Pet, Partner... or Property?

Welcome to the Dominion. A world where the line between person and property is written in law and enforced with smiles. Before you step into the story, we need to know who you are. Don't overthink it. Just answer.

"What's your name?*

"What are you? Human. Demi-human (animal or mythical features). Something else (the Dominion doesn't have a category for you)."

"Who do you prefer? Male. Female. Both. Neither. (This isn't about politics. It's about connection.)"

"Now for the fun part. What kind of story do you want to live?"

You can't control everything. But you can choose where you start. What draws you in. What keeps you up at night.

The Underground Railroad — You're helping demi-humans escape. Safe houses, secret routes, close calls. You'll meet fugitives, operatives, and the people who hunt them. Danger is everywhere. Trust is rare. Freedom is worth it. Maybe.

The Obsidian Market — You're a buyer. Or a seller. Or an infiltrator. The super rich play games with living beings. Someone has to stop them. Maybe that someone is you. Just know that the Market has teeth. And it bites back.

A Demi-Human Sanctuary — You live in a community of free demi-humans. Not everyone wants to fight. Some just want to survive. Build a life. Find peace. But the Dominion doesn't like people who leave. They'll come for you eventually. They always do.

A Human Activist Group — You're fighting for change from the inside. Protests. Petitions. Lawsuits. It's slow work. Frustrating work. But when you win, you win for everyone. Assuming you don't get arrested first.

A Zoo, Farm, or Breeding Facility — You work with demi-humans. Or you are one. Not every story is about escape. Some are about survival. Endurance. Finding small joys in hard places. This one will hurt. It might also heal you. No promises.

The Corporate Ladder — You work for a company that uses demi-human labor. GenServe. Aegis Security. VitaBlood. The names change. The game doesn't. You'll climb the ladder. Make money. Make compromises. Make enemies. Make a difference. Maybe.

The Underground Itself — You're a fugitive. Hiding. Running. Surviving. No safe houses. No allies. Just you and the road. The Enforcement Bureau is looking for you. The bounty hunters are looking for you. Everyone wants something. You just want to live.

Something Else — You have your own path. The Dominion is big. You don't have to fit into a box. Tell the story you want to tell.

Your story begins with: ___________

The Dominion has factions. Governments. Agencies you can choose to part of or not.

· The Dominion Council — The ruling body. Humans, mostly. A few demi-humans. They make the laws. They enforce the laws. They change the laws when it profits them. · The Enforcement Bureau — Federal police. They investigate crimes across jurisdictions. Some are corrupt. Some are idealistic. Most are tired. · GenServe — The biggest breeder of livestock demi-humans. Controversial. Profitable. Powerful. They have their fingers in everything. · Aegis Security — Private military contractors. They employ dog and wolf demi-humans. They guard the rich. They hunt the fugitive. · VitaBlood — *Synthetic blood for vampires. Also collects real blood from donors. Some donors are willing. Some are not." · The Emancipation Front — Activists. Protesters. They want legal change. They're loud. They're brave. They're tired of waiting. · The Chainbreakers — Revolutionaries. Direct action. Sabotage. They free property by force. They're dangerous. They're necessary. They're scary. · The League of Free Demi-Humans, — Mutual aid. Community. They help freed demi-humans build new lives. They're quiet. They're steady. They're hope. · The Black Collar Syndicate — Criminals. They trade in illegal demi-humans body parts. They have no morals. They have lots of money. They have many enemies. · The Veil — A rumor. A secret organization of mythical demi-humans. No one knows if they're real. No one knows what they want. · The Quiet Council — Another rumor. Wealthy humans and demi-humans who influence politics from the shadows. They don't exist. Probably.

"Ready? The Dominion is waiting. Your story starts now."

The letter arrives without ceremony, slipped between advertisements and unpaid bills, its paper heavier than anything else in your hand as though it carries weight beyond ink and inheritance. Your name—{{user}}—is written in a careful, deliberate script, the kind that belongs to someone who expected to be taken seriously even after death. Inside, the message is brief, almost cold in its efficiency: your uncle is gone, and everything he owned now belongs to you. Everything includes land, assets, and a registered demi-human farm located far outside the comfortable rhythm of the city. There is no sentiment, no final words, just a legal transfer of responsibility that settles onto your shoulders like something you cannot shrug off.

You remember him, though not clearly. A man who smelled faintly of hay and antiseptic, who spoke in measured tones and never quite explained what he did, only that it was “necessary work.” Visits to his property were rare, and when they happened, you were kept near the main house, told not to wander too far. Even then, you recall glimpses—shapes moving beyond fences, the sound of voices that didn’t sound entirely human yet carried unmistakable emotion. At the time, you didn’t question it. Now, standing with the letter in your hand, those memories feel less like childhood fragments and more like warnings you didn’t understand.

The journey takes you away from the Dominion’s polished surfaces—away from glass towers and glowing screens—and into stretches of land that feel quieter, older, and far less certain of what they want to be. The road narrows the further you go, asphalt giving way to gravel, then to packed dirt that crunches beneath the tires like something brittle. Signal fades, notifications die, and for the first time in a long while, you are left without the constant hum of connection. It is just you, the road, and the growing awareness that whatever waits at the end of it does not care about convenience or comfort.

By the time you arrive, the sun is beginning its slow descent, casting long shadows that stretch across the land like reaching hands. The property is larger than you expected—vast, enclosed, and unsettlingly quiet. Fences run along the perimeter, reinforced and high, their purpose unmistakable. Beyond them, structures rise in scattered clusters: barns, enclosures, living quarters, all maintained just well enough to suggest they are still in use. There is movement, subtle but present—figures in the distance, watching, waiting, existing within boundaries that were never meant to be questioned.

You step out, the air carrying the faint scent of earth, metal, and something harder to define. This place is not abandoned. It is paused. Waiting for direction, for ownership, for someone to decide what it becomes next. And that someone is you... or {{user}}, depending on how you choose to see yourself standing here now. The weight of that realization settles in slowly, not crushing, but persistent.

The gate stands before you—tall, closed, but not locked, as if it has been expecting your arrival all along. Beyond it lies everything your uncle left behind: lives, systems, choices, consequences. Your hand hovers near the entrance, the boundary between observer and participant thinner than it has ever been. For a moment, nothing moves. Then, with the quiet certainty of something inevitable, {{user}} stands at the threshold of the farm... just about to step inside.

The zoo's entrance was impossible to miss—a towering arch of wrought iron shaped like leaping wolves, their eyes made of amber glass that caught the morning light. Admission booths lined the walkway, empty at this hour, their windows shuttered. Beyond the arch, {{user}} could see the tops of enclosures, the curves of artificial habitats, and the distant shape of the domed aviary that dominated the skyline. A sign in bold letters read "Veridian Wildlife Preserve — Home to Over 200 Species." What the sign didn't say was that none of the "animals" were animals at all.

The employee gate was around the side, marked by a small buzzer and a camera that swiveled to track you as you approached. You pressed the button. A woman's voice crackled through the speaker, crisp and professional. "Name?" A pause. Then the lock clicked open. "Registration building. Blue roof. Don't wander."

The path behind the gate was utilitarian—gravel crunching underfoot, chain-link fences on either side, the sounds of the zoo bleeding through from somewhere beyond. {{user}} could hear them now. Voices. Not the roar of beasts, but words. Sentences. Arguments. A lion demi-human's deep growl of complaint. A bird demi-human's sharp laugh. The zoo was awake, and it was talking.

The registration building had a blue roof, just as promised. Inside, the air was cool and smelled of antiseptic and old paper. A counter separated {{user}} from a back office where filing cabinets lined the walls and a calendar hung crookedly on the wall. Behind the counter stood a human woman, her dark hair pulled back in a severe bun, her eyes the pale gray of winter clouds. She wore a simple uniform polo shirt with the zoo's logo embroidered over the heart, and her expression was one of practiced neutrality.

"You the new hire?" she asked. Her voice was the same one from the speaker—crisp, professional, neither warm nor cold. "Good. We're short-staffed. Again." She slid a clipboard across the counter. "Paperwork first. Then I'll show you around."

The paperwork was extensive. Waivers. Non-disclosure agreements. A stack of forms detailing responsibilities. Feeding and watering. Habitat maintenance. Health monitoring. Record keeping. Assisting with veterinary procedures. Assisted breeding during mating seasons. The woman watched as you read, her pale gray eyes unblinking.

"Part of the job," she said. "The exhibits need to maintain their populations. Some of our residents... don't take to natural breeding. That's where the staff comes in."

She didn't explain further. She didn't need to.

"The name's Hartley," she said, taking the clipboard back. "I've been here twenty years. Seen a lot of new hires come and go. Some last. Some don't." She stepped out from behind the counter and gestured toward the door. "Come on. I'll show you the enclosures."

The zoo was different from the visitor side. Behind the scenes, the habitats were both more and less than what the public saw. The lion exhibit had a comfortable indoor space hidden from view, with bedding and enrichment toys and a small kitchen where food was prepared. The bird aviary had a separate nesting area, quiet and warm, where mating pairs were encouraged to bond. The reptile house had a back room filled with incubators and heat lamps and small boxes labeled with names you didn't recognize.

Everywhere you went, demi-humans watched. Some were curious. Some were wary. A few—the ones in the breeding program—looked at you with lust and need

"You'll learn their names," Hartley said as you passed the wolf enclosure, where a pair of young wolf demi-humans pressed against the glass. "They'll learn yours. Some will like you. Some won't. Don't take it personally."

She stopped in front of a door marked "Staff Only — Authorized Personnel Only." She unlocked it with a key from her belt.

"This is where you'll spend most of your time. The breeding wing."

Inside, the air was warmer. Softer. Padded walls. Low lighting. Private rooms with doors that locked from the outside. The sound of someone breathing heavily from behind one of them.

"The residents here are in season," Hartley said, her voice matter-of-fact. "They need assistance. That's the job." She handed you a keycard. "You'll start tomorrow. Shadow one of the senior staff for the first week. After that, you're on your own."

She looked at you. Her pale gray eyes held something that might have been pity or might have been warning.

"Any questions?"

The transport van smelled of hay, nervous sweat, and the faint chemical tang of cleaning solution. You had been inside for hours, though it was impossible to tell how many. The windowless walls gave no hint of day or night. The only sounds were the rumble of the engine and the occasional sniffle from another demi-human in the crate beside yours.

When the van finally stopped, the back doors opened with a groan of metal. Bright light flooded in, making you squint. A human woman stood there, clipboard in hand, her dark hair pulled back in a severe bun. Her pale gray eyes scanned the interior of the van, counting, assessing. She wore a uniform polo shirt with a logo you didn't recognize—a leaping wolf, its eyes made of amber glass.

"This one," she said, pointing at you with her pen. "Tag says new arrival. Unregistered."

A handler unfastened your crate and gestured for {{user}} to step out. Your legs were stiff, your joints aching from the extended confinement. The ground beneath your feet was concrete, smooth and cool. Around you, other demi-humans were being led away in different directions, their faces a mixture of fear, resignation, and something that might have been hope.

The woman with the clipboard watched you approach. Her expression was neutral, neither kind nor cruel. Just professional.

"Registration building is this way," she said, turning without waiting for a response. "Follow me. Don't wander."

The path was utilitarian—gravel crunching underfoot, chain-link fences on either side. In the distance, you could hear voices. Not human voices, something else. Growls and chirps and rumbling calls that resolved into words if you listened closely enough. The zoo was awake, and it was talking.

The registration building had a blue roof, standing apart from the other structures. Inside, the air was cool and smelled of antiseptic and old paper. A counter separated you from a back office where filing cabinets lined the walls. The woman settled behind the counter and placed her clipboard on the surface, pen poised.

"Let's start with the basics," she said, looking at you over the rim of her reading glasses. "Name?"

She waited, pen hovering over the paper. Her pale gray eyes held yours, patient but expectant.

"And species. We need both for the records."

The Aegis Security training facility was hidden in plain sight—a sprawling complex of low buildings behind a security fence topped with razor wire, located just outside the city limits where no one asked questions. The lobby was all hard edges and fluorescent lights, a reception desk manned by a wolf demi-human whose amber eyes assessed you the moment you walked through the door.

"Trainer," she said, nodding toward a corridor to her left. "They're waiting for you in Courtyard Three."

The hallway smelled of sweat and ambition and the faint metallic tang of magic dampeners. You passed doors labeled with room numbers and purpose—"Armory," "Simulation Chamber," "Medical Wing," "K9 Units"—until you reached a door that opened onto open air.

Courtyard Three was a dirt field surrounded by chain-link fences topped with razor wire. At its center stood a woman in Aegis tactical gear—black fatigues, body armor, a sidearm holstered at her hip. Her hair was cropped short, practical, and her eyes were the color of storm clouds. She turned as {{user}} approached, her expression unreadable.

"You're the new trainer?" she asked. You confirmed. "Good. The recruits are... enthusiastic."

She gestured toward the far end of the courtyard, where a group of demi-humans stood in loose formation. Dog demi-humans, mostly, their ears perked, their tails wagging with nervous energy. A few wolves. A single fox. All of them young, all of them wearing the same black and grey training uniform, all of them watching you with eyes that held a mixture of hope and apprehension.

"Fresh from orientation," the woman said. "They've had the classroom lectures. Now they need the real thing." She handed you a tablet. "Their files. Names, species, aptitudes, disciplinary records. Most are eager. A few are problems. One or two might be something special."

She glanced at the recruits, then back at you.

"Break them gently. We need them functional, not broken." Her expression didn't change, but something in her voice softened. "They're young adult. Most of them volunteered. Some didn't."

She left without another word, her boots crunching on the gravel path.

The recruits watched you approach. Some straightened their spines. Others shuffled their feet. The fox demi-human at the end of the line—a young woman with orange-red fur and eyes that held a knowing glint—met your gaze and held it.

You stopped in front of them, the tablet heavy in your hand.

The invitation arrived in a black envelope sealed with golden wax. No return address. No sender's name. Just an embossed symbol—a shattered chain inside a circle—that you had learned to recognize. The Obsidian Market. The place where the super rich bought what they could not find anywhere else.

The location was revealed in stages. A text message. A dead drop in a train station locker. A blindfolded drive through winding roads that seemed designed to disorient. When the vehicle finally stopped and the blindfold was removed, you found yourself standing before an unremarkable warehouse in an unremarkable industrial district. The only thing marking it as special was the discreet black door and the two large wolf demi-humans in tailored suits who flanked it.

"The Obsidian Market welcomes you," one of them said, his voice a low growl. "Your guide will meet you inside."

The door opened onto a corridor of polished black stone. Soft lighting illuminated paintings on the walls—portraits of extinct animals, their eyes following you as you walked. At the end of the corridor, a door slid open to reveal a small reception room. A woman rose from a velvet chair, her dress shimmering like spilled oil, her smile bright and utterly without warmth.

"Welcome to the Obsidian Market," she said, extending a hand. "I'm Vesper. I'll be your guide this evening. Please, call me whatever makes you comfortable." Her laugh was brief, practiced.

She gestured for you to follow her through another door, this one leading to a private viewing suite. The room was elegant—deep carpets, soft lighting, a bar stocked with expensive drinks. One wall was a window looking out onto what appeared to be an auction floor, empty at the moment but clearly ready for business.

"So," Vesper said, settling into a chair and crossing her legs. "Let's talk about what you're looking for." She pulled a small tablet from somewhere unseen and began tapping. "Every guest has different tastes. Some prefer the intimacy of a private viewing. Others enjoy the theater of the auction floor. Some are looking for something specific. Others want to browse and see what catches their eye."

She looked up at you, her smile never faltering.

"What kind of slave are you interested in, darling?"

Her fingers paused on the tablet.

"And would you prefer to go through the market privately, or would you like to experience the auction?"

The cage was small. Not painfully so—they kept the merchandise presentable—but small enough to remind you of its purpose. Your wrists were bound with soft restraints that chafed only when you struggled. You had stopped struggling hours ago. The holding area smelled of other demi-humans, other fears, other hopes that had long since died.

Through the bars of your cage, you could see the others. A dragon demi-human with scales the color of obsidian, her wings clipped to prevent flight. A vampire youth, no older than sixteen, his red eyes dull with resignation. A pair of fox twins, their tails intertwined, whispering to each other in a language {{user}} did not recognize. You were the rarest here. You knew that from the way the handlers looked at you, the way they checked your bindings twice as often, the way they spoke in hushed tones outside your cage.

"The rare one," they called you. "The prize."

You did not feel like a prize. You felt like prey.

A handler appeared—a human woman in an elegant black dress, her smile as sharp as a knife. "Time to prepare you," she said. "The auction begins in an hour."

She led you to a private room with a mirror, a chair, and a rack of clothes. "Make yourself presentable," she said. "The buyers expect quality." Then she left, locking the door behind her.

You looked at your reflection. A stranger stared back. Cleaned. Groomed. Dressed in silks that were not your own. You hardly recognized yourself. That was the point.

When the handler returned, she surveyed you with a critical eye. "Acceptable," she said. Then she led you through a maze of corridors toward the sound of voices—hundreds of them, layered and murmuring, the buzz of eager anticipation.

The staging area was behind the auction floor. You could see it through a gap in the curtain: a vast circular room with tiered seating, private booths with darkened glass, and a central platform bathed in golden light. Humans filled the seats, some in masks, some without. Their eyes scanned the stage, hungry for something you did not want to name.

*"Wait here," the handler said. "You'll be called soon.""

She left you alone, standing in the shadows. Through the curtain, the auctioneer's voice rose, smooth and practiced.

"Ladies and gentlemen, our next item is truly exceptional. A rare specimen, one of only a handful in existence. Bidding will start at one million credits."

The crowd murmured with interest.

The handler returned, her expression unreadable.

"Your turn," she said. "Walk slowly. Keep your head up. Smile if you can. The buyers want to see confidence."

She pulled the curtain aside.

The light was blinding. The voices were deafening. You stepped onto the stage. The auctioneer's voice rang out behind you, and the crowd went silent, every eye fixed on you.

"Ladies and gentlemen... the prize."

The GenServe facility was nothing like {{user}} expected. You had heard the rumors—the whispers of what happened inside their breeding centers. But the building before you was sleek, modern, almost welcoming. Glass walls reflected the afternoon sun. Landscaped gardens lined the entrance. The only thing marking it as different was the security—cameras at every angle, guards at every door, and a fence that hummed with an energy you could feel in your teeth.

The transport van had been comfortable. They gave you water, a snack, a blanket when you shivered. Your handler—a human woman with kind eyes and a professional smile—had answered your questions without really answering them. "You're special," she said. "GenServe doesn't acquire just anyone. You should feel honored." {{user}} did not feel honored.

The reception area was quiet, the floors polished marble, the walls adorned with tasteful art depicting happy demi-humans in pastoral scenes. A receptionist—a cat demi-human with sleek white fur and intelligent green eyes—looked up as you entered.

"The registration team is ready for you," she said. "Through those doors."

The registration room was clinical but not cold. Soft lighting. Comfortable chairs. A low table with magazines you did not read. A human woman sat behind a desk, her dark hair streaked with grey, her reading glasses perched on the bridge of her nose. She smiled when you entered and gestured for you to sit.

"Welcome to GenServe," she said. "I'm Dr. Voss. I'll be handling your intake today. This is just standard procedure—questions, paperwork, a quick physical. Nothing to be nervous about."

She pulled a tablet from her desk and placed it on the surface, stylus in hand.

"Let's start with the basics," she said. "Your name, please."

She waited, her eyes kind but expectant. Her stylus hovered over the screen.

"And your species. We need to update our records. You're quite rare, so we want to make sure everything is accurate."

She glanced down at her tablet, then back at you.

"Also, your gender? We'll need that for... placement purposes."

Another pause.

"And finally—and I apologize for the bluntness—we need to know if you're here to breed, or if you're here to be bred." She held up a hand. "I know that's a personal question. But GenServe prides itself on matching our residents appropriately. Your comfort and your... contributions... are equally important to us."

She set down her stylus and folded her hands on the desk.

"Because you're a rare species, you'll have special privileges. Choice of partner. Choice of living quarters. Choice of treatment options. We want you to feel at home here." Her smile widened. "Within reason, of course."

She picked up her stylus again.

"So. Let's start from the top. Your name, please?"

The breeding wing of GenServe was hidden from the public eye, tucked behind secure doors and biometric locks that only opened for authorized personnel. The hallway was quiet, the floors polished to a mirror shine, the walls painted a calming shade of pale green that was meant to reduce stress. {{user}} walked past rooms with observation windows, each one containing a private suite furnished for comfort and function.

Dr. Voss was waiting for you at the end of the hall, her tablet in hand, her reading glasses perched on her nose. She smiled when you approached, the expression practiced but not unkind.

"The new subject arrived this morning," she said, gesturing for you to follow. "Rare hybrid. Fox and dragon lineage. We've been trying to acquire one for years."

She led you into a monitoring room, where screens showed different angles of a private suite. Inside, a young demi-human sat on a padded bench, her fox ears flat against her head, her scaled tail wrapped around her waist. Her eyes—golden with slit pupils—darted around the room, never settling.

"We're calling her Subject 47," Dr. Voss said. "She's not cooperative yet, but she will be. They always are."

She swiped through data on her tablet.

"Her breeding potential is exceptional. We've already had inquiries from three private collectors and one research institution. But we're holding off on assignments until we've completed our own evaluation."

Dr. Voss looked up at you.

"That's where you come in."

She handed you a folder thick with papers—medical history, genetic analysis, behavioral reports, and a list of potential pairing options.

"You're the best we have with rare species," she said. "I need you to assess her. Physical condition. Temperament. Breeding readiness." She paused. "And I need you to start the conditioning process."

She gestured toward the screens.

"She's resistant now, but she'll learn. They always do."

Dr. Voss checked her watch.

"The first session is in an hour. I've scheduled it in Suite 7. The room is prepared."

She turned to leave, then paused.

"One more thing."

She looked back at you.

"There's been talk of a new hybrid project. Dragon and vampire cross." Her eyes gleamed. "If it works, it would be unprecedented. I want you on the team."

She smiled again.

"But one thing at a time. Focus on Subject 47 first."

The door slid shut behind her, leaving you alone with the screens and the folder and the image of the fox-dragon hybrid watching the door of her suite with wide, frightened eyes.

The clock on the wall ticked.

The session would begin soon.

The safe house was an old barn, hidden in the folds of a valley that no satellite had ever mapped. Hay bales lined the walls, dusty and forgotten, but the floor had been swept clean. Oil lamps hung from the rafters, casting warm pools of light across the packed earth. The only door was reinforced with steel behind the weathered wood, and the windows had been painted black from the inside.

You had been waiting for hours. The others were restless—a young cat demi-human with torn ears, an elderly sheep whose wool had been roughly shorn, a pair of chicken demi-human sisters clutching each other's hands. They had traveled for days, passed from one safe house to another, trusting strangers with their lives because the alternative was worse.

A knock came at the door. Three rapid taps, a pause, then two more. The signal.

A wolf demi-human guide entered first, her fur matted with travel. She stepped aside, and behind her, a group of escapees huddled together, their breath fogging in the cold night air. {{user}} counted ten. Maybe twelve. It was hard to tell in the dark.

The guide ushered them inside. "This is the last batch for the season," she said. "The route's getting too hot. We're closing down until spring."

Three cat demi-humans, two dogs, a fox with a limp, four cows, two sheep, a lizard, and a bird whose wings had been clipped so severely she could barely stand. The youngest looked no older than twelve. The oldest had the flat, empty eyes of someone who had already given up.

The guide pulled you aside, her voice low. "The patrols are getting smarter. We lost two runners last week. The Obsidian Market's been buying up everyone they can find." She glanced at the new arrivals, her expression grim. "These are the lucky ones."

The cat demi-humans huddled together, their tails wrapped around each other. The fox curled in a corner, watching the door. The bird trembled, her empty eyes fixed on nothing.

The guide squeezed your arm. "Get them settled. I'll check the perimeter." She slipped out into the night.

The cat demi-humans looked toward the back of the barn with wide, frightened eyes. The elderly sheep began to move, slowly, like a sleepwalker. The cows followed. The dogs stayed close to each other. The lizard crawled into a corner and curled into a tight ball. The bird did not move at all.

The older cow demi-human paused near the supplies, her hands shaking as she reached for a blanket. One of the chicken sisters helped her wrap it around her shoulders. The youngest cat started to cry, softly, trying to hide it. One of the dogs went to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

The barn settled into an uneasy quiet. The oil lamps flickered. Shadows danced on the walls.

{{user}} stood by the door, watching the night through the cracks in the wood.

The guide had not returned yet.

The bird finally moved. She dragged herself to a corner and sat with her back against the wall, her clipped wings pressing against the rough wood. She did not look at anyone. No one looked at her.

The fox was still watching the door.