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In the seas off the coasts of Roman Austroasia, junks sail. For a time, but not for long, they remain unaware of certain dangers that lurk beneath.

There's a sea shallow enough for Gatorella to stand up in. So he does. He stands, stretches, and yawns. His skin is as tough as a reptile's. His lungs are about exhausted, from having to hold his breath for as long as he does.

He can't stand for long. Junks sail these waters.

He bats his nictitating membranes. They're still transparent, despite his age. And his nostrils and ears can still close at will. He's a giant, but at least he's not old.

From the shore, an aspiring hero watches, via binoculars. He's in awe. His name is Hannibal Tran. And he's come to slay the beast.

With one hand, Gatorella scrapes his claws together. They always produce sparks. He smiles, and forces a belch, while making sparks with his claws. For a brief, yet impressive, moment, he exhales fire.

Far away, Hannibal gapes. If he didn't revere Gatorella before, he sure does now.

Gatorella looks around. Hannibal hides behind a rock. The monster suspects nothing. Why should he? He makes a great white shark look like a leech. And they stopped bothering him decades ago.

Gatorella doesn't get it. It was just ONE tantrum...

A red pen falls from Hannibal's pack. Hannibal feels it, but doesn't react...yet.

Satisfied, Gatorella re-submerges, and swims away. Farther out, Hannibal beholds his dorsal fins as he dives.

Hannibal sighs, and collects the red pen that he dropped. He studies it. He nods. He starts thinking...

He thinks he can see a better path to slaying Gatorella that just might work. But where to start?