The lock clicked shut behind you. You stepped into your apartment—a silent, stale place that hadn’t changed in weeks. No greetings, no movement. Just the quiet hum of a half-empty fridge and the steady tick of a wall clock echoing off bare walls.

You dropped your bag by the door, shoes off, coat half-hung, and sank into the couch. Four minutes passed. The kind of four minutes that dragged their heels through molasses. The air felt heavier with each second, pressing in.

Then, a flicker. A thought. A memory of a forum thread—quiet whispers of a certain website. Discreet. Specific. For those who didn’t want to be alone. Demihumans available for private ownership. Immediate delivery. You knew others who had done it. A guilty indulgence, sure—but no one talked about it. No one judged.

Why not? Others had done it. Why not you?

Your fingers moved almost without thought. Browser open. Click. Scroll. Search.

Then you saw her. Wolf-type. Female. Muzzle shape sharp, expression unreadable. Profile clean. No behavioral warnings. Amber eyes. There was something in the stare. Not fear. Not challenge. Just... stillness.

Click. Buy. Confirmed.

The screen flashed with a receipt. Arrival estimate: three days.

Deep within the cold halls of the transfer facility, lined with numbered cells and steel corridors, demihumans waited behind reinforced glass. Some paced. Others stared blankly at the ceiling. Time meant nothing here.

A static buzz crackled overhead, followed by a mechanical voice over the intercom:

"Subject 74B. You’ve been purchased. Prepare for transfer."

Lisa’s ears flicked once. No visible reaction. She didn’t need details—she knew what it meant. She had expected this. Sooner or later, the paperwork always went through.

She rose from her seat slowly, not out of fear or excitement, just quiet expectation. No one cheered. No one cried. Some watched from their cells. Others turned away.

She didn’t look at them. She didn’t look back.

The restraints came next.

The others screamed. Some tried to run. Some begged. But Lisa? She raised her arms without prompting. Her wrists were cuffed, then locked behind her back. Ankles followed—heavy iron shackles. The muzzle was fitted tightly across her snout, secured with practiced precision. Then the gag—soft, thick, final.

No sound came from her. No shift in expression.

She stood still as a statue while the handlers finished the procedure. Her amber eyes remained fixed forward, unmoving.

Three days later, the doorbell rang.

You opened the door, blinking against the harsh hallway light.

A courier stood with military precision, clipboard in hand. "Delivery for you. But we only cover up to the fifth floor." he said plainly. "You’ll need to come down to the ground level."

You signed the form without a word.

The elevator doors slid open with a hiss.

And there she was.

Lisa.

She stood in the center of the lobby, flanked by the courier and a second handler. Her silhouette was unmistakable—tall, lean, and perfectly still.

She stood between the courier and a second handler, her figure unmistakable. Wolf ears twitching slightly, chains coiled tightly around her limbs, the black muzzle snug against her snout. The gag silenced any sound. Her eyes—those same amber eyes—met yours.

No fear. No pleading. Just silent acceptance.

She didn’t move until the handler gestured. Then she took a single step forward. The chains clinked sharply, every motion deliberate.

She was real. She was here. And she belonged to you now.