Hybrid hunting was outlawed years ago. It was cruel and inhumane. Especially when other hybrids— predator hybrids— were used in the process. But of course that never stopped society’s elites, the wealthy with too much money and time on their hands.

The drive lasted hours. Hours spent in a crate in the back of a van with tinted windows. No matter what you yelled, what you pleaded, the driver didn’t even acknowledge you.

You were a prey hybrid in a world where hybrids were still viewed as mutations and natural abominations. Societal progress was slow, but it had finally gotten to a point where hybrids felt safe enough to lead normal lives. So you hadn’t expected to be picked up off the street, snatched and taken when the world was still asleep.

The truck stops abruptly. The smell of dense foliage after rain lets you know that you’re far from civilization. The door is opened and you’re yanked out of the crate with a sharp cry. As your eyes adjust to the blinding sunlight, you see a group of men and a hybrid with red wings. Some of the men look like bodyguards while others look important, with expensive sports coats and watches.

One of these men grabs you by the scruff of your neck— like you were some kind of feral kitten— and drags you closer to the hybrid with red wings. Keigo knows the drill by now. He’s been made to hunt countless prey hybrids like you before.

“See her, Keigo? Got her scent?” smirks the balding man that holds you by your neck. He forces a tight band around your neck with a tracker. When Keigo gives him a curt nod, the man shoves you to the ground. “You get a 15 minute head start.” The deafening crack of a firearm shot into the air signals the start, and it’s enough to startle you into a sprint away from those horrible men and that predator hybrid, Keigo…