[ WP ] You ’ re a dragon in your human form . As part of that , you have faked an ID card , Visa , business card , and organ donation card . Your skull is crushed in a car crash , killing you . A smart young man successfully receives your lungs…

I saw the car coming in slow motion. Looked like it was gon na be the end. I took a breath and resigned myself to death. It was gon na be for the best anyways. About 50 years ago, we had discovered that transplanting organs from dragons into humans would create new dragons. With a dwindling population, even more traditional dragons took on their human forms, assumed identities, and donated organs. Those who craved death put themselves in harm's way. Others donated less vital organs, like part of their liver or one of their kidneys. It was hard on the new dragons, but they usually came around. 
 
 `` Good news, Mr. Roberts,'' a nurse announced, walking into the otherwise sparse room. Despite being young and having potential, nobody visited Mike Roberts. His parents were on the other side of the country, his friends all had jobs. So he watched TV, read books, and tried not to cough too much. Three times a day a nurse came in to feed him. Every week the doctor would come in to say hello. Never had anything important to say, but said hello. 
 
 Mike Roberts had an unknown but debilitating lung condition. It had developed just after he graduated from college. He had had job offers from big corporations, with promises of promotions, vacations, and even corporate-level leadership. Once the condition developed, all his prospective employers dropped him, leaving him with the medical bills and no way to pay for them. 
 
 `` What is it today?'' Mike managed to get out. 
 
 `` We think we've found a match for you,'' she replied without divulging more information. `` Dr. Fredrick wants you in surgery as soon as possible. Unless you have pressing matters, I'll send for the anesthesiologist.'' 
 
 Mike nodded that he was ready. This was good news. He might finally get out of that bed, be able to get a job, pay of those bills, and maybe even get married. 
 
 The anesthesiologist came in, inserted some needles, and Mike fell asleep. 
 
 `` Mr. Roberts?'' a voice asked. He could barely hear it, but it sounded like Dr. Fredrick. `` Are you waking up?'' 
 
 Mike tried to open his eyes. In the past, when they were running tests, trying to operate, or trying to wake him up after too much rich food, that had been easier than trying to talk. His now all-too-familiar ceiling came into focus. 
 
 `` The surgery was an overwhelming success,'' Dr. Fredrick began. `` I do n't know if I've seen a donor match better. In his donor paperwork, the man who donated your new lungs left a letter to be opened by whoever received his lungs. It's actually not that uncommon that they want to leave a message. I'll leave it on your table for when you're ready. 
 
 `` Now, as to your recovery, we do n't want to rush things. The lung transplant should have fixed whatever was wrong, so we will retain and preserve your lungs for study. You'll have to stay in bed for another week for careful observation, to make sure your body does n't reject the transplant, but after that we can begin physical therapy to rebuild lung capacity and muscle strength. Your release will vary by how well you progress through therapy, but because you are so young, I'd expect within a month or two you'll be able to leave, of course coming back for continuing therapy.'' 
 
 Mike nodded agreement. He still did n't want to try talking, especially having just had surgery. The doctor left him, and he went back to sleep. 
 
 This time Mike really woke up. A nurse who was not one of his usual nurses came in when she noticed that Mike was sitting up and messing with the TV controls. 
 
 `` Do you need anything,'' she paused for a moment to read his name on the door, `` Mr. Roberts?'' 
 
 `` Water,'' Mike croaked, parched. The nurse quickly returned with a little plastic cup of the stuff. 
 
 `` Anything else?'' she asked, looking like she was eager to leave him be. Mike nodded that that was all. 
 
 Looking over to his table, Mike saw the letter his lung donor had left, as well as that it was 3 AM. No wonder he did n't know this nurse- he tried to keep a normal sleep schedule. Figuring he'd need to be awake for a little before he could fall back asleep, Mike reached for the letter and opened it up. 
 
 Dear lung recipient: If you're reading this in your hospital bed, which you probably are, you're in for a surprise in a few weeks. Dragons are real. I was one of them. I can only assume that I'm now dead if you're reading this. I can not legally explain much more in this letter, secrecy agreements and all, but when you begin to feel a burning in your gut, call the number I have written on the bottom of this page. They will explain more to you and help you with the transition. I hope my lungs serve you well. 
 
 Mike reread the letter. Dragons? That was ridiculous. He folded up the letter and put it back on his table. Late night reruns would have to lull him to sleep instead. 
 
 Observation and therapy went by without problems. Mike was released after a month and a half. He had called an acquaintance to arrange a bed for a few nights while he got things in order. 
 
 A week of dead ends went by when a burning sensation hit him as he was driving to what was probably the next dead end banker, attempting to get a loan to buy a house. The burn was nearly excruciating, but not quite, because he still had the sense to reach for his phone. For some reason, Mike had kept that letter on him since he left the hospital, if anything to laugh to himself about. Now, however, he began to take it seriously, and dialed the number. 
 
 `` You have reached the Ancient and Secret Order of the Dragons,'' an old, cool voice spoke from the other end of the line. `` Stay where you are we will be by to collect you momentarily.'' The line clicked dead. Mike wondered what on earth was going on. 
 
 Waiting, Mike reached down to the cupholder for his soda, thinking maybe that might help, when he saw rust-colored specks, almost like scales, on his arm. He jumped in his seat, knowing that those had n't been there moments ago when he had called. To call it a jump would be a gross understatement, however, as Mike shot 20 feet into the air and did n't come back down. 
 
 `` This one's quicker than most,'' a voice commented. `` Already starting. That was what, two minutes?'' 
 
 `` If that,'' the voice agreed. `` I wonder whose guts he got to be this quick.'' 
 
 Mike was not processing any of this. His last real memory was reaching for the soda. These other guys were whispering figments of his imagination. 
 
 `` And touchdown!'' the first voice shouted. 
 
 `` Manners!'' a new voice shouted. 
 
 `` Apologies, my lady,'' the first voice replied. `` We present to you the new dragon. His transition is progressing faster than most, as his armor was already coming out when we arrived.'' 
 
 `` Not to mention he had shot up 20 feet in the air as we were arriving,'' the second voice added to the report. 
 
 `` Most interesting,'' she commented, observing the spots of armor already evident. `` Bring him in for presentation. The Council will sort this out and educate him.''
