Animal World

My whole class was thrown forward in time, to the year 3035.
Humans, once the apex predators, were now a critically endangered species.
Leo, the class slacker, was living it up. Dude, this is awesome! They feed us, house us, even give us baths. Steak, lobster, little cakes—what’s not to love?
Mark, our class president, agreed. "AC, waterbeds, a pool… Seventy-eight degrees is the GOAT."
And Ariana, the class beauty, preened. "Eee, why are they always looking at me? Do they just, like, love me that much?"
But I was the only one whose skin was crawling, whose mouth was as dry as dust.
Oh, my dear, naive classmates.
You’ve forgotten something. As an endangered species, it’s not just about being cherished, adored, and pampered.
It’s also about being bred. Endlessly.

1
I was the last one they caught.
Our Animal Science class was on a field trip to a national wilderness preserve to observe a wild panda. The transport vehicle overturned, and when we woke up, we were in the apocalypse.
My leg was injured. I got separated from the others while looking for food.
After a restless sleep, as I was dragging myself eastward up a mountain, he appeared again—the burly Insectoid in sterile gloves who’d been silently tracking me.
I thrashed, trying to scramble away, my hands fumbling for a loose rock to throw. But the Insectoid, with his strangely delicate features, just stared at me with his huge, multifaceted compound eyes. A low, rhythmic chittering sound vibrated from his throat, as if trying to soothe me.
He didn’t seem hostile.
I was already at my limit. The wound on my leg had reopened, bleeding again. The Insectoid behind me chirped softly, a gentle summons. This time, I stopped my clumsy retreat and turned back.
He had placed a piece of fruit on the ground.
I swallowed hard. As my gaze dropped to the fruit, a sharp prick stung my ankle. A thin, insect-like needle delivered a paralyzing agent that spread through my body like ice.
I was sedated. When I opened my eyes again, I was inside a completely alien architectural complex.
Two other Insectoid guards opened a gate, revealing silvery structures that shimmered in the sun like liquid mercury. Holographic screens and rotating icons pulsed with information I couldn't comprehend.
Through the transparent walls on either side of me, I could see other humans huddled in corners, their faces distorted and strange. They were a mix of ethnicities, but they all shared unsettling traits: wide-set eyes, mismatched pupils, and thin, patchy hair.
The moment I was lifted from the transparent containment unit, a wave of excitement swept through the facility.
Every Insectoid swarmed toward me.
They chittered and clicked, a sound of urgent, agitated delight. The thousands of tiny lenses in their compound eyes were fixed on me. One of them, who seemed to be a leader, extended a long, jointed appendage. The sedative still held me frozen; I could only watch as its hand descended and gently stroked my hair.
A series of soft clicks, like laughter, echoed from the leader. The pupils in its countless tiny eyes dilated.
If I were to judge by human emotions, it was pure joy.
It seemed these Insectoids adored humans, especially our smooth skin and soft hair.

2
They took me to a private room that resembled a medical bay.
An Insectoid medic tended to the wound on my leg. Their methods were nothing like human medicine; they were brutal. The dead flesh was simply carved away, with no anesthetic or medication. I was expected to just… heal.
When the paralytic wore off, the pain was so intense I nearly passed out.
Just then, an Insectoid caretaker brought me a bowl of milk. It was fresh, still warm and carrying a gamey scent. Gritting my teeth, I drank it all.
The caretaker seemed pleased. It studied me for a long moment, then, when it thought no one was looking, its gloved hand reached out and patted my head.
I fought down a wave of nausea and stayed perfectly still. My only strategy was to eat whatever they gave me and observe everything.
My quiet compliance quickly earned me a reward.
One day, after I’d finished my meal, my caretaker carefully lifted me. It used an iris scanner to activate a light-based transport strip, and we glided down a brightly lit corridor made of some unknown material.
We stopped in front of a large room. The doors hissed open to reveal a bizarre collection of human furniture—chairs, tables, and benches, all looking like priceless antiques.
And deeper inside, there were a dozen nutrient pods.
Each pod held someone.
In the nearest one, his eyes closed in sleep, was Leo, the class slacker.
They were here. A jolt of panic shot through me.
An Insectoid doctor in the room chittered something. Seeing my reaction, it gestured for my caretaker to put me down.
I limped forward, peering into each pod. In the very center, a figure stirred and woke. It was our class beauty, Ariana.
I raised my hand to tap on the glass.
Suddenly, a mechanical arm shot out from the pod, and a line of text materialized in the air—some kind of description.
"Ariana," I rasped, my voice trembling.
My caretaker let out a sharp, joyful cry. It was the first time I had spoken in days. It chittered to the doctor on duty, and a moment later, the pod doors began to open. Ariana was the first one lifted out by the mechanical arm, followed by the others. They woke up, rubbing their eyes and staring at me.
I couldn't hold it back any longer. Tears welled up in my eyes.
But my classmates just laughed, their relief palpable.

3
They had been captured two weeks before me.
They knew more than I did. This was Earth, but not the Earth we knew. It had been conquered by an alien Insectoid species. Humans were nearly extinct, now classified as a federally protected endangered species.
And we were the new darlings of Earth’s masters.
The entire captive population numbered less than a hundred. We were being preserved with the effort and resources of a nation-state.
Seeing my confusion, Leo grinned. "Think about how they used to treat pandas. That's us now."
Below only one species, but above all else.
Claire, our top student, tried to comfort me. "Don't be scared, Barb. We're safe now. They won't hurt us. We were so worried about you."
In the time they'd been here, they'd already learned to decipher some of the Insectoids' intentions. Their intelligence, which they demonstrated through these deductions, had earned them unprecedented attention. It was a positive feedback loop: constant care and escalating pampering had given them all the illusion of being princes and princesses.
Claire said, "Based on their excitement and the symbols they’ve inscribed for us, I think the total human population is even lower than the panda population was. We made a bet. Leo says three thousand, Mark says one thousand, and Ariana thinks it’s eight hundred. Barb, what’s your bet?"
How many? I didn't know.
I glanced over my shoulder. In the observation room behind us, the same Insectoid who’d brought me in was cleaning, a pair of sterile gloves on his hands. He kept stealing glances at me.
In that moment, I saw something complex in his compound eyes. Was it… concern?
Was he worried that we, the endangered, might come to harm?
How ironic. Humans, the ancient and precious living fossils, had thrived on this planet for five million years with our incredible adaptability. We wiped out nearly 85% of Earth's wild mammals and consumed half its plant life, becoming masters of the planet.
And a thousand years later, we were the ones on the verge of extinction.
Wait. Endangered species.
My mind flashed back to the distorted faces of the humans I'd seen when I first arrived. I remembered a famous case from Australia, a tragic story of an isolated family whose inbreeding led to severe health problems in their children—facial deformities, poor eyesight, the inability to speak.
Could it be that the other humans in this facility were…
A terrifying thought took root in my mind.
Beside me, my classmates were still chattering excitedly.
"Man, this is the life! No 9-to-5 grind, they feed us, house us, even give us baths. Steak, lobster, little cakes…" Leo sighed contentedly.
"AC, waterbeds, a pool," Mark added. "Seventy-eight degrees is the best."
"Eee, they can't stop looking at me," Ariana whispered, fluffing her hair. "Do they just, like, adore me?"
And I was the only one whose skin was crawling, whose mouth was as dry as dust.
My dear classmates.
You’ve forgotten. As an endangered species, it’s not just about being cherished and adored.
You also have to be bred.
Endlessly.

4
There were eight of us now, including me. All from the same vehicle, all friends. Four guys: Mark, Leo, Jax the athlete, and Simon, the quiet one with glasses. And four girls: myself, Ariana, Claire, and my introverted roommate, Jenna.
A perfect set. Four males, four females.
We all wore collars. The girls' were silver, the boys' were gold—a simple way to differentiate sexes. The symbols on them seemed to be serial numbers. If I wasn't mistaken, mine was 88. The Insectoids kept calling me "Baba," which sounded just like it. It also sounded eerily like my nickname, Barb.
When I shared my terrible theory, Simon, the youngest, had the biggest reaction. His face turned beet red, his mouth hanging slightly open.
Ariana shot him an annoyed look. "What are you staring at?" She gracefully tucked a curl behind her ear. "They wouldn't do that, would they?"
Mark and Claire fell silent.
"They probably wouldn't… at least, not right away," Mark said, though he didn't sound convinced.
"We have to find a way to escape," Claire whispered.
We looked around. The room was under 360-degree surveillance. Our every move was exposed to the watchful eyes of our Insectoid caretakers. Their compound eyes stared, unblinking.
This time, even Leo shivered. "No way… I'm still a virgin."
My roommate Jenna was on the verge of tears. "Barb, what are we going to do?"
A typical insect has thousands of lenses in its compound eyes. Each one acts as a tiny, individual eye, capturing every minute movement and feeding it to the brain. To them, our every action, every flicker of an eyelid, every tightening of a muscle, was an eternity of slow motion.
The moment Jenna started to cry, her designated caretaker began to move. "Stop crying!" I hissed. "Smile. Right now."
Jenna’s mouth trembled, twisting into a pained grimace. "What? Why?"
"They can't understand our words, but they can read our expressions. If you keep crying, they might think we're hurting you. Think about how we separate fighting lab rats in the vivarium."
Everyone went quiet. Just then, I noticed the number of Insectoids outside the observation room had grown. They'd gathered silently, a crowd of them.
From my time in the wilderness and the med bay, I'd learned that Insectoids distinguished rank by the necklaces they wore. Commoners wore stone or wooden beads. Professionals, like doctors, wore necklaces of terrestrial gems, like crystal. But the managers, the ones with authority, wore gold chains forged from metals brought to Earth by a supernova.
The bigger the beads, the higher the rank.
And right now, outside the glass, stood an Insectoid leader with a thick, heavy gold chain. The pair of antennae on its head twitched gently.
Insect antennae are their most vital sensory organs, evolved from what were once legs on their heads. Some detect the taste of food, some sense sound, others smell. Right now, the leader's antennae were quivering, pointed in our direction.
That’s when I noticed it. Even in this situation, Ariana had put on perfume. Her hair was perfectly styled.
She caught me staring and shrugged. "A girl's got to look her best, no matter what. It was the last of my perfume, anyway."
The last of it was more than enough.
The next second, the Insectoid leader pointed a clawed finger at Ariana.
An Insectoid caretaker entered, gently scooped Ariana up, and carried her out.
The leader nodded, satisfied, then its gaze swept over the rest of us.

5
"Are they choosing people?" Simon asked, his voice hollow. "Are they going to... pair us up now?"
Mark and the other guys tensed, glancing instinctively at Simon. He flinched, his face turning a shade of red so deep it looked painful.
Jax, ever the loyal friend, spoke up. "Doesn't matter who they pick. We won't… we won't do anything."
Simon glanced at me. "Me… me neither."
But after taking Ariana, they didn't take anyone else. The rest of the day passed in unnerving silence. A knot of anxiety tightened in our stomachs. As the only one who had survived outside for over a week, I had become their unwilling expert.
But the truth was, I didn't know anything.
In that week, I hadn't seen a single other living human. The ruins of our world—old houses, decaying parks—were almost completely covered by bizarre Insectoid structures. The ground was littered with the massive, discarded egg sacs and molted skins of their hatchlings, emitting a sour, unsettling stench.
The wilderness was no place for humans anymore. The only survivors were in captivity.
And in this facility, there were others besides us.
As the thought occurred to me, I saw the same realization dawn on Mark and the others. We all rushed toward the transparent walls, but they crackled with electricity. A single touch sent a numbing jolt through our bodies.
Our frantic movements attracted the attention of the caretakers. Mark was the first to be lifted away, and the others followed, one by one.
Just before they took me, I yelled, "Cry! If you're alone, just cry! Stop when you see one of us! If we do it enough, they'll understand! It's our only way to see each other!"

6
My advice worked.
While the Insectoids' rigid exoskeletons didn't allow for many expressions, they had emotions. They were naturally drawn to the sight of a smiling human, especially a docile, obedient one. It was the same satisfaction we once got from our own pets, that feeling of affection and simple, devoted submission.
On the third day of my solitary confinement, after my seventh crying jag and refusing all food and water, I was finally allowed to see my own kind again.
But it wasn't in person. It was through a holographic display that materialized all around me. I could even navigate the images myself.
What I saw was worse than I imagined. Four of my classmates were already naked.
Mark was curled up, eating. Simon was asleep. Leo was gulping down fruit juice and belching loudly. The Insectoids had figured out the optimal temperature for human comfort, a temperature where clothes were unnecessary. So they had simply taken them away.
They loved the softness of human skin, the suppleness of our bodies, the same way humans once loved fluffy kittens and puppies.
They were making us into what they loved. They had no moral compass to tell them otherwise.
Jax had it the worst. The hair on his chest had been plucked out, one by one, leaving his skin raw and red. According to their health standards, a healthy human shouldn't have hair there. After all, none of the others did.
I watched the four of them for two days. Then, two days later, Mark's feed vanished.
Only three male classmates remained.
Three more days passed. Jax’s feed disappeared.
Now there were only two.
A cold dread began to creep into my heart. A wild, absurd thought surfaced. If the Insectoids were capable of "liking" someone… was it possible they would consider our feelings when it came to breeding?
Was that why the girls were only shown the feeds of the four boys? Did they think we were choosing a mate based on who we watched the longest?
…But the only reason I watched Simon and Leo more was because they at least tried to cover themselves!

7
The thought spiraled, twisting into panic. Just then, he arrived.
It was the Insectoid who had first brought me to the facility. He was filling in for my caretaker, cleaning the room. I looked at him, my eyes wide and pleading. His own multifaceted eyes didn't move, but his antennae twitched. As the human he'd personally captured, he'd always kept a close watch on me. I knew it.
I turned back to the screen and let my expression crumple, as if I were about to cry.
He glanced around, then continued his sanitizing routine. But one of his appendages brushed, as if by accident, against my injured ankle.
The wound had already scabbed over. It was still red, but it didn't hurt much anymore.
I understood instantly.
The reason I was kept in a private room, the reason I hadn’t been put on display, was because I was injured. If I stayed injured, it would certainly affect my suitability for pairing.
That night, under the thin paper-like sheet on my bed, I used my fingernails to claw open the wound. I clenched my teeth against the searing pain and ripped away the entire scab. Blood pooled on the floor, but I didn't make a sound.
The next morning, the Insectoid doctor returned. It stared at my leg for a long time, only producing bandages after I started to sob.
As it worked, an assistant came in. They chittered back and forth, and the assistant pulled up a holographic chart. It was filled with wedge-shaped compatibility graphs.
At the very top, I saw her designation: Number Two. Ariana.
And trailing behind her code was a list of golden male codes. Not a single one of them belonged to our classmates.
Could it be?
I got my answer a month later.
During that time, because my wound kept "reopening," I remained in the medical bay. As soon as they tried to remove my clothes or raise the temperature, I would feign weakness, my body going limp. The constant infections and a missed period finally made me genuinely sick. I ran a fever. Now, even when the naked images of Leo and Simon flickered across the screen, I didn't even glance at them.
My Insectoid doctors conferred, chittering worriedly about my poor condition.
That afternoon, hoping to lift my spirits, they changed the holographic content.
And that's when I saw her.
Unprepared, I saw a completely transformed Ariana.

8
The once glamorous Ariana was unrecognizable.
Her beautiful, wavy hair had been chopped off, and a faint red mark scarred her forehead from where she’d tried to strangle herself with it.
She was in a magnificent, sprawling room with soft, padded walls. She wore no clothes. Her skin was a pale, milky white, and her body was incredibly round. She must have gained at least thirty pounds.
An endless supply of liquid nutrients was available to her, along with glittering, jewel-encrusted toys. Her environment looked luxurious, with several Insectoid attendants fussing over her constantly. If she so much as glanced at a food item, it was brought to her instantly. If she frowned, it was taken away.
It would have been a perfect picture, if not for the enormous, taut swell of her belly.
In less than two months, her stomach had grown to a terrifying size. If she was carrying multiples, there had to be at least eight in there.
Had these creatures lost their minds?
She sat mechanically, hugging a paper pillow, muttering to herself. Whenever a bell chimed, her head would snap up, and a vacant smile would spread across her face as she looked toward the door. It was pure conditioning, like a dog responding to a bell.
So what if you were treated like a national treasure? In the end, you were still just a pet. A rare, collectively owned pet. And Ariana, favored by the Insectoid leader, was simply the most prized—and the first to be broken.
I scrambled to my feet, my wounded ankle dripping blood onto the floor. The room spun. I steadied myself, reaching a hand out.
The image flickered and changed.
And then I saw Claire and Jenna, who I hadn't seen in ages.
Their enclosure was different, seemingly more open. It had a crystal-walled antechamber that periodically opened to the outside, allowing sunlight to stream in. It was like a VIP habitat at a zoo.
On the grassy patch outside, a bathtub shaped like a giant clamshell had been installed. Every ray of light was designed to reflect off the bathers’ skin, showcasing its smoothness and beauty.
Claire was holding on better than the others, but only just. She sat inside, refusing to go out. On the plush cushions before her, she had painstakingly written the same word over and over in spilled milk: Escape. Escape. Escape.
Jenna, however, was in the outdoor tub, awkwardly washing herself as the Insectoids watched.
Every splash, every movement, was met with a chorus of excited clicks and chirps from the spectators. Occasionally, a bold young Insectoid would slap the holographic screen, only to be chided by its parent for being rude and frightening the precious human.
Beyond the transparent crystal wall, rows of Insectoids stood, tier upon tier, their compound eyes wide, their mouths agape, watching the humans inside.
This was so different from the dull, listless captives they were used to. This was the adorable, lively human they had always dreamed of.
Jenna, who had always been shy and insecure about her looks, was now the most beloved human in the Insectoid world.

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