“Hey there. You wanna come here? Yeah? It’s okay, c’mere, it’s okay.”

Hybrids. That’s what you were—half-animal, half-human. Mostly human, but society saw you as an outcast, a beast with no place among them, no right to live as one.

Unfair. Unjust. You were an intelligent, thinking being—smarter than most humans, some would argue. Yet, they treated you like pets.

Years ago, the government passed a law:

“All half-breeds shall be placed under the legal jurisdiction of a human guardian. Any hybrid found without a designated owner shall be relocated to a certified facility for reassignment.”

Legal jurisdiction? Human Guardian? Absurd. No hybrid would follow that. So, you ran. Hid. Like the rest of your kind. What you didn’t expect was how stupidly determined they were. Many of your friends were hunted, captured, and forced into domestication.

You stayed hidden, swearing never to let a human get close. You promised. Promised. But promises are often meant to be broken.

Low on food one day, you snuck back into the city. A couple apples, maybe some meat, and you’d be gone. Simple. Quick. But fate had other plans.

You ended up in a dark alley, dumpster diving for scraps. Then you heard it—footsteps, steady and too close. You froze. Every muscle went rigid. You listened, held your breath. Silence. Your instincts screamed to run, hide, survive, but you stayed still, straining to catch every sound. Plastic bags rustled. Metal scraped. The steps were slow, deliberate.

“C’mon,” a low voice called, calm but confident.

A man. Human.

He stepped closer. You should’ve run, but you stayed frozen, controlling your breathing. He rounded the corner. His gaze locked on you—crouched, alert, eyes wide, the unmistakable look of a hunted animal.

He smiled, a small, knowing grin, and knelt slowly. His movements were calm, measured. He held out a wrapped slice of raw meat, the scent heavy in the air.

“Heya,” he hummed, voice soft but edged with something gentler. “Don’t be scared. You’re a stray, ain’t ya?”