RANKED 3rd BY VOTERS IN CHARACTER CREATION CONTEST #12!

"Police!" announced Officer Dragon, as he smashed through the plate glass storefront. "Get your hands in the air! Don't make me have to kick your @$$!"

The bald man in the black suit and handlebar mustache gave the fin-headed officer a bland look. "Was that really necessary? There's a door ten feet that way," he said, pointing to his right. He then dropped a balding, unconscious man to the floor.

"I told you to get your hands up! You can't just go around beating people into unconsciousness!"

The suit looked at the man piled at his feet, and said, "Him? He was threatening you. He was ranting something about, 'I made him! I can kill him!' He called himself 'Highbrow.' Fingerprint scanner makes him as one 'E. Larsen.' Know him?"

Dragon countered, "Nevermind. Last time - get your hands up."

The mustache sighed. "Fine." He raised his hands slowly, then took in a sharp breath. When he breathed out, he blew fire. Dragon turned and jumped out the broken window, but was still engulfed by the flames, the blast throwing him into the building across the street.

A long minute passed, the two storefronts facing each other across the two lane street. Both burned quietly, as fire alarms blared from within. Finally, there was a shift of fallen brick and the tinkle of shattered glass, and Dragon crawled from the burning debris.

"I am getting really tired of surviving fires, without my clothes." He stood up slowly, looked around to see whether he was exposing himself to the public (again), and walked over to his police cruiser. Realizing he didn't have his keys, he muttered, "Crap," and shoved his finger through the trunk lock. He jerked slightly, and the trunk lid buckled and wrenched loose. Dropping it to one side, he first pulled out a pair of pants, and put them on quickly. Then he reached in for a shotgun. He looked back across the street, and the fire breather was casually walking out the door of the store, using his hands to pat flames out on his suit. Unlike the suit, the man was unharmed.

Crossing the street in three quick lunges, Dragon shouted, "Did you just leave that man to die?" and belted him with the butt of his rifle.

The man didn’t stagger, but returned with a backhand that sent Dragon back against his cruiser. Before Dragon could get up, the man was over him, yanking the rifle away and tossing it aside. "Don't be ridiculous. I sent the storeowner out the back way with him. You should take him in."

"How 'bout I take you in, instead?" Dragon swung at the man, but the man dodged to one side, caught Dragon's wrist with one hand, and delivered a blow with the other that made his arm snap at the elbow. The officer rolled to his good arm, and swept a leg back to trip the man, only to have him jump over it, and come down on his knee, snapping that as well. The man quickly stomped Dragon's groin, just to slow him down further.

He then dropped down on one knee, the other pressing at Dragon's throat. "Now, while those are healing, what do you say we talk for a minute?" He reached in his jacket, and came out with a badge and identification. "Heironymous. Secret Service." He felt the tension leave Dragon's body, and lifted his knee.

"What do you want?" asked Dragon.

"You, sir, were elected Commander-in-Chief, for about a minute-and-a-half. That gets you a Secret Service protection detail for life, and guess what? That’s me." The bald man stood and offered a hand to Dragon.

Just as he was fully upright, Dragon swung and knocked Heironymous three car lengths down the street. "I owed you that for the kick to the groin," he growled. Swaggering towards the agent, he called, "Now do you want to explain to me why my 'protection detail' assaulted a man, caused a few hundred thousand dollars worth of fire damage, and attacked me?" By the time he finished his question, he was standing directly over the agent.

Heironymous, propped on both elbows, looked up at his green charge, and answered, "He was threatening a former President of the United States, and it is my duty to stop any and all threats against your person. The damage is a hazard of breathing fire. And I attacked you to gauge your durability, so I can better know what threats against your person are credible."

Dragon stomped on Heironymous' chest, smacking him against the pavement. "That's the STUPIDEST thing I've ever HEARD!"

From the ground, Heironymous shrugged. "It happens in fan-fiction all the time."

"I'm hauling your @$$ in, agent or not," growled Dragon.

Heironymous glowered. "Sir, with all due respect to your former office, get off of me!" The agent delivered an uppercut that sent Dragon sailing backwards. He got to his feet, and suveyed his suit, finding it scorched and tattered beyond repair.

He scowled as he started down the street, towards the fallen former president. "Now you listen to me! I am a damned sight older than this entire country. I've been with the Secret Service since the day it started. I have been involved with the protection of all twenty-nine presidents since that day, which includes your sorry @$$, and you are by far the biggest disgrace among them! You have endangered and taken lives as many times as you've saved them, were a damned puppet when you ran for office, and you are the sorriest, most dumb@$$ excuse for a 'dragon' I've ever seen. I'm a dragon! You're just a lizard-man with a badge."

Dragon got up, seething, but simply said, "Go back to wherever you came from. I'm refusing Secret Service protection."

Heironymous looked amused. "Why's that?"

Through gritted teeth, Dragon said, "Because. I. Say. So." Then he stalked away.

Heironymous put on a pair of mirrored shades, looked around at the damage, and walked in the other direction. "Damned skink."

Story and original characters owned by Chris Bishop, copyright 2013, 2014, 2015, 2016, 2017, 2018, 2019, 2020, 2021, 2022.

Erik Larsen and Savage Dragon owned by Erik Larsen.