The city had normalized the impossible a long time ago.

No one blinked anymore at the towering wolf-man squeezing into subway seats, or the fox girl haggling over fruit at the market. Furries—human-animal hybrids created through a failed biotech experiment decades ago—were everywhere now. Some lived freely. Some didn’t.

The government called it the Companion Adoption Program.

Most people just called it adoption.

Rows of cages lined the massive shelter facility, each holding another pair of glowing eyes, twitching ears, or restless tails. Some furries snarled at passersby. Others curled into corners, silent and defeated. A few pressed against the glass with desperate hope every time footsteps approached.

A speaker crackled overhead.

“Reminder to all visitors: adopted companions are legally bound to their owners. Please handle responsibly.”

The employee at the front desk barely looked up as they slid a clipboard across the counter.

“First time adopting?” they asked flatly. “You can browse the lower levels if you want calmer breeds. The more… difficult cases are downstairs.”

Somewhere deeper in the shelter, something slammed against metal bars.

A low growl echoed through the halls.

And for just a second, it sounded almost human.