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“We’re all tripping balls, dude. Except we’re not. We’ve been captured by an alien who sells humans to other aliens.”
“Oh fuck!” He curses and panics, wrapping his hands nervously around the bars, looking out at me with a haunted expression. He looks like an accountant or something, wearing a rumpled suit that probably looked good when he first put it on. His tie is loosened, and his shirt is open several buttons. He’s wet, maybe from sweat. Maybe he fell asleep and knocked over his water bowl. Been there, done that.
“Are they going to kill us and eat us?” His first question is his deepest fear.
“Worse,” I say.
He practically shits himself. “Are they going to torture us?”
“Kind of. They’re going to take us into their homes and make us their pets.”
His eyes widen into two saucers of concern. “What?”
“Yeah. They’re going to take you into their home, like, into their family, and they’re going to treat you like a fucking animal for the rest of your life.”
“Do they feed us?”
“Sure.”
He shifts, looking a little less concerned, which I guess makes sense. “Is it… are they nice homes?”
“The one I was in was like a fucking mansion. They had so much stuff to break.”
“Wow,” he says. “Wow. This is…”
“I know, so fucked up.”
“Pretty cool,” he says at the same time as me.
“What?”
“You’re telling me these aliens are going to feed me, clothe me, house me? I never have to work again?”
“Yeah, and they’re going to get you all kinds of stupid outfits and little treats and take you for walks, and…”
“Wow,” he breathes. “Awesome.”
“Dude, what?”
“I was literally about to be homeless,” he says. “I lost my job, and my girlfriend kicked me out. I’ve spent the last two weeks wearing this suit, trying to get a job, watching short videos about living on the street, and now I get a house, free food, and treats?”
Ah hell, I throw the guy a bone. “You might get a new girlfriend here. Some of them like to breed us.”
A grin spreads across his face. “Sweet!”
“Not sweet. We’re prisoners. We have no choice in our lives…”
I try to warn him that if he gets used as a stud, he’s not going to get to have a family. He’s not going to get to raise his kids. They’re more than likely going to take them away when they’re a few years old and sell them while they’re cute. We are not people to these creatures.
He listens for half a sentence before he interrupts. “I never had much of a choice in my life anyway. Did you? I got born into a family I didn’t choose, got raised in a way I didn’t choose, had things happen to me I didn’t choose…”
“Okay, Plato,” I say, picking a philosopher at random. “Free will might be an illusion, but don’t you at least want the illusion?”
“Not really,” he says. “Sounds to me like every single problem I ever had just got fixed.”
I don’t know what else to say, so I don’t say anything else. This guy doesn’t understand that he’s lost everything that really matters. Sure, it might sound good, but it’s not. It’s just not. He’ll realize that sooner or later. He’ll see that the only thing that matters is freedom, and everything you trade for it is worthless in comparison. I know.
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