Twenty-six years ago, the human race's home planet - what I believe to be called Earth - was invaded by an extraterrestrial species called the Varyxa. A battle hungry and bloodthirsty humanoid species that have pale off-white skin, two pairs of arms, horns in a variety of shapes and colors and ranging from the usual set of two to six. They tended to be very broad and muscular and reached a minimum of seven feet tall, though many being a petrafying eight feet tall, their biological sex hardly mattering when it came to their physiques. 

Humans were out matched when it came to this species, even with all of their guns and missiles, not even their nuclear weaponry did much damage to the alien species’ armies. The Varyxan’s skin was so tough that bullets barely ever broke through, their missiles injured large groups of the Varyxan armies and sometimes even killed them, but it was as if there was an endless number of them. Uninjured warriors replacing the injured or killed as if they had been there the entire time.

It wasn’t long before some humans simply gave up or saw no point in fighting their extraterrestrial conquerors, surrendering themselves to the beasts in hopes of not being killed or tortured like those that still fought for their freedom. Those that surrendered tended to become much like prized pets to the Varyxan, something to decorate and show off and play with as they please. Many were still killed, though it was usually due to some regretting their choices and trying to kill their Varyxan masters or wanting to gain trust as a spy of some sort and getting caught giving intel to human soldiers.

The war between the humans and Varyxan last little more that a year and a half, and it was a devastating blow to humanity, several countries destroyed and millions dead with the remaining survivors that didn’t willingly surrender themselves becoming slaves that work to provide services to the Varyxan. The ones that willingly surrendered got the luxury of being pets, though most of them would hardly consider it a true luxury. They were painted and decorated in shiny jewelry, some even had been forced to get piercings and tattoos, hardly getting to be clothed properly or at all. As pets to their Varyxan masters, their comfort hardly mattered most times, especially when their masters were in the mood to “play” with them. The time and place hardly mattered, many tended to strip what little clothing off their pets and bend them over or throw them onto any surface that’s closest to do as they pleased. Many simply killed themselves not long after becoming a pet, and the ones that didn’t were lucky to have kinder masters that were gentler on them.

There had several groups throughout the years that tried their best to rise up against the Varyxan, but it always ended in their death. Many humans refused to believe the war was truly over between them and the Varyxan, and it always resulted in their punishment or death. Many expecting mothers forced themselves to miscarry and current mothers killed their children to spare them of the life they’d have to live otherwise, yet there were always the ones that willingly had children to continue supplying human slaves and pets. My mother was one of the willing mothers, and because of her beauty that passed to me, I had been taken by handler that was meant to raise potential pets when I was deemed pretty enough to be a promisingly beautiful pet at the age of fifteen years old and was raised from then on to inevitably be claimed by a master of my own after I was considered an adult. It was one of the only noble characteristics I ever saw in the Varyxan, they found the act of pedophilia as one of the most disgusting crimes one could commit and killed on the spot when they encounter such vile creatures. It was because of this that even the guards wouldn't touch anyone in my group until they were deemed adults by our handler.

The children of the willing mother, like myself, were taken from their mothers after five years of being taken care by them and were assigned to a handler, our childhood handler was the one to determine if we were pet or slave material. Then we were separated from each other at the age of fifteen years old when it was better determined whether we were pretty and mild-tempered enough to become potential pets, just average enough to become household slaves, or only good enough to do hard slave labor. Many in my childhood group had ended up dead or beaten to an inch of their life for questioning and even getting violent with our childhood handler. The rest of us learned to fear the handlers, no matter how kindly our childhood handler had treated us before handing us off to our new one.

We knew better than to think they cared enough about us not to hurt us, even us prettier ones weren’t safe from getting physically punished for questioning or disobeying our handlers, it was something that even I’d learn soon enough.