Everyone hated him. Probably everyone in the world hated him. He hated himself for following the order, but his hands held the flame steady as the neat line of bead formed along its path.

He had two small children at home, and this horrible deed might give them a chance to live through the pandemic that was sweeping the world. Later he would mourn for those whose last chance he was currently sealing away forever. If he was one of those who managed to live on, then he would have time to mourn.

The man behind him sniffled, and the flame he guided trembled for a moment, splattering the hot metal and marring the neat line of the weld. He steadied it and formed a lumpy patch before continuing to seal the line, the horrible line that would close this door permanently on people who were already suffering.

He hoped that when he stopped and removed the dark glass that covered his eyes… he hoped that he would see the tracks of tears on the face of the man who stood at his back.

--

Promises were important.

Chris T'andy made his way back to the place along the river with his head stuffed full. He knew that he needed time to process everything that he'd learned during his night on the mountain, and the morning that had followed, but he'd told Mac that he would return. And despite the overloaded feeling his mind was complaining of, he needed more information.

Amaru Drakon, the older dragon, claimed to have been sleeping for longer than the current calendar had been counting years. Chris had asked him to choose a human style name for his own comfort, after figuring out that dragons mostly spoke in terms of you, I, and others. Their names, or maybe their essences, were obvious to each other and not really used as names. Although, they did seem similar to the NAMES of legends, the names used by wizards, witches, and the gods in stories. Names that could create, call, or bind that which was named. Maybe.

Amaru Drakon had chosen his names with casual amusement. Chris had known that Drakon meant dragon, or serpent, and asked what Amaru meant. The older dragon had laughed at him, and then explained that both names were simply the word for dragon in two of the human languages that the elder had learned.

Amaru also disagreed with modern science, if one assumed that dragons were actually a type of dinosaur, by saying that their closest living animal relatives were not birds, but rather salamanders. Birds were one of the first shapes that most dragons tried to mimic though. Amaru's wings were also birdlike in their structure, instead of the bat wings of most modern dragon illustrations.

Chris kind of wanted to take Amaru to see the 'Lord of the Rings' trilogy, or maybe 'Dragonslayer', or maybe not. He also had trouble thinking of his snakelike trueform as an amphibian. He didn't feel like an amphibian. Dragon frogs? On the other hand, there was that whole thing about identifying supernatural creatures by trying to drown them. That had always seemed really stupid. If you killed them, you proved that they were actually human, yay…

But despite everything churning in his head, he really needed more information. He needed to catch up with the five years that he'd slept through, and figure out how to acquire identification while the whole city seemed to be shut down. Amaru Drakon, who had flown toward the coast, with a promise to return by morning, would also need identification. He needed money.

Amaru claimed that dragons did not usually bother with material goods. No convenient hoard to loot. No long-term investments. Which meant: Chris still needed a job.

'Gregory' hadn't left his infant nephew 'Norris' a fortune, but it would have been enough for a comfortable start. He kind of regretted the safeguards he'd placed on the money. Although… he was also starting to wonder if there would be anything left to collect in another fifteen years.

The streets he hurried through were disturbingly empty. If there had been a few moaning figures with their arms stuck out like heat seeking dowsing rods, it would have seemed like the city was caught up in a deadly virus outbreak scenario from a video game. The fact that the restrictions that were keeping the streets this empty were caused by a real virus was almost ironic.

He would have stopped by the library again to borrow the internet connection, but the tablet he'd dug out of the trash was out of power. He was hoping that Mac, or the bartender, would have a compatible charger. His clothes were also going to attract notice if anyone looked too closely.

He was lucky that his dragon feet were smaller than his human feet, and that his shoes were intact. Amaru might be able to create a line of separation in a solid object, which explained the chain on the doors, but claimed that joining two things that were separate was… well, he hadn't said it was impossible, just that he didn't have enough energy to do such a thing.

Chris's own skills with a needle had been disparaged by many over the centuries of his long life. They didn't seem to have been much improved by the fact that the repairs were done with a stone needle kindly shaped for him by an elder dragon. There was also the fact that the only thread he'd had available had been pulled out of the edges of the tears that he'd been mending.

He almost screamed like a little girl when a pale figure in torn and dirty clothing stumbled out of the alley in front of him and emitted a horrible wheezing groan.

--

Anne coughed again, and lifted a hand to her head, as she peered toward the man who had just emitted a shrill squeak and jumped backwards.

She flipped him off, and muttered, "That's right, stay back and let everyone die alone. Idiot."

She wiped her nose with the piece of her sleeve that she'd ripped off. It was disgusting, but her nose wouldn't stop running, and she'd started out by just rubbing it with her sleeve, but the damp against her skin in this kind of cold had triggered chills that wracked her tired body.

She was sure that she'd caught the new virus that was killing people all over the world. She'd been tired and cold, but she hadn't felt sick, until her head had suddenly started leaking snot like a broken water pipe in the middle of the night. The worst thing (somehow there was always still another worst thing waiting) was how thirsty she was.

All of the public toilets, all of the restaurants, everything was shut down and locked up. People who didn't have a place to go were living like cavemen now. Digging holes with sticks in flower beds to take a dump, drinking from gutters, or worse, public fountains.

The hospital was supposed to have to treat you even if you didn't have insurance, at least, that's what people moaning about unfair taxes and how they were supporting good healthcare for illegal immigrants claimed. She'd gone to the ER, she'd walked miles to get there, figuring that they'd at least quarantine her until she died. They'd kicked her out as soon as they'd determined that she wasn't bleeding anywhere.

Anne was so shocked when a warm arm wrapped around her waist, that she didn't even scream. When she looked up to meet his eyes, the water that she could usually only see when she closed her eyes seemed to ripple across his face, and another gush of snot dribbled from her nose.

Almost calmly she asked, "You want to die?"