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“Dispatch, I've got a positive match for the armed robbery at Largo. He's on foot and heading east on 18th Street, just past Atlantic. Ten eighty-five until we make contact." Officer James Atkinson pulled into a free parking spot two blocks back from the suspect after making the call in. The last thing he needed was the guy getting spooked without backup or seeing lights and making a run for it.

The message was quickly relayed over the radio, “Ten four. All units, be advised the suspect for the ten sixty-five is on foot and eastbound on 18th Street, past Atlantic. Tailing officer requesting lights out for all responding. Repeat, ten eighty-five." James kept his attention split between the chatter with dispatch and the twenty-ish year old, six foot tall, Caucasian male. He had little doubt this was their guy, the red coat and black cargo pants matched the clothing of the assailant, and the young man glanced around nervously as if his head was on an uncontrolled swivel.

The officer held his time over the air short, calling out just enough so the suspect's location was fed to the other units while he kept eyes on the man. Between the violent outburst in the store and the rather jumpy behavior on the street, there was a strong chance the whole thing could go sideways; especially since the store clerk was threatened with a gun during the robbery. A quick check of his bodycam reported the familiar double beep of active recording.

Another unmarked car turned the corner a block ahead of the suspect just as the message came through, “All units in position." James felt his adrenaline rush as he shifted into drive and pulled forward, closing the distance to the suspect and making a possible escape attempt that much harder. Officers Marrows and Warrick got out from their car at the same time that he threw the stick into park and opened his own door. Little chimes sounded out the familiar warning that the keys were in the ignition as Marrows hailed the kid with a simple “Hey", his frosted breath made visible by one of the bright lamps overhead.

The suspect immediately glanced back, saw James, then darted south through the closest alleyway.

Always the hard way, the officer thought to himself as he gave chase.

James had a constant inner monologue of curses flowing while he shouted “Police! Stop!" with about as much effect as could be expected. Warrick sent out the situation over the air as the officers hurtled over newly toppled trash cans, weaved around bags and pallets, all while just managing to keep pace.

The suspect cleared the alley and swerved left to avoid a pair of officers sprinting to intercept that were already on 19th. A second later and James emerged, hearing a high-pitched, panicked squeal along with shouts about a gun and a newly taken hostage.

Half dangling from the kid's grasp was one of the “grafted", an all of four foot nothing tall brown rat that looked like a clothed, scaled up version of her ancestral line. Her attire was Goth in style; a black crop-top with some kind of logo on it that was obscured by the arm restraining her, several studded earrings along the outer edge of her left ear, and dark shorts which were wide enough for her haunches but would be oddly proportioned for the average human, or even demi-human, girl. Three others of her kind were backing away with lowered bodies, slanted ears and puffed fur, dressed the same way and nearly as terrified as the hostage herself. What they were doing out at this time of night was beyond James.

In the suspect's right hand was the nine-mil Ruger that had been brandished during the robbery, now shakily pointed at the rat's temple. He dragged her backwards until they collided with the stockade fencing of the Island Golf property and he continued pulling her south, towards the building. The fence butted up against the back corner of the structure, leaving no way out and effectively trapping them both.

With the man having no options for escape, the situation devolved into a shouting match. The officers demanded that he drop the gun and let the girl go. The robber responded in screams about where the rat's brains were going to end up with a copious amount of obscenities mixed in as his breath iced the air in time with his ranting.

Most of the officers stayed focused on the robber turned hostage-taker while Warrick kept in radio contact with dispatch and yelled for the rat's companions to get clear of the area. Everyone had their service weapons drawn.

Perhaps some kind of instinct kicked in as she was being cornered, because the hostage suddenly twisted her tube shaped body in ways impossible for a human and managed to get her teeth latched onto the guy's forearm. The rat bit down hard and shook herself with a ferocity known only to those fighting for their life.

In that moment, the Ruger's barrel left rat's temple as the kid yowled in pain and surprise.Caught off balance and trying to keep his hostage, he staggered back, pinned briefly between the fence and thrashing rat. In the small opening caused by the do or die gambit, James squeezed his trigger twice, aiming up and left of center, well above the height of the captive. The first round made contact with the man's chest near his clavicle bone and the second went in just above his right eye, making a mess on the wooden fence planks behind.

The hostage dropped to the ground and scurried towards her friends on all fours with her ears folded flat and her tail held straight back as multiple shots rang out from the other officers.

Warrick's call of “Shots fired!", sounded both over the radio and in his live voice from behind James. The assailant stiffened then slumped forward and rolled, ending up flat on his back in the grass with tensed, outstretched arms. Mixed in with shouts of “Drop the gun!" and calls for medical, the half-voiced wheezing of a dead man's last breaths could be heard.

After cursing several times and holstering his weapon, James let his own breath out in an exasperated sigh at the whole ordeal; it wasn't how any of them wanted to end the day after Christmas.

***

In the days following the incident, things hadn't calmed down at all. James and the other officers on scene who fired were placed on administrative leave while an internal investigation took place. It was standard procedure for any officer involved shooting though everything had been done by the book. For a rather clear cut case, the sheer size of the political blow back from the public was unexpected.

The press conference, held by none other the Greston Police Chief himself, roughly outlined the chain of events. Before that, someone managed to name James as the officer that shot first. Officially, no one knew how the information leaked, and the department's standard “no comment" concerning unreleased details did nothing to dispel the whirlwind building. Before long, he was called everything from a hero to a traitor, it all depended on who was talking about it. Even the cable news networks covered the story, each giving their own slant to the facts.

There's certainly wisdom in laying low until the focus is somewhere else, but a defiant streak a mile wide in a certain officer kept that from happening. James, who was bundled up against the cold in a large, brown peacoat, sat at one of the tables outside a small cafe close to his apartment. A large cup of hot chocolate was held in his hands while he steadfastly refused to give in to the staring and whispers. And sometimes not whispers at all.

“God damned rat fucking bitch," someone passing by half muttered under their breath though everyone nearby could hear it.James mentally noted that he hadn't heard that one before, a few things close to it, but nothing quite so eloquently worded. He rolled his eyes at the idiotic comment and took a sip of his chocolate, glad to find it wasn't scalding anymore.

“Says the bitch that can't speak up."

The retort came from behind in a higher than usual, feminine voice. James turned his head to look back, surprised that he was eye level with the speaker even though he was seated.

Four feet of brown, gray, and puffed out fur was glaring past him at the foot traffic beyond, probably squarely at the guy that mouthed off.

A quick glance gave James enough to go on: five silver rings in her left ear, a pink nose poking out just past the dark brown and white whiskers, and beady eyes that seemed as though they could be all black sitting in a wedge shaped head. The earrings matched the ones the hostage had in terms of location and her attire for the day was a simple black tee shirt and shorts combination. He figured the natural fur coat would make anything more oppressively hot in spite of the chilly temperature.

“Not really sure if that was aimed at you or me," James finished the statement with another sip of his pleasantly warm drink.

The wedge turned to face him with those dish shape ears angled forward. “Oh?"

“Given everything I've been called lately, it wouldn't surprise me in the least." He motioned towards the seat across the table, “Clara, right?"

“Well, that's new." After she confirmed her identity, Clara headed towards the chair with the waddling gait that grafted rats had when walking upright. “Usually, it's the I can't tell you apart sort of thing, Officer Atkinson."

“James is fine... Unless this is work related, in which case you'll have to stop by the precinct since I'm still on admin leave. But if I'm being perfectly honest," he traced the edge of his left ear and nodded at the rings in her own. “Don't want to take undo credit."

She sat with her hands holding the table's edge as she stared at the man. The white bands of fur at her wrists gave the image of long shirt sleeves sticking out beyond a brown jacket. A halfhearted laugh escaped before she spoke, “I suppose that is expecting too much from a human."

James nodded at her observation. “Probably. We don't have your sense of smell to help out, so we use what we can. Not trying to be mean here, but the differences are subtle without other clues." All the sensitivity training and other programs hadn't made a dent in his inability to differentiate individuals without something blatantly obvious. Some of the grafted species were easier since they had natural color variations he could pick up on at a glance, spotted patterns or the like. The rats were just so uniform, to him it was like staring at a group of clones.

What he did know was some of their body language. Given the slant of her ears and stiff tail, changing the subject seemed like a good idea. “So, what brings you by?"

“Social media and mistaken judgment." In spite of the flatness of her tone, Clara forced her ears forward and relaxed her posture. At least he wouldn't be yelled at.

“Oh?" He returned her previous question.

“Like I said, just a mistake." She shook her fuzzy head, a decidedly human gesture. “But that doesn't change what happened. I honestly thought I was going to die then and there. Between the life of a human and a rat, who could say?"

James fought to keep his own temper from flaring at the implication, though he couldn't stop it but so much, “Then let me correct the one mistake you're making right now. Whenever I put on that uniform, I don't see a human, or a demi, or a grafted. I see a citizen. Period." he took another rather large swig from his cup.

A disbelieving huff was followed by her answer. “You'd be the first."

“Not likely. There's some bad apples out there, sure. But not all of us are, not even most of us." He set the cup down, giving the over sized rodent his full attention. “With how everyone covered what's a pretty standard case, I did a little digging. I know about your songs and even listened to a few of them. The style's not quite my cup of tea, but I think I get where you're coming from."

“Oh, I'm certain you don't. Not really." Clara rubbed the side of her face starting at her whiskers then going back to her ear using the side of her hand. Feral rats cleaned themselves this way, apparently the gesture carried over to the grafted. “I know how you're viewed, what the media says. But there's at least some out there defending you. We've lived our entire lives vilified from the very culture that created us. Trapped like a rat, dirty rat, I smell a rat; it goes on and on. People think we're dirty, smelly creatures because they've been trained to their whole lives. Things get stolen, blame us. Someone gets sick and one of us was seen was nearby."

“Look…"

“No, James. For once, do something you humans are so painfully bad at and just listen." Those nearly solid black eyes locked on the man's as she spoke. “Humans made us, changed what we were into what we are. They gave us voices, sapience. Made us larger and live longer. Why? We certainly didn't ask for it.They gave us all that but couldn't be bothered to put forth the same effort they did for the wolves. In a world where walking on all fours is considered lesser, they left us scuttling."

Clara drummed her fingers on the table, the tiny claws on her fingers making equally tiny clicks as they impacted the plastic coated surface, “Do you know why male rats rarely venture above ground? It's because walking like a human is painful for them over long periods. There's plenty of other things too, but what's clear is we were made by humans to be degraded, seen as nothing more than animals and treated as such. In the decades since our arrival, nothing has changed."

There was the feeling of truth behind her words, even James felt the conviction in them. But the wedge between species wasn't driven exclusively by human hands. “Well, there's obviously loads I haven't thought about when it comes to how you're viewed. I'll admit that. But while we're passing out food for thought, here's something else to chew on. Four years ago, the grafted rats that had been living underground, peaceably mind you, suddenly streamed out into the streets in droves. We didn't know some kind of turf war was brewing under there, and we still don't have the details. L.A. went from the usual, mundane problems of an enormous city to an all out war zone in minutes. Humans, demis, grafted rats or otherwise; the bullets didn't care."

He finished off the remainder of the once hot chocolate, wanting less to do with the person in front of him by the second. “Tourists, residents, you name it. Over one hundred bodies left dead in the streets, most of them without a clue as to why."

He stood, crumpled the cup, then tossed it in the nearest trash bin; aware for the first time that the conversation was drawing the attention of more than a few people. He stuffed his hands in his coat pockets and stalked out of the seating area, leaving behind the confused and curious stares of the passersby and Clara.

***

James was seated on the massive, beige couch in his living room, watching the television with a half full glass in one hand and a bottle of Morgan beside a two liter of cola stationed on the coffee table in front of him.

On the screen, an overly exuberant pair of commentators talked about the various celebrations going on for the new year, but none of their joy really came through. One was an actress of some fame, and the other a successful fashion designer that happened to be a wolf demi. Both were personable enough, but his spirits just weren't able to be lifted by their on screen antics.

He glanced at one of the pictures hanging on the wall behind the TV, seeing a much younger version of himself that didn't quite have a receding hairline yet and three others bunched up for the photo. It was taken in his junior year of high school during a class trip to the state capital over ten years ago. The only thing that made it fun was the company he kept.

Part of his melancholy was probably due to the resemblance of the wolf announcer to Gabe; they both had the same gray fur color and light blue eyes. Sure, Gabe's ears were a bit shorter, but he'd probably be a pretty close match to the commentator. The other wolf in the picture standing behind them all was his girlfriend, Catherine, though she was one of the grafted rather than a demi. She towered over the rest of the bunch, fitting the stereotypical werewolf look, and she had on the biggest grin of her life. Shandra was both the smartest and the sane one of their little group, making sure they never strayed too far off the beaten path. Everyone knew she had a mixed heritage, Indian and possibly African, but she kept her home life to herself and the others never did pry much.

As the clock ticked down with just ten minutes to go, he threw back the rest of the drink and ignored the liquid heat sliding down his throat, then began pouring one more. At first two shots, then a third, followed by a tiny splash of cola that did little more than tint the amber drink a shade darker.

Somewhere out there was a little girl who wouldn't spend the evening waiting for the ball to drop with her father. What got him killed didn't matter, all she'd ever really know is he wasn't there. The rest of his family would know, probably knew more of his dealings than they let on, but their blame fell squarely on the officers; specifically the one that pulled the trigger. Regardless of the circumstances, the man's death undoubtedly left a void in their lives.

It was the same for the families of the three wearing inane grins in that picture. They all saved up for the flight to L.A. where they'd spend a week and a half rooming with James. He'd join in whenever he wasn't out on patrol or otherwise busy with work. His supervisor even sprinkled in a few days off so they'd be able to make the most of it.

That was the plan, anyway.

Their bags weren't even unpacked, just sitting on the bed in the spare room and opened enough to pull out fresh clothes the morning after their red-eye landed. Everyone left at the same time, with James sporting his patrol blues and the rest in their branded tee shirts and shorts looking every bit the tourists they were.

There was no warning, no outward signs of troubles, so nobody on the surface knew what was brewing. For all the talk of integration and community, the truth of the matter was that two distinct civilizations shared the same space. Just one was underground while the other stayed blissfully unaware above it.

James couldn't keep track of how many hours were spent trying to get control over the situation; ferrying people into the precinct for safety, trying to answer calls for assistance, providing escorts for medical crews, and responding to violence breaking out yet again somewhere new.

Each time he went out, he hoped to see them and get them somewhere safe, but he never did. With all the chaos, the phone system was overloaded to the point calls rarely got through, if any could at all. It was well past dusk before the lines could cope with the volume, and there wasn't an answer when their phones finally did ring. Regardless of how many times he checked, the apartment remained dark as he rolled past in the patrol car.

At eleven forty-five that evening, Sergeant Gomez radioed about a possible match for the three at USC Medical and that James was officially done with his shift. It was his way of giving James the time to check on them since the other officers in the precinct had already met safely with their families and loved ones. With a State of Emergency declared and the region under curfew, the roads were nearly empty. He managed the drive in record time.

The staff was beyond busy, every emergency room in the area was, but he eventually caught the attention of one of the nurses and she thankfully took the time to pull up the information. He began by going over their names and descriptions, and knew the moment her memory clicked. Her typing paused briefly while her eyes widened and lips tightened. After a few more selections with her mouse, she lifted her handset and called someone up. He felt it in the pit of his stomach and could guess what was coming next, a polite “Wait here a moment, Officer Atkinson" while one of the senior staff made their way over.

Both Gabe and Shandra were found dead at the scene, with Catherine slumped over them, apparently trying to shield them from the bullets with her own body. She died on the operating table two minutes before midnight; her condition had been touch and go after making it through the first set of surgeries hours earlier.

For James personally, it didn't matter what else was going on or why the violence started in the first place. Those closest to him were lost, and even if indirectly, he had a hand in it by bringing them there. He learned the hard way in living through it that the loss and guilt isn't something that ever goes away. He'd been there with their families, seen their grief first hand when an unexpected reminder brought it all to the front again, even years later. The holidays always were the most difficult time, and another family would be facing the same thing going forward.

He glanced back at the picture hanging behind the TV, taking a moment to focus on the three faces smiling from a decade back before downing one last drink. Clara being a rat didn't make her responsible for four years ago, and she wasn't at fault for what happened a week ago either. James couldn't help but hear their voices calling him an ass for letting it get the better of him so badly and then venting the way he did.

Experience said he'd be paying for the evening's consumption in the morning, but several glasses of water would help and he should least try to set things right, provided he could manage the hangover.

***

By eleven he was moving without too much trouble as the pain in his head was just a dull, background ache; not perfect, but good enough to brave the daylight and venture out. Most of the merrymakers were still holed up, safe from the noise and lights of a bright, if chilly, new year's day.

He was huddled up in one of his thicker coats with the collar turned up, doing his best to keep a low profile and stay warm against the wind's cold while he walked the downtown streets. Not wanting to deal with any questions or random people poking their nose in his business, James kept his focus on the path ahead, steering himself around those moving at a slower pace or headed in the opposite direction.

His destination was a nightclub housed inside a three story structure that usually hosted alternative rock bands, mostly leaning towards the metal side of the spectrum. Going there ahead of time allowed him to verify the schedule posted online and he also got a chance to scope the place out. Sure enough, posters advertising the popular, demi-human band Furocious with Clara's group slated as the opening act were plastered over the blacked out windows.

He hesitated for a moment, wondering if he should just wait outside that evening, but it was inviting himself to be seen as a stalker, or worse, and he certainly didn't want to explain it to his fellow officers at the GPD if they got called about a suspicious person. With the decision made, he pulled his phone out and browsed to the Master-Tix site. It wasn't something he used often, hardly ever really, so there were a few minutes of him standing and fidgeting with the screen before the final confirmation for the purchase came through.

“You got any business here, mister?"

He looked up from his phone and back toward the club entrance to see one of the bouncers emerging from the double doors. The two hundred and fifty or so pounds of solid muscle headed his way didn't look particularly pleased at being outside. The man's uniform consisted of a tight, black tee-shirt with “Headspace", the club's name, printed on the front and “STAFF" adorning each sleeve, tucked into black, khaki styled pants. Not exactly a fit for the chilly day.

So much for preventing unwanted attention.

James nodded at the poster directly beside him, “Yeah, looking to catch both bands tonight. Just finished up with the ticket."

The bouncer raised an eyebrow, giving him an odd look since James certainly didn't fit the target demographic for either act, but he eventually shrugged. “If that's the case, I'd suggest getting here about an hour or so early. Security's tighter than usual."

James shoved his phone back into his jeans pocket then gave man a wave, “Thanks for the info." It was a toss up whether the guy recognized him, the photo used by the networks and papers was several years old and taken when he was in uniform, but it didn't mean other people wouldn't spot him. Another quick nod to the bouncer and James headed off.

***

The clothes he settled on for the evening were loosely inspired by what the bouncer wore: a black shirt under a black jacket, black jeans and black boots. He wasn't sure what to expect from the crowd, but figured he ought to blend in well enough, and to some degree he did. Most had on a variation of darker color clothes, but mixed in were brightly colored or lit accessories and white articles that glowed under the UV bulbs in the building's outdoor fixtures. Many had on animal ears; some were simple things on headbands while others were built into earphones, and some were even natural, courtesy of the demi and grafted members of the line.

Sure, he felt out of place, but it wasn't that bad other than the obvious age difference, with James being a fair bit older than the average person if looks were anything to go by. A few questioning glances were thrown his way, but for the most part he managed to stay ignored as the people waiting outside slowly filtered in.

The same guy he'd seen earlier in the day was checking tickets and ID cards with a small tablet while standing close enough to catch some of the warmth that escaped through the open doors. His coworker, also dressed in same tight fitting tee and pants combination, checked everyone over thoroughly with a hand held, wand style metal detector followed by a pat down. Once he passed the initial sweep, James held out his phone with the ticket's QR code enlarged on screen. “Thanks for the tip earlier."

The man glanced up as he scanned the pass, “No problem." A short beep sounded from the pad once it scanned the code, announcing it found a valid ticket. “Have a good time."

James nodded his thanks and headed in. Frankly, he was just glad to be out of the cold.

Inside the club he was greeted by an overly boisterous atmosphere, so rather than stand near the stage, his plan was to get a drink then find an empty table; preferably somewhere far away from the massive speakers. A line was already forming at the bar and the house DJ, who had a disturbing fondness for repeating sound clips, was blasting industrial techno beats. By the tenth or so edgy voice over shouting “Evil is good!" James had a drink in hand and found the stairs leading up to the second level.

The center of the building was wide open, with its second and third floors acting as balcony seating for those wanting to stay out of the fray. Even while sitting, he had a pretty good view of the stage and the crowd gathering in front of it along with the souvenir booth near the main exit. Greston didn't have a large demi population, and even less so for the grafted, but both were well represented in the mix of people standing below.

The tables and seats in the upper section were relatively clean, plus he avoided getting sandwiched in with the excited fans waiting on the show to start thanks to his choice. Another perk was the smaller bar stationed along the back wall; one which had a menu for food as well as drinks. With at least forty minutes to spare, he had ample time to relax, nurse his beer, and maybe order a snack or two for the wait.

***

The lights dimmed as he started on his third drink, a Belgian wheat beer made by monks if the label was to be believed. A half finished plate of chicken tenders sat on the table in front of him; not the best food, but good enough to hold his interest and distract him from the obnoxiousness of the four or so samples on rotation over the synthesized beats.

The crowd was also a bit restless, though he doubted most of them were as annoyed with the DJ as he was by that point, but they settled down with the darkness and the end of the techno tunes. James could just barely see movement on the stage, probably Clara's band getting set up, when the DJ started an instrumental track to get everyone's attention.

“Ladies, gentlemen, people and animals of all types, it's time to get things started!" Cheers, whistles, and even a few howls sounded in response. “Now that's what we like to hear! We've got an awesome show lined up tonight and I'm sure everyone's more than ready. Am I right?"

With a smirk, James lifted his bottle to the truth of that particular announcement while the crowd managed a louder answer than the first time.

“Alright, alright! Let's give a warm Headspace welcome for Uncaged Underground!"

The mobile spotlights on the rigging above the stage scanned over the people standing in front then arced upwards as the drummer counted off the initial beat with her sticks. The lights suddenly cut back down, all focused on Clara which caused the stones embedded in her earrings to sparkle with a prismatic effect just as the first note from the guitar blasted through the speakers. It was choreographed brilliantly, and even the slightly buzzed cop felt a little stirred.

By the third song, he was entirely absorbed in the music and had all but forgotten about the food sitting in front of him. Out on stage a group of four female rats and a tiger striped, feline demi were putting on one hell of a performance, if it was even right to call it that.

Each beat, each chord, every word; it seamlessly flowed from rage metal to clear vocals over haunting ambiance from the keyboard and back again to thrashing melodies. The way Clara moved as she sang was mesmerizing, her body mirroring the hard beats then flowing as gracefully as the harmonies while each story unfolded. It was the summation of their lives and experience put to song; the heart, passion and trials of their existence laid bare before the audience and roared for all to hear:

“If they did not want us then why did they make us?

To cage and contain us or kill and forsake us?

But we go beyond where their plans try to take us;

Our lives are our own, there's no way they can break us!"

Clara's words on stage echoed what he'd been told the day prior, her conviction from before made all the more evident by the raw emotion carried in her voice.

***

The audience broke into applause as the feline guitarist and rodent drummer free-styled out the last few bars of the opening act. James clapped with them then raised his half-finished beer in appreciation of the show. There'd be a few minutes for setup between the bands, so he had a little while to finish up what remained of the tenders and maybe have one more drink. Once Furocious got started, he planned to make his way down to the swag booth and maybe get a chance to make amends. At the very least, he could pick up a copy of the album.

***

“This seat taken?"

James looked up from his empty plate toward the now familiar voice. Out of the four seats, three sat unused. “Pick whichever one you want."

Clara nodded and climbed into the seat to his left, still breathing heavily from her performance on stage. “I had a hard time believing you actually did show up, even after one of the staff said you might be here. Mind telling me why?" There wasn't any sort of aggression in her posture, just forward ears and a general curiosity in her tone.

Her gaze was met with a shrug, “Just wanted to apologize for being a dick yesterday. Figured I wouldn't get the chance to otherwise. So, I'm sorry."

“Oh?"

James nodded, “That's pretty much it. The holidays always hit hard, and with the shit storm last week on top of everything else, I just wasn't handling it too well." He downed the final, lukewarm swig of his beer and kept his focus directed at the bottle, rolling it between his hands. “Not an excuse, I know, but that's the why if it matters."

“You may not believe it, but it does. I managed to do a little digging of my own after our conversation. I didn't know you were in L.A. back then, nor about the loss of your friends. You, at least, have a reason. Most don't." Clara's ears shifted back and she took a deep breath, “Granted I wasn't there, the vast majority of people weren't, but you know how it goes. They see something on television or read about it online and suddenly every rat must've been there personally killing as many innocent humans as possible while squeaking in maniacal glee."

The empty bottle made a small clink as it was set back on the table. “Cue the idiot yesterday."

“Exactly."

“Don't have to look far to find one of 'em, that's for sure." He pushed the bottle to the center of the table along with the plate. “Anyway, that was one hell of a show your group put on. Only one thing's bothering me." Clara was back to looking at him with her ears forward, though rightfully her eyes were slightly narrowed in guarded curiosity. James didn't want to keep the conversation focused only on the negatives so he continued, “If I'd been up there just minutes ago, singing my heart out, I'd still be sweating my ass off."

Clara's whiskers pulled back in an obvious grin that mirrored the man's expression, “You're not the first human to notice that, James, but you are the first to put it that way." It wasn't hard, but her hairless tail snaked around and landed against his face with a dull thud. The appendage was thicker and felt both warmer and heavier than he expected as he tried to fend it off. “There's no need to sweat when you have a built in radiator."

She started giggling as he halfheartedly swatted her tail away, and before long, he joined in the infectious laughter in spite of himself.

***

“No, I get the mainstream appeal. They definitely have their own unique sound and it's good."

The pair headed along a different route than what James would usually take, given both of them opposed going anywhere near 19th Street, and had been chatting for a rather long time after the club's last call. Clara glanced in his direction as they strolled slowly, keeping to a pace that allowed her to walk upright comfortably. “That doesn't seem like a ringing endorsement."

His brow furrowed in thought, “It's not that it isn't… Okay. They sound great. It's perfected down to every last detail. That makes for great listening on the radio, very easy on the ears, but it's not the same when it's live." James motioned at her, “Take your band for example. Everyone did stellar, but it's still raw and pure, if that makes any sense. When I want studio quality, filtered tracks, I'll buy them from the official release. When it's live, I want to feel where you're coming from, why you're singing in the first place. You all had that in spades."

Clara smiled at the compliment, “I'll make sure to pass that along."

“Speaking of which, they're not going to be upset you're out here, right?" He pulled his phone out to check on the time, “It's been well over an hour, nearly two."

“Oh, worried about Tallis are you? He's pretty strong and those claws are plenty good in a fight as well." A brief chuckle forced its way out of her and the serious facade cracked instantly, “Honestly, it'd be the other way around. If anything, he'd be jealous of me."

She sighed at the man's look of confusion, “He's gay, James."

He held his hands up at being caught by surprise, “You two just have a lot of stage chemistry is all, and sometimes I don't notice stuff when it comes to personal matters."

“You don't say." In response to his exaggerated side eye, she nudged him in the lower hip given their height difference. “While we're on other topics, you know what else I learned when I searched your name?"

James groaned, knowing full well what was coming. He put on his best shit eating grin as he answered, “That my father wanted me to be successful?"

“Oh, I have no doubt of that." Clara held her hands to her neck and opened her eyes widely, putting on as much dramatic flair as she possibly could, “Imagine the horror when I learned that my savior was none other than the man that invented the better mousetrap."

The name was from a distant relative, creator of the snapping nightmare fuel to rodents everywhere. “Yeah, the irony wasn't lost on me, or half of the net for that matter. I think there's a whole U-Vid clip dedicated to it. Want to scare yourself, check the comments."

Clara's ears shot back.

“Already did?"

“Unfortunately." She gave herself a little shake, probably mortified by the words that could spawn from the combination of sick people and their keyboards. A few hand swipes over her head later and she put it aside, “Some of them were supportive though. Not as many as the trolls by any stretch, granted."

“Trolls gonna troll." James glanced at the tall building standing beside them. Like the others in on the block it was old, marginally well maintained, and the apartments were small; but the rent was cheap and the walls were thick enough to create a moderate amount of privacy. James had his car parked in the underground lot, left there on purpose in case he had a few too many while at the club. “Wasn't planning on it, but I'm on the second floor, 2B. I can give you a ride back to your hotel or we can get out of the cold for a while. Up to you."

She eyed him for a moment then grabbed her tail defensively, “There's a famous duet about this. No spiked drinks or spring loaded surprises, right?"

His shoulders dropped and he exhaled sharply, “Really?"

“Take away all my fun, why don't you." James came to the realization that a rat sticking her tongue out in mock protest was, in fact, quite cute. “I'd rather stretch out, rest my legs a while and relax, honestly. I appreciate you staying to how fast I can walk, but it still tires me out. If you don't want to, or don't have the time, the ride back would be fine."

With all the time in the world and nothing else he'd rather be doing, he fished out his keys and opened the door to the stairwell. “Wouldn't have made the offer if I didn't mean it. Still on admin leave, remember? So no early morning required. Just make sure you let your group know."

“There's one or two lines about suspicious in that song." In spite of her remark, she unsnapped the front left pocket of her shorts and pulled out her phone.

James watched as she typed, awed by the fact that she could operate the thing based entirely on muscle memory and whatever haptic feedback the phone provided.

She glanced up with a knowing smile that showed off her rather impressive set of front teeth, “It's something we have to do. We can't hold our phones where we can see them and type at the same time unless we crane our neck and try it with a single hand. Our arms are too short and our eyes aren't placed for looking down anyway. Cats, birds, and other things normal rats need to watch out for attack from above."

“Well, that's the second thing I've learned today." He held the door open for his guest. “Anyway, excluding the alcohol, there's bottled water, cola, and milk. Oh, and some sports drinks. Fruit punch is what I've got in the fridge."

“Thanks." She stuffed her phone back into her pocket and secured it with a metallic snap then stepped into the building. After she looked at the stairs ahead, she turned back to James, “Mind if I start unwinding now?"

He shrugged, not really knowing what she meant. “Um, sure."

A quick nod and she shot up the stairs on all fours. Her head and upper torso stayed at a precise height above the steps with no wasted effort in a showcase of just how graceful she really was. At the landing she raised up on her haunches then tilted her head sideways, looking down. “You coming?"

That sight served as a reminder that the opinionated, well spoken, all in all charming girl was still very much a rat. And in something of a surprise, it was a fact he was increasingly fine with as they got to know each other.

His answer came just after a short chuckle to himself, “Yeah, but not quite as fast."

***

It wasn't long after they got inside that a reply came through from her band. Clara unlocked her phone and held it out to the side so she could read the message: a little joke about warning her to do everything Tallis would try. The two shared a mildly embarrassed grin at the suggestion before deciding that the over-sized couch in the living room and a movie would be the best way to spend a few early morning hours.

To his credit, James kept the place fairly neat, though part of that was because of a lack of any real decorating on his part. Pictures of family and friends hung on the wall behind the TV, but apart from those and a few movie and game posters, there weren't many personal touches.

“Decide on anything?" James poked his head out from behind the refrigerator door, glancing over the small counter top separating the dining and living rooms.

“Just a water, thanks." Clara's hand waved over the back of the couch. Rather than sit upright, she'd spread herself across it given that was a much more comfortable position and there was still plenty of room for him. Her tail arced over the left hand rest, the end moving just a bit as she waved.

In seconds, he made his way back to the front room with the requested water and one of the low sugar fruit punches he bought a couple of weeks ago. The flavor wasn't particularly great, an acquired taste to be sure, but the extra hydration would ensure he felt decent come morning.

“Here you go," James handed the water across to his guest as he sat down. “I've got a few streaming services, so pick whatever genre you'd like to see and we'll go from there. Oh, and there's a recycling bin just under the sink."

“So long as it's not The Princess Bride, I'm open to just about anything."

James glanced to his side, watching as she sat upright for dealing with the bottle. “The R.O.U.S. part?"

She stopped fiddling with the lid and gave him a look with her ears half way back in thought, “Huh? Oh, no. The movie's a classic and we all laugh about that part. I've just seen it far too many times."

He motioned for the bottle back and got the lid off after a few tries. Sometimes they stuck the damned things on far too tightly. “Ah, gotcha. Well, there's always the random list." The bottle was passed back with its lid only partially screwed on.

“Alright, so let's pick something from that. Go for the fourth one, whatever it is." Clara motioned at the television letting chance and whatever shuffle routine Omniflix used decide the pair's fate in terms of movie selection.

***

“Hello?" The man on screen called out again as he made his way out of the hospital.

It was an iconic scene; an empty London and a sole man wandering around the deserted, trash lined streets in nothing more than his open backed gown. Even though it was technically a horror flick and decades old, the cinematic opening stood up well even by current standards.

Half an hour later, Clara was completely engrossed in the film and James found himself used as a barrier between the infected and his house guest more than once. For all the courage she had when dealing with real life assholes, the fictional zombies, albeit pretty damned scary ones with how they moved, managed to get to her. “For heaven's sake," she squeaked out though her head was shoved between his back and the couch.

Mindless killing machines with insane speed, strength, and a long jump that'd take gold in any competition; not exactly the slow, lumbering kind of undead found in most flicks. Intense would be a fair, one word description of the viewing experience. James turned his head so he could see her. “You want me to change it?"

One eye peered out from behind him, “No. I want to see it to the end. It's good, just…" Her gasp was nearly drowned out by the poor bastard on screen being torn limb from limb.

***

James found himself cheering each time one of the asshats that were more inhuman than the infected was taken out with Clara echoing his sentiments, “Serves him right!"

About mid way through the movie, she'd gotten to the point where the jump scares weren't bothering her as much, so she decided being half draped across his lap was the safest place to watch the action from. She couldn't bury herself behind him and miss something important that way, but she could always turn her head and cover her eyes with his shirt if needed.

He sat with his left arm resting over her shoulders, mindlessly stroking the fur on the back of her neck and every once in a while on the top of her head just between her ears when she found the scenes overwhelming. It was meant as a comforting gesture that he'd done almost out of instinct. When he realized what he was doing, he was worried about overstepping some boundary, but she didn't seem bothered by it. In fact, she seemed to lean into the contact.

He'd seen the movie before, once several years ago, so he knew what to expect. It allowed him to ignore most of the unnerving parts and let his mind to wander off the screen and towards her. Just a couple of days ago, he'd have called someone crazy if they said his first house guest in years would turn out to be a grafted rat, let alone one that was sprawled out across his couch using him as part lap pillow and part security blanket. He didn't mind it though, sometime during their walk she worked her way past his mildly impaired defenses and forced him to see more of the person hidden behind the fur in spite of his own clouded perspective.

Though maybe it was even before that, the first real break in the walls probably came by way of her powerful vocals crashing against them. Sure he came to her show to apologize, but just trying to set things straight didn't change his thinking, did it? No, he was far too dense for that. Decent beer and a fantastic set of heartfelt songs had to be what sparked this…

“Wow, that was better than I expected… James?"

He'd been staring at her ears as he thought, though his eyes were half unfocused. He didn't even notice the movie's credits had started rolling and only when she first spoke and looked up did he really snap out of it, “Yeah. If you go in expecting nothing more than a gore fest, you come out having seen something far better." It was a solid answer to her first statement but left her question out and her folded ears hinted that she realized this too. “Sorry, I've seen it before and got lost in thought."

“Hmm." Clara pushed herself upright and searched his face as if she could read his mind through his expression alone. “Anything you want to share?"

“Just a little surprised with how the evening turned out, well morning now." He glanced up at the TV, taking note of the clock. “Look, it's late, really late. I'll go get the bed changed out. You can have that and I'll take the couch."

Her hands wrapped around his arm faster than he thought possible. “Oh no you don't. You don't have me watch a movie like that and then dump me off in a strange room, by myself, with nothing more than a 'good night' and whatever sounds a building this age makes. I'll agree to not sharing a bed, but here's plenty big enough for the two of us. So long as you agree to no funny business, that is."

While she was being lighthearted now, she was also pretty on edge during parts of the movie. “Sure, sure. I said I was lost in thought, not dreaming up ways to live up to the duet you mentioned outside." James gave her a lopsided smile to go along with the quip. “But that's fine. I need a quick shower, then I'll get a blanket and some extra pillows. You want either one?"

Clara shook her head, “Make it a sheet and the pillows, just trust me on it. And no shower for me, I don't sweat and I'd rather not wait for my fur to dry. Maybe in the morning, when it's not insanely late already. Also, there's no need for the song, I'm already staying over."

“True enough, though it really is cold outside."

***

James sat on the couch, donning a pair of basketball shorts and thin tee shirt rather than his usual overnight attire of boxers only. Clara didn't have anything for sleeping in, and at a technical level she really didn't need anything either. A fact she was still poking fun at him over.

“Look, you go ahead and bundle up then I'll turn out the lights and be right there. So long as you don't peep, you won't have to see a naked rat, right?"

“I was trying to be considerate," he shrugged then went to getting the pillows arranged so they'd both have a place on the couch while Clara double checked the front door locks. “I don't mind one way or the other, but I didn't want to make assumptions."

“Wasn't one of your high school friends grafted? Most of us feel the same on the whole clothes thing..." At his rather sour look she froze mid sentence. “Not trying to bring down your mood, sorry."

“No, don't be." Any talk of his friends always brought with it a full range of emotions, and those feelings consistently became harsher as the years passed. She wasn't trying to touch a sore spot, hell it was late, well early, and they were both tired enough that thinking fully before speaking was next to impossible. “It's an honest question that has a simple answer. Catherine always put a stop to any conversation that steered in that direction, especially with how shy Gabe was. You learn quickly there's certain things you don't push with a wolf." After a sigh he continued, “But losing those three is still raw, even now, and it's led to some thoughts I know they'd be completely against. Sometimes I can't shake it entirely, but I'm trying."

“I know." Clara raised up on her haunches next to the light switch, “Mind if I'm serious for a moment?"

“Sure, so long as we both agree to no arguments." James laid back on his side of the couch and pulled the sheet over himself.

“Agreed, but I really don't think it's anything to argue over." The click of the switch brought darkness to the room, though the LED panel on his wifi router emitted just enough light that he'd be able to make out shapes eventually. It still took a moment for his eyes to adjust, and while he waited he heard the rustling of fabric then the couch cushions shifted as she climbed up. “Mind you, this is only what I've been able to piece together so there may be parts that are wrong, but it may also help."

James felt the sheet move around his feet, followed by fur sliding against the fabric as Clara got herself comfortable. It seemed his lap would be used as something of a pillow again given how her head was laid on it while she passed the pillows up. “To start, do you remember what I said when we first met, about the wolves and us?"

Suddenly her comment about not needing a blanket made sense. Clara's fur and natural body temperature made such a thing unnecessary. He managed to keep from smiling too much when he answered, “Something about the rats not getting the same efforts."

“That's right. I realize they're considered scary by some, but they've been well adapted to life with humans as peers. They have hands, walk upright without long term issues, and countless other adjustments." A deep breath followed, “But for us, it was the bare minimum for a viable product. We were to be sold, James. Every grafted species was built for that purpose, but the wolves were the first ones made and so they were the most advanced. By comparison we were an afterthought, something that amounted to a pet project by one of the lead researchers and never fully completed."

James couldn't help but scowl at the thought, “It's basically slavery when you're talking about sapient people becoming a product, at least it sounds that way."

“It is. And it's how your government managed to both save the grafted and benefit from their existence in one simple action; they offered freedom and amnesty in exchange for service to a group of escaped wolves and the staff that helped them. The image presented to the public was that they weren't all that different from the demis, even if there wasn't an ounce of human genes in them, and most of all, they were willing to serve the country that embodies freedom as part of its military. All of the back dealing happened out of view, so the people only saw swift action to prevent cruelty."

“I've read what amounted to conspiracy theories saying we were involved in the development too. Any truth to those?"

Clara shook her head, an action he felt more than saw clearly, “I haven't heard anything like that from our side. I figure if we don't have knowledge of it, then your government probably wasn't involved at that level. They may have been aware of the research and simply chose not to get involved earlier than they did, if there's any truth to those rumors at all."

The whole situation was similar to what happened with the demis, except humans weren't used as a starting point so the legality and ethics of it all was less clear cut. “Alright, so what does this have to do with what happened?"

“Well, it comes back to what we are underneath all the changes. Rats by nature are nocturnal, burrowing creatures." Clara stretched herself out even more, her tail going over the couch armrest with her front arms reaching up to his stomach. “Outside of a natural habitat they thrive in the discarded places made by humans. The sewers, dumps and landfills, abandoned buildings; pretty much anywhere human trash is left with places hidden away from daylight."

“So that's why there's an underground L.A. in the first place?"

“As far as I know, yes. The grafted projects, all of them, followed the same process in terms of changes. First was our increased life span. Then size, if needed, and intellect. Except for the wolves, the last major overhaul was speech. After that they worked on other things, like tuning birthrates so medications aren't necessary to control it. See the problem?"

He felt his eyebrows knit in thought, “Not really, if there's medicines or treatments to regulate things."

Clara took in a deep breath and shifted to her side, “How many pharmacies exist underneath L.A. and how many above ground would even know what was needed? Take a group of first generations that want nothing to do with humans and have same fertility as normal rats. Now factor in that we have the intellect to keep all the kids alive."

Countless pest control commercials over the years drilled in how quickly two feral rats could become thousands. Even taking into account the longer span of time needed to reach maturity, the grafted population would explode within a few decades. “Resources, then. Food and the like?"

“That and space. Everything I've learned points in that direction. Combine a disdain of living above, severe overpopulation below, and a few dealers willing to arm anyone with money or goods to trade. What comes of a situation like that?"

“Seems like a powderkeg, to me at least, and it fits with a few other things." Before all hell broke loose, there'd been a months long rise in early morning reports. Things like trash cans and dumpsters being ransacked, petty theft of food stuffs and other consumables. LA. had its own share of normal issues and these types of things ranked low on the priorities list. It was an oddity for sure, but one without expensive damages. Looking back, there were warning signs if you knew what the problem was to begin with. “That's probably not far off, honestly."

“It doesn't excuse what was done, but it's a reason at least." Clara shuffled a little more until she found a comfortable position laying mostly across him with her back against the couch.

“Huh. Funny how that does help, though I think we went down this path once already tonight." A half laugh from his guest that blended into a yawn answered him. “But I'm glad it does. Maybe it'll keep helping, too."

Clara's head shifted up to look at him, he could just barely make out her shape in the dim lighting, “Want another honest answer? Not by itself. Trust me on that."

He couldn't help but grimace, “Don't yank a guy's lifeline away like that. I mean, it's something of a weight off, you know? At least it feels that way. The not knowing part just digs at you, every time you remember who was lost."

A sigh preceded her shifting to her stomach and inching upward so she could tap his chest with a claw tip. “I said it doesn't help on it's own, James. The reason I even talked with you after the show was because I bothered to look into who you were, what you'd been through. The hard part is realizing to look beyond the fur or lack of it, to the person underneath it all. I hated humans, James. Everything that was done to us was at their hands, every problem we had seemed like it was their creation. Even to this day I start off defensive, but I guess you know that."

Another mirthless chuckle escaped from her, “But you can't be in the music biz without working along side humans. And once you get to know them personally, it's hard not to give the friendly ones, those that genuinely want to help, at least something of a chance. But it starts here," she tapped his chest again, “You can find reasons, you can find support, but without your heart in it, you'll never change the way you see others."

“Huh. I think you're on to something, there." He wasn't about to share that he found his heart at the end of a string of badly mixed rum and cokes, coupled with a reminder of his friends on the TV, and topped off by a concert the following night. That was something he filed away for a later time. “Anyway, if we're gonna function at all come tomorrow, I think some shuteye's in order."

James shifted his shoulders and sank his head back against the pillows. “Oh, and thanks for the advice on skipping the blanket. I'm about perfect as is, even with it being cold outside."

Clara couldn't help but giggle at his not-so-subtle compliment, though she did sing in answer as she settled in, “But it's warm in here." After the giggles subsided, she added, “God, we're both dorks, aren't we?"

James yawned again, but answered softly with a smirk, “I'd like to think of us as opportunistic."

Sleep eventually claimed them both, but only after another round of tired laughing ran its course.