The Dilemmas of Captivity
I close my eyes, trying to block out the hum of the fluorescent lights overhead and the sterile smell that permeates every corner of this place. It’s late—hours past dinner—and I’m finally alone in my sleep quarters, though Ben’s careful watch never seems far away. His presence lingers, a constant reminder of the suffocating boundaries Drayton has placed on me. And as much as Ben tries to hide it, his silent obedience to Drayton’s orders gnaws at me.
I think back over the events of the day, replaying the overheard conversation between Drayton and that unknown individual. Dispose of her. The words echo in my mind, carrying a weight that refuses to settle. Was he talking about me? Or about The Creature, who they call “the specimen” with such cold detachment? Either way, the implications are chilling.
Then there’s The Creature himself. The way they treat him is borderline cruel, as if he’s nothing more than a dangerous animal in a cage. The creature is intelligent, adaptable, and far more aware than they give him credit for. Today, I’d noticed something unusual—a certain dullness in his scales, a shift in his coloring. Could it be a response to the stress of confinement? Or worse, is he unwell? Drayton and his men seem oblivious, too focused on containment to realize the subtle signs of distress that have become obvious to me. But they wouldn’t understand; they aren’t trained to look beyond what they see.
Sighing, I turn over on the cot, staring at the ceiling. Frustration bubbles within me, thick and relentless. They brought me here to observe, but every attempt I’ve made to do my job has been stifled by Drayton’s rigid protocols. It’s becoming abundantly clear that they didn’t bring me here for my expertise. I was an afterthought, an inconvenient presence at best. The rest of my team hadn’t even made it here; they were left on the boat when The Creature and I were lifted away, as if I wasn’t part of their plan at all.
But then why bring me here? Why go through the trouble of isolating me with these men who clearly view me as a liability? I go over the situation again and again, trying to make sense of it. The answer is disturbingly simple. They didn’t mean to bring me.
A quiet determination settles over me as I sit up, my mind made up. I’m going to do things my way, no matter the consequences. They wanted a scientist on hand to study The Creature, and if they were foolish enough to bring me along, then they’ll have to accept the reality that I’m not here to play by their rules. Tomorrow, I’ll find a way to reach him, to study him properly, and on my terms.
The morning comes too soon, bringing with it a fresh wave of resolve and a slight touch of dread. I go through the motions—showering, dressing, and heading to the cafeteria for a quick breakfast under Ben’s watchful gaze. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the feeling of being surveilled, of every step and decision being logged and scrutinized. I catch Ben’s eyes on me a few times, and he offers me a reassuring nod, but it only serves to reinforce the boundaries I’m up against.
When I enter the lab, I find The Creature where I left him, contained in the stark, glass-walled enclosure. He’s still, his eyes closed, and for a brief moment, I wonder if he’s asleep. The usual sheen of his scales is muted today, and his skin appears almost… dull, as if drained of its natural vibrancy. This confirms my suspicions—something’s wrong.
I step closer to the glass, trying to get a better look at him, and he stirs, his eyes blinking open. His gaze meets mine, and for a second, we simply look at each other. There’s a sadness in his expression that unsettles me. He’s not just unwell; he’s aware that he’s unwell, and it pains him.
“Hey,” I murmur, pressing a hand against the glass. I know he can’t hear me, but the gesture feels important somehow, like a silent offering of understanding.
“Dr. Adams,” a voice calls sharply from behind me, breaking the fragile moment. I turn to see Drayton entering the lab, his eyes narrowing as he takes in my position by the glass.
“Colonel,” I reply, forcing my voice to remain steady. “He isn’t well. His coloring is off, and there’s a noticeable dullness to his scales. This could indicate stress or even a more serious illness.”
Drayton crosses his arms, his expression unmoved. “Noted. But as long as he’s contained, his wellbeing isn’t our primary concern.”
“Not your concern?” I can’t hold back the incredulity in my voice. “If he’s unwell, it could impact any data we collect. It’s in all of our interests to keep him in stable condition.”
Drayton sighs as if he’s already tired of the conversation. “Look, Dr. Adams, we’re here to evaluate the threat he poses. Anything beyond that is irrelevant.”
I grit my teeth, swallowing the torrent of arguments that rise in my throat. He won’t listen; he’s already made up his mind. But I won’t let this beautiful creature's suffering go unaddressed, not if there’s anything I can do about it.
When Drayton finally leaves, I seize the opportunity. Moving quickly, I grab my tablet and begin recording notes on he's physical condition, documenting every observable detail. I note the paleness of his scales, the slight sluggishness in his movements, and the listless way he watches me through the glass. This is not the behavior of a “dangerous creature”; it’s the behavior of a sentient being trapped and mistreated.
I wonder if he’s cold. The climate here is carefully regulated, kept slightly below room temperature to mirror the environment he was found in, but even that might not be enough for a creature like him. I press my hand against the glass, feeling the faint chill beneath my fingertips, and an idea forms in my mind. Perhaps his body needs colder conditions to thrive.
With a quick glance around, I scan for the room’s thermostat. Locating it, I tap a few controls, lowering the temperature a couple of degrees. It’s subtle, barely noticeable, but I hope it makes a difference. He's eyes flicker as he shifts slightly, almost as if he can feel the change, and for a brief moment, there’s a spark of life in his gaze.
Encouraged, I take a deep breath, leaning in close to the glass. “I’ll do whatever I can to help you,” I whisper, knowing full well he can’t hear me, but hoping he understands somehow.
“Thank...you...”
Then a voice slipped into my ears, very weak and quiet, as if I was dreaming.