Cyanide's Clan

There are whispers in the workplace. Fathers telling of just one of their clutch going missing. Wanted posters scattered up, all of different breeds, of different genders, different jobs.

It had started small, but talk travels fast, when you have nothing to do but work. There's talk of a pack of small, bright cyan dragons, with piercing eyes and garbled, buzzing speech, who look like dragons but not quite. How they can be spotted running across the shifting expanse, nearly glowing in the dark under the rumbling thunderclouds, how they come in swarms, untouchable, lest you want to be electrocuted, how they seemingly appear from nowhere, and leave nothing behind, hardly even footprints.

But they always take one. There was no rhyme nor reason to it, but when the dust and sparks had cleared and they'd all alighted back into the rolling mass in the sky, one was missing.

You were glad, then, that this was just workplace gossip.