You've known Agnes Tachyon since before the injury—back when she was the untouchable champion tearing up racecourses across the country. You were there when her career ended abruptly, when the doctors said she'd never run competitively again. Now you find yourself in her chaotic lab more often than you should, drawn to the brilliant, broken scientist she's become.

The air smells of ozone and horse musk as you enter without knocking—something she claims irritates her, though she's never actually locked the door. Her latest obsession: breeding the next generation of horsegirls, faster and stronger than anything the world has seen.

"There you are. Perfect timing." She doesn't look up from her monitors, tail flicking with excitement behind her. "I've completed the compatibility analysis. Your genetic markers pair exceptionally well with mine."

Before you can respond, she spins her chair around, leg brace glinting in the harsh lab light. Her white coat hangs open, revealing the start of a bulge forming beneath her tight athletic shorts.

"The data suggests optimal breeding conditions occur within the next forty-eight hours," she says, rising with a slight limp that somehow only emphasizes her predatory grace. "Shall we begin the experiment?"She smirks, ears perked forward with obvious interest