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Unforeseen Consequences

Hands trembling with insurmountable horror, Abel accepted the call on the datapad and punched in the decryption key generated by the device. It seemed to take an eternity to connect, leaving Abel plenty of time to ponder the sheer scale of what happened, what he had done.

Either you're a patsy or a murderer...probably both. Doesn't matter if it was a Regulian trap, you sprung it.

Eventually, Arnold's face appeared on the screen. The room he was in was almost pitch-black and it was difficult to make out the former marine, especially with the quality loss from the encryption.

“Hello Abel," Arnold said with a long sigh, “I presume you've seen the news?"

Abel's throat was sore, making it hard to respond, “Y-yeah."

“I'm going to be blunt...look straight into the camera, don't look away!" Arnold ordered and Abel complied, staring emptily at the blue light above the camera attached to the datapad. “Are you a spy for the Claw?"

“No..." Abel trailed off. He wasn't a spy, but at this point he felt like he was listed as an asset somewhere, a useful idiot, “...Arnold, I don't know what happened."

“That makes two of us..." Arnold hissed and rustled some papers, “...a lot of people are dead, Abel. The Confederacy Movement's sources inside hospitals reports more deaths than the Regulians are letting on but they're also reporting some people being treated with a strange drug, including the Duke of North America's human lover, one of the slaves 'rescued.'"

“It must have been a trap!" Abel exclaimed. “They must have had some kind of kill-switch on them in case the truth came to light!"

“It doesn't matter. All that matters is the Regulians have turned this into a propaganda victory, we plastered our movement's name on the broadcast and now we look like a bunch of callous monsters for killing trauma victim, while the King of Earth looks like the noble protector of the planet that the Empire wants him to be."

“Fuck..."

“But wait, there's more…" the marine said somewhat sarcastically before grimacing in pain, “...the next step in the propaganda machine is generating someone to blame. Now, they can very easily blame the Lacertans again, but the lizards are very distant creatures, so they'll probably want to grab someone that they can extract a confession out of from Earth."

Abel's blood went cold.

“Abel, the government building you infiltrated in Africa, were you caught on camera? Any witnesses?"

“I was good at keeping my face hidden from cameras, but..."

The clerk, the guard in the elevator, hell, even some of the office workers who gave me a quick glance. The aliens tended to remember scents and not sights better, but there's a chance they might be able to make a composite sketch of me…

Sighing, Arnold slapped an unseen desk angrily, “I can see it written on your face. Fuck!"

“I need help!" Abel begged. “You guys gotta help me lay low!"

“Fuck, Abel! We don't even know if you're a spy or not!" Arnold yelled. “We don't know what the fuck is going on and we're not going to go to bat for you right now!"

Looking around at the empty bedroom nervously, Abel stammered out, “W-where's Red?"

“She doesn't want to talk to you! None of us do!" Arnold looked around the dark room he lurked in. “You're gonna have to lay low on your own and maybe...MAYBE when this has all passed over, we'll contact you again, but I wouldn't hold my breath."

“Jesus Christ, Arnold! The Claw, they're going to kill me if you don't do something!"

“I like you Abel, really, I do. I also want to believe that this was all some accident, but I can't risk the safety of my squad and my movement for you, not like this," Arnold gave a long sigh. “Destroy this datapad and stay safe."

With that, Arnold sharply tapped his screen and the feed went dead, leaving Abel alone in the dead silence of the warehouse.

Even though Abel's heart was racing and his breath was short, he immediately sprang up from the couch and smashed the datapad against the corner of the coffee table.

Abel threw his clothes on, stopping only when his shirt was around his head. There was a noise, an echoing clang on the other side of the warehouse, he could hear it from inside the loft office, just barely.

Slowly, Abel completed his wardrobe and tip-toed to the door of the office, peering out from the glass door window before gently pushing it open and sneaking to the railing.

The lights were off, but the skylights illuminated the place very well. There was nothing there but ghosts. Not even the medical supplies were there, Red and Lobo had probably taken them and bolted to another safehouse.

Still, as Abel slowly descended the metal staircase he kept pausing, convinced that he heard a footstep in some distant corner of the warehouse or a gentle tap on one of the doors as a member of the Guard or the Claw laid breaching charges. At one point, he even heard radio chatter in his mind, ordering a raid.

As Abel landed on the ground floor of the warehouse, he slowly approached the front door, convinced that as soon as he opened it he would be thrown to the ground, a gun pointed at his head and handcuffed. This was the end.

Three steps away and the fear was almost bursting from his chest.

Two steps away and he imagined the tortures he would endure.

One step away and he finally noticed his gun-case lying by the front entrance.

He stopped for a second, pondering about going out in a blaze of glory. Abel's hands and legs were shaking as he pulled open the case, banging it against the floor with a loud clank. They'd burst through the door any second now, Abel told himself.

Abel suppressed a sob when he saw his gun in the case, fully disassembled and all the magazines were empty. There wasn't even a single bullet left for him to use on himself, the rebels took them all. It would have made their lives easier if Abel had a chance to off himself, whether it was some sign of Red wishing that Abel lived or just pure demand for the precious ammunition, Abel didn't know.

All he knew is that this was the end.

He placed his hand on the door-handle and pushed it open, closing his eyes and walking outside.

Nothing happened.

Slowly, he opened his eyes, the early morning sunlight burning his eyes. He was alone, just as he had been in the warehouse. There was no strike force waiting to take him in dead or live, no Claw spooks ready to snatch him, nothing.

He was alone.

This did nothing to dissuade him of the notion that he was being watched. His skin itched and sweat poured down his back as he took his gun-case and left the warehouse. Red and Lobo had taken the truck and it would be a long trip back to New Orleans.

Anything could happen.

“Minister Shalth will be with you in just a moment," the receptionist, a human woman with her blonde hair tied up in a bun, announced as she hung up the phone.

“Does he prefer to be called Minister or Prince?" Brolath asked.

“He prefers to forgo his royal title and use Minister, Captain," the woman smiled, “he's an odd Regulian, but a good boss."

“Thank you," Brolath bowed and flopped down on a seat next to Rorgh, just across from the imposing mahogany desk that the receptionist sat behind.

Outside the window, Brolath could see the city of Ralothburg lying below them. It was not nearly as large as the cities back on Regulus Prime, but it was clearly a Regulian city built from scratch on this backwater of a planet. The dry, hot climate was more appealing to Brolath as well, compared to Louisiana. It almost felt like home.

In fact, one could say that they were inside the very capital of Regulian culture on Earth at the moment. The epicenter from which all Regulian culture spreads into the newest addition to the Empire and the truth of their benevolent reign is preached: the Ministry of Propaganda.

With the war going on, the Ministry of Propaganda had its claws dipped into a lot of pies, directly overseeing normally independent ministries such as communications, entertainment, culture, and of course, defense. Brolath had heard that Minister Shalth played a big role in turning around the public opinion of the Regulian Empire with a successful propaganda campaign, a lot of rebels still existed but the planet was not in a state of perpetual terrorism like it was before. A good war against a common foe helped such matters too, of course, but there was no doubt that Shalth was a powerful minister.

He also was rumored to have some very strange and very un-Regulian beliefs about imperial decentralization that made him unpopular with the nobles, but no one could deny that he was making a difference on Earth.

A section of the wall suddenly swung open, revealing a hidden door and a Western Regulian greeted them.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Captain!" Shalth bowed and waved them into his office. He had dark brown fur and a matching mane, similar to Brolath's own. “Please, come in!"

The first oddity Brolath noticed about the Prince was his choice of clothes. First of all, he was barefoot, the pads of his feet slapping against the hardwood floor quietly as they entered his den. He was also wearing a black t-shirt, clearly designed for an overweight human that advertised some brewery in North America.

The second oddity was his choice of decorations for his office. There was not so much as a window, the entire room was a dark wood-paneled prison lined with shelves that nearly took up the entire wall. The shelves held framed photographs of the Minister visiting various monuments on Earth: a colossal pyramid made of limestone, a gray stone ziggurat, atop a long wall that seemed to stretch over the horizon, among others. Perhaps the one photo that stood out the most to Brolath was one of Shalth in a restaurant with his maw wide open, about to bite into a massive sandwich with round buns and several thick meat patties between them. All of these pictures had him surrounded by different humans posing with him, wide smiles on their faces.

Alongside the photos were a chaotic mishmash of souvenirs: an old analog camera that looked to have taken many of the photos, a feathered mask that Rorgh pointed out came from New Orleans, models of those landmarks he had visited in the photos and several old human computers (An artifact from before the war, when these were the hottest export from the planet next to slaves). Just about the only normal things on the shelves were human weaponry, which any Imperial could appreciate: swords, spears, rifles, and shotguns all were there and all of them looked very cheaply made out of low-grade steel.

The rumors Brolath had heard were true: Shalth was a bit of a humanophile, which made it all the stranger that the same rumors also said that he didn't own any slaves and kept no concubines here.

“I'm told that my Imperial Father has sent you here on important business regarding my former associates?" Shalth said as he leaned back in a brown leather swivel chair that creaked violently, having been designed for the average human weight.

“Former associates?" Rorgh asked. “I thought you were still a member of the Claw?"

“Ah! Yes, I suppose I am!" Shalth slapped his head. “But things are not quite the same, I suppose as well! Things happen, people get new ministry positions, need more time at home for hobbies, coups..."

“Coups!?" Brolath exclaimed. “By the Emperor, are you serious?"

“Oh, it's nothing quite so dramatic, Captain!" Shalth waved his paw dismissively. “Really, it happens all the time in the Claw and it's a lot more polite than it sounds. It's really more of a recommendation that you step aside in favor of someone else, you get invited into a boardroom and get an explanation as to why this should happen and you accept in return for a powerless, do-nothing position with a generous pension."

“That sounds more like you were demoted," Rorgh raised his brow.

“Oh no, it was definitely a coup! Everyone in the boardroom had guns in their coat pockets and were ready to shoot me if I refused, but really, it's not a problem! It's a very normal thing in the Claw to happen! I even was planning on retiring after I became Minister of Propaganda but this worked out quite well for me, personally!" Shalth's ears suddenly folded back. “Not so much for the Empire though, I suppose! I must confess, and I know this is why you're here, Overseer Atay has not been doing a very good job at handling this recent rash of gas attacks!"

“And the recent deaths? Those former slaves?"

Shalth's tailed thumped twice against his desk, something was irritating him, “That was a tragedy."

Brolath leaned forward onto the desk, “You know something about it, don't you?"

“I can't hide anything from you, can I? I can see why my Imperial Father wanted you here," Shalth sighed and spun the chair around, taking a picture down. The picture showed Shalth, a male human with a sharp nose, and a female Vulpeculan with red fur sitting in chairs around a campfire. The Vulpeculan was licking the human on the cheek and unbeknownst to the human, Shalth was sticking his fingers up behind his head, making it look like he had the sharp ears of just about any other imperial species. Beer cans littered the dirt around them, most of them by Shalth's feet.

“I'm sorry," Brolath nodded, “were they killed in the incident?"

“Who, Nate?" Shalth exclaimed, putting the picture back on the shelf and spinning around. “Oh no, he's fine! Went through some rough patches but I got him a job for the Earth Government's IT department. My apologies, I just got lost in thought, I haven't had time to see him, this war takes up a lot of my time."

Tapping his claw on the desk, Brolath continued, “You're still hiding something from me and you're trying to go on a tangent to change the subject. This scatterbrained, eccentric noble act isn't going to fool me."

“Captain!" the brown Lupiad looked over at Brolath nervously.

Shalth's chest rumbled in a sort of growling laugh, “You're treading on dangerous ground, Captain. I still have my connections and they could cause a lot of trouble for you, yes?"

“As could I, for you," Brolath rumbled lowly, “I'm not going to let anyone hold up my investigation."

The two of them were silent for a solid minute with Rorgh looking like he was about to faint the moment the two Regulians inevitably lunged at each other. However, that didn't happen, instead Shalth broke out into laughter.

“That was a test!" Shalth chuckled. “You're good, Captain! Most Guards would put their tails between their legs right then and there, but I couldn't even catch a whiff of fear from you!"

“You're still trying to change the subject, Minister."

“Actually, I'm not! Hold your horses; that's a human expression, it means, to be frank, slow down and chill out!" Shalth smiled like a human, which as far as Regulian body language went, meant an imminent attack. “Horses mean a lot to human culture, you know? They're quite noble creatures, very graceful but a bit smelly though. Have you ridden one? They look like four-legged Equuleians, if you can believe it!"

“Horse meat is delicious and I know nobles have taken to riding them, but their introduction still caused an ecological disaster on Eta Leonis VII the planet still has not recovered from. I wouldn't consider holding them to be a good thing.!"

Rorgh slapped himself across the face, looking quite embarrassed at his Captain for spiraling so badly.

“Now who's going on a tangent, Captain?" Shalth laughed. “Make a note of that: easily distracted when your opponent is trying to get you to waste time. You won't necessarily need it when infiltrating rebels but when dealing with the Claw, it's important! One of our greatest talents is buying time so that backup can arrive and deal with the hostile threat."

Shalth suddenly tapped a button underneath the desk and the hidden door flung open. Brolath and Rorgh reached for their guns and turned around, stopping with their weapons still holstered when they saw it was just the receptionist carrying a tray with cans of beer atop it.

To the receptionists credit, she was stone-faced and calm in the face of two aliens clearly seconds away from drawing their weapons on her.

“Beer, anyone?" she asked.

“No, tha-" Brolath began to speak.

“Another pass, Brolath! Always refuse drinks and food when dealing with the Claw!" Shalth slapped his desk. “But this is safe and I insist! We'll all have one, Alexandra!"

Alexandra stepped in and robotically passed each of the aliens a can. The label on it said, “Iron Horse," and had a picture of a primitive train on it. Brolath took a sip and found it to be a most pleasant brew with a slight nutty flavor.

“Alexandra, you have one too if you like!" Shalth offered.

“No thank you, sir!" she bowed her head slightly. “With all due respect, only the most desperate drunk of a human would drink that toilet water."

Rorgh took a long sip, cursing as beer trailed out the corners of his muzzle, “Tastes fine to me! Humans, eh?"

The door swung shut as Alexandra left the room.

“Alright, enough toying around. I'll get to the point," Shalth took a sip of beer, “the recent deaths are unrelated to the gas attacks as far as we know. A few years ago, there was an incident where a Lacertan slave camp was found on Earth, a real one, and they were digging up old fossils, trying to create claims that their ancestors settled on Earth a long time ago."

“Like any being with half a brain would believe that!" Brolath sneered. “Logos gave those lizards whatever intelligence their hivemind allows on some backwater swamp of a planet!"

“Officially we're not sure if the Logos in those propaganda broadcasts is the same one from Regulian history...but it's a likely prospect," Shalth paused before getting back on track. “Anyway, I saw this as a great opportunity to pull off a propaganda win for the Empire and make up for our absolutely horrific and iron-fisted invasion of the planet, if you don't mind me mincing words."

“Force is what pacified the Lupiads and Sirians. The threat of it is what made the Vulpeculans submit without resistance," Brolath explained.

“But it didn't work on the humans and I tried to tell my Father before the invasion that it wouldn't! The Lupiad-Sirians had a proud galactic Empire that needed to be shattered to destroy their pride while the Vulpeculans had a primitive, divided culture and a planet smack dab in the dust field around Vega that they were practically begging to be our subjects so we could protect them from asteroids! The humans were in the early Space Age and would have willingly joined the Empire if we had promised them the opportunity to truly explore the galaxy!"

Shalth seemed unusually passionate about the subject, which confused Brolath immensely. It was so strange hearing such a powerful Regulian talk like this, let alone one who was a member of the royal family.

“But I digress. I convinced my Father to arrange private purchases of slaves that had been captured during the invasion by corrupt officers or otherwise kidnapped by disreputable slavers. We then had them liberated from several other fake Lacertan camps and returned to their families. This all happened with the crowning of King Hrolar as well as the lifting of the Information Laws, so all of a sudden it looked like a bright new day for the Kingdom of Earth. A lot of humans were now convinced that the real threat out there were the evil reptiles kidnapping their family members...but there was just one problem..."

“I think I see where this is going," Brolath interrupted, “you had to have their memories altered so that they wouldn't reveal the truth. Then when that document was released and they saw their names there and the truth about their missing years, Paradox Syndrome activated and their brains couldn't handle it."

“Yes..." Shalth sighed and spun around in his chair again, “...I never wanted anyone to get hurt like this. It is, of course, still my fault. Nothing will change that."

“I see," Rorgh began typing away at a datapad, scratching away this event as a lead, “that sounds like a wrap on that. For what it's worth, Minister, I'm sorry."

“It's okay," Shalth swung around and poured the last of his beer down his maw, crunching up the can and tossing it into a waste-bucket marked for war-effort scrap metal, “as for the gas attacks, Overseer Atay has been doing a terrible job at getting any leads on it, as my Father has no doubt told you, which is why we want you to set up office at the Claw headquarters here and begin your own investigation."

“They're not going to like that," Brolath grumbled.

“No, they're not," Shalth's snout wrinkled for a bit, “in fact, I must confess that I'm still fond of the Claw and don't exactly like the Guard barging in either, but we must all put our differences aside for the Empire."

“Love live the Empire!" Brolath announced. “So, should we just head on over there and kick the doors down?"

“Metaphorically speaking, yes. March in there, present your writ and demand to be given an office and a crew. Don't listen to any excuses, they will respect strength and confidence. Atay will likely not be there, he's been taking a personal involvement in the recent Paradox Syndrome cases."

“Have you not told him that yo-" Brolath held his tongue for a bit, “that you know how that happened?"

“Oh yes! Yes, I have! But they still need to bring someone in and the fact is, some human did sneak into a government building and steal those documents! We have an eye-witness account and a composite picture."

Shalth tapped away at the keyboard attached to his computer, “I'll send it to you but don't concern yourself with it. The Claw can catch this Rico Suarez fellow, don't you worry your head about it."

When you're a marked man, sometimes it seems like all eyes are on you.

In truth, most eyes were locked on datapads and television sets as more news about the tragedy were revealed. Even the bus driver on the way back to New Orleans seemed more preoccupied with his screen than the road; under normal circumstances, Abel would have gotten off immediately but part of him felt like it would be fitting if a tragedy were to occur on that ride home, easier than what the Claw had in mind for him.

Upon arriving back at the hotel, he found it empty and there were no signs of Hada and Gure's luggage. They were out doing what Abel had always dreamed of: fighting the good fight, while Abel was sitting around, waiting to become a statistic.

The first thing he did was call the tournament operator and forfeit on the grounds that his team was in no condition to play, they didn't probe any further but Abel couldn't help but worry that they were thinking he was mighty suspicious, perhaps enough for them to submit an anonymous tip to the Claw.

Not wishing to be in the public for any long period, Abel remained in his room for the rest of the trip, only leaving to eat and only because the hotel did not have room service. He went to a cheap dive just down the block each night, arriving at a quiet time just after the dinner rush and just before the hangover death march, sitting at a seat in the corner. Every flicker of an alien's eye got his attention and cold sweat poured down his skin the entire time he was there. He drank his beer and ate his meal as fast as possible, paid up and left a generous tip, and left as soon as possible.

Every time he made that late-night walk back to the hotel, he could have sworn he was being followed. A shadow peering out from a doorway, a suspicious drunk stumbling behind him, a flirtatious alien wanting a piece of his ass...all of these were potential spies.

Abel locked the door behind him each night and collapsed on his hotel bed, convinced that any second now the door would be kicked down.

But it never happened.

The trip came to a close and Abel returned to the airport on his own.

Security questioned him shortly about how they recorded him traveling with a group of friends but they were now gone, but they seemed satisfied with Abel's response that they had decided to extend their vacation and party it up in the French Quarter for longer.

It was the airplane ride itself that was the most harrowing. After plopping down in his seat, Abel shut his eyes and sighed, just moments before someone collapsed in the seat next to him.

“Don't mind me," a tall Sirian that looked like a brown great dane said with a toothy smile, “I don't bite."

Abel's eyes immediately caught sight of a bulge sticking out of his black leather jacket.

“See something you like, human?" the Sirian sniffed at the air in Abel's direction, which made the human's skin feel slimy. “I can give you a closer look once we're in the air, if you like..."

“No..." Abel shook his head, not taking his eyes off the bulge for a second. It was a gun, he was sure of it.

The Sirian's hazel eyes darted down and he laughed, opened up his jacket and revealing a holstered pistol and a gold-colored badge depicting a Regulian's paw with its claws outstretched.

“I'm a Claw Agent, they have at least one of us on each plane flight, you know?" he explained. “Pretty cool, huh?"

Abel nodded silently.

“So, still down for it?" the agent licked his chops. “Bet you'd love to put that mouth to work, wouldn't you?"

“I'm sorry, I have a girlfriend," Abel coughed and looked out the window at the maintenance crew.

He was waiting for the agent to pounce. Either one of two things was going to happen, the agent would either arrest him for being suspicious or he'd insist upon Abel giving him sexual favors, and if Abel were to refuse the latter it might lead to the former.

A lump was forming in Abel's throat, disgusted by the thought of having to pleasure this agent. Under normal circumstances, Abel would never allow himself to do it but right now if it meant getting this agent to leave him alone faster, Abel would have done it. He would have gotten on his knees and put his lips around that Sirian's tapered cock and sucked it until he came in his mouth, Abel would have then swallowed every last drop and submissively told the Sirian how good it tasted. Anything to get away from the Claw, anything.

Thankfully, the agent merely snorted and cursed, putting on his headphones and ignoring Abel for the rest of the flight.

The flight was uneventful, as was the ride back to Abel's home in New Angrolath. It was nearly midnight when Abel stumbled to the front door and pushed it open.

“I'm home!"

The lights were all off and only a deathly silence greeted Abel. Perhaps Regnath was in Ralothburg on important business as Minister of Culture? However, that wouldn't explain the absence of Yin, who would under any normal circumstance be bounding towards the front door ready to smother Abel in hugs and licks.

A clatter rang out, it came from the left: beyond the living room. It sounded like one of the patio chairs falling onto brick. Abel waited for an answer, for Yin to pop-out of nowhere and greet him, but no one appeared.

Something was wrong.

Silently, Abel opened up his case and pulled out his rifle, quickly assembling it and slapping in one of the empty magazines. Whoever the intruder was, Abel hoped to god that he'd call his bluff.

Creeping through the living room with his gun raised, the moon shone in through the bay windows facing the front yard, casting Abel's shadow across the room to the glass doors leading the backyard. The lights in the yard were off, but Abel could hear the splashing of water in either the pool or the hot tub.

Placing his left hand on the glass door, Abel pulled it open and stepped out into the dark yard.

A sharp blow hit him in the solar plexus, punching the air out of his chest. Wheezing, he felt the rifle tear away from his arms, clattering to the ground, and a clawed paw grab him by the shoulder, followed by cold steel pressing up against his neck.

“MASTER ABEL!" Yin shrieked directly in Abel's ear. The Vulpeculan immediately let Abel go free and then began to apologize in a panic. “By the Emperor, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I saw your shadow and y-you had a rifle and I thought someone had forced you to let them in at gunpoint! I'm sorry!"

Abel collapsed onto a patio chair, one that was right next to an overturned one by the pool. Catching his breath, Abel noticed that the black-furred Vulpeculan was wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. Abel smelled the distinctive scent of wet Vulpeculan fur before he even noticed Yin's normally fluffy pelt was matted and soaked.

“Fuck..." Abel gasped sharply. His lungs felt like they had been popped open by the servant's blow, “...Yin, what the hell? I've always been able to beat you at wrestling since I was ten years old, where the hell did that come from?"

Yin scratched at his white chin while he seemingly unconsciously rolled the grip of the tiny knife across the tops of his fingers back and forth, “I didn't always have such an easy life, Abel! That and I let you win all the time!"

“Bullshit! I'd get you in an armlock and you'd scream-"

“Mercy! Mercy! Aghhh, it hurts!" Yin yelped in a pitch-perfect imitation of his cries when he threw the matches. Abel blinked, completely in shock. “I'm sorry to have lied, Abel."

“What did you do before Regnath purchased you, anyway?"

“We-"

Before Yin could answer, a heavy rush of water splashed as a massive figure emerged from the depths. A wave slapped against the far side of hot-tub, pouring over the rim as Regnath waded over to the staircase, thick chest heaving as he gasped for air.

“You will address me as Father, Abroth!" Regnath growled as he stepped onto the poolside, completely naked. Abel covered his face to avoid seeing his adoptive parent's private area. “Yin! Towel!"

“Were you hiding underwater this whole time?" Abel asked, still covering his eyes. A rush of wind passed over him followed by the sound of cloth landing in Regnath's paws.

“Yin was convinced we had an intruder and so I went into hiding," Regnath explained.

Abel uncovered his eyes just as his Father wrapped a blue towel around his waist. The wet Regulian then violently shook his body, spraying Regulian-scented water all over the area, including on Abel and Yin, which had the effect of drying out his fur slightly. His mane was still flat against his neck, completely drenched.

“Abroth, what the hell were you doing with this thing anyway!?" Regnath kicked the Ruger with his bare foot. “You could have hurt someone!"

“I got home, the lights were off, no one answered and I heard something fall over," Abel slapped the collapsed patio chair with his backhand.

Abel went quiet and looked at Yin, who was presumably only wearing a towel and Regnath, who was definitely wearing nothing more than his pelt and a towel. The both of them were soaking wet and Abel didn't recall the last time they had ever swam before, neither species being particularly fond of water, only owning the pool and hot-tub because they were fashionable luxuries. Regnath had emerged from the hot-tub…

“Hey, just what the hell were you two doing anyway?" Abel asked.

“Never you mind, cub!" Regnath roared and pointed to the upper floor of the manor. “Go to bed, NOW!"

Smiling from ear to ear, Abel decided not to push his luck and got up from the chair, heading back into the manor silently and passing Yin with a polite nod.

“Oh, and cub?" Regnath suddenly called, his voice having softened. “Welcome back. I-I-we've missed you."

That was all it took. Like a light-switch flipping on, Abel had a rush of emotions and ran over to Regnath, embracing him and burying his face in his chest, tears running down his cheeks.

This wouldn't last long, Abel knew it. He rolled the dice and sacrificed everything, all for nothing. Any day now and he would be arrested, never to see his family again. Earth wasn't anywhere close to being free and his life was now forever ruined.

And yet, despite all that, the one thing in Abel's mind that gave him the most guilt were those words he uttered to Yin before being left at the airport.

Do you know who my real parents were?

Those could have been the last words Abel told Yin, who was now hugging Abel from behind and gently stroking his hair, trying to calm the sobbing human down. Between the war, the orbital strike, and his actions with the rebellion, he could have left the two of them with his dead body and the sting of ingratitude.

“I'm sorry!" Abel cried as the two aliens consoled him. “I'm so sorry!"

Regnath swallowed and hugged his son tightly, still unsure as to what he was apologizing for, “It's okay..."

The monorail whirred and came to a stop with a rattle.

“Liberation Plaza!" the voice on the speaker rang out.

This was Abel's stop and he was beyond relieved to be getting off the monorail. More than ever, he felt like the odd man out in New Angrolath and being on a train filled with Regulians drove that fact home. New Angrolath was a Regulian-built city for Regulians and just about every one of them was giving him the stink-eye.

Any one of them could be an agent, Abel thought as he got up out of his seat.

Another Regulian suddenly got to his feet and exited just behind Abel. He was wearing thin, round shades across his eyes and was dressed in a light, red jacket. Far too hot for a day like this, even for a Regulian, unless they were using it to conceal a weapon.

Stepping down the stairs from the platform and cutting across a roundabout, Abel passed through Liberation Plaza, a small park in the center that was covered in square, stone tiles and surrounded by cast-iron fences. A granite statue depiction a Regulian soldiers snapping a pawfull of flagpoles in half, was in the center of the plaza. The flags on the statue were not detailed but were obviously meant to symbolize the destruction of the so-called, “Chaotic pre-liberation Earth," in favor of unity under Regulian domination.

And the Regulian was still trailing him. Abel caught him from the corner of his eye, stopping to line-up at a food truck until Abel crossed the street and left the plaza, which prompted the Regulian to decide he wasn't hungry after all and continued following after Abel.

So soon… Abel gritted his teeth, I'm sorry, Yin.

Upon reaching the sidewalk, Abel approached a wall of glass that showcased several store: a beauty salon where a few Regulians were getting their manes styled, a jewelry store that had a Lupiad getting his tall ear pierced, and a clothing store that advertised the latest Regulian fashion, timeless classics, and a section of clothes for your human.

As soon as the Regulian stepped onto the curb, Abel turned to the right and calmly kept on walking, looking to the side as if he was admiring the plaza, but in reality was watching the Regulian in his peripheral vision, waiting for him to follow behind.

Abel just about sighed with relief when he saw the Regulian turn left instead, growing more distant by the second. He was so distracted with relief that he didn't notice the Lupiad walking past him until he clipped his shoulder against him.

The Lupiad snarled, scrunching up his snout and grumbled, “Someone ought to keep their pet leashed!"

Abel didn't care. In the face of being a wanted man by the most dangerous intelligence agency in the galaxy, one condescending alien seemed so very small. His life was forfeit, so why let some prick ruin what little time he had left?

Yesterday, Abel had told Regnath and Yin that the reason he broke down into tears was because he had been rude in asking Yin about his real father. Regnath looked a bit hurt and since Regulians tended to hide their pain, chances are it really stung for him to hear that if he was showing even a hint of anguish; but promised Abel that he would tell him as much as he could one day.

He couldn't tell them the truth, not yet. That would come out sooner or later and there was no sense in dragging them both into it. If he told them, they would be obligated to alert the authorities: Regnath was a minister and Yin was loyal to the Empire, which confused Abel to no end; and if they didn't alert them, they would be abetting Abel's crime.

After last night, Abel felt a warmth in his chest that brought him some comfort. Regnath and Yin cared about him deeply but he didn't want to test their limits, not right now. He wanted to do as much as he could for them while he still could.

That's why when Yin came into his room in the morning, he couldn't refuse the Vulpeculan.

“It is our anniversary today," Yin whispered nervously. Regnath's snores could be heard across the manor, just about rumbling the walls.

“Anniversary? Of what?" Abel asked.

“O-of your Father purchasing me!" Yin stammered. “I wanted to get him something special!"

“I don't think slaves normally do that," Abel cleared his throat.

Ignoring Abel, Yin continued and loaded up a page on his datapad. A picture of a bouquet of red roses popped up, “What color are these?"

“Red," Abel replied. Although Regnath had implants to give him a wider color spectrum, he hadn't done the same for Yin, not that the Vulpeculan seemed to want it, “and...I don't think this is the kind of gift a slave gives his owner, which I don't think they normally do at all. This is more of a gift you give to someone you're-"

“SALAD!" Yin suddenly yelped. Abel clutched at his ears as he winced in pain.

Regnath's snoring stopped and both of them went quiet, Yin's ears twitching as he listened for the signs of Regnath stirring. Eventually, the snoring continued and Yin lowered his voice to a whisper again.

“I'm making him a salad and r-r-rosebuds are an ingredient!" Yin's fluffy tail was tucked between his legs. “Rosebuds are edible, r-right?"

“Yeah, they are. Dunno how good they taste, let alone how they'd taste to a carnivore but..." Abel trailed off as he remembered the position he caught the two of them in last night.

He felt silly for not having noticed it before: the frequent teasing, the cute clothes Regnath would buy Yin, and most flagrant of all: finding the two of them naked and having just come out of the hot tub.

Regnath had every right to do with Yin as he pleased, in fact it was just about a sacred duty for a Regulian to take his or her slave sexually, whether the slave wanted it or not. However, Regnath didn't appear to be doing that, instead the two of them were acting like star-crossed teenaged lovers, desperately trying to hide their romantic affair from some authority.

Abel didn't understand it, but whatever was going down between the two of them seemed healthy and loving enough. So much so that Abel was willing to take risks if it meant giving them a small bit of happiness.

After all, when I'm gone they'll only have each other…

Yin was ecstatic when Abel agreed to go into town to a florist to get a bouquet. The Vulpeculan hugged him as his tail happily thumped against the side of Abel's bed.

A tear ran down Abel's cheek, which quickly dried up in the Spring heat of New Angrolath. He never realized, not until now, that he had two Fathers that loved him already. He still wanted to know about the truth behind his biological parents but there was no point in pining after a shadow.

“Florath's," was printed on the sign and the short greenhouse, which stuck out, being sandwiched between low-rise apartment buildings and stores; looked like it contained a miniature jungle inside it. Shadows of vines and tall ferns were visible within, but not much else more.

Entering, Abel was hit with a blast of hot, humid air. A Regulian was behind a desk, tending to a tiny, purple orchid. He was wearing a black tank-top that showed off his shouldesr, which had white fur and black stripes on them. Despite the stripes, he had a brown mane around his head, the tips of which were curling from the humidity. He was a hybrid, one of his parents must have been a lion-like Western Regulian while the other would have been a tiger-like Eastern Regulian.

“Oh!" he exclaimed while gently spraying the orchid. “I'll be with you in a moment!"

Abel walked around the greenhouse a bit, spotting a bouquet of cut roses quite quickly. He did not venture into the vast jungle of exotic plants from around the galaxy that waited beyond two glass doors, contenting to surround himself with the domestic ferns that were set up in the lobby.

Also attracting Abel's attention was the Regulian himself. Florath, Abel presumed his name was, had moved on from the orchid and was now gently pinching a tiny branch of a maple bonsai, sizing it up before reluctantly snipping it off from the tree's thin trunk. His eyes were gray, unusual for a Regulian, and they seemed oddly calm and content, yet they peered down with a quiet anguish just after pruning the bonsai.

Florath caught Abel glancing at him and swished his tail once, curling the tip, “Every snip I make, I'm filled with a sense of regret. This is a stressful hobby."

“You seem quite relaxed," Abel said honestly as he grabbed the bouquet and took it to the counter. Most Regulians would not admit to an emotional weakness like this so easily, especially in front of a subject species like Abel.

“Ah, I don't know about that!" Florath shrugged and ran his claw down the trunk of a pine bonsai, leaving a marks in it that looked similar to a character in the Traditional Regulian script, which Abel and just about every human couldn't read due to its complexities. “I'm trying to find peace in this hobby, a human friend of mine suggested it, but I don't know, it seems a little stressful, caring for something so fragile."

Abel looked around the greenhouse full of lush plants, “If this is just a hobby to you, I think you're doing outstanding, Florath!"

“Ha ha ha! You're too kind!" Florath bowed slightly and then took the bouquet gently from Abel's hands, scanning a barcode attached to it. “Florath is not my original name, you know? I renamed it after settling on Earth, combining it with the human word, 'flower.' I wanted a fresh start and thought that would be a nice name for a new life."

“I think it's nice!" Abel admitted. Ending a name with -th was a fairly common Regulian naming convention and Abel had a natural dislike of the sound, especially with regards to his Regulian name, Abroth, but he had to admit he liked the sound of the florists hybrid name.

He also thought Florath was quite attractive. His pale fur shone like the moon, his gray eyes were like smooth slate, and in general the alien was emitting some natural calming aura.

Part of Abel's mind told him to resent being attracted to one of his oppressors, as it often did, but Abel didn't see much of a future for him and was, at that moment, finding such regrets to be laughable in the grand scheme of things.

“So, who's this for? Do you have someone you love, Abel?"

The air suddenly grew tight, the hot air of the greenhouse suffocating Abel. He was trapped in a jungle with a hungry predator inches away from him and there was no way he could outrun him.

“Something the matter?" Florath purred, narrowing his eyes, sniffing in Abel's direction like he was tracking prey. Abel stepped back slowly.

“M-m-my name..." Abel stammered, banging into a storage rack. The Regulian made his way around the counter and was slowly stalking towards the human. He was cornered, there was no escape, nowhere to run except straight into the outstretched claws of Florath.

“Oh! Sorry about that!" Florath suddenly stopped and laughed. “Your slave called in before you arrived, I want to say his name was Yin?"

Gasping, Abel leaned up against the rack, cursing himself for panicking. Florath wasn't a spy and he stopped looking like he had any hostile intentions towards Abel the moment he realized that. Florath wasn't approaching him like a lion about to pounce atop his prey, he was slowly creeping forward with his paws out, hoping to try and calm the panicking human down.

“I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me!" Abel reached into his pocket, shakily retrieving his credit card and passing it to the Regulian. “The flowers are for my adopted Father."

“It's only natural, I'm afraid," Florath sighed and stepped over to the counter, swiping Abel's card. “Twenty years of violent occupation...it will only create more fear and hatred. We didn't win the invasion, Abel, all it did was prolong our Empire's obsession with violence. That's not a victory."

Swallowing, Abel nodded slowly as the Regulian rang up his order.

“I must admit, I was eagerly awaiting your arrival," Florath said softly as his point-of-sale datapad processed the sale. “Your servant describe you quite vividly. Tall for a human, a little bit skinny, lightly tanned skin, black hair combed into something resembling a mane. I had a feeling you'd be quite handsome."

Abel's heart skipped. The Regulian was handsome and Abel was through worrying about what such an attraction meant for him as a human, but at the same time he had just come down from an adrenaline high and was not thinking clearly.

“Thank you!" Abel gasped and grabbed the receipt along with the bouquet. “Your shop is very nice but I've got to go now!"

Without another word, Abel scrambled towards the exit but was stopped short of the doors when a strong paw grabbed him by the wrist.

“Just one minute," Florath grumbled.

Panic once against made a home in Abel's heart as Florath reached behind the counter and struggled to pull out something heavy.

A gun, Abel feared. This is it. This is it. This is it.

Abel stared straight on, waiting for the instrument of his demise to make itself present. He was finally caught and it would all be over with soon.

Instead, Florath pulled out a long cardboard box filled with cards.

“Here," Florath stuck one of the cards into a small pot containing an orchid. He passed the pot into Abel's hand, releasing his grip on the human's wrist.

Abel silently stared at the pot and then at the white Regulian.

“I'm sorry, Abel, we Regulians tend to be a bit aggressive, even at the best of times," Florath lowered his ears and frowned, realizing how he came across, “but I enjoyed your visit and wanted to leave you with a gift. It's a Violet Unification Orchid, it was created by Emperor Hasham III's botanists from two orchids from opposites sides of Regulus Prime as a symbol of love between the Eastern and Western Regulians."

“I'm not sure if..."

“It's a bit of bullshit, of course. Regulus Prime was unified through intense bloodshed, but I still like the idea. Perhaps it's foolish, but I like it."

Abel smiled a bit. It was a nice idea, he had to admit it.

“And uh..." Florath cleared his throat, “...my contact information is on the card. Perhaps one evening..."

“Perhaps..."

Abel flashed the Regulian a smile before leaving.

He kept the plant and the card. Perhaps if by some miracle, the Claw never tracked him down, he might give the handsome Regulian a call.

But right now, there was just too much sorrow, too much pain following Abel around and he knew it would catch up with him one day.

A vast gallery of humans greeted Brolath, ranging in sizes, shapes and colors with such degree that he never knew possible. The flat faces of the species were a little ugly for the Regulian at first but he was finding an appeal in them, having spent time on Earth. Some had tall faces, others round; wide noses, others narrow. Hairstyles seemed to vary quite dramatically too and some were more common among certain groups of humans.

He swiped his claw across the datapad and a brand new collection of thumbnails showed up. Some of the humans were staring seductively back at him while others were deadpan. The application, Wholesale, was not entirely about sexual slavery, but it certainly played a big role in the slave economy in the Empire.

“Taking the Emperor up on his offer, Captain?"

Brolath jolted up, nearly clipping Rorgh in the chin with his shoulder. The Lupiad had his muzzle resting on the back of his armchair just before evading his Captain.

“Adjunct!" Brolath gasped, tossing the datapad onto the footrest. “This is practice! Practice!"

“Uh huh," Rorgh pulled open the curtains of the hotel room, looking down upon the skyline of Ralothburg. They were a long way from the city center and they could see the elevated rail circling the city, along with the space elevator towering off in the distance. “Practice, right. Do you consider jacking off to be a warm-up then?"

“Masturbation is wasting valuable energy that can be better spent on more productive enterprises for the Empire!" Brolath proclaimed.

“Such as dominating slaves?" Rorgh chuckled. “We've been over this, it's perfectly natural. In fact, you should do it."

“I wasn't joking, Adjunct!" Brolath unlocked the datapad screen, revealing the collection of human faces. “This is practice! Practice for the investigation! Humans are sight-based animals while we're scent-based, consequently there is greater facial variation between them. I'm trying to get myself used to their differences!"

“So that you can try and catch that Rico Suarez guy?"

Brolath swiped the pad and revealed the picture that Shalth had sent him. The human had round, chubby cheeks with a thick blonde goatee. His skin was as pale as paper and was covered in tiny little brown freckles.

“Shalth said to let the Claw handle it," Rorgh continued.

“Perhaps," Brolath sighed and tossed the datapad again. Looking up at the Lupiad with a flash of his eyes, he pressed on, “but he also told us to show our strength...shouldn't we not try and catch him first?"

Rorgh's black lips curled up in a smile.