Limitless Evolution As a Snake

I watch them, and my brain refuses to process it. A cop who spent years in the undercity just signed on with a crime family without blinking. And Cherry, sweet, apologises to furniture. Cherry nods along like I just asked if she wants to get dinner.

[System: mate.]

Yeah, I see it too.

I mean, I already knew Lyra worked at a precinct that took bribes like a vending machine takes coins, so maybe I shouldn’t be shocked, but there’s a difference between looking the other way on some market stalls and actively signing up to work for the guy who probably owns half the people she used to arrest. She didn’t even blink. She smirked, and that was worse. It was the kind of smirk that said she wasn’t just on board—she was already three moves ahead, planning the logistics.

And Cherry. Cherry just said she’s happy to be wherever I am, in the tone of someone agreeing to a picnic, not a life of crime with my terrifying father. But then again, after we fucked, half her crazy succubus side came out. That wild, unapologetic gleam in her eyes doesn’t just accept chaos; it fucking revels in it, so maybe I shouldn’t be so surprised.

[System: two absolute units, mate, and you’re just now clocking it]

I’m not just now clocking it; I clocked it a while ago. I just didn’t want to look directly at it, kind of like staring at the sun; you know it’s bad for you, but you keep sneaking glances anyway.

Because here’s the thing. These are the two women currently bonded to me. The two women whose entire emotional stability apparently runs through however much attention I give them. And neither one of them so much as raised an eyebrow at "hey, we’re joining a crime family now." That’s not devotion; that’s a red flag wearing a bigger red flag as a hat.

Lyra’s already talking logistics, saying something about contacts she still has in the market district, ways to smooth over old beef with vendors who owed her favours.

Cherry’s nodding along like she’s taking mental notes, tail curling and uncurling in a way that means she’s genuinely excited, not just performing excitement to make me happy.

My scales rasp against the couch. "You two know this isn’t, like, legal, right? Like at all, any of it."

Lyra doesn’t even look up. "Matt, I was in the Ami undercity police. Legal left the building a long time ago."

"Right, sure, but there’s a difference between looking away from some black-market noodle stall and actively working payroll for my dad."

"Is there, though?" she says. Her tone is so calm, so certain, that for a second my own brain starts to glitch. Am I the crazy one here for thinking this is a big deal?

Cherry just leans over and pats my tail like she’s comforting a nervous toddler. "It’ll be fine! We’re really good at this stuff. Well, I’m good at hiding, and Lyra’s good at everything else, so between the two of us we basically cover it."

That’s not reassuring. That’s the opposite of reassuring, hell that’s a sentence that should come with a warning label.

[System: For what it’s worth, mate, at least they’re a matched set. Imagine if only one of them was like this]

That is not comforting. That is somehow worse. Now I’ve got a mental image of one sane bonded partner and one absolute wildcard, and honestly, I don’t know which combination scares me more.

I sit there another second, watching them both talk over each other about scent tracking and territory lines like they’re already drafting the org chart for my dad’s crew, and somewhere under all that noise a small, quiet part of my brain all wonky like: these are the two women who chose you, snake boy, and they picked crime without blinking, so maybe ask yourself what that says about you too.

I decide not to think about that part too hard.

"Okay," I say instead, because that’s easier than unpacking whatever’s happening inside my own head right now. "Just, promise me, no unnecessary murder on day one."

Lyra tilts her head. "Define unnecessary."

"Lyra."

"Fine, fine. Day one, minimal murder."

Cherry raises her hand like she’s in school. "Can it be necessary murder?"

"We’ll workshop it," I say, and slide off the arm of the couch before either of them can negotiate that any further, because honestly, I don’t think I’m ready to hear the terms they’d settle on.

[System: oi mate, before you go, you should try out that new skill you got. The coin flip one, remember the 50/50, mate, keep up. Flip a coin, heads, something good happens; tails, something bad happens. That’s it, that’s the whole skill. Beautiful in its simplicity, really.]

That sounds like the worst skill I’ve ever gotten, and I say that as a guy whose first ability let me sense if food was slightly spicy.

[System: yeah nah it’s got potential mate. Big potential. you know, where it has coin flips built right into the walls]

I already know where this is going, and I hate it.

[System: casino, mate. casino’s got coin flips everywhere. Slots, cards, roulette, the lot. Practically built for you.]

I pause in the hallway, the tip of my tail twitching against the floorboards. Apparently even my own internal system wants to drag me somewhere stupid tonight. "I have like 4 grand" I say out loud, mostly to myself.

"From the kebab shop. i was going to use that for something else."

[System: mate, you’re rank D now. You’re basically a walking ATM under your scales; you just gotta stop being scared of using it]

That’s not how any of this works. It’s also deeply concerning that you think it does.

I can already feel the argument spooling out—twenty minutes of him calling me a drongo while I try to explain basic economics. It’s not worth it. My coils tense, then slacken in resignation. It’s just easier to agree now and save myself the nagging later.

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