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Chapter 4: Graham Logistics

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Since his father's retirement, Charles Graham lived a busy life as chief operating officer of the family business, or deputy CEO, if he went by his function instead of his official title. With many of his day-to-day responsibilities delegated away to middle managers, rarely was the man seen outside the administrative building for anything other than an independent audit or a surprise meeting.

Even rarer was it for him to wait by the red gate that isolated the campus from the City of San Mateo, his eyes on the security house next to it. He'd been loitering there with Albert and seven other bodyguards when a corpulent man with three inches over him walked in. Security came to screen him, only to back off when the newcomer's eyes lit up and waved at Charles with enthusiasm.

"Charles, bro! It's good to see you,"

"Hey Jeff," Charles said. "It's been a while. How've you been?"

"Feels longer than 'a while'. I think it's been years!"

"I've been busy."

"No doubt about that." He bowed his head in apology. "Sorry for being late. The colectivos waited to fill up with people, plus you know how the traffic is in FDRA…"

Charles didn't bring up how Jeff could've just left his house an hour earlier, instead making a mental note that Henricans nowadays were becoming more like Filipinos and Mexicans than Americans when it came to matters of time and traffic. "Don't worry about it, but I expect you to be a… better example for others in the future."

"I will, Charles. I will."

He looked at his head, on which the sun shone brightly. "I see you're still bald."

"You've got Grandpa Ben to blame for that."

"True. Anyway, let's get out of the heat and get your tour out of the way." Charles led Jeff to his Jeep waiting in the visitors' parking lot.

Jeffrey Preston was his cousin, two years his senior. Charles grew up together with him in the 70s, playing on the street in front of the house, sleeping over at each other's homes, and spending hours in the living room with the Atari Pong that Pops imported into Henrico for them. They were as brothers in the old days, their relationship thick as blood.

Time was unkind to their relationship. Jeffrey immersed himself in nerd culture, growing more interested in fantasy and science fiction while Charles embraced his calling and matured into his role as executive manager of Graham Logistics. Roleplayers took Charles' place just as business heirs replaced Jeffrey's.

His cousin's financial welfare, too, had hit rock bottom when the Preston family's sole breadwinner—Jeffrey's father—was found to have embezzled funds from the Henrican Stock Exchange and was forced to flee to the Philippines in the early 80s. It's been about ten years since then and the last thing he heard about Jeffrey's father was that he'd moved again, to Australia, had changed his name, and now served as an immigration officer at the Department of Home Affairs. A ticking time bomb, considering his history.

Charles Graham couldn't give a damn about Jeffrey's father. In fact, it was merely exposition that explained the reason he was here, meeting his cousin who asked Pops for a job. Jeffrey fucked it up the last and only time he worked here when he front-ran his own business over the company's while on the clock, but the fact this guy was here in the GLC campus today meant he had recently gotten in touch with Pops, and must have begged for work.

"You know," Jeffrey said, "I'm really happy you haven't forgotten about me."

Charles replied, "Never. Not after all we've been through." What a shame that their childhood was now the only thing that tied them together. "So how's life treating you?" He couldn't help asking, even if he'd already gotten the answers from informants.

"It's been hard. Work doesn't pay a nurse much, even with experience."

"Weren't you supposed to go abroad a few years ago? I remember you telling me you were eyeing London."

"Aww, I'm not a dual citizen like you." Jeffrey didn't hide his envy, if he even bothered at all. "You can go around wherever you want. Besides, my application got rejected. There aren't enough slots for migrants."

Charles bristled. It was true he could go wherever he wanted, but life trapped him in Henrico. Yet, he couldn't rebut his cousin. All Jeffrey saw was his blue passport and all the things he could've gotten had he possessed one to his name. He wouldn't understand. Instead, Charles asked, "Have you considered going to Mexico instead?"

"What do you mean?"

"We interview plenty of candidates for our open positions here, but HR tells me 90% are no-shows in the end. I've got a lot of relatives in the HIA and US CBP saying a lot of them end up flying to Mexico to illegally cross the border into California or Texas."

Jeffrey scratched his head. "I'm not that desperate to get out of this country." He playfully cuffed Charles on the shoulder. "Besides, you're not the type to let your brother down, right?"

Charles did not answer him. Fortunately, they finally got to the Jeep. Albert trotted ahead of him and opened the rear door for them. Charles noticed the way Jeffrey was gazing at the Kalashnikov dangling on his shoulder—another envious stare. "Alright, Jeff. Here we are. Get in."

"Hey, isn't this godfather's?"

"It was, but Pops handed it down after he bought a Mercedes last year."

"Really!" He exclaimed. "Which model?"

"The 500E."

Jeffrey whistled in awe. "That's totally radical, bro!"

"I guess. Now scoot over."

As soon as Charles shut the door, Jeffrey asked, "Hey, how come you didn't get a swanky ride for yourself? You've got loads of money."

Charles Graham fixed a stare on him. "Jeff, life doesn't revolve around fancy blin-blin. It's more about what you do with your life and who you spend it with."

Jeffrey gaped at him as though he'd just become somebody else. A look of surprise, of shock, as if he'd never expected those words to come out of Charles' mouth. Jeffrey pouted as though he'd just bit into a sour lemon. Consternation appeared on his face. "Yes it does," he muttered under his breath. "Everything revolves around money…"

He continued to mumble incoherently to himself. An awkward moment arose between the two cousins. Charles turned away and hid his grimace. This was why their relationship petered off when they grew up. Their values diverged. Their priorities diverged.

Charles sent a silent prayer of gratitude to the Lord Father when Albert started the Jeep. "Anyway, let's get started."

The words shook Jeffrey out of his trance. The Jeep rolled out from the parking lot and went for a thorough trip through the GLC campus in its entirety. It wasn't a tour any normal employee would get, that's for sure.

In the seven years that had passed, all ten hectares of the Graham Logistics compound were now fully utilized. Where there were empty, unkempt lots with tall, overgrown wild grass now stood concrete structures with a fresh coat of paint. The campus was bustling with activity.

People constantly moved about. Some unloaded cargo from 20-foot or 40-foot container trucks and placed them on pallets. Others operated forklifts or pallet trucks, moving containers upon containers to one of the fifty 1600-m² warehouses inside the compound.

They passed a large staging area near the entrance. One side had a team of workers unloading goods from a six-wheeler monstrosity. The other side did the exact opposite, methodically allocating cartons between a box truck and a semi-trailer, the former bound for clients in Metro Magallanes and the latter bound for subsidiary warehouse compounds out in the provinces of Henrico.

Charles Graham made sure Albert drove slowly, to ensure Jeffrey Preston had a good idea of how the compound was laid out from a bird's eye view. From up above, the Graham Logistics campus wasn't so much a square as it was something that resembled a rhombus with an equilateral triangle placed on top. But that should change by the turn of the millennium at the latest; he had already made some overtures with both the owners of the surrounding properties and the squatters infesting them like rats. He was hopeful the negotiations would go smoothly.

At the very center of the campus stood the administrative building—where all sales and back office functions were located—with the dragon containment facility beside it. Up in the triangular section of the property were warehouses that contained heavy equipment, machinery, and other slow-moving goods. The rest contained a variety of wholesale items, whether they were medical items, textiles, décor, tools, trinkets, cosmetics, and all sorts of consumables. Jeffrey's awestruck expression was so obvious Charles thought his mind could barely process the sight. As he highlighted which warehouse carried what, Charles remembered that BDSM Corporation was their largest customer. With 40% of the goods flowing through here destined to their malls in Metro Magallanes and elsewhere, he wondered whether they were trying to dissuade Wal-Mart from entering the Henrican market.

Charles pointed out the guard towers scattered across the compound. "You know how Henrico is, so we take security here very seriously. Five lookouts man each one, all equipped with Kalashnikovs." He reached over to the front passenger seat and pulled on the rifle in Albert's hands so Jeffrey could see. "Just like this one."

"Had they been used before?"

"Naturally. With all the gilipuertas buzzing around the campus like flies, the occasional break-in is expected when you consider all the shit we're moving. Sometimes they're after money; sometimes they just want to prove they have big cojones. Whatever the reason, the second they're past the border wall, we shoot."

"Shoot to kill?"

Charles corrected him, "Shoot to disable. That way, we send them to New Hope Prison and we make sure they die there."

Jeffrey looked uncomfortable. "That's… uhm…"

Charles cocked an eyebrow. Oh? Was he trying to reconcile who Charles was now to who he'd been before? Amusing. "It is what it is, Jeff."

The Wagoneer made another turn, and the administrative building came into view. It was basically the largest warehouse in the campus with three stories of offices built on top of it. "Anyway, tour's over. Once we get to Admin, I'll introduce you to Vanessa. She's our Head of HR. She'll get you processed and ready to—

"Wait, bro. Just, one more thing."

"What?"

Jeffrey was staring intently at the window. Charles had a bad feeling about this.

" ¡Me cago en Dios! I nearly forgot, you guys have dragons here!"

Jeffrey quaked excitedly in his seat, his gaze shining with life. Charles rolled his eyes and followed his line of sight. They could see a Glass dragon loading a forklift from one of the warehouses, under the direct supervision of its handler. Its blue scales, though dull from lack of care, was still noticeable in the daylight. Its mass and build matched that of a small horse's.

Charles and Jeffrey could see malnutrition in its thin, gaunt appearance but neither paid attention to it. He didn't seem to bat an eye at all the restraints they'd put on it for everybody's protection.

"You house them all here, right? In stables?"

"It's a containment facility—

"I don't care what you guys call it, man. I want to go there first—no, you've GOT to bring me there. I want to see those dragons before I meet HR!"

Charles groaned.

Jeffrey rounded on him. "Come on, Charles! Maybe it's nothing to you now but— ¡La Hostia!—dragons were only discovered about ten years ago or something, and poor people like me haven't even seen one in person!"

"...Jeff, they don't really talk like in your fantasy stories—

"Your whore mother on a bicycle! You've got them working for you!" He craned his neck trying to see the Glass dragon they passed earlier. "Handler's just standing there. You've totally got them trained, so they clearly understand Spanish! For all you know, they can actually speak and think like people!"

"Which hasn't been confirmed at all," Charles grunted. "Scientists have been studying them for years, and they only snarl, growl, and mewl like every other animal. Maybe they're as smart as dolphins or chimps but they're still—

"A dragon's still a dragon. That is so totally radical, I don't give a cucumber!"

Charles raised his arms in defeat. "Okay, fine, whatever! We're seeing the reptiles!" He clicked his tongue, to get the driver's attention. "Hey, we're taking a detour. Drive to the dragon house."

Jeff pumped his arm. "YES!"

---

The "dragon house" was a tall, one-story, 2500-m² containment facility built next to the administrative building. About three-fifths of the space was dedicated to obedience training, onboarding, and housekeeping supplies, but the rest housed 20-m² enclosures for the cold-blooded reptiles to live in when they weren't working.

Dragons were powerful beasts, and incredibly dangerous to deal with. They had the strength to send anyone to the hospital in a careless hit and one bite in the right place could deliver them straight to Heaven. Concrete walls and floors wouldn't stand a chance against their tails, their horns, or their thick skulls, so the Grahams couldn't afford building a second floor on top of the facility.

That might be an option to look into later on once they filled up all 50 enclosures, but with only 30% of those occupied, that wouldn't be an issue for a very long time.

The Wagoneer stopped next to the dragon house's front entrance. Charles, Jeffrey, and Albert disembarked and were joined by at least five more heavily-armed bodyguards. As they walked to the open gate, a worker strolled out from inside leading a brown-colored salamander with a leash. He recognized the reptile. One of the new arrivals. A young one, judging by its size, which was comparable to a Great Dane rather than a horse.

Charles' eyes swept the duo from top to bottom. He scowled instantly. "Hey, you!" He called to him.

Worker and dragon ceased moving at the sound of his voice. The worker started, "I can't be bothered now; I've got a"—he recoiled the second he realized he'd been addressing the company's COO—"S-s-sir Charles!"

A frightened squeak whistled out of his mouth. The worker went rigid. "G-good morning, Sir Charles! What're you doing here?"

Charles ignored the panicking worker. He looked straight at the muzzled salamander behind him. Its skin glistened like oil beneath the sun. The reptile locked eyes with him and immediately shrunk away, curling in on itself and looking down on the floor. It would've wrapped its wings around itself if it weren't for all its restraints.

Charles walked closer to the duo. His gaze traveled along the dragon's flank, going down its body until he found what he was looking for near its rump. He faced the worker. "Do you realize what you're doing?"

He bore the company uniform for warehousemen. A colored shirt with a simple logo printed on the upper right side of the torso, and a pair of denim. That was all.

"Y-yes, sir," he answered nervously.

"Where are you taking this dragon?"

"To, t-to warehouse 26… S-sir Charles."

Charles shut his eyes and groaned. He turned around and walked a few steps away, to put some distance and to stop himself from whipping his M1911 on the worker's face. "You really don't know what you're doing."

"Sir, I, I don't understand—

Charles cut him off. He pointed at the salamander. "Do you recognize the dragon you got there?"

"It's, just one of the dragons in the facility, Sir Charles. N-nothing wrong with taking one out when it's just laying in its pen."

"Son of a thousand whores!" he cursed. "Don't you know how lucky you are?" Charles gestured at the dragon. "Look at it! Slimy coat, brownish scales, spines on the wings, spiky-looking fins, and a small size compared to the other dragons in the house. That's a textbook Caudate!"

"I apologize, sir, but I don't know what you mean by 'Caudate'."

Charles gawked at him in shock. "You don't even know what a Caudate is? And you're still bringing one out?"

"Sir Charles," the worker replied placatingly, "It should be fine. It has restraints like the rest of them."

Charles thrust his finger at its rump. He pointed out the black markings emblazoned clearly on it. "The serial number we branded on that dragon clearly indicates the Caudate has just finished obedience training and will undergo onboarding within the next day or two.

"It's pointless to bring this giant lizard wherever if it doesn't know shit about our operations! And in the first place"—Charles stretched his index finger and brusquely singled out his clothing.—"you don't know shit either! Caudates are covered in poisonous mucus and are also venomous. They're dangerous if not properly handled! All handlers in charge of Caudates must wear the proper PPE to ensure they don't make skin contact as much as possible."

The worker blanched the longer Charles spoke. He started shaking terribly when he finished, having realized how much trouble he was in now. "S-sir Charles, I, I-I can explain—

"¿And watch you cagar y saltar en la caca? Forget it. This totally goes against company policy. Give me your ID." He beckoned the worker with his hand, twice. The frown on his face had never left, and the atmosphere had deteriorated to the point even Jeffrey wouldn't dare to speak.

"Please," begged the worker. "I—

"ID," Charles insisted, his voice dropping an octave. "Now."

The man capitulated and handed over the ID card in his pocket. Charles wasn't surprised when he turned out to be nothing more than a simple jornalero, the lowest position on the Graham Logistics totem pole. Their job was to load or unload cargo by hand when directed by their direct report. They weren't even allowed to operate the forklifts.

"Why did you go in there to begin with?" Charles reproachfully asked. "Only handlers are supposed to be inside."

"M-my colleague asked me to," the _jornalero _said. "He, he said it was okay. Just get any dragon and-and-and bring it to Warehouse 26 and—

"Enough."

Charles waved at one of the passing security guards on patrol. When he approached them in response, Charles handed the ID to him and explained the situation. "Bring this to Vanessa's attention," he ordered. "Inform her I recommend a two-week suspension for this reverendo malparido." As the guard left to do his bidding, Charles made a mental note to visit HR later. They needed to investigate the registered handlers in Warehouse 26 and plug the hole by which this dumbass managed to secure a dragon by himself.

“ ¡Hostia puta, not two weeks!" The jornalero squealed at the sound of his punishment. "S-sir Charles!" he pleaded. "Please, have mercy! I'm, I-I'm just a person. Everybody makes mistakes from time to time. Don't be too hard on—

"I know people make mistakes occasionally," Charles interrupted. Then his voice fell again. "But I never tolerate stupid mistakes, especially if they're the kind that can kill people. You should be happy I'm giving you two weeks. You ought to be dismissed after that kind of mistake."

The jornalero fell on his knees. “Please, Sir Charles, have pity on me! I'm the only one making money for my family. They're all depending on me." He wrung his hands, continuing to plead. “Please don't fire me, Sir Charles. I'm struggling all day everyday to put all twelve of my kids to school and this is the only consistent job I have—

“A job you jeopardized because you stupidly endangered yourself and people around you!" Charles finally yelled, unable to contain his anger. “Your begging is touching my balls! You're the one who put yourself into this shit, you pinche pendejo! Why'd you go have TWELVE CHILDREN when you could probably afford two at most, huh?"

“Sir Charles, I—

“You are so FUCKING irresponsible!" Charles ranted. “I wouldn't be surprised if you're actually living right outside our walls in one of those trashy shantyhouses!" Warily, Jeffrey Preston approached him and palmed his shoulder, but he shrugged off his cousin and continued, “And you dare ask for leniency? Why are there so many capullo like you? You're all holding Henrico back! We would've joined hands with the G20 by now if all of you weren't fucking like rats and turning our country into a shithole! We'd have a better people, a stronger economy, more jobs, more money to go around, not… not… not this shit!" Charles gestured strongly at the quivering jornalero, no longer restraining the disdain he had for him.

“So no, I will NOT be lenient." He lashed his arm towards the Administrative Building. “Leave the Caudate behind and present yourself to HR now. Do it and you'll leave the campus today with just a two-week suspension. Otherwise, I'll have you fired immediately for insubordination and reckless endangerment! I'll make sure scum like you won't get your certificate of employment from us so easily."

The jornalero suddenly glared at him. “¡Chinga tu madre, cabron! You can't do that! That's unfair! I'll report you to the Office of Labor!"

Charles placed his hand on his M1911 the second the jornalero cursed at him. The dangerous glint in his gaze was unmistakable. He switched the safety off. Discreetly, he gave Albert and the other guards a knowing look, before scoffing at the man's threat. “Unfair, am I? I disagree. We're dealing with dragons here, not just any beast." The atmosphere tensed further and he gripped his firearm tight. Surely Albert and his men were doing the same. “Now if you insist on making trouble, we can always put an end to your problems. I'll also have my friends in the HNP make sure God saves your entire family."

The tense standoff lasted for a few seconds before the jornalero relented. His posture became flaccid and he bowed his head in defeat. “Alright, Sir Charles. You win. I'll go see Vanessa now."

Charles turned to Albert. “Albert, have one of your men follow him. Make sure he complies and doesn't cause any more trouble."

“Yes, sir. And the Caudate?"

“Have a real handler return it to its enclosure. We'll wait here until he gets here. Can't leave any of our dragons unsupervised."

Albert left to carry out Charles' orders. In the meantime, he switched the safety back on and leaned back on the wall to relax. A tired, exhausted sigh escaped him. It was a disgusting thing to do, threatening that worker and his family, but he had to do it. It simply had to be done.

Jeffrey walked over to the Caudate to inspect it from up close, only to be pulled back with a disapproving grunt from Charles. Belatedly comprehending he had very nearly gotten too close to a poisonous and venomous beast, his cousin quickly ambled back to him with his lips curled in an awkward expression.

It took a few seconds before he finally mustered the courage to ask, “Charles, did you really have to do that to the poor guy?"

Charles fixed a look on him, causing Jeffrey to freeze for a moment. Another sigh. “Yes, Jeff, I had to. People like him never listen to reason. They always try to weasel their way out of accountability like that, pleading and begging. If you yield, they'll play the pity card some more and try to squeeze out as much as they can from you.

“They won't even feel guilty at all about it. They'll just tell themselves that you can take the damage, you can take the hit, you can afford the inconvenience, 'cause you're bigger and more powerful than them. No such thing as shame or honor among people these days..."

“You wouldn't have shot him, would you?"

“I would," Charles answered lifelessly. “It wouldn't be the first time. Besides, the Henrican National Police is always ready to provide their assistance."

Jeffrey clicked his tongue and hummed. Charles couldn't tell if he was silently chastising him or merely acknowledging his beliefs. “You're so different from before. The Charles I knew wouldn't do this."

“That was more than ten years ago," he replied. “The Charles you knew back then is gone."

“...what happened to you?"

“Henrico happened."

Charles was spared from giving details since Albert returned with a handler wearing all the proper safety gear. Informed of the situation, he inspected the Caudate to ensure it was properly taken care of and its restraints remained secure. They watched the handler for a few minutes until he took the leash and led the dragon back inside.

Charles cuffed Jeffrey on the shoulder a couple times. "We're following him inside, Jeff. Let's go."

---

The dragon containment facility was easily the most expensive building in the entire compound, and for good reason. The Grahams contracted the best construction firm money could buy in Metro Magallanes to build a uniquely resilient warehouse, the first of its kind in Henrico. Since standard concrete was not strong enough against the impressive strength of its occupants, they spent millions of Henrican Pesos on fitting the entire building with fiber-reinforced concrete and a foundation of stainless steel.

To provide ventilation for the workers, the Grahams approved a tall ceiling design with 120" industrial fans and windows just beneath the trusses. Thick fiberglass covered the windows. Flexible, weather-resistant, and stronger than steel, it would prove difficult for any loose dragon to escape through them.

Charles Graham casually followed the handler into the dragon house through the main entrance. The double doors opened immediately to an open space large enough for at least four dragons and their handlers.

The smell hit them the moment they went inside. Jeffrey Preston's nose wrinkled in disgust, his face scrunching up. The bodyguards and even the handler were no different, pausing mid-stride to acclimate to the overpowering smell that permeated the building. "Mother Mary, that earthy stench is unbearable!" He was gagging as resisting the urge to vomit. "It's like… like…!"

"A mixture of mud, compost, and a sweaty crotch?" Charles offered.

Jeffrey was pinching his nose. "Yes, exactly right!" he replied. "Ughhhhh. Dragons fucking stink! You should wash them"—he finally noticed the fact Charles was watching him completely unaffected.—"Hey, how come you're standing fine over there?"

"We do wash them," Charles answered. "Once a week. As for your question, the smell doesn't bother me at all. It never has." He then added, "Actually I find it kind of calming."

"Calming!" Jeffrey exclaimed incredulously.

"Really! It makes me feel like I'm out in nature." Where he'd feel free, released from the stress of running the company and dealing with Henrican culture, but that wasn't something his cousin needed to know.

Jeffrey shook his head. "You're a weird one, Charles."

"That's what some people say. I consider it an advantage." He grinned at him before gesturing at the open space they were in. There were multiple lockers as well as open crates sitting on strategically-placed pallets. "Anyway, this is where we check the animals before and after field deployment. We also store leashes, harnesses, restraints, personal protective equipment, and spare obedience gear here. As a matter of policy, handlers aren't allowed to take any of the lizards out until they're wearing the appropriate PPE."

Since the reptiles' physiologies were different across the five dragon species, the protective equipment also varied. When they handled Vatran dragons, they donned suits, gloves, and boots made of fire retardant material. They had a variant fitted with heavy insulation for Glass, heavy-duty rubber for Molnya—the same kind used by electricians—waterproof clothing for Caudates, and thick kevlar plating for Techerta.

The trained handler obeyed established protocol and kept his suit on while he expertly and quickly removed the leash and chest harness off the Caudate. With a pat on the reptile's withers, he led it deeper inside.

Jeffrey remarked, "I'm surprised the dragon didn't try attacking him after he took off the harness."

"That's because we teach them to obey us first," Charles rejoined. "We hit them with the prod and the hook if they don't follow our commands or our process, or if they show any aggressive behavior."

Jeffrey's face had a disapproving look. "Isn't that harsh?"

"That's what I thought at first, but Pops cautioned me not to look at them like cats and dogs. Dragons are wild animals. Beasts. You want to control them, you have to completely dominate them. Show them you're number one. Harder said than done when they're intelligent enough to understand Spanish."

"Won't there be some stubborn ones anyway?"

"Sure, but they usually stop after we increase the weights, we show how our AP rounds easily pierce dragonhide, or we let them try to break the giant window in the training area."

"And they're smart enough to understand…"

"Exactly. Some still act up every once in a while, but that's easily fixed with a quick beating or two."

"That's…"

Walking after the handler, Charles beckoned Jeffrey to follow. "I know it's distasteful, but again, it's just one of those things that's got to be done. C'mon, let's move on."

"...okay."

After the assembly area were the enclosures. All fifty were arranged in twelve squares of four cells each. With each square spaced apart in equal intervals, all enclosures were easily accessible for housekeepers and handlers alike.

Charles watched Jeffrey swivel his head incessantly left and right, taking in the sights. His earlier excitement had noticeably diminished since he had stepped into the containment facility as the novelty of seeing dragons in real life wore off.

Eight of the fifteen animals they had in their possession were currently out in the GLC campus. Charles hoped their handlers weren't as lazy as the one who sent a jornalero to fetch a reptile from the dragon house. Of the seven that remained, they proved instructional to Jeffrey's tour, as the company owned at least one of all five "elemental types".

Charles gave Jeffrey a brief description of each type as they passed an occupied enclosure. To make it easier for him to understand, he referred to the element types instead of their Henrican names. Fire dragons, for example, spat two chemicals that would explosively combust when they met. Ice, instead of combustion the substances would coagulate into a white, foul-smelling slurry that had a temperature of -25° C. Electric dragons were similar to electric eels while poison and earth dragons were more like larger, smarter, and even fiercer versions of rainforest salamanders and tropical crocodiles.

Jeffrey shook his head when he heard the names. "It sounds like people just pulled a bunch some words from some European languages. I don't understand. Isn't it easier to just call them fire, ice, or earth?"

"I don't understand either," Charles admitted. "Maybe they have something more taxonomically proper abroad, but that's how Henricans in the dragon business are calling them and I'm sticking to it."

The handler they were following finally stopped in front of an empty enclosure. He opened the door—a thick slab of impact-resistant, weatherproof fiber composite—and stepped aside, with an electric prod in hand. The Caudate peacefully and obediently strolled inside.

"Are they able to eat like that?" Jeffrey asked. "You never have the muzzles taken off?"

It sounded like Jeffrey hadn't taken his—no, Pops' warning to heart. "The only time they've ever had anything taken off is when we're removing the equipment for maintenance. Even then, they are replaced immediately with spares. Remember, we're dealing with ferocious beasts here."

"But they can't eat—

"Yes they can. Our muzzles are a customized design. They can partially open their snouts while wearing it. It won't be enough for them to bite or howl at you, but it's sufficient for taking in bits of food or lapping up some water."

"Hmm…"

He heard a slight tinge of disapproval in that tone. "It's all for our safety too, Jeff," Charles defended their policy. "We only give them just enough food, drink, and heat to keep them alive and functional." He pointed to a turquoise-scaled Glass inside the next enclosure. It was sleeping beneath a heat lamp they provided. "You don't want these things at their best. Sure, we keep their wings tied, weigh them down with concrete balls and a hobble, and regularly file their claws or horns or both down to harmless stubs, but who knows how strong they actually are? Our precautions might not be enough."

"I get it, Charles, you don't have to keep telling me. It's just… more violent than I expected."

Charles rolled his eyes. "Oh, Jeff. You know that's how life is in Henrico. Don't act like you don't know. You grew up here too."

If Jeffrey had any comments on that, he did not say them. His cousin chose to keep silent for a while and continue following him through the building, pensively studying the enclosures.

He broke the silence with a question. "I guess this means you aren't entering the dragon business anytime soon."

"Not at the moment," Charles said. "Right now each individual goes for about 200,000 US Dollars—

" ¡La Hostia! That's a lot of money."

"—which is double what Pops used to pay seven years ago. The poa"—Charles switched to a safer word mid-speech.—"The suppliers are having a harder time getting more stock these days. Breeding is a potential solution, and I've heard about people in Germany exploring dragon ranches, but overall that's still uncharted territory. Highly dangerous, too. That's not something I'm—

A loud growl interrupted Charles' explanation. Jeffrey let out a pathetic-sounding squeal and hid behind Albert when he saw a Techerta glowering at the group, snarling at them from behind the composite door. Charles wasn't surprised at his reaction. Most people would flee too if they saw a massive, mud-green crocodilian beast as tall as their chests staring at them.

Charles ground his teeth. "Stubborn shit, I remember you!" This particular dragon was one of the hardheaded ones. It had a tendency to rebel against them at least once a week, as if it never learned its lesson. He took the ankus hanging beside the door and asked one of the guards to open it.

The Techerta tried to slam its head on Charles himself the second the door was pushed open. But the combination of its restraints and accumulated malnutrition slowed it down to the point Charles stepped aside and swung the ankus down on the reptile, aiming for the soft scales near its shoulders.

It hit.

The dragon let out a muffled howl. Charles ruthlessly pushed the hook deeper and rotated it, causing it to screech. "Always giving my handlers a hard time every week. Well, this is what you get! Hup!" He pulled the ankus so hard that the weapon slipped out and tore a piece of dragon skin in its wake. The beast was already mewling when he stabbed the ankus' straight edge into its flank. "Take that! And that!" It writhed, yet it still swiped at him despite the fact its claws had long been filed away.

When he was finished, the Techerta was a quivering mess curled in on itself. Charles kicked the dragon right on its muzzle and stepped away. "This fucker knows what's coming next," he said to Jeff before issuing a command to one of his guards. "Tell the supervisor here to cut the feedings in this enclosure by half for a week. Have the dragon whipped twice before each feeding."

"As you wish, Sir Charles."

Charles turned back to Jeffrey as soon as the man left. "Now do you get why we do all this?"

"Yeah, yeah, I do." Jeffrey let out a sigh. "They're so wild. So much for my idea…"

"Idea?"

"Yeah. It's something you can do with the dragons."

"Tell me about it," Charles said, resuming the walk to the training area. They were almost done.

"Have you… ever thought of… of... " Jeffrey hesitated to continue.

"Thought of what? You know I'm open to ideas."

Jeffrey cleared his throat. "Have you ever considered making escorts out of them?"

...What did he just say?

Charles couldn't believe what he just heard. He must have misheard him. "I'm sorry, Jeff. Did I hear that right? 'Escorts'? As in… as in the…"

"The sexual kind, yes."

Charles Graham stopped and whirled around. He gaped at Jeffrey in horror. What the fuck was that? "H-how… why…"

Jeffrey instantly raised his hands in a defensive pose. "Okay, cousin, here me out a little, okay? So, uhm, it's hard to tell with the muzzles, restraints, and dirt covering them up, but I bet some of them might actually look cute."

"Maybe, as exotic pets for people with big cojones and the wallet to match," Charles uttered. "But not, not as..."

"There's a market for this, promise! Every January there's this convention in California called 'Confurence'. The people who go there like to dress up in fursuits and do roleplay with their animal personas. It's been going on for a few years now and more people attend each year—

Charles suppressed his revulsion for the moment. "And you think these people would"—He gestured to an occupied enclosure.—"want to fuck a dragon?"

"Hell yeah they would!" He suddenly backtracked, "Well maybe not all of them but I know a lot would. Can do the whole 'slay the dragon not lay the dragon' sort of roleplay actually—

"Ugh, no," Charles declared. "Go fry asparagus! We are never doing shit like this! I don't care how much money this'll make. I refuse to support a depraved group of people—

"C'mon, bro! Just imagine it. Henrico, the number one country for exotic sex. It's radical!"

The worst part was that Charles could imagine it. There were a lot of weirdos among Americans—no, among the rich nations in general!—and he could easily visualize some rich foreigner wearing a furry costume inside one of the enclosures quite literally having sex with the dragons.

But did he really want Henrico to be known for that? Did he want his name to go down in history by supporting freaks? Jesus Christ, Pops would surely scold him if he ever supported this insane idea.

"Yuck! No means no, Jeffrey. Anyone who wants to fuck one of these are sick in the head and Graham Logistics has absolutely no business supporting this shit."

"But what if the dragons can actually talk like in the stories—

"Even then! Eeeew! We are done discussing this, you understand me?"

"Charles—

"Enough!" Charles grabbed Jeffrey by the collar and shook him. "If I hear you mention this DISGUSTING idea one more time, you aren't getting hired regardless of what Pops told you, got it?"

Jeffrey stiffened up. "Alright, Sir Charles. Have it your way. Jesus, I was just making a suggestion…"

Charles Graham didn't bother replying and led the group out to the training area. It was a wide open space, where one side had a wide-open, one-way window made of fiberglass, another had doors that led to a side exit, toilets, and storage, and the last had warehouse racks, pallets, and sand-filled cartons for training purposes. The latter even had an empty spot to which a Kodak slide projector faced.

By this point, Charles had calmed down enough to explain, "When we have new arrivals, our handlers break them in during obedience training. They are taught several commands for about two weeks before we have them study the proper way of handling our pallet trucks and our stock. That lasts for about another week before we have several dry runs using the equipment on display here."

Jeffrey nodded. "So it takes about a month for the dragons to figure it all out?"

"More or less. It's impressive actually. You don't even get that level of cognitive ability from chimps."

"Yet you don't believe they can"—Jeffrey's voice trailed off. He pointed to an enclosure facing the training area. It was the only one that was occupied.—"Hey… there's a dragon over there staring at us."

Charles glanced at the enclosure. He recognized the burgundy dragon instantly. He approached the enclosure and noticed that the reptile was, like the Techerta earlier, standing right by the door. It was slightly smaller, though just as malnourished. About navel height on all fours.

When Charles came close, it stepped away and retreated to the heating lamp in the back. Its orange dorsal fins seemed to glow under the light. "We call this dragon Red. It's the first dragon that Pops and I bought years ago."

He watched the dragon lay down and curl in on itself like a cat or dog would, but instead of sleeping or looking away it continued to stare, to gaze right into his eyes. "Red's one of the three Vatran we own. A fire-breather."

"Why's it still looking at us?" Jeffrey asked. "There's something strange about the way it's staring. I've seen it before. It looks like... like hate."

"Really?"

"Yeah. All the others I've seen today are either terrified or stubborn, but this one doesn't feel the same way."

"Well, don't mind it," Charles waved him off. "Red's been here the longest. It's also the wildest dragon we have." The dragoness looked more worn and damaged than it did seven years ago. Multiple scars and areas with discolored scales covered its body on all sides. There was also this giant scar above its eye—the one Charles inflicted all those years ago when he had truly, finally embraced his calling in Henrico. Seeing it used to bother him, but nowadays he could no longer hear the tiny voice that made him feel guilty about it.

He admitted, "We never really tamed this Vatran. It fights back occasionally, but it doesn't try to hurt us. Sometimes it stops just before the point we bring out our tools."

"So it's scared?"

"I don't believe so. I've never seen it scared after its first year here. To be honest, I would say it's acting out of spite if this beast was actually human. Red doesn't show fear at all, and it's really good at following our commands when it isn't acting up."

"Sounds like Red's one of the smartest dragons you have."

Charles chuckled. "I wouldn't be surprised if it was. Would you believe, it knows how guns work? How we use them?"

Jeffrey shuddered. "Damn. That's scary."

"Anyway, never mind that." Charles turned around to completely face his cousin. "Tour's really over. You happy now? You've finally got to see the 'legendary dragons'."

"They're not as legendary anymore," Jeffrey said, sighing. "Not after seeing"—he sniffled and gagged—"and smelling everything here."

Charles nodded in understanding. Finally, the guy was done. "Right. So after we put you in our payroll, we'll have you start immediately. You'll be a forklift driver first. Do good there, then we'll bump you up into dispatch. By the time we can regularize you I expect you to be in a supervisory role under Margaret Ann, if you still remember her."

"My salary will be high, right?"

"It'll be on par with market rates, Jeff. We have a salary structure in place and—

"Charles, Godfather Stephen assured me you'll give me a decent salary." Jeffrey placed a hand on his shoulder. "If you know what I mean."

The meaning wasn't lost on him. Charles gnashed his teeth. What could he do? He was stuck. Despite announcing earlier that he didn't care what his arrangement was with Pops, Charles wouldn't actually dare go against his word. The man was ruthless when it came to work. Ruthless enough that he might just use the electric prod on his own son if he became livid enough.

Whatever Pops said was Word of God in Graham Logistics Corporation and that was not debatable.

"Fine," Charles said, grumbling. "Let's just get your ass over to HR and I'll take care of your package."

Jeffrey beamed. "Radical! Hehe, I love you, bro."

Of course he'd say that. This was nothing but typical Henrican nepotism and he knew it. Charles begrudgingly led him out of the dragon house. As they left, the heir of Graham Logistics gazed at Red one last time. They locked eyes for a second. It almost had him flinching, for it felt as dangerous as the jornalero he had suspended earlier.

Charles Graham left Jeffrey Preston in Vanessa's care the second they arrived at the HR office. He enthusiastically retreated to his office and locked the ironwood door behind him. He brought down the curtains and covered the window that allowed him a high vantage point over the administrative rooms and ultra-high priority inventory. With all his guards on the catwalks outside the doors, he welcomed the privacy.

The rest of the day was uneventful. He turned on Windows 3.0 on his PC to review financial statements and audit reports, then started signing off on documents and payment vouchers that needed his approval.

When he was finished, he reclined on his office chair and became lost in thought. He recalled what Jeffrey had told him.

Threatening a man, abusing a chained animal, and letting his cousin bypass the strict process he painstakingly built… he truly had changed. It seemed that the longer he languished in this shithole, the worse a person he became.

Charles' eyes lingered on the CRT monitor in front of him. Envy and self-loathing stirred to life in him. He gave a violent sigh and angrily shoved the paperwork aside.

The chief operating officer stood up and walked to the door behind him. It led to an observation deck that faced the entrance of the compound and allowed him a wide, panoramic view that encompassed more than half of the Graham Logistics campus and the skyline of Metro Magallanes.

Charles went to the railing and stood there, pensive. He didn't want any of this. He didn't want to run a logistics company. He didn't want to be making cruel, heartless decisions like what he'd done today. He wanted to do other things, something more socially relevant, something more innovative, something… something that just couldn't be done in Henrico.

Charles knew he should feel terrible, yet deep down, he felt nothing. He'd long grown numb even to his own feelings. There was nothing left but the company and his duties as the eldest son.

A familiar shade of dark red surfaced in his peripheral vision. His gaze dropped and saw Rick leading Red out of the dragon house in full protective gear as per policy.

When Rick turned around and disappeared into the warehouse for a moment, Red peered up, looking at the sky before checking the observation deck and finding Charles there. Once again they made eye contact. He could feel the Vatran's gaze tingling the hairs on his neck.

Even after it had been tormented and abused countless times over the years, the dragoness still ogled him with those fearless lime eyes. It always did this; the animal would stare at the sky or at his office so often one might think it could get lost in its own thoughts like a person would.

It hated him and Pops the most, did it? Charles wouldn't be shocked if that was true. But in the end, it didn't matter to him. Whether it was man or beast, a vengeful gaze was just another part of normal, everyday life in the Federative Republic of Henrico.

Charles wondered if Red should be prodded or whipped, but… that probably wouldn't work. He watched Rick return from the dragon house and, seeing the Vatran so utterly distracted, he switched on the electric prod. It was so strong he could faintly hear it from up here.

Red reacted instantly and focused on its handler, obeying Rick's commands almost perfectly. As one of his most trusted laborers led it away, the Vatran glanced at Charles Graham one last time. Its behavior made him wonder how much longer it'd take to finally crush the dragon's rebellious nature. But the thought came and went in an instant. A familiar numbness replaced it.

Once again Charles found himself alone, with the future of the family business swirling in his thoughts.