Limitless Evolution As a Snake

”Oh, look at you,” he says, and there’s actual sadness in it. ”Poor thing. Your mother musta flushed you, huh? So small, no arms, but tiny hands and no legs, can’t even talk proper, ah and missing half a tail, oh you must of suffered.” He shakes his head slowly. ”It’s okay. It’s okay, my son. My mother flushed me too, when I was little, cause I was too small, too weak, not worth keeping.” He taps his own chest with one claw, proud, like he’s showing off a medal. ”And look at me now.”

I just want coffee. I didn’t sign up for a backstory. I didn’t sign up for any of this; I just wanted to steal a mug of instant coffee and slide back into the ceiling vents forever, and now I’m apparently somebody’s long-lost son standing at the emotional centre of a warehouse full of golems and wolf women and fairies who are all staring at me like I’m a miracle, or a rival.

”It’s okay now,” the boss says, voice cracking just slightly, and he presses his forehead gently against my little snake head, which honestly should not work as a gesture and yet somehow does. ”I’ll take care of you, my son.”

Old mate. Old mate, this is good, right? This is a good thing that happened, right?

[System: uh. yeah nah mate i reckon you fucked up somewhere along the line but im proper proud of ya anyway, you actually found your father.]

I DIDN’T FIND ANYTHING; HE FOUND ME AND THEN JUST DECIDED

[System: my notes reckon we spawned ya from scratch back in the sewers, so statistically speaking, probably not your dad. But he’s a laugh, I like him, just roll with it, mate.]

ROLL WITH IT? ROLL WITH IT HE HAS A JAR OF FINGERS!

[System: yeah I like it! Here for finding your father, here is 15 IP points! Look at you indulging!]

Tha-nk you, I guess...

The boss sets me down gently on the desk, so gently it feels almost insulting given how casually violent everything else in this building has been, and I coil myself up automatically, tail looping under, head lifted, staring up at him because apparently that’s what I do now, I stare up at my mafia dad.

He pats my head with one claw, so light I barely feel it, and then straightens up and turns to the room like a general addressing troops.

”Alright, you lot,” he hisses, and everyone snaps to attention at once, fairies included, tiny wings buzzing in perfect unison. ”I’ve never met any of my other kids. I know they’re out there; I can smell em sometimes on the wind, but I’m stuck down here in this shithole so I never get to actually see any of em.” His voice cracks again, just a touch. ”This is the first time, my son. Get him some things. Water, milk, I don’t know, whatever babies drink. Food too, the good stuff, not the crap we feed the golems.”

One of the golems makes a grinding whimper, like a garbage disposal with low self-esteem; the boss doesn’t even notice.

”I’m gonna go get him some clothes,” the boss continues, already turning toward a side door, ”poor kids naked, can’t have that.” He points one long claw at the tall wolf woman leaning against the crates, the one with silver fur and eyes like frozen lake water. ”You. Hana, watch my son for me.”

She straightens up immediately, one hand pressed to her chest. ”Yes, sir. I will.”

Then she looks down at me.

Her eyes do not say babysitter; her eyes say snack; her eyes are not the look of a caregiver. It is the look every nature documentary ever made tries to warn you about.

Uh. Old mate, old mate, I think she’s gonna eat me.

[System: yeah nah, I reckon she will too, mate. real good time to go get that coffee though while everyones distracted, ya overcooked rice noodle.]

I try to play dead, which is not hard for someone whose entire life can be summed up as an anxious breakfast item, but it does not help. She walks over in six or seven steps, crouches until her knees pop, and brings her face low enough that the heat of her breath raises every scale on the back of my neck.

”My name is Hana,” she says, voice pitched for only me, ”and I have never lost a babysitting job, never.”

The way she says babysitting job makes it sound exactly like meat delivery.

I coil tighter. She stares, and I stare back. There is nothing to say, because anything I say will be entered into evidence in the postmortem.

The fairies scatter, off to fetch whatever ”good stuff” means in this context. One flies down and drops a melted straw between my coils, perhaps as tribute. The golem shuffle in circles, muttering to each other in a language made of cement and broken English. The wolf-women relax gradually, but only because they know the chain of command will keep them from eating me without permission.

Hana leans closer. ”Are you hungry? Or thirsty?”

I consider the question. The answer is yes, but the answer is also I am always hungry and always thirsty, because that’s what it means to be a snake that was once a man.

She waits. Her patience is the patience of a glacier, or a firing squad told to stand by.

Maybe if I answer she’ll be less likely to swallow me whole.

Coffee.

I say, except I don’t say it, because I don’t have vocal cords; I just hiss, and somehow the hiss lands exactly like the word coffee.

She blinks once, slow, then gestures to one of the golems. ”You heard the baby boss. Blood, now.” The golem lumbers off.

This is not good. This is several layers of not good. I did NOT ask for blood? The hell am I meant to do with blood!

[System: hahahahaha, oh gross, if you do drink it I might vom.]

I WILL NOT BE DRINKING BLOOD!

[System: yeah, nah, mate, you are in a spicy situation. But I reckon if you keep your head down, you’ll be right. And get the coffee; it’s a solid move.]