An Unremarkable Day

“And so..." Professor Rowth's mouth quivered violently as he paused.

The geriatric Regulian was hunched over on the dais in the classroom. Just like how the Emperor was expected to receive audiences standing tall and proud, so too did the Professor attempt to live up to this projection of power. Except, while the Imperial Traditions Council had decreed that it was okay for aged Emperors to use a sufficiently regal cane for support; the Professor felt that was a revolutionary disgrace to traditional values.

As a result, Abel's most despised Professor stood there: a mane-less mass of sagging flesh and gray fur, wearing a white tunic with a gold breastplate fastened atop it, much like military officers and nobles wore when attending parties. Most rich aliens though, did not wear it at work, recognizing it was cumbersome and extremely outdated.

For once, the arch-conservative Professor was silent, scanning the room while his head wobbled slightly, sniffing at the air. Eventually he stopped, staring at Abel with his slate eyes and taking a single sniff.

“Honored Professor!" a scrawny, pale human with thick glasses stood up. Abel knew him, he was a flagrant brown-noser, a good, loyal adopted son of the Empire. He would likely consider being enslaved a great honor.

Shaking his head and ignoring Abel for now, Rowth closed his eyes, “Where was I?"

“You were talking about the Parliamentary form of election?"

“Ah, yes!" Rowth did not smile like he normally did when given the opportunity to give his colossally inaccurate opinions on Earth History. “Uh...it was a system of voting where families offered up one of their children to the Lords of this planet in exchange for a vote in rigged elections. The primary purpose was to trick people into sacrificing their children towards a thunder god. That's all that will be on the test, class dismissed."

“B-b-but Honored Professor, we still have five minutes left!"

“Class dismissed!" Rowth roared as well as he could for a Regulian of his age, which sounded more like a dying engine. “If you want to study more, go to the Extranet and download, 'Ages Before Liberation,' it's really all you need to know about the degenerate human government systems."

The bootlicker continued to object even as the rest of the class, alien and human alike, were packing up their bags, pushing in their chairs, and making a beeline for the exit.

Abel tried his best to keep his head down and escape with the crowd, unfortunately it was not enough to hide from the Professor's unusually keen senses.

“Abroth! Meet me in my office immediately!" the Regulian professor boomed, pointing a claw at the human dramatically before exiting through a small door next to the lecture dais and leaving it open.

“Fuck me..." Abel hissed as he pushed his way past the jeering masses.

“Abels gonna get barbed!"

“You're in for it now!"

Flipping everyone off, Abel slipped into Rowth's office and shut the door behind him.

Rowth's office spoke volumes about the Professor's character. Although there were some decorative books lining the sides of a mahogany bookcase with carved floral patterns around its edges; these were greatly outnumbered by framed pictures of racist characatures and comics of various non-Regulians species: depicting humans as havings faces so flat that an airplane could land on them, a Lupiad that was little more than a ravenous beast attempting to destroy a sphere with the words, “Regulus," written atop them as if it weren't obvious enough, a Sirian gleefully clutching at bad of crowns while Regulian orphans were forced out of a shelter with the words, “Foreclosed," on it, a Vulpeculan with a pinprick thin and long nose spreading her legs while the names of various sexually trasmitted diseases were surrounding her vagina; and lastly, a Procyonid preacher dressed in ragged robes calling for the castration of all Regulians who engage in homosexuality.

But right on Rowth's desk was the real crown jewel of his collection and it was so audacious, so eye-catching, that when Abel entered the office this time he barely noticed it, having already spent his outrage numerous times before. A taxidermied human head, a man about Abel's age with an eternally frozen expression of absolute terror on it.

Click!

Abel jumped, prepared to see the Professor draw a gun on him and arrest him for being a dissident, but it turned out to just be an electric kettle announcing that it was boiling.

“Sit down, Abroth!" Rowth pointed towards a tall-backed chair that was designed for Regulian posture correction. The Professor poured the boiling water into a cast-iron teakettle and placed serving cups on both ends of the desk. “Have a drink!"

The chair was ungodly painful to sit in, Abel felt his spine contort in positions that the human body was never meant to accommodate.

Rowth sat down as well, staring at Abel with those gray eyes of his. Abel knew that something was wrong, whenever the Professor had called him into his office it was never about goodwill, which the Professor had none for so-called 'lesser species.' Mixed in with the fact that Abel was no doubt a wanted man, he had more than a little to fear from this meeting.

Twitching his whiskers, Rowth grabbed the kettle and sniffed at it. Deeming it had been steeped enough, he began pouring it into Abel's cup.

“You have been behaving exceptionally well today," Rowth muttered.

“Pardon me?" Abel blinked, confused.

“Yes," Rowth's wrinkled paws shook as he brought the kettle over his own cup and began pouring.

Abel took a sniff of the cup; catnip. This was very shocking to Abel as the Professor has made it clear that he belonged to an ultra-reactionary political faction and they tended to view catnip as a degenerate drug that humans were growing to try and control the Regulian Empire with.

“How do you mean, Honored Professor?"

“Hmph! That right there! When have you ever called me that before?"

Fuck! Abel thought. Since getting back he had tried his best to keep his head down but had kept it down too much, ceasing all of his arguments and interruptions to the Professor's bullshit in class.

Now he looked as suspicious as could be…

Rowth brought his cup to his lips and lapped at it, sighing as he nearly dropped it while putting it back on its saucer, “You haven't been engaging in inflammatory rhetoric or loudly proselytizing the virtues of an anarcho-democratic, incest-rape state either. This can only mean one thing..."

Abel silently clenched his fists beneath the desk. Rowth reached below, opening up a drawer with a slow creak.

“The prodigal cub has returned and realized the virtues of Regulian rule!" Rowth suddenly slammed an idol depicting Emperor Haresh, standing proud in his tasseled Imperial robes. “I have never seen a student make such a turnabout! I have never, not once in all my life shared a tribute with a lesser species before but I wish to do it now!"

The majority of Regulians did not actively worship the Imperial Cult, but the ones that did always assumed that everyone around them did so. Rowth lowered his head and slowly brought the idol's feet to his nose, gently rubbing against it and kissing it in tribute.

As Abel was already knee-deep in pretending to be a shameless boot-licker, he didn't see any issue with keeping the act up and kissing a bronze sculpture of a Regulian. When the Professor shoved the idol in his face, Abel nuzzled up against the feet with his nose.

“Your Father is going to be so proud, Abel!" Rowth clapped his paw on his shoulder.

The rest of the meeting was incidental. The old Regulian told many a story about his life, most of which was either blatantly fabricated or exaggerated over the years. Mixed in with that were a few racist jokes that Abel politely laughed at until he was finally allowed to leave.

Time had passed far faster than Abel had ever imagined. It was dark out when he left the office and Abel had missed his Military Logistics class.

Aside from a few security guards and some students who lived on-campus drunkenly hanging about, Abel was alone as he left the building and crossed the courtyard towards the parking lot.

Using his datapad, Abel called up a cab which came by the campus in just a few minutes. It was a sleek, yellow car that was imported from Regulus and its synthetic fuel engine hummed politely.

“Where to, kit?" the driver asked as Abel got in the back. He was a Vulpeculan that was as dark as the night, similar to Yin but without any white spots of fur.

Abel gave him the address and the Vulpeculan immediately shut the plate-glass window separating the back from the front and started moving the car.

The air conditioning hissed angrily as it shot out a stream of hot air. There was a strange stench about it as well, almost like some chemicals were leaking into the AC and were making it malfunction.

“Hey!" Abel shouted. “Can you shut off the AC? I think it's on the fritz."

The driver didn't so much as twitch his pointed ears in response, silently gliding the car onto the freeway.

“Hey!" Abel knocked on the window. “It's fucking hot back here!"

If the driver might have heard Abel, but he wasn't listening. Abel was used to being treated like a second-class citizen by random aliens but it was a little shocking to get it from a Vulpeculan.

Yawning, Abel felt himself slowly leaning over in his seat.

Damn that Rowth! Abel yawned again. Maybe I'm affected by catnip...some kinda rare human…

God I'm sleepy…

Despite the blistering heat, Abel could not fight off his fatigue and was fast asleep long before they were anywhere close to New Angrolath.

“Captain Brolath, come in!"

A voice piped in on the datapad and both Brolath and Rorgh groaned. They hid their take-out food in the corners of their cars, some kind of meat sandwich called a burger from a joint called McDonalds that was hyped back in Regulus as being exquisite human cuisine; before responding to the call.

The image of a female Regulian Guard dressed in a white uniform with a headset attached to her ears came onto the screen.

“Dispatch Regal E-11A here, reports of a human matching the description of your suspect spotted, reported by a cab driver from Acacia Cabs."

“Adjunct! Get this tin can moving!" Brolath roared as Rorgh brought their new rental car to life, it was very boxy and colored a hideous shade of purple, but it was significantly more reliable than the Cirrus. “Dispatch, give us the details! Order a roadblock with the nearest Royal Guard unit immediately!"

“Copy that!"

The dispatcher gave the directions and then switched off the video feed while she called for the roadblock. Brolath retrieved his burger and tossed the entire thing in his mouth, nosily chewing. It was salty and covered in grease, just how Regulians liked it.

“Regal E-11A here," the voice returned as Rorgh flicked on the emergency lights and swerved onto the freeway on-ramp, “suspect does not appear to be armed but advise caution."

“Acknowledged," Brolath barked and did a spot-check on his gear. The submission darts in his pistol were loaded and their electric cells fully charged. Brolath still didn't know how less-lethal they were to a human, having not had the time to check the people he shot back in the trailer park; assuming the military had even left something of them to examine.

The car bounced onto the freeway and Rorgh cursed as he spun the wheel, breaking the car out of a swerve. An old Regulian in a fancy, though primitive, yellow sportscar roared at the Guard loudly, avoiding dinging their car only by a hair. His three mates joined in on the cursing as Rorgh zoomed past them.

“Just like the old days in a patrol car, huh?" Rorgh laughed, nudging Brolath in the side. “Open road, partner at your side, chasing down some jackass trying to make a break for it..."

“I was never a Patrol Officer," Brolath sniffed and reached into his jacket. He felt the soft, plush fur of the stuffed lion he took from the motel within one of the larger pockets. Brolath still wasn't sure why he was keeping it with him. “Was recognized for talent in the academy and moved to Investigations and later Imperial Protection.

“Who'd you have to blow to pull that one off, the Guard-General?"

“Sexual intercourse amidst the Guard is forbidden."

“Didn't stop Proclath from giving his Vulpy mistress a Lieutenant posting!" Rorgh proclaimed boldly. “Glorified receptionist and she gets fast-tracked for promotion, despite it being illegal for a Vulpy to get that rank! How'd you think she pulled that one off?"

“Lieutenant Yali is very good at what she does..." Brolath muttered lowly, “...and I'm not going to question the Guard-General's choices."

“And what she's very good at is scratching the Guard-General's itches, if you know what I mean!" Rorgh sneered. “I'm not even trashing her, we can't all be born Regulian. Gotta do what you gotta do to make it to the top."

“The Guard is a rational meritocracy, just like the Empire."

“Sure, sure..." Rorgh muttered sarcastically as he swerved suddenly to avoid a van that was ignoring their siren, “...guess that's why the leadership are all kitty-cats."

A wall of armored vehicles suddenly came into view, all bearing the emblem of the Royal Guard. A squad of Regulians decked out in significantly heavier armor than the North American Ducal Guard were set up, most taking cover behind the trucks with their rifles primed on the horizon.

“Regal E-11A," Brolath tapped the datapad, “arrived at the roadblock. Name of the commanding officer?"

“Captain Kalroth," the voice chimed in.

“Alright, meeting up with him. Brolath out!"

Brolath stepped out into the arid afternoon heat, briefly combing his claws through his mane to straighten it before marching towards the Royal Guard.

“Captain Kalroth!" Brolath barked at a pair of Regulians approaching. Black gas masks were slapped across their faces and thick, ceramic armor was slapped on their bodies from their chest to the tips of their tails. “I'm looking for Captain Kalroth!"

One of the Guards nodded towards a weary-looking Eastern Regulian leaning against the hood of a truck. Heavy bags were under his eyes, a cigarette was hanging from his lips, and his blue uniform was unbuttoned all the way above his stomach, revealing his orange fur with black stripes for the entire world.

“Captain Kalroth, I presume!" Brolath saluted the Captain as he approached. “Captain Brolath, Regulian Guard."

“Ah..." Kalroth blinked slowly, “...the Imperials are here."

“We have Imperial orders to take-"

“-command of the situation, yeah, yeah, I know!" Kalroth snarled and punched the hood of the truck he was leaning on. His teeth were yellowed and one of his fangs sported a very obvious, untreated cavity. “That's how it always is, Imperials always come around and start dick-swinging whenever we get some action! Well, you can just fuck off, yeah? We got this!"

Brolath took a good look at the Captain and sniffed the air. There was something off about his scent, Brolath couldn't quite put his finger on it, but it seemed like the Captain was sick. Maybe not physically, but perhaps a combination of personal tragedy, lack of career recognition, and some drug abuse had turned him into the Regulian Brolath saw before him.

But those were all assumptions and Brolath didn't have time to be his therapist.

“The Regulian Guard is taking command and if you don't fall in line, I'll have you shipped off to Pluto Station for insubordination!" Brolath bared his fangs and got in Kalroth's face. Kalroth did not flinch but he also did not return Brolath's challenge.

“Sure, whatever..." Kalroth rolled his jaundiced eyes, “...I'll bend over and lift my tail for you, go right the fuck ahead."

“Good," Brolath snorted in the Captain's face, “we need the suspect alive, no questions asked."

“If the suspect resists..."

“No questions asked!" Brolath snarled. “The Emperor is watching!"

“Target sighted!" another Regulian shouted.

“Hold fire!" Brolath shouted back.

Brolath and Rorgh took position behind two trucks, drawing their pistols and aiming it down the road at an approaching, lime-green car. Captain Kalroth didn't so much as take position as he sort of collapsed against the hood of his car and just happened to point a rifle in a vague direction towards the target.

Rorgh stared down a pair of binoculars, “Can't get a visual on the passenger! Driver is a Vulpy who reported the suspect, let him roll to a stop!"

“Fucking Imperials..." Kalroth protested loudly, “...don't know a goddamn thing about Earth! Light 'em up if they get too close!"

“Captain Kalroth, if either the driver or the suspect get so much as a scratch on them, you will be held responsible!" Brolath snarled. The car was growing closer, showing no signs of slowing down. Brolath could make out the driver without binoculars.

“Seen it all, you know!? Suicide attacks, time-bombs, all of it! You got those back on Regulus Prime!?"

The car still showed no signs of slowing, but it was still a fair distance away. It could be that the suspect, who was still unseen, was ordering the driver to try and ram the blockade, but it was still too early to tell.

Still, Kalroth was beginning to lose himself and Brolath figured it was better to compromise.

“Fire a warning shot!" Brolath ordered to Kalroth.

Kalroth opened fire and his entire squad joined him. Sparks peppered the road and chunks of metal came flying off the car as bullets struck them. A tire popped and the car swerved violently to the side.

“CEASE FIRE! CEASE FIRE, DAMN YOU!" Brolath stood up and shouted over the barrage of gunfire.

The car came to a halt as white steam burst from its engine. The driver, a black Vulpeculan, was sitting in his seat, covering his head for dear life as bullets continued to hit his car.

“CEASE FIRE!"

Brolath's orders were only listened to once the Regulian ran straight into the line of fire, banking on the Guard showing some deference to his authority.

“You and you!" Brolath pointed to two masked Guards. “Form up and follow me!"

The two Guards and Rorgh joined Brolath as he padded closer, pistol darting between the driver and the backseat, where the form of a body lying on the seat came into view.

“Get out of the car, now!"

The driver raised his hands and slowly slipped out of the car, stepping backwards away before lying down on the ground in submission.

“Rico Suarez, get out of the car!" Brolath continued to draw closer. The human in the back looked like he was quivering in fear, a coward through and through. Brolath could smell the fear reeking from his pores, he was not going to go out in a blaze of glory.

Roaring, Brolath ripped the door open and grabbed the human by the back of the neck, pulling him out and throwing him onto the ground face-first.

“Fuck! I didn't-" the human whined as blood from Brolath's claw-marks dripped down his neck.

“Rico Suarez, you're under arrest for treason, theft of government property, and mass murder," Rorgh announced as he slapped cuffs on the humans wrists, tying them behind his back, “may the Emperor save you."

Rolling the human onto his back, Brolath got a good look at him, comparing him to the photo Shalth gave him.

Pale skin, freckles, blonde facial fur, fat cheeks…

“My name's Henry! Please, I'm-"

We got him, Brolath smiled, the Claw will lose face when we show up with the perp! That'll show them who's in charge!

Abel's brain exploded with pain as an alarm rang.

Moaning, Abel clutched his head and rolled out of bed, onto a shag carpet that smelled like wet fur. It felt like he hadn't slept so much as a minute last night, his stomach was churning and beneath the endless ringing of the alarm, he could hear distant voices crying out in the hallowed halls of his brain.

The noise...it was coming from above him. Blindly, Abel groped around, touching a short table and eventually sliding across smooth plastic. He opened his eyes up slowly, finding the source of the horrible noise: a red, rotary phone.

Picking up the receiver, Abel groggily put it to his ear.

“Good morning, son!" a nasally voice belonging to a male human exclaimed. “Hope I didn't wake you up, but you can't sleep the weekend away, sport! Ha ha ha! Work builds character, you'll see one day!"

“What..." Abel yawned. The world was still a blurry place and he could still hear the lingering echoes of the phone ringing in his brain, “...who are you?"

“Your Father! Son, you're not smoking the reefer, are you?"

“My Dad's..." Abel rubbed the corner of his skull where some pressure was building up, “...my Dad's a Regulian, sort of..."

“What's a Regulian, son? We're a Methodist family, ha ha ha!"

“Lions and tigers from..." vomit pooled up in the back of Abel's throat and he had to stop talking for a moment, “...from outer space..."

“Sounds like you've been reading too much of those darned comic books, sport!"

Abel blinked and the world seemed to ripple, becoming more clear for a split-second. The room he was in, it was not his bedroom. There was a twin-sized bed that he had just fallen off of and the room was plastered with sports pennants and posters of baseball players. A square window was on the other side of the room and it showed a boxy, two-story house next to them, very dissimilar to the neighborhood he and Regnath lived in.

Was it all a dream? Abel considered for a moment as nausea rumbled in his stomach. The invasion? The occupation? Everything?

Maybe I just had a 'reefer' dream? My mouth feels so dry…

Lions and tigers from space...God, I'm losing it.

“Sorry...Dad..." Abel struggled out, the words feeling strange, “...didn't get enough sleep..."

“Well, Abel, you'd better get ready! The new neighbors are coming over! Get down here!"

The phone clicked.

Still unsteady, Abel clamored to his feet and nearly fell into a standing mirror. He was glad to see that he still looked as he remembered: tan skin, black hair combed into a pseudo mane. His clothes were foreign to him, though at least he was already fully dressed, looking like some sport uniform from nearly a century ago.

Emerging from 'his' bedroom, Abel felt like he was floating as he descended a staircase, clutching onto the bannister for dear life. Another red phone was lurking on a round end-table at the bottom of the stairs and as soon as Abel passed it, it screamed that horrible ringing again.

Picking up the receiver, if only to stop the noise, Abel listened again.

“Sorry sport, but your Mother and I are stuck at the Country Club! The neighbors will be here any moment, why don't you keep them company? Your Mother made hot dog aspic, it's in the fridge!"

Abel lowered the receiver and noticed a black and white picture hanging on the wall. Two middle-aged humans were there, smiling. The man had neatly combed dark hair and tanned skin, he was wearing a suit and smoking a pipe. The woman was wearing a floral dress and had her hair styled like a beehive.

My parents?

Passing by the picture, Abel found himself in a kitchen that served to assault his senses. The floor tiles were square with a black and white patten, while the wall had an awful wallpaper that depicted a lime-green spiral on top of a magenta background. Compounding this was a strange smell, almost like sulfur, that Abel couldn't quite pinpoint with his nose.

Opening up a white fridge, Abel pulled out a pyrex cooking pan that had a gelatinous loaf that contained a serious of hot dogs within it. Abel wasn't quite sure if this was edible or not.

Another klaxon screamed and Abel nearly dropped the pan from shock. Placing it on a counter, Abel followed the attack on his ears to find another red phone resting on the opposite side of the kitchen, just to the side of a pine dining table. Abel picked up the receiver, feeling like a trained animal trying to do anything to stop the pain it was getting in an experiment.

“You found the aspic, sport?" the now-familiar voice asked.

“Yeah, Dad," Abel muttered, the words feeling almost natural at this point. His head was still swimming though and it felt like he'd never be normal again. That sulfurous smell grew stronger and Abel could hear a slight hiss off in the distance. Gagging, he continued. “Something smells like shit..."

“You wash your mouth out with soap, young man! Your Mother worked very hard on that food, you show some respect!"

“Something's not right..."

“Look, I know the new neighbors are different, son, but that's no reason to be bigoted. They're people, just like us, son."

“What the hell are you tal-"

A foghorn rang out from within the house and Abel screamed with pain.

When the noise lifted, Abel caught one last bit from his Father, “-must be them! Go answer the door!"

Keeling over, Abel just about puked before the nausea settled for a moment and he was able to stumble towards the front door. Shadows lurked on the other end of the windows and Abel could see a hand reach towards the doorbell, prompting Abel to open the door to spare him from the pain.

“YAAAAY!" six small figures ran past Abel, bumping against his legs. They were all a blur, mere dark shapes darting through the house.

The world began to shake as Abel's eyes paced around in a panic. This wasn't right, what was going on? Abel couldn't focus on anything for a second, the moment he tried to do so, his stomach would send another wave of nausea and eventually it was took much for him to handle, he bent over and puked all over the floor.

Nothing but bile and water came up, but Abel kept on puking, long after he had nothing but air left. Beads of cold sweat trickled down his forehead as he gagged.

“You alright there, Abel?"

The accent was familiar, all too familiar. Slowly, Abel raised his head and stopped when something black caught his eye.

It was...the best way to describe it was a hand-paw. Four fingers and a thumb, much like a normal hand, but soft black pads were dotting the palm and fingers, along with dull claws sticking out of the fingertips.

“Come on, I'll help you up."

Abel placed his hand on the paw and felt himself be dragged up to his feet. The world was still shaking, but Abel had new-found focus as he stared at his new neighbors.

He was a black fox except he was standing on two feet and was as tall as Abel. He was wearing a black suit with an ID badge hanging from the breast pocket that showed the fox's face along with the letters CIA. Standing beside him with another black fox wearing a sundress.

“Vul...Vul...Vulp..." Abel's mouth stammered as a word tried to escape.

What's going on?

“My name is Agent Atay and this is my family," Abel slowly looked back and saw a pack of six fox kits tearing around the house, jumping on couches and knocking over vases, “we're your new neighbors."

The fox, Atay, slapped his paw on Abel's shoulder and laughed, showing off two rows of jagged teeth.

“So, how about we have a cold one? Don't worry, I won't tell your old man!"

The fox smiled and slowly led Abel into the house.