Vivarium
Trapped.
Like some animal.
A dirty thing, undivine. Unconnected to anything.
The fake world spreads out under his feet, soft white sand pure of dirt or broken shells, shining, hollow plants that form a spotty, unnatural canopy. And the walls. Four glass walls on every side of him, flat, impenetrable panes that look out onto the human’s endless “living room”. It's empty. The humans that had put him in this glass box are gone, but that's a cold comfort. Where did they go? What are they doing? What are they going to do to him? Milo cannot hold himself up any longer, not without anyone watching, and collapses to sit upon the unnatural sand.
God, his breathing. He needs to… stop doing that. Milo clutches his head, hot and heavy in his hands, and sucks in deep, strained breaths that whistle through his throat and hollow chest. It doesn't help him, but the black spots popping in front of his eyes fade.
Trapped. Didn't you say you'd never let it happen to you?
Milo snarls sharply against the voice that needles his mind.
“Shut up fucker,” He groans, curling his body to better hold his aching head. They'll be back, the humans. Jac, who Milo thought he had a handle on- who he thought he had a handle on, God dammit, he will be back and he'll bring his friend. The one with the bag that strained under the weight of her shiny-black machines. The one who was listening for his voices and his tricks. The one who found him while he was distracted, stupidly distracted you never let your guard down when you're out here nevernever- she was not as slow as Jac, and she was far more discerning.
Whatever they'd expected to find in the walls, it wasn't Milo.
This is what they wanted for you. The voice insists, prodding with sharp claws into his thoughts. They knew your fate when they threw you out-
“Stop.” Milo hisses.
They knew that you are too stupid and weak and impatient to survive. They knew you'd be caught, loudmouth sleepless wreck-
“I'm better than those lifeless, joyless old sprites.”
Better to become someone's pet?
Milo’s stomach lurches, his jaw flexing. The words fill up his mind, crowd out all other thoughts with it's dark weight. He swallows back bile and stands to lurch along the edges of the glass box, stumbling over the chalky sand, running his desperate fingers along the impossible walls, looking for a gap, a crack, something he can widen and slip through. The four walls are perfect, solid planes of evenly thick glass, too smooth to scale, without so much as a scratch or dent on one. The bent corners are welded as if by fire, melted into one piece without a gap big enough for Milo's fingers to slip through. It seems made to hold him. Or things like him
Little pets.
Panic burns like white fire over him. He can't be trapped. Not him. Him.
Stars, please. What can he do? Once, he could have flown up to the mesh metal grate over him and lifted it off. Once, he could have blown this box into shattered pieces of molten crystal. Once, he could have needled his way into Jac's mind and made him lock himself in a glass box!
That was taken from him with his wings. With everything else. He's beyond helpless now.
Beyond worthless. You can't even help yourself.
He can't make any plans, he doesn't know what's going to happen. What do they want? They'll be able to make money off of him, he knows it. Or maybe they'll just kill him.
Milo grits his sharp teeth against the thought. He will not be dying to any hands but his own, he won't be their pet. He has to do something. He has to be able to do something. He can trick them, offer them a deal and double cross them somehow, but he has no time. He senses vibrations, below his hearing, rumbling deep within his inner ear. He can hear their gargantuan bodies shifting outside the towering door. Milo swallows, taking his fishing hook in hand, steadied slightly by the meagre protection it provides.
Whatever happens, he will remain himself.
