little far from where you live, but I can buy your hover cab fare for—”
“Thanks, but I already made plans after work,” Paris interrupted.
“Come on man, it’s a big game tonight and should be—”
“I’m sorry, but I cannot back out of my plans,” Paris said sternly.
After a pause, Bell continued, “Okay Frank, well if you change your mind, just let us know,” and the two employees walked off to their work station.
Although Paris finally got what he wanted, which was to be alone, he felt terrible afterwards. This was not the first time Bell and Edwards have tried to invite him out somewhere. Many attempts were made toward the loner to get him to socialize, but all attempts had failed. This recent attempt, differed from previous ones because Paris almost thought about saying yes, but why? Why did he say no when he felt like saying yes? What would drive someone to do that? For although he had developed a strong dislike for his fellow man, due to all the stupid decisions they had made over the years, Paris still had this urge to be with his own kind.
One can only pretend that being a lone wolf does not bother them before realizing that the very idea of a wolf freely leaving a pack is a myth. No human or animal would ever freely choose to be exiled from their pack; social creatures need each other on a conscious and sub-conscious level. All this ran through Frank’s head as he started to see his co-workers around him morph into Lycans, sprouting fur all over their bodies, and their faces transforming into long dog like snouts. Frank looked at his own hands and saw that they were now paws. His hallucination was amplified. His work station became a cage separating him from the pack. Yes, now it was all becoming very clear to the wolf named Paris. The reason for his inability to join his own kind was because the Earth was a very large prison; its clouds formed steel bars, its dirt the cold unforgiving concrete, and its atmosphere was the execution gas. And, the ones who were holding the keys were, strangely enough, fellow Lycans; half animal, half human hybrids. They were the ones who created this strange world of contradictions. Liberating a dog but locking up a human for locking up a dog. Treating humans like dogs, and dogs like humans. The only explanation in Frank’s mind was that man became confused as to which form they truly were.
After a while, the hallucination wore off, and Paris continued with his video seminar. He thought of Martian, and the sad puppy face his friend gave him today.
“I guess I’m the one who gets to play that part now,” Paris thought to himself while working, wishing he had said yes to joining the pack.
Chapter 3
It was now 11:25 AM and Paris’s boss called for a meeting. This meeting, like all meetings, was held on the sixth floor in one of the saucer centers. The first floor’s center was dedicated to machinery, but the sixth floor’s center was a board room. Paris took his time getting to the meeting area, so as to avoid running into Edwards and Bell, knowing that they would want to talk along the way. Once he arrived at the sixth center, half the circular table was taken up by people talking to their neighbors.
“Frank,” said a female voice. It was Roxy Airsea from the top floor; a botanist who worked in the science department. Her hair was cut to her shoulders but was always in a tail. She was born a toe head but had to let the gold corrode to brown due to hair coloring products being illegal. Her face was dotted randomly with freckles, but they were mostly on her cheeks. Her body was of the time, skinny and lacking muscle. And although she was not born into the wealthy class but promoted into it, she always had a rich smile, and she liked Paris.
“Come sit next to me,” Roxy said, “I have some news to tell you.”
Although Paris did not know how he felt about Roxy, with her being a human like everyone else who annoyed him, he always accepted invitations from her.
“Hello Roxy,” Paris said as he slowly sat down beside her.
“Hi Frank,” she said smiled regally, “So, over this week, I was finally able to move into my new apartment in one of the new north-end hover saucers.”
“That’s great Roxy, you’ve earned it,” he said sincerely.
“Thank you Frank. The place is still a mess though, and I could use a second opinion on where to put a few things. Would you like to come over this weekend and help me finish off my move?”
Paris was not expecting a direct question from her. However, when looking back into the past, he should have seen it coming. Roxy had always planned to find some way to meet him outside of work but never could find the right opportunity. It was very obvious to not only Paris, but to everyone else, that she liked him, but she had no idea of how to ask him out on a date. The other problem was people in the middle class were incapable of normal dating in this day and age. A stroll through the park could turn into a run for your life due to a possible encounter with apes. Movie theaters were abandoned because the smell of buttered popcorn attracted too many noisy goats who would talk through the films. Dinner at home meant cracking open a food sphere and hoping that raccoons would not come in and ruin your evening. It was just not plausible to do the romantic things from the past to woo someone off their feet. Now, things were different.
Roxy was able to experience all the upper class royalties she had worked so hard to achieve, and she would be able to do them with Paris. They could go dancing in the entertainment hall of her new saucer building, or eat at the restaurant next door, or watch a film in the screening room which was two doors down. But first things first, she had to start off slow. And the best way for her to do that was to get Paris to come help her move in; it’s not a date, it’s just a co-worker helping another co-worker.
“Um,” Paris hesitated, “Well—” but before he was able to give Roxy a response, the head of the company walked into the room signaling for the meeting to begin. She was a woman in her late 50s who stood at a height of 5’10”. Her hair was black with some grey streaks. There were no wrinkles on her face, indicating that she rarely smiled or frowned. She then sat at her designated place at the round table. Her eyes, which had red lighting on the sclera, surveyed the room with switchblade readiness prepared to spring at anyone. The name of this weapon was Chloro, Phyllis Chloro.
“Is everyone here?” began Chloro still looking around, “I don’t see Roberts. Was he held up by those boars near his house again?”
“Well,” began someone, “We haven’t… heard from him in a couple of days now Ms. Chloro. We think…we think…”
“Another animal attack? My god how dreadful,” someone exclaimed, “That’s the sixth one this month from our company alone. I wonder what could be causing this rise in attacks?”
Someone else quickly jumped in to answer, “There are, some theories that have developed—”
“As much as I would love to hear theories as to why there is a rise in animal aggression, we have some business to attend to,” Chloro responded; Mother Nature doing her work with no tears for tragedy, so many people have been dying all around that everyone has developed a numbness to it. However, the animal occupation is not the sole reason for this. Part of the blame is the past societies. The ones who knew that there were children being sold into slavery and felt that freeing the animals in zoos were more important. The ones who knew that hunters in Africa were legally obtaining game and giving their kills to starving villagers, yet they felt that an animal’s life outweighed a human’s. The ones who knew that people were dying in hospitals from diseases and finding a cure meant animal testing, yet people would rather see a person die from cancer than see ten apes die in the name of finding a cure. Animals are not to blame for
