He took the opportunity to read the restricted papers again- quadrapedal but tauric, with limbs that might function as hands, but unconfirmed since the subject refused to come out of hiding to eat or interact. Prehensile tail, clawed front feet and hooved back feet on the lower body to enable both high-speed land running and climbing ability.

Tommy wondered, thoughtfully, if anyone had tested if the subject liked running or climbing more. He knew HE got bored of the same jungle gym after a week, and nobody had been in to change a single thing in the enclosure in the entire year the subject had been here.

It must be desperately in need of enrichment- he couldn't think why else his professor would prompt him to play with it.

Well, he had various types of engagements in his pouches and pockets, belted around his own tauric waist and saddlebags slung over his first shoulders, so he should be able to find SOMETHING the subject would be interested in!

The click of the intercom drew him from his thoughts as he exited the decontamination chamber.

"Now the results I need are the subject's motor capabilities- how fast, how flexible, etc. Get me whatever results you can, and I'll call it a day."

Odd word choice, Tommy thought. Wouldn't it be 'we' will call it a day?

"Copy, Professor! Can you make sure the indoor running track is clear then?"

Tommy promptly ignored the Professor spluttering and asking what that was for- he was a professor, he'd figure it out! He focused on hauling the side of beef he'd brought in to the designated feeding zone, where he put it on the two hooks that were there to hold it in place and make it easier for the subject to eat, holding it vertically.

Then he pointedly turned away from the beef, and settled in a full loaf position with his torso facing away, though he was watching out of his periphery. Vague equine markers hinted the subject might naturally live in herds; this would mean they would have 'herd guards'. If Tommy could slip into that role, it would be much easier to get the subject to follow him to the track to run. It would also get them psychological data- and make it easier to study the subject, since then having 'herdmates' socialize with it would help calm it immensely after stress.

Now it was a waiting ga-

"What do you think you're doing?!"

Tommy, it must be said, was normally a very calm person. Level-headed, perhaps easily embarrassed when certain subjects were broached, but soft-spoken and prone to reaching for the kindest solution first. If asked, his coworkers would call him shy, a bit of a wallflower, maybe even a pushover.

Docile, in a word.

If any of them stopped to think about what Tommy actually /was/, they would have realized that was the wrong word. They were thinking of him as 'harmless'.

There has never been a Dragon of the Deep Places born HARMLESS.

The sudden intercom shout disrupted his concentration, when he had been deliberately sinking into a different mindset than usual so he would project the correct body language: that of a herd guard, on lookout for any changes in the environment that might signal danger. Predictably, then, the shouting caused an equally predictable reaction, even if the Professor and every other being in this research center would never have thought to predict it of Tommy in particular.

All at once, Tommy was out of his loaf, and all four paws had sunk claws into the dirt of the enclosure knuckle-deep, tail whipping wide to ensure behind him was clear and safe as his humanoid face elongated into a proper snout, needle-teeth in their rows on display as he bellowed out a challenge-warning roar that shook the room up to the rafters. Dust came cascading down onto his sensory frills (placed where mammals had ears), but flicking them cleared it off so he could continue to listen. His pupils had pinned down in the searing light of the enclosure, and with his real vision in play he could see that many things on the observation deck had been shaken to the floor, including the Professor.

His throat vibrated with the back-and-forth low chord of Alert, but other than moving his head to visually sweep the entire enclosure- ceiling, floor, walls, glass windows of the deck- he didn't move.

Behind him, he felt a warmth approach, from the barely-adequate foliage, and he warned them with a frill-flick before turning his head to glance over.

His first thought was the report didn't note anything about the rich, green-black coat of the subject and that was a travesty. They had reddish glints in the keratin of their hooves, and peeking from the prehensile tail- scales to protect when climbing, maybe- as well as positively stunning pupilless eyes that seemed to glow, like molten silver. The face shape- yes, definitely semi-equine. His dragon snout must make him look more familiar than any of the humanoids.

They positioned themselves on his right flank- yes! Right where they would to follow a herd guard in fight or flight! It offered the best position to run past the guard while they engaged an enemy, if it came to that.

"Open the door and clear the way to the running track," Tommy said, with some difficulty over the still-thrumming Alert. They weren't the same vocal chords, but training himself to be heard- and use both systems simultaneously- had been hard. Worth it for moments like these.

"I have persuaded the subject to trust me. As a herd guard. I will take them for a run so we can measure endurance and speed. And maybe throw a ball to see about reflexes. I CANNOT keep talking, sir."

Some shuffling, a few clanks that made him look up sharply and lift his lip in a warning and drop his growl an octave from Alert to CEASE AND DESIST, and then he saw the professor making calls on the radio. He kept mostly still, except for a few shifts of weight to indicate to the subject he was searching for escape routes.

The click of the intercom.

"The way is clear. Can you keep them from panicking during decontamination?"

Tommy simply nodded, and when the door whooshed open, he stepped into it fast, indicating he knew what it was and where it led. He was gratified when the subject trailed him in-step. He mock-snapped at the hissing decontamination gasses- they weren't actually harmful if they got in the mouth, but he didn't look like a good herd guard if he didn't 'spook' a little.

The hallway was empty and the track was open, ad promised. He grinned and he broke out into a full gallop- and laughed out loud, sweet and thrumming, when his new herdmate thundered past him and started to circle near the door, giving high-pitched little jeering taunts.

To a human, the subject's language sounded like pinpipes, whistles, delicate bells made of precious metals and windchimes.

Tommy heard it as a name.

"I am NOT old! It's not my fault you're Quicksilver and I'm a Leadfoot! Once I get in there we'll race for real!!"