Who are You? {Scythe}

[Admin]

They'd transferred the brawny man to, well, a pleasant looking room. Plush chairs, a little water cooler, even a machine that gave you coffee and snacks. A pleasant little cell if there ever was one.

Scythe would wake up to find himself in a chair. Not tied, not restrained in the slightest way. Just propped there. With a pillow.

There were no notes in the room, nothing to read. Only one visible door, and it didn't appear to have a handle or hinges. Really, it was just a pleasant, bland room.

Perhaps the only thing unusual, besides its occupant, was the single orb shaped camera mounted in the corner, its eye trained on the dragon.

[scythe]

Dark eyes opening he found himself in a room, not a cage, not a cell, and not chained to the ground or wall. No chains, no torture devices, but instead there was snacks, a pillow, and only one camera. This was clearly the work of someone who was insane. Cuckoo, crazy, unstable. His chest burned, his throat ached, and his eyes felt like someone rubbed them with sandpaper. He hated dragon's bane.

Standing his eyes scanned the room critically before he decided to move about. He ignored the snacks, and water cooler for anything could be poisoned, but from the looks of things either these people were extremely confident in themselves or insane. There was the possibility that they had the right to be confident but from the way those few agents fought he wasn't impressed. Sure they had dragon's bane but any miscreant could find dragon's bane on the market. Criminal, degenerate, hoodlum. It was so common now that he had considered buying some himself and try to build an immunity to it to some degree.

His eyes focusing on the camera he went to it eying it carefully he smiled evilly. What would most dark minded people do with a camera pointed at them? Break it of course. Instead he bit his finger until it bled, easy when one had fangs. Teeth, bite, pierce. Then using the chair smeared the entire camera lens with his blood. Still grinning he propped the chair directly under the camera. He sat watching the door, and waiting for the people who put him there to come in.

[Admin]

But no one came into the room. Instead, a voice echoed out, seeming to come from the walls itself.

"Ah, Mr. Wingblade. I see you have awakened! Let me be the first to welcome you to the Academy, I certainly hope you enjoy your stay here. We went out of our way to make you comfortable."

The voice was female, and seemed to be quite pleasant. Almost jovial and loving: the voice of a favored aunt or loving next-door-neighbor. A voice that would probably calm and soothe most people, but then again, Scythe was hardly most people.

"As you can see, you're in quite a solidly constructed cell. We're sorry about the way you were treated, it was rather crude of us. But you did kill a few of our Agents. Some were even beyond our ability to bring back."

The voice chuckled at that.

"Now, I know your race hates talk, so let's be brief. You have too choices: you can serve us as an Agent, doing what we say when we say it. Or we fill the room you're in with dragonsbane gas and execute you here and now. Your choice, of course."

[scythe]

When a voice came from around him his face shifted as if the man had never smiled in his life. Arms crossing over his broad, muscled chest he tried to find the source of the sound. The voice bothered him, irritated him, and basically all around pissed him off. Anyone who sounded that sweet had to be demonic. Evil, corrupt, twisted. Still he remained silent and still.

So he had killed some of those pathetic beings. Good, the monkeys deserved it. Served them just to point weapons at him, then throw dragon's bane grenades at his feet. As the voice chuckled it further sank in the idea that whomever was speaking was a demon. Solidified, concrete, surety. The voice continued talking as if blood wasn't over the camera lens, as if there wasn't a murderous war dragon in a room, and such calm could only be found in someone who didn't care. Who'd faced worse and will face more in the future. Who was he dealing with?

Gassed. They'd tried that before back in Germany. Course they hadn't known he was a dragon either. Many Nazi soldiers had died that day. This is what he got for trying to be civil, for trying to aid some bleeding man. Next time, he was going to eat them. He stood straightened his shirt and strolled over to the door. He ran a hand over it then knocked lightly with his knuckles. If he punched it they'd kill him no doubt. Die? Or live under servitude? Die? Or act like he's living under servitude? Slave, workhorse, serf.

Arms crossing again he turned and pressed his back to the door eyes staring blankly ahead. He'd find that rotten, peon and kill him. He'd taste that blood yet. Drink, lick, savor. Eyes flicking to the camera he lowered his gaze and head the action ripping his insides like glass dipped in acid. This would not be the first time he was a slave.

"Slavery." He felt his body start to shift and he gritted his teeth. The fangs pressed against his tongue, his sight sharpened, and he could see his skin start to toughen. Harden, scale, fortify.After a deep breath he continued. "I vill be one ov your dogs."

[Admin]

"Good, welcome aboard, Agent WingBlade, I'm sure we can find several uses for you..."

With that, the door slid open, allowing Scythe access to the entire Academy. The killer was being let out of his cell into a building full of children and innocents, all so he could be used.

Thus begins the story of Agent WingBlade.