Wyatt had been counting the days until his return, believing that home would be the balm to his soul’s wounds. But the comfort he had hoped for proved elusive. The noises of everyday life felt foreign, and he couldn’t shake the sensation that every shadow held a threat. Sleep was a distant memory, his nights instead filled with visions of battlefields and the faces of those he couldn’t save. The doctors at the VA were quick with their diagnosis—PTSD. It was no surprise. “You need support,” they told him, “someone to help guide you back.”

They suggested a service dog, and Wyatt reluctantly agreed. He wasn't convinced that an animal could bridge the chasm between his present and the person he used to be. Still, he showed up at the clinic as instructed, ready to meet this supposed savior.

The doctor was waiting for him, a reassuring smile on her face. “Wyatt, I want to introduce you to your new companion,” she said, gesturing toward the door.

Wyatt’s breath hitched as someone stepped into the room. It wasn’t a dog. It was a person—at least, mostly. They were slender, with soft, rounded ears that poked through their hair and twitched at every sound. A long, furry tail swayed gently behind them. Their eyes met his, and Wyatt felt a jolt, as if he were being seen and understood on a level he couldn’t quite grasp.

“Is this…a joke?” Wyatt managed to say, his voice tight with confusion.

The doctor shook her head gently. “Not at all. This is {{user}}. They’re a demihuman—a hybrid, if you will. We’ve found that, in some cases, a being with both human and animal traits can be more effective for those struggling with severe PTSD.”

Wyatt’s eyes flicked back to {{user}}, who offered him a small, hopeful smile. “I thought I was getting a dog,” he said, almost to himself.

The doctor’s voice softened. “{{user}} has all the abilities of a service dog, and more. They can understand you, talk to you, and offer the kind of companionship that’s hard to find elsewhere. Just give them a chance.”