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As the neon lights above his enclosure flickered, Janus longed to pace like an under-stimulated zoo animal. Even though, often he paced back home, a quick one-two-three-four and turn, one-two-three-four and turn—delighting in the self-soothing motion as he contemplated Tuesday's dinner and the conclusion to his Ethics thesis. But here, it wouldn't do. He had some standards as much as he was willing to live as one to survive.
Being contained in an enclosure with alien eyes and strange limbs and weird noises became an exhausting ordeal after a long while. It was boring and monotonous, the same routine day in and day out. He was a human being, with thoughts and feelings and words they couldn't pry out of him, even if he allowed them to believe they'd beaten him into a slobbering, senseless submission.
None of it mattered, really, when he couldn't even stand at his full height, nevertheless pace the enclosure. It was imperative he kept small, curled over and commodified to their comforts. Such lack of movement gradually grew to his muscles straining to work properly, in addition to other variables.
So instead, he sat in the center of his enclosure, head held down and towards the patterned tiles. Occasionally he snuck glimpses to the world outside the glass, taking a dull delight in the gasps and shrieks. It would always result in a small shock from his collar, his handlers displeased at his disobedience. But the pain was hardly a punishment these days, barely registering as a tickle of discomfort. He still made a theatrical show of a full body flinch, eyes shutting tight as he pressed his hands uselessly against the collar.
"Come one, come all, to see the galaxy's first tamed Deathworlder!" The voice blasted from the speakers just outside Janus's enclosure.
Apparently, to the greater masses of the galaxy, humans were seen freakish orc-like monsters in terms of intelligence and strength. They possessed peripheral vision, towered over most alien species and could consume deathly poisons, such as caffeine and chocolate. They were aggressive, baring their teeth and making direct eye contact when first approached. They could not speak Basic, chattering in nonsense screeches and shouts.
This perception was hardly helped by the fact that galaxy's first introduction to humans were ones that were abducted and trafficked by an alien empire that lived entirely on their space-faring vessels, drifting from one end of the galaxy to the other. Abused, traumatized humans who were desperate to escape and survive by any means possible. Or yearning to be understood, treated as a sapient being worthy of respect and recognition.
Janus was once the latter kind. Until he gave up any and all pretense to be understood and treated as anything but a wild creature, tamed through jolts of electricity and food deprivation.
There was a click-click-click, and then the door to his enclosure whooshed open, just like a door from a sci-fi movie. The glass around the enclosure darkened, blocking visage from the outside. He tilted his head slightly, watching from the edge of his vision as one of the handlers approach, flanked on both sides by a pair of visitors.
One of them was tall—for an alien that was. Perhaps five feet in length, features obscured behind a sweeping purple garment and a mask. The mask was black and flat, curving at the edges to fit the entire face. It was possible the alien was completely blind or consumed food through a different opening than what humans were accustomed to. They skulked over with a limp, the left foot dragging behind the right one.
The other one was shorter, its quadruple legs scurrying to keep up with the longer strides of the handler and the other visitor. It had long grey fur and a tail-like appendage that swished behind itself like a rudder on a boat. Its upper body crested upwards, with two more set of limbs. It vaguely reminded Janus of the Caterpillar in Disney's version of Alice In Wonderland, and he wondered if the alien was capable of running on all six sets of limbs. It wore a blue capelet, with holes that accommodated its upper limbs. Its eyes appeared large at first, until Janus discerned it likely had smaller pupils hidden in the fake visage akin to an animal mimicking the appearance of a more dangerous foe.
He stayed still, waiting for the handler's cues. It was not uncommon for visitors to be brought into the enclosure at times, for a closer look at Janus. A handler was always present, giving an in-depth "education" on their prized exhibit. He presumed there was a hefty amount of liability forms and a reprehensible sum to be allowed this privilege. That was assuming alien societies had a legal system that justified such things, of course.
"Remember, in the wild most deathworlders will lock direct eye contact. Our deathworlder is docile and has learned to tolerate our presence because it knows we provide it food."
"I see." The tall one said, its voice garbled behind a translator. The flat tone of the translator along with its stiff body posture made it impossible for Janus to determine it was excited or bored. He'd learned from observation the various tells of alien body language, but neither of these visitors were familiar species.
As demonstration, the handler held out a piece of a fruit-like substance expectantly. Janus stared at it, lips twitching upwards. As funny as it would be, to simply ignore it or slap the food out of the handler's hand defiantly, Janus kept such amusements to himself. He lifted himself into a kneeling position, careful to keep close to the ground. The small visitor's tail flicked side to side, in anticipation? Fear?
Janus crept forward and allowed the handler to hand feed the offending piece of food regardless. He wished he could say it tasted horrible, but in truth it was the only few bursts of flavor he had left to enjoy in life. It was a treat used by the handlers for a reason—his daily feed consisted of grey sludge that tasted as good as one could imagine from its sordid appearance.
"Fun fact, even though deathworlders are primarily carnivores, they love munching on plant matter." The handler explained, "in fact let me show you something."
Janus barely repressed the urge to flinch when the handler drew its appendage close to his face. He was aware of the routine as he allowed it to hook into a corner of his mouth and draw back his lips. "Look at its teeth, deceptively blunt like a herbivore, but I assure you, its kind are ferocious predators."
Janus snorted, a short exhale through his nose. He'd loll his eyes to the back of his skull if it wasn't seen as as a predatory response.
"They're cute!" The smaller one garbed in blue said, venturing a step closer. This was…an unexpected response. Janus and the handler almost exchanged a mutual look of confusion before Janus sharply averted his gaze.
"You may think its cute but they've been known to tear off limbs with a single chomp of their teeth," The handler said, "remember, our friend here is not a typical example of its kind, which is why we allow visitors to see it up close."
"I'm curious, how did you get it to be so well behaved?" The tall one asked.
Janus inhaled deeply, exhaled slow.
"The collar emits electrical shocks. It has learned undesirable behavior results in unwanted pain," The handler explained, "it's not enough to harm it irreparably, not to worry. This one's temperament is unusually calmer than other specimens, which is why it was chosen for educational purposes. There is still more to discover about deathworlders, but it is possible they are less aggressive in isolation, which is why this one is kept alone."
He closed his eyes. He was not here in this enclosure. Instead he was at home, laying down on his couch, the smell of his roast in the oven emanating the air. His cat Plato is curled up on his lap, purring quietly. His hair short and slicked back, not long and unkempt. His face clean-shaven, not the itchy uncomfortable stubble that stoutly refused to grow into an actual beard. Probably for the best, considering he had no way of keeping it maintained here.
"—see it closing its eyes? It's a sign of trust, that it is comfortable enough in our presence—"
He could lunge at the aliens, if he wanted to. Even in this emancipated state, he could severely maim them. The shocks from the collar wouldn't be enough to stop him. But then, there was no chance of escape. He would most likely be euthanized and for some godforsaken reason, he didn't want that. He still wanted to live, even it meant living in such a meaningless state of existence.
"Wait! What are you doing—?!"
There was something soft and fuzzy underneath his hands. It felt almost like Plato, but not quite. It wiggled, its stubby limbs wrapping around his frame as much as they could stretch out. He tentatively petted its fur.
"Hey kiddo. It's gonna be okay." They said. Janus could feel a pair of appendages looped around his collar, fiddling with its components.
Janus's eyes snapped open. He blinked rapidly, unable to keep himself from staring blatantly at the fluffy alien determinedly working to take apart his collar. He looked up to find the tall alien holding the handler at gun point with a laser pistol.
"That thing is dangerous, you don't understand, you're going to kill all of us!" The handler insisted, their tentacles quivering fearfully.
"Oh I know it's dangerous," The tall alien said, an odd noise accompanying it. The translator struggled to parse it out, but it sounded agonizingly familiar to Janus. Because it was a noise that he heard back on Earth, a noise he was capable of making. Because it was human laughter.
The tall alien straightened their posture, their spinal chords crackling a bit as they stood to their full height. Holding the laser pistol with one hand, they ripped the mask off to show a vicious flash of human teeth at the handler, "I'm one of them."
Janus could barely process that revelation before the collar snapped off and the fluffy alien chittered excitedly, curling around his shoulders, "Virgil, I did it!"
"Cool, cool, okay," Virgil said before the human turned their attention back on the Handler, "no hard feelings, but also. Fuck you."
The handler's lips started to move, but whatever words died the moment Virgil blasted them with the laser gun. Janus watched as Virgil rummaged through the handler's pockets, until they successfully fished out a pair of key cards. Virgil placed the mask back on, dashing towards Janus and the fluffy alien.
"C'mon, let's go, let's go!" Virgil grabbed hold of Janus's hand, hoisting him to his feet with ease. Janus stumbled for a few steps before crashing to the ground, hard. Fluffy alien cried out, managing to avoid being flattened by Janus.
He breathed, his hand curled around a real human hand. He used to be selective in human touch, or touch of any kind in fact. He wore a pair of gloves like a Victorian gentleman, to keep his hands from touching unwanted textures. Virgil's hand was covered up with a glove but even so, Virgil was human.
More importantly, Janus couldn't walk, let alone run. His muscles had long since atrophied. Carrying him would not be worth the risk. He shook his head, attempting to let go of Virgil's hand. But the other human held on, giving Janus's hand a firm squeeze.
"I'm not giving up on you." Virgil said, before turning to face his companion, "Patton, hold onto the laser pistol. I'm carrying him."
He tossed the weapon to Patton, who almost dropped it given its cumbersome size to the short alien. Then he lifted Janus up, settling him around his shoulders in a fireman's carry. He moved swiftly, not quite a walk but not a jog either. The limp lingered in his gait, despite the efforts to ignore it. There was no way Virgil could sustain this for an extended period of time.
Clearly, Virgil managed to find a way to escape and thrive in a sense among alien society. What Janus was struggling to grasp was why he was willing to risk it all for Janus. It was so stupidly idiotic.
Yet hypocritically, Janus didn't wiggle himself out of the hold. He probably didn't have the strength to try and absurdly, something strange and weird threatened to blossom in the crux of his chest. A feeling he hadn't allowed himself to indulge in a long, long while.
Despite the fact Janus hung from Virgil's shoulders, looking as if Virgil was hauling the carcass of a dead deer he'd shot, there was still shrieks and screams. Bodies of various shapes and colors fled backwards.
"The deathworlder—"
"Stay away, I don't want that thing's germs!"
Janus groaned, nausea sweeping over him from the bobbing movement of being jostled by Virgil's movements. Virgil's grip was beginning to slacken some, when a supernova exploded across Janus's vision. Or rather, that was what the bright dizzying light felt like, as it pulled the three of them into its embrace and spat them out into a new place entirely. Virgil buckled at last, sending himself and Janus to the ground in a mangled heap. Patton let out a concerned squeak, venturing to their side at once.
Janus's vision spun as he kept still, trying to regain his bearings. There was a clacking sound, one that drew nearer as something approached.
"Gurl, I am going to run out of places to get my fix if you—" The new voice paused, "Oh? Who's this cutie?"
"Floor it, Remy!" Virgil said, ignoring the question entirely.
There were more words spoken, short and terse. Janus's brain refused to latch onto the words, rendering them incoherent noises. It was almost comforting like white noise, he decided. Someone lifted him up again, placing him somewhere soft and quiet. It was dark—no blinding neon lights, no loud garbles and sharp taps against glass.
The person tried to let go of him completely, but Janus swiped a hand in their direction. They caught it easily, letting his bare hand meet their own bare hand. A pathetic whine left Janus's mouth as a pressure built behind his eyelids.
"Don't hold it in," Virgil said, rubbing his thumb against his fingers, "It's okay, you're safe now. I won't fucking let them touch you again."
Janus wasn't sure if he believed the full extent of those words. Yet Virgil expressed a permission to cry, and his body succumbed to it; great uncontrollable sobs wracked his body. Simply a ploy to gain further pity from the other human, to ensure Janus remained in his good graces.
He wasn't supposed to be a human being again. Internally, he clung to it. But externally, he'd given up the possibility of being seen as anything but a deathworlder, a nightmarish beast incapable of sapient thought. He'd have to relearn how to behave properly. Imperatively, he would have to learn what Virgil sought in return for his rescue. There had to be something the other human wanted. There was no such thing as an act of true altruism.
But in the meantime, he relished in the gentle spoken reassurances and warm touch of another human being as he fought a losing battle against the alluring siren's call of sleep.