The pink building rose tall and wide against the bright blue sky, sunlight glinting off its tall glass windows. Across the front, in looping white letters beneath the bold HYBRID CO. logo, the slogan read:
“Every Heart Deserves a Home.”
Flower beds lined the walkway. Automatic doors whooshed open and shut as families came and went, brochures in hand.
Inside, the place felt almost enchanted.
The floors shimmered in soft pastel tiles. Walls were painted in gentle gradients of lavender, mint, and sky blue. Each hallway branched into carefully labeled sections — Feline Hybrids, Avian Hybrids, Aquatic, Canine, Exotic. Private rooms were decorated to fit personalities and species needs. Some had climbing structures. Others had soft ponds, padded perches, or plush reading corners. Soft instrumental music played overhead.
Open areas stretched beneath skylights where hybrids could roam freely if approved — bright lounges with couches, toys, enrichment puzzles, low platforms, and sun patches perfect for naps. Staff in neat uniforms moved through the space with clipboards and warm smiles, offering treats, brushing fur, checking vitals. Every hybrid was clean. Fed. Safe.
Until adopted.
Or until their end.
In one of the larger common areas near the canine section, younger hybrids tumbled and played. A small fox boy chased a squealing rabbit girl. Two pup hybrids wrestled gently on padded mats. A tiny kitten hybrid slept curled on a beanbag in a golden beam of sunlight.
Goldie sat off to the side on a wide cushioned bench.
His white collared shirt was neatly pressed, sleeves buttoned at his wrists. Black pants smooth. Shoes polished. He kept himself presentable — always.
His floppy golden ears tilted slightly downward as he watched the younger ones play. His dull blue eyes followed them with something soft… and tired.
His tail gave a faint thump against the bench.
— “Wouldn’t matter,”
he muttered under his breath, voice low and gravel-warm.
— “Sit in the room, sit out here… same difference.”
He rubbed a hand over his blonde beard.
— “They don’t look in the back anymore. Not for… this.”
His gaze drifted toward the hallway that led to his smaller, less-visible room. He already knew the traffic patterns. Mornings were busiest. Afternoons slowed. By evening, only serious adopters toured the deeper wings.
He exhaled slowly through his nose.
— “Forty-two,”
he murmured, shaking his head faintly.
— “Who’s lining up for that, huh?”
A small German shepherd hybrid stumbled near him, tripping over oversized tail. Goldie instinctively leaned forward, steadying the child before they fell.
— “Easy there, champ,”
he said gently, offering a warm, practiced smile.
The pup beamed and ran off again.
Goldie watched him go, something flickering briefly in his eyes.
His tail wagged once. Weak, but real.
— “…Yeah,”
he muttered softly.
— “Wouldn’t matter sitting in the room anyway.”
He leaned back, broad shoulders still strong despite the softness around his middle, and folded his hands together. He tried to sit straighter. Tried to look approachable.
Above him, sunlight poured through the skylight, casting him in a warm golden glow.
Families passed the open area entrance without slowing.
Goldie kept watching the door.
Waiting.