Suburbia

Cold sweat dotted Abel's arms as that awful lime-green spiral on the wallpaper seemed to swirl and spin. It's all a trick, Abel thought. Just an illusion, I must be tired. Spent too much time studying for college last night.

College? Abel paused, once again entranced by the wallpaper. It was definitely moving, either that or everything else in the room was moving.

“I'm in college?" Abel whispered aloud.

Atay's right ear twitched and the black fox leaned across the table, “Where do you go to school, Abel?"

Blinking, Abel looked down at the bottle of beer in his hand. The green glass of it shimmered like an emerald from the bright hanging lamps in the kitchen.

“You're not drinking your cold one," the fox smirked and slapped Abel on the shoulder, “you're, what, 20? I told you, I'm not gonna tell your old man!"

Abel hesitated but Atay provided encouragement in the form of planting a finger-pad on the bottom of the beer and slowly pushing it up until the neck reached Abel's lips. Abel did not resist, not even for a second, and let the watery beer slowly flow into his mouth before swallowing weakly.

Blinking again, Abel suddenly whispered, “The Imperial Academy..."

“Imperial Academy?" the fox opened up his narrow snout in a mocking laugh. “You kids these days! This is America, son, we kicked the last King out of here ages ago!"

“America, yeah..." Abel's head started to hurt. The name of the country seemed wrong, like there was something off about it, but Abel couldn't quite put his finger on it. He wanted to go along with what the fox was talking about but something compelled him to tell what he felt was the truth. “I'm not American?"

Atay lifted the bottle to his mouth but instead of drinking out of it like a normal person, he stuck his long tongue down the narrow neck and lapped at the beer that welled up near the top. Setting the bottle down, he continued, “Adopted, if I'm not mistaken. Not really a big fan of the whole thing myself, but it's a free country...drink your beer."

Once again, the fox forced Abel to drink and Abel felt a strange sense of unease fill his mind. His brain was thinking about a million things a minute and each time something came to his mind, he felt it on the verge of escaping his lips.

“Your old man, I don't suppose you've ever seen him hang around with any undesirables, have you? Communists and somesuch?"

Abel's grip went loose and Atay just barely was able to grab his hand in time before he sent the beer bottle crashing to the ground.

“What's..." heat flashed over Abel's skin. The wallpaper was growing, swallowing up the room ever so slowly, “...a Communist?"

“They're trying to take over the country, Abel. They want to see our way of life destroyed! They're the greatest threat to freedom and I have it on good authority that they're operating in this very neighborhood!" Atay suddenly went silent, leaning over the table and flashing his gold eyes at Abel. “Your old man hasn't been hanging around with those types, has he?"

“Dad's a loyal servant of the Empire!" Abel snapped suddenly. Abel tried to remember what his Father looked like, from that picture he saw in the other room, but it was all a blur. Despite that, he knew that he was no traitor.

“There you go with that Empire talk again! Damn comic books rotting your brain..." Atay grumbled and clacked his claws on the table, “we have evidence that he's engaging in a homosexual relationship with someone who happens to be a convicted felon. Very unnatural behavior, if you ask me. Do you know anything about this?"

“Yes," Abel spoke without thinking.

“So you're aware of your Father's little fling?" Atay placed his paw atop Abel's shoulder, massaging it gently. “I know this is tough, but this is important. This man your Father is seeing, he could be very dangerous, he-"

“He's the nicest man in the world and he would never hurt a fly!" Abel burst into tears and swung his arm across the table, smashing the bottle onto the ground. “He's got nothing to do with this!"

“Abel, what is 'this?'"

Abel's mouth opened but no words came out for once. There was something itching at the back of his brain, something desperately screaming to be released but it refused to budge, some other part of Abel's body warning it to stay hidden, for fear of getting them both killed.

Killed, that word whispered inside Abel's mind.

He's just the new neighbor, why…

“Wife!" Atay clapped his paws together. “Get Abel another dose!"

“Right away, dear!" the vixen in the sundress giggled as she popped open the fridge.

“Look at me," Atay snapped his fingers and Abel looked towards him. Those eyes of his were glowing like an animal's in the dark, “I know there's something funny going on here and I intend to find out what it is. If your Father ain't a commie, someone else is. What about your Mother?"

Try as he might, Abel could not conjure up any memory of her. There was that picture of her but it meant even less to him than the picture of his Father.

There was a hiss behind Abel, followed by the clatter of a bottle-cap.

“Did...you say 'dose?'" Abel's head ached as he turned around.

The vixen quickly hid something in her paw that she had been holding over the bottleneck and stepped over, glass snapping under her heels.

“Here you go!" she giggled and slipped back into the kitchen with a swish of her tail.

“Ah! Looks like your old man had the good stuff in the back!" Atay chuckled and tapped the label. All the words blended together except for one part of the label that declared it to be 'imported.' “Let me show you how we drank this in Munich!"

Without any warning, the fox lunged over the counter and held Abel's mouth open, pouring the bottle down his throat. Abel could not breathe and the fox began rubbing at his throat, forcing him to swallow.

“If you spit any up, you have to buy drinks for the whole table!"

Eventually, the bottle was empty and Abel fell back against his chair in a daze. The wallpaper was gone, as was the entire room except for the kitchen table. They were in the middle of a street that rattled with the quake of a thousand steps and the beat of a hundred drums.

A parade was marching past them, made up entirely of different humanoid animals. All were wearing colorful uniforms, some were holding guns and others were playing a variety of instruments. A song rang out, loud and clear:

Long live the Emperor and his sons!

We march forward in their names!

One! Two! Three! Four!

No quarter for traitors!

Peppering the song was an unusual crunching noise that matched the beat. At first, Abel took it for some fantastical instrument, but then he blinked and saw the streets were littered with human skulls that were being stomped into shards by the marching army.

“No, no, no, no, no, no..." Abel muttered, trying to shake away this vision.

Something small tugged at his sleeve and only then did he return to the kitchen. Turning sharply to the right, he saw a little black fox in a white baseball uniform staring up at him with hopeful eyes.

“Can Uncle Abel play with us?"

Chuckling, Atay scuffed up the kit's fuzzy head, “Sure thing, sport! Dinner's in twenty minutes though, so don't be late!"

“Yay!" a chorus of excited kits rang out and Abel was suddenly swarmed by the whole litter. Half of them yanked him up from his chair while the other half jumped onto his shoulders, hitting and biting him while was forcibly marched into the other room.

“What are we-OUCH!" Abel hissed as one of the kits bit his neck. They were baby teeth, but they were still sharp enough. “What are we playing?"

“Counter-Ops! Counter-Ops! Counter-Ops!" the pack started chanting, up until they reached the living room. As soon as the rascals let him go and jumped off his back, he collapsed onto the shag carpet with a sigh.

“What's 'Counter-Ops?' Some kind of tag or ball game?"

“No, dummy!" a female kit with a white stripe running down her snout sneered.

“It's a videogame!" an all-black male exclaimed.

“Videogame?" Abel blinked hard, his head aching once again. “What year is this?"

Only now did Abel notice that the room was unusually spare. There were a few bookshelves and a massive radio that was covered in wood paneling, but there was no TV.

“First ones on get to be Counter Operatives!" another male exclaimed, happily wagging his tail as he slipped a thin visor across his eyes.

“NO FAIR!"

A mad rush for the foxes to get their visors on soon followed and in short order, only Abel and the female kit with the white stripe were left in the real world.

“Ugh," she snorted, slapping the visor across Abel's eyes, “I'm always a Terrorist, it's not fair!"

In mere moments, Abel was transported from the household into a ruined city. Once-towering skyscrapers had fallen over, creating a maze of flames and twisted metal. The entire sky was covered in smoke, dotted only by the occasional flash of gunfire from a distant fighter far above the city.

Numbers flashed across the screen.

3.

2.

1.

ACTIVATE THE DEVICE TO WIN.

A gun suddenly appeared in Abel's hands. It was a light rifle with a digital display showing how much bullets he had left. The name of the model escaped him.

“Don't screw up!" a small voice called out. Abel looked to his right and left, finding himself next to a wolf-man wearing a brown uniform with a patch on his shoulder that showed a circle of wolf-men biting each other's tails; and a red fox wearing a similar uniform but whose flag showed a yellow, white, and green tricolor. Both of them were carrying similar rifles.

“I'm a pretty good shot you know!" Abel announced proudly as they slowly marched into the city ruins. A blue triangle hovered in the distance, indicating where they were supposed to go.

“Whatever..." the red fox muttered back.

“No seriously, I almost won a tournament!" Abel beamed, suddenly a little too eager to impress these fox kits. “Pretty cool, h-"

A bullet slapped through Abel's skull and he hit the dirt in an instant. He was dead and death was supposed to take all pain away, but right now Abel felt nothing but an endless, screaming pain where his skull used to be.

“KILL ALL TRAITORS!"

Abel saw the whole thing happen still, despite being very much dead. The wolf and the fox were gunned down by three heroic soldiers, all of whom looked like lions and were wielding far heavier weaponry than they were.

Only when his entire team was dead, did the pain stop and Abel was teleported back to where they had begun.

“What the hell was that!?" Abel shouted.

3.

2.

1.

ACTIVATE THE DEVICE TO WIN.

“I told you he'd suck!" the fox complained.

“Dad said he was a little slow," the wolf agreed.

“Isn't this a little violent for you?" Abel stepped in the way of the two before they could enter the city ruins. “Why don't we play something else?"

“Move, dummy!" the fox whined.

Suddenly, the fox's skull exploded and the remains of her body hit the dirt. The wolf's soon followed.

“Fuck!" Abel shouted and began to make a run for it, but got no further than a few steps when his left knee burst and he fell down, wracked with pain but otherwise alive.

The three lions emerged from the smoke and surrounded Abel, the barrels of their guns pointed down at him.

“Beg and we'll let you live!" one of them demanded, the squeaky voice of a fox kit not matching the burly lion before Abel.

“Fuck off, long live the resistance!"

“You said a bad word!" one of them screamed.

The Emperor and his loyal slaves.

Have come once again to put us in their yoke.

From Columbia and to Japan.

The resistance has only begun to wake!

Thankfully, being the last man on the team alive, the inevitable pain of Abel's head exploding again only lasted a few seconds before they respawned again. By that point, the spontaneous song that sprung from Abel's lips had vanished from his mind.

3.

2.

1.

ACTIVATE THE DEVICE TO WIN.

“Alright, no more fucking around," Abel muttered to himself and broke away from his team.

“Hey! Where are you going!?"

Abel didn't reply, entering a store and crouching below a counter for cover. The blue triangle beckoned him to follow the main street outside, but he knew that would be an ambush.

Time to teach these little monsters what war is really about.

Sure enough, lurking in the shadows of the next room over was one of the lions. He was camping in the corner by a window, waiting for one of Abel's team to enter his kill-zone.

Abel lined up the sights slowly and took the shot. Blood spurted from the lion's head as he fell.

“FUCK!" one of the kits screamed. The very same one that admonished Abel earlier.

“Hey!" Abel sneered. “You just said a bad word!"

“Nu-uh!"

Before Abel could celebrate his victory, a gatling gun mounted atop the building across the way suddenly came to life. One of the lions was behind it and the barrel started spinning.

Abel darted through the building as glass and concrete shattered behind him. Eventually, he reached an area with no windows but did not stop his sprint for a second. The walls were still flimsy enough that the bullets slapped right through, but the lion had clearly lost Abel's path and was aiming blindly.

Abel emerged from an open door and crouched behind a thick dumpster right outside. To his luck, the gunfire passed over him and kept on going, assuming he made some kind of escape that the gunner didn't notice.

The flicker of muzzle flashes gave away the gunner's position. Slowly, Abel edged out from the side of the dumpster and got a bead on the lion's temple. One pull of the trigger was all it took.

“HEY! NO FAIR!"

“Told you I was a good shot!" Abel tapped his index finger on his temple before getting up and creeping out into the street.

His two teammates were dead. Nothing remained of their bodies except for a fluffy fox tail and the shoulder of the wolf in the streets. There was still one more left to go and then nothing would stop him from activating the device.

Whatever precious cover there was leading towards the goal, Abel crouched behind it. Any moment he expected to be shot but it never happened.

In fact, when Abel reached the goal: a clearing just by a cliff that overlooked a shadowy, fenced-in building; the last lion was sitting on the ground, unarmed, and with his hands on his head.

“I surrender!" he squeaked.

“Good," Abel walked up to him and tapped him on the nose. “I accept your surrender."

Abel's vision flashed and for a split-second he saw a road-side ditch with the lion's dead body in it, shot between the head execution style. A truck engine rumbled off just behind him.

The hallucination only lasted for a bit and Abel slowly began walking towards the goal: a datapad resting on a wooden crate with a bright, yellow button that simply said, “Activate."

Not hesitating for a second, Abel tapped the button.

“Now, I think you've learned a les-"

Beneath the goalpoint, the building formerly covered in shadows suddenly was bathed in light from hanging floodlights mounted on the fence. Humans, about a hundred of them, were inside there, most of whom were wearing handcuffs and being marched across the base.

Suddenly, they all clutched at their heads, falling to the ground and screaming in agony. The concrete beneath them was soon covered in fresh blood as lions…

Regulians.

...attempted to save them.

TERRORISTS WIN.

Abel ripped off the visor. His mouth quivered and tears began trickling down his cheeks.

“I did it..." he whispered, “...I killed them."

“Who?" a voice called out from behind him.

“I didn't know. I didn't know that it would kill them, but the information I stole...when it was read on the news..." Abel wiped away tears with the back of his hand. The kits were still playing their game, unaware of what was going on, “...fuck. I deserve to die."

“Alright, wrap it up folks!" Atay suddenly exclaimed. “We got what we need!"

The kits suddenly took their visors off and scampered off. Only one, an all-black male stopped and looked up at Abel.

“I hope we get to play again sometime!" he smiled before joining his siblings.

“What's..." Abel looked around. The door flung open and three armed guards entered, two were humans and another was a wolf.

Lupiad.

“Great show, Abel, great show! Or do you prefer Rico?" Atay pulled out a tiny microphone from his jacket collar and spoke into it. “Kate, I simply love what you did with this place! Can I get you to swing by my place and redecorate? I'm serious! Vilen, are you there, Vilen? That bit with the videogame...inspired! You guys are the real heroes today!"

Atay pinched Abel's cheek between two claws. “Now it's time for the final act. You've confessed and now everyone's coming to a close!"

The Lupiad guard cuffed Abels wrists behind his back and lifted him up to his feet.

“What...what the hell…?" Abel looked at the fox…

Vulpeculan.

...and things slowly started to trickle back into his memory.

“Abel, it's okay! Really!" Atay gave Abel a quick nuzzle on the cheek with his nose. “You're going to make my career soar! I love you and I mean that; the whole Claw loves you! We're going to show the Guard who's who, yeah?"

The taxi...he was the taxi driver…

“No need to worry about a thing now, Abel, come along now!" Abel was shoved sharply by the Lupiad and began following Atay.

“Where are we going?" Abel muttered as he was led outside the house. Only now did Abel realize the blue sky was clearly painted onto a background as a hidden door opened, leading into a dark room.

“I know you must be a little weary, we have pumped a lot of drugs into you!" Atay laughed. “But really, it should be obvious, no? You've just confessed to being a traitor and the most hated man on Earth. We're going to give you exactly what you wished for."

“What?"

The black Vulpeculan made a gun with his fingers and pointed it at Abel's head. His sharp teeth emerged in a wicked smile.

“Bang."

“Here we are, park there, Adjunct!" Brolath ordered.

Rorgh swung the car to the right, parking against a sidewalk painted yellow and underneath a street sign that declared it to be a, “Loading Zone," and that, “Violators Will be Prosecuted." Naturally, being a member of the Guard, Brolath would not normally have to fear such misdemeanors, but being this was in front of the Earth Claw HQ, there was still an element of threat behind the prosecution warning.

And the building itself was quite threatening by itself. A thirty-story tall, brutalist, concrete abomination. Its most prominent features were four massive Regulian faces carved into each side with gouged eyes.

“Not exactly my favorite type of art," Rorgh murmured as they exited the car into the dry, African air.

“Me neither," Brolath grunted, “I prefer my oil landscapes."

“You and your landscapes," Rorgh shook his head as he opened up the back door.

“Please!" Rico begged, his mouth quivering as Rorgh pulled him out of the car. “I'm innocent! Don't take me in there, please! Anywhere but there!"

Rorgh licked his dry lips and lightly shoved Rico towards the staircase leading up to the entrance.

“Under normal circumstances we would take you to the local Guard but..." Brolath coughed and stretched his neck to the side, “...well, I think you know why these are special circumstances. We did give you the charges after all."

“And I didn't do any of them! For the love of God, let me go!"

Rico tried to make a break for it but slipped and fell flat on his face. Brolath and Rorgh attempted to pull him back up, but he refused to cooperate and the two aliens had to grab him by the shoulders and drag him to the building, kicking and screaming.

“I AM BEING ARRESTED!" Rico began bellowing. “I AM A FREE MAN, ARRESTED FOR NO REASON! WAKE UP PEOPLE! FIGHT BACK!"

Rorgh looked over at Brolath and rolled his eyes. The Claw HQ was in an isolated part of Ralothburg, neighbored by medical testing facility and a slave training facility, neither of which would be particularly sympathetic to his complaints, justified or not.

“Captain, should we add sedition to his charges?" Rorgh asked with a smirk.

“Sure."

“That was a joke."

It was a bit of a challenge hauling the pale human up the staircase but after banging his knees about ten times, they got him to the top and Brolath kicked the door open into the lobby.

Contrary to the outside's expectations, the insides were distractingly normal. A four-story tall lobby without so much as a security guard hanging around for protection; Brolath knew that there surely were snipers lurking behind the concrete balconies above and more than likely an assault team waiting on standby just in case, but the relative calm of the lobby sent a message that no one would even think of causing trouble here.

Three bureaucrats were shuffling papers behind a counter with no line-up. One was a brown Sirian female with floppy ears, the other two were male Regulians; Brolath stormed up to the Sirian and slapped his palm on the table before flashing his ID.

“Captain Brolath T'Fath of the Regulian Guard reporting in with the fugitive Rico Suarez!" he pointed towards the chubby human, who had gone deathly silent since entering the building. “Here on the Emperor's orders."

The Sirian's jaw hung open and she nervously picked up a phone, dialing blindly as she kept her amber eyes locked on the human, “Get Vice-Overseer Frontus down here immediately."

Brolath looked back at Rorgh, half-expecting him to be smiling like Lupiads were prone to doing when happy, but he noticed the Adjunct's face was oddly expressionless and his ears were folded back. The implication was immediately clear to Brolath.

“Somethings wrong," the Regulian muttered aloud.

Before Rorgh could nod, a loud ding echoed through the lobby and a hidden door behind the counter slid open. A male Sirian with long, silky blonde fur emerged from an elevator shaft, cockily stroking a mustache of fur hanging from the sides of his muzzle. He approached the two Guards and clicked his black boots together, saluting.

“Guard Captain Rorgh, a true pleasure, but an unnecessary one!" Frontus grinned widely. “You can release that poor human, he's an innocent man."

“THANK YOU!" the man breathed a sigh of relief. “Get these cuffs off of me!"

Neither Rorgh nor Brolath made any moves to free the human, instead they stared back at the Sirian, unsure as to where this was going and ready to make a move if needed, whatever that might be.

Brolath felt his pistol press against his side, snug in its holster hidden beneath his jacket.

“We got a picture of the perp and he matches it!" Brolath objected, grabbing the human by the cheeks and pointing him towards the Vice-Overseer. “Rico Suarez!"

“I'm afraid that man is actually..." Frontus tapped one of the humans behind the counter on the shoulder, “...what was his name again?"

“Vic O'Donnell."

“Vic O'Donnell! Bartender at the Flying Bomb Tavern in Ralothburg! But of course, I'm sure he told you that and naturally, under the circumstances you assumed it was a lie."

“I'll have you know that we got this information from a trusted source!"

Frontus raised his brow, “Prince Shalth, perhaps?

Brolath's blood went cold.

“As amicable as his reassignment was, there was some concerns that he might try and sabotage our efforts by assisting certain over elements moonlighting as an intelligence agency. Naturally, when he started poking his nose back into Claw business, we gave him a fake suspect," Frontus sneered like he was looking down at a groveling slave. “It would seem our concerns were justified."

Clenching his fist, Brolath attempted to stifle the growing rage in his stomach. The Claw was truly a wretched agency that had no respect for someone sent by the Emperor.

“Fine..." Brolath gritted his teeth and snorted out a reply, “...the Emperor has sent us to oversee-"

“The gas bomb case, yes, we're well aware of this. We're always one step ahead, try and keep up," the Sirian flashed his fangs for a moment, just quick enough for Brolath to notice the blatant display of aggressive but not slow enough for Brolath to react, “which begs the question, why are you meddling in the Paradox Syndrome case? They're unrelated and if you've talked to Shalth, you're surely aware of that as well!"

Brolath had nothing to say and quietly scratched at his mane nervously instead of speaking.

“The Emperor's favorite and his pet Lupiad were eager to show that they too could be one of the big boys!" Frontus slapped one of the humans on the shoulder and the whole line of bureaucrats laughed on cue. “That's so adorable!"

The Sirian was scrawny and weak, all it would take is one strike and Brolath could teach him a lesson in humility that he wouldn't forget. In fact, the Regulian took one step towards achieving that goal, but a quick growl from his Adjunct was enough to get him to restrain himself from making that huge mistake.

“Well, I hate to break it to you, but we've already got the real Mr. Suarez and, in fact, he's confessing as we speak!" Frontus swished the back of his paw across a lock of long fur dangling from his flopped ears. “Why don't you come along and join us? Maybe you can learn a thing or two before you audit us! But first, let the human go, poor thing looks like he's suffering!"

Brolath turned back to Rorgh and grunted out an order. The Lupiad soon unlocked the handcuffs and let the human bolt out the door, screaming frantically about his righteously-earned freedom.

Before following the Sirian into the elevator, Brolath took out his datapad and began recording, “I trust you don't mind if we film this?"

“Please, go ahead! You can even stream it straight back to Regulus Prime if you can get a decent connection in this concrete tomb!" the Sirian began wagging his tail, which looked as soft and fluffy as a Vulpeculan's, happily as he marched into the elevator. “We're not bad guys here, Captain! We're carrying out the Emperor's will in our own way and can't always be bothered to report back with every minor detail!"

“Lets talk about leads that you have on the Paradox Syndrome case, shall we?" Brolath crossed his arms as the doors slid shut behind him and Rorgh.

The elevator rumbled as it began to move, “I mean, really, the average citizen is far more likely to run afoul of the Regulian Guard than us! We have a 99% accuracy rate when it comes to arrests, did you know that? Of the 1% that slip through the cracks, I'm proud to say that we have not liquidated any of them here on Earth! This is Claw precision, finely honed through many centuries of our traditions!"

“The case, Vice-Overseer."

Frontus ignored Brolath and started to address Rorgh, “There's excellent promotion opportunities with us for all species in the Empire, not just members of our benevolent feline overlords! You'll be hard-pressed to find an organization in all of the Empire that has as many canines in important positions or even members of the Lacertan subject races! Why, we're even open to humans getting promoted!"

“So, since you have human agents, I trust that you're having no trouble at all infiltrating the human resistance network behind the bombings?"

Once again, Frontus continued to ignore Brolath and tapped the side of his black nose, “I happen to have a nose for talent and it is ripe in your scent!" Frontus took out a silver case, clicked it open, and slipped Rorgh a business card. “Think about it!"

The elevator came to a halt and a sharp ding announced the doors peeling open. Frontus led the two down a nondescript hallway with security cameras peering down at them from black domes. Frontus was about to lead them to the right but stopped, lifting his tail stiffly as he poked at an earpiece attached to his left ear.

“Please hold the proceedings," Frontus spoke suddenly and spun around to the left. “This way, please."

“What's going on?" Brolath asked, jogging a bit to keep up with the hasty Claw agent.

“Well, we're about seconds away from executing Mr. Suarez. Giving him one final interrogation before the deed is to be done, I requested Overseer Atay spare him until we get there to observe."

“An execution!?" Rorgh exclaimed.

“Yes, does that bother you? We're hardly the only ones that do it and to be frank, we greatly enjoy compromising with our guests!" the Sirian huffed as he picked up the pace. “Becoming a double agent, putting them somewhere quiet to keep an eye on them, putting them to work, altering their memory so that they can be reformed, selling them to a noble with a taste for dangerous slaves..."

Despite knowing it was necessary to keep the Empire in order, Brolath took no joy in executions. It always felt like something better could have been done with the prisoner or that somehow the system had failed to make the best out of them. Still, the Guard tried its best to make the thing as painless as possible, Brolath doubted the Claw would do the same.

“Here we are! Observation Room 2!" Frontus slid the steel door open, which was flanked by two guards. “Enter, please!"

Brolath tailed Frontus, slipping in just seconds after the Sirian. The room was dark and a one-way window was peering down at a nondescript gray room with prisoner sitting atop a steel chair.

His skin was a pale brown, his hair was as black as ebony and despite it being mussed up, it looked like he had it combed in a way that made it look like a sorry attempt at a mane, something a few particularly loyal humans were doing on Earth to ingratiate themselves in Regulian society and also traitors who wanted to become a spy.

“Behold, Rico Suarez!" Frontus motioned his blonde paw towards the glass. “Or should I say: Abroth, adopted son of the Minister of Culture of the Kingdom of Earth!"

Abel had blacked out shortly after being dragged out of the set, most likely due to a combination of all the drugs that the Claw had put into him. His vision was hazy as he awoke but the drugs had begun to wear off, so he was as clear-headed as he could be, considering the circumstances.

Yanking his arms, he found them to be cuffed to a steel chair he was sitting atop. A gentle voice was humming to the right, Overseer Atay was bent over a counter, fiddling with a series of pistols, syringes, and knives; all while singing a Regulian patriotic song from the Lupiad-Sirian War.

Atay's ear twitched back, “Ah, you're awake! Just in time, I was beginning to worry!"

“Why am I..." Abel's voice trailed off, afraid to say the words.

“Still alive?" Atay peered back with a wicked gaze. “We had quite a vigorous debate about that when you passed out! The Vice-Overseer was very much in favor of sending you on your way but one of our shining stars in the lower echelon happened to be there and she brought up something interesting, would you like to hear it?"

Abel spat a thick wad of saliva across the right side of the Vulpeculan's muzzle.

Atay laughed and wiped his fur, “Oh, Abel, you crack me up! I'm really going to miss you!"

Abel's eyes darted around the room, which spanned two stories. No one else was here and there was nothing close to the chair that he might be able to knock over, like a cart of tools, that might assist in his escape. The synthetic bindings around his legs and arms were too powerful to break, Abel's skin and bones would split open before the bindings would. There was no way out.

“She pointed out that, seeing as you're guaranteeing us all kinds of bonuses and commendations, that we should respect your preference for death and I agreed!" Atay paused and slammed a bullet into a revolver's chamber. “Then she followed up with a startling statistic! Apparently surveys have been done at Claw branches across the galaxy and we have some very interesting information about each species and their preferred execution!

Regulians and Lupiads want to be awake when they're executed, they consider it to be more brave that way, one last look into fear itself before they die! Sirians and Vulpeculans prefer to be quietly killed in their sleep while Procyonids, owing to their religious fanaticism and desire to see their Hierophant in the afterlife, for the most part don't care one way or another and they were the only ones who had a sample size that preferred to be tortured to death, probably out of some desire to be a martyr, as if anyone cares!

Humans however, the surveys were found to be split almost dead-even across the board! Congratulations, Abel, your species has vexed the Regulian government once more! We could have finished the messy part already, gotten your corpse incinerated, and be down at the bar having a round of drinks as a celebration!"

“I'm sorry for troubling you," Abel rolled his eyes sardonically.

“Oh, it's fine, truly! This is just a bit of gallows humor, though I guess it's not as funny when you're standing on the gallows, perhaps?" Atay chuckled and ran a whetstone across a scalpel. “Truly, I want to respect your wishes and I also thought it would be a great opportunity to have one final interrogation to sort of wrap things up, sound okay?"

“No."

“Oh, Abel!" the Vulpeculan laughed in an almost maniacal tone. “You're priceless!"

“The Empire seems to have no problem putting prices on our lives."

“Such a biting bit of social commentary! Don't worry, we're saving all of your choice quotes for the archives, we've got a whole book full of them! Your Earth History professor has been reporting you to the Claw for seditious language since your first class with him."

Fucking Rowth, I hope someone shoves that idol of his up his ass!

“So, here's the irony of it all, Abel: you were raised a Regulian and with as much privilege as a human could muster in the entire galaxy. You then turned to rebellion, hoping to revive some vain dream of an independent Earth," Atay loaded up a steel tray onto a cart, rolling it slowly in front of Abel, far too distant to reach. A horrific display of weapons and torture devices were resting atop it, “and the only reason that you weren't arrested before was because of that privilege. Because in the end, we didn't want to upset your daddy and scratch his precious little cub. You got away with spreading sedition and fomenting rebellion against your so-called oppressors because we're too nice, Abel."

Atay tilted the tray up, showcasing the pistols, knives, and syringes for Abel to see, “Fancy anything you see here?"

“Fuck off!"

“Language, Abel!" Atay picked up a revolver and wiped a bit of grease off of the barrel. “My kits complained about your swearing to me, you know? I was just trying to show them the family trade, there was no need for such vulgarity!"

“T-those were your kits!?" Abel felt vomit pile up at the base of his throat. “What the fuck is wrong with you!?"

“I was showing them the family trade," Atay repeated as if that was all that needed explaining, “and they made me proud today! It's a shame your own Father will have to be so disappointed when we drag him in here."

A chill ran down Abel's spine, “What do you mean?"

Shrugging, Atay waved the revolver around, “Well, how much do you remember from the interrogation, Abel? You didn't implicate him or his little sex-toy, good on you for sticking up for him! But you need to understand, his only son just turned traitor and became one of the worst terrorists in Earthen, no...Regulian history! How does that happen? Perhaps he has some secrets we need to pull out of him?"

“Leave him alone!"

“There is no record of him purchasing Yin, did you know that? Not one single transaction report and he has never been processed at any facility!" Atay licked his lips. “We do know that he was a prisoner on Beta Vulpeculae, a murderer, did you know that? Did you know that he was reported dead around the same time your Father took a tour of the prison before he got stationed on Earth? Why do you think that is, Abel?"

“Yin is a goddamned loyalist! It tears me up sometimes but he's done nothing wrong to the Empire, he wouldn't dream of it!"

Atay tilted the revolver from side-to-side, “Well, we'll find out, won't we? You okay with a bullet to the head? I think we're coming to a conclusion here..."

“No! Don't hurt them! I-I-I..."

I can't rat out the rest of the rebels, I can't! Even if they abandoned me, they had every reason to! But…

“Poison, perhaps?" Atay stroked a syringe. “It's painless, I assure you."

“I didn't act alone! There were..." Abel swallowed a lump forming in his throat, “...others."

“Ah, a typical plot twist!" Atay shook his head. “We already know about Arnold and his little group; we also know that they were just your method of delivering the fatal information to the public. You acted alone for the vast majority of this scheme as far as we can tell, but if anyone were to know more, it would be your Father or Yin. So if that's all..."

Atay pulled back the hammer on the revolver slowly. The chamber rotated…

There has to be something I can use...there has to be something...anything!

I can't let Father suffer...not even the rebellion is worth that…

But I can't just betray the rebellion…

But…

Atay took a few steps forward and press the barrel up against Abel's forehead. The smell of gun grease filled the air, the smell of death.

“Any last words? We do enjoy hearing those!"

“GLASS!"

Atay pulled the revolver back and stared down at Abel with a confused look.

“Glass! Glass!" Abel shouted. There was a sharp thud up on the second floor of the room, something banging against the wall. “They were working with some guy named Glass, sounded like a major player in the rebellion!"

And both Arnold and Lobo sounded like they hated him. Whoever he was, he was likely someone up to no good, probably a member of one of the Ultranationalist groups or another extremist faction. More harm to the cause than good.

“I can..." the words hurt for Abel to say but he had to say them. He had to save his family, “...if you let my family go, I can track him down."

“I don't know who that is, Abel, and I really don't care."

Atay pressed the pistol up against Abel's head.

“A poor choice of last words."

“Did you hear that, Captain!" Rorgh exclaimed. “Glass!"

The Overseer in the room below them seemed to hesitate while the human started pleading, begging for his life.

“Holy shit, Adjunct!" Brolath stood up and stomped up behind Frontus, shaking the well-groomed Sirian by the shoulders. “Stop the execution at once!"

Rolling his amber eyes, the Sirian kicked up his feet against the one-way window, banging it loudly, “Fat chance, Guard Captain! We're not going to let you usurp our moment of glory!"

“What the hell are you talking about!?" Rorgh snapped. “Cut this dick-waving bullshit out!"

Brolath waved his datapad in front of the Sirian's snout, “I am recording this for the Emperor's eyes! That human knows something about a person of interest we've learned about in our investigation! We have him linked to the bomber in France!"

“Sure, why don't you give me the evidence and I'll look it over slowly and carefully..."

Brolath said nothing and began dialing a connection onto the datapad.

“W-what are you doing?" Frontus demanded.

“Calling the Emperor. I have a direct line, you know? I'm here on his orders and speaking with his voice, but if you don't believe me, I guess we'll have to wake him up. According to the datapad it's midnight back on Regulus Prime."

In reality, he was calling up Proclath, who he knew would not be in his office at this time, having proudly proclaimed he was seeing one of his many mistresses right now. It was a risky bluff, but he had nothing left to lose.

Frontus pulled back his lips in a snarl, “You wouldn't dare!"

“Just a bit more and the connection will be established," Brolath shook his head as the Overseer pointed his pistol back at the human's forehead. Pointing the datapad's camera at the sight below, Brolath continued. “Extranet encryption tunnels are lightning fast nowadays! I bet the Emperor will answer just in time to see the Emperor's favorite Guard Captain's only lead in the case get his brain's splattered against the wall. How do you think that will look?"

Frontus suddenly tapped his earpiece and screamed, “CALL OFF THE EXECUTION! STOP! STOP! STOP!"

The Overseer pulled the gun away and slowly looked up at the one-way mirror and said something into his own earpiece.

“The Emperor has decreed the human is to be spared..." Frontus sighed with relief as Brolath severed the datapad connection.

“For now, at least..."