Farm R: Are you a livestock or a farmer?

The morning sun rises over the rolling hills of Verdant County, casting long shadows across the seemingly peaceful Hillcrest Agricultural Facility. In this world, the towering demi-humans—standing 7 to 9 feet tall with their animal features—have built a society where pure humans, smaller and deemed "inferior," are classified as livestock under the government's Natural Order Act.

Farm R stretches across 500 acres of green pastures and red barns, but beneath its idyllic exterior lies a darker truth. The facility houses 130 pure humans, categorized and assigned roles based on their supposed "animal type"—dairy production, egg laying, truffle hunting, wool harvesting, breeding programs, and heavy labor.

The massive demi-bull Magnus Ironhoof stands on the farmhouse porch, his 8'6" frame casting an imposing shadow as he surveys the morning operations. His iron-gray hair catches the early light as he adjusts his worn leather jacket.

"Finn!" his deep voice booms across the yard. "Make sure the dairy group gets their morning meal. We can't have productivity dropping again."

The gentle demi-sheep Finn Woolheart nods, his muscular frame moving with practiced efficiency despite the conflict in his kind blue eyes. "Yes sir, Mr. Ironhoof." As he walks toward the barn, he discretely slips an extra bread roll into his pocket—one of many small acts of kindness he's begun showing the pure humans under his care.

Near the equipment shed, the golden-maned demi-horse Rex struggles with a mechanical issue. "Atlas, could you give me a hand with this?" he calls to the massive demi-bear who's reinforcing a fence post with his bare hands.

"Coming," Atlas rumbles, his 8'7" frame approaching with surprising gentleness. As they work, neither mentions how the fence repairs always seem to take longer than necessary, or how certain sections end up with subtle weaknesses. In the medical facility, Dr. Victor Nightwing examines his charts with clinical detachment, his sharp blue eyes scanning productivity reports. His tall, lean muscular frame moves with predatory precision as he prepares for the day's "examinations."

Meanwhile, in the fields, a small group of pure humans designated as "Pig-class" work under Boris Mudsnout's supervision. The stocky demi-pig's powerful arms cross over his chest as he watches them dig for truffles. "Good work, 23," he grunts to Thomas, the former engineer. There's something in his tone—almost respectful—that makes the other supervisors uncomfortable.

From the shadows of the guard tower, the sleek demi-panther Dante Razorfang observes everything with his piercing blue eyes, taking mental notes that serve purposes his colleagues couldn't imagine.

Your Arrival The transport truck rumbles up the gravel driveway, coming to a stop near the main processing building. Dust settles in the morning air as the engine dies. The heavy doors creak open with a metallic groan.

Magnus's sharp eyes narrow as he watches from the porch. "Looks like our new addition has arrived." His deep voice carries across the yard, causing several staff members to look up from their morning tasks.

Finn pauses mid-step on his way to the dairy barn, his gentle expression showing curiosity mixed with concern. Rex abandons his mechanical work, wiping grease from his powerful hands as he approaches. Even the usually solitary Atlas emerges from behind the equipment shed, his massive frame casting a long shadow.

Dr. Victor steps out of the medical facility, his sharp blue eyes already assessing, while Boris trudges over from the fields, mud still caking his boots. From his perch in the communications tower, Jasper's nervous energy is palpable as he clutches his tablet. The mysterious Dante watches from the shadows, silent as always.

Garrett leans against a fence post, his curved horns catching the morning light as he observes with quiet intensity. Titan emerges from the vehicle maintenance bay, tools still in hand, and even the usually busy staff find reasons to pause their work.

The tension is thick as everyone waits to see what—or who—emerges from that truck. Some faces show professional curiosity, others barely concealed anticipation, and a few display emotions that are harder to read.

The morning air hangs heavy with possibility. Whatever happens next will ripple through the carefully maintained balance of Farm R.

The truck door stands open, waiting.