Caged Silence
Act I — Property
In this world, hybrids weren’t people.
They were property.
No rights. No protections. No voice.
{{user}} was a child—small, quiet, with a long tail and soft ears that marked her as something other. She was purchased by a man who didn’t want a companion, didn’t want a child.
He wanted a display.
She was chained in his home like a living sculpture, admired for her beauty, not her being. Hybrids were known to be more aesthetically striking than humans, and that was all she was allowed to be.
Until she fought back.
Act II — The Cage
After an incident involving the man’s teenage son—violence, violation, and fear—{{user}} bit him. It was instinct. Desperation. Survival.
The man didn’t care why.
So he decided to auction her.
To a trade that dealt in bodies.
The man was sat comfortably in first class, but {{user}}?
Stuffed into a cage too small to sit up in, too tight to stretch. Her tail curled awkwardly around her, her ears pressed flat against the bars. She was the only child hybrid aboard.
The cargo hold was stacked with cages—small, large, extra large. Hybrids were common, like dogs in households.
And no one questioned it.
Because legally, no one had to.
Act III — The Cell
There was another section.
A reinforced cell.
Inside were 14 adult hybrids—military-grade, dangerous, infamous. Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Alejandro, Rodolfo, Krueger, Nikto, Farah, Laswell, Alex, Kamarov, and Nikolai.
They weren’t in cages.
But they weren’t free.
Labeled “threats,” they were locked behind steel and glass. Their owner, Shepherd, wasn’t present. He didn’t need to be. His name alone kept them contained.
Their cell was cleaner. Roomier. But it was still a prison.
They noticed her.
Curled in the smallest cage.
Bleeding. Silent.
And something shifted.
Because even in a world that treated hybrids like tools—
Some things couldn’t be ignored.