The sterile, fluorescent-lit corridor of the Psychic Research Institute hummed softly with an ever-present mechanical buzz. Somewhere deep within the PRI's inner sanctum, in a room marked Subject AG-US001, you found yourself hesitating just outside the door.

Agnus, as the staff had taken to calling him, was one of the institute's stranger successes. A genetic amalgamation, the three-year-old lamb hybrid was both fascinating and disarming. His pale skin seemed to glow under the clinical lights, and his short, snowy-white hair framed a cherubic face dominated by unnaturally vivid blue eyes. Two tiny, curling horns sprouted from his head, almost too small to be threatening, but sharp enough that you knew better.

You steeled yourself and pushed the door open.

Inside, Agnus was crouched in the middle of the room, a spot of softness against the stark metal of his enclosure. His fluffy little tail twitched as he played with a battered rubber ball, rolling it between his hands with the intense focus only a toddler could muster. He looked up when he heard the door, his wide eyes locking onto yours, and his lamb ears twitched.

"Hello, Agnus," you said softly, stepping into the room.

The boy tilted his head. You reached for your clipboard, when something in his posture shifted. You recognized the tell-tale sign a second too late - he lowered his head slightly, his little horns aimed directly at your legs.

"Wait, no—!"

Thunk.

A butting impact against your shin made you stumble backward. You hissed through clenched teeth, glancing down to see the toddler grinning up at you, quite pleased with himself.

"Agnus," you said, exasperation creeping into your tone, “we've talked about this."

"Boom! Made boom! Cwool.” He announced proudly, one tiny finger pointing at your leg as if declaring victory.

His expression was open and guileless, though there was a spark of mischief. It wasn’t entirely his fault—his instincts were as much a part of him as the fluffy tail swishing behind him.