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The dragon ran up to the summit of the black roof he had laid on, and deployed his wings as he jumped into the air. One giant flap was the single movement necessary to propel him high enough into the air in order to swoop through the window, landing on his four feet, which perfectly absorbed the shock of the landing, making no noise whatsoever. His bright yellow eyes continued to shine as he stood up, his anger growing by the second. The only thing which went through his mind was how he would kill the weasel for ratting them out. Eric knew the worst part was he had probably planned it from the minute he accepted to fabricate their passports; after he would finish, he would beg for Matt to stay the night. It was not very hard, since they had not seen each other for well over ten years. Then, he would get him pissed with booze and alcohol, which would have rendered him useless in event of him trying to escape. He would then make sure everyone was in bed. He knew Matt would not wake up, and he thought Eric was sleeping - which was his sole mistake. Finally, he planned to call the cops and allow them to strike while they were resting, and were unaware of what was going on. An ingenious plan indeed, in Eric's point of view - but the plan had major consequences, and they were all jam-packed into a crimson red parcel, with only one thing in mind: revenge.

It had only been about 30 seconds since the SWAT car drove off, which did not give Gerald very much time to move. They all thought Eric had flown away, maybe even after the SWAT car to save Matt, which meant Gerald had no reason whatsoever to be worried about anything. He would be able to sleep peacefully and enjoy the night with no worries haunting his mind. But Eric would soon adjust that. He headed toward the end of the third floor hall, and leaned against its wall beside the wooden stairs, which offered a nice, dark and poorly lit area to hide. It was quiet for a few seconds, but the dragon soon heard a noise. His senses analyzed it and estimated it to have been around 16 feet away - Gerald was still on the first floor doing something, so he waited. Eric rapidly grew impatient.

"He's not coming up... move over to the other wall", he ordered his other side, with a fast-paced tone. It seemed like they had formed a pact, a team.

"No. We aren't moving." This was the first time Eric heard his other side speak to him in a complete sentence - or at least, he thought it was talking to him.

Suddenly, there was another series of movements. The dragon's ears twitched when he heard it, shutting his eyes in order to block out every other thought. The footsteps were getting closer and slower; he was climbing the steps. Ten feet. Eight feet. It did not lose his concentration, however both Eric and the dragon's rage grew exponentially. Gerald was at the bottom of the steps leading to the third floor, and soon began to climb them. Four feet. Three feet. The dragon opened its eyelids as the eyes underneath steamed with fury. Eric did not understand how he could have resisted such a temptation. Two feet. They could both hear him breathe. The dragon's eyes turned to his left side, in the direction of the stairs, which would soon reveal the figure of the man they dubbed Gerald. One foot.

In one swift move, the dragon swung its clawed fist at the figure with lightning fast speed, allowing only a grunt to escape his jaws. The man fell over backwards, tumbling rapidly and painfully down the stairs, with occasional groans of pain being heard as he hit each one. Even with the small space between the stairs' two walls, the dragon managed to flap his wings once again, his tail keeping his balance steady, as he hovered toward the wounded Gerald. With his immense strength doubled by the flood of anger impairing his thoughts, the dragon picked the scrawny man up, and threw him by the legs toward his office desk, which he crashed into and shattered easily. Gerald seemed critically wounded and did not move, however a few whiffs of the air revealed carbon dioxide, which alerted the dragon he was still breathing. It walked over to him and singlehandedly picked him up from the rubble of the desk and its remains by the collar of his shirt, bringing him up to his snout. The man was badly bruised around the left side of his face, had major scratches along the side of his neck, his right eye, as well as his lips, and bled severely from the left temple of his head.

The following voice was definitely not that of Eric's, but of a darker, much more intimidating side. "You twisted son of a bitch." It slammed his head against one of the unbroken pieces of the desk, further aggravating his injuries, before lifting him up the exact same way. "How dare you deceive us after we paid you and stayed with you? People of the likes of you do not deserve to live, and none of your "accomplishments" should either. Yet, I'll still allow you to choose; what will it be? Broken back? Amputated members? Fourth-degree burns? Select wisely, because you and I can have a lot of fun." Its sentence ended with a devilish smile and a puff of thick black smoke escaping from his long, scale covered snout.

Gerald was struggling to breathe, forcing himself to look away from the eyes of the monster which had nearly killed him in the former few moments. His nose was oozing with blood, and the only thing keeping him conscious was the rapidly augmenting fear of his captor. "P-p-lease... d-don't hu-urt me... I g--get it... I-'m so-orry..."

Eric had never felt so exhilarated in his entire life. Evidently, he knew the dragon was exaggerating a small bit with the torture and harassment, but nevertheless, whatever it did, he felt Gerald deserved it. The dragon brought the shivering man higher toward its face with one hand, and twisting his catastrophically injured head towards it. "Eric's" eyes closed halfway as his lips revealed his sharp teeth, which had enough strength to rip an entire head off with a cinch.

"Sorry isn't good enough, _pal..."_

...

Matt was not very conscious of where he was. He opened his eyes a few times, but saw something completely different at each interval; a light at one point, a man in a suit in another, a metal roof the third, more lights on the fourth, etc. His head hurt tremendously and his stomach churned beyond his own belief. He could not remember anything at all. Once again, there were more lights, but his eyes ached too much. He attempted to fall asleep, but the ringing in his ears did not cease, and the wobbling of the vehicle he was in continued to render him nauseous. Gradually, the movement stopped and he opened his eyes once more, curious. Sound finally came back to his ears, as he heard yelling. He looked around himself, and saw what he thought were hundreds of men in riot suits around him, talking, glancing at him, and looking out the window. "Where am I?", he questioned himself. He attempted to move his hands to lift the sweaty blanket off of him, but he could not - they were restrained. Panicking, he began to furiously move around to set his hands free, trying to flee from wherever he was, but nothing worked. Everyone gawked at him. He grew nervous, and did not know what to do.

He soon saw a nurse creep up beside him, accompanied by a needle, which set him off. He tried to yell, but he realized his face was strapped shut with tape. He felt every part of his body struggling to break free. His body was shivering in fear, trying to shrug away from the fast approaching needle. Then, he lost complete control; he knew it was the berserk mode. He quickly felt everything changing, his whole body shifting. His claws pierced through his shoes and the fur began to take space. His snout extended and took the same gray color the rest of his body showed signs of. The tape tore off as it did not fit the shape of his new figure, which allowed him to let out a much needed growl. He did not know what he was doing, yet frankly, he did not care - but the people surrounding him did. They discussed over the matter and tried to restrain him from moving another muscle, but this only aggravated the wolf even more. His head pounded with both anger and alcohol, while his body fidgeted in every direction imaginable. Ten people moved in to restrain him from doing so, but anger got the best of him. They had terrible difficulty detaining the beast. Ultimately, however, the nurse took a risk and stabbed it with the needle. Gradually, the effect of the serum caused Matt to calm down, and drift off to sleep once again.

...

Matt woke up for the second time, but he saw nothing. His mind was still blurry over the events, and he felt his hands were once again tied; however, this time, he was not lying down, but sitting in what he thought to be a chair. He attempted to move, but he was completely detained. He tried to stay calm, remembering what had happened in the vehicle, and pointed his head down in frustration. "How did I get here?", he wondered. "What happened last night? Why can I not remember anything?"

All of a sudden, the lights flickered on, further straining Matt's eyes. The alcohol caused his head to ache even more, taking him a minute or two before his vision adjusted completely to the head-pounding lights. He looked up to see a man in a black suit, fairly tall and fairly old, about 10 feet in front of him. He could not see well at that moment, but he spoke nonetheless.

"Wh-who... who are you?"

"Hello, Matt. You seem to be in a pretty bad shape."

"Yeah, I guess", he replied sarcastically, before repeating his question. "Who are you?"

"Oh, I can't tell you that. I mean, it would ruin all the fun - you know nothing about me, but I know everything about you. I'm sort of like, a secret agent. Like in the movies. Yeah, that's it."

Matt shook his answer away, knowing it was bogus. "Okay, well, where are we? And, why am I stuck in this chair?"

"Well, we're in Virginia, I can tell you that." Suddenly, Matt began to remember a few things. "I'm in the United States. Why? Because I needed a passport. Where would I have gotten that? In Fargo. With whom? Eric and Gerald. Gerald. Gerald... Who is he?" He could not remember his face, yet his name definitely rang a bell. "Gerald... high school? Possibly. No, wait. Definitely. Why did I go there? Because he's a graphic designer. Why am I in Virginia? I watched some wrestling, drank a lot a beer... got drunk... Special agent? Government? Virginia? CIA?"

"You're... you're from the --"

"CIA?", the man interrupted, knowing his captive would have figured it out. "Yeah, took you long enough. You didn't think we would catch onto you, did you?" He started to walk toward him, before going around the back of his chair. "Yeah, we got you good. Good thing your friend Gerald tipped us off to you. We probably would have never made it this far without him." He showed a great big smirk, allowing Matt's thoughts sink in. "It was Gerald! He was the one who wanted me to drink all that booze!" He knew he should have left. Staying overnight was a stupid mistake, and it was his entire fault. Out of the blue, he reminded himself of Eric - he had let him down. He figured he was probably in the same building as he was, struggling with a man like the one in front of him, not able to do anything about it; however, he quickly reconsidered that thought. "No, that's not right. Why would this man be questioning me if they had Eric captive? And, he wasn't drunk... so he probably escaped!" In spite of knowing this new piece of information, he did not want to let the man know.

"Alright, so, what do you want from me?"

The man laughed, circling Matt's chair. "Well, isn't it obvious? I want to know everything you know. What you know about your little friend, where you were planning to go, what you were planning to do, and so on and so forth. You should know that. You seem to be the type who watches many spy thrillers, am I right?"

Matt froze. How was he aware of that? Did he really know that much about him? "And, how do you suppose you'd get me to do that?"

The man stopped walking behind him, and leaned over his shoulder, which was restrained from budging. "Well, you wouldn't want a life sentence in prison, did you?"

"What makes you think I would rather snitch on my friend than go to prison?"

The man walked around to the front of him once again, turning around to face him five feet away. "He wasn't just your, 'friend', wasn't he? He wasn't just your student either, am I right? No, he was much more than that. He was more like, a son. The son you never had. The son you never had, because you could never manage a lasting relationship."

Matt turned his head to the side. "...Shut up."

"Oh, you don't like the truth? Well, that's too bad, isn't it?" He began to slowly walk away from Matt, wandering around the room. "Your parents were complete crack heads. You hated them for it, so you ran off - like a little dog running away from its owners, no pun intended."

"I said, shut up."

The man continued to talk a little louder, gradually gaining space between himself and Matt. "And then you rush off to get your little injection, only to become a teacher instead. So, you try to get a girlfriend, but never succeed, because you're a wolf!"

"Didn't you hear me? Shut the fuck up!"

"So your lifelong dream to become a parent is gone with the wind. You're trapped with a boring life as a teacher, with nothing else to do. All of a sudden, you see this kid in class - complete outcast, and helpless beyond comprehension. You find out he is a dragon, and you see potential. You do everything in your power to sabotage him, looking like the good guy, and finding a use for your mid-form. Finally; you have your little retard of a kid to take care of."

"Fuck off!" He was really mad, but the man continued nonetheless, increasing his tone to a yell.

"And then you come all the way over here, just to get caught by us! You failed him Matt! It's a miracle you never became a parent, because frankly, you'd suck at it."

Matt was furious. He tried to growl, relieve his anger, howl or something, but nothing happened. He squirmed around in his chair, veins bulging, face reddening, but no transformation. He did not understand what was going on, but his anger continued to flow through his body, trying to escape. The man came closer. He knew exactly what was happening.

"Oh, Matt... The things you do", he said with a grin. Matt's face stood still, but his eyes stared furiously at the man, who had begun to circle him again. "It was a bit of a drastic measure, but, the nurse in the SWAT car you were in had to give you a cancer stabilizing serum, in order to stop you from transforming. Don't worry, it won't last more than an hour." He suddenly went in front of Matt. "But you see, the fun thing about this is that in the meantime, you can't do anything... but I can." The man then took out his fist and landed a large blow to the left side of Matt's face. Since the chair was bolted to the ground, there was no movement to absorb the shock. This made the hit over three times more powerful. Afterwards, Matt simply clinched his teeth, turned his head and spat blood from his mouth. He looked at his captor, once again, who restarted to talk.

"So, are you going to tell me about your little friend now?"

No response. A short pause and the man proceeded to hit him once again, but much harder this time. Matt struggled to keep himself from bellowing in pain, which would reveal weakness.

"Hmm, how about now?"

There was still no response, which led to an uppercut to his jaw. Matt subsequently spit out yet another stream of blood onto the ground, while he continued to glare at the man, disgusted. His hair was messy and his face was bruised, but his hard head would not give up.

"Wow", the man in the suit said, faking an impressed look. "You're pretty tough, and I expected this from you. I mean, you've always been the tougher man, haven't you? Too bad that streak ends today." The man circled his chair once again, before stopping behind him - a move which extremely irritated Matt. "You know Matt, life is like a flower. You grow bigger and bigger, stronger and stronger, and you eventually become the most beautiful flower in the garden. Your life, however, is more like a bad weed. You grow bigger and bigger, stronger and stronger, and you seem to stand out from the rest as well. Thing is, unlike the flower down the yard, the biggest weed is always the first to get cut." The man lifted the edge of his shirt, revealing a handgun in his side pocket. "Well, Matt, let's just say today is your day to be trimmed."

He took aim at the frightened captive, and shot him point blank into his kneecap, severely damaging it. Matt was in raging pain - the most pain he had ever been through in his entire life. The blood was oozing out of the wound, as it continued to sharply increase his pain. Heavy breathing ensued, but he did not want to yell. The man wiped his gun down with a handkerchief he pulled out of his pocket, inspecting it for any other gun powder residue, and continued to talk. "But you know, Matt, you can cut that bad weed as many times as you want. It'll simply grow back." He took aim at Matt once again. "Pesky little buggers."

Matt prepared for another surge of pain as the CIA member shot another perfectly positioned bullet into his other kneecap. On that occasion, Matt had no other choice but to scream in pure agony. A large pool of blood flowed to the ground beneath his shoes, quickly staining the bottom of his pants, and with the alcohol and the constant headaches, he never could have ever possibly imagined being in pain as intense as he was at that moment. The massive loss of blood blurred his vision, giving him an ever increasing difficulty to stably see the man in front of him. He was in a very critical state.

"So there is a lesson in all of this", the man continued, further aggravating Matt. "If you cut the bad weed, and it simply grows back, how do you possibly get rid of it?" The man finally put his gun back into his pocket, and pulled a syringe out of his other. "This, my good friend, is yet another cancer stabilizer - but not just any cancer stabilizer, oh no. Years of research finally paid off in 2015 when our top scientists came across a formula to actually reverse the effects of the mutation Dr. Hudson created. It was very useful, but it had to be given repeatedly for extended periods of time, which is exactly what we tried to do to Eric when he was a mere child." While Matt was interested in hearing what the man had to say about Eric, the pain was much too surreal for him to comment. "Luckily, sometime last year, they discovered an even better formula, which would be able to reverse the effects in a single dose, without any danger whatsoever in destroying the human heart. That formula, Matt, is present inside this syringe."

Matt's eyes grew wide as he knew exactly where he was going. He shook his head furiously, but could not speak, due to the shock from the pain of his wounds. As the man got closer and closer, he struggled to move around, trying to break free of the chair, but to no avail. He did not want to lose his wolf side. He began to flashbacked over the freedom he had in the days after getting his injection in Toronto. He remembered the first time he had mastered his full form, the amazing feeling of his first berserk mode, as well as the feeling of having instinct take complete control over his body, the power surging through his veins.

It was the only thing he lived for; running free in the wild, without another care in the world. He was able to get away from the frustrations of human life, and only worry about what to hunt for dinner. He was even able to help a student in trouble, and run from the world, with somewhat complete success. He did not want to lose it, he did not know what he would do without it, and he did not want to find out, but there was nowhere to run, nowhere to go. A major part of him would be gone in a matter of seconds, and he could not do anything to prevent it. He envisioned his wolf form one final time, before the man continued with his strangely appropriate metaphor.

"Now, about that weed problem. As I said earlier, you can cut it all you want, but it will simply grow right back in a matter of days. However, there is one proven way to successfully and effectively dispose of a bad weed." The man hunched over to the struggling TFR's left side, tapping the syringe with his finger, and positioning it toward his arm. Matt yelled, horrified over what was happening so quickly. Suddenly, his throat began to close - he was initiating a panic attack, dangerously cutting off his ability to breathe. The man did not seem to care.

"To successfully put a bad weed to death, you need to kill it from the source."