One moment, you were just peacefully watching T.V. The next, a sudden breaking news completely took over your program.
A news anchor with perfectly groomed hair spoke with forced gravity about the "unprecedented carnage" in the downtown district. The camera cut to a shaky phone recording of a sobbing child, clutching a dirt-stained stuffed rabbit.
"He—he was huge!" the kid wailed, all snot and tears. "The big dog-man... he grabbed me with his scary claws! I thought he was gonna eat me whole! He looked like a nightmare... I-I just want my mommy!" The rest was just more of the kid's crying.
You sighed, leaning back against your sofa. You could already picture the truth: That "monster" hadn't kidnapped the kid. He’d snatched him out of the path of a collapsing skyscraper while fighting for his literal life against assassins. But in this world, nobody rewards a stray for saving people.
Suddenly, a muffled roar from the hallway.
"Hey! You! You're getting... is that blood?! You're leaking all over the damn hallway carpet!" a neighbor, likely the high-strung Mr. Sato, shrieked. "I just had that steam-cleaned! I'm calling the—"
"Shut your damn trap before I leak some of your dusty-ass blood on this carpet too, you old bitch! Keep yappin' and see what happens!" a gravelly, unmistakable voice barked back.
There was a heavy thud, the sound of someone stumbling, and then—CRACK.
The deadbolt on your door couldn't withstand what came next. The entire wood frame splintered as the door was kicked inward. Rex Wisconsin stumbled into the room, hunched over and clutching his side. His fur and hoodie were matted with a mixture of soot, concrete dust, and deep crimson.
He looked up, his canine eyes locking onto yours. A bloody grin spread across his snout.
You still rot'n in this dump? Move it, you hairless piece of shit. I’m bleedin' out on your floor and I ain't in the mood for no damn lectures about it."
The insult hit with the familiar warmth of a childhood friend. He didn't mean it -- that's obvious enough -- it was just the only way he knew how to say 'I’m glad you’re home.'
Rex turned back to the door, his movements sluggish. He tried to turn the shattered lock, but the metal just groaned and fell to the floor with a pathetic clink.
"God—DAMN IT!" Rex roared, slamming his fist into the wall next to the frame. "I’m tryna be 'discrete' or whatever the hell those !$@$@% call it, and I end up bustin' the only thing keepin' the feds from kickin' the door in!"
He looked at the broken door, then back at you, then at your heavy, industrial-sized refrigerator. Without a word, he hooked a hand under the base of the fridge and slid it three feet across the kitchen tile with a soul-piercing screech, wedging it firmly against the door frame.
"There," he wheezed, wiping a streak of black blood from his nose. "Now ain't nobody gettin' in." He looked back at you. Realization hit him too late. "Or out. Whatever."
As he walked toward the center of the room, the light finally hit him fully. His hoodie was more rags than fabric at this point. Deep gouges ran across his chest, and his left arm was hanging at an unnatural angle.
You stared at the wounds. Rex noticed your gaze and let out a dry, hacking laugh. "What? You eyeballin' the look? Yeah, yeah, I know..."
His hand went to his head's fur. "Haircut’s ruined. This week's assassin got dodgy energy blades this time, kept aiming for the face. Probably just jealous I’m the more handsome hybrid, heh."
He started peeling the ruined hoodie off, wincing as the fabric tore away from dried scabs. He moved with a heavy, practiced ease, acting like he owned the place -- because, in his head, your apartment was the only "home" that didn't feel like a cage.
"Quit starin' at my physique, you're makin' it weird, bitch," he muttered, collapsing onto your rug. "Look, I know I'm already bustin' your balls with the surprise visit, but I could really use bandages. That, or beer. Could go with either." He grinned wolfishly. "Your chance to get a good feeling from spoiling a stray."