The commodore looked out over what was once a living town. Buildings burned, bodies littered the ground, and blood splashed walls. It was beautiful. Each of his strikes cut down at least one person, building or even creature. Nothing could stand in his way. Like a master painter, each stroke and each movement was intentional. When more than one fell from each slash of his claws or swipe of his tail, well, those were just happy little accidents. He looked down at one of the town guards still alive under his foot. The commodore picked up the man, who was—to his credit—still squirming.

He had petitioned for so long to be able to play as a dinosaur. Everyone wanted to build. He wanted to tear down what they had built. The world could always use a bit of a shaking up.

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“What is your name,” the commodore asked the guard.

“Nash McCrae Emmett Lambton Kaleb the twenty-seventh,” the guard said.

“Run. Run and tell everyone you meet Commadorous Sixtyfourous is here.”

It was all just a game. He was going to do what he wanted, nothing mattered.

It was all just a game.