Lizard men compete in their own castes, but very rarely advance to a different caste, unless through glorious battle or changing professions entirely. Mostly battle. And the professions tend to not compete against each other like you say, as they work together, for the most part. except the slaves. they get shit on, cause, well, they're slaves.

"Another wonderful night for crime fighting. I hope the weather stays nice like this for awhile. Now where did I write down those leads Jorge gave me? Ah, here we are. It looks like most of these are in Roxbury. I'll start with.. huh, oh what is it now?!"

Igor's thoughts are interupted by a cell phone vibrating in his pocket. Just as he suspected, its Jasmine again. He's told her time and again not to interrupt him while he's on patrol. Igor presses the 'ignore' key and returns his phone to his pocket. He'll submit to a scolding later. Right now he has work to do.

The small statured Siberian man quickly reviews his list and sets off on his errands. The first stop, a meth lab just a few blocks away. It proves to be a little trouble for Igor, barely the warm up he was hoping for. Igor almost wishes he wasn't getting so good at this. He misses the challenge crime fighting used to pose.

As usually, Igor detains the drug pushers. He carries hand cuffs by the dozens. After detaining the perps, Igor quickly finds where the drug money is stashed. He 'confiscates' a small portion of it to help pay for his expenses and leaves the rest on the premises. He'd take more, but its easier to convict if the money is present.

Its a good thing Igor can remember the address of his next stop without checking the list. Igor always hates switching back to his human form for such trivial things. It wastes far too much energy.

Igor reaches the crack den but doesn't enter. Something isn't right. He feels as if he is being watched. Still, Jorge gave him this address. Jorge is a pack brother. There is no one he can trust more. He sniffs the air warily and convinces himself that its all in his head. With a shrug of his shoulders, he raises a paw and brings it full force into the door.

Funny thing about ignoring your instincts is it usually lands you into trouble, especially if you're a seven and a half foot tall Siberian bear and instinct is pretty much all you live by. After a few seconds of initial surprise, the thugs gather up their weapons... They were waiting for him! Igor is able to dispatch three of them before they are on their feet and one more before any guns are raised but by that time there are seven more thugs wielding nasty looking rifles which are, coincidentally, all pointed at him. In the back of the room someone is heard to say 'See, I told you the bear was real.'

Igor does something he has not had to do in months. He retreats. As he crashes right through the wall, several bullets fly painfully close by. The other side of the wall turns out to be no safer. As soon as he is outside, a pickup truck down the block turns on its high beams and peels out toward him. The gangsters in the truck open fire and Igor is hit in the left arm by a ricocheting bullet. Fortunately, the wound is superficial.

The were-bear runs as fast as a were-bear can but the pickup truck has no regard for the local speed limit. The truck is on his tail. His only saving grace is the thugs' inability to fire accurately from a moving vehicle.

Thinking quickly, Igor turns to face the truck. He gets low like one of those American football players his friends are so crazy about and readies himself for impact. He attempts to overturn the truck but only manages to redirect it. He is sent flying back 20 feet while the truck hits a lamp post. He is going to be sore for days.

There are a lot of benefits to being a creature of myth. One of them is the ability to get hit by a truck and be only momentarily stunned. Igor takes off before any of the thugs are able to scramble out of their totaled vehicle. He rounds a corner and shifts into human form. He makes a mental note to thank Jasmine later for training him to shift so quickly and without losing his clothing. It makes his bluff all the more convincing when the the thugs show up.

"Is big bear," Igor stammers in his Russian accent. "It goes that way." The thugs leave. Igor is safe.

Igor makes his way to the warehouse he has made his home in. This too was one of the spoils of his crime fighting escapades. Igor looks forward to getting some rest before investigating how the thugs knew he was coming but as he nears the warehouse, his instincts once again tell him something is wrong. This time he heeds them.

Under the guise of a pedestrian just passing by on the way to some unimportant destination, Igor strolls by his warehouse. He looks it over as best he can without being obvious. He can tell that someone is inside. He continues to stroll until he reaches what he considers to be a safe distance and ducks into a shadowy spot he can observe from. He doesn't have to watch for long to notice that two cars have been passing the warehouse at oddly regular frequencies.

Yet again, Igor is distracted by the vibrating phone in his pocket. He answers this time.

"Now is not good time, Jasmine. I have troubles."

"Ya think? You haven't checked your voice mail have you? I know all about your troubles. Jorge was almost killed today after he figured out that someone gave him a misleading tip that was meant to send you into a trap. I told you your extracurricular activities were a bad idea, bear, but you never listen."

"Is not important right now, Jasmine. They are in my home, but I do not know how many they are. I need help."

"You need to get away from there, Igor. I just had an interesting chat with your friend Jacob. You haven't checked you text messaged either, have you? He tried to warn you not to go home but you didn't respond. He just got word that someone is gunning for you. Someone important, though he doesn't know who yet. You've got an ambush waiting for you at home. Just leave. Come over here and we'll.."

"NO! Is my home! I will not let some thugs to take it from me!"

"Igor Igorivich! You listen to me. You are part of the Wiyon Kotuma now, the proudest wolf pack on the east coast. You are no longer a lone wolf.. er, bear in your case. We take care of our own. We will get your home back for you and we will find the one who is threatening you but we will do it when it is prudent. For now I am ordering you to leave well enough alone. I'm sorry but we're going to have to save your precious Batman comics from the bad guys on another day."

Igor hates the idea of his Batman comics being in enemy hands but he has no choice but to follow orders. Jasmine is his superior after all.

"I will do because you order me, Jasmine, but where can I go? I have no place to sleep."

"You, uh, well.. You could, um, stay with me at my apartment." Jasmine suddenly sounds sheepish.

"I don't want to be trouble for you, Jasmine. Is small apartment."

Jasmine blurts out her reply. "Its no trouble, Igor. I want you  to stay here."

"OK, Jasmine. If you say is not trouble. Uh, I can come over now? I am tired. I was hit by truck."

"Sure, sure. See you in a bit."

Igor hangs up his phone and reluctantly heads for the nearest bus stop. He hates running from a fight and he's had to do it twice tonight.

During his transit, his phone vibrates yet again. Despite being far from eager to find out what can't wait another ten minutes, he removes his phone from his pocket only to realize that it isn't Jasmine at all. Its Marra. Something must be wrong for her to be calling this late.

"Hello Marra. Everything is OK?. Selenay is not hurt?"

"Selenay is fine Igor. Its Oren. He's having some trouble and needs our help. Would you come to Chicago with me?"

"Of course Marra. I will be over quickly."

If Oren is in trouble, it must be serious. Besides being the only dragon-blood Igor knows of who can take his ancestral dragon form, Oren is also very smart. Whatever he's into, Igor has a feeling the fights he ran from tonight are nothing in comparison. Good. Igor has had enough running for the night. He opens his cell phone again and dials.

"Hello, Jasmine. I am not coming. I go to Chicago...

Jacob stood in the rapidly expanding basement of Dale's garage over seeing the final construction of Boston's first public library for the supernatural. The goblin construction crew were finishing the filing system. He had in a crew of dwarves in the previous week to finish off the search engines that would keep the place running smoothly. Jacob knew well enough then to have the two crews working together, as they would kill each other and negate the the wards.

The wards of protection and peace were already in place, kindly donated by Marra and a few of her witch friends, ensuring that the library would be a neutral ground for all who sought information. The shelves were already beginning to fill with tomes of common knowledge and research, leaving Jacob the task to categorize and fill the indexes with information. He sighed heavily and sat at his desk, grateful for the mountain of work to do. It was nice to belong somewhere for once.

The service bell rang upstairs; someone had pulled into the garage. Jacob headed up from the basement to find a old classic hearse parked in his driveway. From it emerged an unfamiliar pudgy balding man, wearing a cheap suit, and an ugly tie.

"Can I help you?" asked Jacob, looking over the hearse.

"We talk... in house?" asked the man in a gravelly, halting voice.

"Sure thing," replied Jacob, ushering the man inside. He closes the shop door behind him. "What can I do for you Galapagos?"

"How you know it I?" asks the chameleon, the illusion fading around him. "New face and all!"

"Because your English is terrible unless you're actually impersonating someone, or selling caskets," says Jacob, picking up a clipboard. "I never did get that. What can I do for you?"

"Need hearse to fix," says Galapagos. "Is go click click click, smell smoke."

"Pull it in, and I'll take a look at it," says Jacob, opening the garage door. After a few minutes, Jacob emerges from under the car. He rubs his temples and looks extremely frustrated.

"This thing is a classic," he says to Galapagos. "Which means it's going to be expensive to repair. You should have brought this in for service last year, and it would have been an easy fix. Now you need a new transmission."

"I have not much dollars, just bought house," says Galapagos. "Can we work out trade? I owe you big favor?"

"Favors are hard to come by these days, Gal," replies Jacob. "But I don't know that..." The jingling of an ancient rotary phone cuts Jacob off before he can answer. "Excuse me," he says, picking up the receiver.

"Oren! Glad to hear from you! Trouble? Chicago?" Jacob looks around the shop, clearly torn between his current project and duty to a friend.  "I... can't really, I've got the library, and the garage is swamped and..." he pauses, listening to Oren's plea for help. "What do you mean goblins and dwarves? I don't know much about them sorry. I got a crew downstairs working I can..." He turns to look at Galapagos. "I think know someone who'll be happy to help. I'll put them on the next flight." He hangs up the phone. "I'm calling in that favor right now, Gal."

"I am regretting this already," replies Galapagos.