The story below is a work of fiction.
The aliens abducted the man and placed him into a spartan but comfortable room in the zoo. Patrons of only a few alien races walked by to observe him. When the flow of observers increased, and interest in his presence became more acute, his keepers filled out his living quarters with more and more favorable furnishings and preferred, particular comforts. Those rewards, which he enjoyed to the fullest, were utterly unique in all the universe, the only remaining instances of their kinds, as his planet had been destroyed, to his ignorance, sometime after his extraction. The intensity with which he partook of his surroundings made for a great spectacle for the lines of zoo patrons observing him, and in time he became aware of something like pride in his lonely existence. It was the type of pride that comes from men in positions of high importance, vast wealth, cultured upbringings, and formidable reputations. He regarded himself as a supremely special specimen; why wouldn’t his captors select the very best of his race for observation and enjoyment?
After many years in this state, the man’s captors spoke to him through a device that would, to those from primitive civilizations, seem to be an intercom, though in reality it was inconceivably advanced: “You were selected from everyone on your planet, not because you were the smartest, or the bravest, or the most handsome, or even the most interesting. No; you are here enjoying all of these gifts not because you had earned them or that you have proved yourself morally worthy, but because you were quite ordinary. We needed the most average example of a living being we could find, and our calculations determined you were the outstanding choice. There is no chance of release or escape from your situation, as our specimens are exhibited for life, and your home world is no longer. We hope these facts do not spoil the enjoyment of everything we have provided for you.”