FLAP.... FLAP.... FLAP.... I find myself soaring over the vast landscapes of Germany, bathed in the radiant glow of countless city lights. It's a breathtaking sight, like a sprawling constellation of stars on the ground. The beauty of this view transcends any experience one could have from an airplane, even for a seasoned pilot like myself. With my enhanced vision, superior to that of an eagle or an owl, I navigate effortlessly through the darkness. Every living being below me appears as clear as day, thanks to my UV sight, painting everything in mesmerizing shades of blue. The colors are enchanting, reminiscent of the world of Pandora from the movie Avatar. In this nocturnal world, insects, humans, and birds stand out like vibrant blue embers against the dark canvas. It's a vision far superior to any military-grade night vision goggles.

As I revel in this newfound freedom, I realize that I am the master of the skies. I can ascend as high as I desire and traverse in any direction, following the whims of the wind. I become one with the air, feeling the friction, pressure, and sensations on my scales as they glide through the atmosphere, akin to a fish's scales in water. The cold breeze embraces me, comforting me, and for a moment, I feel so content that I could drift into slumber.

But suddenly, I'm startled from my peaceful flight. My descent is rapid, and panic sets in momentarily. With great speed, I manage to regain altitude just in the nick of time. I had been so relaxed that I'd almost dozed off mid-flight. Even in my human form, I had always been an enthusiastic sleeper. I could easily drift into dreams even in the midst of the constant noise of a sawmill, provided it was a steady and unchanging sound.

The growl in my stomach reminds me that hunger and fatigue have taken hold. It's a significant lapse in judgment, and I need to find a suitable place to land and recuperate. The area below me is devoid of caves or hiding spots, leaving me with limited options. Perhaps the rooftop of an abandoned factory might suffice. I recall there being steel mills in this region. Germans often build factories away from urban areas to maintain the natural beauty of the landscape. It's worth a shot.

I also recognize the urgency of staying away from airports. My size and speed would be conspicuous to anyone watching the skies, and I can't solely rely on the camouflage of my scales. A sense of dread washes over me as I realize that I left behind my bag containing essential tools in the METAL case, along with my laptop, radio, and mobile computer. The radar systems may have detected me, and I can't rule out the possibility of drones being deployed in pursuit. While drones are agile, they can't match my speed, which peaks at 40-50 kilometers per hour.

Paranoia gnaws at me as I weigh the importance of rest and nourishment. Without adequate rest, I won't be able to maintain my flight or make a hasty getaway. Food is equally critical at this point. I consider using a mobile application with a camera detector to locate my lost bag. However, it's a risky move since attempting to snatch it mid-flight could be disastrous. It's a classic case of the saying: "Phone or drive, never both at the same time." Instead, I rely on my sharp senses to identify potential locations. Typically, large factories are surrounded by barren wastelands, enclosed by fences and barbed wire to deter trespassers and metal thieves. I scan the area for a smaller vacant lot, but my fatigue is becoming overwhelming, and the absence of fog for concealment is concerning.

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Amidst the darkness, I notice a pitch-black spot devoid of light. Could it be a ruin? I decide to investigate. The sight is eerie, and my enhanced UV and IR vision fails to detect any signs of life nearby. No vehicles on the road either. It seems safe. My fatigue compels me to make a landing, and I do so with care to avoid damaging my hunting bag. The effort leaves me panting for breath.

The ruin before me is constructed of weathered concrete and is surrounded on all sides by access roads. Its walls and roof provide concealment from prying eyes, a welcome refuge given my bulky form. A small river flows nearby, offering a refreshing respite, and a fireplace with a stove promises a convenient kitchen. There's even a garage where I can find further shelter, and the roof ensures I remain hidden from drones or planes during daylight hours.

My stomach growls insistently, and I long for a hearty meal – a hamburger, perhaps, or a sizzling barbecue. If I'm lucky, I might have some pepper and chili in my bag for added flavor. These spices also serve as deterrents against any potential hunting dogs. Thirst sets in, and I detect the scent of water nearby; it may not be the finest quality, but it will suffice.

I seek refuge inside, curling my tail around me for support, and take a moment to rest my tired muscles. My senses are still sharp, and I hear the distant howls of foxes and the sounds of nocturnal hunters. As the night gradually yields to the approaching dawn, I rise, stretch my wings, legs, and tail, and take to the air once more, moving silently like an owl.

Then, I hear a voice, that of a fox, warning others about the "flying monster" in the forest. Panic rises among the animals, and I see a deer before the fox can reach it. My fatigue and apathy toward hunting win the day. I act swiftly, opening my maw and releasing a powerful discharge. The result is instantaneous: the deer is frozen in death, killed before it even hits the ground. It's a gruesome sight, the lifeless body suspended in mid-air, its tongue protruding, and its belly grotesquely bloated.

I approach the frozen carcass, unable to resist my instincts. My mouth waters as I devour the deer with gusto, savoring its taste despite the carnage. With a full belly, I perch on a tree branch, satisfied but conflicted by the primal urges that have taken over.

After disposing of the deer's skin and cleaning myself in the river, I use my sharp claws to cut wood for a fire. I light it inside the sheltered ruin, the flames concealed from distant eyes. Impaling the deer, I prepare a makeshift barbecue. This time, I decide to embrace the more primal aspect of my nature, cooking the meat to a bloody perfection.

Bon Appétit.