Limitless Evolution As a Snake

Turns out that was just the warm-up.

It starts with a voice. Not the casual, half-drunken yells of bored rent-a-goons, but the nasal, sharp-edged bark of someone who wakes up in the morning and chooses violence as a lifestyle.

”CHERRY, OPEN UP, YOU LITTLE SHIT! I KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE.”

I look at Cherry. Her face goes pure white, the blue in her eyes lighting up like police lights at a crime scene.

She scrambles for the door, then pivots, realises she has no plan, and instead tries to drag me (me, two hundred pounds of snake) under the loft bed.

It’s the least effective hiding maneuver ever attempted.

She gets my head under, but the rest of me is all tail and muscle, and I immediately get stuck in a pile of her laundry, half a dozen mismatched socks and a sports bra draped across my midsection like a shame blanket.

She hisses, ”Hide, please hide. If he sees you, we’re dead. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.”

The banging gets louder. Now the voice is joined by two others, a slow, rhythmic thumping as if they’re trying to knock the whole wall down.

”CHERRY, LAST CHANCE. PAY UP OR GET OUT.”

I try to coil tighter, but the frame is made of cheap pressboard and threatens to collapse if I so much as twitch. Cherry is trying to stuff my tail behind a suitcase, but it just flops back out the other side like a mutant garden hose.

[System: Maybe just stand up and show them who’s boss, mate. Hiding’s not your thing.]

I try to pull free, but the sock situation is dire. The harder I yank, the more tangled I get, until the only thing I’ve managed to do is knock over her entire clothes rack and send a rain of t-shirts and underwear into the hallway.

Cherry loses her mind. She makes a noise that’s half scream, half sob, then slams the suitcase shut on my tail and starts kicking dirty laundry under the bed to ”camouflage” me, as if a six-foot crimson snake is going to be mistaken for a particularly ugly sweater.

I want to laugh. I want to die, but mostly, I kinda want to make things worse.

Then the front door explodes inward.

I’m not kidding. The glass goes everywhere.

Three men tumble into the apartment like bowling balls.

They’re big. All muscle and tattoos, with a body odour that says, ”I haven’t paid for soap since the last mayoral pardon.” I suspect one of them is Marv.

The leader, short, jacked, with ears that look chewed and a gold ring in one nostril, spots Cherry immediately.

”Well, well, well. Look what we got here.”

His backup is two slabs of orc, forearms like a pro arm wrestler and the brain-to-body ratio of a chicken nugget.

The first one licks his lips, slow and greasy.

The second heads straight for the fridge, chugs an energy drink, and slams the can on the counter.

Cherry freezes. She tries to block their view of the bed, arms spread, little succubus wings fluttering.

She’s trembling, but she doesn’t move.

The leader saunters over. He wears a synthetic snakeskin jacket and jeans so tight it’s a miracle he can walk.

He stops in front of Cherry, looks her up and down, and smirks.

”You got rent for me, sweetheart?”

She tries to speak, but the words stick. Instead, she just shakes her head, fast and desperate.

He smiles wider. ”Well, that’s a problem. See, when you don’t pay, the city gets to charge you interest. That’s math, honey.”

He pulls a slip of paper out of his pocket. Waves it in her face.

”You got two choices, doll: you pay up, or you start packing.”

Cherry’s whole body shakes. ”Please, just-just give me until next week. I’m getting a new job, i can get it. I just!”

The goon behind her grabs her arm, hard, and jerks her backward. She yelps, wings flapping.

The other guy, the one with the gold ring, pushes her up against the kitchenette.

”Don’t make it harder than it has to be.” His voice is low, hungry. ”I’d hate to ruin that cute little face of yours.”

She closes her eyes. Bites her lip and her tail curls up tight.

That’s enough of that, ah that’s when I lose it.

I pop the bed off its hinges. Suddenly I’m standing, full height, scales shining under the busted fairy lights and a full wardrobe of dirty socks trailing behind me like a parade float.

The room goes dead silent.

Every pair of eyes—Cherry’s, the orc goons’, the leader’s—locks onto me.

I flick my tongue, slow, and rear up so my hood fills the doorway. The whole room is shadows and red and, let’s be honest, a little bit of drama queen.

My voice rumbles out, as calm as I can manage, ”Stay behind me, love.”

Please tell me none of these guys has hammers. My ribs just stopped hurting. Ah, I think I have hammer ptsd now.

The leader freezes and his jaw actually drops.

The orc drinking energy drink belches, then squints at me, as if trying to decide if I’m real or just the result of bad mushrooms.

The leader points at me with his stubby fingers. ”The fuck is that?”

Cherry, god bless her, tries to answer, but it comes out as a squeak. She’s crying, but she’s still trying to hide behind me, even though she’s a quarter my size and I’m blocking all line of sight.

The leader recovers. ”You think a pet’s gonna save you? That’s adorable.”

He pulls out a taser. Clicks it once, blue arcs dancing across the leads.

His hand is steady, oh i hate that, he points it at my chest and fires.

The darts hit. They bite deep, but nothing happens.

i just start humming that song that’s always in my head before something or someone starts bleeding, but I don’t stop moving.

He shakes the taser, staring at it in disbelief. ”Shit, it didn’t work. Why didn’t it work?”

I lunge.