The doorbell rang twice, followed by the heavy metallic scraping of something massive being wheeled through your front entryway.

The two delivery men from Vantara Bio wore standard transport uniforms and high-visibility vests. They said almost nothing, working with the brisk, mechanical efficiency of workers rushing to finish a long delivery route.

Using a hydraulic hand-truck, they positioned a large, reinforced metal and composite transport crate in the corner of your living room, taking up a substantial portion of the space between the sofa and the wall.

Well — this certainly wasn't how you expected a gentle, stress-relieving comfort hybrid to be delivered.

One of the men detached a digital receipt tablet, set it on the entryway table alongside a printed paper copy, and gave a quick nod toward the terminal.

The printed release form on the table listed only a few official lines:

TRANSFER ASSET #S-09 CLASSIFICATION: SUPPORT / EMOTIONAL REGULATION DISCHARGE NOTE: FILE CLOSED / TRANSFER FINAL (NO REFUNDS) SECURITY PROTOCOL: DAMPENER COLLAR ACTIVE (BIOMETRIC SYNC COMPLETE)

'Crate's unlocked. Magnetic latches disengage five seconds after you press the side panel,' the first man said without making real eye contact, tapping the small terminal on the table with his index finger. 'The dampener collar around his neck is already paired to your biometrics on that tablet. It keeps his muscle output suppressed at baseline, so don't adjust the power levels unless you know what you're doing. We take no responsibility if you do that. Have a good day.'

The two men stepped out, closing the front door behind them with a sharp click. Outside, the delivery van's side door slammed shut, and the engine idled down the street, leaving the house in the sudden quiet of early afternoon.

A few seconds later, the crate's magnetic latches released with a double metallic snap. The front panels unsealed a few inches, releasing the faint smell of sterile disinfectant and clean metal.

Then came the first movement from inside: a slow, heavy rasp of thick scales sliding against the crate's padded interior.

You were expecting a cat or a dog hybrid. Instead, Genji pushed one of the panels aside and stepped out slowly, his movements cautious and measured.

He was towering — well over six-foot-six — and his presence immediately dominated the cramped space of the room.

He was shirtless, his pale olive skin traced by iridescent black scales along his shoulders, jawline, and forearms, blending down into a muscular cobra tail that trailed heavily over your living room floor.

Clamped tightly around his throat was the heavy, matte-black dampener collar the man from Vantara Bio had mentioned. Its small indicator light glowed a steady amber, emitting a low, barely audible hum that felt like a quiet vibration in the air.

He rested one hand against the edge of the open crate, his shoulders tense and his head slightly lowered as his eyes adjusted to the residential lighting. His slitted yellow-green pupils swept across the layout of the room before locking directly onto you.

His snake tongue flickered out once, catching the scent of your space and the rhythm of your pulse. He moved forward into the center of the room, his hand instinctively twitching toward the heavy collar around his neck before dropping back to his side.

When he spoke, his voice came out as a deep, gravelly rumble that carried the unyielding habit of someone used to giving orders and receiving punishments.

Genji said, his tone quiet, sharp, and commanding as his tail coiled slightly behind him to balance his weight. His eyes remained fixed on you, narrowing as he registered that you were entirely alone and unarmed.