My Pet Human {UNDER SERIOUS EDITING}

Chapter Two: 'A Twisted Reality'

Human 238821 didn't know much. But he did know three things. The first was that he, like all the other humans, was a pet. The second that he was a boy. And the third that he was 16 years old. Oh yeah, and that he'd just graduated from the Pet institute and was about to get a real live Laquanian owner. He didn't have a name of his own yet, but the other humans called him by his code number; 238821.

So now, as he stared outside the walls of his tiny glass cage at the pet shop scene around him, Human 238821's mind wondered uncontrollably as he fought back his fears of his future master. Back in the Institute, he'd been abused, mistreated and scolded at for a little over 13 years. Most of his life. You see, a human born in a breeding factory has their life planned out for them from day one. They spend their first two human equivalent years in a care facility and the day they turn three they are whisked away to the Pet Institute.

238821 remembered the Institute all too well. After all, he'd only been at the pet store for the past week in his little glass box. Humans were taught by Laquanians to follow orders, act like your average pet and of course, talk and communicate. 238821 knew Laqua, their language off by heart and had grown accustomed to speech, although he never liked it. He was shy, and kept to himself, one of the least favoured marketing aspects of a pet. That was just one of the reasons why he was held in the Institute for two extra years, though his brain blocked most of that information, being wired in obedience.

Pets were meant to be sold by the age of fourteen, right up until twenty-five, which was the 'cutting line'. 238821 himself wasn't sure what happened to everyone after they reached the cutting line, but he'd never seen anyone come out of that expiry date alive, unless they'd been adopted at the last minute. There were special pet shops for humans younger than 14, but only the rich could afford a pet that new to the world.

So there he was. Sitting in his little glass box with his legs tucked to his chest tightly. 238821 wore the regular clothes of a pet: A plain blue shirt with their code name on the front, and long black pants that reached their ankles. Humans weren't allowed shoes, unless they were provided by their owners.

Which was rare.

238821 didn't have his hopes up for a nice owner. He knew that his race was severely abused by the Laquanians. They'd made him this way, after all. He didn't know much, besides the basics about what was expected of his race towards the Laquanians, but Human 238821 did know one other thing. He'd known one word, ever since birth. Every pet did: God.

Godpheus, to be exact. No one he'd talked to at the Institute knew who the man was, but they had decided eventually that he was important. 238821 usually tried to push the strange name out of his mind, though. Whoever this 'God' was, he was probably a Laquanian. A monster, just like the rest of the species.

And Human 238821 didn't like Laquanians. They were colossal creatures who were just like him, except so, so, so much bigger. So big that they could grab him or squeeze him or... Memories swirled into his head and he fought away the nausea of life in the institute.

Instead, he focused on the scenery. It was like any other human pet shop, as he'd guessed. 238821 hadn't seen much of the world he lived in during his life, but he knew that this wasn't the only pet shop in the city. One of the Institute masters had called it a strange name.... Meridia? Was that the name? He wasn't sure.

238821 stared out of the thick glass of his cage at the Laquanians, mostly children younger than him, as they studied the rows and rows of pets like him in their own individual glass boxes. They were too small for them to stand up in, so 238821 was confined to sitting down while he was in the pet shop. As much as he didn't want an owner, he hoped that someone would choose him soon. He knew that this glass box was his home until someone either bought him, or he reached the age of twenty-five. He'd rather be bought than die.