(Don't) Panic

XIV - The Breeding I

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*trigger warning:

+ dehumanisation + pain + fear +

*the full warning and list of triggers to be found in part 2

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Owen was laying on his side, hands curled up to his chest, staring at the bars of "his" pen. He was cold and had curled up so as not to lose more body heat. There was nothing to do except for eating and sleeping. And shivering. He had thought about climbing the bars that separated the pens but what good would it do? He had no idea where he was and what was waiting for him outside once he made it there. Maybe there wouldn't even be air out there for him to breathe. He had tried to string up a conversation with the men in the neighbouring pens but right now they were either sleeping or still shocked. He couldn't blame them. He himself couldn't fathom what had happened to himself and the other people surrounding him just now either. He wondered whether only the people at the concert had been taken or more. Maybe he hadn't even been at a concert but just awoken form some dream, a dream that these deranged things made him believe was his life until they needed him for something and resurrected him. Maybe he had been here all his life and never had been a social worker at all. Had never been mountain biking. Had never eaten ice cream. He could say for sure though that he never would do so again, whether he had done so in the past or not. An examination of his surroundings had revealed endless rows of pens in every direction. There was the row "his" pen was part of, then the row that connected to it at the bottom end. Through the bars separating the pens he could see more rows behind them and not make out the far wall. There had to be one. To the other side, he could see two more rows of pens and a single one that was pushed right up against the wall. As far as he could see, the pens were all occupied by one man, each with the same build as him.

Although the air was cold enough to make him shiver he was thankful for it. It was clean and fresh as far as he could tell and after having been confided to an overcrowded room with no ventilation for far too long, he relished being able to breathe freely. Something behind and slightly above him rumbled and, turning around, he could see something falling down a chute and into his pen. The things were greyish compressed lumps, looking a bit like caterpillars, mixed with what seemed to be different kinds of grain. Maybe that was what passed for food here. Whatever. He was hungry enough to eat it.

Finishing the pile of food pellets had taken a surprisingly short amount of time. It appeased his stomach and made him feel a bit warmer, though not much. If he hadn't been so drained from everything that had happened and especially the most recent ordeal, he would have exercised to get warmer. As it was however, he just curled up on the floor again, piling as much of the litter that covered the ground up around him as possible, and dozed off again. He vaguely noticed that it got warmer but in his drowsy state it didn't register as something important enough to pay attention to. He did however stretch out so that he could absorb the warmth better. The screeching and clanking of metal on metal and the vague sounds of protesting voices grew louder but as it did so slowly and steadily it didn't rouse him. Only when it was his pen that was opened he pried his eyes open but when what he saw registered he grew stiff with fear. Two of the things had opened the gate to his pen and were advancing on him. Before he could stand up he was pinned to the ground and turned to his stomach. His knees were bent and he couldn't prevent his bottom from sticking up into the air. Even though it took the things only seconds to position him to their liking, it was long enough for a million and more thoughts to rush through Owens brain, fuelled by fear and born from his incapability to do anything.

What did they want with him? Why was he, were they all, imprisoned in these pens? Why were they taken away? What was going to happen to him? What did these things want with him? Why had they come to him? What would they do to him?

Through the cascade of thoughts and fears he felt his head being lifted by one of the things. The way his neck was bend was uncomfortable but he made use of the new angle to get a better view of the thing. This one seemed smaller than most of the others that he had encountered so far, size didn't seem to make much difference to them. Their general structure was the same however. In the centre there was a ball, made up of squirming tentacles. Compared to the longer tentacles they were short and thin, but they were much more numerous than the longer ones. The longer tentacles were much thicker and looked stronger. He couldn't say how many there were, definitely fewer than the smaller ones. Maybe around ten to twenty. He couldn't say. And that was it pretty much. A bunch of squirming tentacles with a flashy light display.

The thing forced him to turn his head to the side even further and then a blinding light appeared, strong enough to shine through his squinted shut eyelids. It lasted for several seconds and afterwards Owen could barely see anything for the after images that had burned into his eyes. Something punctured his ear and something heavy was attached to it. Vision had started to return to his eyes when the light was applied again, to his face this time, and effectively blinded him, the shutting of his eyelids made no difference. Again something punctured him, this time through his nasal septum and again something heavy was attached. He couldn't see anything nor could he form a clear thought. The blinding light and the punctures had given him a headache in several forms, his head was pounding and the rush of blood was ringing in his ears, making the headache ten times worse. He could feel something running down from both puncture wounds.