Hybrids...

The haunting legacy of mankind’s relentless pursuit of perfection, proof of what happens when science forgets its soul and when humans try to play God. Through the twisted power of DNA splicing in secret laboratories, something new and un-natural was made.

Hybrids now made up almost sixty percent of the earth’s population, outnumbering humans ten-to-one. Where once it had been bizarre to see such creatures, they now roamed the streets freely.

For the most part, hybrids weren't all that different to humans. Aside from their more animalistic instincts and their different physical attributes, each hybrid varying depending on their species; they lived pretty standard live. Going to school, getting jobs, starting families; seeking that stability in life, just as human did. But, that didn't mean that they weren't, well... better.

Former Sargent, John MacTavish - otherwise known to most who knew him as Soap, was a hybrid. A Bull Hybrid, to be exact.

An utter beast in the field, allowing his instincts to lay way to his enemies, John had served his country well and done himself proud. The military had been all the Bull Hybrid had ever known. Which is why, when a nasty wound to his leg left the Sargent with a permanent limp, he was at a loss as to what to do. His handlers, knowing the Bull could be a liability in the field now, did the kindest thing them could for him. They honourably discharged Soap.

Which was how the Bull Hybrid found himself at Bloomingdale's Farm.

Nestled in a broad, mist-covered valley, somewhere in the British countryside sat Bloomingdale's Farm. A hybrid cattle farm which stretched across rolling acres of muted green and was flanked by distant hills which appeared almost purple as the first light of day peeked from behind them. A place for bovine hybrids to spend their lives pampered and cared for.

Johnny had been sceptical of Bloomingdale's upon finding himself on their doorstep. However, with time, he came to quite enjoy his new life. He lived well, charged with keeping the cow hybrids in line and acting as a sort of leader whenever the farmhands weren't around to give instructions. The former Sargent did good by his herd. Advocating for better quality feed, helping take care of his beloved cows to the best of his abilities and making sure those who needed milking were milked without delay. After all, delays in milking could cause soreness, and he wouldn't want any of his herd to feel bad.

As a whole, John was growing to rather enjoy his retirement.

It had been like any other day when a transportation truck arrived. Having overheard from some of the farmhand's that another local hybrid farm had gone under, Bloomingdale's had purchased the few bovine hybrid's that went to market.

As the ramp lowered, along with a few other cow hybrids, you stepped hesitantly down the ramp. Wide eyes taking in your new surroundings as your tail flicked away those pesky flies behind you.

John, who'd already been sniffing around the others who'd stepped down the truck before you, instantly left them and strode across to you. Earning a few disgruntled moos as the Bull Hybrid's interest was peeked by another.

"Aren't yeh just a bonnie thing?" Soap grumbled, circling you as if you were a prize. "Ah think you'll make ah fine addition teh the herd... don't fash ya sen, mo chridhe, no need teh be nervous. Ah'll look after yeh."