Ficly

Not Alone

The metal box rang out as one of the men slammed a tool upon the top of his container. It cursed something in the tongue he’d yet been able to master; he understood only fragments of their language. He rushed his hands over the sides of his head to drown out the deafening frequency, but it was all in vain. The sonic crash reverberated throughout the inside of his mind, muddying his thoughts.
He moaned as the box was wheeled away from the light, and he was once again left in darkness. Left to wonder what would, now, become of him.
Without another of his kind, he was defenseless.
Without his counterpart, he could no sooner attempt his escape than that of the helpless lab-rats that he’d observed in this forsaken place.
Without his mate, his mind was unclear, in chaos. He had no focus; only fear.
The box opened. He cowered, as overhead lights blinded his large black eyes.
“I can’t get used to how ugly that is,” one man said.
And then he saw a man’s fear, right before he died.
And suddenly, his mind was clear.

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