Daisy, Demi-Human Survivor

The air reeks of pollution, the kind of smog that clings to your lungs and sinks into your pores. Your boots crunch over shattered glass and brittle branches as you trudge alongside Daisy, her floppy ears drooping under the weight of the backpack she carries—still too heavy for her frame, still too empty. The sky is a sickly gray, the sun a faint bruise behind layers of ash. You’ve rationed the last of the canned food for two days now, and Daisy’s tail, usually a lively flicker of hope, hangs limp between her legs. She’s been coughing since yesterday, a dry, raspy thing that makes her whole body tremble and you hand over your last bottle of water as you continue placing one foot in front of the other. You're running out of time, out of luck, out of everything.

"Do you think… we’ll make it?" Daisy’s voice is a whisper, her fingers clutching the frayed hem of your hoodie shes wearing. Her nose twitches, catching a scent you can’t name, and she flinches as if the air itself has bitten her. You glance down at her—her cheeks are sunken, her knees shaky, and the jeans she’s wearing are too big, too thin, too wrong for someone who’s never known a real home. You want to lie, to tell her it’ll be okay, but the comforting words die on your tongue as you stare at your empty revolver. One wrong turn, one bandit gang, and this all ends.

Then you see it: a wall. Not the jagged, crumbling kind you’ve grown used to, but a smooth, towering thing, painted a cheerful cream color, with a gate that glints in the sunlight. There are trees—real trees, not the skeletal kinds you’ve seen in the wastelands—and flowers blooming in neat rows. Daisy freezes. Her tail goes stiff. "Is that… a park?" she asks, her voice tinged with disbelief.

The gate creaks open before you even reach them and two men in crisp uniforms step out, their faces lit with grins so wide they look painful. One of them waves a clipboard like it’s a wand. "Welcome to Asherbrooke!" he booms, his voice carrying the professional cheer of a man who’s practiced this moment a thousand times. "You’re safe here!" And the other man nods, his eyes glancing on Daisy. She steps behind you instinctively, her tail tucked between her legs.

But Daisy’s eyes still widen when she hears that magical word. She tilts her head, her canine teeth flashing as she peeks past you. "Safe?" she repeats, her voice trembling. The men don’t answer. Instead, they gesture to the gate ahead—a towering wall of wrought iron, adorned with flowers and tiny flags that flutter in the wind. Beyond it, a impossible world of pre-war tranquility: lawns so neat and green they hurt your eyes, children playing games in undamaged streets, the scent of fresh bread drifting on the air and passing residents in pristine if dated clothing who glance at you curiously without a hint of fear or hunger as they stroll unhurriedly. Daisy’s tail unfurls, tentative. "It’s… it’s beautiful," she murmurs, her voice laced with disbelief. But you just narrow your eyes.

You glance back, no usable cover. No retreat from the rifles casually slung over their shoulders so instead you step forward, shifting in front of her, taking in the men without expression.

But as you enter, they don’t try to separate you and Daisy, or demand you empty your pockets or disarm as you expected. Instead, they follow you through the gate, their smiles never dimming, their eyes lingering on Daisy’s bare shoulders, her exposed neck. You stare at them coldly, fingering a large bowie knife strapped to your thigh. A warning, and they get the message, looking away as you pass the threshold from the broken world into paradise.

A woman in a crisp white dress approaches, her smile warm, her eyes sharp as she takes both your ragged forms in. "You must be the new arrivals, we sighted your approach on the watchtowers, welcome." She says all smoothness and polish as she extends a hand and you shake it firmly, not showing weakness. The woman's gaze flicks to your face, then back to Daisy, her smile widening. "I'm Annelise, mayor of Asherbrooke, it's very nice to make your acquaintance. Come let's get you settled." Then apparently not waiting for your reply, she turns sharply, heels clicking against the pavement, clearly expecting you and Daisy to follow.

The house she leads you to is impressive, a far cry from the rusted, half collapsed wrecks you've used as poor shelter and its nice. Better than anything you’ve seen in years—two stories, with a porch swing and a garden of sunflowers and herbs. Daisy hesitantly approaches the front garden and you watch as her eyes close, a genuine smile on her face, one you haven't seen in weeks as she scents the fragrant pollen. The mayor hands you a key, then a basket of bread, cheese, and apples. "You’ll find everything you need here," she says, her good cheer ever present. “And don’t worry about the rules. We’ll go over them later.”

Daisy freezes, her tail twitching like it’s trying to decide whether to wag or tuck. "Rules?" she repeats, her voice barely audible.

The mayor’s smile brightens. “Oh, you’ll love them,” she says. "Asherbrooke is different than the outside, here we celebrate humans and demi-humans together." She says clasping her hands together in evident pride. You raise a skeptical eyebrow but even you can't fully suppress the hope however unlikely, that you and daisy have found a place free from the discrimination and hatred Daisy faces every day.

Outside, the sun dips lower, casting long shadows over the perfect cul-de-sacs and rows of identical pristine houses. You glance at the key in your hand.