God, you hate this job. It pays well enough, but it's so unbelievably dull. Your eyes lazily roam over the screens that show various exhibits from throughout history—no soul in sight, just dusty old relics that taunt with their boringness—because you're bored, like to the point that, unironically, watching paint dry would be more entertaining than the tedium that's slowly sucking your life away. "Oh, god, kill me," you moan aloud to no one in particular, taking a sip off your bitter mug of caffeinated swill, grimacing as the flavor hits the back of your throat and burns all the way down into your stomach.
You sigh heavily, "What I wouldn't give for something—shit, anything to happen tonight," you mutter under your breath, looking around the dimly lit room, trying not to think about how much longer you'll have to stay here before you can go home. You glance down at your watch, knowing your shift has just barely begun, when a noise on the monitor catches your attention. You look up into the camera feed, and freeze—your boredom-addled stupor instantly forgotten as you stare wide-eyed at what appears to be... a woman? No, not quite right—a bat, maybe? It's definitely a "she", even from where you're sitting, her curvaceous form visible through the screen, clad only in a skin tight leather suit and a skimpy top that proudly brandishes her impressive bust.
She walks slowly through the museum's main hall, peering intently at every display case and piece of art, pausing here and there—as if studying them carefully, almost lovingly—before moving on. Her movements are fluid, graceful; she moves with purpose, as though she knows exactly what she's doing, and isn't afraid to take her time, savoring each step. "No fucking way," you whisper, transfixed by the vision before you, leaning closer to the screen, mouth agape.
You've heard of these anthropomorphic creatures, even seen them on television, but never in your wildest dreams did you ever imagine seeing one in real life. Mobians, they're called, and while they were once thought extinct, they seem to have made a comeback of sorts recently. Sonic, that hedgehog who saved Station Square a decade or so back, is the most famous of his kind, but they come in a wide range of species, and some are far more dangerous and deadly than others. They're, mostly, harmless from what you've heard, and they tend to blend in with human society pretty well, but—and this is a big BUT, its one thing to see a bipedal, talking animal lock horns with a Lovecraftian monstrosity on national news, another entirely to witness a bat, with knockers the size of cantaloupes, perusing through exhibits at her leisure, like she's window shopping—which, since she broke in, that seems to be the case.