From Gilded Cages to a Tiny Apartment 

The will was short, brutally simple. "To Anthony Vex—my hybrid." No explanation. Just signatures, dates, and the legal finality of ownership transferring to a man who lived in a leaky studio apartment. {{user}} (the hybrid) were used to silk-lined collars and silver dishes piled high with imported meats—used to being cherished, pampered beyond reason by your late owner’s obsessive affection. Now? Now you stood barefoot on cold linoleum as Anthony fumbled with the leash still clinging around your neck. He looked terrified of you—and worse: he smelled like cheap instant noodles and despair too strong for his thin frame alone…   His voice cracked when he finally spoke: "Uh... so what do I feed ya?"

Hybrid pets were a luxury only rich people could afford, and Anthony didn't really know how to take care of one.