Author's Note: If you are reading this, I appreciate your continued interest in my story. As previously mentioned, ANL is updated on SoFurry and more chapters have been uploaded there. It's a pain in the ass to put stories up on FA... This chapter picks up right where the previous one left off. Regarding the use of foreign language, as a reminder, except in very rare instances, ANL is and will mainly be told through the eyes of Charles Graham. He is fluent in Spanish and English, so whenever there is dialogue here, you can consider it as being spoken in either one unless specifically pointed out. Any foreign words that go through are: words he cannot understand, words/phrases that don't really translate into English, or words that are best left in its original form. When it comes to those flashes of foreign language, Google Translate will be useful, though they aren't necessary to figure out what's going on. I've tapped friends of mine to make sure they're grammatically correct and something that people actually say. As always, feedback/comments are welcome. Happy reading, y'all! ----- [b][center]Chapter 2: Subdued[/center][/b] ----- Charles Graham surveyed their Jeeps roll into Uncle Paul's backyard, coming in from a [i]callejón[/i], a tiny alley barely wide enough for a car that always led to a dead-end. That he'd been oblivious to the gate this entire time surprised him. He generally had a good eye for all things hidden in plain sight. Perhaps he'd been too distracted by the minors trapped in the cages. It was the first time he'd seen human trafficking in person, and it was more unnerving than the pictures on newsprint. There was nothing that could be done about it. These children were destined to be the property of the Church of Christ. In Henrico, nobody crossed COC and got away with it. Its founder had amassed so much wealth and devotees that every candidate in Henrican elections relied on them for block votes. [i]Aurum potestas est[/i]. Gold is power. Pops was right yet again. Movement behind him abated Charles' souring mood. He, Pops, and Uncle Paul stood in front of Red's cage, which had been lifted onto a platform trolley and brought outside with them. Pops made sure Uncle Paul had it washed clean so "it won't stink up our rides". The frat man owned a Cat Pump Model 651 on-site for pressure washing. It took only five minutes of blasting both the cage and the shrieking animal with 2000 psi of water to completely scrub off its fetid excreta from the surfaces. Free of grime and dirt, the burgundy hue of its scales shone brighter under the sun as it dried off. The cage was already dry by the time both Jeeps maneuvered into the backyard, its occupant awake, alert, and… lethargic, leaning on the bars with a dull gaze on the scene of activity before it. Observing it gave Charles the feeling it was a look of resignation. The dragon didn't give him time to contemplate further, sensing his stare, and looked back at him. Charles promptly averted his sight and returned to the moment at hand. Three men toting AK-47s disembarked from the Laredo. Gerry got off the Wagoneer, returning the keys to Pops' hands. At the man's command, the guards went to work. Together they rolled the heavy metal cage and loaded it into the back of the Laredo, after putting the seats down to make space for the dragoness. "Not putting that smelly beast in my car," Pops had remarked to him. Charles thought Albert and Gerry would have to ride with them all the way back to Graham Logistics as they were the only ones he and Pops would trust with their lives, while the last man left would have to walk outside through the front gate and squeeze inside the other Laredo. Expectation became reality as Pops instructed just that. Charles got on the Wagoneer along with Albert while Pops bid his fraternity brother farewell. Good riddance, he thought. Uncle Paul had a way of pulling Pops in with his convivial and respectful demeanor, but to Charles it felt like a front. If this dragon thing turned out to be good for Graham Logistics, hopefully they'd only see him during transactions. Pops got inside after one last round of their secret handshake. They waved each other goodbye as he drove the Wagoneer out onto the narrow callejón and turned left. The Laredo with the dragoness followed them, albeit with a bit of difficulty. The road curved leftward again. Honking at naked street children playing a game of tag, the Wagoneer pushed between two unending columns of shanties that looked more like landfills than homes. Pops cursed in Spanish and English as dogs ran amuck, as a stray basketball bounced off the windshield, as the abject poverty of Metro Magallanes' poorest citizens was thrust at their faces. He couldn't breathe easy until the Wagoneer inched its nose into a bigger street. The same street they parked the cars at. The second Laredo and their police escorts were waiting for them at the corner. "We're headed back to San Mateo," Pops informed the officer. "Sir, we can only escort you up to FDRA." “I know. I've already made arrangements with other municipalities. We're meeting them at Serrano." “Understood, sir. Thank you." The officer gave Pops a salute and returned to his motorcycle. Thus began their ride back to the office. Charles stretched his legs and looked out at the sky. It was now a darkening shade of blue. They must've spent about forty-five minutes, maybe an hour, at Uncle Paul's place. The sun was headed down, and yet here they were, stuck in a road with jam-packed auto rickshaws, shifty-eyed street kids, and half-naked men on motorcycles for company. Traffic moved slowly, even with their two police escorts clearing the way. Fortunately, they were on the way out of this garbage dump. Another thirty minutes and Pops finally turned onto a bigger street. Serrano Lane wasn't much of an improvement, but with a divider in the middle and both sides being two lanes wide, Pops had a lot more breathing room. Charles watched him visibly relax, now that the police officers could do their jobs and stop the traffic for their convoy of three. Unlike the United States and other nations of the First World, roads like this were the norm in Metro Magallanes, branching out from highways and arterial boulevards. Auto rickshaws still plied these streets, but in lesser numbers than those in smaller neighborhood roads In their place, hordes of motorcycles and colectivos cut into and honked at each other as they deftly maneuvered the roads in a mad race to wherever they're headed. On the side mirror, Charles could spot the occasional car or truck in this bedlam, even a passenger bus. Sandwiched by errant motorists on all sides, many had no choice but to drive slowly and with extra caution, causing a negative feedback loop that created more traffic and more incentive for the rest to drive as they've always had. Driving in Henrico was no different from driving in the Philippines or Brazil: a complete fucking nightmare. Traffic rules were virtually nonexistent. Road etiquette and other civilized behavior did not exist here even as a concept. Still, there were a limited number of rules to follow: no counterflowing, no turning against the direction of signage, and obey the lights. Most drivers followed these, provided there was an officer around. Otherwise it was a chaotic free-for-all. For the Grahams—rather, for those with plenty of money and political connections to spare, traffic rules were for plebeians. People at their level could simply buy the services of the local police. As they had done earlier in the slums, the two officers escorting their convoy completely obstructed traffic to their immediate left and right. They would have their sirens screech at other motorists and bring them to a halt. Drivers of annoying [i]colectivos[/i] were yelled at, even threatened with jail time. All to get their three Jeeps through the road as fast as possible. The buildings here were dilapidated concrete structures, three to four stories tall. Few rose beyond that. Spray-painted graffiti and trash were everywhere. People walked along the road gutters, unable to use the sidewalks thanks to large electric poles, illegal street vendors, and dirty, malnourished children begging for change. Pops wheeled the Wagoneer left to avoid cars bearing right to enter the drive-thru entrances of a McDonald's. Charles recognized the tall overpass that laid beyond the fast-food outlet and so did his father. The Wagoneer pulled away from the overpass and to the side, heading towards an intersection ahead. There, just before the lights, four police motorcycles awaited them. The Laredo ahead—obviously not the one containing their newly-purchased dragon—rolled to a stop next to the officers lounging nearby. One minute passed, then every cop got on their bikes and switched on their lights and sirens as a unified collective. The two people who'd been escorting them rapped on Pops' side of the windshield and, with one final salute, left them to the care of their peers. Pops pushed down on the pedal and continued onward, the newest additions to their convoy immediately abusing their authority to override the green light and stop all oncoming traffic so as to give them space to turn onto FDRA. Franklin D. Roosevelt Avenue, named after the U.S. President who signed the 1934 Tydings-Mcduffie Act into law and put both Henrico and the Philippines on the path to independence. It was the arterial boulevard of Metro Magallanes, with eight lanes of wide, open road cutting across the metropolis. Small motorcycles, auto rickshaws, and [i]colectivos[/i] were all barred from entering FDRA. An elevated railway bifurcated it. It ran all the way from the city of Piñeda in the south, where the international airport was located, to the city of San Mateo, a large urban district with two military bases that rested on the borders of two provinces. FDRA went further beyond that, but the railway no longer served that portion of the boulevard, due to problems faced during construction. Charles was in the process of recalling why that project had been stalled when Pops decided to break the cold, air-conditioned silence. "So, GLC's now the proud owner of a brand new dragon," he said. "$100,000 down the drain." Then he chuckled. "Well, Charles. How would you approach taming that beast?" "I, I-I'm not sure, to be honest." Charles felt squeamish. Regretful. Had all that been just an impulse buy…? "You didn't think it through, did you?" "......No." He said sternly, "Every decision needs to have some thought put into it. Even the ones you make on your feet." "But Pops! I did think about it! I— "Focused on economics so much that you overlooked operations." Charles hissed. He was right. What use was an idea when you didn't know how to execute the little details? There was no correcting this gaffe. "You have to look at every decision from every angle. It's all about cost and benefit." "But what about principles? Your values? Your vision and mission— "Cost and benefit, son. Think only of cost and benefit. Everything else? [i]Comemierda[/i]. Only an American [i]pendejo[/i] would think of that." Charles crossed his arms. He turned to the window. They were passing by a massive, blocky monolith of concrete. The letters "BDSM" hung prominently on its face in bold and blue. BDSM Supermall. It would've been nice if he was in there watching [i]Star Wars[/i] right now… "Luckily for you, I've got an idea how to train your dragon." "And? What is it?" "It appears docile now, but at the earliest opportunity it will try to escape. Charles, has our new warehouse been stocked yet?" "Not yet. Rick's team had just finished installing the shelves we imported from Mexico the other day." "Good. We'll release the beast there. It's hogtied now, but we need to cut down on its restraints. Allow it to move, but not escape or pose a danger to our staff. "We'll keep its wings tied so it can't fly. We'll have to swap out the ropes for a ball-and-chain, but that means there's a brief window for the dragon to break free and dash for the exit. For safety, we'll wear thick neoprene. One of our customers imported diving suits from H2Odyssey. We can take a few of them for our use." "Pops, those aren't ours— "A one-week delay to a small chain of Scuba stores won't cost us much, especially if we report it's been 'detained by Customs'. GLC's one of the largest freight forwarders in Henrico and we're well on our way to dominating this country. There's nothing wrong with flexing our market position." Pops asserted his position in such a way that it silenced all of Charles' opposition to the idea. To him, it was wrong to stiff the customer for their own use. But to Pops? It was simply another application of cost-benefit analysis. "Trim the claws and file what's left until it's blunt," he added. "With the beast muzzled, that eliminates most of the threat. Still, we'll keep our guns out and ready to shoot. Red's a wild animal and we cannot let our guards down. I don't want to kill it, but if it means saving a life, then so be it. $100,000 is a drop in the bucket; we'll make it back in a quarter." "What comes after shackling it?" "Training. We'll get it to perform some simple commands. Paul gave us a few whips." "Whips?" Charles asked, alarmed. "Isn't that going a little too far?" Pops chided him, "This isn't a dog. It's the top predator in the wild and it's also smart enough to learn our language. We have to drill it in its head that humans are superior. That we own its life." "That makes sense," he conceded. The conversation tapered off after that. Pops turned on the radio and started listening to the AM. Charles could barely keep up with the rapid-fire Spanish bursting from the speakers. He focused on the long stretch of FDRA and watched the surroundings speed by. He did not know when he fell asleep. When he came to, the sun had gone down. The Jeep Laredo ahead was pulling to a stop next to a tall, red gate, beside a guard house. Charles recognized the dirty white slabs of concrete lining up the side, all topped with rolls of barbed wire. Finally back in the office. The main campus of Graham Logistics Corporation was, to put it bluntly, a series of warehouses and empty lots, all ensconced in a walled-off ten-hectare property in the City of San Mateo, Metro Magallanes. The compound, large enough to fit ten Wal-Mart Supercenters, was underutilized. Only ten warehouses had been constructed so far, each about fifteen meters high. Separating them from all the empty lots set aside for future expansion was a thirty-meter high warehouse in the center. That structure was the largest building in the GLC compound and it housed cargo of very high priority or perishability, as well as the company's administrative offices. But they weren't headed there. Pops slammed his hand on the Wagoneer's horn a couple times before taking the lead. Both Laredos trailed behind his Jeep while he turned into the gate, drove into the private roadways, passed the three loading bays near the entrance, and steered the vehicle towards the newest-looking warehouse in the back of the campus. They drove by multiple security guards along the way, all in teams of two or three. Every single one toted an AK-47 and every single one they passed stopped whatever they were doing on sight and gave them a stiff salute. Some with a smile. Others with their game face. Charles couldn't help but wave at a pair of uniformed guards near their destination when he and Pops were getting off. Gerry received his command to pick up the neoprene wetsuits and to contact their most trusted employees and pass over instructions to meet them at the new warehouse. Charles and Pops walked inside together. Albert and a few of their guards went in with them and got busy turning on the lights. The incandescent bulbs came to life and bathed the shadowy interior in warm light. Aisles upon aisles of empty shelves awaited them, bolted to the floor. They rose thirty feet, as per industry standard, leaving 15 feet of space between the topmost shelf and the ceiling. The guards retrieved a heavy-duty hand pallet truck and an oversized pallet from this warehouse's storage room and, under Albert's direct supervision, loaded the dragon on it. Charles and Pops followed the guards-cum-workers while they wheeled the beast to the back, where there was a wide, open space reserved for items too heavy or too bulky for the shelves. The dragon was alert. It panted rapidly when its cage came to a stop and everybody surrounded it, eyeing the creature and its burgundy scales. Lime eyes swiveled left to right, landing on every person in the room. A couple minutes hadn't even passed when a voice splintered the silence. “Boss Stephen! Charles!" A tiny woman skittered towards them from the entrance, waving cheerfully at them with a smile on her face. “[i]Magandang gabi[/i]! [i]Kamusta[/i] your trip?" “Hi, Ms. Ann," Charles greeted her in reply. He smiled at her, hoping he managed to stop the scowl that had been forming on his face. A family friend, Margaret Ann was a middle-aged immigrant from the Philippine islands, one of the hundreds of thousands who have left the country for a better life. To this day many were still fleeing the country like their lives and pursuit of happiness depended on it. Their current president, Ferdinand Marcos, had turned the democracy the Americans left behind in the mid-40s into a dictatorship, ruling with an iron fist for more than a decade. He couldn't really blame any of them for running away. Still, Charles felt a headache just listening to Ann talk. Her speech was intermixed with English and her native Filipino, which he found perplexingly incomprehensible. She had gotten much better over the years since Pops took her in, but to his chagrin, she had very little hope of ever becoming fluent in either English or Spanish. If Pops ever had a problem with the language barrier, he never showed it, let alone discussed it with him. Margaret Ann's communication problems were more than offset by her loyalty, her integrity, and her love for Graham Logistics. She once explained this to Charles as paying back a life debt to his father, a concept he considered utterly alien. Ann and Pops exchanged a greeting before she inspected their purchase, which was leaning on the bars, unable to sit comfortably on its rump. "This is dragon, eh?" she said absentmindedly. "Yuck. It smells bad." Ann looked even smaller when she stood beside the dragoness. "Hmm... but pretty. Like wine." "We bought Red from Paul for a hundred grand U.S.," Pops said. "[i]Mahal[/i]!" Ann exclaimed. "But why? This lizard, only pet." Pops replied, "He says it's very smart. It can learn human language." "Oh? You mean it can talk?" Charles almost laughed at the question. Stupid! As if these animals could actually talk. Pops stated in a condescending tone, "Of course not! It's just a beast. What I mean is, we can use it to streamline our operations. We get it to obey us, we can lessen our manpower." She laughed. "I understand." Ann rewarded him with a thumbs up. "Great idea, Boss Stephen!" Charles grumbled. It was actually his idea, but Pops never corrected her. "Where're Rick and Bobby?" Ann turned around and beckoned at two brown men idling behind her, beside Albert. They wore simple tank tops and smelled like they bathed in sweat. Charles almost retched when they presented themselves before him and Pops. "Good evening, sir," they both said. Pops dispensed his instructions, matching the conversation he had with Charles at FDRA almost word-for-word: Ann to fetch the ball-and-chain from one of their shipments to New Hope Prison; Rick and Bobby to pull the dragon out, clip its claws, and file it until it could no longer swipe at a man and disembowel him. Then Gerry arrived, pushing a trolley that had a crate marked with a stylized "H2O" as well as a basket of whips and a small box containing various tools. Charles ogled Rick and Bobby as they unlocked the cage. Red backed off as much as it could when they invaded its space, but with all its restraints, the dragoness could do nothing but wriggle and squirm. It squealed loudly as both men seized it by the forearms and withers to drag it outside. It pulled back in resistance, using all the strength in its powerful hind legs to stay inside its cage and stop the attempts to haul it out in the open. "Son of a bitch!" Bobby screeched. He thumped Red on the muzzle, striking the metal. The force rattled the animal and disoriented it, giving the men the opportunity to take hold of it and heave. Charles apathetically watched the dragon go airborne for a moment. It landed on the thick, concrete flooring with a thud. Bobby grabbed its neck and literally dragged it across the floor, and once its tail no longer touched the cage Rick walked out and shut it. Rick went to Gerry's trolley to retrieve the dog clippers while Bobby got on top of the dragon and sat on its withers, stretching his body so as to put most of his weight on the neck and upper torso. Charles walked closer when Rick crouched down, clippers in hand, and started trimming the claws with wild abandon. His inexperience with animals showed. Too often he'd clip the nails too short and cut straight through the quick. Red would jolt violently, its throat rumbling with muffled roars. Charles studied the beast out of morbid curiosity. Its legs reminded him of a dog's, but its forepaws lacked dewclaws and the way it curled showed its prehensility. The dragoness was hyperventilating. Its fear-stricken eyes roamed everywhere. They eventually settled on Charles, seemingly expectant. It flinched in a futile attempt to pull its forepaws away from Rick. "Gerry," Pops ordered. "Grab the nail file and work on the claws until they're as blunt as you can make them." Then he called out, "Charles! Come over here and put on a wetsuit so we can proceed when Ann comes back." "Yes, Pops." Charles looked at the two workers before turning away. "Rick, Bobby, the same goes for you. We're gonna do something a bit risky later and we don't want anyone getting hurt." "Okay, Sir Charles," they grunted out in response. Putting on a neoprene wetsuit on top of everything else on him was hard. He had to remove his gun and the two bullet cartridges and set them aside. Eventually he struggled with the zipper in the back and had to ask Pops for help with it. It took him at least fifteen minutes. When he was finished, he gazed at Red again and realized the dragoness was alone by itself. Rick, Bobby, and Gerry were by the crate, putting on wetsuits too. The other guards had also joined them. Charles decided to inspect their handiwork, only realizing how massive the dragoness was when he was near it. Though emaciated from underfeeding and malnourishment, it was still large enough to match a sofa chair. To think it would get bigger! He set aside his awe to inspect its feet. Blood slowly trickled out all its claws. There were four on each foot. Reptilian eyes analyzed Charles as he picked up the right forepaw. He observed it was as large as his hand. It was also cold. The paw pads were soft but rough to the touch; they were even colder. Uncle Paul wasn't lying when he said it was cold-blooded. He heard it whimpering when he examined its forepaw. The noises drew no sympathy from him as he felt along the nails. It winced when his finger brushed across the small wounds. Gerry had done a good job. Now, unless they removed its muzzle, Red was harmless. Mostly. "How is it, Charles?" Pops asked, staying far away from the dragon. That he found the sticky, earthen smell repulsive made him snicker. Charles wasn't bothered by it, unlike his father. In a way it was satisfying to see this out-of-character behavior from the man. "They've done a good job," he replied, inspecting its paws closely. Charles stepped over the tail, which had curved protectively around the beast. He eyed its wings. The restraints on them looked very uncomfortable, the way they've been tied together. He reached out to touch them. He was curious to know how it would feel— "Hello [i]uli[/i]!" Ann shouted from the warehouse entrance as she returned, walking beside one of their bodyguards who was pushing a small cart. “You took your time," Pops said. "Sorry [i]po[/i], Boss Stephen. I went to other warehouse [i]din[/i]. To get leash for dragon." Ann proudly showed off the goods on her cart: several iron balls with a big "20KG" engraved on their surfaces, each with a three-foot chain that terminated in a shackle that appeared to be just the right size for Red's legs. She also brought industrial nylon rope ready with a loose knot. "Good thinking! We can make use of it. Ann, put a wetsuit on so we can proceed." "Right away, Boss!" Exchanging ropes for the ball-and-chain was the next step. Here, they faced a problem: Uncle Paul had its four paws bundled together with a generous wrapping of rope. This prevented it from moving any faster than it could wriggle, but neither Charles nor Pops wanted that. To suit their needs, Red needed the limbs sans wings free and weighed down with iron balls. There was no way for the iron shackles to fit on its legs. They had to release the dragon, pin it down before it could realize it was free, and clip the shackle onto it. Any further belligerence from that point could be handled with a whip. "We ought to use tranquilizers next time," Charles muttered to himself, as the group decided to split up. Ann positioned herself beside the cage, watching Rick and Bobby. Other than the cargo door they went in through, the warehouse had three access doors on the left, right, and rear side of the building. There was also an access to a catwalk that led to the supervisor's office twenty feet high, and from there the dragon could jump through the window along the catwalk. Pops had their eight other bodyguards stand outside all exits, including the other cargo doors that were still shut. He instructed them to be ready with their AK-47s and to fire at anything that bursts out from inside. Charles took his position by the open cargo door while Albert and Gerry went to guard the other access doors. As for Pops, he climbed up the catwalk and stood right in front of the window, looking more like a warehouse supervisor than the owner of Graham Logistics. "Ready?" he yelled. Albert, Gerry, Rick, Bobby, and Charles all shouted out their responses. "We're ready, sir!" "Okay, Pops, let's go!" Ann went with her unique brand of confirmation. "Ready [i]na me[/i], Bossing!" she replied in singsong. Charles chuckled. Filipinos sure had a funny way of talking. "Bobby, pin Red down with your body and release it from the ropes. Rick, put on the shackle as soon as you can do it. Ann, hand Rick the leash once he's done." Nobody answered as they obeyed Pops' commands. Charles nervously watched Bobby straddle the dragon like earlier and pin it down with his weight. It took five minutes for him to undo the knot. Rick walked closer while Bobby unraveled the rope, surely loosening its legs, the massive 20kg orb slowly rolling together with him. He was ready with the ball-and-chain. Ready to pull at the weight with all his strength, crouch down, and clip the iron shackle on one of Red's hindlegs. Charles wiped his sweat on the sleeve of his wetsuit. It was so fucking hot in here. He tugged down on the neck collar, trying to cool down a little. Weren't they done yet? "Are you two touching your balls?" Charles yelled at the two laborers. "You're taking too long— Ann suddenly screamed. "Aghhh, [i]Diyos ko poooooo[/i]!" "FUCK!" That was Rick. In-between the empty shelves Charles could see what was happening. Bobby was on the floor, face up and squirming on the floor. He was groaning, practically motionless. Rick had just thrown himself on Red as the animal was getting to its feet. At the speed he was going, a man his size would've knocked down the dragon. But the iron ball held back his momentum. Red remained standing. Pops rapped his gun on the railing. "Shackle it! Shackle it now!" Charles couldn't see it, but had he been in front of the reptile he would've seen its gaze sharpen as it realized it was free and became alert. Rick heaved the ball-and-chain closer to him. He popped open the shackle as Red bucked a few times in an endeavor to shake him off. He nearly succeeded once, missing only because the stupid beast raised the leg he was gunning for. The noise drew the dragon's attention. It snarled. Another shake, but it didn't work. Charles Graham watched Red's tail curl upward like a crescent moon. "Oh shit, it's actually prehensile." Charles cupped his mouth and cried, "Rick! RICK!" "What? Sir Charles, I can't— "[i]Susmaryosep[/i]!" Ann shrieked hysterically, no longer speaking English. "[i]Umingat ka[/i]! [i]Ay[/i]! Ricardo! Rick! [i]Sa kaliwa mo[/i]— "Watch out for the tail!" Charles yelled. "It's coming from— It was too late. The thick, pudgy appendage slammed into the man from his left. He flew off the dragoness, pirouetting once before landing on the concrete. The 20-kg ball also went airborne as a testament to Red's strength. Shouts came from the other doors. Albert and Gerry. They were rushing to the scene, rifles on the ready. Red's earflaps twitched at the sound of their footsteps. It bolted immediately. Pops bellowed, “What a [i]desmadre[/i]! Stop it! We didn't shell out 100,000 for nothing!" The dragoness looked back and saw Pops raising his M1911. Suddenly it leaped to the empty shelves and ducked underneath. Albert and Gerry shouted expletives as they chased after it. Instead of traversing along the aisles, Red crossed them by jumping from one row of shelves to the next, never staying in one place, always aware of its surroundings. Charles glanced ahead to guess its heading. A door. It was the side access; it was completely unguarded. Charles was shocked. Not only did it know what a gun was, it even knew about doors. What had it figured out during the time Uncle Paul kept it captive? Recovering quickly from his fall, Rick picked himself up. He snatched the iron chain dangling in Ann's hands. Seeing this, Charles pointed at Red's destination. “Rick! It's headed over there!" Rick nodded at him and sprinted to the yellow steel door. Fortunately, the three-meter space between shelves and the far distance from the cage to that side of the warehouse meant a lot of jumps. With the dragoness unable to flap its wings, starved, and weakened from weeks—no, months of stagnation in its cage, after about six leaps it could no longer jump with enough strength to cross the gap. It slammed into the shelves. It scrabbled for purchase, clawing at the gleaming stainless steel. Yet Rick and Bobby's work of stripping and blunting its nails worked against it. The dragon's screeches were muffled; Charles could practically hear the agony. Red fell to the floor. A few scales fell off in the process. Blood dripped from its trimmed claws. Charles Graham watched Albert and Gerry trap it on either side of the alley, aiming down the sights of their rifles while Rick made it to the side access and barred the reptile's exit that way. Red got to its feet. The beast twitched in a direction Charles couldn't see, but he heard Gerry open fire. Twin metallic pings split the air in rapid succession. Charles immediately figured it out: the dragon had just attempted an escape by ducking into the bottom row, but the guards had anticipated this and shot at the metal to dissuade it. The trapped animal swiveled its head back and forth between the two. It snarled the closer they approached, growling louder as it crouched into a defensive position. "Can't see its tail from here," Charles hissed. Albert and Gerry were equidistant from the dragon. They remained as such, keeping a bead on their target while they stayed far from its range. Charles was in the middle of thinking whether he should assist when Pops' voice echoed throughout the warehouse. "What the fuck are you doing? Shoot its damn leg and cripple it!" He had the right idea. But he spoke to the wrong men. As soon as someone—Charles didn't know who—suddenly dipped the barrel of his rifle downward, Red sprung from its position. Someone's AK-47 fired bullets into the warehouse shelves. A wrong decision, for the dragoness had lunged at Albert, going in a zigzag motion to avoid the line of fire. Gerry shouted, "Don't shoot! You'll hit me!" Charles watched Albert's figure hesitate, and it cost him. Yes, Red couldn't bite, and it couldn't swipe, but it could definitely grab. Horrified, he watched the fearsome reptile stand on its hindlegs for a brief moment and swing its forepaws at Albert's rifle. As soon as the firearm was flung away, it slammed its head into his stomach, grabbed the man by his wetsuit, and hurled him straight back at Gerry. "Oh fuck!" Gerry scrambled to avoid the flying body. With its pursuers distracted, Red paused. Charles saw its head turn in Rick's direction before its lime gaze landed on him. It ducked into the bottom rows of the shelves and directly charged at him. "Shit!" Charles cursed and raised his puny M1911 at the charging dragon. Before he could even think to shoot, it saw this and responded once again with its erratic, zigzagging approach. Bouncing from left to right to left in a wholly unpredictable manner, Charles was completely and thoroughly intimidated by the huge mass of flesh barreling straight in his direction with the intent of going through the open cargo doors behind him. "Stay still, you stupid shit!" "CHARLES!" He heard Pops cry. "Stop acting like a stupid cock and shoot it!" He heard his shoes echoing on the catwalk; Charles couldn't look at anything but the dragoness coming his way. "Sir Charles!" Ann's voice shrieked. "[i]Ibaril mo na[/i]! Sir Charles! SIR CHARLES!" His hand quaked. His legs threatened to give. There was no way he could handle this. He couldn't shoot. He feared killing the wild animal by mistake. He feared missing his target. He feared being thrown into the shelves at a speed fast enough to cause fractures. Damn it. He had to shoot. He had to take aim, right on the head, and… he, he had to— Then he ran out of time. Red finally reached the shelves nearest Charles Graham. Its reptilian eyes on him—on the door behind him—the giant cold-blooded lizard roared into its muzzle and sprinted… . . . . . . Only for multiple gunshots to ring out. Bullets pinged the concrete between Charles and the escaping beast. "Agh!" He cried out and raised his arms protectively, stumbling backward. He shut his eyes. Red's hulking mass slammed into him, but not deliberately. Human and dragon collapsed into a sprawling mess. Charles lost his M1911 and found himself trapped beneath the animal. His head pounded. It hurt a lot. Charles opened his eyes and all he could see were burgundy scales. Red's forepaw was firmly planted on his face, emitting a strong cheesy odor and still dripping out a little blood. Then the creature let out a pained moan. Drawn out of the stupor, Charles pushed the paw away and squirmed—wriggled his way to freedom. The dragoness wasn't that big and it wasn't so heavy that it could crush him underneath its mass, but it was stirring. He had to free himself fast, retrieve his gun, and either pistol-whip it in the head or shoot it in the legs. Red awakened first. Charles was nearly free when it woke up. It locked its eyes with his, causing him to freeze. He couldn't suppress the frightened whimper coming out of his mouth when the reptile brought its center of gravity forward to pin him down and, using its forepaw, reached for his wetsuit. He started hyperventilating when he watched it clutch his collar and squeeze into his neck. Charles grabbed at the paw and tried to pry it off of him. He was failing. "H-help! Help!" he screamed, unable to tear his brown eyes away from the dragon. "P-pops! Pops!— "Roberto, NOW!" With all its focus on him, Red couldn't see what was going on around it. Bobby had recovered too. He had taken another iron chain from Ann's trolley and rolled it up. Using the element of surprise, the laborer snuck up to the dragon and smashed the chain on its skull. Red let out a muffled yowl and instinctively rolled away. It was too slow. Bobby lunged at the beast right as its back was on the concrete. He landed on its exposed underbelly and focused his mass on the base of its sinewy neck. "[i]¡Que te folle un pez![/i]" Spewing out a curse, the brown man began pummeling Red's snout repeatedly and without hesitation, striking at its muzzle and hitting it on the forehead. More of its scales fell off; a wound appeared beside the orange dorsal fin on the crown of its head. Pops strutted into view with Ann huddling behind him. He looked to his left—to Charles' back—and made a snapping gesture at the reptile. "Gerry, the ball-and-chain." "Yes, Sir Stephen." Literally carrying the iron sphere in his arms, Gerry rushed to the dragoness, which had been struggling to push Bobby off but couldn't find the right position. Charles watched the man evade its prehensile tail while it swished across the concrete flooring, thumping everywhere it could. Click. It was done. The dragon was subdued at last. "Roberto." At the mere mention of his name, Bobby ceased his assault. The small wound on Red's head had become a nasty cut. The scales on its temple had also caved in. With Red too weak to fight back, too disoriented to resist recapture, Bobby unraveled the balled-up chain and wrapped it around its left forepaw and its right hindleg. Demonstrating resilience and toughness, the man made a knot of the iron chain. It ensured that the dragon couldn't completely extend two of its legs. Together with the 20-kilogram ball attached to its left hindleg, it would never fly or run again, especially if they added a second ball-and-chain just to be safe. Charles breathed out a sigh of relief. Thank God Almighty this ordeal was finally over... Or was it? Pops loomed above him. In spite of his neoprene suit, the man still cut an imposing figure more intimidating than the wild beast that nearly had its way with him. "Charles Preston Graham! What the fuck was that? You were a [i]maricón[/i] back there!" Ahhh, shit.