Scene.

Liam Scott lived on the top floor of a modest residential building. His apartment faced the street. The living room was the largest space and connected directly to the smaller kitchen on its right. The home was well furnished and the most striking decoration was not the glass tank on the kitchen counter but the many pots of leafy green plants.

Liam Scott and Basil Rock were in the former's apartment recovering from the previous night's festivities that lasted till dawn. Scott slid an omelet on a plate and used the spatula to lift bacon out of the pan sizzling with oil. A chair scraped the floor. Rock sat hunched at the dining table, his clothes scuffed and face pale, nursing a fierce headache. Scott twirled the knife in his hand and picked up the plates with his other. He set them down on the lime placemats between polished silver utensils.

Rock pointed at the knife. "Do you mind?"

Scott looked at it. "Oh, sorry. Old habit." He tossed the it into its wooden sheath on the kitchen counter without a glance backwards.

Rock straightened and picked up a fork, stabbing it into a crisp bacon strip. "You made this?"

"Yes. Is that so surprising?"

Rock scrutinized the meat. He crunched the bacon. Scott smiled.

Rock stopped chewing. "Is this-!"

Scott swiped a strip off his plate and chomped on it. "I wouldn't kill my benefactors. Where is Mack?"

Rock swallowed cautiously, "In hiding."

"We should go tell him the good news."

Scott pulled a chair back and stopped. "Excuse me."

He returned to the kitchen and untied his black apron, stuffing it into a drawer. Scott smoothed his navy suit. Was that a dribble of vomit on his shoulder? It took Scott considerable effort to drag Rock off that cursed boat away from his degenerate friends before the man drank himself to oblivion. Scott looked at the knife. Perhaps he should. No, no. He shouldn't kill his prospective partner so quickly, not when they had so much in common. A penchant for violence, for instance. Scott stood in front of the tank on the beige wooden counter. A bright green lizard lifted itself onto the log decoration. Scott put a hand under its smooth underbelly and picked it up. He'd always been fond of lizards, the closest animal relation of the dragons. And this lizard, Lisko, had been with him since he was a child. Its eyes were sunken and it spent most of its time basking in the sun on the counter underneath the window, telltale signs of age. Scott walked to the tray he kept warm on the stove to carry Lisko to the table so it could eat with them.

Lisko curled its tail around Scott's wrist and he lifted the lizard to eye level, smiling, "Do you want apple slices, Lisko? I'm sure you do, I'm sure you do, I'm sure you do Lisk-"

A bullet ripped the lizard's head off. Blood splattered Scott's eyes. He looked out the window to see a shadow fall onto the roof. He laid the lizard in its tank. Scott wiped his cheek and smoothed his black hair now speckled crimson.

He snatched the knife and walked to Rock. "We have a guest."