Limitless Evolution As a Snake

The maintenance flush tasted like soap and somebody else’s terrible judgment, which was a relief only because I had briefly expected a much worse category of water.

I backed away from the outlet until the cycle stopped. Entering through a pipe remained a snake advantage, but it didn’t require me to pretend every pipe had been designed as a personal welcome mat.

Lukas confirmed the pump schedule from the public service notice beside the berth. Three minutes later, the flow settled and I eased through the screened side channel toward the inspection box above the waterline.

The removable screen opened with an ordinary service latch. I used a tendril, kept my fins close and passed through as smoke where the narrow corner would otherwise press too hard against the burn.

[System: Luxury cruise, mate. Most guests board with luggage, but you’ve gone for the experience where the boat rinses you before deciding whether to let you in.]

I was going to give the entrance one star, provided I survived long enough to explain the missing stars in detail.

The inspection box led into a dry utility passage behind the lower cargo rooms. I closed the latch behind me, checked the route Lukas had sent and paid the tender’s three-hundred hire balance through my internal phone.

Fifty-one thousand five hundred and twenty remained in my private funds. More importantly, Lukas waited outside in a dry cabin with an actual loading cradle, rather than dangling from the ship because friendship apparently required ignoring injured ribs.

Old Mate set the objective before I approached the cargo lock. Recover the marked storage case and invalidate the false live listing of me, three thousand EXP and twenty IP once both jobs were done.

I accepted, although I felt being listed for sale should come with a free complaint department and somebody I could bite without filling out a form.

The case stood behind a mesh cargo partition. I recognized the original paid-storage tag and the sealed tank panel inside, with the bait fish still moving under its circulation light.

That was actual evidence they had survived, not a comforting assumption based on the crate remaining upright. I sent Lukas the position and looked for the loading controls that could lower the whole case into his tender without asking either of us to carry it.

A message from the cow lady interrupted the search. With the club planning to reopen after the service-door repair, she wanted extra performers for the first busy night and somebody who could arrive without bringing another false charity release.

I had a contact board saved from the club’s supplier network, buried behind enough warnings and terrible spelling to qualify as the dark web’s idea of professional recruitment.

One listing offered a bovine-themed dance crew, flexible hours, experienced adults and immediate availability. The promotional photograph showed cow-print outfits, stage props and faces mostly hidden behind elaborate lighting.

I assumed broke college students had discovered that night work paid better than being polite to customers. The price was twelve hundred for the opening booking, which the cow lady approved from the club reserve after I forwarded the actual listing.

The reserve dropped to twenty-two thousand eight hundred. I confirmed the next opening time, sent the service entrance instructions and added that all performers needed to be adults, expecting that to cover the important misunderstanding.

The reply said every member had well over twenty years of professional experience. I interpreted that as marketing enthusiasm because I was currently crouched behind a cargo pipe planning a theft, not conducting a sensible staffing interview.

[System: You’ve hired dancers from a board that advertises discreet extraction services two listings down, champ. Good chance the girls know how to make a room very fucking quiet.]

That sounded useful after the last week, and I thought you could let one inexpensive decision happen without predicting an international incident.

I closed the messages when footsteps reached the passage. Two staff members came toward the cargo lock carrying the auction’s lot sheets, and I slid behind an open equipment cabinet before they rounded the corner.

My new lure flickered against the metal. I dimmed it immediately, but one man had already noticed the red reflection and turned toward the cabinet with a curious frown.

I emerged before he could decide the glow meant an intruder. The public auction poster nearby showed my face beside the lot number, giving me one deeply stupid explanation that at least matched the decoration.

”I was checking where you wanted the promotional mascot, mate. Nobody gave me a dressing room, and the service entrance had strong opinions about personal hygiene.”

He looked at me, looked at the poster and accepted the easiest story with the speed of a tired employee who didn’t get paid enough to investigate live snakes.

His companion complained that the collectors kept booking last-minute entertainment. They told me to report to the sale floor and stop blocking the utility route, then opened the cargo partition to check the storage case’s number.

I watched the exact latch sequence and marked the external cradle control beside the loading hatch. Useful details came from looking at the actual equipment, which remained less exciting than a miracle but considerably more reliable.

The staff moved away with their sheets. I followed toward the sale floor, keeping the costume explanation available while the little glow above my face tried to turn every reflective surface into an announcement.

At the stairs, a display showed the upcoming lots. My storage case appeared beneath a description of recovered family assets, followed by a live-capture claim promising delivery of Matthew Vane to the highest bidder.

The photograph beneath that claim showed an empty restraint crate, and the opening price was lower than the dancer booking I had just approved.

The photograph even showed my bad side, which felt deliberately personal.

I stared at it for several seconds before deciding that recovering my fish had become the second most urgent reason to ruin this auction.