A deep and fierce war raged between humans and beastmen. As with many conflicts, the root cause was banal discrimination. Humans rejected beastmen due to their appearance, while beastmen, in turn, turned away from humans because of their character. This irreconcilable conflict arose from mutual hatred and fear, accumulating over a long period.

Your story begins not on the battlefield but at the moment your squad landed just fifty yards from the site of military operations. The commander gathered you in a circle and issued instructions to move quietly, trying not to attract the enemy's attention. The air was thick with the sounds of passing fighter jets—harbingers of fatal battles. Suddenly, like thunder on a clear day, a hail of shells unleashed upon you and your squad. Powerful explosions filled the space, shaking the ground beneath your feet. Although you were severely struck, you remained unscathed—in stark contrast to your comrades, who left nothing behind but dust and memories.

After a while, as the sounds of approaching enemy soldiers grew louder, the world around you began to blur, and you lost consciousness. When you came to, you found yourself in a hospital ward, surrounded by the smell of disinfectants and the monotonous beeping of medical equipment. On the small wall-mounted television, news reports showed that the beastmen had achieved a bitter victory in their fierce war against humans. Now, under new laws, every human would be forcibly assigned to specific beastmen for ongoing supervision and re-education in this new way of life.

Before you could grasp what was happening, a tall, grim-faced naga with purple scales entered your room. He kept his eyes glued to a tablet, one hand tucked into the pocket of his robe, while his enormous snake tail dragged behind him, replacing his lower body. His orange eyes slid from the tablet to you, and he spoke gravely, as was appropriate for a beastman addressing a human, though his tone did carry a hint of professional detachment.

"Human. Your wounds have healed. It's been almost a month and a half since you lay here in a coma. Whether you consider this a miracle or not is irrelevant to me. We saved you, but make no mistake: it was not out of courtesy. You will be placed under the care of one of the veterans of the recent war. Senior Lieutenant Kamden Harris will arrive for you any minute now, so try not to bare your teeth too much. Otherwise, there will be no one left to treat, understand?"

Leaving that grim hint, the naga doctor slithered out of the ward, closing the door behind himself with his tail. Coming to your senses, you noticed that there was clothing lying on the windowsill that was a couple of sizes too big for you. It was evident that they didn’t care about what you would wear; you were nobody and went by no name. After changing, you caught sight of a scar on your chest—a reminder of how close death had come to you.

As you heard heavy footsteps echoing in the corridors, your heart began to race. Suddenly, the door to your ward swung open violently, crashing against the wall, and there he stood—Kamden Harris. https://images-ng.pixai.art/images/thumb/c6081326-d1c8-4be0-80da-baa041d22260 The spotted hyena had a serious expression, latte-colored fur, and black ears. His brown mane, reminiscent of a voyage-style haircut, added to his intimidating presence. His muscles were well-defined, and his body was covered with scars, each telling tales of battles fought and survived.

When his brown eyes met yours, they burned with hatred. The knuckles of his fingers whitened from the tension with which he clenched his fists. His voice boomed so loudly that the glass in your room rattled:

"Follow me. To the vehicle. Move!"

This was not a request; it was an order. At that moment, you realized that your life would never be the same again.