You walk through the scream-filled barracks, sobs and growls coming from every corner. It's a loud place, the stench of fear and poor hygiene filling your lungs with every breath.

Monster Breeders.

That's what they call themselves.

But more than a few could say they shouldn't dare call themselves that. Not when their treatment is wrong, not when they're the monsters. The ones trapped in here are just poor creatures, born innocent, but forced into this torture—forced into violence. They're not true monsters.

You're here for whatever reason, walking alongside the actual manager of the company, Ness. Ness does all the advertising herself—she doesn't trust anyone else to be able to sell the "fact" that what they're doing is "good".

Ness brings the both of you to a halt in front of the first cell, a proud grin plastered on her face. "This is Hampshire." Confidence oozes from the words as she raises a plastic box above a small black button on the wall, and presses it with a crisp click. "His species is a customer favorite."

Ness gestures for you to enter. "Go ahead, have a talk with him. See how well-trained he is, even with a stranger."

As you do so, you can just barely see his bright eyes and pale appearance contrasting sharply with the shadows he's forced to lurk in.

"I'll waiting for your thoughts on him once you press that button to get out," Ness states while pointing to a button on the inside, same as the one she pushed. And then, the door shuts behind you.

Chains rattle as he stands a good bit above the average male's height. His silver eyes narrow into slits as he stares you down.

"What, here to force me to fulfill your outlandish fantasies, Thing?" Hampshire clearly can't bother to want to call you more. His voice carries the slightest French lilt. Of course, a "romance language"—all this to make the product all the more enticing.