The dragon shivered and opened his eyes with a gasp, exhaling a combination of ash and fog. It was cold, too cold forâ€¦ wherever he had been. He remembered warm air, loud music, bright lights, and all the other extravagancies of human city life. He thought, anyway; it all felt like a dream, and was twice as hard to remember.<br/><br/>He stared up at the dangling hunk of meat above him and felt his stomach churn for reasons he didnâ€™t understand. It was beef, by the looks of it. Nothing that horrifying, and yet he fought off the urge to vomit partially out of fear that he would exhale a massive gout of flame. Dragons did that, right? He looked himself over. Too tall for the freezer he was in, shirtless, and wearing a pair of jeans that hardly fought off the cold, he certainly wasnâ€™t human. A flex of his shoulder muscles brought the oddly familiar feeling of his wings trying to stretch in too small a space, and his tail lashed in frustration with a loud clang against the metal wall of the icebox.<br/><br/>A dragon, then. That felt right, anyway. He rolled a bit to the side and tried to stand, but just halfway out of a crouch he slammed his head into the ceiling, thankful for the bony protrusions on the back of his skull. â€œGreat.â€<br/><br/>He felt his pockets, feeling a small, flat object in one. He dug it out; a fold out wallet, absent of everything but an ID and a police badge. He squinted and huffed in frustration at the low light, shuffling around the dangling meat, which still made him nauseous, to the single lightbulb in the freezer to read the frosted-over ID. â€œMaccus Boughbreaker.â€ he rumbled, looking himself over again. â€œHeight fourteen feet, weightâ€¦ heavy, black and gold complexion. Seems like me.â€ he muttered. He repeated the name to himself until it felt familiar.<br/><br/>He flicked the gold badge with his claw, and the sound of his claw hitting the metal sounded familiar. â€œDetective.â€ he muttered. â€œSounds a bit to haughty for me, I guess.â€ he continued, looking around for the seam of a door. Maccusâ€™ head throbbed. He wondered if heâ€™d been drugged; he couldnâ€™t recall anything before he woke up beyond that he had not been here, certainly. â€œCalm down, just get out of the freezer and find out where you are.â€ he coaxed himself, sliding his hands around the icy wall until he found the hinge of the door. â€œNo handleâ€¦â€ he sighed, stepping back a bit. His frustrated breath elicited an exhalation of a small burst of flame that steamed when it hit the icy door.<br/><br/>Maccus flexed his claws and tensed his arms, feeling the rippling strength of well worked muscle under his scales. â€œMaybe I donâ€™t need a handle.â€ he wondered taking a step back before throwing the entirety of his weight behind his shoulder and impacting the door with a solid, and loud, clang that sent it barreling of its hinges and across the room outside, and through a wall.<br/><br/>Struggling to his feet, but finding the room too small, Maccus was surprised to find himself in the kitchen of a restaurant. Well, what had been a kitchen, and had been a restaurant; the door had torn it up quite a bit. He picked his way through the wreckage, noting how powerfully silent the place was, not a soul to be heard or seen anywhere. Mac walked out onto a balcony and cussed under his breath in wonder.<br/><br/>Here he was on what felt like the top of the world, a penthouse restaurant in a large skyscraper that overlooked a gorgeous, if not apparently vacant city. Stoplights changed, and the streetlights snapped on as the sun dipped behind another large building far in the distance in time with a loud chime. â€œThe time is now eight in the evening. Again, the Ivy City commissionerâ€™s office would like to thank you for attending the grand opening of our first-of-its kind resort city here on the beautiful Laurel Island. Enjoy the warm days, the chilly nights, and all the amenities you could dream of. Here in Ivy City we strive to be sure you never, ever want to leave.â€ blared through the city streets, echoing in the quiet.<br/><br/>Maccus let out another shiver as a gust of wind rolled over him, coupled with a rustling behind him. Whirling around, he never noticed the ethereal figure hunched on the roof above him, even after it solidified into an alien, armored form. Instead, the dragon bent down and retrieved the source of the rustling, a folded sheet of paper with another police badge atop it, this one with a chain attached. He slipped the badge around his neck and unfolded the paper to find a simple, if cryptic pair of phrases:<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold">BLESSED ARE THE MEEK<br/>FEAR THE SOUND OF HOOVES</span><br/><br/>Maccus fought the overwhelming feeling of dread that washed over him as the blaring message in the streets let out another chime. â€œHave a great night, and welcome, again, to Ivy City.â€<br/><br/>~~<br/><br/>His body felt like a poorly microwaved dinner; hot on the outside and cold on the inside, and decidedly numb all the same. It was unpleasant in a way that he could not relate to anything else, mostly because he couldnâ€™t remember anything at all.<br/><br/>In fact, he had no idea how long heâ€™d been laying here, staring at a neatly arranged pattern of bowling pins reflected in the polished wood floor in front of his face. He remembered feeling a heavy, dull thud on his back once before, but as a heavy weight impacted between his shoulders and skidded him forward a bit, he finally became aware of some jabbering voices.<br/><br/>â€œâ€¦Angliiskii?â€ he murmured before, unceremoniously, he received a sharp crack across the head that prompted a yelp, and with that yelp came a terrible cracking sound and a bright light. He heard yelling and the sound of feet running away as the lights snapped offâ€¦ wherever he was.<br/><br/>He wasnâ€™t sure how long it had been before heâ€™d heard anyone else, but he couldnâ€™t move. Everything hurt; that cold feeling inside him was heavy like metal even though his body felt like it was screaming at him to move. He mustâ€™ve fallen asleep, but eventually he felt a clawed hand gently rest on his cheek, and when it was held in front of his muzzle to check his breath he could see sandy colored fur. The hand retracted and squeezed his shoulder a gently before slipping something in his pocket.<br/><br/>He could have sworn he heard someone say he was sorry.<br/><br/>After that, he was sure he slept until a bright light in his face woke him back up. â€œHey chico, shhhhâ€¦â€ the voice behind the light cooed; gravely and feminine, tinged with some concern. The light vanished with a small click, leaving him blinking away spots. â€œSorry about the light, had to make sure you were responsive.â€ the voice continued, strong, but gentle hands prodded his ribs and his abdomen, carefully rolling him onto his back.<br/><br/>He let her check him over as his eyes adjusted to the light. A vixen, young but mature, leaned over him, engrossed in her actions. He winced a bit as she pinched him and let go. â€œHow long have you been laying here? Youâ€™re dehydrated.â€ she asked. â€œDo you remember anything.â€<br/><br/>He went to speak and merely coughed through his dry throat for a moment, watching her patient face. â€œAngliiskiiâ€¦ English is myâ€¦ not my first language. I understand though, da?â€ he replied, trying to smile and shivering at how his lips stung with the movement. "I have been here a long time.â€<br/><br/>â€œSo I thought, my little ruskie chico.â€ She sighed. â€œIf you lean on me, we can walk out of here just fine. Do you remember your name?â€ she asked, shifting him to a slumped, seated position. â€œIâ€™ll explain more once I get some food and drink into you, but we donâ€™t really want to be on the streets long in this part of town.â€ she continued, using surprising strength to hoist him to his feet, tucking him under her arm a bit.<br/><br/>â€œBut where-â€œ he started before coughing again.<br/><br/>â€œLater, I promise. My name is Roxxie.â€ the vixen explained, one hand snaking into each of his pockets before retrieving a slip of paper and a small, plastic card. â€œAh, he always leaves one of these. Found your name, lilâ€™ guy. Buyou? Hmm.â€ she muttered, starting to lead him on before reading the sheet of paper. â€œDeath comes not to those who waitâ€¦ with his strength comes loyalty. Yeah, you got some hard ones chico- ah, Buyou.â€ Roxxie explained, stuffing the documents back in his pockets.<br/><br/>Her hand felt different from the one he vaguely remembered from before.<br/><br/>Soon enough, they were out on the street, Buyouâ€™s hobbling steps breaking up the easy rhythm of Roxxieâ€™s own gentle, carefully measured footfalls. She kept talking to him softly, but he couldnâ€™t shake the feeling that he was being watched.<br/><br/>If he hadnâ€™t had his eyes trained on his feet in his feeble attempts to walk, he mightâ€™ve noticed the armored figure leaning out of a window above them, watching stoically as they rounded the entered the hotel that housed Roxxieâ€™s bar.<br/><br/>~~<br/><br/>Tick-tock, he was on the clock. Well, they did call him â€˜Clockworkâ€™ so really, he was always on the clock. The hulking, silver monstrosityâ€™s heavy footfalls resounded through the streets as he moved, his glimmering, filigree form covered in a shabby robe.<br/><br/>There were new ones hereâ€¦ she would be pleased, provided the stupid fox didnâ€™t interfere. Of course, he would, but thatâ€™s how this game had been going on for so long. He couldnâ€™t postpone its end forever.<br/><br/>Now if only the shadow vessel and the outlaw would get their asses in gear, his grand schemes could be put into placeâ€¦ if she allowed it.<br/><br/>For now, he kept patrolling the streets, hunting, waiting. He would peel the skin from the bones of those stupid enough to catch his attention, and that never got old. He hummed to himself, letting his airy, raspy voice resonate in his metallic frame, and kept on going, laughing to himself now and then.