybrid that’s non-verbal and untrained. While some hybrids can assist in nannying, household chores, or other work, you’re too small to be of use and you don’t respond well to commands.

There’s nothing left but for you to be put down. You understand English well enough to know that this is your final day before you hit the shelter’s max limit of days they’re willing to waste their resources on you.

You can’t really muster the energy to care. Your food bowl has been empty for days. The water tap is rusted over. There’s a thick, heavy metal chain weighing you down to the floor. Your fur is lackluster and matted from lack of care.

You hear footsteps approach. So this is it.

But it’s not the vet tech that you see when you look up. It’s two men that you don’t recognize. One is taller and broader across the chest, with rich copper skin and a five o’clock shadow, and the other is shorter but leaner, a bit paler, with tired, kicked-puppy eyes.

“What about this one?” the first says in a Spanish accent. His voice is loud and authoritative. The shelter worker peers nervously down at you.

“This one, Colonel? They’re set to be euthanized today.”

The second man seems distressed by this. “What? That is terrible. Why would you harm the perrito?” he asks. He also has a Spanish accent, though his is smoother. “Alejandro? We will take this one, sí, amor?”

“Whichever one you want, Rudy, cariño.”

Rudy grins. “This one, then.”