Gutter

"Your offer is humorous, whitecoat," the dragon growled, the buzzing of static ablaze around them, "but I desire blood."

The momentum spurred by their differing terms heightened the atmospheric tensity visibly. Like a pressure control valve failure, the wreckage of the laboratory came alive with their heated exchange. The lights fluttered excitedly while the exhaust ports began their dull roaring of their relieving again. Either one of them could become another failure. A simple slash of the ?????'s thin craning neck would end his precious life, thought he. He stood so vulnerable and weak before a lethal creature like him. His disposition was merciful for even entertaining his chatter, ?????? was so fortunate to be of use to him alive.

"Alliances are sealed in blood where we come from, not your meager toys and play things." he paused before meeting the ?????'s impenetrable, cold gaze, "You will supply slaves and in exchange, I will spare your life."

"There's your offer. Failing to take it," he continued, "you will die."

"You speak of appeasement like a conciliator bartering for his very life," spoke the drake, circling him cautiously like he would a venerable enemy in the wild, "Tell me, how much are you worth?"

Amid the ??????'s laughter, he chortles at his shift in paradigm, pleasantly bewildered at the break in composure of the usually comported cohort. He caught himself mesmerised by the ?????'s livid stare down, he recognised the pierced inflection of madness as if it was his broodmother's. If he had one.

"Why, don't stop now, dear whitecoat," he hissed bemusedly, "your self awareness merely perpetuates your cycle of existential crisis."

He need not even do the honours himself. All he required was a push towards the death he so warmly embraced. Gambling at death's door, he was nearly begging for it. A mentally deficient whitecoat, how it confirmed all of his rightful suspicions. They were all scavengers, exploiting the sickened and envenomed for the sake of their precious health and safety. Vultures. They destroyed their work millennias in the making, of dragonkind and unicellular organism alike. The hypocrisy of them all, creating a wreckage of medical research simply due to the deviation from their insipid arbitrary 'ethics'. And now this whitecoat before him shows his true, dark deficient colours.

"Mortality is 'lesser evolved beings' expiration,' whitecoats whisper. 'A relic of the devolved.' But you and I both know it's unavoidable, inevitable, absolute."

He considered his pointed questions, dismissing them for dissuading the begging question.

"As you prattled on about your whims and wailing of the futility of our brief time as mortals, you've entirely deluded yourself. The pleasure response, the typical whitecoat explanation for all of life's motivation. A vague semblance for defining our mis-understandable intentions. All have desire, we share this with dragon kind in its entirety, even with the lesser beasts. And it will divide us, tear us apart and asunder just as easily as it will bring common grounds." at this point, his claws left scratched, scarring marks to the cold cracked tiles he paced over. The excitation was unbearable, his eyes appeared as though they'd burst from their sockets from the intensity of his manner.

"That is, to survive. The ultimate commonality. With each death, survival refined. The molting of the weaker wretches ensures our genetic potency to survive, nay, to thrive. You understand death as a designer of futility among an individual whelp, but our Goddess understands death as a refiner, evolver of dragon excellence. Out of death and pestilence, the strong, resistant and resilient remain."

The whining screech of corroborated metal sounded besides them as if the drake's energy had channeled within the lab's conduction. His claw marks on the tiles were deepening as hard as his eyes were. He was delirious with himself, like the ????? had triggered a secret he'd been keeping.

"Don't try to obfuscate the point any further, what dragons simply want is IRRELEVANT. Half the time, their fickle little hearts do not even know what they want, let alone need. Besides whatever their rotting meat sacks necessitate, but past that, they remain ignorant. And weak."

In his mind, ?????'s devolution into mental corruption was marked. Where others saw greatness of mind and character, he could see vulnerability of mind and body; his psychological profile conveniently emphasised his acceptance of death. He welcomed death, sought it, thought the impassioned dragon. All would be tested duly. Words are meaningless without action, those were the sentiments of Plague. He would challenge him, he would see him cower.

"Your hypothesis, prove it." spat the dragon, "Do it now."

BACK UP IN CASE OF DELETION.