Chapter 6: Displayed

It worked.

Even though insectoids barely have faces, you can tell—they like seeing humans happy. They eat up smiles, especially the big fake ones we paste on.

It’s like we’re the last pandas at the National Zoo—except the bars are invisible.

By day three of refusing their weird protein shakes, my stomach was eating itself and my patience was gone.

Finally, they let me see someone.

But it wasn’t in person—it was on a massive, curved screen. Dozens of images filled my view. If I wanted, I could swipe between them.

And then it hit me—four of my classmates, all guys, were buck naked.

Class Prez huddled in a corner, eating with nothing but his birthday suit. Caleb snoozed. The academic slacker chugged juice and let out an epic burp.

There were no curtains, no corners to hide—just the relentless gaze of the cameras and a hundred alien eyes.

The insectoids had found the ideal human room temperature, and took away our clothes. They liked seeing our skin, our bodies, the way we liked fluffy cats and dogs.

They liked what they saw—so they made us match their tastes.

They didn’t have a concept of shame.

The PE Rep got it worst—his chest hair plucked out, skin raw. Apparently, healthy humans, by insectoid standards, were supposed to be hairless.

For two days, I watched the four boys. After another two, class prez’s image vanished—just three left. Three days later, PE Rep disappeared from the rotation.

Only Caleb and Derek remained.

Panic gnawed at me, and then a stupid thought hit—

If insectoids had favorites, maybe, just maybe, they’d let us pick, too? Maybe the girls’ choices mattered? Maybe the last boy left on my screen would be my mate?

...Not that it mattered—I only lingered on Caleb and Derek because, at least, they covered themselves with pillows.