Author's Note: Feedback/comments are welcome. Happy reading, y'all! [b][u]TRIGGER WARNINGS[/u]: PHYSICAL ABUSE[/b] and [b]OFFENSIVE LANGUAGE[/b] ----- [b][center]Chapter 3: Training[/center][/b] ----- "Charles Preston Graham! What the fuck was that? You were a [i]maricón[/i] back there!" Charles flinched. Pops was livid, all but foaming rabidly at the mouth. "Why the hell didn't you shoot?" Charles' legs squiggled like jelly. "I, I-I-I, I was scared!" He stammered. He couldn't stabilize his voice. When was the last time he saw Pops this mad? He couldn't remember. At all. "I don't, don't know what happened. I just, froze, and, and, a-a-and I… I— SLAP! The crisp, hard smack popped throughout the empty warehouse. Charles palmed his cheek, utterly stunned. Pops hadn't touched him that way since he failed Math in first year high school. "P-Pops…" "I didn't raise a fucking faggot!" He hissed. "[i]¡Chingada madre![/i]" Yelling, he snapped his hand at Red. "Don't you realize this animal—this BEAST could've killed you? Are you out of your mind? What happened back there? Huh?" Charles couldn't decide whether he should confess: he had been afraid. They had just blown a hundred thousand U.S. Dollars on the dragon and the reptile had been rushing at him so fast he only had moments to react. Looking back at it now, there was no way he could've pulled the trigger. Pops shook his head and clicked his tongue several times. "Listen to me, son. You're not a boy anymore." His face straight, eyes unyielding, he cuffed him on the shoulder. "Men are decisive. Men don't hesitate. Men don't get scared. They take action!" The imperious tone did nothing to stop the doubts in Charles' mind. "But, Pops, what if I— "Then stop thinking those useless thoughts!" Pops rebutted thunderously, to his shock. "Don't you get it already? Man up. Don't be a fucking girl! Act first, think later. Next time when I tell you to shoot— Charles lowered his head. Pops would never hear him out now. "I shoot. No questions asked." "You better." Pops' scowl remained on his face. "Now look what you've made me do," the businessman grumbled before swivelling around to meet the people standing by, observing father and son. The frown on his face magically vanished. His angry, rumbling voice became silvery, placating. Apologetic. "Sorry about that. I needed to scold my son. I should've raised Charles better." Gerry replied, "I don't blame you, sir," He unflinchingly jabbed at Charles. "Kids are becoming less and less... Henrican nowadays." "Okay [i]lang 'yan[/i], Boss Stephen!" Ann offered her consolation with a cheer. She had a habit of projecting mirth into her voice, with a goofy smile to match. "Nobody is perfect. Just make [i]tuloy-tuloy[/i] with Boss Charles and he will learn. You'll see!" Charles imagined her chuckling at the end like Mickey Mouse. It would've made a perfect fit. Pops nodded, not deigning to explicitly acknowledge their words of support. His eyes roamed around the warehouse. "Okay, now that Red's taken care of… Ann, inform the guards outside everything's fine now." "Yes, Bossing!" Charles watched Ann skitter towards the gaping warehouse door. She waved her hand, calling for one of their many bodyguards standing at the ready. There was no hesitation, no fear, even when there were at least ten AK-47s vaguely pointing in her direction. "Bobby," Pops continued imperatively, "Take Albert to Santa Cruz Hospital nearby; have him checked at the E.R. If he's okay, you two may go home." "Of course, sir." He fidgeted, eyes shifting askance. "Hmm, what is it?" "What about this… this beast?" Bobby swung his arm towards Red, which was still laying on the floor, dazed from multiple blows to the head. "Don't you need help with it?" Pops waved him off. "No need. We can handle it from here." "But— "The animal's under control now, Roberto. Everything is fine. Just take Albert and go." Bobby grunted. "As you wish, sir." The man left. He made a beeline for Albert, who was still laying on the floor himself. Charles could see him stirring. He hoped nothing had been broken after the dragoness had sent him flying. The sight of a grown man being lifted so easily was engraved in his mind, still shaking him to the core. It was as though the fearsome dragons from legends and fairy tales had come to life. Underestimating even a single one was dangerous… potentially fatal. Bobby passed by Rick. The two shared a look. A nod. A silent message passed between them before they went their separate ways. "Rick!" Pops said. "You alright?" "I'm fine, Sir Stephen," the laborer reported. "Reptile hit me good, but it doesn't look as bad as Albert." "Good." Pops nodded. If he was relieved, it didn't show in either his expression or his voice. "How's Sir Charles? I saw it crash into him." Charles Graham spoke, "Rick, I'm okay— "He'll live," Pops cut him off. "With a lesson well learned," he added, sharply. "I heard," said Rick, a sympathetic look crossing his mien. He didn't need to say anything else. Neither did Pops. "Rick, get Red's cage and bring it here." He pointed to an empty spot about three meters away. "Set it over there." "Yes, sir." The businessman turned to Gerry, who'd been busy catching his breath. "Gerry, my friend, go with Rick and bring the trolley Ann brought in." "As you wish, Sir Stephen." Pops faced—glared at Charles. "Okay, boy, let's get these damn suits off." Charles happily ripped off the neoprene suit the second Pops gave the signal. He relaxed in the cooler air, resisting the urge to complain about how sticky and gross he felt, chest and humeri drenched in sweat and his Oxford shirt clinging to his skin. An equatorial archipelago to the west of South America, Henrico was just as hot and humid as the Philippines on the other side of the Pacific. It was yet another reason to hate this godforsaken shithole. Charles was really looking forward to a cold shower when he got home. When he'd finally relaxed a minute later, Charles decided to approach the fallen dragon, taking small and measured stops while Pops approached the trolley when he saw Gerry bringing it in. Red had its eyes shut. Its teeth—at least the very little that was visible through its steel muzzle—were locked together in a way that reminded Charles of a grown man enduring some sort of torture. He could hear it breathing softly. Deeply. The marks Bobby left behind on its forehead were ugly gashes, the skin bashed open with repeated whips of iron. Scales disfigured, broken, and about to fall off. Charles was wondering if these dragons were as resilient as the Western fairy tales made them out to be when he felt Ann loom over his shoulder. "[i]Grabe[/i]," she muttered, a little awed. "Looks very innocent like this, [i]'no[/i]?" Charles eyed the animal. He could almost discern the shape and structure of its snout and underjaw. The thing looked kind of cute, actually. "Yeah, but it's still a wild animal." He shuddered, recalling what it'd done to Rick, to Albert… what it could've done to him. The paws clasping his neck… He almost choked at the memory. "And that's why we must be very, very careful, Boss Charles," Ann retorted in a scholastic tone, her voice difficult to hear through her thick Filipino accent. "If not… [i]patay po tayo diyan[/i]!" Charles did not understand what she just said, but the context clues were clear: carelessness would prove fatal. He continued to ogle the reptile. Then, he felt the desire to touch it again. To run his hand across its scales. He brought his hand over the animal's flews. "Boss Charles…" Ann spoke warningly. "It's okay. It should be safe while it's unconscious." Charles Graham had just placed his hand on its cheek when Ann's eyes dilated. She tugged at his sleeve. "[i]Ohmaygad, gising siya[/i]! Boss Charles!"—she tugged harder—"Boss Charles! Boss— "What?" Charles snapped. "Eeehhhh! It's awake!" Charles was incredulous. "What!" Shit, he thought he had at least another couple minutes. He eyed the stunned reptile. Just as she said, its eyes were stirring. Its legs, twitching, paws curling in. Immediately Charles wheeled backward. "Pops! It's— He flinched, seeing Gerry appear suddenly behind him. “Calm down, Sir Charles," the man said. He placed a second ball-and-chain next to Red's right foreleg. "Sir Stephen expected this." Ann let out a laugh. "Oh, see? Boss Charles, you need to be more like Bossing!" She heaped on more praise for Pops. "Don't think. Never hesitate. Just do it!" One loud snap later and the dragoness was now weighed down by a full 50-kg of weight. With its freedom of movement already partially restricted, handling the reptile was now even safer than ever. And not a moment too soon. The animal snapped its eyes open the moment it was shackled the second time around. Gerry, Ann, and Charles all backed off when Red got up to its paws, each keeping an eye on its prehensile tail. Upon seeing all three humans close by, it turned, tried to bolt, and failed spectacularly. It let out a muffled yowl as it dragged its hindleg out of balance, discovered the weights clipped to its paws, and found itself stumbling to the ground. Red splayed out its paws and stopped itself from falling flat on its belly. Only then did the dragon notice all the accessories adorning its body. Eyes unmistakably the color of green apples stopped over the chain, the balls hooked on its legs. For some reason, Charles thought, it seemed as though it was more preoccupied with its restraints than the humans surrounding it. He watched its eyes dilate, seemingly in realization of its new predicament. Charles was in awe. He couldn't believe seeing such behavior from something that wasn't human. Was it… was it intelligent? Pops let out a hearty laugh and drew Red's attention. He approached the large, imposing reptile fearlessly. It crouched inward in reflex. The chains on its legs jingled noisily when inertia resisted its efforts to get into combat position. Red bellowed out a guttural snarl straight from its diaphragm. An attempt to scare off its attacker. Pops did not fall for its bluff. He reached for its earflap. Charles watched Red quake violently at Pops' actions, yet it didn't act on what was surely an urge to retaliate, to preempt. It had its eyes trained on the M1911 in his other hand. Without preamble, Pops yanked it down. "Tsst!" The animal let out a pained squeal. He forced it to bow to him, to look up, to lock eyes with its new master. "You can't run anymore, dragon. You're mine now." Charles idly wondered if Pops was thinking the reptile, as smart as it was, could recognize language the same way chimpanzees did. Really now, did he seriously expect that? This lizard was just another dumb animal in the end. The words easily passed through Red's ears. It pried away from Pops' viselike grip on its earflaps. "Don't run!" Pops bellowed. The dragon grunted out its reply—a bestial snarl—and tried to get away. It struggled against its restraints, not noticing the pistol being put to its head. BANG! Red fell sideways. It landed on its flank, writhing, whining. It pawed at its ears, its hindpaws flailing in the air. "I said don't run!" Pop kicked its muzzle. Another whine. Red peered at Pops. He pointed his index finger downwards. "Stay here," he not so much said as he growled, and ferociously so. "No, moving!" At first the dragoness ignored his command and continued to paw at its ears, at the muzzle keeping its snout shut. But when Pops reached for it again, it instantly got on its four paws and sat on its haunches no differently than a dog would. A position that had the animal's gaze level with his neck. That's when Charles noticed the tool strapped to Pops' waistband. An ankus. An instrument with a hook and a speartip. Something people used in circuses like Barnum & Bailey's Greatest Show on Earth, and to great effect. "Good," Pops said. "Now, stay." He reached for Red's withers. Immediately the reptile hunched over and snarled. Pops swapped to the ankus. "I SAID STAY!" he screamed, whipping out the tool and thrusting its speartip through the side of its head. Red whined even louder than before. Charles flinched. That was a shallow yet agonizingly painful cut. Pops pulled back. He reached for its crown. Red recoiled and snarled menacingly, its lips curling upward. "Don't bare your teeth at me," grunted the businessman. He slammed the ankus down on its shoulder. The sharp hook dug in, piercing the scales and breaking through skin. Red jolted, letting out an ear-splitting howl. Its anguish was unmistakable. For a brief moment, Charles felt pity for the poor animal. Then he hardened his heart. This was necessary. It had to be done. Pops knew how to break the creature in. He looked over at Ann and the two other men. All wore neutral expressions. None of them gave a shit. Cruelty was simply a part of everyday life in Henrico. Third-world countries like theirs couldn't afford the luxurious morals espoused by Europe, Australia, and America. Pops didn't flinch when the dragoness slumped over again. He pulled the hook in—brought it deeper beneath the beast's scales. Tormented howls became jagged, pleading mewls. Red squealed and whined, its body writhing. The reptile's green eyes desperately searched among its captors for solutions, for help, for anything that could stop it. Then its gaze met Charles' eyes. Something about it bothered him. The young man couldn't help turning away. "Rick. Gerry." "Yes, Boss?" Rick replied. "Hold Red down." "Yes, Boss." Both men stepped forward. They went over to Red's flanks and forced their weight down on its neck and withers. All 150 kilograms. Pops wrenched the ankus out from its body, inducing a deafening mewl. It left a horrible wound in its place. Blood bubbled forth and seeped down its sides. He cupped the dragon's jaw and forced the animal to look at him. "Now, stay," he said, a finger gesturing to the floor. This time, Red didn't move. As tense as it looked, it didn't flinch. It didn't recoil. It obeyed him completely. "Good girl." Pops grinned. He rewarded the wild animal with a pat on the head. Though Red remained still, at his petting the dragon growled angrily in reply. It instantly wiped off Pops' smirk. He scowled. "Shut up." Its throat continued to rumble in rebellion. "Shut up and stay fucking quiet!" He whipped the ankus on its snout. The hook dug briefly into its cheek before bouncing off its steel muzzle. Red whimpered only once; its gaze remained hostile. Vicious. It started to growl again, refusing to let Pops have his way. The man's scowl grew deeper and more pronounced by the second. Veins began to bulge from sheer fury. "I said shut up! QUIET!" Ann moved. She drew both Charles' and Red's attention when she raised her arms and bared her teeth, amusingly posturing like a mad dog. She closed three fingers next to her lips and zipped it to the side, shutting her mouth in the process. It was a universal gesture among people, indicating they should shut up and stop talking. To Charles' shock, Red's eyes widened. Then, they narrowed. The dragoness rumbled even louder than before. It snarled with such ferocity that even Pops would've been scared if it was unshackled and free. "Holy shit," Charles muttered. It understood Ann. It actually understood her. Could... could this beast even learn Spanish? How smart was this thing? "This fucking bitch!" Pops gnarled and smashed the ankus on its crown. Scales flew out as the hook pierced skin and left another laceration on the dragoness. He ignored its pained roars and began stabbing at its left forepaw. "I told you— Shick. "—to stay— Shick. "—quiet!" The speartip made one last disgusting thunk when Pops jabbed it into Red's leg for the last time. It had growled to repress its own whimpering when he'd been stabbing the ankus into its legs, only roaring—screaming—when Pops thrust the ankus in for the last time. He wasn't done yet. Charles' father gripped the ankus and twisted it. The dragon shrieked into its muzzle, rolling about, tail violently slapping the cement behind it. It shut its eyes and peed on the floor out of fright. Had Red been human it surely would've been crying, driven to tears. "You understand me now?" Pops glowered at it. "Now… QUIET!" Red submitted completely to the businessman. It ceased all noise, struggling to suppress its agonized cries. What was once a wild, recalcitrant gaze now beheld Pops in fear. "Good girl," the man said in approval. He took out the ankus and flicked the blood away. Charles trained his eyes on the other two men who'd been holding down the dragon. Their faces were straight. Completely neutral. Apathetic. "Let's try this again." Pops glanced over in Charles and Ann's direction. "Ann." "Yes po?" "Come here. We'll teach this lizard a few more tricks." "Very good idea, Bossing!" Then he ogled Charles in a way that demanded absolute obedience. "Charles, help her." "Sure, Pops," he said. What happened next was something Charles couldn't believe he was doing. They demonstrated commands in front of the dragoness. Rick held down its withers while Gerry placed his palms on its neck and jaw, fixing it in place so it could watch Ann and Charles act on Pops' commands. "Watch carefully, dragon," he spoke to it, not giving a damn as to whether it understood Spanish or it had learned from its past mistakes. "Ann!" Ann stood to attention. "Go!" At his command, she began walking. She had only made a few strides when Pops yelled out, "Stay!" Ann stopped at once, not moving until Pops gave the "go" command once more. Several times they repeated this in front of Red. Charles Graham couldn't tell if the animal could even comprehend what they were doing. It was smart, he was certain of it. But how smart was it, truly? "Let's change things up a little," Pops finally said. He pointed at Charles, making an exaggerated show of it. "Charles, go!" Charles strode forward with slow, deliberate steps. He hadn't even gone ten paces when Pops barked, "Ann. Follow!" "Son, don't even think of stopping," Pops called out to him. "We gotta make sure Red understands everything we teach it." It was demeaning, being ordered around to demonstrate in front of a goddamned beast, Charles thought. He didn't care how smart it was; people in their positions—key officers of the largest logistics firm in Henrico—shouldn't be parading at Pops' orders like the lowly [i]jornalero[/i] who comprised most of their labor force! Yet for all his indignation, Charles didn't want to disappoint his father again. He swallowed his own pride and obeyed the commands with nary a snappy remark or a question. Pops went through the "go", "follow", "stay", and even "come" commands for as long as he believed was needed to drill the words in Red's head. It felt like an hour or two had passed by the time they stopped. Pops had Charles and Ann step aside and instructed Rick and Gerry to release it. "Your turn," he said to the dragon, ankus in hand. Pops pointed to a warehouse shelf with the ankus. "Red, go!" The dragon narrowed its eyes at him and remained stationary. "I said, go!" Pops gnashed his teeth. "GO!" A few more seconds passed. "[i]¡Ay caray![/i] I told you to go; now go! Go!" Nothing. The wild animal snorted. Disdainfully, it sounded, as though it bore a kind of pride that had no place in modern society. "This dumb fuck!" Pops whipped Red. The steel hook of his ankus plunged into the open wound on its shoulder. The dragon screeched while it fell on its side and started thrashing about. He pulled the hook and jiggled it beneath its skin until the mewling reptile wrenched the steel away with its own struggling. Pops found a new target. "I didn't want to do this, but you need to learn what happens if you keep defying me." He changed his grip and angled the straight blade, pointing not at an arm, a leg, the shoulder, or the flank, but right at the reptile's eye. Red froze. Something in Charles snapped when he watched his father aim his training device at one of Red's eye sockets. To gouge an eye out for the sake of teaching? He understood Pops' style of negative reinforcement; he'd heard many stories of elephants, tigers, even dogs being hurt during training. The dragoness was hurt, bleeding, malnourished, and absolutely terrified. It didn't need its training escalated to the point of torture. Charles ran over to Red. "Pops, no!" He cried. "Boss Charles, [i]wait ka muna[/i]!" Charles heard Ann worriedly call to him, but he paid her no mind. "Wha— Charles gave Pops only a second to process his outcry when he came up to him, shoved the ankus away from the animal's face, and planted his body between Red and his father. Rick and Gerry must have had expressions of shock on their faces, Charles figured, not realizing that the reptile was likewise staring dumbly at him. Taking advantage of his stupor, Charles pleaded, "Pops, removing an eye is too much!" He gestured to the dragon. "Look at it! It's covered in wounds. It's bleeding. It's hurt, it's suffering, and you've also got it scared stiff! I know this is part of the training process but we shouldn't treat Red or any other animal that badly— "Charles! [i]¿Pero que coño?[/i]" Pops interrupted him. His incredulous mien crumpled into one of devilish fury. Charles froze, too. Pops had never used the Spanish equivalent of "what the fuck" on him before. "You think this is too much?" the businessman gritted his teeth, anger bubbling to the surface. He grabbed Charles by the collar. "What, you think Red will submit to us if we give it treats and plastic toys to chew and scrape its claws on?" Pops laughed condescendingly. He shook his head. Charles couldn't tell if it was out of disbelief or out of shock. "Oh my son… my son… just how stupid can you get?" He whipped his hand at the reptile using the same sweeping gesture. "Look at it! That's neither cat nor dog. That's not a pet. It's a wild animal! An untamed beast. Feral!" Pops shouted the word loud enough for his voice to echo in the empty warehouse. "What kind of life do you think Red was living in the Amazon before the poachers caught it, huh? Out there you'd just be dinner for this giant lizard, and I fucking GUARANTEE you wouldn't get the mercy you're giving it now!" "...I know that, but— "There's no room for softness in the jungle, Charles. Where that dragon's from, it's kill or be killed. Eat or be eaten!" He shoved Charles back, let out an exasperated groan, and massaged his temples. "We're paying a hundred thousand dollars for Red, Pops!" the young man argued back, emphasizing, "U.S. Dollars! That's at least a year's worth in free cash flows. A year! I don't want to lose all of that tonight just because we—no, just because YOU went too far and accidentally killed the dragon!" Father and son stared at each other for a long time. His facial expression didn't waver. He could see Ann fidgeting behind Pops, debating with herself, contemplating whether she should, in her own way, intervene and defuse the tension. Then, Pops relented, for once. "Hmph. You make a good point. I'll tone it down a little." He glanced at Ann. "Ann, fetch some cattle prods from one of the other warehouses. Get it from our shipment to San Silvestre Farms." The Filipina feverishly nodded her head. "[i]Opo[/i], Bossing! I get it right away." "Don't forget our S.O.P. for the paperwork!" Pops shouted at her as she left, all but scampering away from the scene. Charles wryly smiled; once again another shipment was just lost to the Bureau of Customs. His smile faded the second Pops eyed him once more, this time with a hardened gaze. "You got lucky just now, son," he growled. "Now get out of my way; or do I have to do it for you?" Charles dropped his gaze. "I'm done." He stepped aside. Pops wasn't satisfied with that, jostling him further back when he approached the dragon. He hooked its steel muzzle with the ankus and roughly yanked it to face the warehouse shelf. He pointed at it. "Enough dawdling. Your turn, Red. Now go!" A tense moment passed. "Go over there. Now!" He kicked its flank. "GO!" Red's earflaps moved slightly for a while. Then, finally, they fell limp and it acted on Pops' command. They watched it hobble over to the shelf, minding the gaping wound Pops had inflicted on it. The animal had no choice but to plod slowly, deliberately. Iron chains limited how far it could stretch and the fifty kilograms chained to its legs significantly dragged its movement down. Several times it looked at its restraints. Charles swore every now and then it would huff in what he interpreted as resignation. When the dragoness reached the shelves, "Good girl!" he said, voice lifting up in approval. "Now come, Red!" He clicked his tongue twice and pointed at the space in front of his feet. "Come!" The dragoness sat on its haunches, staring back. Charles heard it snort. Pops grimaced. His hand went scarlet gripping the ankus harder. His other hand moved for the gun tucked behind his waistband. Charles Graham could barely breathe. He had done the best he could to mollify the intensity of Pops' training. Fortunately, like every other animal the dragoness seemed to pick up on the atmosphere and complied with the command it had been given. Red lumbered over towards Pops, dragging with it all its restraints. Its four legs only stopped when it sat down on its haunches in the exact spot Pops pointed out. "That's a good girl," Pops reacted. Nothing more than hollow praise. A few more rounds was all it took for everybody to conclude that Red had successfully been subdued into obedience. Pops' countenance sported a pleased grin. "Wonderful," he remarked out of sheer amazement. "Simply wonderful. It learns so fast. At this rate I wouldn't be surprised if the lizard's smarter than our laborers." "It's still an animal," Charles pointed out. Pops dismissed it. "Doesn't matter. Paul was clearly right on the money." He had another instruction ready for him. "Charles! Grab another iron chain from the trolley." He blinked, confused. "W-why?" he stuttered. Why him? Why not Rick or Gerry? "We're bringing Red over to the pallets. The money we put into it is only good if we can get it to properly move the pallet trucks on command," Pops' replied, his voice prosaic. Charles sulked. The guy didn't even bother answering his question. Pops had a bad habit of ignoring questions whenever he felt they were annoying, unnecessary, or even obvious. He hated it whenever he did that; it wasn't as though Charles could read his every thought in real-time. All he could do was obey. "Wrap the chains around its neck," Pops instructed. "And wrap it tight." "Why me?" Charles finally voiced. His eyes were fixed on Rick and Gerry. They stood by, observing, awaiting their next commands like a pair of loyal bulldogs. "Because I want you to do it, son. Get on with it now." "Goddammit," Charles muttered under his breath. This shouldn't be his damn job. The young man kneeled beside the dragon, which had been sitting on its haunches waiting attentively, eyes and ears on every human in the room. Red gnarled at him, its eyes attaining an angry glint. "Grrrrr…" "Quiet," Charles said. He knew it was looking at the chain in his hands. "It's not like I want to do this either." He lifted the metal to its neck. The dragoness was still quivering. Scared. "I won't hurt you," Charles muttered. "Now stay." While it mainly cooperated with him, Red didn't shut up at all. It was hostile the entire way, snarling every minute. It opposed every attempt to bring the chain around its neck. It wrested its neck several times, breaking free and headbutting his arms until they were sore. Charles cursed several times as he powered through its resistance. He could sense Pops' gaze drilling into the back of his neck. It felt like he was being judged—being condemned for everything that made him different from the businessman himself. Charles tried to focus on the task at hand, but this damned dragon simply wouldn't give him the opportunity. “[i]¡Puta madre![/i]" he cursed. “Stay, damn it. Be quiet and fucking STAY!" The overgrown lizard didn't even heed the commands when it came from Charles' mouth. Thinking about how it had been cowed into following Pops' commands enraged him, yet he didn't lay a hand on Red. He had his own way of doing things; the thought of deepening its wounds just to force its compliance was repulsive. Red ceased its bout of rebellion after some struggle. Charles didn't give a damn if it was because of exhaustion or his father's piercing gaze. He was happy he managed to bring the two jingling ends of the iron chain together. A shame his joy was short-lived—Charles fumbled the knot several times, either coming up with a loose, unsecured knot or failing to tie it at all. “[i]Hostia puta[/i]," Pops groused. “What's wrong with you? It's just a knot!" Charles replied exasperatedly, “Pops! I'm doing the best I can here!" Pops wrung his son away from the dragon, which went stiff as soon as he drew close. “This isn't physics." He regarded Charles' handiwork with disbelief. Moments later, Red shook off the chain. It clanged on the floor with uncanny timing. “How can you fail at something so simple? Any [i]jornalero[/i] can do it in seconds; so why can't you? For God's sake, you're a graduate of Universidad de Atenas!" Charles felt indignant. He scowled. "As if professors taught knots in business management!" He wanted—he yearned to shout and point out how illogical his argument was. Except, he couldn't. Henrican society didn't work this way. People here respected their parents for the mere fact they were their parents. Whether he was right, whether Pops' words were senseless… none of it mattered if Charles so much as talked back. "Rick, show this kid how it's done," Vexed, Pops gave the command. Charles perceived his discontent. Rick approached Charles and demonstrated the knot step by step. Red struggled and growled as it had with Charles, but all the fight it had in it disappeared when he thumped the reptile's ear. "Watch carefully," the trusted laborer said. He held it out for him to see. Charles watched Rick tie both ends of the chain together using what was called a Zeppelin bend. The man spoke in a respectful, if deferential, tone. Yet Charles knew that was all fake. A mere illusion, given only because he was Stephen Graham's eldest son. Ann returned by the time Rick finished, cattle prods in hand. She distributed the new tools among them, although Pops refused, unsurprisingly preferring to keep the ankus. "It's time," Pops declared. "Make sure the beast obeys." He stood over the reptile. Charles watched it shrink in on itself in fear of the man standing before it. "Red!" he cried and pointed at himself. "Follow!" Pops lumbered to the dragon's cage. He turned around after five steps, for Red chose not to follow at all. It'd been standing there, its eyes having glazed over by something Charles couldn't quite pick up. "I said FOLLOW!" Pops yelled. The dragon was unresponsive. This time, Rick grabbed its makeshift collar and pulled. Red stumbled onto all fours, choking. It batted its paw at the laborer, forgetting completely about the cumbersome restraints weighing it down. It missed. Red growled. It pulled back against Rick's hand, refusing to go anywhere near the cage. "Quiet!" Ann screeched. She poked the animal with her cattle prod and pulled the trigger. Having cranked it up to its highest setting, the tool crackled thunderously. Red dropped to the floor. It squawked loudly, wailing while its body convulsed from the high voltage coursing through it. Ann pressed the prongs into its flank and electrocuted the animal for another five seconds. When she was done, she kicked its back. "Get up!" The Filipina screamed, the barbarity in her voice an antipode to the kind, gentle soul Charles had known her for almost all his life. It shocked him how vicious, how fierce she looked at that moment. "Follow!" She yelled louder, "Follow!" She stabbed the prod into Red's flank and pulled the trigger for just a microsecond. It rolled away, yowling. The weights prevented it from truly escaping Ann's reach. Nonetheless, the dragoness got the message. It got up on all fours, quivering the entire time, and ambled slowly towards Pops. "Come!" Pops called. "Follow!" Rick tugged at the collar and urged it to go faster. "Go, go!" The dragoness again choked. It growled at Rick; the act earned it another shock to its left buttcheek. "Quiet!" Ann shouted. Charles simply watched. Red was panting. He noticed it was shivering helter-skelter in mid-step. When Red arrived in front of its cage, Pops ordered it to stay. "Okay, Pops, what now?" Charles asked. "We'll move the lizard to the back where we're storing the pallets. Get it started on proper form, estimate its endurance, then we'll test it out using an arrangement that simulates our actual shipments." "Hn. That makes sense." "At least you're not that hopeless," Pops remarked. Charles ignored the jab. He said nothing and opted to watch his father beckon at Red, point inside the cage, and click his tongue. "Red, go." The dragon didn't move, its eyes fixated on its cage. Charles knew it recognized its prison. Anyone could tell it didn't want to go back inside. Pops raised his voice. "Red, go!" . . . Red whined. Rick seized its collar and dragged it to the cage. Or rather, he tried to. The dragoness set its paws down and pushed back. It yowled. Ann clicked her tongue, grumbling, "[i]Lecheng bayawak[/i]." She raised her cattle prod. Red ostensibly flinched when she turned it on and an ear-splitting crackling filled the air. It stared at the purplish bolts of electricity. Ann thrust the device at the animal; Red curled inward and braced for contact. "Quiet [i]nga eh[/i]— "Hold it!" Pops stopped her. "Ah? What is it, Boss Stephen?" "Let Charles do it." Charles did a double-take at the suggestion. "P-Pops! Why? Ann was already— "I don't care, son. I want you to do it." Pops stepped closer to him. The dragoness coiled further inward in reaction, avoiding Pops' gaze. Ann backed away from the reptile. "You can do it, Boss Charles!" "N-no." Charles shook his head. "No, I don't want to do it." Pops frowned. "We don't have time to eat shit." "Look! There are, t-there are a lot of things I'd do if I really, absolutely have to, but"—Charles glanced at Red, briefly scanning its broken scales and its open wounds—"B-but I'm not—I won't do outright torture!" Pops said nothing in response. He had no rebuttal. He did not scream. He did not yell. He kept walking until he was practically in Charles' face, an intimidating glower concentrated solely on him. The businessman did not even blink. Charles Graham couldn't help taking a step back. "P-pops, please. This, this is just too much…" Pops shook his head, rumbling, as though he had failed yet another test. Charles was on the verge of speaking when Pops finally confessed, "Charles, your behavior is touching my testicles." He brought his arm around Charles' shoulder and took him aside. His voice lowered, so nobody else would hear. "How can you take my place and run Graham Logistics when you're like this?" He drilled his index finger into Charles' forehead. "Maybe all this… softness is fine in countries like America. But when is it going to sink in that you're living in Henrico? You grew up here. You know weakness doesn't belong here." Charles squeaked, "Things could be better, Pops." "But it wouldn't be Henrican anymore," he rejoined. "Who taught you this bullshit anyway? Was it all those trash cartoons Disney's putting in cinemas nowadays?" "N-no— "Then what? Is this the sort of shit you learned at Atenas?" Charles' mind had gone blank. Pops never acted this way before. It had been a very long time since he previously had a proper conversation with him, father and son. Consequently he spoke without thinking, "W-well, they, t-they tell us to be 'men for others'. To be like, like Jesus Christ—respect each other—respect all life. Love God and one another. It's—Pops, Henrico doesn't have to be this way— "[i]La Hostia[/i], all those damn Jesuits can get fucked by a fish!" Pops ranted. "I can't believe you actually bought into all their fancy nonsense! Don't you realize Henrico's been like this for generations? "Every single university has this 'men-for-others', 'light-in-the-world', 'Christ path' garbage. They have it only because they sound nice to hear. Do you know what happens to the capullos who take them seriously?" Pops pulled him closer. His voice wasn't so much as chastising as it was instructive. "They are either 'saved by God' or doomed to eat shit and roll around in abject poverty for the rest of their lives. Do you want that to happen to you?" Grisly images of butchered corpses and grim news stories had Charles shuddering. "Hell no! But— Pops didn't let him speak. "Believe me, when people find a way to integrate these flying lizards into modern human civilization, I promise you they will do it exactly the same way we're doing right now." "That's no different from torture!" "So what if it is?" Pops challenged him. "It's just the way things are in Henrico. Besides, Red's but an animal. It can neither speak nor think for itself. We have the right to do whatever we want with it." "Still…" Charles implored. "Whatever you're about to say, drop it. There's only one thing I want to know: are you [i]comemierda[/i]? Or are you Henrican?" "I-I'm Henrican," Charles retorted. "A true— "Son, men are judged by their actions, not their words." Pops brought out his ankus. He offered it to Charles. "If you're truly an Henrican at heart, then step up and prove it! Prove to me you aren't a [i]maricón[/i]. Prove that you can run my company." Charles Graham stared at the ankus. Blood still stained the tool. It looked menacing to him. He felt conflicted. He felt guilty. There were a lot of things he detested about Henrican society. He hated the moral hypocrisy they clearly shared with the Philippines, with Latin America—with developing countries in general. He didn't want to join Pops and his people in "training" the dragon not because he felt sympathy for it, but because he feared it would send him down a slippery slope. Turn him into someone he didn't want to become. It was said that the heart of a man could be judged by their treatment of animals—of those who could do nothing for them. Charles had engraved that statement to heart, seeing how poorly Henricans treated the world around them. He didn't want to be like them. "Well, Charles?" Pops asked. "Are you a man? Or are you just a spineless faggot?" Charles was sure his father could see the hesitation pervading his body. He felt the pressure emanating not only from him, but also Ann, Rick, and Gerry. He cast his brown eyes across the aisle, gazing at each person and the indifference etched on their faces. Then he noticed. Red was staring at him too. Expectantly. He briefly opined whether it could sense his inner turmoil. He could also feel pressure from its gaze. At first glance, it seemed like the kind one would get from a cat begging for food, or from a dog whimpering for attention. Yet— "Charles!" Pops roared at his face. Blood rushed up his chest. Heat permeated his heart. "I heard you the first time, Pops!" Charles yanked the ankus out from his father's grip. "And I!" He rounded on the dragoness. Red shrunk away from him, growling. Its lime, reptilian eyes never left the tool—the weapon in his right hand. It struggled against its chains. "I am…!" Charles made eye contact with Red at that moment. Its snarls sounded like pleading. He froze, the ankus raised high. Whispers plagued him and for a second he was delusional enough to imagine the beast actually spoke to him. A child's voice, it had. Young. Innocent. Hurtless. Entreating mercy and compassion. Then Charles felt Pops' judging eyes on the back of his neck. It was the final straw. "I can take on anything you throw at me!" He pronounced. Charles slammed the ankus down on Red's snout. "Quiet!" he howled, overwhelming both the animal's bleating and the dying screams of his ideals. His weapon tore into the soft, burgundy scales right above its right eye, leaving behind a large, gaping cut. Charles pointed the ankus at the cage. "Now go!" He shouted at Red. "Get in there!" Its yowling was annoying him, tugging at his soul. Unable to look straight its eyes, he turned the cattle prod on. He had every intention of stabbing the dragon with it as many times as he had to, until it finally listened. Until it no longer bothered him. Portentously, lightning blazed. Sparks rattled the ears of all who could hear. Ann had a big, goofy smile on her face. "Good job, Boss Charles!" the Filipina cheered. "I knew you could do it." . . . . . . The training continued for the rest of the night, then it became the Grahams' pet project for two weeks. During that time, Red learned how to maneuver pallet trucks, to pull them with its tail or use its own weight to push them forward. By day 5, it could already climb up onto freight trucks and actually move crates too heavy for a couple of men. Its intelligence became even more apparent when Pops figured out it could recognize markings or company logos printed on the boxes. In week 2, the training emphasized this. They would teach Red where certain shipments went, conducting it in a manner that would've been normal for new hires—new human hires. Graham Logistics kept its one and only dragon inside Warehouse 11. It slept in the same cage they purchased it in, fed with scraps from the local butchers and street vendors outside the campus. Red was finally introduced to the rank-and-file at the end of the month. Rick worked directly with it as its handler, armed with a cattle prod and an ankus. The dragoness never became completely submissive since the night it was brought into the GLC campus. A wild animal to the bitter end, it would always snarl at anyone who approached it, only showing fear whenever Pops, Charles, Ann, or Rick appeared. Although no one could deny the benefits Red brought to the workplace, the warehousemen were afraid to work with it. Their fear of the once mythical creature persisted despite Management employing every safety precaution: claws trimmed short and filed smooth, two 80-kilogram balls-and-chains, a stainless steel cross hobble, a brace tying down both wings together, and a muzzle to keep it from biting or unleashing its “breath". Nine months after Red was purchased, Uncle Paul managed to get another dragon from Arbat International—a Glass type. Graham Logistics purchased it immediately, with Charles in charge of fetching the reptile and overseeing its obedience training. Business boomed as the sleeping monster that was China stirred to life and disrupted the manufacturing world. Henrico's imports and gross domestic product rose, launching GLC's business into the stratosphere. The logistics company dominated the local market, successfully holding back the entry of DHL, UPS, and FedEx through aggressive promotions, long-term contracts, and unsurprisingly, wads of money slipped into the hands of many procurement managers nationwide. The dragon trade, initially a form of exotic animal smuggling, gained legitimacy when businessmen the world over realized the large reptiles were not only smart enough to understand human language but also dextrous enough with their forepaws and tails that they could perform basic labor. Early on, Pops and Charles recognized the potential for these creatures to disrupt multiple labor-dependent industries nationwide. Pops drew up plans to construct a one-story building next to the three-story administrative office sitting in the center of the campus. Designed to house dragons, it would ensure easy access and deployment of their living assets across the campus over the long-term. In spite of their setup efforts, lack of ample supply remained a limiting factor. Even a company as large as Graham Logistics struggled to build its lounge up from two dragons to fifteen strong. Unfortunately, dragons could only be sourced from the wild. Their lounges were also reclusive, hidden, and nearly impossible to find. Biologists had trouble characterizing them, as they apparently could adapt to various environments. It required monumentally prohibitive time, effort, and money to catch even a few. This was perhaps the only reason governments didn't come in and put the young industry under a tight leash. Nonetheless, the Grahams believed that, given time, humanity would naturally overcome this problem in the end. Charles' misgivings at the way they treated the giant lizards vanished. Working at the company, shadowing Pops, and dealing with problem employees, arrogant customers, dubious business partners, and greedy corporations backed by corrupt politicians all crushed what little kindness he had left. With nothing but work to focus on, Charles never realized seven years had passed until the day Pops announced his retirement.