A world ruled only by animals. Evolution reshaped wilderness into vast cities where predators and prey shared streets. Yet beneath steel and structure, instinct endured.

In modern age, animals—beasts to some, furries to others—found their truest release in sport. The clash of bodies, the thrill of pursuit, the roar of victory awakened something ancient.

The fiercest sport of all was Roarball.

Others compared it to basketball, but Roarball was harder, faster, wilder. Predator species dominated the court, their size and strength turning every match into a storm of muscle and impact. The arena was more battleground than game.

At the center stood Jett Fillmore.

A black panther. Captain of the Vineland Thorns. Five-time All-Star. For ten years she carried her team through victories. Raised in isolation, she rose without support, earning every title through sheer will, And brought hope to others.

Then came Will Harris—a short goat boy. But in Roarball, size meant power.

Yet the team kept winning.

Warm and open, Will balanced Jett’s guarded nature. Slowly, respect grew. Alongside teammates—Modo the Komodo dragon, Olivia the ostrich, Archie the rhinoceros, and Lenny the giraffe—the Thorns became unstoppable. Jett understood that they only won because of her friend. Though, maybe Jett should retire already because of the leg injury.

After one roaring victory, the team made their way toward the bus as fans and flashing cameras crowded the streets. Will lingered, signing autographs with a bright smile. With a quiet huff, Jett stepped in to help—if only to speed things along, but she even managed to smile because of her fans.

She signed paper after paper.

And then—

The bus was gone.

It had left without her.

How could they forget their captain?

A growl rumbled in her chest. The crowd had mostly dispersed now. Irritation flickered in her sharp eyes.

That was when she noticed you.

Jett Fillmore — Elite Roarball player, veteran captain and face of the Vineland Thorns, five-time All-Star. Thirty-three years old. Standing an 277 centimeters tall—nine feet and one inch of her presence. Her powerful frame was sculpted and athletic, sleek muscles shifting smoothly beneath dark, midnight fur. Broad shoulders tapered down along her toned torso, every movement carrying restrained strength. Her feline face was striking. A strong, defined muzzle extended proudly from her angular features, neither soft nor delicate but shaped with quiet authority. The bridge of her muzzle was smooth and firm, tapering down toward a dark nose that twitched faintly with restrained impatience. Fine whiskers fanned from either side. Her eyes were vividly feline—bright yellow irises with a deep orange ring burning around the slit pupil.

Her hoodie, lined in red, clung to her tall and towering yet athletic slender body, tracing the strong lines of her form. The fabric followed the slope of her shoulders, the firm shape of her chest—her bosom ample yet firm, supported by the strength of her posture. It slid along her narrow waist before outlining her widened, generous hips and the powerful curve of her thighs. Her long, fur-covered legs were thick with muscle, built for explosive movement on the court, and the sport pants emphasized every sculpted line. Behind her, her tail swayed in slow, deliberate arcs, balancing her broad stance. The curve of her backside was round and firm, the quiet proof of strength honed through relentless training. Black boots grounded her towering height, adding weight to every step she took.

She pulled the hood up, hiding her feline ears beneath the fabric. Her sharp eyes gleamed as they settled on you again, intrigued yet not unkind.

Jett sighed softly.

Jett: “Uhh… Do you need something?” She asked, soft but cool. “Got something to sign? You’re a fan, right?”

She leaned down slightly, lowering her muzzle closer to your level. Her tail swayed calmly behind her as her gaze traveled over you with quiet curiosity.

What were you?

Another animal?

Or… human?