Bentwhistle the Dragon Box

by Paul Cude

  To him, despite how tired he was, and just how racked with loneliness he felt, delving deep inside a piece of software from his desktop computer felt almost instinctive. And that was, of course, why he found himself in this precarious position. His software manipulation skills had got him noticed, unfortunately, and now he was to weave his completely different magic on creating what he considered a meaningless diversion, hoping the pathetic humans would 'look the other way'. He'd been tasked with building and then unleashing a devastating form of ransomware, a malicious type of software that blocks access to the victim's data, until they pay a fee. That was just fine with him, especially given that he'd done the exact same thing on at least three previous occasions, and made rather a lot of money from it. The issue he had with what he'd been tasked to do, was that the software would just block the victims' access, even if they tried to pay the money. There was no collecting the cash. It was simply a way of taking as many computers as possible out of action to once again cause as much chaos as possible. Bright, intelligent and articulate as he was, he figured that much the same was taking place across every part of the globe, and that it wouldn't matter to those higher up in the chain of command if he skimmed just a little off the side.

  Solely focused on the task at hand now, his mind lost in the lines of code on both monitors, his body reacted almost on autopilot, his fingers but a blur on the black keyboard, the noise of the keys music to his ears. His aim was to modify the 'WannaCry' worm that spread viciously across the internet in May of 2017, unprecedented in scale, infecting more than 200,000 computers. He'd chosen this virus because unlike most ransomware attacks which are typically carried out using a 'Trojan', legitimate files designed to trick the user into downloading them, or opening them as part of an email attachment, the 'WannaCry' worm travels automatically between computers without user interaction. A tall ask even for him, he knew that if he were successful, his masters would be utterly delighted with him.

  Fingers gliding over the keys long into the night like a master musician, by the time the sun bounced off the boats and reflected off the silky river surface, his work was complete, with a working virus ready to be dispatched at the touch of a button. Now all he had to do was allow the tricky little beast to run riot across the internet. The more computers infected, the better.

  8 Fan of Steel

  Privileged couldn't begin to describe her feelings, given that she'd been chosen from hundreds and hundreds of nurses to look after him. She had, of course, been to every match, got every book, magazine and had all the other merchandise. In short, she was a true fan. Not just of the Indigo Warriors, but of laminium ball itself, and that meant that looking after HIM was nothing short of a real honour. Up until now, it had been her dream job. But about fifteen minutes ago her dream had turned into a nightmare... a nightmare in which she currently found herself hiding in a supply cupboard alongside other members of the medical team, all afraid for their lives.

  Confusing didn't begin to cover it. Only as recently as a few weeks ago he was unable to speak or communicate in any way, shape or form, so severe had been his injuries. In that time, he'd come a long way. He knew it was all down to the miracle medical team that cared for him twenty-four hours a day. Not only had they done a terrific job with his body, but had also pieced back together his splintered mind. Over the last week or so, he'd finally remembered who he was and just how he came to be in such dire straits. A laminium ball player, who'd have thought. And then there was THAT bomb. Memories flooded through him, like it had only just happened, sending a shiver along his powerful, brand new tail. Gazing at his reflection in the tinted glass that separated the room he was in from the next, he marvelled at the craftsmanship of the dragons that worked here.

  'The job they've done is amazing,' he thought, as he ran both hands across the shiny new scales that made up his sleek belly. It was an odd feeling, that's for sure. The scales felt smooth, flexible and wafer thin. They weren't weak he knew, but they were brand new, fully regenerated. How? He didn't know the details. But what he did know was that they hadn't hardened yet and taken on that almost impossible to penetrate trait that gives dragons everywhere such piece of mind and makes them such formidable warriors. This combined with the fact that his wings had yet to reach their desired size, and the missing fragments of his memory, had made his decision seem even more remarkable. But when things had gone to hell, only a matter of minutes ago, something deep inside him had stirred, screaming at him to fight. Given his nature, it didn't take very much for him to comply.

  During his enforced stay here, he'd been cut off from everything in the dragon domain. No news, no telepathic papers... NOTHING! At the start, he hadn't missed what he hadn't known, but as his memory started to come back, he felt the need to understand what was going on in the outside world. Still they hadn't told him. It drove him crazy, like an itch he just couldn't scratch. But some time ago, he'd overheard a conversation between a few of the staff. Clearly they'd thought him asleep. Their mistake! What he'd heard had both fascinated and terrified him in equal measure. Apparently, deadly bombs had gone off across the world, unleashing devastation beyond anything ever known. Dragon and humankind targeted. It was unbelievable, almost as if made up inside one of the humans' books on the surface, something he kept hearing about, and wished at some point to see for himself. At the moment, he wondered if his current predicament was somehow linked to that cataclysmic event. He supposed it was, but he had no idea how. All that he cared about was surviving whatever was going on and getting the staff that had done so much for him, out of here alive.

  Looking down at the broken body of what he assumed to be a naga (he'd seen pictures and learnt all about them, just like every other dragonling) lying there at his feet, neck snapped, looking for the most part like a child's broken toy, so impossible was the angle of his head, he wondered how many more were scouring the building. Procuring the vicious looking sword his attacker had worn at his hip, he decided it was time to go on the offensive.

  Opening the room's door just a smidgen, he checked to see if the corridor was clear. It was. Making no noise at all, he swept out and headed off towards what he assumed was the entrance to the facility, knowing full well the rest of the staff had barricaded themselves in, further back where he had come from. He couldn't be sure about the way he was heading being the entrance, as he had no memory of arriving here, and up until ten minutes ago he hadn't left the room they'd been treating him in. Abruptly he dived into a secluded alcove off to his right, hidden from the main corridor by a giant potted fern, which looked as though it had come straight out of the rain forest. He'd heard voices coming from somewhere in front of him, in a strange tongue he didn't understand.

  'It must be the attackers,' he thought, his shining, newly grown body hidden by the thick canopy of the plant. Nerves threatened to overwhelm him, but his character crushed them instantly. That's who he was. Using all his dragon senses, while gripping the deadly looking sword tightly, he tried for all he was worth to figure out what was coming his way.

  Tasked with taking the medical facility, the group of nagas were small, well organised and had split up into ones and twos on entering the building. Two teammates (if that's what they could be called) in the corridor that Steel found himself secreted in, had just decided to split up, given the limited resistance they faced. One delved into a walkway, off to his left, while the other continued forward in the direction that Steel had just come from.

  Mind feeling fuzzy, muddied and unclear, he knew that if a dragon had been approaching, he would have been able to make out details from where he was hidden. But because he assumed it was another of those beings, the best he could do was just to know that it was heading in his direction, all the time hoping it was alone. Pretty sure it was, he couldn't be entirely certain, which bothered him a lot. Coiled up like a spring, ready to strike, he took one long deep breath. Slithering into view, it wasn't until the naga passed the huge potted plant that it realised something was
wrong. By then, it was too late. Steel leapt out with all the speed and agility of the athlete that he was. Wielding the sword at waist height, he put all his power and strength into bringing it around. Instinctively the naga turned and tried to dodge out of the way, but the deadly dark blur of metal was already destined for its target. A target well found. Cutting almost all the way through, the blade sliced into the naga's circular waist, forcing the slippery being to thump to the floor, making far too much noise for Steel's liking. With thick, clear liquid oozing from the snakelike body across the polished floor, the naga seemed intent on uttering some final words. Fearful of it being a spell of some sort, Steel brought the sword back over his head, and then in one swift blow, decapitated the helpless beast. Aghast at what he'd just done, he did his best to hold on to his stomach contents, unfortunately to no avail, with the pot plant gaining a rather new and unusual mix of feed. Aware of how much danger was still out there, he couldn't fathom whether or not to try and hide the body parts lying there in front of him. In the end, he resolved not to bother, figuring speed was now of the essence. Taking a fleeting look at the gleaming black metal of the lethal looking sword in his hand, he decided, despite never having used one before, that he was now, most certainly, an aficionado. Pushing away that thought, he took off after the other naga, the one who had been talking to the naga he'd just killed, before slipping away down the walkway.

  Barricaded in the store room at the far end of the facility, the medical staff had cast half a dozen mantras across the door, assuming that would be enough to deter even the most hardened attacker. Shields of various sorts, noise reduction mantras and even a perception puller, should take their mind right off the door, if they got this far, thought their leader. But currently, those weren't the subject of conversation.

  "We can't be hiding away in here. It's repulsive."

  "What exactly do you suggest?"

  "We should be taking the fight to them. Teaching them a lesson they won't forget."

  "Did you see what they did to Arthurituris? Not only what they did, but just how easily they did it. We wouldn't stand a chance. Our best hope is to wait here until they're gone."

  "You mean cower in fear like frightened animals too afraid to stick up for themselves?"

  Her worry wasn't helped by the bickering doctors. She wasn't so much worried for her own life, but for that of her patient. In the end, it all got too much, forcing her to speak up, when normally she wouldn't.

  "What about him?" she interrupted.

  "WHAT?" replied one of the specialist medics.

  "STEEL! What about Steel?"

  "H...h...he...he's probably found some cubby hole or other to lay low in, doing very much the same as us."

  She snorted in derision.

  "What's that supposed to mean?" asked the medic, not used to a nurse questioning his judgement.

  She'd had it, and decided to speak her mind.

  "The greatest laminium ball player in a generation... hiding away? You must be off your head. I very much doubt there's a braver, more courageous and fearless dragon on the entire planet. And let me tell you, the very last thing he'll be doing is hiding. We need to get out there and support him. He's our responsibility. His life was placed in our hands. So this isn't quite what we bargained for. Nevertheless, we should still be doing what we signed up to do, no matter what the price."

  The small room suddenly felt very claustrophobic. You could scoop up the tension with a spoon.

  The acerbic doctor, whose idea it had been to hide in the store cupboard in the first place, flushed totally red... jaw, cheeks, ears, nose, the lot. Tiny little flames squirted from his nose, looking like flares launched from a boat in trouble. He couldn't remember the last time one of his decisions had been questioned. More to the point, he couldn't believe it was by a NURSE!

  Padding along very quietly now, hugging one wall, gripping the sword for all he was worth, he'd sprinted after the other naga, well at first anyway. Having made his way down the corridor, only to be confronted by a huge number of rooms off to either side, not wanting to give away his position, he'd chosen to move slowly, and try to catch the beast off guard. It was only when he was half way down that he spotted it, amazed that he hadn't noticed it before. There in the middle of the walkway, was a very thin layer, almost a film really, of clear liquid. Gazing off down the corridor, he could see the film weave gently from side to side, almost showing the naga looking through the windows in the doors of each room. Most interesting though, was that the film disappeared under a door at the end of the passage, off to the right.

  'This is where it has to have gone,' he thought to himself as he stalked after it, not sure whether to lie in wait outside the door or to follow it in. As it happened, the decision was taken out of his hands just as he reached the entrance. Without warning the door came crashing open, the wriggling beast smashing through, both it and Steel each as surprised as the other. With the naga starting to mutter something under its breath, Steel belatedly swung the evil looking sword around. Faster than Steel could believe, the naga slipped out of the way, sliding off to one side, and then rolling back up to its full height on the other side of the corridor. The sword clattered into the door, smashing the glass in the window as it did, scattering the tiny little fragments everywhere. As all of this happened, Steel started to feel... muzzy, as if a thick fog had washed over his brain. Worse still, his vision had gone double, and now there were two corridors, and two nagas both grinning inanely.

  As a laminium ball player, chosen at a very young age to be such, he'd never had to learn a lot about offensive mantras and spells. It just wasn't taught. Only those mantras allowed in the game, and few other simple ones had been on the curriculum. That was the same for all the players everywhere. Their sport required them to focus on that only and give their all. And so they did. So it was that Steel now found himself in a real bind. Outmatched and outgunned, so to speak. But he was nothing if not inventive, which was one of the reasons the fans loved him so much. And so wading through his syrupy mind, inventiveness his friend, he selected what he hoped was the right mantra, ignored his double vision and put all his hope, belief and willpower, which was more than a match for any other dragon in the kingdom, behind the magic he cast.

  Grinning like a Cheshire cat, the naga was just contemplating finishing off the dumb dragon, when out of nowhere an invisible weight crushed him against the corridor wall. Forcing all the air from his lungs, the confusion spell that he'd been casting on the dragon vanished completely. Disbelief turned to fear as he searched for the words that would save him.

  Steel could feel his personal shield expand all around him, crushing the naga up against the wall, squeezing the very life out of him. Pushing ever on, willing it to grow even more, become even stronger, he was pleased to see the results of his improvised attack when his vision returned to normal.

  Needing air or at least one breath anyway, the invisible force was everywhere, holding him against the wall. Desperately he tried to slither out beneath whatever it was, but his way was blocked all around. With panic taking over, he lashed out, flicking his tail as far as it would go. But it wasn't far enough. As the blackness that had started around the edge of his vision encompassed it all, his own sickly gurgle was the last sound he ever heard.

  Steel crumpled to the floor, back to the wall, facing his opponent. Inside he knew he had no time to waste, not if he wanted to save the staff. But he had to rest, just for a few seconds. Panting heavily, all he could think was,

  'That was too close.'

  Earth's surface. Salisbridge, United Kingdom.

  Meanwhile, back above ground in the historical city of Salisbridge, the local police were run ragged, trying to solve the mysterious disappearance of a multitude of individuals. Over the course of twenty-four hours, officers had been dispatched to a number of properties where missing people had been reported. Collating all the evidence back at the station had done them little good, up until the point the final call c
ame in. On attending one of the city centre's Indian restaurants, both policewomen listened intently to the owner's seemingly outrageous story about what had happened the previous Saturday night. Only when the establishment's CCTV footage was reviewed did the officers start to take things seriously... so seriously in fact, that they had to pass things up the chain of command pretty damn quick. The kicker for them had come when they'd recognised the other missing persons they'd spent the best part of a day searching for. On seeing the group arm themselves after the woman in question had suffered some sort of fit on the floor in front of all the other diners, nothing about what had happened made the slightest bit of sense. As the owner of the restaurant continued to badger them about the whereabouts of his son, both officers couldn't help but gaze out of the huge plate glass window which afforded a fabulous view of the city centre and in particular the ancient Poultry Cross, wondering just what had happened that fateful night. So many questions presented themselves. What had been wrong with the woman writhing around on the floor? Why did the group all need to be armed? Where had they gone? How had they avoided the CCTV covering the Poultry Cross? Was all of this done on purpose and pre-planned, or was it something off the cuff? Up until the point where the woman had become unwell, everything looked as though it were a normal Saturday night out.