The stench of blood, sweat, and fear hung heavy in the air, a sickening perfume in the Dragos' gruesome hall. I hung suspended, arms trussed, my body a gaunt testament to their cruel neglect. Around me, other captives, meatier and more 'suitable,' shuffled towards their inevitable fate. A harsh whistle shrilled, jolting the conveyor belt, and I felt myself inch closer to the dreaded room. My mind, blessedly dulled by whatever they'd injected, offered little resistance.

Then, a sudden jolt, a rough shove. "This scrawny female is far too inferior to be presented at our table!" a guttural voice boomed, followed by a dismissive order. I was flung over a scaly shoulder, the world tilting into a nauseating blur of putrid stench and reptilian hide. Dumped unceremoniously onto a pile of bones, my broken ribs screamed in protest, but the tranquilizer had won. Darkness called, a hollow comfort, promising an end that was, ironically, less horrifying than being Dragos food.