It was Friday, August 2nd, and I was early for work by a little under seven minutes—too early to clock in but too late for a quick look around the nearby shops. It was also far too risky to get anything besides maybe a small order of fries. Knowing my store, we were likely behind on everything, and I'd be hurried to fix the dwindling levels lest I be blamed for their poor state.

There were five minutes before my shift started.

I held down the side button on my old Android phone and tapped 'power off' when prompted. I unzipped the side pocket of my backpack, slotted it in the opening, and headed up to the employee-only door. The door was rather thick and somewhat imposing—more so than I felt was necessary for a fast-food restaurant—but I wasn't an interior designer, so I shrugged it off and numbly punched in the store password: zero, four… something, something.

Muscle memory was a wondrous thing.

Still tired from last night's shift, I rubbed my eyes as I stumbled my way into the break room, which doubled as a changing room. I exchanged nods with an employee whom I was vaguely friendly with. He was an older guy, mid-fifties if I had to guess, but I'd long since stopped caring about the age of people I interacted with.

In the small stall, I changed into my ever-so-slightly oversized uniform, slapped on my embarrassing cap, and stuffed my casual clothes into my bag.

Before I unlocked the door, I checked the time on my watch: 10:57. I let out a soft sigh, unlocked the door, and re-entered the break room. The older worker was gone, and in his place were a handful of teenagers who were loudly chatting with one another. I squeezed past the chubby blonde girl standing beside the table, put my watch into my bag, my bag into a free locker, and left.

I tapped my ID code into the tablet on the wall and approached Tom, the tall, blonde, surprisingly young shift manager who just so happened to be in the building that day. "Hey, Tom," I started, standing awkwardly to one side so as not to be in the way of those who already knew their positions. "Where do you need me?"

"One second, James," he said, reading from his notepad whilst simultaneously checking something on the electronic screens of the deep fryer units. "Some moron messed with the temperatures earlier," he muttered, more to himself than to me.

I nodded dumbly, as though he could see the gesture with his face a millimetre from the screen. I shuffled away from a worker who was carrying a fresh bag of diced lettuce. "Yeah... okay..." He got up, knees cracking. "You're on the chicken batch, but don't use this one." He tapped the middle-most fryer with his blue, ballpoint pen.

"Okay, don't use that one," I repeated, and after that was sorted, we wordlessly swapped positions. I looked up at the stack of trays and held back a pained groan. Piled up high were yellow chicken nugget trays, along with the dreaded cyan ones. Cyan blue was for mozzarella sticks, and they had a nasty habit of sticking to the metal of the basket, so they were enemies.

Five fryers, one busted, and more than double that in food that needed cooking.

Math was not on my side that day.

I shook my head free of unnecessary thoughts, grabbed all of the trays, and got to work. I slapped two baskets onto my fryer tops, pulled out two bags of frozen nuggets, and poured one bag into each. I placed the baskets into the oil and hit the start buttons. Next, I got the slim metal basket from the cheese-only fryer and carefully filled it with mozzarella sticks.

With that sorted, I looked up at the remaining trays and noticed a black tray—chicken saver. I grabbed it but then paused. I couldn't use the centre-most fryer. My worry mounted before I scoffed mentally at myself and placed four mayo chicken pieces into a basket stolen from the premium chicken deep fryer and put them into the oil of the regular fryer. I used the timer from the broken fryer to time them.

I looked up, looked down at the fryers, and prepared to use the premium fryer to set off another batch of nuggets before realising that I would need to keep it open if any chicken selects or the new fang burgers needed firing.

So I just stood there, arms crossed, praying that no one asked me why I had a spare chicken fryer, as apparently it doesn't work didn't compute for some people.

 Eventually, I caved and filled it with three fang burger chicken pieces, just in case. They were dragon-adjacent, which meant that when a bus of the iguanas was inevitably brought our way, the orders would come flying through.

"Okay, so far, so good," I murmured to myself quietly, pleased with how relatively boring my shift had been so far. It was rare that I could relax so freely, and I made sure to savour every second of it.

I looked at the time on the food queue: 11:16.

With a moody huff, I pulled out the drawers of the freezer and silently counted how much stock was left. Nuggets were good, sandwiches were good, spicy was good, but... crispy needed restocking. I checked the left side and noted that I was also low on fish and apple pies.

After double-checking the trays, I left to retrieve the missing stock.

On the way, I spotted Markus, another manager, chatting quietly with another one of the higher-ups. They seemed rather pleased with themselves, like the cat that caught the mouse. I didn't bother listening, as I didn't earn enough to be bothered about anything beyond my immediate work. I literally could not afford to care.

Something, something dragon.

After three hours of tedious work, I was at last given a short reprieve in the form of a break. I undid my apron, and rather than swapping my shirt, I simply put my old green hoodie on. I entered the dining area through the heavy door and made a beeline to the closest ordering kiosk; I got my usual nine-nugget meal with a Fanta and medium fries.

Idly, I scratched my right eyebrow whilst the receipt printed. When done, I took the receipt, unzipped my hoodie so my co-workers could recognise the uniform, and stood beside the till.

It took a minute to get noticed, but when I finally was, I passed the receipt to a bored-looking teenager who left to give it to a manager, who would then process the free meal.

Generally, I always got whatever had been most recently cooked, so in my case, nuggets, as I had put a fresh lot in not three minutes beforehand.

After getting my meal I took a seat at a table near the employee-only door, so as to not risk the chance of running late. I took my ageing phone out of my backpack and, after turning it back on, idly scrolled through Reddit, not properly paying attention to the posts I was skimming.

I checked out a few of the more popular subreddits, but there was nothing especially good that day, so instead of wasting more time on the app, I swapped over to Twitter to see what political nightmares were happening across the Atlantic Ocean.

Wow, an assassination attempt? No way that just goes away.

Dragon's Bane to be renamed? Makes sense, I guess, but damn, that name was good.

Bjorn is a cute kid; it's good Will and Rose are still friends.

I checked the time and saw that I had less than twenty minutes left, so I closed Twitter and spent a handful of minutes just trying to decide what to do with my remaining break.

Eventually, I gave up and stuck to eating my meal. The fries were good—salty and crispy in the best way possible. At least I had that going for me.

For a moment, I looked up from my table to glance at the entrance to the restaurant for no particular reason, and in those briefest of moments, I spotted something I had only seen ten times in a total of four years.

A dragon. A dragon by itself, unaccompanied, simply standing there as if it were the most normal thing in the world, and they hadn't come from a literal, magical portal.

There was no fanfare, no legal official coming in to check the restaurant before inviting in a dozen of them to try the latest thing, as I'd gotten accustomed to.

I choked on my fry and, to my great shame, attracted the attention of everyone with my impromptu coughing fit. It took a hearty swig of Fanta and several heavy chest thwacks to save my life, but by the time I did, everyone else was busy staring at the cobalt blue creature standing in the middle of the dining area.

It was a she; I wasn't completely sure, but there was something about the smoothness of the snout and the general curvature of her form that seemed especially feminine.

She looked around at all the people, her nervousness obvious on her snout and her tightly bundled wings twitching. Her eyes were a solid scarlet red—a contrast to her near shaking state.

She looked at me, then at the till, then back at me. Slowly, she began to approach. I turned around and attempted to see if she was trying to look past me. "Do you... um, do you work here?" She raised a slim claw and levelled the digit at the yellow badge pinned to my shirt. "I, uh, I'm starting here today."

"O-oh," I stammered, genuinely taken aback, "yeah, let me get Tom or, uh, whoever is in the kitchen right now." It took a moment to stumble my way out of my seat. “Just give me a second, alright?"

"Thanks," she said, an accent I couldn't quite place tinging each syllable. "I'll just be over here waiting." She made sure to point several times at her chosen table. As if simply being anywhere in the restaurant wasn't enough of a sight.

"Yeah," I replied automatically, almost bumping into an equally surprised customer as I hurried over to the employee-only door.

It took a minute to find the shift manager. He was sitting in the break room, checking something on his phone, and drinking from a small coke cup.

"Tom!" I called out. "Tom, we've got a new- um, dragon! A dragon in the lobby!"

He looked up from his phone. "A dragon?"

"Yeah, a dragon!" I clarify, feeling more confident with each moment that passed. "She's at a table. I-I think she's waiting for you."

"Shit," Tom muttered, "Right, yeah, okay... I'll be right there, just let me grab something first. Elizabeth, hold the fort." The last part was said to the brunette beside him, the unofficial second-in-command on site. She gave a thumbs up but remained in her seat, continuing to enjoy her own meal.

I lightly jogged back to the lobby. I saw that the dragon had taken a seat, her long, lithe body just barely squeezing underneath the table. She looked up at me, head tilted ever so slightly to the left, but I averted my eyes and busied myself with standing around and looking stupid.

Tom eventually appeared, seemingly out of breath. Papers were clutched tightly to his chest. "Hey there," he greeted her. "You must be my new employee?"

She licked her seemingly dry lips before nodding. "Y-Yep, that's me! I'm Alys. I'm here for my first shift. I got the, uh, email."

"It's nice to meet you, Alys," I overheard Tom say after I'd sat back down. "Did you remember to bring your uniform?"

I leaned my head back just far enough to see that Alys had a modified backpack on, which she took off to open up, revealing a cap, an apron, and a nametag.

"Perfect!" Tom said cheerfully, his tone unusually chipper. He then got her to step out from her seat and stand beside the table.

"Okay, Alys?" Her head snapped up as soon as Tom spoke. "You are quadrupedal, which means your..." His face twitched, a tinge of nervousness visible even from my position several tables down.

"Paws?" She corrected softly.

"Right, yes, paws. Your paws are on the ground at all times, which is a big no-no here. In order to work here, you must be able to keep one paw up at all times. I know you said it was alright during the interview, but now that some time has passed, can you do it?" He was being shockingly kind, which was odd. The guy wasn't bad or anything, but he was certainly no saint, even with new starters.

I looked down at my phone.

I was late.

After I returned to my position by the deep fryer I did not see the blue dragon for some time. Unfortunately for me, whoever took over for the forty-five minutes I was absent somehow did a poorer job than I did, for the pile of trays I was presented with was worse than when I'd initially started.

I silently seethed to myself as I did my best to bring the area back to level. Several times, Michael, my personal least favourite member of the crew, asked how long for food, almost always minutes after I'd already told him. "How long, an hour? Two?" He questioned.

"Twenty-one seconds!" I called out, shoving a tray of fang patties into the warmer and nearly forgetting to hit the timer. Over the sound of beeping and steaming meat, I picked up on the sound of Elizabeth quietly chastising him.

I ignored both of them. I was a grown man, and whilst irritating to deal with, I didn't truly care about a random co-worker making a few annoying comments. I was more bothered by the fact that his interruptions would knock me out of the flow, and force me to double check the timers.

As I was clearing the backlog of trays, I finally caught sight of Alys; she was near the very back end of the kitchen, standing on her hind legs and mopping up a very minor spill—someone had knocked over their Coke or some such soda. The base of her tail was cleverly used to keep her upright.

The little apron was cute, I thought, like a dog with a top hat. But like a dog with a top hat, I couldn't understand why she was wearing it. Since when did dragons have to work minimum-wage jobs? I wasn't an expert in mythological politics, but surely the government provided?

"James," said Tom from beside me, giving me a nasty fright. Near-instantly, I spun around to meet my neutral-looking manager. "I know she is a bit unusual looking, but try not to stare too much, okay?" I nodded, ashamed at being caught so easily.

"I'm sorry, Tom, but... it's kind of sudden. Is she gonna be working here now?" I couldn't help but ask. "I thought they received government support." I didn't know—I had heard it from a friend of a friend, but it sounded truthful.

The man shrugged. "It's being reduced," he said, tapping the off button on one of my fryers as I raised the basket up into the air. "They'll need to get jobs like the rest of us."

With that little titbit of information delivered, Tom departed, leaving me with the realisation that she would actually be joining us permanently.

It seemed, however, that some in our little group didn't entirely appreciate her presence. As soon as Michael's eyes landed on the unwieldy way in which Alys held the mop in her claws, those beady eyes of his lit up with a juvenile excitement most tended to grow out of after leaving high school.

"Careful not to scratch it, okay? Otherwise, you'll be paying for it." He said it loud enough for her to hear. None laughed, most rolled their eyes or otherwise ignored him.

Her small ears swivelled in his direction, her attention fully on him. "Excuse me?" She asked, looking down at the mop in her claws as though she'd missed something mission-critical. “I… okay, I'll be careful!"

She was trying her best, but it was clear that she was unaccustomed to handling such a device. I wondered to myself how exactly her kind cleaned their homes.

Their... caves? Surely they didn't live in actual mountains, I pondered. Alys was a small thing, not even six feet tall.

Twenty minutes later, during a lull, I was sipping from the extra small cup of Coke we got complimentary, and still, she was mopping. I cringed at the sight, not only at how slowly she was doing it but also at the way people were openly staring at her.

She knew they were watching as well. There was a light dusting of ashamed heat on her cheeks and an extremely thin sheen of sweat on the smooth scales of her forehead. It was hard not to look at her, made worse by the badly disguised chuckles directed at her failed efforts.

The lunch rush was ending, and at last, I had a couple of spare minutes to myself. I watched her for a moment longer, slowly gathering the confidence to approach and offer my help. I had been there myself—the new guy who people rolled their eyes at for every minor mistake they made.

Before I could make a move, however, Tom came to her rescue.

He walked over to where she had gotten and said, "It's alright, Alys; let's move over to the grill and see if Karen is in a good mood."

Alys smiled shakily, her expression that of visible upset. She put the mop back into its bucket and followed after the manager, her right, front-most paw remaining raised. She had to limp, of course, and the effort she was putting into such a low-tier job just had to be respected.

I couldn't imagine going through the pain of working the grill with both a limp and a missing hand.

Commendable or not, dragon or not, working a job like ours drained your energy eventually, and in no time my mind had gone from tired to slush. But, despite the lobotomy, the hours were beaten back.

I was free.

I slotted one last tray of mayo chickens into the heater, wiped down my area, and approached Elizabeth, who had taken over from Tom earlier.

"Hey, Elizabeth?" I said in greeting. She turned around and smiled tiredly at me. "I'm heading out now, but the levels are fine."

"That's alright," she answered, nodding, "thanks for the hard work." I gave her a quick thanks as I turned away and left, but chose to take the path on the left so I could get one last look at the dragon who had joined us.

She was able to set out the patties with a gloved paw, but she was far from quick, and there were a fair few trays waiting for her to get to. Still, she was trying her hardest despite the clear disadvantage she was at.

She caught my eye, possibly recognising me from earlier. I gave her a quick nod as I walked by her. She seemed stressed. I couldn't blame her; the grill had been my least favourite by far in the beginning. She smiled back, accidentally showing off her sharp fangs for a split second.

It was unnerving, I thought with a shudder.

Michael was in the break room, eating some brand of crisps I couldn't recognize. He didn't say anything to me as I entered nor as I retrieved my backpack. I got changed in the stall and took a moment to check the time: 19:03.

I left the stall, ready to set off.

"What do you think of the dragon?" He asked me, specifically me, as we were the only ones in the room. I looked back at him, confused as to the reason for his question.

"Why?" I replied cautiously.

"Like, why her?" He almost sounded offended that I hadn't immediately grasped the reasoning behind his question.

"I don't know," I said honestly, "Does it matter? Look at where we work; it's not very hard to get a job here. She's got legs, a heartbeat, and didn't mess up the grill that badly." I paused my own train of thought. "Why are you even asking?"

"Just wondering is all," he shrugged, returning to his crisps.

I didn't give it much thought, and by the time I'd entered the dining area, I had managed to forget pretty much the entirety of the conversation.

The guy was so comically rude that it was sometimes hard to get bothered by the things he said.

I took a seat near the middle of the mostly empty restaurant and pulled out my phone. It was past seven, meaning most shops around me were closed, but I knew for a fact I would be hungry later on and that I didn't have anything heartier than instant noodles.

I opened up my employee app and scrolled through all of the discounted lunches I could get. With it being so empty and my lack of a time limit, I could actually pick whatever I wanted.

I got the nine-nugget meal with a Fanta and fries, except this time it was a large.

The employee discount worked wonders at times.

I sipped on my Fanta and scrolled Friendster for a bit, playing a game of counting the number of whining posts my middle-aged aunts and uncles posted. My great-aunt Sarah was on a record high of eight in one whole day!

I hung around for a little longer, mostly just to kill time until my bus was due.

Around fifteen minutes after I finished and right before I got up to leave, Alys entered the dining room, her bag slung upon her back and an exhausted expression on her maw. She looked vacant and drained. Internally, I laughed at the familiarity in the look, though a kinder part knew this to be cruel. Non-human or not, she was a living being who had not done any harm to me.

Big wings, I thought tiredly, drawn to the unusual appendages. But, wouldn't they need to be like twenty feet long to generated enough…

She caught me staring, so I looked away, annoyed at myself for being so rude for the second time in one day. She ignored my staring and got to work tapping at the kiosk screen a few times, seemingly getting nowhere based on the mounting anger in her sharp features.

The screens are buggy; I recalled in a rare moment of mental clarity.

I left my bag by the table and pretended to head over to get more salt. Along the way, I dramatically bent my neck and looked at the screen. "Oh!" I said a little too loudly. "Yeah, the screens are buggy." I stepped an inch closer and tapped to the side of the food she'd been trying to select. "You have to click to the left of the box for it to actually work," I said.

She mimicked my action, producing the exact same order as me, funnily enough. Right down to the size and everything.

"Oh, okay," she smiled sweetly, seeming genuinely grateful. "Thank you..." She paused, and her smile flickered, overtaken by an apologetic frown. "Um, sorry, I have a terrible memory, but what's your name again?"

"James," I answered, "nice to meet you."

"My name is Alys."