Every morning was exactly the same. At dawn, Char would swoop in and try and attack Max, to somehow prove that he could kick Max's ass and reinstate himself as the number one charizard.

If it wasn't so pathetic, it might have been threatening. As it was, it was an good bit of cardio to start the morning. But after five days in a row of this, Max was getting tired of this pointless dance.

"I'm gettin' tired of your shit," said Max through gritted teeth. This morning, and the morning before, Max hadn't even bothered to turn into a charizard when Char attacked him. It was the only way Max felt he could make it interesting, by this point. And it was quickly wearing thin.

Max was sitting on Char's back between the wings, holding Char's tail in one hand, and grasping Char's tiny, baby arms with the other, holding them backwards, painfully. He looked at Char's clearly inferior tail flame.

"Real sick of your shit. Kickin' your ass ain't even fun. You're gonna knock this shit off. All of it."