"Hhhooow diiiiid yyoooouuu gettt innnn?" he stuttered, suddenly more afraid than ever.
"Does that really matter?" replied the human shape.
Breathing heavily again now, he was agitated and off guard.
"Where's my wife? What have you done with her?" he snapped at the intimidating looking human.
"That's why I'm here," the human whispered seductively. "I've brought her back to you."
"Where is she?" he asked excitedly.
"In the bedroom waiting for you," answered the human, motioning to a doorway with his left arm.
"Oh thank God!" he exclaimed, vaulting across the room to the doorway, before stopping abruptly, some way short. There on the huge expanse of wooden bed lay his wife, wings spread, her head facing an impossible direction, her neck clearly snapped. A sense of desperation tore through him, like a raging river carving a new path for itself. The dragon he loved, had loved for over a century, was lifeless before him. It was all too much. This all happened in the blink of an eye, and then his sense of danger kicked in. By now though, as you'll have probably worked out, it was far too late. Whirling round, or trying to anyway, something had found its way around his throat and was throttling him. Frantically he tried to bat the human shape away with his wings, while at the same time using his hands to pull whatever it was away from his throat. But it was no good. The human, or human shaped being as he'd come to realise, was just too strong, and his own bulky frame was constrained by the wooden doorway he'd been standing in. Abruptly, he thrust back his mighty head as far as it would go, hoping to make contact with his attacker, but it wasn't to be. His assailant had been prepared for this and had made himself as small as possible. Vision failing, he brought his arms around, punching and hitting for all he was worth. Kicking with his powerful legs, hoping to make contact with his razor sharp talons, he gave it all he had in one last effort. At one point, he felt a scratch, as something sharp broke the surface of the scales across his thigh, making him more furious than he already was. But by then, the fight was already lost and he'd never really stood a chance. This all came to him as the black spots before his eyes transformed into a much darker, more comprehensive vista. His last thought was of his wife, of how he'd failed her. Darkness engulfed him. His soul left this world.
* * *
Flash had taken himself back to the monorail station, and boarded a carriage for the short hop over to the Westchester district of the dragon domain beneath the sleeping city of New York. He'd gleaned enough information from the staff and the computers at the clandestine facility to know that he was looking for a Ball Upkeep Monitor or B.U.M. as they were known in the business, called Professor Cedric Spanner. Married with no children, the professor lived in an apartment in Westchester, and had called in sick the last couple of days, unusual in itself for a dragon.
Ten minutes later, Flash had the apartment building in sight. It looked no different from any of the other buildings, but he couldn't help but wonder what the place held in store for him, with his mind whizzing through the possibilities. Would he have to fight? Would the professor come quietly? Would there be co-conspirators? That would present a problem if there were a few of them, he thought to himself uneasily.
Standing, clad in shadows, in the entrance to an alleyway directly opposite the building, he spent the next few minutes reflecting on the situation. Was it worth calling in some backup? He didn't want to blow the whole thing, and he was sure he was in the right place and on the right track of whatever was going on, something the King's and Crimson Guards were not. Scratching the stubble littering his jaw, he ducked back into the darkness as a dragon in human form exited the professor's building, looked around and then headed off in the opposite direction towards the centre of the small community. Somewhere inside him, a buzz of recognition bloomed, but he had no idea why, not recognising the man and from this far away unable to get any sense of him.
'Odd,' he thought to himself.
Casting all thoughts of the man to the back of his mind, he made his decision; he was going in. Crossing the street, he strode purposefully up to the building, and with no security, just walked in. A torn sign adorning the lift read 'Out of order', not that he'd had any intention of taking it. Fully committed, he knew he had to act as quickly as possible. Sprinting across to the stairwell, he sprang up the stairs three at a time, as silent as a ninja, heading for the eighth floor.
It didn't take long. Poking his head out of the stairwell, he gazed along the corridor. As expected at this time of night, it was empty. Trepidation threatened to overwhelm him, but he pushed his feelings aside. On a mission, a proper one, for the first time in a while, he was a professional, with a job to do. Sucking in a deep breath, he moved silently down the corridor until he found the right door. On spotting the two keyholes, he cursed, well... in his mind anyway. There was more security than he would have thought, so it would take him longer to get in, meaning there was more chance of the occupants noticing. From his back pocket he pulled out a small canvas tool case, and proceeded to take out the relevant sized lock pick, which he gingerly thrust towards the nearest lock. On making contact with it, the door moved back a fraction, ajar. Heart racing, a thousand questions engulfed his mind, primarily: why was the door open? Wasting no more time, he put the pick and the tool case back in his pocket, and cautiously entered the apartment.
Stealthily, he made his way along the hallway, glancing into the small, empty kitchen along the way. A cloak of silence shrouded the apartment. Reaching the lounge, there was still no sign of anyone. Hugging the wall, he moved silently along to the nearest doorway. Stopping a few feet short, he spotted the damage to the door frame.
'There's been a fight or a scuffle of some sort, and it looks recent,' he thought. Prepared for anything, or so he thought, he leapt forward and, using the frame for support, swung around into the room. He thought he'd been prepared for anything, but clearly that wasn't the case. Most certainly he hadn't been prepared for this.
Lying on the bed, a scarlet coloured female dragon looked like some kind of grotesque artwork, her neck most certainly snapped. On the opposite side of the room, a dragon hung suspended from an overhead girder, like a carcass in a butcher's window. It took him a few seconds to process it all. Suddenly, he leapt over the end of the bed, while at the same time pulling his trusty knife from its sheath tucked in the small of his back. With a running jump, he sliced the ultrafine cord that the dragon was hanging from, and watched as the huge mound of a corpse thumped to the ground. Managing to turn him over onto his back was no mean feat for Flash, considering the body was at least four times bigger and heavier than the ex-Crimson Guard. After catching his breath, he set about looking for any sign of life, however unlikely that might have been. It didn't take long for it to become apparent there was none. Resting back against the bed, head in hands, he racked his brain. In all his time he'd never heard of a dragon committing suicide... NEVER! Moments later he started running through everything he had to do. First he'd have to contact the king. After that, he'd make arrangements for the local authorities to come and deal with the situation.