Limitless Evolution As a Snake

The floor stretches out ahead like some kind of criminal showroom, and I mean actual showroom, cause there’s sports cars parked in neat little rows, cherry red and matte black, chrome catching the yellow light overhead. Motorbikes lined up next to them, all sleek and expensive-looking, the kind of stuff that costs more than my entire previous human life put together, definitely. Crates everywhere too, stacked in these big wooden towers that give me plenty of cover, which is good, cause the second I get a proper look at what’s laid out on the tables further in, my brain sort of short circuits a little.

Guns. Or at least I think they’re guns. Long and short ones, some with weird bulbous ends that make me second-guess myself, cause honestly a few of them look less like weapons and more like something you’d find in a store I definitely never walked into on purpose back on earth. I decide not to think about it too hard.

Old mate, how about you tell me what’s up with the tables full of glowing shit before I go investigate the possible gun sex toy hybrid situation over there.

[System: Yeah righto, look past the cars mate, see the long table with all the little lights on it?]

I do see it, and once I see it I can’t unsee it. Rows and rows of pills, glowing neon, pink and green and this electric blue that practically hums with light, stacked in little trays like candy at some cursed carnival. And around the table, small figures moving fast, delicate little hands sorting and packing, wings on their backs fluttering every few seconds to keep balance. Fairies. Actual tiny fairy women, and yeah okay a couple of dudes mixed in there too.

[System: The fairy men are throwing a wrench in everything my manual told me about this world only having human men.]

Old mate, what the fuck is up with that? Is this seriously a fairy drug lab? Is this actually Breaking Bad but with wings?

[System: Yeah nah that’s basically exactly what it is mate. Some kind of magic narcotic probably, using fairy dust or fairy blood or something equally fucked as a base ingredient. And yeah, I guess reality doesn’t read the fine print either.]

Great, love that for me, love learning new lore by watching child-sized winged women get exploited in an assembly line.

[System: it’s only 102 years since you died, shits not going to change that much, and at least these are adults.]

Standing over them, a pair of wolf women pace back and forth, and calling them toned doesn’t even cover it. Long legs, tight muscles under smooth skin, shoulders set like they’ve spent their whole lives throwing punches and never lost. Faces sharp and confident, strong jaw, straight nose, the kind of face you’d call handsome on a guy but somehow works even better on them. Ears twitching on top of their heads, tails swishing slowly behind them, and if it wasn’t for the obvious, and I mean obvious, chest situation going on, I’d genuinely have trouble telling if they were meant to be men or women at first glance. The kind of gender neutral where confidence just radiates off every inch of them.

One of them barks, like actually barks, sharp and guttural, at a fairy who fumbles a pill off the table, and before the poor thing can even scramble to pick it up, the wolf woman reaches down and pinches its wing between two fingers, giving it a rough snip motion with what looks like actual metal shears. The fairy yelps, tiny and pained, and the sound does something uncomfortable in my chest.

Poor things, but nothing I can do about it, or will do about it.

I slide further along the crates, careful and slow, keeping my belly low against the wood, tongue flicking every few seconds to keep tasting the air for movement. Past the pill table, deeper into the warehouse, a group of human men sit around a low table stacked high with cash, counting fast, hands moving on autopilot while they mutter to each other in tones too quiet for me to catch yet. Golems stand near the walls further back, big blocky things made of stone and concrete, arms crossed, motionless except for the faint glow coming from wherever their eyes should be. Not moving or talking, just standing there like furniture that happens to be able to crush a man’s skull if it wanted to.

I keep sliding, inch by inch, crate to crate, getting closer to the smell of coffee, which is somewhere past all this madness, probably near wherever the boss sits.

One of the wolf women stretches, arms up over her head, and the movement pulls every muscle in her body taut for a second, and my brain, completely unprompted, decides to picture what it would feel like getting stepped on by a foot that size. My tail would have flushed red on the spot if it was still there.

Ah, I miss my tail.

Biting down hard on the reaction, forcing my scales back to blending against the crates.

Old mate, don’t say anything.

[System: Wasn’t gonna say a word mate. Just thinking about how you’re a sick fucker for that one, is all. Respect though.]

I don’t even argue; fair’s fair.

The other wolf woman is bent over one of the crates a few feet ahead, checking something inside, and her skirt rides up just enough that I get a clean look before I even mean to. Just a quick glance, barely a second, cause I am not trying to die tonight, but my brain files it away regardless.

[System: Screenshotting that for later mate.]

Course you are. Look, she’s a bad person, right? Works for a mafia, helps clip fairy wings for fun, so this doesn’t count as bad; this is just me gathering intel.

[System: Mate, what is good and bad when the whole world’s already fucked six ways from Sunday? Anyway, plastic spoon handle, you got shit to do.]