Chapter 88: Screaming, Crying, and Throwing Up
Lyra’s quiet for a long stretch. We’re both covered in dirt, sweat, and blood none of it ours and neither of us really knows what to say.
I’m the one who cracks first. "You okay?"
She shrugs, eyes hollow. "Not really, are you?"
Nope, not even a little. I’m screaming, crying and throwing up; the girl I fuck just bit some chick, and that chick just ate herself- what the fuck.
But I have a job to do, so I don’t let it stop me. "We’re alive," I hum, "and that’s something."
She gives a sad little smile. "I’m not sure if I want to be, after that."
There’s an ache in my chest. Not a heart attack, but close. I want to fix it, but I don’t know how.
"I’m sorry, and it’s okay not to be okay," I remind her.
She shakes her head. "You did what you had to; we’re both just... adapting."
The word hangs there. "Adapting." Like it’s supposed to make this okay, and I want to believe it, god I want to believe it. But the look in Lyra’s eyes says she never wanted to adapt this way.
We make it to the penthouse without incident. Lyra goes straight to the shower, peels her clothes off, and stands under the water for a full five minutes before she even starts moving.
I just sit coiled on the floor outside, humming to myself and replaying every second of the fight in my head.
[System: Oi, you did good, mate. That’s how you climb the ladder. Get rid of the weak links, and you’re the only snake left.]
I want to tell him to shut up, but he’s not wrong.
[System: Hope I’m not interrupting, and if I am, I don’t care. Anyways, you gained yourself 3,000 exp. Remember back in the ring I said 10 kills bigger than yourself 1k each, well 1 gator and 2 guys, easy now you’re at 10,000/20,000 exp!]
When Lyra emerges, she’s clean but raw. Her skin is pink from scrubbing, hair a wild mess. She just looks at me, her eyes wide and unfocused, as if she’s trying to figure out my shape—trying to fit the snake that holds her with the monster she just saw.
"I don’t want to hurt people, Matt."
I nod. "I know."
"But if I don’t, they’ll hurt you, or me or even both of us."
I don’t have an answer. All I can do is wrap her up in my coils and hold her, tight enough that I can feel the pulse in her neck.
She’s trembling but doesn’t pull away.
After a while, I feel her relax. Her breath slows, matching mine. We just sit there, listening to the city outside, not saying anything.
Finally, she speaks "You’re going after the Captain, aren’t you?"
"Yeah." My coils tightened around her, just for a second. "I have to."
She looks up, "Don’t die."
"I won’t."
"You better not."
"I’ll even bring you his badge."
She snorts, almost a laugh. "Bring me his head, and I’ll make you dinner."
I pull her off me and let her go, because I have work to do. Before I leave, I look at her one last time.
Wait, is she wanting to cook me her boss? kinda creepy but I’m into it.
She’s watching me, eyes fierce.
"You’re not alone, Matt." Her chin lifted, her gaze unwavering.
The words ’Neither are you’ die on my tongue. I just nod and slip out the door. Somewhere in the dark, every bad cop on that list is about to learn what happens when you piss off a monster and his girl.
[System: Make it hurt, bud. Make ’em all remember you.]
Oh, I will.
[System: thank god we can talk again; I was getting a little jealous.]
Weren’t you the one who told me to go build a harem?
[System: Yeah, but I didn’t realise you would ignore me.]
Okay, I promise to talk to you more.
I make my way through the pipes, into Twawi, away from Lyra, safe in the penthouse.
Okay, old mate how do I find them?
[System: Oi, use that noodle of yours, ya drongo.]
Right, thank you very helpful.
I can’t tell if he’s proud or just being a dick. Both, probably.
My body does that thing where it’s already moving before my brain has time to argue.
[System: Oi, pump the brakes, genius. You’re gonna slither around Twawi all night sniffing garbage if you don’t let me actually help ya.]
Fine, what do you know?
[System: Captain’s name is Suave. Corrupt as a wet cardboard box, twice as soft. He runs his lot out of a decommissioned pump station, deep Twawi, past the fish-oil market. You’ll smell the place before you see it. The bloke’s addicted to this eucalyptus muscle rub, rubs it on his neck like a cologne. Follow your tongue, and you’ll find him.]
You went through his file while I was busy, didn’t you?
[System: I went through his file while you were being emotional. There’s a difference; now go.]
Twawi at this hour is gutted. The fish-oil stalls are shuttered and dark, their iron grates padlocked, the whole alley smelling like the memory of something that used to be alive. The bioluminescent crust on the upper pipes throws a thin blue-green light across the wet stone, just enough to make shadows look like they’re breathing. I keep low, belly flat, tongue working the air in fast, shallow flicks.
Sewage. Rat. Rancid oil. The deep human smell of a neighbourhood that doesn’t really sleep, just dims.
I bank right at the main junction, following the drag of the market.
[System: Other right.]
I stop.
[System: Your other right, ya fuckwit. I can see which way you’re pointed and it’s wrong.]
I reverse and go left without a word.
The passage narrows almost immediately. The ceiling drops, the walls lean in, and within twenty metres I’m moving through a gap barely wider than my midsection, scales whispering against the stone on both sides. The bioluminescent crust disappears entirely back here. Real dark. The kind that presses back.