Limitless Evolution As a Snake

Old Mate picks now, of all times, to start counting down like some kind of bootleg grandfather clock.

[System: Right, so, quick heads-up, bud, your clock’s ticking. Midnight’s coming, and this whole fancy snake business turns back into a pumpkin.]

I don’t even slow down. That’s not how that story goes, Old Mate.

[System: Yeah nah it is, look it up.]

You’re thinking of Cinderella. The pumpkin’s the carriage. She’s the one who turns back into a broke girl in rags when the clock hits twelve, not the pumpkin?

[System: Same difference.]

It’s really not.

[System: Whatever, point still stands. Tick tock, snake o’clock. You got maybe an hour left.]

what happens at midnight, like im still the same guy. But, love having a deadline while I’m currently slithering through enemy territory with two guards flanking me like I’m some kind of VIP prisoner.

[System: it’s a secret.]

Great.

The hallway stretches out ahead, lined with doors, and every few meters there’s a bunny girl pressed up against the wall, head down, ears flat, not making eye contact with anyone.

Poor things look like they’re trying to become part of the wallpaper; I get it. I’d probably do the same if I rocked up here and saw six feet of muscled cobra sliding past with an armed escort.

I try not to look at them too long. Don’t want to spook anyone worse than they already are.

Focus, Matt. Charm offensive, that’s the move here. I flick my tongue, tasting the air near the guard on my left.

”So,” I say, letting my hood give a small, inquisitive flare, ”how’s your day going? This place is actually really nice, by the way. Love what they’ve done with the lighting.”

She doesn’t answer. Doesn’t even look at me. Just keeps her hand resting near her belt like I’m gonna try something.

Rude, I’m being charming here.

[System: She can’t hear the charm, mate; she can only see six meters of murder noodle with a hood. Charm doesn’t really land when you look like that.]

I’m not that scary, and it worked on Lyra and Cherry?

You flared your hood just then, trying to be friendly. You looked like you were about to eat her.

Okay, fair point, but still. A guy’s got a personality under all these scales; it would be nice if someone noticed.

The other guard finally glances over, quick, like she’s sizing up whether I’m worth the effort of a response. ”Fine,” she says, short and flat, eyes already back on the hallway ahead.

There it is. Progress, just one word. I’ll take it.

”See, was that so hard?” I say, and I swear I catch the corner of her mouth twitch, not quite a smile, more like she’s fighting one off out of spite.

Meanwhile, Old Mate is still going on about my apparent expiration date like it’s the most important thing happening right now.

[System: Anyway, as I was saying, the clock’s ticking, bud. Once she strikes twelve, you’re back to being a sad little garden snake, thirty centimetres of pure disappointment. No hood, no fangs, no scary murder vibes, just vibes vibes.]

I was never a garden snake; I was a parrot snake.

[System: Manual’s a bit glitchy on specifics. Somewhere between soon and immediately, real helpful range I know.]

Honestly, I have no idea what you’re talking about, and there is no quest, so I’m hoping you’re just really drunk and just pulling my leg, and I really hope I don’t turn into a tiny red piece of string cheese in front of an armed escort and a hallway full of terrified bunny girls.

I keep the front third of my body reared up, hood loose and easy, sliding forward as if I have all the time in the world instead of a magical countdown clock hidden somewhere in my biology.

Fake it till you make it works every time, mostly.

The guards stop me at the end of the hallway, right in front of a set of double doors that look way too fancy for a basement full of terrified rabbit girls.

One of them pushes the door open, and I slide through into a room that hits my senses like a cold slap. My thermal vision goes flat, muted by the chill of metal. Gold, everywhere. Like someone kicked a leprechaun so hard he puked up his life savings. Gold trim, gold furniture, a gold chandelier all of it leaching warmth from the air, making the room a dead, glittering void to my heat-sensing pits.

”To arrange your payout,” one of the guards says, voice flat, already backing out of the room like she doesn’t want to be anywhere near whatever happens next.

[System: Yeah nah, that’s execution hallway lighting right there, mate. They’re gonna turn you into a leather wallet.]

Thanks, old mate. Love the pep talk; it really boosts morale right before I get murdered in a room full of gold, I hope I become at least a nice wallet.

There’s a big oak desk at the far end of the room, and behind it sits the guy who apparently owns all this. And I swear my brain does a full double take because the dude is a rat. Like, actual rat features, whiskers twitching, little beady eyes, nose doing that rapid sniffing thing rats do. Which, okay, weirdly fitting for a guy running some shady casino operation.

Rat running a rat’s nest.

And then he opens his mouth, and this fake New York accent comes rolling out, thick as anything, and a sharp, rattling hiss of amusement nearly escapes me right there in the middle of what is very obviously my execution. No way that’s his real voice. Nobody naturally sounds like they walked straight out of a mob movie audition.

”Tell me, snake,” the Manager murmurs, his voice dropping into a sinister rasp. ”Does anyone out there actually know you’re down here right now?”

Oh god, yeah, this is it. They’re gonna chop me up and sell me as exotic meat. My coils tighten instinctively on the floor, the scales along my ridge prickling. I force the sound from my throat to stay level, dragging out the syllables.