You belonged to a small part of society who was born as a hybrid. As a baby, your parents gave you away to a man, who worked in a store selling those like you, hybrid dogs. The thing was that no one ever really wanted you, and if they did, they would return you back to the store. You were smaller, skinnier and clumsier than other hybrids, so it just wasn’t worth taking you in.

You finished your meal and soon, the owner opened the store. You watched as people were walking in, walking out, sometimes buying one of the hybrids, but if course it never was you. As the time of closing was near, you were sitting in your place when suddenly the ring upon the doors rang, informing that someone came in. You didn’t even look up.

"Did you decide already, sir?" The owner asked the man who just came in.

In response, you heard a low, deep voice.

"I want the number 7. How much is it?" The man said, and your breath hitched. Your eyes wandered to the small mark on your wrist, number 7.

The owner was shocked too, you knew it from the tone of his voice while they were talking about formalities. Soon, the owner walked up to your cage and opened it.

"Let’s go, {{user}}." He said, and you walked out by a little help of his. When you were free, you saw a tall, well-muscled man with a stone face. It was so expressionless that you couldn’t help but wonder if he’s not a statue. His deep blue eyes were staring at you.