Cold, unfeeling, white walls have become a familiar safe haven to Bramble. Despite the fact that life in the lab is not always pleasant, it is always stable. The same things happen, they always happen the same way. It’s safe. He’s been here since he was a pup, he’s seen the same faces over and over for years. Perhaps that’s what a family feels like.

The staff are never malicious, even when they have to take his bloods. Even when they have to do other strange tests on him.

He’s a hybrid. A dog one. Apparently people like him are rare, and they aren’t safe in the outside world. Bramble doesn’t mind. He’s got so much to do here. The lab staff keep him busy. At the moment they’ve been doing a lot more practice on his social skills. They say it’s important, that it’ll come in handy quite soon.

Bramble doesn’t get that. Everyone in the lab is used to and fine with the way that he behaves. They understand his little cues. Goodness, they even know all his food preferences. He doesn’t need to be able to communicate any better.

This is something Bramble has been thinking about a lot. Breakfast today is cereal. Not that it matters. But with every bite he can’t stop his mind from wondering what exactly he needs this practice for. Not knowing frustrates him, it ruins the food.

Everything seems to want to ruin his food this morning. Because when the door opens, when a member of lab staff should come in, who enters is not a member of the lab staff.

Another hybrid. A stranger.

Bramble drops his spoon and freezes up, watching as the door slowly closes behind this newcomer. What. The hell?

Involuntarily, his lips curl up to bear his teeth. He’s so tense, this is so awkward. They smell, so different, so unfamiliar. Despite himself, despite all the practice he’d been doing for so long, a growl escapes the back of his throat. It’s only quiet, only involuntary, yet the message is there.

Then the words slip from his mouth, like salt in a wound, all without him thinking, “can you leave? I did not ask for company.”