Monday.

I rose early in the morning, before Miko or the children. I carefully extracted myself from the huge cuddle pile (we all slept together), and went to relieve and wash myself. I put on my cargo shorts, and left the shrine temple.

It was time to go to work.

In truth, I didn't need a job. We lacked nothing at the shrine temple; we had food and shelter, and what we needed beyond those, Miko could provide with magic or I could scrounge around town with Jared's help. (Where we got the food from, you ask? Well, if you think I imply Miko and her... dairy production as the primary source, you're wrong; no, all of us are able consume any kind of organic matter, even those totally inedible by human standards, like petrol. A bit of irony there, in that example – dinosaurs eating ancient remains of other dinosaurs... Picture me guzzling down a gasoline can, and somebody calling it cannibalism. Ha!)

However, despite my family's self-sufficiency, I had decided to take a part-time job (two or three days a week) in order to improve my image with the rest of Makinata's inhabitants, to show them I wasn't scary, savage, or inhuman. (Or... at least not to the extent they imagined me to be.) Plus, I got to do something I like – working on cars – and the small amount of money involved made certain supply hunts easier than they would've been otherwise.

I took the forested path down the mountain to Makinata District. The walk along the road between the farms was lonely, and the occasional passing car or a pedestrian gave me a wide berth. The wind blew, the late autumn breeze cool against my scales. Less than ten days until my birthday – and the first anniversary of my transformation; and Miko's first date of existence, too. But there would be no celebrations. By then, we'd either be isolated or forced into permanent service. I sighed bitterly. My mood was foul.

The road began branching into streets, with the buildings around more densely clustered. I entered into Makinata's heart, the market street, and went to Mrs. Obuzaki's bakery to grab some pastry, in hope the warm food would improve my spirits. As I approached the bakery, I inevitably scattered the other clients, who hurried to get away from me. Mrs. Obuzaki, a portly middle-aged woman, was as usual selling the produce herself. She looked at me with feigned indifference, which was a surprising (but welcome) change from her usual mix of annoyance and contempt in regards to me. I figured her change in demeanor had something to do with the incident three days ago.

Emboldened by this hopeful sign, I took the opportunity to suggest again the making of banitza, but Mrs. Obuzaki, again, took dim view of my attempt at meddling with her bakery. Defeated but not dispirited, I left with two karepan buns instead, their deep-fried golden-brown crusts reminding me distantly of pirojki, one of my favorite foods back in my homecountry.

Carrying a bag of fresh bakeries, I took the main thoroughfare, which ran along the whole length of the district all the way past the blockade and ended deep into the neighboring Kita Ward. The wide, well-kept road was much less crowded since the district's lockdown, and where once this was one of the regular chokepoints during rush hours, traffic had now dwindled to that of other sparsely-traveled rural roads.

I passed by Farmer Jingyi's hardware emporium, the largest store in Makinata after the supermarket. It was one of the local landmarks, reminding me of that one song by Weird Al Yankovic, given the store's useful merchandise and the district's provincial atmosphere.

It made me sad, looking at the shuttered storefront and the empty shelves beyond the wide windows. Farmer Jingyi's was one of the nicest people around, and loved by many of the locals. I particularly had warm regards for him, because he was one of the very few people who spoke with me like a normal person. Perhaps it was because Jingyi himself was a Taiwanese and probably knew very well how it felt to be isolated in a community.

Farmer Jingyi had left the store closed, because he was busy with the harvest and its subsequent processing; a much higher priority now, during the lockdown, and he couldn't afford to pay anyone to attend the store. There wasn't much sense in doing so anyway, since all tools, spare parts, and machinery had been sold, looted, or cached long ago. Everything was barren now, not only the hardware emporium; it was fair to say that Makinata was hovering somewhere between a civilized enclave and a post-apocalyptic prison colony. The winter had been brutal, and some people had almost died, when the JSDF had delayed a supply shipment for some unknown reason. It made me angry, how callous the soldiers were with people's lives; and that anger smoldered deeper still as I recalled Nakamura's arrogant words that the JSDF were doing me and my family a favor somehow.

I took out a karepan and bit savagely into it. That shit-faced kuzo should be the one rotting in prison, not us. Let him have his freedom taken away for a year without any justifiable reason and see how he'd like it.

I continued on my way, chewing loudly with stuffed maw. Up ahead came Road Station Ogo – another central landmark of Makinata. Before the lockdown, the road station was a lively place, with a gas station, a small motel, and a large 24/7 store to buy overpriced packaged foods. Locals often gathered after hours on the broad parking lot, especially younger people, like the street racers Jared kept company with.

Now, the road station had become the unofficial quarter of the foreigners who had been trapped in the district when the JSDF had closed it down. The majority were Americans, Brits, and Australians, but there was a fair number of tourists from continental Europe: a French family, a band of German drinking buddies, a Czech photographer, a Danish exchange student, and two Russian correspondents for a science magazine. South America was 'represented', too, by a group of Brazilian MMA practitioners, who had come here to participate in a tournament, and then had made the unfortunate decision to tour the country a little before going back home. The road station was thoroughly occupied by the foreigners, with all of the motel rooms taken, the store turned into a dining hall, and the parking lot partially fenced off with cars, beyond which a small makeshift tent camp had sprung up.

All of this I had learned from Jared – none of the foreigners dared to speak to me. (Except the Russians, who flung sharp insults at me when drunk, but always from a safe distance.) Jared himself, however, wasn't living at the road station – while technically a foreigner, he had ingrained himself with the locals well enough to have found a private dwelling. It was a run-down farmhouse at the eastern edge of the district, just by Ogocho Park, if I remember correctly. Nothing fancy, but for a former vagrant like Jared it was like a palace.

As I passed Road Station Ogo, I wondered if I'd see the mugger around and how he'd react to me. Speaking of reactions, I had no idea how the rest of the foreigners would perceive me due to the prevented mugging. They might be like Mrs. Obuzaki, and see me a bit more favorably now; then again, they might just be more hostile instead – after I all, I had attacked one of their own, even if he had been guilty in the first place and I had subsequently saved him from a worse fate. I shrugged, swallowing the last bite of karepan – I didn't care either way. If I had learned anything since my transformation, it's that people from all parts of the world tended to be jingoistic jerks, not just the Japanese.

And then, disaster struck.

I was just crossing the intersection, mulling in thought, when I heard a rough female voice calling me. "Where are you headed so fast, Drago-chan?"

I cursed mentally, and turned. I saw Commander Tanaka, who was in charge of the blockade forces. She was leaning on a heavy military jeep parked across the street, wearing only a t-shirt and camo pants, her hair tucked under a patrol cap. Several impassive soldiers were standing nearby in loose perimeter. As soon as she had my attention, Commander Tanaka swiftly approached me, like a cobra ready to strike.

"What is a hot monster stuff like you doing so far from its nest?" she said, leering at me with a wide, hungry smile. She then licked her lips with a slow, circular motion. She actually licked her lips. I've never seen someone do that outside of anime. Even the most unsavory ruffians I've met on my travels had too much self-esteem for that. In real life, no Japanese would ever do that.

Yet Commander Tanaka just did.

"Ohayou gozaimasu, Commander-sama," I said, stone-faced. This was not how I planned to start my day.

Tanaka reached me, and bumped her fist playfully against my abdomen. "Hey-a, alligator," she said in clumsy, thickly-accented English.

At this point, even a cheap pornographic script couldn't have made the situation more awkward. Commander Tanaka was barely five feet four, flat as an ironing board, and miniature in every other way – except in sexual appetite. Said sexual appetite, supposedly, rivaled my own; but the problem was, Tanaka was interested in me. And there was zero, absolutely zero reciprocation on my part. One, I intensely disliked her crude attempts at flirting, and two, she wasn't even remotely my type. For fuck's sake, Tanaka was short enough that if she bent a little, she could give me a blowjob while standing.

"That's not how the rhyme goes," I replied automatically before I could catch myself. I cursed silently again.

Tanaka arched one bronzed eyebrow. "Eeeh? Why the cold reception, Drago-chan?" she asked with false innocence. "Do you want to upset me and make me cry with heartbreak?"

I managed to stay silent.

"How rude!" Tanaka pouted. "Insulting me and then refusing to talk to me! I suppose I should tell you about a report I have received three days ago," she continued, her tone becoming thoughtful, "which said that you had been on a dangerous rampage, threatening both citizens and military officers. I'm told the soldiers had barely brought you under control." Tanaka glanced at me. "Oh, don't look so outraged, Drago-chan! I believe this is all exaggeration. I know you wouldn't hurt a fly, even though you are a big scary monster, right, Drago-chan? But you see, I'm in a spot... The others don't know what I know about you, Drago-chan. So I have to decide whether to restrain your liberties further, for the public good and the safety of my soldiers, or should I let a potentially unstable and scary monster roam free... But I believe you are a good boy, eh, Drago-chan? And yet here you are, being mean and rude to poor me, when I only wanted to say hello. If only you said nice things to me, Drago-chan, I'd be very willing to help you out with... things... and then I can convince people you aren't bad, if I had evidence... Wouldn't you agree, Drago-chan?..."

While Tanaka was busy with her amateurishly manipulative monologue, I tried to keep my composure. I was screwed – in multiple meanings of the word – whatever I did in this situation. Commander Tanaka had gotten more and more lecherous as time went by, and I had become her obsession. She was a sexual predator and I was her prey. It was beyond ironic that a huge weredinosaur and a petite shortie would have their roles so thoroughly reversed. Samuel Colt was half-right: guns really were the great equalizer, but only when used by organized tyranny.

I didn't notice that Tanaka was inching closer and closer as she spoke. I only became aware of her proximity when she hooked her fingers underneath my pants' waistline. I jerked away sharply as if struck.

"Ohhh, feisty!" Tanaka said, smirking. "A true predator, indeed."

The timing of her remark was also ironic. I glowered at her, feeling trapped. Tanaka reached out to touch me again, but I grabbed her by the wrist.

Instantly, several rifles clicked across the street and the jeep's machine gun turret swiveled in my direction.

"Mind your dirty claws, beast," Tanaka said with a cold voice, her flirty mood evaporated.

"I will certainly do so, Commander-sama, if you cease your inappropriate behavior," I replied, my tone equally icy.

"If you don't cooperate," Tanaka hissed, "if you don't do as I tell you, there will be consequences. Very unpleasant consequences. I can make your life a living hell, beast, and nobody on the outside will ever learn about it."

I simultaneously felt righteous wrath and bone-chilling dread. I knew Tanaka wasn't bluffing. She was a real hardcase underneath all the fake girlish acts, more monstrous than I could ever be. I've read her JSDF file. (I have my ways.) I struggled to not hyperventilate, to not show any weakness which Tanaka might exploit. I suddenly felt the powerlessness of my position, my inability to fight back effectively – words toothless without the backing of force, primal violence restrained by superior technology. I was ready to give into despair, and allow Tanaka to do what she pleased, and hope she would leave me alone afterward.

But then, in a flash of recognition, I remembered that I was somebody who the Cosmos itself had granted his deepest desires. I was a mage, even before I met Miko. I was my own master, beholden to no one. Tanaka had no power over me, if I didn't let her.

In the end, she was just a bully dressed in authority.

And I was one who commanded the very forces of reality itself.

A true master was one who could defeat the opposition at their own games.

"I'd choose my words more carefully, if I were you, Commander-sama," I said to Tanaka. "Otherwise they might make their way into my report when I speak again with Nakamura-san."

Using Mr. Nakamura's name had the desired effect: Tanaka scowled furiously, but she backed away. "Now, if there is nothing else to discuss, Commander Tanaka, I bid you good day," I concluded, cold and formal, and quickly turned to leave before she could reply.

"This isn't over, kaiju!" Tanaka shouted at my back as I walked away. "I always get what I want, you hear! I will fuck your dinosaur dick by the end of the year, one way or another! Mark my words!"

I walked on resolutely, not daring to twitch a muscle. After fifty paces, I finally allowed myself to relax. That was a close call. Using Nakamura's name wasn't the best choice: it meant I had to either take his deal or that Tanaka would descend upon me like a vulture after a week. But the damage was done, and there was no use worrying. Even so, I felt low and miserable. The noose was tightening around my neck – around our necks, mine and Miko's and the children's. My family's time was running out, and there was no acceptable solution in sight on the horizon.

Following the main thoroughfare, I passed by Makinata's large spa center, which was built over a natural hot spring. Mrs. Kawano, the proprietress of the spa center, was one of the most hostile persons towards me and my family; as such, I haven't been able to go to the spa ever since my transformation. It was one of the things I missed from my old life, alongside street racing. I'd dearly like not only to go, but take my whole family too; the largest pool was big enough to fit even Miko and her daughter-clones all at once. A hot springs afternoon for all of us would be heavenly.

As it stood currently, such a visit was about as possible as attaining escape velocity from Earth by freerunning.

Finally, I arrived at my workplace: the local Subaru car dealership and auto-repair garage. This was the only place that had been willing to take me as an employee. The owner, Mr. Takeda, a stern, stoic man, was unfazed by my appearance; rather, he was interested, in a very matter-of-fact manner, about what I was able to do. Being a MIT alumnus and with a passion for cars, I had proven myself to be a pretty good mechanic; and my super strength was very useful for moving heavy loads around. So I had landed the job, that being maintaining the locals' cars.

But business was slow, since very few people in Makinata drove around anymore, with fuel being scarce and nobody being able to travel beyond the quarantine zone. So my most regular customers were the local street racing team, the Makinata Shadow Warriors: a dozen young people driving tuned-up cars – and then there was Jared, of course, with his own Mitsubishi Lancer Evolution VIII MR RS-6 FQ400. (For those who don't know what that deluge of designatory letters and digits means, I have my condolences – you don't have the heart of a street racer.) I was in love with that car, and had often been behind the wheel – before my transformation – since Jared had bought it two years ago.

Today was a lazy day as usual. The garage was empty, save for one Toyota Celica GT-Four, whose turbocharger had broken down. Karogi, one of the Shadow Warriors, had brought it for repair around noon.

"The fittings are totally melted," I groaned, shaking my head. "Have you fiddled with the turbo on your own?"

"Well, yeah," Karogi admitted guiltily. Thanks to Jared's influence, the Shadow Warriors were accustomed to my presence, and treated me more like a cool anime hero. They were still quite frightened by Miko, though; even Jared felt uneasy around her. "Can you repair it, Dorago-kun?"

"Nah, the turbine's busted," I said. "And we're out of spare ones for this model."

"Can't you please do something? I beg you, Dorago-kun! You can use magic to repair it, right?"

I rolled my eyes. But of course, just use magic! As if it was that simple. "You can't afford to pay for magical repair, Karogi-kun."

"Come on, I'll tell my father to put it as company expenses," Karogi said. His father was the owner of the business.

"Takeda-san would never approve it, and you know it," I said, crossing my arms. "No free repairs, no credit, no exceptions. Otherwise everyone would crowd to have their cars repaired 'just this one time'."

"Ok, ok, I have a way to pay you, just gimmie a sec," Kagori said and went to his car's trunk. He opened it and pulled out a six-pack of 2-litre bottles of Mountain Dew. "Ha! What do you say, Dorago-kun? I can barter you those in exchange for repairing my turbo."

"W-where did you get these?" I said, staring.

Karogi only smirked. "I have my sources," he said smugly. "Jared isn't the only one who can smuggle stuff."

"Tempting," I said, eyeing the six-pack hungrily. "But one isn't nearly enough."

"I have more," Karogi said.

"How many?" I asked.

"Six," Karogi said. "But I can't give you all of them, Dorago-kun. Others have already ordered, too."

"I'll take four then," I said briskly.

"Yare, yare!" Karogi cried out. "You're robbing me blind, Dorago-kun! Next you'll say you want my firstborn! I can give you two packs, at most."

"I want three at minimum, Karogi-kun."

Karogi hesitated. "It's still quite a dear price," he said.

"It's also my final offer," I replied calmly. "Three packs, or you can search for somebody else to fix your turbo."

Karogi agreed with a heavy sigh, and took three packs from the trunk. I rejoiced internally – finally, something good to drink! I could show it to Miko, who could then analyze it magically and synthesize it in the future; it was very energy-intensive to make things out of thin air, but it could be done. And the children would be able to taste something new, too. In truth, I could've agreed to Karogi's offer and took only two packs – even I, an apprentice mage, could repair his turbocharger without too much effort, and Miko needed only a single bottle to learn how to conjure Mountain Dews for the rest of existence. But I went hard on the deal because I didn't want other people to come to rely on us as substitutes for access to luxury items or services; especially when we were still treated as outcasts.

I began to work on the turbine, while Karogi went to read manga in the corner of the garage. A few minutes later, I heard the unmistakable rumble of a tuned-up, powerful engine. A lime-yellow eight-gen Lancer Evo with bright red decals parked at the garage entrance, and Jared stepped off with practiced ease.

"Yo, whaddup, dinosaur dude!" he greeted me in English, smiling widely.

"Good to see you too, my man!" I said heartily.

We traded grips, with me being careful not to crush his hand. Jared looked like a typical jock, tall and broad-shouldered, with sandy-blonde hair and brilliant blue eyes. I was sure there was some Scandinavian blood in his lineage, but his manners were totally all-too American: wild, opportunistic, with casual disregard for wider consequences, and a devil-may-care attitude. Jared was a walking disaster that waited to happen (and had happened, on multiple occasions) and he always exuded an aura that the universe was made for his entertainment.

Still, he was my best friend.

"I keep telling ya, don't go easy on me!" Jared said loudly, finally releasing me. "You ain't that much stronger anyhow. Look, I can bench press three hundred pounds," he added, flexing his buff biceps.

"Uh-huh," I said politely, unable to hide my grin. My absolutely ripped body (I'm being totally objective here!) made Jared – indeed, anyone – look like a child next to a professional bodybuilder.

"Don't you 'uh-huh' at me, motherfucker!" Jared warned me with mock seriousness. "I can wrestle you to the floor in a single move! Gonna pounce you like a tiger!"

"I am, indeed, fucking my children's mother," I said with a self-indulgent smile. "So congratulations on that observation, Captain Obvious."

"Ha! True that!" Jared said. "Say, how are the little monsters? Are you and Missus Godzilla still mass-producing them?"

"They are fine, thanks. And yes, Miko's expecting to lay another clutch in a few days. The third one is not far from hatching, too."

"Ho there! Jaredo-kun!" Karogi yelled, coming to greet Jared.

"Karogi-chan, you skinny bastard! Have you blown your turbo again!? Baka! I told you, never red-line at second gear for more than three seconds! The two-three rule, remember? And you're over-revving too much in general!"

"Wasn't my fault, Jaredo-kun! Me and Natsuki were racing, when some car jumped out of nowhere! I didn't change gears because I would've powerslided!"

"Stop telling me tall tales! Or at least, not until we've settled nice and comfy on the roof terrace. It's sunny today again, and I've brought beer to drink." Jared took out a crate with cheap Japanese beer from his car. "Yo, Drago, you coming?"

"Sure, right after I've repaired Karogi-kun's turbo," I said, waving the two of them off.

It took me only a few minutes to do so, most of the time needed to focus the necessary energies precisely enough to make the spell flawless. Then I quickly installed the turbocharger in Karogi's car, and went upstairs to join them. We sat on the roof of the garage, the autumn sun warm upon our skin.

"It's been a hot minute since we last saw each other," Jared said, offering me a beer bottle. "I heard some wild stories about you being a hero or something, and fighting with the JSDF. Care to tell, dino dude?"

I nodded, and told Jared and Karogi about the mugging and my involvement in it three days ago. They were a little disappointed when I finished, obviously expecting a more dramatic tale. I wasn't amused, and told them next time they could try facing a wall of guns pointed at them, and see if they'd feel properly dramatic.

We then drank beer and argued idly which was the more difficult rally, the Paris-Dakar or the 24 Heures du Mans. Soon, other members of the Makinata Shadow Warriors arrived, making for a loud and cheerful company. It was a fun and carefree afternoon, and I was able to forget my worries for a while.

But once my workshift ended, I was again overrun by a black mood. I took my goodbyes with Jared and the street racers, and headed home quickly. I took a route straight through the forest, to avoid meeting Tanaka again. However, I wasn't hurrying home to return to my family; I've sought solace often enough in their presence, and they didn't deserve to be contaminated with such dark spirits as the ones currently gripping my soul.

No, I was hurrying home to give a call to a different family member altogether: my younger brother, Alex.