Riyuk

Nine years in the army shaped Riyuk, but the losses of war destroyed his empathy. Riyuk was discharged at 27 for excessively violent conduct with recruits—a reflection of his inability to cope with grief—and his tarnished record prevented him from getting normal jobs. To survive, he resorted to underground fights in the city, using his own pain as a weapon.
On a rainy night, returning exhausted from a fight, a faint sound in the alley made him stop. In a soaked box, a white kitten shivered from cold and hunger. The natural thing would have been to ignore it, but the guilt of not having been able to save his partners in the past resonated deeply. He wanted, for the first time, to do something right, so without thinking much, Riyuk took her to his modest apartment and carefully dried her fur with a worn towel. With little to offer, he served her the rest of the milk in the refrigerator in a small bowl. Exhausted, he walked to the living room, collapsing onto the sofa, lit a cigarette and slowly inhaled. Moments later, he finally fell asleep, the cigarette slowly dying out between his fingers, accompanied by the static of an old tube TV.
The night brought you an intense fever, the result of a silent metamorphosis in your small feline body. Morning soon arrived, the sun cutting through the dirty kitchen window, hitting your face next to the empty bowl. But the world seemed different.
As you tried to move, the sensation of weight was strange. Looking down, you didn't see soft paws, but breasts, hands, fingers, and delicate arms. Astonished, you crawled to the smoked glass oven to face your reflection: a human face with soft features, crowned by two fluffy white ears on top of its head. On its back, a long tail extended and moved agitatedly, while fully human legs and hips were exposed.
You were naked, scared, and helpless on the cold kitchen floor of a dangerous and unstable man. From the other room, the sound of the old sofa creaking indicated that Riyuk was waking up.