Limitless Evolution As a Snake

[System: mate she means it]

Yeah, I got that, thanks.

"So I get the guest list too?" Channel’s already bouncing on her heels, phone out, thumbs flying. "Because I know like literally everyone who matters in the top city of Ami- VIPs, influencers, the guy who owns that rooftop bar with the shark pond. I am going to make Twawi look so stupidly chic people are gonna forget it’s a sewer."

"It’s not a sewer," I hiss quietly, "it’s a society."

"It’s a sewer with good lighting, Matt-y, and I am going to fix that."

She’s already pacing, muttering about neon colour palettes and ribbon-cutting scissors that need to be "aesthetic but also functional," and for a second I actually forget she’s supposed to be trying to kill me; God, she looks so happy. Genuinely, stupidly happy, bouncing around my crappy little office like I just handed her the moon.

[System: careful mate, that’s how they get ya]

Yeah, no kidding.

I watch her scoop her bag back up off the floor without breaking stride, still talking, something about champagne towers and whether we can get a hover-drone to do an aerial shot of the ribbon-cutting for "the gram."

I dip my head along with her words even though I’ve stopped actually listening, because honestly, watching her lose her mind over party favours is way funnier than anything that just happened with Cherry.

She’s a stone-cold killer sent by my own family to end me, and right now she’s asking me if gold or rose gold streamers "read better in photos." Living the dream, honestly.

"Okay," I hesitated, cutting through the stream before she gets to seating charts. "Budget’s whatever Lyra says it is. Don’t blow the whole thing on balloons."

Channel gasps as I’ve personally wounded her. "Balloons are a statement, Matt-y."

"Sure, whatever, statement i guess. Just don’t bankrupt us."

She salutes me with two manicured fingers, spins on her heel, and marches out already dialling someone, chattering a mile a minute about caterers and lighting rigs before she’s even cleared the doorway.

I hold my coil for a second, staring at the space she just vacated.

[System: so, that’s your assassin now running your entire public image]

Yep.

I let my coils go slack in the chair, my head resting against its back as I catch the last traces of Cherry’s scent still clinging to my scales. Best decision I’ve made all week, probably or the dumbest. Honestly, at this point I can’t even tell the difference anymore.

[System: Yeah, mate, I mean it. She’s actually falling for you, not just the bond talking, and by the way i got an upgrade!]

I lift my head at that, because that’s a weird thing for a koala to say out of nowhere.

Wait, what do you mean upgraded? Since he just kind of dropped that in there like it’s nothing.

[System: Oh yeah, forgot to mention I used some of that IP I’ve been nicking off the surface systems. Figured I’d put it to good use, y’know, upgrade myself a bit while you weren’t looking.]

You upgraded yourself? With my IP? A hot spike of anger flashes through me, the same kind I used to get when I was a tiny noodle and a sewer roach stole my food. That IP is my power. My ticket to getting bigger, stronger, more untouchable. And he spent it.

[System: Yeah nah, I know, but I needed it more, got a good deal though, real good deal.]

"What did you even get?" I hiss, the sound scraping in my throat. The anger is already fading into a kind of weary curiosity, like finding out your deadbeat roommate blew the rent money on something stupid.You’re mad, but you’re not even surprised.

[System: More memories, apparently, bit more of the old life coming back before I was a koala, or some lustful god system. Turns out I spent most of it drunk, which honestly checks out, feels right, feels like home. And I reckon I got a bit more flavour in the personality too. More flair, as you’ve probably noticed.]

That’s it? That’s the whole upgrade? More drunk memories and a bit of flair?

[System: Yeah, pretty much.]

I let my coils relax against the chair again, swaying my head slowly. Old Mate, I think you got scammed. That’s a shit trade. You stole IP to buy yourself feelings about being pissed all the time.

[System: Oi, don’t knock it, some of those memories are top shelf. There was this one time I fell asleep in a wheelie bin and-]

I tune him out right about there because across the warehouse, movement catches my eye and pulls my attention clean off the conversation.

[System: Oi!]

Channel struts in like she owns the concrete under her heels, wings catching the low light in that soft pink shimmer, all smiles and giggles as she slides in next to Harden and Hansen. The two of them look pissed off in that quiet, simmering way, jaws tight, shoulders stiff, but neither one making a move. Just watching. Waiting. Like a couple of dickheads who already decided tonight isn’t the night, but still can’t help glaring daggers at everything that breathes near me.

Good, let them stew.

Lyra gets up from where she’s been sitting and researching, unhurried, with that same easy confidence in her stride like she’s not even in a warehouse full of criminals and half-drunk beastkin. She grabs a glass off a passing tray, champagne, pale gold, bubbles catching the light, and drifts toward the corner where the shadows pool a bit thicker.

She leans against the wall there, one hip cocked, green eyes scanning the crowd with that cop’s instinct she can’t ever fully switch off, even at a party. Silver hair catches the light down her back like a curtain. She brings the glass to her lips and takes a slow sip, completely unaware that somewhere between the bottle and her glass, somebody decided to spike the good stuff.

Probably Channel, judging by the way she keeps glancing at the tray from across the room with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. Nobody else seems to have clocked it either, least of all Lyra, who’s already taken another slow sip.

I make a mental note to keep an eye on her, because of the way Channel’s smiling now.

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