The walls were old and full of cracks. The heat was unbearable; a small fan was working non-stop, but it didn't help much.Alan McManus stood and watched the painting. It depicted a Roman gladiator standing face to face with a Barbary lion. The lion, with its majestic mane going all the way down to its stomach, stood roaring viciously. This type of lion, native to the Atlas Mountains on the north side of Africa, is a valued trophy.McManus just stood there watching the painting, but he longed to witness the beast in person. McManus glanced back to the sound of a gun being loaded; his father, John, entered the room.July 17th, 1925: The hunt begins.They rode their horses, but the bugs were still a bother. They wore all white clothing; Alan hated it and much preferred black clothing, though white clothes don't trap the light as black clothes do, so it doesn't become too hot for the person. His father had a wide grin on his face."Remember, we're only capturing the Barbary lion, not killing it," Alan said."Son, it's a beast made to be hunted, and after all, last night it killed a man," John replied."It didn't kill anyone. It wandered into the tribe out of curiosity and was startled by a man who ended up being fine and had a few cuts that will heal without scars. If the lion wanted him dead, it would have killed him with ease," Alan argued.John scoffed at this."Old man, the lion is endangered. If we're not careful, it could be extinct.""Species can't be extinct. God wouldn't allow one of his creations to die."After a few minutes, they arrived at the place where the lion was last seen."I'll go north, you south. Remember, we first use sleeping darts, live ammo only if necessary," said Alan."Yeah, yeah," replied John.They carefully went their separate ways. John hadn't seen any tracks of the beast; he saw several savanna hares, though they were always tough to get. He decided to focus all his attention on the lion. Meanwhile, Alan was more lucky; he saw footprints on the ground exactly like those of the lion. He carefully followed them until he went out of the dark trees and into the light where the animal stood.Its mane was indeed majestic, thick, and black. No cat could compare; the body was so muscular it would put most bodybuilders to shame.Alan couldn't believe the sight of it; he dreamed so long to meet one in the wild. But on closer inspection, the lion was not as ferocious as he thought. It lay on its stomach, taking deep breaths, and it looked... almost sad.Alan went to his rifle with the sleeping darts and his stomach turned; he had forgotten it. He took his camera, snapped the lion, and decided to slowly walk away. As he did, he heard a thump sound. The lion had risen up and looked at him straight into his eyes; it growled.Alan stood up and spread his arms, trying to make himself bigger, but the lion wasn't intimidated; it instead lunged forward. Alan quickly grabbed his gun to fire a warning shot to scare it, but to his horror, it was jammed. He let out a loud scream and the lion pounced on him. It clawed him all over his flesh; Alan hit it repeatedly with his gun, trying to get its jaws away from him until a loud shot was heard.John had arrived and fired, hitting the lion nearly in his heart. The lion crawled away for 4 meters before collapsing on its side. Alan inspected his wounds; they weren't too severe. He walked slowly to the lion, who was panting; it looked at him. Alan slowly stroked the thick black mane as the breathing slowly withered; its pupils became dilated.The following year, Alan and John returned to Morocco to find the Barbary lion, but the sightings became more and more sparse. The last known one was walking in the mountains, letting out a cry, hoping one of its kind would hear him.