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A Death Deferred

Abel was in a tomb, that much he was sure of.

A tomb of rough concrete without so much as a hint of light. His body lay atop a steel bench, his final resting place.

He had dared not move for hours, perhaps even a full day.

Though he had begged and pleaded, even bargained with the Claw, and that would be something he would never forget nor forgive himself for, he had still found a brief moment of acceptance of his demise when Atay’s finger pinched the trigger.

The war would go on without me.

It’s not like I ever did anything to help Earth.

Abel had fired the same revolver Atay had in his paw. An old fashioned single-action that had a hair-trigger. Abel expected his life to be over by now.

But then Atay stopped.

Everything came to a halt. Guards were rushed in and they silently dragged Abel off through endless corridors snaking across the building before dumping him in his cell.

There was nothing to do now. Just sit in the darkness and contemplate what they would do with him. Perhaps it would have been better to die? Abel had no idea what waited in the afterlife but it had to have been better than slavery under the Regulian yoke.

Atay cared nothing for his bargaining, so then, why? Why was Abel alive?

Maybe the Emperor wants me for his harem…

Abel’s laugh echoed through the pitch-black cell. Why not laugh? It was either that or cry and Abel had no conception of which he preferred.

The news broadcast rang out in Abel’s head loud and clear:

Today the infamous terrorist Abroth redeemed himself in the service of the Emperor. The Emperor mounted him after accepting the pitiful terrorist’s pleading for mercy and then cried happily at receiving imperial forgiveness. He will continue to serve the Emperor happily for the rest of his life.

“I don’t like this,” Atay placed the tip of a cigarillo as slender as his muzzle into his mouth and inhaled deeply.

Brolath held his tongue. He had seen Proclath inhale an Earthen cigar once and the Guard-General puked up his lunch a minute later; perhaps it was unrelated but Proclath was diagnosed as needing a lung transplant the same week. However, Brolath didn’t feel the need to give the Claw agent health advice.

“Neither of us have to like it,” Rorgh tapped the screen of his datapad, showing off one of the documents the Emperor had provided. Rorgh’s voice was tired and unenthusiastic, “but we have to do it for the Emperor.”

Everyone was silent as Atay looked out the window of the boardroom at the setting sun and slowly let two plumes of smoke escape his nostrils.

Brolath’s hackles raised as the door behind him clicked open. He half expected to see an agent standing there with a gun in his paw, but instead he saw a red Vulpeculan slave carrying a tray.

“Masters, your drinks,” he nodded as he placed two crystal tumblers with gilded rims on the table by the two Guards. The drink was obnoxiously bitter smelling.

“Thank you, but I didn’t ask for any,” Brolath waved him away.

“But...” the Vulpeculan’s head cowered as if he expected the Regulian to strike him. Despite flinching, his tail was wrapping itself around Brolath’s leg and brushing up against his crotch, “...if I don’t please you, I’ll be punished. Perhaps there’s something else a strong Regulian like yourself might want to do with-”

“Enough, Agent!” Atay snarled for a second before shaking his head and tapping his cigar against a silver ashtray. “My apologies, Agent, you were doing a very good job but the situation has changed. Please dismiss yourself and take the poison with you.”

The so-called slave bowed submissively and snatched up the drinks, shuffling out of the room quietly. Before the door could shut behind him, Frontus slipped into the room, his previously immaculate fur and mustache now looking unruly and frizzly.

“Grand Inspector Thalath has replied to our message!” Frontus slammed a datapad on the table so loudly that Brolath half-expected its screen to shatter.

“Fuck...” Atay hissed and stubbed out his cigar, “...have you listened to it?”

The Sirian began fumbling with a video cable, paws twitching violently as he tried to connect it to the datapad. His mouth quivered and he blubbered out some incoherent whining and growling instead of any proper words.

Atay folded his arms and leaned back in his high-backed chair, “Maybe we should bring the poison back. We all might need it if Thalath is displeased.”

Brolath cleared his throat, “The Emperor has-”

“The Emperor this, the Emperor that!” Atay snapped, tall ears folding back. “When are you going to realize that Earth is very far away from Regulus Prime?”

“What do you mean?”

“Sent a damned cub here...” Atay shook his head dismissively, “...if Thalath gives us a burn notice we’ll all be dead within the minute. The Claw has been given extensive autonomy by the Empire and you’ve just come down here and put a leash around our neck. Thalath will not be happy.”

Immediately, Brolath started dialing on his datapad, bluffing another call to the Emperor.

“That will only work if Thalath is on the line to listen to the Emperor! Thalath always leaves messages so he can have plausible deniability in case the Emperor overrules him!” Atay dug his claws into the table, staring at Frontus with his yellow eyes. His normally cool voice went shrill, much like any other panicked Vulpeculan. “I have a family, Guard Captain! They’re going to lose their Father because of you!”

“Quiet! QUIET!” Frontus shrieked, having finally connected the datapad to the projector, which whirred as it came to life. His teeth gnashed together as he stared at the screen with fear.

An image was projected onto the screen of an ivory Regulian mask atop what seemed to be endless shadows. Only the brief glimpse of an arm peeking out from the darkness gave any indication that there was a Regulian behind the mask.

“Allow Guard Captain Brolath to head the investigation into the gas attacks. Glory to the Emperor.”

The voice was robotic, heavily synthesized, and the video cut out as soon as it finished speaking.

“We live!” Atay slapped the top of the table and let loose a little yelp of glee. “Frontus! Celebrations are in order!”

The Sirian slipped a paper envelope out of his pocket and sprinkled two lines of some kind of white powder. Both of them then pressed their long snouts onto the table and snorted up the power.

“Fuck!” Frontus slapped the side his head and stomped his feet. “Live to snort another day! Fuck!”

“We’re the luckiest sons of bitches in the Empire!” Atay’s tongue licked his muzzle to get a stray dusting of powder on his black fur.

“What the hell is going on?” Rorgh asked.

Both of the agents stared at the Lupiad like he was insane.

“You want a bump too?” Atay offered.

“We’re not eating, drinking, or snorting anything here!” Brolath slammed his fist onto the table. “Enough of these games! Release the prisoner into our custody and give us some room in the office to do our job.”

“Sure, why not?” Atay slapped Frontus on the shoulder. “Vice-Overseer, is Floor 10 available?”

“Most of it has electricity and networking set up but-”

“Great! That will do! I’ll show them there, you go and fetch the prisoner! You can supervise their operations on Floor 10 as well!”

“Supervise them!?” Frontus’ mouth hung open in shock.

“Yes, problem?” Atay looked at the Sirian askew.

“No, none at all! It is just...” Frontus looked at the two Guards with disgust, “...nothing.”

“Very good! Shall we get moving?”

Abel’s eyes ached as the lights in his cell flashed on, suddenly giving him a visual of his home for the first time in...however long Abel had been sitting there. Abel had already stopped trying to guess.

When he was finally able to open his eyes, he found that there was not much to the room that he hadn’t already inferred in the darkness. A metal bed and a steel toilet and sink were the only furniture and there was not so much as a scratch in the cement walls from a previous occupant.

Not that Abel would need to entertain himself for much longer. The steel door flung open and a Sirian with fine, though messy, blonde fur came marching in wearing a black uniform.

“Against the wall, prisoner,” he snarled, baring his fangs.

Abel struggled to get to his feet and was rewarded for his hesitance by the Sirian banging a steel baton against the door-frame.

“I SAID, GET AGAINST THE WALL! NOW!”

Gasping, Abel pressed his palms and his naked chest up against the wall. It was ice-cold and he began to shiver.

“Stupid fucking human,” the agent growled and ran his finely manicured claws down Abel’s back, “do you even know who I am?”

Abel kept his mouth shut.

“Well!? Answer me!”

“No,” Abel spoke in a flat voice, betraying no fear or sadness, “no, I don’t.”

“I’m Vice-Overseer Frontus, second-in-command of planetary Claw operations,” Abel felt his hot breath against his neck as the Sirian growled. A paw reached around his waist and began probing at the tip of his penis, “you should be grateful that I’ve graced you with my presence.”

“I am honored,” Abel said blankly, caring not about whatever this Sirian had in mind for him. It didn’t matter anymore.

“As you should,” a hot, wet nose pressed up against Abel’s cheek and inhaled deeply, “you’re going to live.”

“What?” Abel’s heart raced and he struggled to hide his surprise.

“For now, at least,” Frontus continued to stroke Abel’s penis, “until your team inevitably fucks up.”

“Team?”

“I’ve had a bad day, prisoner,” Frontus grabbed Abel’s wrists and clapped them behind his back in metal handcuffs, “how about you make me feel better?”

Abel caught himself about to swallow nervously but stifled it.

“Give me a quick taste.”

Abel was spun around and the Sirian pressed his mouth up against Abel’s lips. The Sirian was kissing Abel like a human, puckering his lips and Abel felt his long, flexible tongue push past his defenses and probe every corner of the inside of his mouth. The Sirian’s breath tasted like salted meat and it was more than a little unpleasant.

Pleasure welled up in Abel’s crotch as the Sirian rolled his pads over his dick and he quickly found himself going hard, despite finding the Sirian to be frankly disgusting.

Frontus’ tongue slid out of Abel’s mouth and he pulled back, chuckling as he looked down at Abel’s stiff member.

“You see? Humans want to be subjugated,” Frontus slapped the side of Abel’s erect penis sharply and Abel stifled the pain. Frontus began thumping his tail against Abel’s side, “perhaps when that Guard Captain fucks up, I’ll skip the appetizer and move onto dinner with you, hm?”

In some strange way, Abel had to thank Frontus. Just minutes before, Abel had given into nihilism and acceptance that he was getting his just desserts for the mistakes he had made. He had felt nothing up until the point this Sirian had provided the perfect example of Regulian cruelty and oppression. Now, once again, he felt anger and a renewed purpose, having now experienced the kind of direct oppression that the enslaved population did.

Perhaps I can finally look them in the eye now…

But he let none of this show. Let the Sirian sneer down at him from across his long muzzle, let him think that he could have his way with Abel.

Silently, Frontus swung Abel around and pushed him out of the cell and into a long hallway filled with identical steel doors. The AC in the building outside of the cells was cranked up, only natural for a building filled with people with natural fur coats in Africa, and Abel shivered while his penis shrank.

Frontus sniffed loudly behind Abel, “Why don’t you wiggle your ass on the way? Give me a good show.”

Keep your head down for now and you might keep it later.

Abel complied and gently let it sway along with his legs. Frontus snorted and slapped him on his right cheek.

They passed through a security checkpoint and Abel was whistled at by two Lupiad guards behind bulletproof glass. Abel’s face went red at this unwanted attention.

Eventually they exited into what looked like a very standard office, complete with people of various species tirelessly working at numerous cubicles.4

Frontus whistled sharply and barked, “Eyes up!”

Just about the entire department stood up or skidded into the hallway on their rolling chairs. The place quickly rang out with a chorus of whistles, barks, cheers, and jeers as Abel was marched through, occasionally poked in the back by Frontus’ baton. Abel felt embarrassed and the flush from it was a small reprieve from the cold.

“Hey! Vice-Overseer!” a droopy-faced Sirian leered at Abel. “How much for ten minutes with him?”

Paws groped at Abel’s crotch and slapped his rear. Sometimes even a wet nose would press up against his skin or privates, which made his skin crawl but he had no choice but to stop and let the alien do as they pleased with him. Frontus said he would live but there was a great uncertainty in his stomach about just how strong the terms of this deal was, or what the deal was to begin with.

Keep your head down for now and you might keep it later, Abel repeated in his head.

Keep your head down for now and they might leave Regnath and Yin alone.

There was only one office department on Floor 10 and Brolath was taken aback by the condition of it.

Cubicle walls were knocked over carelessly while others were standing but riddled in bullet-holes and laser burns. The walls contained similar damage, when there were walls at all, half the time there were exposed wires and pipes on display for all to see.

“Claw hospitality, hm?” Rorgh muttered, rolling his eyes as he sniffed at a suspicious red stain on a desk.

“Only the finest!” Atay’s long muzzle sneered.

Brolath stumbled over something on the ground and found it to be some kind of thin rail running along the floor. Looking at it, Brolath was taken back to his days when training as a Guard, imagining a cardboard terrorist sliding along the rail, ready to be shot.

“Is this a training room?” Brolath asked.

“Correct!” Atay’s black tail swished. “We used it for siege and assault training until we built a more modern and advanced one a few floors below. It’s been mothballed for a few months now and we’ve been struggling to think of what to do with it until now!”

Sighing, Brolath tapped a swivel chair with the back of his paw and it came apart, collapsing in a pile, “Why would this section be powered and hooked up to the network?”

“We used the network to give commands over datapads and computers, also to control elaborate props like a device that the agents have to hack to save the day,” Atay sniffed as they approached a corner office. “Captain, you can use this office!”

Atay swung the door open, revealing an executive’s office that would be cozy, if it were not for the obvious old bloodstains splashed against the white, stucco walls. A mahogany desk was set up with a brown, leather chair and a matching sofa pressed up against the wall. A bar was on the other side of the room and it had a variety of liquors, both human and Regulian, though some of the bottles were smashed due to stray fire.

“Seems like the Claw had a lot of accidents on these exercises,” Rorgh pointed at one particularly large bloodstain, “way I figure it, you’ve had at least five agents injured or worse during training here.”

“Don’t be silly! That blood is from the hostages!”

Brolath raised his brow and kicked at a metal stand by the wall that clearly housed a target on it at one point, “Cardboard doesn’t normally bleed.”

“An astute observation from the golden cub of the Regulian Guard!” Atay smirked and stepped into the room, motioning towards a spot on the floor in front of the stand. “Sometimes we’d encourage prisoners to join us in these exercises to make things a bit more realistic. We’d tie them up and instruct them to be still and if the agents pass their training, they’d be given a small reward and return from the experience unharmed.”

“Clearly there have been a few accidents,” Brolath frowned.

“Indeed, accidents,” Atay spun the chair around on its swivel, “well, you’re in command now. Please, do let Frontus or myself know if you need anything.”

“Access to all pertinent documents regarding the investigation.”

“Already done,” Atay sighed and slapped a piece of paper onto the desk, “log onto the Claw private network from your datapad and have a look.”

Brolath sat down in the chair, wrapping his tail around the back and entered in the credentials on the paper. After ten seconds of waiting, he was presented with the accumulated information that the Claw had gathered.

“You can’t be serious,” Brolath flipped through the documents. There were no suspects listed, no active leads, no evidence that was anything beyond circumstantial, “what are you withholding?”

Atay leaned over the desk, a wicked smile curling across his black muzzle, “Absolutely nothing, dear Captain. We’re surrendering full authority of this doomed investigation over to you and all the consequences that come along with it.”

“This can’t be...”

“What did you expect? That we were sitting on our tails and doing nothing? That there was some miraculous detail hidden in our investigation that you’d point to and smile with victorious glee?” Atay poked at the corners of Brolath’s mouth and curled up his lips. “Regulians don’t smile, I know, but you have other ways of projecting your arrogance.”

Brolath slapped away the Vulpeculan’s gloved paw.

“You were sent here by the personal command of an Emperor who grows weaker by the day. Well, the balls in your court now, time to play. When you lose, the Emperor will have no one to blame but yourself.”

Atay stepped out of the room and wagged his tail playfully. Peering back at the two Guards, he smiled, “You know that human is a dead-end, right? We’ve already interrogated him and he’s small-time, he won’t get you anywhere.”

“We’ll see about that,” Brolath muttered, ignoring the agent in favor of the datapad.

Atay flicked his nose to the right and exclaimed, “Speak of the devil! You two have fun now, okay?”

As the Vulpeculan stepped away, a new figure was brought into view. Brolath caught the sight of the blonde fur of Frontus and sighed, not exactly looking forward to talking with the unpleasant Sirian again.

Sitting up, Brolath looked beyond the datapad and his heart softened.

The same human from before was kneeling before him, completely naked. It had been difficult to get a good view of him earlier from the observation chamber, but now Brolath was able to examine him better. His skin was an appealing caramel color and he had hair as black as ebony, which was messy right now after the hardships of imprisonment and torture, but was styled in a way that its locks ran across his neck and created a sort of psuedo-mane.

Most appealing of all to Brolath was how vulnerable he looked. It was the same feeling he got when he saw Chikal in prison, sadness, betrayal, and defeat etched on his face.

I hurt Chikal.

But I saved this human.

Perhaps this was his chance…

“I am Guard Captain Brolath of the Regulian Guard...”

Abel kept his face frozen as the tan-furred Regulian in the hideous yellow jacket looked down at him from his seat. He didn’t want any of his emotions to show, he had no friends here, there was no way in hell that this Regulian saved his life for any benevolent reason.

Brolath was his name and Abel felt his skin crawl when he paused to stare at him.

He’s looking at me like I’m a slave.

It was not an uncommon glance for a human to receive and Abel was very familiar with it. Only the thought of Regnath and Yin’s safety stopped Abel from rushing the Regulian, even if it meant a swift death.

Maybe their safety could not be assured, Abel knew that he truly knew nothing about this Glass individual and it was unlikely that he could get into contact with the rebellion again to find out more.

Vomit welled up in Abel’s throat. For the sake of his family, he might have to go along with this Regulian, whatever he might demand of him. Failure was inevitable in this investigation and Abel was in desperate need of a Plan B.

It might be the only way to save their lives, Abel thought as he finally matched the Regulian’s gaze.