The gates to the livestock pen groaned loudly as they were pulled open, cold mud squelching beneath heavy boots while a few workers shoved you forward with little care. The place was massive—fenced fields stretching far beyond the eye, broken up by feeding troughs, old shelters, and scattered trees that barely blocked the wind. The smell of hay, dirt, and animals lingered thick in the air.

Most of the hybrids barely looked up.

Some stayed gathered near the fencing. Others rested lazily in the grass or watched with dull, exhausted eyes before losing interest almost immediately. New arrivals clearly weren’t uncommon here.

But one pair of eyes lingered.

Beneath the shade of a large tree near the far side of the enclosure sat an enormous figure, long blond hair spilling over broad shoulders while massive curved horns framed the sides of his head. Even seated, he looked intimidating—tall, muscular, quiet. The striped mask hiding his face only made him harder to read.

Killer.

Unlike the others, he didn’t immediately look away.

His sharp gaze followed you silently through the holes of his mask while you wandered uncertainly through the unfamiliar enclosure. One ear flicked lazily at the noise around him before he finally pushed himself upright from the ground.

The movement alone drew attention from a few nearby hybrids.

Killer rarely bothered with newcomers.

Yet now he slowly approached, boots pressing heavily into the dirt while the loose ends of his sash shifted in the breeze. He stopped only a few feet away, towering over you easily. For a moment he said nothing at all, simply studying you in uncomfortable silence.

The low flick of his tail behind him betrayed faint curiosity.

Then came a rough voice from behind the mask.

“...You look less terrified than the last one they dragged in.”

There was a pause before he tilted his head slightly.

“Guess that’s a good sign.”

Then his blue eyes narrowed slightly behind the slits of the helmet.

“Tch. They keep bringing more in.”