Limitless Evolution As a Snake

Come again.

[System: yeah nah mate, gotta break this to you gently. You’re not in the Milky Way anymore]

I’m sorry, WHAT.

[System: don’t stress too hard about it, lot of species handle two suns just fine, tans real quick though, might wanna-]

Old Mate. Focus. Are you telling me Ami City isn’t even on Earth?

[system: never said it was on Earth, mate, that’s you assuming things again]

I have never assumed anything about this system except that it’s designed to ruin my day, and we’re right on schedule. Also, you said we were in the future!

[system: to be fair, I did say surface. never said which surface]

I’m gonna kill you.

[system: can’t, mate, I’m already dead.]

I hang there in the open air, smoke curling in agitation from my tail, two suns baking down on a petting zoo that smells like popcorn and animal crackers, and somewhere below me two women I lied to are going about their day thinking I’m just off doing normal business on a normal surface, under a normal single sun, on a planet that is apparently not the one I grew up on.

This is fine.

That’s the first red flag.

Second red flag hits my nose about half a second later, and it’s a whole cocktail of animal fur, bleach, and some kind of fish-based pellet food that I recognise from literally nowhere in my life but somehow still know exactly what it is.

I lift my head up off the floor and get my first look around, in front, yeah, petting zoo for sure, but behind? Yeah, this isn’t an alleyway. This isn’t a syndicate hideout either.

There are fluorescent lights buzzing overhead in neat little rows, glass walls stretching off in both directions, and a big stupid banner hanging from the ceiling that says WELCOME TO THE REPTILE PAVILION in letters shaped like little cartoon snakes.

I don’t even have time to process that before five people in matching polo shirts come jogging around the corner with poles and clipboards like I’m a delivery they’ve been waiting on.

Old mate, please tell me this is a fever dream.

[System: Oh mate, oh no, this is so much better than a fever dream, this is prime content right here, don’t you dare wake up.]

Thanks, love you too, Old Mate.

The lead one skids to a stop first, tablet clutched to her chest like a shield, eyes going wide as she takes in my sheer size. I’m six foot two of hovering smoke and dark scale, coiled in the air before her, my tail trailing off into mist and fins flaring slow and lazy just to see if it does anything.

It does nothing.

She doesn’t even flinch. She just frowns at her tablet as I’ve personally inconvenienced her Tuesday.

”Is this the two PM delivery?” she says, thumb still dragging down the screen.

Another handler steps up beside her, capture pole already extended toward my head like he’s checking the temperature of soup. The metal loop bumps my snout, and I stay dead still, tongue flicking slow and stupid, playing my best impression of a big dumb lizard with no thoughts behind the eyes.

[System: Ohhh you beautiful bastard, you’re doing the bit. I love the bit. Commit to the bit.]

I am extremely committing to the bit.

”No shipment logged for two PM,” says a third one, older, tired-looking, holding her own tablet like a bible. ”Check the manifest again.”

The lead one taps around for a solid ten seconds while I just hang there, radiating quiet apex energy that apparently means nothing to anyone in this building. Somewhere behind me, a kid presses his face against glass and points at me and screams with delight, and his mum drags him away without even looking twice.

”Found it,” the lead handler says. ”Unregistered Non-Sentient Apex Reptilia. Came in on the same truck as the alligator snapping birds, no ID tag, no chip. Paperwork’s a mess; the supplier probably just tossed him in loose.”

”Big for an unregistered,” says the tired one, squinting at me like I’m a slightly damaged piece of furniture.

”They grow ’em big downriver,” the lead handler says, already turning to walk off like this whole thing is settled. ”Get him into the temp enclosure, run a scan, and log him as pending ID. I am not doing overtime for a mystery snake.”

Pending ID?

I flick my tongue again, tasting the air, tasting the absolute audacity of the sentence that just got said about me.

[System: Pending ID! PENDING ID! Oh, you glorious apex predator, they’ve filed you under mystery snake. You are a mystery snake, Matthew. This is the best day of my existence, and I don’t even have a body.]

I stay quiet. I stay still. Two of the handlers loop a support sling under my middle coils like I’m a rolled-up carpet and start wheeling a little cart under me, and honestly the professionalism is kind of impressive, like they’ve done this a hundred times with things way scarier than me.

Which, okay, fair, given the bird comment. They walk me down a hallway lined with informational plaques and fake plants, past a tank of something with way too many legs, and I keep my face blank and my tongue flicking and let them roll me along like a very large, very confused pool noodle.

”Climate control’s already set for reptile premium,” someone says. ”Feeding schedule starts Thursday; we’ll do a wellness check in forty-eight hours.”

Feeding schedule and a wellness check? I am going to be fed on a schedule by people who think I’m a snapping turtle’s weird cousin. This is better than television; is this a wellness retreat?

[System: This is better than anything television has ever produced. I want you to know that whatever happens next, I am framing this moment.]

Old mate, if you laugh any harder, you’re gonna give yourself an aneurysm and you don’t even have a physical brain.