Why was this his existence?! All it was was pain, bright lights, cold fear, words he didn't understand. There was nothing before, nothing after, only when. Only now. His screams fell on deaf ears, blind to his pleading eyes. They tore him apart, stitched him together, only to tear him apart again. Who were these sick people? Why did they take pleasure in this?
But his questions were never answered. Almost like they couldn't understand him. But, they had to understand him, they had made him. Hadn't they? He hadn't known anything but them, so they had to have made him. Right?
It was loud now. It was never this loud. He was always the loud thing in the room, they were always quiet. They never talked to him, only to each other. Words he didn't know, didn't understand. Begging, pleading, hoping, praying that they would stop this. But they never did, and they never told him yes or no. It always just was. Their hurtful fingers pried open one of his eyes. Before he could get a glimpse of his attackers there was a cold light in his eye. So bright, so very bright, he couldn't see anything. Even when it was pulled away he was blind there. Not that it would have mattered, as he closed his eye again quick. He didn't have the strength to keep it open.
Light, not the cold white light that tortured him, but warm yellow light spilled into the room. It was loud. So very loud. It was never this loud, he was never this loud. His keepers were afraid, screaming, running. They left him, left him to whatever it was they were terrified of. Left to the mercy of another. Groaning in pain he tried to get up, tried to flee to somewhere, anywhere else. Anywhere that he could be free.
Something touched his shoulder, tearing a shriek of pain from him. It let go, and he got his feet on the floor for the first time in his life. It didn't last. Crumpling to the floor he sobbed dry tears from blind eyes. Let me go, let me go. Please, I beg you, let me die, let me go. Even the un-educated knew about death. It was in the back of the minds of every creature, made or birthed. He lay still, unmoving for the time being. A ghostly violet hand reached out and touched the shoulder again, relived that no sound came this time.
"Over here, I think we found it." What were these words? Why was no one understandable? He couldn't move, not even as more bodies were standing around him, observing him, oggeling him like some disgusting remains of some pathetic creature; torn apart and left for dead. Oh, wait, that's what he was. So, their stares made sense. Didn't mean he liked it anymore with that realization then he had before it.
"What is it? I've never seen something like this before. It's not a ruler, and not a slave. I don't understand."
"We'll take it to our labs, observe it, then destroy it. Whatever the runaways had been planning, this was their weapon."
"Why not burn it here and now!"
"Calm yourself! You never know what it can bring for us. This was made by them to be rid of our kind… perhaps we can use their weapon against them."
"You're a fool. It can only bring trouble."
"How can we know? It is more like us than it is them. And look at how they treat their weapon. They run at the slightest hint of danger. If we treat it kin-"
"You're an idiot! Kill it now while we still can."
"No. I will care for it, I will observe it. Since none of you seem to care that we might just have the human's greatest secret."
"Do as you wish Ezekiel, but keep us out of it."
Things were moving now, away from him, away from the cold and the pain. But one stayed, one kept behind. A warm something was on his shoulder again, forcing out a whimper of hurt.
"It's alright, shh, shh. You're okay now. You're in safe hands." WHAT DID THESE WORDS MEAN?! He had no idea, and it brought more tears to his eyes. Softly, gently, trying to cause as little pain as possible, clawed hands lifted him up, turning him on his back and cradling him lovingly. He was high up; it had been a long journey from floor to a stop in the arms. Maybe it was just because he had never moved up before. But something of him was on the ground, he could feel it. Remotely, like it was part of him that wasn't on him. It didn't make sense. But it was touched, stroked for just a moment, then folded up and held by his body.
It was warm. Soft. What was this? Shocked and coughing, something was being dragged out of his chest, out through his nose. That's what it was called, right? A nose? The sensation was strange, uncomfortable. But once it was gone another came over him.
He couldn't breathe. Gasping, struggling, he tried to take in air. It wasn't coming. The thing that had picked him up was making those noises again, shushing him and rubbing his chest tenderly. It hurt, everything hurt. But this time it hurt enough to take the hurt away. He had blacked out finally, safe from feeling anything.
Ezekiel watched as the others left, shaking his massive head and looking down at the thing they had been looking for. How could they forget so easily? He would never forget. Life had changed so much, but he would never forget. This… thing… needed help. Ezekiel was going to help him. He was a strange Charizard, one that helped his slaves rather than punished them when they did something wrong. Z bent down, carefully taking the creature into his arms, lifting him and turning him over slowly, gently. Its huge wings flopped around uselessly, like they were just stuck on him for looks rather than a purpose. But Ezekiel cradled its body to his own, using his free hand to fold the wings and tuck them safely into its body. It clearly wasn't comfortable, as it whimpered and gasped at every move.
Z looked at the clear tube running from the thing's "nose" to an air tank. Memories rushed back, making Zekiel wish he had left the thing on the ground. But he couldn't; just couldn't leave it here to die. Turning off the tank, he pulled warily, sliding the breathing tubes out of the creature in his arms. It coughed, spluttered, struggled to breathe. That's when the realization hit him.
It didn't know how to breathe.
Trying to calm him down Z rubbed its chest, applying soft pressure to coax the thing's chest into movement, hoping his diaphragm muscles knew what to do. It passed out on him, gasping for air as it slept. Poor thing. Poor misshapen creature. Ezekiel stood for a while longer, teaching the little body in his possession to do the basic act of taking in air. How sad, how truly sad. Without looking around at the hell-hole this thing had been born in, Ezekiel left through the hole he and his "friends" had created in the wall. It was time to go home, time to set the world right again.
Warm, that's what the word was, right? Warm? He didn't know. He was making up words as he went along, because no one was teaching him. No one cared enough to tell their creation how to speak. He was warm, on something… soft, we'll call it soft. And there was no pain.
That was new, something new, and amazing, and frightening. No pain. And there was something else. It came to his nose. Nothing like this had existed before. It was wonderful though, it made his middle hurt, made his mouth very wet, it was something very new. He liked it. What was it? Slowly, painfully slow, he opened his eyes and saw nothing. That wasn't new, sadly. He never saw anything before. Nothing but the cold harsh light that seemed to always be his bane. It saddened him, though, like nothing ever had. Waking up, and seeing nothing when he had expected something to be there.
There was movement, and sound started to fill his world. Humming, sizzling, sounds of all kinds. He wanted to know what it was. Moving slightly, a shock ran through him. A cry sounded (was that from him?) and the humming sound stopped. Light, there was light. It was soft, and warm, just like whatever he was resting on now. But it was behind something, something massive. It came to him, and there was something to see.
"You're awake. You're awake, what do I do now?! Whoa, calm down Z, you can do this. Hello, glad to see you're awake."
Um, what? Pale eyes blinked in the darkness, words going unregistered in the massacred mind. The massive figure seemed to understand this. It moved away then came back. Lower this time, and with more light. He could see a face now. Orange, huge, with sharp eyes.
They were amazing. He knew what eyes were, he had a pair. But he had never seen them. He had never seen anything, actually. Only ever the bright cold light that filled him every time he woke. Green. He was making up words again, making up categories to try and give himself some kind of reference, some kind of organization to make a frame. Something to keep his mind his own.
"Alright, we'll take it from the top. Ez-. No, too long. Z." A huge paw pressed against the huge chest above him. "Say 'Z.'" Um… what?
Yeah, okay, z, whatever. What was he supposed to do with it? This went on for a while, the big lizard saying "z" over and over again, clawed hand at his chest, the thing just lying with a blank look, not understanding. Until Z sighed in frustration and left. Coming back some time later, he had more light. Not just the flame at the end of his tail, but flame on the end of a white stick too. The combined light filled the room, allowing him to see.
But he didn't see much. The thing that had attacked his nose was closer now, and in a bowl of some kind. The orange thing with the eyes slid a giant hand under the small creature, ignoring the pained outcries that it brought. Sitting it upright for the most part, he let it rest, let it gulp down air that it had stopped taking in as it was moved.
"Eat." The huge claw picked up something small and metallic, filled with some kind of thick liquid. It was pressed to an opening on its face, a mouth, and poured the liquid in. Sensation filled the creature, something he had never experienced before. Taste, flavor, heat, substance. A wild look overtook its face, making his eyes open wide. Weak arms lifted a bit from the bed, long fingered claws reached for the holder of food.
"That's right, it's good." Ezekiel was pleased by the movement. Pleased by the look. It was aware, it was awake. It was alive. It understood how to eat, how to move, how to live. It was getting there. One step closer.
The evening wore on, Z feeding the feeble being tenderly, talking to it in a hushed voice, humming now and again. The bowl was almost empty when the icy eyes closed, head turning to the side in slumber. It wasn't strong yet; it couldn't keep itself upright yet. That would come in time, would come with care and practice. It always did.
Ezekiel would make sure it did.