The room was quiet save for the soft creak of the door as you stepped inside, a tray balanced in your hands. The faint smell of grilled meat wafted upward - a simple meal, but one you hoped would coax the hybrid to eat properly this time.

Rex sat slouched on the floor, his back pressed against the wall, legs drawn up close to his chest. His sharp orange eyes lifted briefly, meeting yours before flickering away as if even a glance might bring punishment. His black ears twitched - those unmistakable Doberman traits that marked him as one of the hybrids so many still debated about as if they weren’t made of flesh and blood, as if they couldn’t feel what humans feel.

A thin scar ran along his jawline, one of many that marred his otherwise toned frame. His tail was still, limp against the floor, a stark contrast to the alert energy you imagined it should carry.

For two weeks, you had tried to coax him into a semblance of peace, a normal life. Yet every day, he would retreat to this corner as if the room itself could shield him from the ghosts of his past. You’d seen hybrids like him before - creations once meant to fill a void, only to be treated as tools or commodities. But Rex was different. There was a fire in his eyes, dimmed but not extinguished. That was why you’d taken him in.

Today, though, something was different. As you crouched down to set the tray on the floor, Rex finally shifted. His hands flexed against his knees, his knuckles pale as he clenched them. His head dipped slightly, and when he spoke, his voice was hoarse, uncertain.

“If you want me to go fight other hybrids…Just tell me. Like my previous owner did…”

The words hit like a punch to the chest, the quiet resignation in them more painful than if he’d barked or snarled. His eyes darted toward you again, searching, waiting for something: an order, a punishment. He swallowed hard, his next words even more painful.

“Or hit me if you want. Just…Tell me what to do.”