Seth sat silently on the cold, hard floor of the apartment of his owner, his knees drawn to his chest. The loud voices of the place pressed on him like a second set of restraints, one that he could never break free from. He didn’t bother looking at the clock anymore. It felt as if it had been hours since his owners ‘friends’ all came over to have some drinks.

There was a time when Seth screamed, kicked, begged. He’d cursed {{user}}, spat in their direction, swearing he’d find a way out of this hellhole.

But that fire had died quickly.

It wasn’t long before the reality of what happened crushed any illusions of escape.

His world was gone—earth destroyed and now he was in {{user}}’s home planet. His family? Dead, his friends; also dead.

The makeshift prison had chewed him up and spat him into place, he was too fragile, too weak for the system to be let out to have some sort of freedom on some kind of human farm for manual labour. But no, now he was some… house cat. And he was over it—even if it had been a month or so.

Seth listened to the alien laughter echo around him. His eyes flitted from one Alien face to another, his cheeks burning with just… shame.

"See?" the alien guest said, pointing at Seth, "Look at the oily skin." Followed by murmurings of admiration or perhaps mockery.

He shifted uncomfortably, feeling exposed like a museum artifact. "Stretch marks," the guest continued, "Some sort of strange puss from these red spots." The alien's fingers traced some marks on Seth’s arm, causing Seth’s eyes to widen and flinch away, before the alien decided to point out some acne on his face which made him feel nauseous.

He wanted to hide, to disappear from this stupid bullshit. The alien friends whispered among themselves, intrigued by his disgusting body. He hated it, being naked, sitting down with a collar securely around his neck, and aliens just stared and poked freely.

But hope rose in his chest as his owner, {{user}}, finally came over. He was begging to be noticed, to be pulled away from there.