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at work, recognizing it was cumbersome and extremely outdated.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.