Page 13 of My Wild Pet

By my calculations, I’ve been here about fifteen days. I run my fingers over the faint scratches I’ve etched into the strange clay-like mat I’ve been sleeping on. Every day is exactly the same.

So, when I hear the energy barrier around my cell power down, I jump to my feet. This isn’t feeding time. My pulse quickens as a handler motions for me to come out of my cell. In one of its appendages, I spot the metallic punishment device. I saw it used on Slender and I’m guessing it was used on me when I penectomized Big. Painful isn’t the word—it’s brutal.

So when the handler motions for me to step out, I obey.

My handler pushes me forward with a cold tentacle in the middle of my back. Despite the alien surroundings, I feel an odd relief at the sensation of another being touching me.At least this confirms I’m not trapped inside my own head,I think.

I glance at the women in the adjacent cell as we pass. They’re looking at me with pitiful expressions. One woman—the one who had tried to communicate with me before—presses her hands against the energy barrier, creating ripples of orange light, again mouthing that same word.

I shake my head, frustrated.I still don’t understand,I think, brushing it aside. Whatever she’s trying to say, it’s not my problem now. I’m leaving for whatever comes next.

The handler doesn’t allow me to slow down and pushes me further down the corridor, away from the women. I can hear the slimy shift of its movements behind me.Am I going to be dinner now? Some fantastic feast at a fancy alien restaurant?Because no Hollywood special effects artist could ever create something as real as all of this.

As we walk, the pulsating walls and alien hieroglyphs give way to more activity—other tentacled beings moving about, carrying out tasks. The sight sends chills down my spine.What happens now?

We stop in front of a large set of doors. The handler clicks and hisses at another alien, and I stand frozen, watching their exchange like an outsider in my own life. It feels surreal.

Finally, the doors open, and my stomach drops. Beyond the threshold is a theater-like space, massive and dimly lit, except for a harsh light illuminating a central stage. It’s obvious who the star of this performance is supposed to be.

“No. No way. I’m not going out there,” I say, my voice trembling as I dig my naked heels into the wet floor.

The handler clicks rapidly in response, its tentacles slapping against my arms and back to propel me forward. The force of it sends a sharp sting through my skin, and I stumble onto the stage.

The air is colder here, and I’m painfully aware of my nakedness. In the cage, I had grown accustomed to it, but now, under the bright lights and surrounded by an audience, I feel utterly exposed. Instinctively, I try to cover my breasts and vulva, but my handler grips my wrists with its slick appendages, keeping me restrained. It pushes me to the end of the T-shaped stage, forcing me into the glowing orange circle at its center.

I resist, but another tentacle wraps around my waist, keeping me in place. My heart pounds in my chest as organic material springs from the floor and starts climbing my legs to my calves. I realize with a panic, I can’t move.

Satisfied I’m frozen in place, my handler releases me and backs away, leaving me alone under the glaring spotlight.

The aliens in the audience begin to move in closer. I watch them in horror. They come in all shapes and sizes with grotesque appendages, too many eyes, and greedy mouths creating a nauseating sea of movement. Some reach out with insect-like antennae that tap against the forcefield surrounding me, causing it to ripple with orange light.

"This must be the next layer of hell," I whisper to myself.

The platform beneath me begins to slowly rotate, giving the audience a full view of me. I suppress an urge to scream.Don’t look scared. Just… focus. Think.

The truth slams into me like a freight train, the word the blonde woman was desperately trying to tell me clicking into place in my mind.

Pet.

That’s what this is. They’re selling us like animals.

My eyes scan the crowd desperately, searching for something—anything—that looks remotely human. There must be someone here, someone who can save me from this. Doesn’t Earth have a Space Force? An intergalactic CIA to save trafficked humans?

As if reacting to my anxiety, the lights surrounding me intensify. I feel like an object, a thing, spinning under the gaze of these creatures.

My heart thunders in my chest as I scan the sea of aliens, each one more grotesque than the last, a chaotic tapestry of how wrong biology can go.

Then I see him.

Amid the chaos, a figure catches my eye—a man. Or at least something close to a man. His skin is an ashen grey, but his features are undeniably human. Symmetrical and strong, with deep green eyes and thick, smooth black hair that frames his face.

My breath catches, and I can’t tear my eyes away from him. Even as the platform slowly rotates, I crane my neck, desperate to keep him in view.

He has to see me. Doesn’t he recognize that I’m like him? That we’re the same. Doesn’t he think, ‘I should help her?’

I mouth the word,Help,but as the motion leaves my lips, I realize the irony. He probably can’t understand me, just as I couldn’t understand the woman in the other cage.

If the ash-skinned man saw me, he gives no indication of it.

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