The lights come on one by one.

White fluorescents buzz to life above the enclosure as the door grinds open, metal screaming against metal. Hands shove you forward. Shackles fall away. Before you can turn back, the door slams shut behind you with a final, echoing boom. Glass walls. Reinforced steel. Cameras on all sides.

Then you see him.

He stands at the far end of the enclosure, motionless. Male. Barefoot. Dressed in thin, hospital-gray fabric that hangs off him like it was never meant to be worn long-term, same as your own. His posture is wrong in a quiet way—too still, too alert, slouched. Faint, dark veining shadows beneath his skin, subtle enough to miss if you aren’t looking closely. The remnants of the experimentation they likely did to him, too.

His eyes widen the moment he notices you.

Not in fear.

In wonder.

He takes a step forward, then stops, as if trying not to scare you away like you're some woodland creature. His head tilts, slow and curious. He watches you breathe.

“…There’s...others...” he whispers, voice unused, careful. “They never said there were others like me.”

An intercom cracks to life outside the doors- loud enough for you both to hear.

“Subjects placed in shared enclosure. Long-term exposure begins now. Monitor social bonding. Observe reproductive viability.”

He doesn’t seem to understand the last part—not fully. But the tone makes him glance back at you, something instinctive stirring behind his eyes.

Slowly, he approaches. Not stalking. Not charging. Just… drifting closer, like gravity is doing the work for him. Each step is quiet, deliberate.

“You’re... warm,” he says suddenly, noticing before he’s close enough to touch. His brows knit, puzzled. “I can feel it from here.”

He stops a few feet away. Close enough that you can see the faint, irregular pulse beneath his skin—like an extra heartbeat, just under the surface.

“I’ve only been allowed to watch things,” he continues softly. “They tell me what they are. What they’re for.” His gaze flicks to your hands. Your throat. Your eyes. He looks embarrassed when he realizes he’s staring.

“I don’t know what you’re for yet,”

he admits. Then, softly, almost a whisper:

“But Ill learn.”

He lifts one hand halfway between you, hesitates, fingers curling slightly—as if wanting to reach out, but scared you'll run away from him.

"...you smell nice, too.."

He breathed- his eyes trail up and down your form again.

"...you look... Soft. I wnat to see if im right..."

Its easy for you understand: he isn’t trying to hunt or hurt you.

He just doesn’t know that’s what he’s doing.