‘Paul, nice facility you have here.’ Paul London smiled at his friend. They were buddies from University. Though they’d been in touch over the years, they’d last seen each other ten years ago.
They chitchatted for a while. Brian’s eyes kept shifting back to the entrance of the steel recycling plant.
‘What you looking at, mate?’ Paul lit a cigarette and blew lazy rings.
‘The dragons at your gate. Any significance to them or just decor?’
‘A bit of both. Once upon a time, this very land was home to indigenous people, who called themselves the dragon-folk. When Dad set this unit up he vacated them forcibly. I always regretted that. The statue is my way of paying my respects to them.’
‘Paul, the Dragon-folk didn’t leave this place.’
Paul watched horrified as his friend removed a wicked looking knife from his pocket.
‘They are still buried under the giant shredder at the north-east corner.’
He plunged the knife straight through his Paul’s heart.
‘Not everyone died that night, my friend.’
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