Chapter 7: Catalyst

Viewing his charge from across the street, he watched the youngster enter the park. He looked left and right, then crossed the street. He returned his gaze to the boy jovially strolling along the path, deeper into the park.

The man sighed, annoyed that his charge had taken such an unusual and uncharacteristic stroll. He had just settled down to eat dinner when his surveillance system warned him the boy had left his house. Struggling between his hunger and his duty to his charge, he quickly set aside his dinner and put on his shoes and coat to tail him. He was getting paid to watch and protect, not to shirk when he felt like it. Still, what exactly was he up to? Leaving at this time in the evening. He hoped he wasn't going to meet friends. Experience taught him that trying to follow a group was harder than following one person. Too many eyes to avoid, too many folks to get suspicious.

He hunched his shoulders and entered the park. Much to his grief, he noticed Daniel seemed to be wandering, rather than having a set destination. He knew this much, he could tell by Daniel's movements and his body language. A group of four youths were loitering around a football park, heavyset lads who seemed like trouble.

He eyed the group, who in turn, eyed Daniel. He knew well enough how rough youths could be. He kept his hand within reach of the holster in his jacket. It contained his personal weapon: a Kahr P9. Extremely lightweight and small, it was perfect for someone in his line of work. He had only used it once and it hadn't been to kill. He tried not to get involved where possible.

To his dismay, the group moved towards Daniel led by the biggest of the lot: a very heavyset boy with a shaved head. He briefly wondered if he should move in and help, thinking that this might be serious. He decided to wait.

Daniel never noticed them. It wasn't until they were practically next to him that the leader said something. Daniel started to turn, but the leader suddenly swung for him, catching him on the back of the head and he fell forwards, clutching his head. He cursed, glancing back and forth, wondering if the police might be near. There were two women with prams and their children on the swings. They didn't seem to notice. An older man was walking his dog nearby, down another path. He seemed to notice what was going on, but was making a deliberate effort to pretend he hadn't noticed. So it was up to him.

He began moving toward the youths. From here he could hear their raucous jeers as they set about Daniel. He hand gripped his pistol, prepared to frighten the thugs off.

He was a few metres away when Daniel suddenly roared in anger. And roar was the correct word. It even made him stop.

"I'll show you who is the fool!" came his enraged voice. All of the thugs, including the man himself stared at the frail-looking boy trembling with what must have been pure rage. There was a loud cry as a purple-black light burst from him, a semi-sphere like field with an indecipherable image on it. The boy within had vanished, replaced only by a shadowy silhouette.

The thugs were cowering now, sitting on the ground and covering their eyes, staring up at the impossible sight before them in terror. The semi-sphere began to fade, and a new creature could be seen.

It was a sight the man would never forget to his dying day.

The boy he was hired to watch over was gone. In his place was a monstrous creature he thought could only exist in stories and myths. Because it was a dragon.

From its feet to hits head, it was covered in glossy black 'skin' that seemed to absorb the light. From under its chin, down its chest and under it's tail, a pale yellow skin was present. Even at his not-so-great distance, he could see the muscles beneath the skin, rippling with power. The creature stood on two legs, upright like a man with two arms. Its legs were very powerful indeed, it's thighs and knees being like that of a man, but under that, a third 'knee' pointed backwards, then leading down to it's foot. Its feet were four-toed, only the 'toes' were very sharp claws with a fifth talon-like claw from its heels. Its arms were built exactly like humans' arms, but the elbows were tipped with sharp blade-like growths. From it's back were four huge wings, with 'fingers' running down the length interspersed with thick membrane. Finally, its head was tipped with two sharp horns that curved up then forward, starting from above the ears, which were narrow and pointed.

Slightly awed, but very terrified, he started to move back, tempted to draw his weapon, but quickly realising this thing would most likely attract attention. And the last thing he needed, besides his charge transforming into a dragon, was the police catching him with a firearm.

He retreated, leaving the thugs to reap what they had sown.

Daniel was still reeling within from the rush of his transformation. He didn't open his eyes. He didn't need to. He could feel every last ounce of power running through his new body. He had no idea what he looked like. He didn't even care. All he knew was that he was different now, a new creature. And he loved it.

He decided to open his eyes. The first thing he saw was a magnificent cascade of colours: greens and blues and yellows. His vision had become heat-sensitive. Though intricate details were now impossible to see, he had a new gift too: his sense of smell.

He never knew that all this time, a whole world of sensations existed right around him: scents and odours and smells and vapours. They were everywhere. Each breath he took filled his nose with a new range of scents. Practically every scent was alien and unfamiliar, but they were fascinating.

Four of them in particular stood out from the rest.

He turned his head toward the cowering forms of the four thugs, four clumps of red, yellow, green, orange and blue. They were clinging together; shivering and sobbing with terror like frightened children. Despite his fury, he couldn't resist chuckling darkly. It escaped his mouth as an intermittent hiss, provoking further cries of terror from them. He was surprised the brain-dead oafs had not thought to escape. Still, he was glad they hadn't. He wanted some fun. He grinned with sadistic pleasure, although it showed as baring his teeth; twin rows of jagged ivory daggers.

He contemplated taunting them. He experimentally ran his tongue along his teeth, feeling his new mouth. To his disappointment, his mouth could not accurately define words and articulate sounds as a human could. He supposed any words he spoke would emerge as unintelligible growls and grunts. Not that he cared much. Revenge was his. Whether he spoke to them while exacting it was simply trivial.

I hope we are enjoying ourselves. Came a familiar voice. Vritramon sounded both excited and awed. I told you kid; you're better than they are. And now you're going to prove it. Give them what they deserve. Daniel approved.

He looked down on his body, assessing his movements, examining his limbs and admiring them at the same time. His arms were thick and powerful with cable-like muscles flowing beneath his flesh. His chest and belly were reinforced with a ring of hard muscle and sinew. His movements came easily and gracefully. His tail flowed like a snake behind him, his arms felt like liquid metal in their strength.

He took a step. A loud thump accompanied his footfall, shaking a nearby tree. There were screams and shouts as the other people in the park ran from him, but he didn't care. All he wanted was his four tormentors, humbled and awe-struck.

The first to make a move was Brian. The boy had always known when it was time to scarper. The others simply collapsed, too terrified to move. Daniel took three steps and he had caught up with him. He bent down and scooped up the fleeing boy and held him tightly within his grasp. He moved the boy close to his face and looked him in the eye. He couldn't see Brian's face, but a mass of colour, two black-blue spots where his eyes were and the rest being yellow with traces of green and red. However his scent told a different story.

He had never actually smelled the boy before, yet he recognised his scent. Like a bad odour you don't forget. It was an acrid scent, like molten plastic. Brian was squirming within his grasp, weeping with fright, eyes and mouth wide as though trying to scream but no sound would come out.

Can you see now? Came Vritramons' voice, low and deep, This was the maggot that made you a weak and fearful little boy. Daniel growled with anger, making Brian squeal with terror.

I am not a little boy!>

Oh no, not now. Not anymore. You are different now. Better. Stronger. He is scum and you know it. This scum was making your life a misery and you let him get away with it. He had bigger friends, and he knew you couldn't stand a hope against them. But now, without them in the face of your might and your anger, see how he cowers like the little runt he is? Daniel gave his wholehearted approval. He felt truly fulfilled in a way he had never done so before, holding his tormentor in his grip. For the first time he truly appreciated the power he held. The power over Brian's life. To end it or spare it at a whim. He was drunk with pleasure.

"P-p-please..." Brian stammered, not daring to move in his grasp, "Don't eat me..." Daniel released a laugh, a loud huffing sound that sounded nothing like a laugh. It was hard to believe this was the boy who had been attempting to punch him minutes earlier.

At that moment, the other three decided to run for their lives. Daniel grinned. It didn't matter. Brian was the leader and he was the one who had started this. It would end with him.

Talk to him kid. Suggested Vritramon.

What? How?>

Same way we're talking. With your mind.

Daniel concentrated. It was like focused thinking, as though he was 'willing' his thoughts into Brian's head.

What's wrong, Brian?> Daniel thought-spoke to him, Not feeling so cocky?>

The look of utter disbelief on Brian's tear-streaked face was priceless.

"D-Daniel?" He squeaked weakly. "Is... That you?"

Aye, of course it's me!> Daniel snarled in his face, baring his teeth and rumbling deep in his chest. Brian whimpered and looked away, closing his eyes. Ah thought you above everyone else would know who I bloody well was!>

"Danny..." he tried weakly, "Look, I'm sorry. Really, ah ahm. Just let me go. Come on, pal..."

PAL?> Daniel tightened his fist, squeezing Brian who cried out and choked, Who're you callin' pal? It wisna that a few minutes ago when you were about tae crack me!>

"Ah'm sorry!" Brian cried desperately, "Ah'll never bother you again! Ah'll do anything!" Daniel was clenching a little tighter when a thought struck him. If Brian had known the difference between a dragon's expressions, he would have seen an evil grin spread across Daniel's lips.

Anything?> Brian looked fearfully up into Daniel's eyes.

Yamaki stood at his window overlooking Edinburgh. He and his colleagues had rented this flat to be closer to Daniel while they came up with a plan. It wasn't the best location and certainly lacked some of better amenities but it was generally safe and had enough room and a view.

Within the few days he had spent here since arriving in Scotland, he had made it into a safe-house worthy of a secret agent. Claire and Marie had made the place as secure as possible. A laptop connected to the phone enabled them to check whether their phone calls were being monitored and they had secretly installed spy cams and sensors at the end of the corridor to monitor anyone using the lift.

The three had become intensely paranoid over the previous days. Yamaki had already made several frustrated attempts to reach DGDR Headquarters, but each time a tracer was detected and the call had to be terminated. This both frustrated and worried him. DGDR never traced calls made to General Office, where all usual calls were passed through before sifting to their appropriate recipients. The fact that any call made to any phone anywhere in the building was being met by tracer was compounding his belief that this was some kind of conspiracy, possibly among his own superiors.

At the height of all of this was Daniel. They had taken it upon themselves to keep a track of him using a hired detective. It had only been a day or so since he had returned home and they didn't know what was going to happen, but they each knew it was vital that Vritramon and Daniel did not fall into enemy hands. Whoever the enemy was, of course.

It was approaching early evening, around six-thirty when the phone rang. Yamaki picked up.

"Who is it?" He whispered furtively. At this point, his right-hand, Marie walked in, carrying two cups of coffee. She set it down and watched as he listened to the voice on the other end.

"Yes, what about it?" he demanded. In the silence, it was possible for Marie to hear a slightly raised voice from the phone, but couldn't decipher the words.

"What?" Yamaki stood up so fast, his chair tipped backwards. "When was this?" He listened again, Marie maintaining an expression of neutrality. Yamaki listened, then bent down and picked up his chair. He slowly sunk into it, one hand cupping his brow, as though bowled over by the magnitude of what he was hearing.

"What exactly caused it?" He listened some more. "So it was directly caused by a threat?" he confirmed.

Marie at this point knew that something had happened to Daniel. She knew well enough the huge opportunity for disaster his merging with Vritramon had made. She knew something had gone wrong.

Yamaki ran his fingers through his blonde hair, staring downwards at his desk with vacant eyes as the scene was apparently being laid by the person on other end.

"He's attacking someone? Who?" The colour drained from his face. Marie stood calmly, coffee in hand. "Well stop him! Do something!" There was a heated reply. "Warn him! Talk to him!"

There was another heated reply. Yamaki ran his fingers through his hair again, with more frustration.

"Alright! Alright! Just keep him there until we get there!" He shouted back. Another pause. "I don't care how, just do it! Make sure he doesn't leave! At the very least, keep an eye on him and call me if he so much as moves! Understood?" He sounded both furious and exasperated. With a heavy sigh, he hung up.

"What's the situation?" Marie asked calmly. Somehow, seeing his second in command react with cool composure helped calm him too. He sat back and smoothed his hair, moving his shades back into position.

"Daniel has transformed into something. Something huge and dangerous and he is attacking a thug who attacked him."

"Should we intervene?" Marie prompted.

"Of course. He is our responsibility. Or at least my responsibility." He buried his face in his hands. "Who would've thought I could make a mistake like this?"

Marie scolded him, "Sir, there is no time for doubts. We must act now."

Yamaki stood and pulled open a drawer. From inside he pulled a pistol. A loaded Browning. He sighed put it in his holster within his suit.

"I was a fool." He muttered.

"You were under pressure."

"I was careless."

"You're being self-pitying."

Yamaki looked up and saw a glint in her eye. She was scolding him. He realised she was right. He pulled himself upright and drew a deep breath.

"Let's get going." He said with a tone of finality. She nodded. Her own gun was already in her holster.

"And Claire?"

"Leave a note. She can wait here for us, or reach us on the mobile if she needs to." He strode to the door with Marie after him.

Janice was sifting through the notes in the till when the boy entered her shop. She gave a cursory glance at the customer. Her glance became a stare, which became a gawk.

The boy was dressed only in his underwear, shoes and socks. He seemed to be physically trembling. Which wasn't surprising, given the less than clement weather. She watched, her eyes open like saucers as he walked to a newspaper stand and seemed to pick up a random paper and walked to the till. The woman, still staring at him, automatically passed the paper over the scanner, as she did so many times almost every day.

"Anything else now?" She asked monotonously. He flushed a beetroot red.

"Naw. That's all." His voice was surprisingly neutral. She decided he was probably a nut or even more likely, he was doing a dare or a bet or something. No doubt a gang of his mates were outside waiting, ready to burst out laughing. Well, what the hell, let them. She would just play along.

"Fifty pence please, pal." He handed the coin to her and picked the paper up. He turned and strode out the door. She shook her head and went back to her note counting.

Outside, Daniel was weeping with laughter. He was silent, of course, he knew he was still very much a threatening sight and didn't want to draw attention. Nevertheless, he couldn't resist a chuckle at the sight of him leaving the shop, paper in hand. What made him laugh even more was the fact his head was glowing a bright white in his heat-vision. Brian's' head looked like a lightbulb. He knew Brian's face must have been positively glowing with embarrassment. By the time Brian had crossed the road, amid glares of disgust, amusement and probably sympathy too from passers by, and entered the thicket of trees in the glen where he was hiding, he threw the paper down.

"Satisfied?" Brian almost howled.

Aye, very much.> Daniel replied, trying to stop himself bursting with laughter. Brian picked up his clothes and walked behind some trees to get changed.

"You're a real bastard, you know that, Higgins?" he muttered from behind the trees.

Aye, but what would that make you? Scum?>

"At least I never publicly humiliated you! You took it to far!"

You think public humiliation is worse than gettin' choked at every opportunity, bein' called worthless, getting jumped in the park for no reason... >Daniel retorted, prepared to continue his long list of grievances.

"Alright, fine." Brian growled. He continued to mutter while getting changed. Inside, Daniel felt a little less smug. True, Brian deserved what he got and in all honesty, it wasn't much compared to what Brian had done to him. Nevertheless, he felt somewhat deflated. He felt a little mean. Maybe in his euphoria, he had forgotten that he was better than that. He had sunk to Brian's' level. At the same time, he was getting worried about how to change back. What would his parents think? What if he was caught? How would people react to seeing a dragon? More to the point, what would they do to him?

"Are we done here?" Brian had stepped out from the trees fully dressed. Daniel jerked his head irritably in the direction of the road.

Fine, go. Just remember: I don't want anymore trouble. Consider us even now. I don't want anything more to do with you. And make sure your pals get the message.>

For a moment, Brian started walking toward the road. Then he stopped and turned.

"How are you gonnae change back?" Daniel cursed silently.

Why change back? Isn't this form better? Vritramon put in.

What?>

Do you honestly think your pathetic human form was better than this? Can't you feel the strength and power? Does this not appeal more to you than your old self?

How can I live like this? What do you think ma parents will think when I get home?>

Don't go back.

Leave my family?>

Why not?

Daniel was getting confused. On one side he knew who he was, that he was human, had a family to stay with and a school to go to. A friend too. Nicole.

I cannae stay like this. I have to change back.>

I don't want to change back! Vritramon snarled. Daniel was shocked by his outburst.

But... What then?>

Stay as a dragon. Come on, you can do anything you want. Who's strong enough to stop you?

The Army!> Daniel retorted.

"Ho, you gonnae ignore me or what?" Brian demanded.

I don't know what I'll do.> Daniel admitted. They stood in silence.

Secretly, Daniel wanted to remain a dragon a little longer. He enjoyed the feel of power coursing through him. His body was like a well-oiled machine. Powerful, energised, faultless and unstoppable. Though the euphoria of his transformation was wearing off, he still felt powerfully enticed by the promises of the strength this body provided.

Yet he knew this was impossible. He had a family to live with, a friend, Nicole to be with, a school to go to and a life to live. He knew he couldn't simply throw everything away to live like this. Besides, if he was found and caught, who knew what the Government would do to him? He wasn't a Digimon and Digimon were a protected 'species'. He doubted dragons fitted in with that. If he was found and panic ensued, he could picture two outcomes: One involved himself being dissected by scientists, the other involved a tank shell lodged in his skull, and then being dissected. The former was only marginally more appealing since the thought of his brains being splattered across the ground was somewhat chilling. Slowly, Daniel felt himself slip into despair.

In the US, another boy was slipping into despair.

He sat in his room, his face buried in his hands. Tears ran down his face and his shoulders shook with sobs. He felt himself falling apart. It was awful. Like everything was suddenly millions of times heavier, like there was simply too much to handle.

There was no one home, his parents came home a good hour after he did. He had put up with this for months. The taunting. The jeering and deliberate insults, things getting thrown at him, getting tripped in corridors, getting shouted at and threatened by strangers. And all of it happened at his school. And all of it was committed by younger years than him.

His name was Maurice, and he was seventeen. A tall lad, though quite thin with short brown hair that never really sat straight. He was in his final year at his high school, yet he wasn't near his exams yet and he was breaking down.

He couldn't explain it: Ever since he had entered his final year, the juniors had become suddenly and inexplicably hostile toward him. Not everyone, but enough of them to make him think he had somehow managed to insult every youth in his school in some incomprehensible way. It wasn't even any particular youths either, which is what made it all the worse. It was everyone. Everyone seemed to have a grudge.

And now he had had enough.

He had sucked it up and marched on for long enough. It wasn't enough he had studied hard to achieve his above-average grades, it wasn't enough he had tried to keep himself to himself, no, everyone wanted to pick on him in particular. His confidence had been shattered and his grades had plummeted as had his attendance.

Well, no more.

In front of him was his fathers' craft knife. It was a razor-sharp scalpel-like instrument his father used for certain sculpting techniques, which he did in his spare time. He gazed down at the knife. It glinted in the light, the silver blade twinkling almost hypnotically. He was afraid. God was he afraid. But the pain was too much. He couldn't go on, not like this. Every day was a new struggle to keep his face straight and his tone level with his parents. Every day was new struggle to cope with the seemingly endless attacks. He was weak and he knew it was too much. Now it was over.

He gently picked up the blade. His tears stopped and he ran the edge over his thumb. Blood came forth instantly. His father kept his tools sharp with an industrial grinder in the garage. This thing would cut a tin in two.

A fresh wave of sorrow and guilt rose up in him. His parents would be heartbroken. He could imagine the hysteria his mother would go through, clutching his lifeless body. He pushed those thoughts aside. It was too late for that. This had to be done. He wanted the pain to stop. God, if only to have blessed relief...

Slowly, he pulled his sleeve back, exposing his wrist. He gazed down upon the veins running beneath the skin. So delicate.

With bated breath, he drew the blade across his wrist.

The crimson that gushed forth shocked him. He watched, wide-eyed as the crimson liquid gushed forth, pouring from his wrist with alarming speed. Blood was already trickling onto the floor.

He put the knife down and stared at the paper in front of him. A note. His last note to his parents. Already, he was having trouble focusing. His head was spinning and he felt his stomach churning at the thought of the blood. So much, so quickly.

He got out of his chair. He wanted to go to the window to see the outside one last time. But his legs were already badly trembling. The sight of the blood and the rapid blood loss had prompted a huge adrenaline release that made his legs feel like rubber. His entire insides burned with guilt, fear, sorrow, and anger.

Then suddenly, the anger flared up.

He was dying. And it was all their fault. What had he ever done to deserve to die? Why did he deserve this over them? Why?

For the first time in a long time, his rage burned fiercer than his pain. He looked down at his wrist, which was still gushing. His vision was a little foggy, like looking through water. He felt his senses dull.

A new sorrow welled up, only this time it was of guilt at his thoughtless action. He was going to die, and his parents would be heartbroken. God! He hated them! He wanted to kill them!

Panic set in as his dying mind lost control of his legs and he collapsed. A small pool of blood had seeped into the carpet. He had no strength. He just wanted everything to end. Please, please let this stop. I've had enough.

Then, Maurice lost consciousness.

It was Maurice' file that Garret was looking over. Seventeen, healthy male, no medical conditions. His mind was what set him apart from other prospective subjects.

A suicidal teenager would no doubt have a great deal of angst. When Maurice was brought into hospital, he was comatose. The doctors gave him no chance of recovery. Too much brain damage due to oxygen starvation. Enough survived, however, for the operation he had in mind. And Turcottes' new project fit the bill nicely.

Maurice was the test subject for Turcottes' project. Of course, Turcotte was hesitant, partly because of the nature of the operation, and partly because of the test subject and his history, but Garret knew how to get Turcotte to yield. That is, if Reiley hadn't already persuaded him.

As if on cue, Reiley entered the office.

"Well?" Barked Garret.

"Turcotte will go ahead with the project." He said simply. Reiley smoothed his suit and fixed his short hair. Garret leant back in his chair, smiling.

"Excellent. Turcotte will be a major asset."

"It took a great deal of persuasion. He was quite suspicious. As was his team, I might add. Yvette had a rather nasty disagreement with one of them."

"Nothing she can't handle, I trust?"

"Of course."

Garret stood and walked round the table toward Reiley. He handed him the file on Maurice.

"I want you to make arrangements for this boy to be used for Project Paradigm." Reiley took the dossier and skimmed through it.

"He's alive?"

"Yes."

"How will I get him away from the hospital and deflect suspicion from his relatives?"

"Fake a funeral. I can arrange to have replacement doctors around when he 'expires'. All you have to do is make the arrangements." Reiley tucked the dossier under his arm and turned for the door. After he left, Garret poured himself a glass of whisky. The amber-coloured liquid glugged from the ornate bottle into his glass. He set it down and picked up his glass, sipping the brandy while staring out of the window thoughtfully.

His intercom buzzed, snapping him out of his thoughts. He set down his glass and pressed the button.

"Yes?" It was his secretary.

"The Circle wants to meet. You are invited. They commence in half an hour." Garret thanked him and switched the intercom off.

With a heavy sigh, he stood up. The Circle was becoming tiresome. Each and every one had been a member of the DARRC for years, some of them probably longer than he had been alive. Besides Division Six, Turcottes' division, every other division was secretive and jealously guarded their secrets from the others unless it was in their own interests to share. As a result of this, layers and layers of red tape had been put in place both to help channel as much information from the other divisions into their own, or to prevent other divisions getting access to sensitive information. As a result, often the left hand didn't know what the right was up to.

There were eight Divisions altogether, each with a Administrator who sat on the Circle, which gathered every so often to exchange information and organise cross-division operations. At least that was the idea. As time had progressed and each Circle member had aged, and their respective divisions grew, they had become ever more secretive and belligerent toward each other. As a result, most meetings nowadays were simply to point fingers, blame another division, demand more funding, argue about this and that and many other trivial reasons. Garret was greatly irked by their behaviour.

Nevertheless, he had no choice but to bow to their rulings. Despite their rivalry, he was the one they viewed with most suspicion and hostility. As a result, he tended to be invited only for courtesy and for a focus of their complaints.

He walked to the door. Might as well get this done with, he thought.

I know, it has been a long time. Let me explain.

Something disastrous occurred a while back in my life and it nearly made me do something drastic. I was depressed for a while, but I've been getting better. I know this has been a long time, and I apologise.