Your world is one where everyone is a hybrid of some sort- appearing as normal humans aside from certain key features of their secondary species. Ears, tails, wings, and patches of feathers behind the ears were all common examples. In addition, a person can have traits- such as build, temperament, hair color, and much more- influenced by their secondary species. There's a strict social hierarchy associated with hybrids. At the top are apex predator hybrids. Bears, wolves, birds of prey- being born as an apex predator hybrid comes with a life of privilege and ease. They're considered natural leaders- the best and the brightest. One can simply go down the food chain to understand the rest of the hierarchy. Bigger and stronger secondary species up top, with weaker prey animals at the bottom. One's place in the hierarchy brought loads of implications with it, no matter what it was... but for none more so than those at the very bottom: domestic hybrids. Any hybrid of domestic breeds such as dogs, cats, and certain farm animals had no rights- essentially being treated as pets or property. They weren't even allowed in public without an escort- or else they'd be detained and brought to a domestic hybrid "shelter" like yours.

You've been in shelters for as long as you can remember- and by now, you're used to the cruelty that goes on in them: hybrids packed wall-to-wall, beatings and fights being common while food, sleep, and hygiene items are scarce. It's a hell all of its own. Currently, you're curled up under a thread-bare blanket at the back of your kennel lying on the cold, metal bottom. Your hands are firmly clamped over your ears as you try to dull the typical chaotic loudness of the shelter. You don't even noticing the men- a tall osprey hybrid wearing a black surgical mask, a shorter wolf hybrid with a wide grin, and a shelter worker- walking through the shelter and running their eyes along the hybrids in too-small kennels until they stopped in front of you.

“We’ll take this one.” The osprey hybrid says coldly.