Bed of Snakes

by YellowNoteAnon

Summary:

For all its glory, City 31 is far from perfect. For all its technology and all its advances, it's still got parts of town just as rough as the old world. Something an unsuspecting man is reminded of when he takes a wrong turn on his way home at night.

Things don't exactly go great for him, but... maybe a bit better than he was expecting.

Chapter 1: Prologue

Every city has that part of town. 

Or so I hear, at least. I've never been far from City 31 in my life, but I've heard plenty of stories about what civilization was like before the invasion, especially from my parents. Dad could go on and on about dog parks, water fountains, gas stations and what-have-you for hours. In particular, his borderline horror stories about a place called "Skid Row" somewhere on the western coast are fresh in my mind. The Fringe may not be quite as bad as that place sounds, but still, it's undeniably that part of town. You could make a case for Old Town outstripping it, but let's be real, Old Town is only a part of the city by technicality. Wouldn't be surprised if city hall decided to just torch the place one of these days, level the whole thing and build over it. 

But I digress. Regardless of how glamorous it might be, The Fringe is my home for the time being. Sure, it's a little run down, but the old world architecture is pretty interesting. Yeah, it's cramped, but it's also cozy. My neighbors may be almost exclusively aliens, but come on, who wouldn't want to live next door to a 600 pound muton that snores louder than a chainsaw?

I may not be the most upbeat guy in the world, but I'm trying. 

One of the few things this place has going for it is that it's quiet around this time of night. Fortunately, most of the aliens appear to be diurnal like us, so by the time I get off of work everyone's already in or getting ready for bed. Not that I don't like seeing them walking around or anything, I just... get a little paranoid, y'know? I'm not a xenophobe, I swear. 

I remind myself of this as I spot a viper, leaned up against a wall about 20 feet away. She's got the classic dusty yellow scales and blood red eyes, hallmarks of the older breeds. 

Again, I'm not a xenophobe, but I start sweating a little anyway. The Elders were notoriously indecisive, always changing and tweaking their designs on the fly. It's because of this that each generation of alien looks a little different from the last, until at some point you've got sectoids wearing pants and mutons with lips. In a similar fashion, newer vipers are pretty different from their predecessors. They're smaller, have different scale colors and patterns, an easier time mimicking human speech, and more expressive faces. They're still a little scary, but society's gradually coming to accept them. The older vipers though? They've got something of a stigma. 

On top of the fact that they're absolutely gigantic, their face is somehow built to look like they're always scowling. They've got a reputation for being pushy, aggressive, and most importantly violent. Doesn't help that they were deployed en masse during the war. It's hard not to look at one and see an ADVENT "Peacekeeper" staring back. 

The reptile in question glances over at me as I approach. She's got a leather jacket on like something out of a cheesy old world movie, all she's missing is a head of slicked back hair and some sunglasses. 

You know that awkward moment when you look over at someone, and then they randomly look at you, but you can't look away immediately because it'd be suspicious, so you just sort of lock eyes for a second? Yeah, that's where I'm at right now. And Jesus Christ is it a lot more awkward when it's happening with a 400 pound snake. After what feels like an acceptable few seconds, I turn my eyes back to the sidewalk, but she doesn't. I can see her still eyeing me out of my peripherals, and it makes me wonder if I screwed up by staring too long. Maybe this one doesn't understand the nuances of human stare downs, and thinks I'm threatening them. 

No, you're just being paranoid again. Deep breaths, keep walking. 

It takes an astonishing amount of effort not to flinch, shiver, speed up, or do anything else suspicious as I pass right under her nose. I'm considered tall by human standards, but this snake's gotta be at least seven feet up, maybe more. Makes it real easy to forget that being 6'1 was impressive once upon a time. Relief washes over me when I finally make it past her, tension fading from my shoulders. See? Nothing to-

"Hey, you." 

Crap.

She's got that typical retro-viper accent that I'm told vaguely resembles Indian. Or was it Spanish? Can't remember, but it's something about the way their mouths are shaped and the lack of teeth. I stop in place, turning with as much calm as I can muster. 

"You lost?" She asks flatly. Technically, yes, but I don't see any reason to make that information public just yet. Home's somewhere down the street, shouldn't be too long before I spot something familiar and get my bearings.

"Nah." I shrug. "Never really been this way before, but I know where I'm going." 

The viper crosses her arms, pulling off of the wall to stand up straight. "Do you now?" My heart damn near stops beating when she starts to slither toward me. 

"I, uh- yeah? I live a few blocks south of here, so..." Why did I say that? Why did I just tell her where I live? Every nerve in my body is screaming "run", but I can't. Even if my legs hadn't miraculously locked up just now, these things are impossible to outrun by design. 

Look, I know what I said about The Fringe, but there's no way I'm about to get mugged, right? If I had gone down an alleyway maybe, but here on the sidewalk, in plain view of-

Absolutely nobody. A hasty once-over confirms that we're completely alone. Great. Cool. This is fine. I straighten my hoodie in an attempt to do something, anything with my hands to stop them from shaking. The viper stops a good foot or so away, tongue flickering rapidly. I have no idea if that's a bad sign. 

"That's funny. You're funny, y'know that?" 

"I-I am?" 

"Yeah." The corners of her mouth shift, and I'm halfway to deciding if it's a smile or a frown when a pair of scaly hands shoot forward. In a blink, I'm being lifted off the ground by the front of my shirt, claws grazing the skin underneath. "See, you walked right on by without paying the toll. And that tells me you're either lost..." her pupils narrow, and her even tone quickly tips into menacing. "...or very, very stupid." 

It all happens so fast that I start choking on my own spit like a fucking moron. Every heartbeat is agonizingly pronounced, like the organ's trying to tear its way out of my chest and escape. 

"Look man, I- I was just-" The sentence is cut short by a painful cough, clearing what's hopefully the last of the spit from my windpipe. "I was just taking a shortcut home! Swear I-" 

She shakes me like a rag doll, fists tightening hard enough to stretch the brand new holes in my shirt. "Let me ask you again. Are you lost?" 

"Yes!" I half-shout. "I'm lost, OK!? Very lost!" 

And then, all at once, she drops me. I come this close to falling flat on my ass, but recover at the last second. The rock solid features of her face soften a little, but only a little. 

"There. That wasn't so hard, was it?" I'm too busy recollecting myself to cook up a response, but she doesn't seem to care. "Onto business then. On top of the usual fare, there's a small fee for lying to my face like that. Pay up, and you're free to go." 

Under other circumstances, I'd be pissed (and if I'm being honest? I still am.) But I just don't have it in me to fight one of these things. I like to think I can hold my own pretty well against other humans, but a viper? I'm stubborn, not suicidal. A few credits is a small price to pay for keeping my rib cage in one piece. 

"Right." I mutter shakily. "How much?" 

"Let's sayyy... fifty." 

Excuse me?

"Fif- what!?"

She rests her hands on what I can only assume are a pair of hips, and snorts. "Did I stutter?" 

"Are you crazy? I can't afford that!" 

"That's a shame." She's back to that infuriatingly casual demeanor, head tilting lazily to one side. "Got anything valuable on you? I'd be willing to make a trade." 

She can't be serious. All I've got is a pocket knife and my wallet - the former's nowhere near expensive enough, and I doubt I need to explain my attachment to the latter. "The best I can do is 20." 

The hard ridges above her eyes lift, guess they're the closest thing a viper has to eyebrows. "This isn't a negotiation, funnyman. You can part with your money willingly, or I can pry it off your body." 

"No, I mean- here." Against my better judgement, I start fumbling around for my wallet. Is she going to just snatch it from me the second I lower my guard? Probably, but I'm not looking to call her bluff on the thinly veiled death threats. My fingers finally close around the damned thing, and I open it up to show her the handful of credits inside. "It's literally all I have. Please." 

She cranes her absurdly long neck down to look at them, then back at me. I'm already bracing for her to just take the whole thing, but to my surprise, she doesn't. 

"Not doing so hot financially, huh?" 

Man, fuck you. "Hey, I'm not poor, I-"

"Save it. No point trying to impress me, softskin." 

"Seriously, I just don't like to carry much at a time. You can probably see why." I whispered that last part, but judging by the way she snickers it was way louder than I had intended. 

"You're sure? Absolutely positive? If this is just your ego talking, better swallow it now." By the time I realize my mistake, I've already started nodding. "Well in that case..." 

She swipes the whole wallet, dumping my money into her palm with a smirk. But in yet another odd display of mercy, she drops it back into my frozen hands when she's done. Everything else is still inside. 

"Tell you what; since you're new around here - and kinda cute - I'll let you off with twenty. If," she pauses for dramatic effect, pointing a disturbingly long finger at me. "you buy me dinner tomorrow." I'm just about to refuse when she rears back to her full height, stuffing the credits into her jacket's pocket. "Of course, if you'd prefer I just follow you home, we can settle your debt there too." 

It doesn't sound like an offer, moreso as a threat. I couldn't just keep quiet, could I? Had to go and run my mouth. 

"Fine." I sigh. Yeah, right. Good luck finding me after this. 

"Smart man." The alien grins. "I'll be here, same time. Skip out on me, and I'll know." 

In all likelihood, that's a bluff. But then again, from how she was talking earlier, this seems to run a tad deeper than just one viper harassing anyone unlucky enough to pass by. Last thing I need is to cough up and then get my knees smashed in anyway. I squint at her a little.

"How?" 

"Hmm, good point. Hold still." I'm a bit quicker on the draw this time around, but still not quick enough. One massive hand closes around the lower half of my face, and the other claps down onto my shoulder. The sensation of scales being pressed against your skin is bizarre, to say the least, but it feels ten times worse when you experience it while being manhandled the way I am. Something thick and slimy worms its way under my chin and down the side of my neck, like someone trying to scrape my flesh off with a prehensile spaghetti noodle. I gasp and shudder silently into my captor's palm, unsure of what to really do aside from sit here in disgust. Several long seconds pass before she finally lets go, and I immediately start wiping the saliva off my neck with the sleeve of my jacket. 

The viper clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth a few times, like someone taste-testing soup, and nods once. "You've got a pretty distinct scent. Shouldn't be too hard to find you." 

I think I'm gonna be sick. All the showers in the world aren't going to wash that feeling off of me. With a wave, she slithers back to her post, leaning against the wall again. "If you run into any of my sisters, tell them Cherry took care of you. They should let you pass." 

Cherry. What kind of name is Cherry? It doesn't matter, that's clearly my cue to leave. I break off into as brisk of a walk as I can without straight up running. 'Shortcut' my ass, if I run into Benny's ugly mug at work again he's dead. 

Chapter 2: A Fine How-Do-You-Do

Notes:

I usually don't like author's notes that talk about how bad a chapter is or whatnot because it feels like an easy out to absolve yourself of responsibility. That being said, I don't think I had a solid enough outline for the rest of the fic going into Chapter 2 and it messed me up pretty hard. I've been writing and scrapping and rewriting this ever since Chapter 1, and while I'm still not sure how I feel about the final product I'm pulling the trigger in case it's just irrational anxiety on my part. I'm always open to critique, but for this chapter especially I want to hear what you all think because I'm honestly feeling pretty lost.

Thank you, and enjoy.

It's a nice night out, all things considered. Lots of stars, not too much foot traffic, and just chilly enough to warrant a jacket without being uncomfortable. I've got work off tomorrow, which means I get to sleep in later, and on top of all that I'm on my way to this cute little diner that I'm told imitates the taste of meat pretty well. 

Most would consider this a nice night out. I mean, I should too, right? After all, it's just me, my thoughts-

"We're here." 

And Cherry. 

I can't help but cringe inwardly as she interrupts my musing. Sure enough, we're now standing outside a small restaurant that I've probably walked by once or twice but never really acknowledged. The LED sign up top is written in what I'm pretty sure is ADVENT, and looks surprisingly new compared to the faded walls that make up the building proper. Cherry leans forward to open the smudged glass door with one hand, gesturing me inside with the other. She doesn't even need to move back, her arm's somehow long enough that I can walk straight through without bumping into her. 

The interior is about what you'd expect. A tiled floor, cushy seating along the windows and even a banged-up looking jukebox in the corner playing some pop song I don't recognize. It's not packed per se, but definitely not empty either. Mostly hybrids and a few sectoids, with a muton squeezed into a comically small booth seat toward the back. The air has this strange sort of smell to it that I can't quite describe, much less identify, but I think it's the synth-meat equivalent of grease. Not pleasant, but not overpowering. 

My parents would probably love it here if it weren't jam packed with aliens. 

Right as I finish my little survey, Cherry takes hold of my shoulder and starts shepherding me toward the back of the diner. She's gentle, but feeling the sheer weight of her hand on my body is terrifying in its own right. A (hopefully) inadvertent reminder of the power dynamics at play here. Most of the other customers spare us a passing glance at most on our way across the room, but the muton becomes progressively less subtle about his staring the closer we get. They may not have the resting death glare of a viper, but their neutral expression is just hard enough that I'm struggling to tell if I've done something to piss this guy off. 

Before I can decide, a low hiss sounds off from behind me, and he becomes incredibly interested in something outside the window. 

It's nice to know that even mutons are afraid of something, especially when that something is Cherry. 

With that little distraction out of the way, she nudges me into a booth seat a few tables from our mutual observer. By the time I realize it's the absolute farthest possible one from the door, she's already sat down across from me and laid her tail out on the bench beside us. It's hard not to twitch when the end of it pools around my feet like water. 

"Don't worry about him." She instructs, picking up one of the menus. "Folks here aren't too fond of humans, but as long as you're near me they won't try anything." 

"Oh. That's- OK." That's a startling thing to be told out of nowhere. I know the tension goes both ways more often than not but I don't think I've ever been the only human in a room full of people who don't like humans. Is this what it feels like? Knowing you're being stared at but being too afraid to turn around cause it'd only draw more attention? I do have a viper 'protecting' me, but even then I'm not sure where exactly we stand. She seems reasonable enough for someone who literally mugged me, but then again my amazing judgement calls are what got me into this mess to begin with. 

"Seriously though, you're better off worrying about what you want to eat." She slides a laminated menu toward me from across the table, but I cough into my fist instead of picking it up. 

"I'm uh, not all that hungry. Thanks anyway." 

"Nonsense." She insists, pushing it closer. "You should try the pork sandwich, hard to tell the meat's fake." 

"Again, I'm not-" Cherry squints at me hard enough to freeze the air in my throat. There's this faint choking noise for a second while my mouth tries and fails to produce words, before it catches up with reality and my breathing steadies. She doesn't say a word, but her eyes scream 'order some fucking food' with enough fervor to douse whatever fight I have left in me. 

With a defeated sigh, I open the menu up to flip through its weathered yellow pages. "Alright, you win."

"I always do." 

This thing's ancient, by the look of it. Maybe pre-invasion. There are a handful of items crossed out with black marker, and others with little notes scrawled beside them like "Inedible to sectoids" or "No longer contains carrot." Whoever runs this place even found time to add a new dish: Baranassa Saute. I have no idea what Baranassa is, but thankfully the "Inedible to Humans" tag at the bottom saves me from wondering if it's worth the risk. 

I'm right on the verge of picking something when a portly hybrid in an apron trots up to us, adjusting the white toque on her head. Most restaurant staff will at the very least fake a cheerful attitude for the sake of tips, but this one doesn't bother masking the frown on her face. She stops in front of our table and glances between the two of us, then turns to Cherry while plucking a notepad from her pocket. 

"This your newest toy?" She asks in a scratchy, mildly interested voice. 

"Mhm. Don't get any ideas though, I'm trying to play nice with this one." 

"Oh, I'm sure." The hybrid sticks a hand out toward me, twirling the pen in her fingers to move it out of the way. "Ronda, nice to meet you." 

I reach out to shake it without missing a beat, which earns a surprised look on her part. Believe me lady, I'm in the same boat. As much as I'd love to pretend I'm not incredibly uncomfortable right now, handshakes are automatic for me at this point. "Clyde." 

Shit, so is giving out my name to criminals apparently. Guess it can't make things any worse than they already are. 

"So, Clyde, what're you having?" 

I take one last peek at the menu while scratching the back of my head. A fair amount of this does sound pretty good, but ideally I want something that I can either finish quickly or take with me in a napkin. "The pork sandwich, please." 

"Ah, can't go wrong with the classics. I'm assuming you want the usual, Cher?" The reptile in question nods, but Ronda doesn't bother looking up from the paper. She scrawls our respective orders out while mumbling something to herself, then stows the pen with a breath. "Right, be back in a minute." 

I'm tempted to ask for the check in advance so I can leave as soon as possible, but something tells me it isn't going to be that easy. Maybe it's the solid tube of muscle in between my foot and the walkway. Regardless, I shake my head as the waitress trundles off toward the kitchen. How many other people have been in this position before me? I mean, I figure this can't exactly be common, but according to that hybrid I'm just the latest in a series of "toys". 

Blech, didn't think I'd ever have anyone call me that. I'm not even going to entertain the things that makes me feel. She's a genetically engineered lizard woman, Clyde. Get a grip. 

It does make me wonder what exactly she's planning, though. There's no way she expects a relationship out of this right? If she was going to try something she could have done it by now, especially before taking me to a restaurant full of witnesses. Maybe food is the primary motivation here and the rest is teasing for the sake of entertainment. Can't imagine she's all that wealthy if she's living in the Fringe, lord only knows the things I'd do for a free meal - aside from rob someone, of course. 

How much do vipers eat, anyway? 

"Hey." My thoughts are once again interrupted by everyone's favorite serpent. She's staring at me from across the table with this curious but slightly annoyed expression. Or maybe that's the perma-scowl. "What's with the face?" 

"The what?" 

"The face." She repeats, waving a hand in front of her own for emphasis. "Don't know how to explain it, but it's weird." 

Huh. Nobody's ever commented on my face being weird, but now I'm going to be self conscious about it forever. Thanks, brain. "Just thinking." 

"About?" I'm tempted to say 'stuff' and leave it at that, but maybe it'd be better for my health if I didn't. Not like coming clean's going to hurt anything, anyway. 

"This, I guess. This whole situation is so-" 

"Awkward?" 

"Yeah." I confirm warily. "It's awkward, strange, and kind of scary. But I'd imagine that's the point, isn't it?"

Cherry reclines on her end of the booth, taking a moment to stretch before answering. "It doesn't have to be. Dates are always scary for humans because you're so concerned with how the world sees you - at some point you have to let go." 

I'm in the middle of figuring out how to explain that image isn't the problem when the beginning of her sentence hits me like a ton of bricks. For the second time tonight, I'm left to sit there with my mouth hanging open and my lungs frozen solid. 

"Hold on, did you say dates?" 

"Sure did." 

"But- never mind." Before I have the chance to rationalize that statement in my head, she leans forward and rests both elbows on the table. 

"No no, go ahead. What is it?" 

Well, too late now. "Sorry, the way you phrased that made it sound like this was a date or something." 

"That's 'cause it is, genius." 

I chuckle dryly to humor her, but my laughter quickly dies when she raises a lone eyeridge at me like I'm some kind of idiot. We sit there and goggle at each other for what feels like a full minute before she breaks the silence. 

"So do women call you cute and invite you out to dinner every night, or what? Walk me through your thought process here." 

Man, I'm not sure I can walk myself through my own thought process right now, much less you. It's like there's a bluescreen going off in my head - every time I try to find a logical explanation for any of this it's nothing but radio static. No matter how many times I think it over or try to look at it from another perspective I get nothing. 

"Fuck, I don't know. Just thought it didn't make sense to ask someone out after robbing them!" I wince reflexively upon realizing how loud that was, but neither Cherry nor the restaurant at large seem to care. 

"Bam, there's your problem." She replies instantly. "I don't follow all the weird rules you people apply to everything. It makes sense to me, and that's all that I care about." 

"How does any of this make sense to you?" 

The viper opens her mouth to reply, but promptly shuts it and puts a hand to her chin instead. From the way her eyes are locked onto mine I can tell she's thinking about something important, most likely pertaining to me, and that's probably scarier than anything she's done so far. 

"How old are you?" 

"W-what?" 

"Quit making me repeat myself, I know you heard it the first time." 

I really don't want to give her any more personal information, but it's not like I'm in a position to be difficult. "22."  

"And did you grow up in an ADVENT city, or out in the wilds?" 

"A camp." I answer curtly. "Where are you going with this?" 

"If you grew up in a camp, then you know what it's like out there. Life's easier when you have that many people watching your back, but to some extent I'm sure you still had to make tough choices in the name of survival." I haven't even taken a breath yet when Cherry holds up a finger to silence me. Am I really that easy to read? "You and I both know that asking nicely doesn't always cut it. Food, medicine, shelter... there comes a time where if you want something, you have to take it. And as far as I'm concerned, men are no different." 

"...What does that mean, exactly?" 

Another pause. Slowly, she backs off the table and straightens up into a rigid posture. "It means that instead of waiting around like a sucker, I'm taking initiative. It means that you're mine, little man." 

Several conflicting reactions go off at the same time, and the three sentences trying to force their way past my lips end up smashing together into a garbled mess. "Ahryouwhtmeanhuh?" 

"Run that by me again, preferably in English." 

Christ, where do I begin? The thoughts are all piling up faster than I can sort them, how are you meant to react to this sort of thing? 

"That's not how this works!" I blurt anxiously. "That's not how any of this works! You can't just decide that you own someone!" 

"Oh, but I can and I did. We're already on a date and everything." 

"No no no, this isn't a date." The amused leer on her face is both rage inducing and bone chilling at the same time. You'd think anger and fear could go hand in hand, but I don't know if I've ever been this conflicted in my life. 

"Sure it is. We had a nice moonlit walk, told each other about ourselves, and now we're about to have dinner together. Call it what you want, I say it's a date." 

I'm not too proud to admit that I'm losing my shit right now. There's an obvious but unaddressed question hanging in the air between us, and it's probably going to stay that way since we both already know the answer.

What are you going to do about it, Clyde? 

My hand starts to drift toward the knife in my pocket, only to jerk away from it at the last second. Bad idea, very bad idea. I can't afford to risk a fight unless I'm in imminent danger.

"But why? Why would you jump someone and then try to take them on a date!?"

"Didn't you just ask me that?" Cherry groans. "It wasn't personal, if that's what you're worried about. I needed the money and you openly admitted to having plenty, doesn't have to be a thing between us." 

"Well it is." Is she genuinely trying to 'no hard feelings' me right now? I know I'm talking to a literal alien here, but she seems to have a solid enough handle on social interaction to know that this isn't OK. 

The viper's head flops limply into her palms, and she lets out a noise that I think is supposed to be a sigh. In reality it sounds more like a very dejected hiss. "You're going to be difficult about this all night, aren't you?" 

"Yes!" I'm not the weird one here, there's no way. 

"Alright, what if I told you it was for a good cause? Would you still be mad?" 

Yeah right, 'good cause' my ass. I want to tell her she's full of it, but I'm still not sure how much attitude I can get away with before she eviscerates me. "It'd have to be pretty damn good." 

Grumbling something beneath her breath, Cherry reaches into her pocket and comes out with a lightly crumpled piece of paper. My confusion only mounts as she tosses it across the table at me, until I gently open it up to scan the contents. It's a receipt, likely from the pharmacy down on 8th. Most of it is covered in strings of letters and numbers that mean absolutely nothing to me, but there are three specific sections that I can make out. 

700mg of Sertraline-Gamma, addressed to one Lucy Parker, for-

"600 Credits?" I whisper involuntarily. 

"20 of which came from you. Wouldn't have even covered sales tax, if charging tax on prescription meds was legal." 

I'm still reeling. 600 credits, for what's probably a month's supply to someone this big. "Is this yours?" 

"Close, it's my sister's. She has a nasty case of Psionic Shock and the pocket change they pay us at work doesn't cover her pills. I did a bit of crowdsourcing to compensate, aaand here we are." There's an uncharacteristically somber tint to her words. The irritating snake I'm used to isn't gone, but definitely toned down enough to catch me off guard. "Consider yourself lucky, I don't throw that kind of information around for everybody." 

"Then why do it for me?"

"So that you'll stop whining." Nevermind, she's back. "You've probably heard a few vipers refer to the whole species as their 'sisters', but mine are a lot tighter knit. The six of us have been together since the occupation, we look out for each other. If it were your family, having seizures and hearing voices, wouldn't you do the same?" 

That's... not a question I really want to answer, even internally. Cherry's earlier observation hit a lot closer to home than I'd like to admit, surviving before City 31 meant doing things I wasn't always proud of. But that's the thing, I'm not proud of them. She, meanwhile, does all of this with a smile on her face, and while I'm not unsympathetic to her cause it's all so- confusing. I don't know how to feel, and that's the worst part. I should be angry about this, way more than I already am. It wouldn't be right to let her guilt trip me into forgiving a straight up mugging, would it? 

Would it?

Either way, I don't get the opportunity to decide. Something must have caught Cherry's attention, because in one strangely captivating motion she spills out onto the floor like syrup from a bottle. All I get is a quiet "One sec." before she glides across the checkered tiles, past me and toward a very familiar alien seated nearby. It's that muton from earlier, the one that was eyeing us up. 

Now, the last two nights have proven that I'm not the greatest when it comes to reading people, but it doesn't take an expert to tell that something's very off the second she approaches. He's tense, not out of fear but anticipation. It's like he's gearing up to try something, and judging by her posture Cherry sees it too. They exchange words, quietly at first, but soon they're full on growling at each other in ADVENT. Whatever flimsy pretense may have once held is now completely out the window, and I'm struggling to make out the words with the pace they're flowing at. 

"Mor bete nal okarr!?" She snaps, slamming a palm into the table. 

"Van, mor." 

"Oh you're damn right you do, chiphead." 

It's hard to say for sure where the conversation ends and the fight begins - Cherry insulting the muton, or him pulling a handgun out of seemingly nowhere to point at her. 

Without an ounce of hesitation, she spits a mouthful of venom into his eyes. It's not enough to form a full cloud, but judging by the agonized screech that rings out through the room it certainly stings like one. His shot goes wide, and Cherry capitalizes on it by unsheathing her own pistol. Two shots to the gut, magnetic by the sound of it, and he's down. 

Everything freezes as the last shot goes off. The employees, the patrons, the air itself feels still. Some poor sectoid by the door makes the mistake of getting up, and there's a barrel trained on him in the time it takes me to blink. Reluctantly, he drops his weapon to the floor in submission. 

No dice. Her aim shifts, and the viper fires straight into his shin to seal the deal. 

"Anybody else?" She calls out angrily. "No?" I can't help but recoil when she looks over her shoulder at me. I know I'm not the person that just tried to shoot her, but the way her slitted eyes lock on to mine sets off every self preservation instinct I have. Her attention shifts to the sectoid one last time, like she's not sure what to do, but ultimately settles on me again. "Let's move." 

In heartbeat, I'm up. Pure instinct is the only thing carrying me out the door behind her, because on a conscious level I'm still trying to figure out what the fuck just happened. She waits by the door in case any stragglers decide to make a last minute appearance, but once I'm through Cherry latches onto my arm and practically drags me down the sidewalk. It's only as we leave the restaurant that I hear everyone shouting over the ringing in my ears. 

"W-what the hell was that!?" I stammer breathlessly. She only shakes her head, still tugging me farther and farther from the two people I watched her shoot. 

"We'll discuss it later. Right now I need to figure out what I'm going to do with you." 

"You can start by letting me go!" 

She stops in place to make sure there's nobody else around before finally dropping me. I can't help but wiggle my arm a little to try and shake off the residual pain of her death grip. 

"Of all the rotten times..." She mutters, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Got any friends nearby? Family? Anyone you can stay the night with?" 

"Oh god, are we being followed?" 

She pauses to taste the air instead of answering, but thankfully it doesn't take long. "Not yet, and if you want to keep it that way we need to get moving." 

I don't want to drag my friends into this, and I really don't want to drag my family into it either. But if it gets me away from that hellhole, and more importantly Cherry, I'm all for it. "I know a guy, yeah, but he won't take both of us." 

"That's fine, I'm just getting you somewhere safe before I check in with my sisters." 

"Wait, you are?" 

"Yup, can't buy me dinner if you're dead." I blink dumbly at her while she reloads her pistol, tongue still flitting in and out relentlessly. "Now come on. More walking, less talking."

Chapter 3: Out of the Frying Pan...

Notes:

Thank you all for your feedback on the last chapter, both in the comment section and on discord. Taking everything that was said into account, I made some minor tweaks to the last chapter (hopefully for the better) and have done the same for my approach to the rest of the fic. As per usual, any input is appreciated, but it's not as urgent this time as it was last time.

Without further ado, enjoy the chapter.

"I'll be in touch."

It's like the words have been carved into my skull with a knife. Nothing happened after we left the diner that night - there was a lot of walking, plenty of tense silence, and a very awkward fake explanation to a friend of mine, but nothing happened. Nobody followed us, no surprise alien gunmen showed up, the two of us were left to march through the night completely unimpeded. And that, the fact that it was so easy, that's what made it scary. The viper trailing me with a gun certainly didn't help, but it's the waiting that gets you in situations like that. The suspense, knowing what's coming but not when. Even hours after Cherry left, hours after I was safely inside a house with someone watching my back, I couldn't get myself to calm the fuck down. But how could I? This random viper jumps me in the middle of the night, strong-arms me into a "date" the next day and proceeds to shoot two people before dragging me out of the restaurant like we're in some kind of action movie chase scene. And the fact that nothing happened, the fact that I spent all night braced for a punch that never came, only made things worse.

Come morning, I might have finally gotten over it if not for Cherry.

She offered no explanations when we got there. No apologies, no instructions, nothing. All she left me with was a small wave, and those four words.

I'll. Be. In. Touch.

I haven't been able to sleep since. What few scraps I do manage to steal are fleeting, coming and going at random points throughout the day. That day off I was so excited about? Saturday? I spent all of it strung out on the couch like some kind of zombie. Sunday was better, but I only used the added energy to peek out of my blinds every few minutes. I couldn't shake the feeling that at any moment, Cherry would come slithering around the corner to break my door down. Knowing that she was out there somewhere, biding her time and tracking my scent, was enough to keep me locked in my apartment all weekend. A normal person in my position might have tried calling the cops, but every time I tried to my brain would conjure up all these horrible ways it could backfire. 31PD's stretched thin as is, there's no way they'd find this one viper among her hundreds, maybe thousands of literal clones living in the city. Then I'd have her on my back for snitching, and even if they did get her I doubt the other five members of her little posse would let it slide.

Christ, I never should have gone through with that stupid dinner. It was so easy to convince myself that everything would turn out alright when it was just one meal, but now? Now, I'm not so sure. I have no idea how any of this is going to pan out, or more importantly what I'm going to do about it. I'd rather not risk involving any more friends or family if I can help it, and fighting her is absolutely not an option. Trying to attack a viper with a pocket knife is already dicey, but now that I know this one has a mag pistol up her sleeve it feels a lot more like I'm wielding a toothpick. Dad always called me soft for not wanting to carry a gun around and times like this make me wonder if he was right. The only way out I can see is to try and reason with her somehow, but where would I even begin on that front? My previous attempts at getting through to her went nowhere, and her mental stability as a whole is an open question. She'll have these brief flashes of rationality where it almost feels like I'm talking to a normal person, followed immediately by shit like declaring me some kind of object that she owns.

Still, something's gotta give. Sticking my head in the sand isn't going to make the big bad lizard lady go away no matter how much I wish it would, and although I may not have a plan yet I do at least have a step one. A simple, yet daunting task that all roads inevitably lead to one way or another.

Getting up.

With a deep but reluctant breath, I slip one foot over the side of my bed. Sitting up is a lot harder than it should be given that I spent the last hour or so laying down, but hey, baby steps and all that. The other foot comes easier, and before I know it I'm on my feet and stretching. The blood finished circulating a long time ago, but I never got the chance to really crack anything or loosen up. Always thought back problems would hit some time closer to my thirties, yet here I am vigorously trying to unfuck my spine at 22 every morning. Probably genetics or some nonsense like that.

Now that I'm actually up and moving, it's a simple task to throw on a shirt and some pants. Nothing fancy, seeing as I've already called in sick to work. Just one of many identical pairs of jeans, and a T-shirt for a band that I know precisely one song by (who the heck names a band "Tool" anyway?). Making my way out of the bedroom proves a little more difficult, but not by much. There's an awkward, almost lumbering gait to my step as I walk into the sparsely decorated living room, and it makes my footsteps sound a lot heavier than they should. I could stand to gain a few pounds if anything, but with how old these floorboards are it may not matter. The wood hasn't started to rot yet and the building's still perfectly intact, but this place is pre-ADVENT and it really does show at times. On the bright side, it means all the used furniture I managed to score matches the rest of the room pretty well. I've got a chipped coffee table sitting in the middle of the living room with a lightly worn couch behind it. On the other side is a simple entertainment center that looks more like a bench, and atop it rests a TV that I don't quite know how to describe. It's not a flatscreen per se, but it's not big and boxy either. To the side of that is a sturdy bookshelf, and the handful of novels or comics that I've collected over the years.

Not the most extravagant conditions in the world, I know, but I'm happy with it nonetheless.

My first real wakeup call of the day comes as soon as I enter the kitchen. Or, rather, as soon as I open the cupboard. I knew I was out of coffee - I've been running low for a while now and last night I resolved that today was the day I'd buy more, but for some reason I'm surprised to find that I have none anyway. The second comes when I open the fridge, because I'm also out of eggs, fruit, synth-meat, and just about anything else you'd need to make a reasonable breakfast. All I have is some bland, dry oat cereal and a carton of almond milk that may or may not be expired. It should still be fine according to the use-by date, but I've had it spoil early on me several times and my sense of smell is so mediocre that I can't tell if it's bad off one sniff.

You know what, though? It's fine. This is fine, because I'm not hungry right now anyway. I  mean, what kind of weirdo eats breakfast the second they get out of bed? I'll just make a quick run to the store for groceries, and-

I glance over my shoulder at the front door, but even looking at it fills my heart with trepidation. Is it really worth it, Clyde? Is some fresh almond milk really worth the risk of bumping into her again?

The answer is obviously no, but what the hell else am I supposed to do? Make it through the day on three helpings of dry cereal? What about tomorrow? Or the next day? I have to poke my head out at some point, and the longer I put it off the less I'll want to do it.

God, who knew being right could suck so much?

I double back into the bedroom for some deodorant and a pair of socks, decidedly more awake now than I was a minute ago. Escapist sarcasm aside, maybe I am being a touch dramatic. Cherry's probably lost my scent by now given that it's been three whole days, and even if she does somehow find me there isn't much she can do in broad daylight with people around. Still not sure what I'll do about coming home from work, but that's a tomorrow problem. Right now I need to take it one step at a time, focus on putting one foot in front of the other until I reach the store. A quick trip, in and out. Real simple. I can do this.

Ten minutes later I've used the bathroom, brushed my teeth, thrown a hoodie on so I can skip the whole hair routine, and started the process of staring anxiously at the floor while I slide into my shoes. At the very least, it looks like a nice morning from what little I can see out the window. By "nice" I mean grey and cloudy, but I'm actually not being sarcastic this time. I've always liked overcast weather, it makes me feel calm. Maybe a short walk is just what I need to ease the nerves, after all.

I'd love to tell you this is the part where I magically gather my courage and strut out the door, but in reality I stand there like a statue for thirty more seconds before working up the nerve. When the mood does finally strike, I rush outside immediately so that there isn't time to reconsider. A quick twist of the nob confirms that the door's locked behind me, and just like that my day truly begins. The fact that I haven't already been football-tackled by a giant snake is reassuring, even if only slightly, and I think that's a lot of why my fear starts to fade on the walk through the hallway.

Only by a little, though. I'm able to make my way down the stairs without losing it, so that's a start, but I can't afford to get comfy yet. My slowly rising confidence lasts all the way through the lobby, and even a few steps out the front door before I lock eyes with a viper and it evaporates on the spot.

It's like I've been sent back in time. The way she's standing there - arms folded, back against the wall, red eyes boring holes into my own. Everything about her is exactly the same, right down to the jacket.

Minus the fact that she's five feet tall.

Panic soon becomes confusion, and by the time I snap out of my daze I've already been staring for way too long. The mini-viper flicks her tongue at me once, then frowns.

"Those are some nice eyes you got there. If you want to keep them, I suggest you keep walking."

Her accent is a little thicker than Cherry's, and her voice is higher too. Upon closer inspection five feet may have been a bit of a lowball on my part, she's probably closer to 5'4 or 5'5. Still, that's tiny by viper standards. Definitely not the towering menace I'm familiar with, this is someone else entirely.

Under other circumstances I might fire back to something like that, but frankly I'm not feeling all that talkative after the absolute heart attack she just gave me. The way she's looking at me right now isn't helping either, but I'm starting to realize that vipers are a bit less intimidating when they're small enough to be fought off with a broom. Instead of responding, I shake my head and continue past her down the sidewalk without looking back. She mutters something as I do, but from this distance it's so incomprehensible that I can't be sure it was in English to begin with. Not that it matters anyway - I've got more important things to worry about than some asshole or their unusual height. In hindsight I guess it makes sense. We have short humans, why not short aliens?

Oh god, does this mean there are bigger vipers out there?

Focus, Clyde. You can worry about hypothetical giant aliens later, right now you have somewhere to be. The faster this gets done, the less you risk running into her.


The grocery store is a relatively long, boring walk from my apartment building. But right now, "boring" isn't all that bad. The fact that there's nothing out of the ordinary going on around me coupled with the weather does wonders for my nerves, more than I initially expected. I might have said it would before heading out, but in all honesty that was hollow musing on my part to build confidence. Actually feeling it here and now is a very different, and very welcome experience. I've even managed to stop looking over my shoulder every few seconds. Ain't that something?

I passed a few more vipers on the way, but they all had different scale patterns or colors that clearly indicated they weren't Cherry. I kind of feel bad for the one I ran into earlier, now that I think about it. Without context, I probably looked like any other xenophobe gawking at her. There isn't much point dwelling on it though, because my chances of running into her again are next to null.

That, and I've finally arrived.

The Fringe doesn't have many of the big name chains that you see in other parts of the city. There's a Burger Palace or two in every district, Old Town included, but we don't have stuff like Supermart out here. Because of this, I do most of my grocery shopping at a corner market called Bill's. Not Bill's Groceries or Bill's Market, just Bill's. Coincidentally, it's run by a muton of the same name with a pretty rough handle on English. To this day I'm not sure why he struggles with speaking it considering he understands it perfectly, but maybe that's because I'm not bilingual. The most I know are a few random words like "hello" or "thank you" in various languages. Never know when you'll need to call someone a bitch in French.

A jet of unnecessarily cool air hits me as soon as I open the front door. Bill keeps it cold in here at all times, even on days like this where it's already chilly. Probably something to do with keeping the food fresh, but I've also heard that mutons tend to run hotter than everyone else, figuratively and literally. Speaking of which, the man himself waves at me from behind the counter as I enter. We don't talk much, but he's a nice guy, so I wave back on my way down the center aisle.

The store itself is both bigger and smaller than you'd expect. Larger than a gas station, but I could still cross the whole thing at a walk in five seconds. The shelves are lined with an assortment of (mostly) fresh fruits and vegetables, packets of dry food like oatmeal or instant noodles, and toward the back are coolers full of drinks. I hear this place isn't too far off from what stores were like before the invasion, minus the handful of aliens milling around. As per usual there are more hybrids than anything, but there does happen to be a sectoid thumbing through packages of synth-meat off to the side. I pass by him and casually pick one out of the refrigerated tub, only sparing a moment to check the label. Most of them taste the same until they're seasoned and I'm feeling kind of apathetic today, so I don't really care which one I grab. My next stop is the nearby fruit section for a box of Concord grapes (kind of amazed these things survived the Elders, but I'm not complaining), and nearish that would be the drinks I mentioned earlier. See, I've got a bit of a routine worked out. Not because I'm always in a rush to get my shopping done, but because I've been here so many times. It's like an S shape weaving through the aisles, albeit a pretty awkward one. Every so often I'll need to deviate from the path because there's a muton taking up an entire aisle, or a viper has their tail sprawled out behind them, but for the most part I don't have to pull any incredibly fancy footwork to get around.

I say "for the most part" because today is one of the very few exceptions.

The footsteps hit me before the person does. In an effort to avoid bumping into whoever's about to turn the corner, I back away from the aisle and wait for them to pass. Logically speaking you'd think that there's no reason for them to hit me now, but lo and behold, some short blonde lady walks directly at me in a perfectly straight line. I stick an arm out to stop her, and upon colliding with my elbow she looks up from her phone with the world's fakest gasp.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" She breathes, light blue eyes full of feigned shock. Her hair is tied back into a ponytail, and she has a brown cloth bag slung over her shoulder. Somehow her shirt is the exact same color as her irises, but I don't have time to be creeped out by that right now. The stranger makes a show of putting her phone away and dusting herself off, which only makes the whole thing fishier since I barely touched her. Whatever this is, it was clearly rehearsed.

Now, I could respond to this in a lot of different ways. I could be polite and play along like an oblivious sap, I could go for the throat and call her out, or I could even try to scare her off by pretending to get mad. But, hear me out here, what if I just kept walking?

"It's fine." I wave dismissively. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see her entire face twitch like a bugged computer screen. Unfortunately it doesn't stop her from following when I start to walk off toward the drink section, which is impressive given the height difference between us. She's practically jogging in an effort to match my pace.

"Woah woah woah, wait, I thought you were a hybrid. What's another human doing in the Fringe?"

I pause, fingers inches away from one of the cooler handles, and turn back toward her. "Living?"

While it is pretty rare to find humans in this district, it's by no means unheard of. We're still the dominant species on Earth and I'm pretty sure we outnumber the aliens 2 to 1 in this city alone. I think there's one, maybe two others living in my apartment complex for example, but it's possible that they don't live here and were just visiting someone. I haven't seen them around often enough to be sure.

"Well duh, but like, why here?"

None of your damn business, that's why. "Look, is there something you need? I'm kind of in a hurry."

There it is again. She's been trying to keep it casual this entire time, but her mask is starting to crack with each failed attempt at small talk. "Just making conversation. I don't see other humans around here very often, especially not living here, so it's a nice change of pace."

I get that, I really do, but you sorta killed the chances of whatever it is you're going for with the theatrics lady. "Right, well, no offense but I'm not in the mood to talk right now."

"Then I'll keep this short. Do you live nearby, at all? I noticed you don't have a bag on you and that seems like a lot to be carrying without one. Maybe we could walk together, swap numbers and talk some other time?"

Suddenly, it feels like I'm the one caught on the back foot. Was this entire thing an elaborate way of trying to get my number? Is she flirting with me right now? Is she just trying to be friendly but really bad at communicating? The only thing I know for sure is that I'm way too sleep deprived to figure it out, and there's still something fishy about her that I can't quite explain.

"I'm good, thanks."

"Come onnn, don't-"

"You are really trying my patience right now, you know that?" I growl. "I don't want to talk to you and I don't want to be your friend. Leave me alone or we're going to have a problem."

The few remaining traces of her facade crumble as the words leave my mouth. She doesn't look scared or regretful, not even disappointed. She looks annoyed. Not in an offended sort of way, but like I've somehow inconvenienced her by wanting some personal space. With a slow, measured breath, she nods.

"Alright."

Her voice sounds oddly dull. Flat. I don't know what that means, but it only adds to my gut feeling that I've just dodged a major bullet. She sulks off toward the canned goods aisle and disappears behind it, but I don't turn around until a good few seconds have passed just in case.

The nerve of some people. I'm still struggling to figure out what the fuck that was about and what I did to deserve it, but maybe it'd be better for my sanity if I didn't. After all, I've still got shopping to do.

I do my best to shake the incident from my mind while grabbing a fresh carton of almond milk from the cooler. Not as good as the real stuff, but I'll take what I can get. Next on the list is eggs, also in carton form, and loaded with so many extras that they can't legally call them eggs on the label. It's "Egg Product" instead. Stuff like that makes me wonder what food was like before ADVENT started cracking down on livestock owners. Of course, I know what real milk and pure eggs taste like because I've splurged for them once or twice on occasion, but the thought of them being both common and relatively cheap at one point is astounding. I hear cheese used to be so readily available that people would have literal fountains of it at parties to dip things in. How many animals does it take to produce that much consistently for extended periods of time? How big were farms back then? How many species of fruits and vegetables were there before our gracious overlords deemed them "unnecessary"?

My next stop is for a loaf of bread, but my train of thought and routine come to a screeching halt when something catches my eye from across the store.

Or rather, someone.

It's her again. She was definitely staring at me before I looked up, but she's now suspiciously invested in picking through several identical packets of dry noodles. It wasn't enough to put that whole spectacle on earlier, was it? You gotta stalk me now, too?

Whatever. I grab a loaf of whole wheat harder than I mean to, wincing when I realize I've probably butchered a few slices. The urge to put it back and get a new one is strong, but I don't want to be that guy. Accepting defeat, me and my slightly squashed bread amble up the aisle and toward the front counter. After some brief deliberation I also stop to snag a pack of gum on the way, vainly hoping that having something to chew on will help with all this stress.

Usually Bill waves at me or says "Heh-llo" in his gradually improving accent when I reach the register, but today he just stares. His gaze shifts silently from me to something over my shoulder. and it doesn't take long for me to guess what he's looking at. Instead of asking or commenting on it though, he rings me up without so much as a word.

Well, aside from "Do you want bag?"

It's then that I realize I totally spaced and forgot to bring my shopping bag from home. That lady from earlier even pointed it out. The couple of extra credits for a paper one won't kill me, but it's one of many little things that are really starting to pile up.

"Sure, thanks." My total comes out to 43 credits after tax, which I fork over with something between a sigh and a yawn. The big guy waves goodbye as I sweep everything into the bag, though I can tell by looking at him that he still wants to say something. Hard to tell if he's keeping quiet out of courtesy, or if he doesn't know enough words to properly speak his mind.

Regardless, I pat myself on the back while pushing through the front door and into the cold morning wind. Minor hiccups aside, I did it. I successfully got out of the house and went to the store like a real, functional adult. Now all that's left to do is walk back and hopefully not get jumped by any snakes on the way.

Does it count as a jinx if I only think about it instead of saying it? Sure hope not.

I rifle through my new bag for that pack of gum, finally pulling it out after a surprisingly long search. It doesn't have a flavor or anything on the label that I can discern, but that's fine. Gum is gum. Tearing the box open, I pull a stick out right as I'm passing by a trash can on the sidewalk's edge. But as soon as I go to toss the wrapper in, something stops me. Not a literal, physical force, more like a feeling. A tingling that starts at the neck and slowly drips down the rest of my body. Instinctively, I turn my head to the side and everything begins to make sense.

There she is again. That woman from earlier is standing right outside the store, looking directly at me.

I want to say something, but stop myself at the last minute. There's a solid chance that she just so happened to leave the store shortly after me, and if I keep it cool we can both go our separate ways. This doesn't have to escalate. I can keep walking.

Resolving to do exactly that, I throw my trash away and continue forward, popping the gum into my mouth. This is typically the part of my walk where I space out and daydream for a bit while my legs carry me home, but it's hard to do that when my mind is so focused on that weirdo. I'm not thinking about Cherry anymore (or at least not as much) so that's nice, but having a new creep to worry about isn't much better.

OK, maybe "creep" is a little harsh. Maybe she's genuinely just trying to make friends but has poor social skills. I've known a couple people like that in my life, although they were usually more prone to not engaging with people at all. Out of curiosity, I look over my shoulder to be sure she isn't following me.

But she is.

She isn't looking at me anymore, but she's definitely walking the same way. Fuck, this puts me in a difficult spot. The urge to confront her is getting stronger by the second, but I don't want to get into any more fights. I want to go home and relax, not start a shouting match with some rando. What if she happens to live in the same direction as me? The odds may be slim, but boy am I going to feel stupid if I raise a fuss over this and it turns out to be nothing. Still, I'm not comfortable doing nothing. There has to be another solution to this.

My eyes drift toward an alleyway coming up on the sidewalk. After what happened the other night I'd really prefer not to go waltzing into random alleys, but at the same time it's not like I ran into Cherry in one. It's bright out, and I'm pretty far away from where we met. Should be fine if I'm fast, and if she follows me I'm sure I can lose her on the way by running.

Alright, how about this? I'll use the alley as plan B. As for plan A, I back myself into the wall of a nearby building and pretend to check my phone. It's on, but I'm only staring idly at the lock screen and occasionally tapping to keep it lit. From the corners of my vision, I watch the woman pass me by slowly. My hopes start to mount as she keeps walking, past the alleyway and a little further, only to crumble when she stops in place and does the exact same thing as me.

This is a joke. This has to be a joke, please someone tell me this is all some kind of twisted prank.

Literally biting my tongue, I put my phone away and slip into the alley while she's (pretending to be) distracted. It's a straight shot up until the end, where it forks into a wooden fence and a second path around the corner. The latter is my way out, because if memory serves it opens up into the street next to a clothes store. I take off toward it at a brisk walk, deciding against anything faster in case she doesn't know that I'm on to her yet. I can vaguely hear footsteps somewhere behind me, but they're far enough away that I'm not too worried yet. I have enough of a head start that I can be out of sight before she catches up. Picking up a tiny bit of speed nonetheless, I round the corner toward my exit.

Or, what I thought was my exit. There's a couple of trash cans lined up against the wall, the outer bulk of an air conditioning unit and some stray pipework here or there, all flanking the back door to a building. But that's it, that's all there is. No gaps, not even a fence to climb. Just a brick wall and a door.

It's a dead end.

I want to scream. Not out of fear, but frustration at how quickly I've managed to butcher a salvageable situation. There were so many other things I could have done, so many routes I could have taken aside from this one, but no. Now I have to do this the hard way. Great. I'm confident I could take my new stalker in a close quarters fight, but that doesn't mean I want to. Especially not if she happens to be armed.

The footsteps stop behind me, and reluctantly, I turn around.

She's there. Of course she's there, why wouldn't she be? Her expression is oddly blank, even ignoring our current circumstances, that's more disconcerting than any evil grin or furious glare. What do you say in a situation like this? What do you do? I get the impression that she doesn't really know either, but I doubt she'd follow me in here without a plan of some sort.

With a deep breath, I set my bag of groceries on the ground. "Well, you got me." 

My assailant doesn't say anything back. All I get is more staring, although it seems analytic rather than aimless now. Like she's studying me. Her posture's relaxed and I can't see the outline of any weapons in her pants, but that doesn't mean I'm ready to let my guard down quite yet. Tentatively, I keep probing.

"So uh... what happens now?" 

At first I think I'm still being given the silent treatment, but finally she answers in a strange sort of voice. I wouldn't call it monotone, but it's definitely still flat. "You're being oddly calm, given the situation." 

"Just testing the waters." I retort cautiously. "Wouldn't want to get ahead of myself if this is all some silly misunderstanding." In reality my entire body is tensed, and I'm watching her like a hawk for any sudden movements. My fingers are in this awkward state of limbo where they're both very close and very far from the hilt of my pocket knife, a reflection of my own ambivalence. I've killed people before, and if push comes to shove I'm prepared to do it again, but only if it proves absolutely necessary. If there's the tiniest chance that I can get out of this without a fight, or maybe a few knocks to the head at most, I'd infinitely prefer it to stabbing someone. It's never a pleasant experience, to say the least. 

"If you're keen on making this go smoothly, you can hold still and close your eyes." 

My brow furrows automatically, and my lips press together. "Nah, not happening." 

"To be expected." 

And that's all the warning I'm given before she swings.

When I say swing, I do mean swing. It's a slow, arcing punch that even an amateur wouldn't think to throw out unless they were drunk off their ass. Naturally I bring an arm up to block it, but my confidence shatters like glass upon impact. The bones in my forearm erupts into fiery pain, and the sheer force of the blow sends me careening to the side. I come this close to slamming into the alley's walls, but regain my footing inches from collision. What in the fuck was that? I'm clearly looking at a short, unathletic human woman, but it feels like I've just been clocked by an angry muton. Something's wrong, something's very very wrong. She rears back for another swing, but adrenaline enables me to push through the shock and lean out of the way before it connects.

Her movements are still slow and clumsy, but the unnatural power behind that first strike is enough to send me into a panic. My fingers twitch erratically as I reach for my pocket knife, side stepping another swing so quickly that I almost slip. Getting it out becomes a battle as she backs me farther into the alley with each whiffed punch, coming closer and closer every time. Eventually it hits a point where I've dodged too many blows for her liking, and instead she lunges forward to grab onto my shirt. At the same time, I slip my knife out and hover the blade directly over her jugular. She freezes in place, pupils darting between it and me. 

"Don't." Is all I can think to say. I wanted it to come out stronger, with more power behind it, but to my dismay it sounds more like a plea than a threat. The silence drags on, seconds becoming minutes as the two of us weigh our options. There's an uncomfortable likelihood that she'll try to call my bluff and attack anyway, which means I can't afford to let it be a bluff. If she moves, I have to do it. I have to pull the trigger. She isn't looking at the knife anymore, just at me now. 

Whatever she saw in my eyes must not have been convincing enough, because in the next second her arm makes a sharp movement towards my throat. 

Fortunately for me, it stops when I plunge the blade into the side of her neck. 

Like I said, stabbing people isn't something I enjoy. I haven't done it a ton over the course of my life, but I've done it enough that the motions are familiar to me by now. The feeling of steel slipping through tendons is ingrained deep enough that I'm sometimes reminded of it while cutting into dinner. That isn't to say I'm some kind of professional or anything, but the point is I know what a shank to the throat should feel like in my hands. 

The key word there is "should". 

It goes in way too easily, sinking to the hilt with almost no resistance. I don't have to force it through the various tubes of muscle and flesh inside the human throat, in fact I don't have to force it at all. It slides in like I'm skewering a stick of warm butter. Blood leaks from the wound, but shortly after being exposed to the open air it starts to change. It slows from a trickle to a crawl, coagulating into a claylike substance rather than liquid. The red hue gradually fades into pink, and as the gum falls from my slackened jaw I can't help but notice striking similarities between the two substances. My grip weakens as the gears in my head begin to turn, and my entire chest seizes up like it's being clutched in a giant fist. I've seen this once before, but only once. Unwelcome memories of the first time our camp was raided come surging back in an instant. 

"I wish you hadn't done that." She- It remarks calmly. The goop surrounding my knife moves of its own accord, pushing the blade out and covering up the hole it once occupied. I don't have the wherewithal to catch it as it clatters to the floor, useless and forgotten. "Now I have to wait for it to mend." 

Whatever sense of reason or strategy I might have once possessed is completely lost now. Impulse is all I have to defend myself as the monster reaches for my throat, muscling past my attempts to stop it. Oddly cold fingers wrap around the sides, squeezing hard enough to restrict the airflow. I try shoving my knee into its gut, but only earn a slight jerk for my efforts. I try stomping on its toes, throwing my weight forward, and even sweeping the leg, but none of it goes any better. Its whole body is numb, irreverent of any damage I could possibly inflict from this position. For a moment it looks like I'm getting somewhere when a punch causes the alien's face to shift, but I soon realize that it wasn't in response to anything I've done. The pale skin it once wore starts to darken, and the long hair shrinks into a curled mess. My frantic attempts to escape slow as the once foreign mask twists into something more familiar. Scarily familiar. It's only as the eyes and mouth solidify that I begin to recognize the half baked visage staring back at me. It's a hodgepodge of features I've known all my life - dad's cheekbones, mom's nose...

The scratch above my left eye that hasn't finished healing. 

"What the hell is this?" 

Abruptly, my lookalike loses focus and reverts to their original disguise. The hand crushing my larynx eases up enough for me to gulp down mouthfuls of precious air, and the two of us disregard each other as we look into the entrance of our alcove. Standing there, in all her terrifying glory, is a serpentine figure that I had been doing everything in my power to avoid up until now. Her arms are crossed, her hood is twitching, and worst of all she's not alone. To her left stands another, almost identical viper with a wooden baseball bat resting on her shoulder. A perfect duplicate in every way... minus the fact that she's five feet tall.

"I can't believe you, Clyde." Cherry continues sardonically. "Only two days apart and you're already cheating on me. With a Faceless, no less!" 

At a loss for words, I try to take advantage of her presence by wiggling out of my captor's grip, but they're quick to stop me by squeezing again. Not hard enough to choke me this time, but hard enough to get the point across that I'm not getting out that easily. 

"Who are you?"

"His fucking girlfriend, that's who." She snorts. "Now let him go before I pluck your eyes out. I know they take a long time to regenerate." 

The urge to point out that she isn't actually my girlfriend is strong, but my throat's still burning and there are more pressing matters at hand. The Faceless glances between her and the smaller viper, obviously perturbed but not ready to give up. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to find humans in this district? Let alone one that corners itself so easily." 

"Trust me, I do, and that's exactly why I'm telling you to back off. He's mine, already licked him and everything." Guh, I really didn't need to be reminded of that right now. The memory alone makes my neck feel all tingly, and the fact that someone's currently holding it like a water bottle doesn't exactly help. 

"You don't understand." The shapeshifting alien whines. "This is more important than your weird fetishes. I need this." 

At this point I'm expecting Cherry to run out of patience, but to my surprise she shakes her head solemnly instead of resorting to intimidation. "There are better ways to deal with PFS. I know it sucks, but tough shit. We all got problems, sister." 

Before anyone else can say anything, the second viper slithers forward while clearing her throat. It sounds like a short, terse hiss that cuts off partway through. "Consider it an official request from the Vas-ten Prima. And a warning." 

Boom. I have no idea what that meant, but whatever it is causes the Faceless to stiffen like their whole body is made of wood. Tense, heavy silence ensues for a time, before they ultimately drop me with a frustrated growl. "You've made your point, I'm not looking for trouble." 

"Good." Cherry grunts. "Now get out of here, and don't let me catch you mouthing off again." 

And just like that, they shuffle out of the alley with a timid nod, both vipers scooting sideways to let them past. They toss one last enigmatic look at me before disappearing around the corner, but I don't have time to worry about that now. I may be down one bloodthirsty alien, but now I've gotta deal with two. 

It feels like I'm being turned to stone as both their gazes fall on me. They've got me trapped in this alley, there's no way I'm making it past them even at a full sprint. I could try screaming for help, but there's no guarantee that anyone who hears it would be able to do anything. If they scared a fucking Faceless off with those magic words, I can't imagine the average bystander will be much braver. 

The smaller of the two scoffs suddenly, resting her bat on the ground like a cane. "You have such strange taste in men." 

"Oh yeah, because you're a paragon of class and fine taste." Cherry elbows her gently, earning a sharp glare in the process. "Clyde, this is my little sister Pip. Pip, this is Clyde. You two have already met though, haven't you?" 

I knew it. It was pretty hard not to connect the dots given that I've never seen an adult viper this small in my life, but I couldn't be absolutely positive they were the same person until just now. She was waiting outside my apartment building this morning, which means-

Which means they know where I live. They know where I fucking live, god DAMN it. How do they know where I live!? 

"Have you been stalking me!?" I practically yell. 

"Huh. I might have to brush up on my English again soon, because that's a real funny way to say 'thanks for saving my ass'." I can't believe this. Technically speaking I wouldn't have gotten into this mess to begin with if I wasn't scared out of my mind about her. How does she have the gall to act like I'm being unreasonable? "And for the record, no. I had Pip on lookout for a few hours to see if anything had happened to you, and figured I'd drop in to say hi when you almost got your identity stolen. You're welcome for the save, by the way." 

"So you sent someone else to stalk me for you? Oh yeah, that's fine then. My bad, there's absolutely nothing wrong with that whatsoever. Water under the bridge!" I run a hand through my hair in exasperation, taking deep breaths to calm myself down. "How long have you known my address?" 

"Two days." She shrugs. "Went looking for you the night after our date, the scent led me to your building and I figured it'd be better to wait. See what you do, y'know?" 

"That was not a fucking date!" 

Cherry opens her mouth to say something, but stops when Pip nudges her with an arm. "I know you said he was shy, but this seems... excessive." 

"You know how humans are. He's still a little shaken, is all." 

"Shaken." She repeats accusatorily. "And not because of anything you did?" 

"What's that supposed to mean?" The two of them lock eyes, squinting suspiciously at each other, meanwhile I'm still in the dark and barely keeping it together. My fears were valid, it wasn't paranoia this time. She was legitimately waiting to ambush me when I left my apartment, and I made it easy like a complete idiot. 

"You know exactly what it means. What would Ma say if she knew about this?" 

Cherry throws her head back and groans, hood rippling in the process. "Come on, you know men are totally into that kind of thing. Ma doesn't need to know." 

"Does he look 'totally into it' to you?" Pip frowns, gesturing toward me. 

"When do they ever? I tried it the normal way and we both know how that turned out." Seemingly at a mutual loss for words, they both sink back into another staring contest. Surprisingly, Cherry buckles first. "Look, I just need time, OK? Don't tell Ma yet." 

The shorter viper rubs her chin with a single claw, then slings the bat over her shoulder again. "Fine. I will not say anything, but I suggest you deal with this sooner rather than later. Nothing evades her for long."

Apparently that's the end of the conversation, because Pip turns around and leaves almost immediately after. There's something funny about seeing the larger, clearly more dangerous snake submit to someone smaller than me, but maybe it's less about her and more about this "Mah" figure, whoever that is. Regardless, I'm not in much of a laughing mood right now. I'm still stuck in here with Cherry, and the fact that she hasn't left yet tells me I'm not quite out of the woods.

Slowly, the reptile in question turns back to me. She doesn't exude her typical absurdly confident aura, but that only makes her marginally less intimidating if I'm being honest.

"Right. This isn't how I pictured things going in my head, but screw it. Let's talk."

I don't want to talk. I want to go home and pretend this never happened, but it doesn't look like I'm being afforded that option am I? Guess now's the time to field test that idea I had about trying to reason with her.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Why do you think?" She sighs. "I don't have to spell it out for you, do I?"

"That's not what I mean. Why are you doing it this way? Why to me? Why are you trying so hard to make this work after you robbed me?"

Cherry reaches up to scratch the inside of her hood while considering my question. The edges move a little as she does. "In case you hadn't noticed, I'm not all that good at this whole 'flirting' thing. It's got all these hidden rules that everyone expects you to follow but no one can actually explain. Doing it the way you're supposed to didn't work out, so I figured I may as well get creative. Improvise. Not like I had anything to lose, right? What's the harm in trying?"

Strange as it sounds, my indignation calms for a moment as I try to process her explanation. Is it really that simple? That was just her way of flirting? "I still don't understand why you'd try it after-"

"How many times do I have to say it?" She groans. "It wasn't personal. I didn't do it to spite you. Even if you had been stubborn about it, it's not like I was going to kill you over a couple credits. Maybe a black eye at most."

How does the point go so far over your head when you're that tall? I'm amazed that she hasn't gotten it by now, but then again, she is an alien. Maybe I was wrong to assume that she understands everything she's doing. Maybe she genuinely is this naive.

Of course, that doesn't excuse her actions. It just means I'm not going to get anywhere by harping on the same point over and over. "Look, mugging aside, I'm not interested in dating an alieuhhhh, extraterrestrial."

"Oh, don't give me that. You realize I wasn't lying about my sense of smell, right?"

It happens again. Whatever part of my brain forms sentences picks now of all times to stop working, and the result is a series of stunted syllables so incoherent that I can't even compare them to anything.

Fortunately, Cherry doesn't press the matter any further. "Alright alright, calm it down. Either way, I get it. I tried, but if it's not meant to be then there's no point in wasting everyone's time, right?" With that, she slithers to the side of the alley, giving me a straight shot to the exit. "Forget the dinner thing, you can go."

Now, you'd think I would take the opportunity to bolt without having to be told twice. And while part of me wants to, another is surprised that she's letting me go this easily. I mean she definitely doesn't sound happy about it, so "easily" might not be as accurate as it sounds. In a way though, that makes it more believable than if she was super nonchalant.

"...Really?" I question after a pause. 

"Yes, really. Now get the lint out of your ears and move, before I change my mind." 

I'm so caught off guard by her sudden generosity that I almost forget to take my groceries on the way out. Gingerly stepping over the end of her tail, I lean down to grab the paper bag and walk out of the alleyway while watching her over my shoulder. She doesn't move at all or make any attempts to follow me. She just stares back as I go.

It's only half a block later that my bewilderment begins to fade. Still struggling to shake off how surreal everything feels, I decide to double check my groceries one last time to ensure nothing went missing during the chaos. Everything I bought is still there as far as I can tell, although there is one very unfortunate caveat.

I forgot to buy coffee.

Notes:

Fun fact, this is the single longest chapter I've ever written of ANYTHING at a whopping 8.8k words. I know plenty of other writers exceed that on a regular basis but it's a pretty big milestone for me.

Chapter 4: Tipping Point

Notes:

In case you somehow missed the giant note chapter, I changed the ending of chapter 3 last month and deleted the original chapter 4 because I wasn't happy with how I had chosen to write certain things. If you've started this story any time after December 13th 2021, congratulations, you can ignore this completely.

No matter how bad things are, they can always get worse.

It's something that everyone hears at some point, but never truly absorbs until it smacks them in the face. Even when you try to count all the ways your life could suck more than it does, you're only tricking yourself into thinking you understand. You never fully grasp the concept until your very lowest expectations are subverted.

I am, unfortunately, not an exception to this rule. After all, it's easy to think you've got it bad when an alien super soldier steals your money and coerces you into a "date". But then, right as you're cursing your (un)lucky stars, you get cornered in an alleyway by a Faceless of all things.

I knew well in advance that they were living among the population. It's one of those things that the city briefs new arrivals about to ensure there's no confusion: Faceless are sentient, just like the other aliens, and none of them asked to be here any more than we asked to have them. I've always known that at some point I was going to run into one, whether I realized it right away or not. I just didn't think it'd happen like this. Even disguised, I've been dreading the thought of coming face to face with one after some of the things I've seen. So to finally stumble across one by having them try to knock me out and steal my identity...  it's a sobering experience, to say the least.

I am, ultimately, just a man. Sure, maybe I'm a little tougher than your average civilian, but I'm definitely not a soldier. I've got almost no combat training, no special psionic aptitude, and I've been on the scrawny side my entire life. The only things I have going for me are that I'm tall and know how to use a knife, but with each day I spend in the Fringe those two traits seem to become more and more useless. I'm not special, any old alien could decide that my time's come and there wouldn't be a whole lot I could do about it. Yet here I am, living in the one part of the city where they're most abundant.

Obviously, the logical decision would be to move out. Pick somewhere better to live, like a nice condo up in Renova Heights. But that's the funny thing about the Fringe - it's that part of town. With the exception of the odd business owner, nobody comes to live here by choice. You're either here because the city assigned you housing, or because you can't afford to stay anywhere else. And as much as it hurts my pride to admit, I'm the latter. It's not like I'm on the verge of starvation or anything, I make enough money to get by. But at this rate, it'd take me years to save up the credits for a new place. I also don't have a car, so I'd probably need to hire a moving company to help me lug all this furniture across town, and then I'd need to look for a new job if I want to actually stay wherever it is I end up. But to find anything worthwhile I'd need a skillset that's in demand, which I don't have since I was born in a camp 3 years after the invasion. Not a lot for them to teach you out there aside from fifty ways to roast a chryssalid. There's also not much of an education system nowadays minus the one we use to familiarize aliens with Earth and its customs, so I'd have to find someone willing to train me. That part wouldn't be so hard all things considered, but that's mainly because a lot of experts in their field have incentive to teach.

That incentive being money, of course. The thing I don't have enough of in the first place.

So to sum up, I'm stuck in the one part of town where all the destitute aliens are crammed for at least another few years unless I win the lottery or something. The only other way to get out of here early would be to go crawling back to my parents for help, which I can tell you right now isn't happening. They're only doing a little better than I am, and I'm too much of a stubborn bastard to admit they were right anyway.

Like I was saying earlier though, things could be a lot worse. Between Cherry and that Faceless, the fact that I'm sitting comfortably on my couch right now is something special. There are an infinite number of ways that Monday could have gone worse, most of which I'd rather not think about right now. I do allow one part of the day's events to slip through the cracks, though: Cherry.

I'm still struggling to understand her motives. I mean, robbing me? Sure, she had to pay for medicine, I get that. I don't agree with the decision, but it at least makes sense. It's what came after that I can't wrap my head around, the dinner and the flirting and the suddenly letting me go without a fight. It ties back into the whole "brief flashes of rationality" thing, the way she seems so human and yet so alien at the same time. And I know, she's literally an alien infused with human DNA, the irony of that isn't lost on me. But unintentional puns aside, it's something that's been occupying my thoughts a lot more than it should. She clearly understands human social norms to some degree, maybe she just doesn't care about them. I will admit that she was right about there being hidden rules that no one can explain, most of the nuances in social interaction between humans are instinctual or taught to us at a very young age. The aliens are essentially learning to play a game that we've been mastering for thousands of years at this point. I see all kinds of smaller, funnier slip ups happen on a semi regular basis, so in the grand scheme of things would it really be that weird to think that's what happened with Cherry?

Maybe the better question is why do I care so much? She's not my problem anymore, and even if she was, this feels like a puzzle that I'm missing too many pieces to complete. I'd be better off trying to relax and enjoy my Saturday than ruminating on one of the things that caused my week to be so stressful.

Resolving to do just that, I reach for the remote sitting on my coffee table and click the old TV on.

I've never been much of a TV person, truth be told. Occasionally I'll sit down with a movie or a show if there's nothing else to do, but for the most part it's a "filler" activity for me. My dad, on the other hand, has always been a huge film buff. Not in the sense that he was super knowledgeable on the inner workings of the film industry, but he watched a ton of movies in his free time. Mom did too, even if it was mostly to indulge him. At times like this, I'll idly flip through the few available channels and wonder how many times my parents have seen the old timey movies being rerun in the absence of a real, thriving modern film industry. I know for a fact they've seen Bonnie and Clyde enough times to know most of the lines by heart (take a wild guess where I got my name). Unfortunately, I'm not sure I'll ever share their love of cinematography, so more often than not I spend an uncomfortable amount of time just looking for something that might hold my interest. Looks like today's gonna be the same.

That is, until I land on the city news channel.

There's a very anxious looking human man taking up the left hand side of the screen, with light brown hair and a tan suit. He's adjusting and readjusting his grip on the microphone every few seconds, and behind him are a bunch of police vans surrounding the Memorial Museum downtown. Human and Muton officers stand outside, keeping the crowd of civilians from advancing any further through presence alone. No one seems eager to try and push past them, but many stare up at the building from the sidewalk.

Below the reporter is a headline that reads "MAYOR NIGHTINGALE TAKEN HOSTAGE" in big red letters.

Gradually, the remote slips from my hand, and in spite of what I said earlier my eyes are now glued to the screen.

Similar to the police vans, an armored black truck of some sort rolls into view through a newly formed gap in the wall of officers. The front is slanted like the end of a pick, and on the door is a triangular emblem that I can't read from this distance. Putting a hand up to his earpiece, the flighty reporter looks back at the truck and then into the camera once more.

"We've just received word that the Reclamation Agency's newly appointed 'Chimera Squad' is on the scene. Though we have no new information on what's happening inside the museum, 31PD has elected to let them handle the situation for now. More details will come as we receive them."

The armored truck opens up, prompting me to lean forward for a better view as 3 humanoid figures step out. Two of them are human women, one African and another much lighter. The third figure, however, is a hybrid carrying some kind of electronic riot shield in one hand and a completely ordinary pistol in the other. Police officers scoot to the side as they file past and vanish into the building.

I've been hearing a lot about the Reclamation Agency lately, though most of it is conjecture instead of anything legitimately informative. A subsect of XCOM designed to counteract any residual threats from the invasion, very unfortunately described as a "peacekeeping" task force. In spite of the poor choice of words, XCOM has done everything to assure the public that they're not looking for power or trying to tell anyone how to run their cities. Any legal jurisdiction that Reclamation has is superseded by that of the actual police. Still, the city council wasn't eager to have them here, and the decision to bring them only won by a single vote. Mayor Nightingale's vote, to be precise. The person they're hopefully about to save from getting splattered. No matter how this ends, people are going to draw connections between the fact that Nightingale is a hybrid and Reclamation has been open about employing aliens among its ranks.

Personally, I can only hope that they're able to save her. I may not agree with every little thing the mayor says or does, but for the most part she's done a good job of keeping the city running, and she seems genuine about her beliefs. None of the attempts to make her look shady so far have turned up anything substantial, and even if I didn't like her I can't think of many people I'd want to see shot on principle. Certainly none that are still alive, anyway.

At some point I must have started chewing on my nails, because a faint sting in my right index finger tells me I've bitten closer to the bed than I should have. Really gotta stop doing that, but it's hard. By the time I notice it's always too late.

Gunshots ring out in the distance. Short, sudden, but clearly from the TV as opposed to anywhere nearby. Not that it stops me from tensing up. Everyone, reporter included, looks toward the building in suspense, as if we'll open up a hole in the wall by collectively staring hard enough. It's pointless. It's stupid. And yet we're all doing it anyway, myself included. Not like I'll be able to think about anything else if I do tear myself away, right? May as well buckle up for the long haul.

Each passing minute begins to feel longer and longer as the news team does everything it can to fill the terrified silence. Anchors talking to each other, interviews with nearby civilians and 31PD officers, but in the end it's the same fucking thing every time: nobody knows what's happening inside that building, and if they do they're probably not supposed to say anything. More gunshots, more startled onlookers, more time passes at its agonizing rate. At this point I've stopped counting for the sake of my sanity, but I know it can't have been more than 20 minutes. Likely closer to 10 if we're being realistic.

Still, none of that stops it from feeling like an hour.

Another loud noise catches my attention, except this time it's not coming from the TV. I can hear footsteps rushing down the hall outside, then light but insistent tapping at one of the doors near mine. Judging by the loud, vibrating steps, it's the Muton I share a wall with. He's talking to somebody, but strangely enough the conversation is too quiet for me to hear. Normally the guy can't keep it down to save his life.

Before I can finish deciding if it's worth getting up and pressing my ear to the wall, the conversation ends and the door clicks shut again. The footsteps sound like they're coming from inside the apartment instead of heading away, though. Wonder if this has something to do with the news.

The sound of static draws me back to the broadcast. The reporter is gone, and so is the museum behind them. Instead, everything's been replaced by a chaotic storm of black and white. Despite the fact that there's literally nothing happening, I stare at it for a solid 10 seconds until real imagery starts to bleed through. Most of the frame is taken up by a kevlar vest, with whoever's wearing it doing something to the camera. The overlay of the news station has also vanished, leaving nothing but a red dot in the upper left corner that blinks every so often.

Seemingly content with their handiwork, the figure hands the camera off to someone else while stepping back to get themself in the shot. They're clad in a light grey jacket with the aforementioned vest layered over it, forming what I assume is some sort of paramilitary uniform. They've got a black, bucket shaped helmet on with a grey panel along the front in the shape of an hourglass. Two yellow lenses are laid across it in a horizontal column, but neither is in quite the right place to make an effective eyehole.

To his right stands Mayor Nightingale, an incredibly thin hybrid woman with eyes more akin to a sectoid's than the rest of her kind. Behind her is another man in a black hooded uniform, with a much more human-looking mask and a rifle aimed at her back.

"People of City 31," The first man begins. His hands move as he addresses the camera, and the light skin poking from his fingerless gloves confirms he's human. "I am here today to talk about the state of our fair city. My name is not important, nor is the name of the group that I represent. We come to you not as figureheads, but as fellow citizens who have grown tired of the apathy that surrounds us."

The mayor mutters something under her breath once his sentence ends, and the armored man rounds on her in a slow but dramatic fashion.

"Would you like to repeat that for the camera, Ms. Mayor?"

The rifleman behind Nightingale shoves her with a barrel to the small of her back, and despite the way she stumbles forward her expression can only be described as calmly defiant. "It strikes me as odd that you would call our city 'apathetic' in the heart of a museum dedicated to its progress. Just five years ago we were all living under the tyranny of the Elders, and now look at us: an independent, self-sustaining state where the people that once waged war can coexist in peace."

"Peace?" He laughs dryly. "When was the last time you stepped out of your penthouse? Crime runs rampant, people go missing on a weekly basis, and hybrids like you are being ravaged by an incurable disease. Your 'peace' is just the calm before the storm, and like any good politician you only pretend otherwise to keep the people eating out of your hand."

"I understand your concerns, and in fact I share many of them. But progress is not brought about by taking hostages and issuing threats to the masses. Please, if you surrender, I will advocate leniency."

Her pleas are rewarded with nothing but a dismissive, if not slightly frustrated wave of the hand. "Enough. This exhibit... It is about XCOM's role in our liberation."

"I see you read the placard." Nightingale deadpans. She's remarkably collected for a woman with a gun pressed against her spine, and even through his full helmet I can tell the first man is utterly infuriated by it.

"It doesn't say how they went soft and got weak." Turning back to the camera, he unhooks a small black device from his belt. I don't realize what it is until I see his thumb hover over a bright red button. "Now it's up to us to light the spark."

He doesn't even get to press it before an explosion goes off. A cloud of dust and debris flies outward from somewhere out of frame, and gunshots blare through the aftermath. The last thing I see is everyone frantically diving for cover before the transmission cuts out, sending my TV back into static.

It's not long before the news station returns, filling the void just as suddenly as it vanished. Unfortunately, the camera is aimed mostly at the ground, and the only thing it's managing to catch aside from asphalt is a pair of brown slacks.

"Jerry! We're live!" A voice whispers harshly. Under other circumstances, I might laugh at the way the cameraman and his partner scramble to get into position. These ones haven't been all that healthy for my sense of humor, though.

"Ahem. W-we're receiving reports that the mayor's captors briefly hijacked our signal to make use of a public broadcast. How exactly they did this is unknown, but the City 31 News Network apologizes for this interruption nonetheless."

How do you just hijack an entire channel like that? I have virtually no knowledge on that sort of thing, so I can't even begin to guess what kind of work would go into it. Given the fact that I've never seen it happen in all my time here though, I can't imagine it's easy.

The sounds of the firefight are quiet now that I'm hearing them from outside again, but they're definitely still present. Each individual bang or pop serves as a potent reminder that things are happening right now, regardless of whether or not I can see them. People are being killed, and I'm powerless to do anything but hope and pray. I hate it, and yet once they finally die off I'm left with an equally harsh and grating silence. The absence of noise is almost worse in a way, because now instead of having frustratingly little to go off of I have absolutely nothing. A different kind of pain, equally unwelcome.

It isn't until five grueling minutes later that the front doors to the museum burst open, and out come for figures - Mayor Nightingale, followed by not three but four members of the Reclamation Agency. The two humans I saw earlier are behind her, one of which supports the shield-bearing hybrid as he limps along and clutches at his side. Bringing up the rear is what initially looks like an extremely lanky human, though as the camera zooms in I realize it's actually a sectoid with lips. His kevlar armor matches the other three agents, and he's toting an assault rifle that looks too big for his boney arms.

Cheers erupt from officer and civilian alike as they lead the mayor down the front steps and into a waiting van. There's clapping, chanting, and right as I'm about to breathe out a sigh of relief my neighbors add their voices to the chorus. A veritable roar punches through the walls from the muton next door, accompanied by another, much smaller voice that I can only kind of hear due to how hard it's being drowned out. Normally I'd contemplate making some noise back or asking them to quiet down, but you know what? Fuck it. They probably care about the mayor a lot more than me given that they're aliens, I'll let them have this. I'm pretty happy too even if I'm not hopping up and down with glee. We could do way worse than Nightingale, and there's no telling what that guy in the mask was about to blow up before Reclamation kicked his door down so to speak.

Noticing that I dropped my remote onto the floor at some point, I bend down to pick it up and-

BOOM

Promptly slam my head into the coffee table while trying to bolt upright. All I can spare the pain is a brief pat to make sure there's no blood before returning my focus to the TV. I'd know that sound anywhere, the sound of a plasma bomb going off. And sure enough, the camera is now centered on a smoldering pile of steel and ash. There's scraps of metal strewn about the actively smoking wreckage, and as I tune out the screams in the background it becomes increasingly obvious what I'm looking at. The main tells are the thoroughly charred wheels and the vaguely rectangular frame of what used to be a chassis.

That was the mayor's van. Now, it's nothing but a crater full of debris.

This proves to be the breaking point for the young human reporter. He doesn't say or do anything but stare listlessly into the street, microphone held loosely at the waist like he's forgotten about his job altogether.

Cautiously, a 31PD officer approaches the blast zone to sift through the wreck. I don't know what I'm expecting him to find, and yet I pay rapt attention anyway until he reaches in and comes out with an entire arm, severed and blackened by the detonation.

I turn the TV off without thinking. I don't need to see any more to know who's arm that was, or what it means for me. What it means for the whole city. The entire hostage situation was pointless, Mayor Nightingale is dead. And of all the ways to go, she was killed by a plasma bomb powerful enough to take out the entire van. Either one of the most peaceful or horrifying deaths you can experience, dependant entirely on how close you are to the source of the blast. Maybe you don't feel a thing, or maybe it blows the lower half of your body off and you're left to grapple with the burns in your final moments. It's never happened to me of course, and with any luck it never will, but I've seen it happen to enough humans and aliens alike that the thought haunts me at times. Once, I was close enough to feel the pure heat of the blast even though I was too far for the actual explosion to touch me. It felt like hovering inches away from an active campfire, and the fact that it came so quickly didn't do a damn thing to hamper its intensity. I distinctly remember that being the point in my life where explosions stopped being "cool" if that makes any sense.

Speaking of which, another loud noise shakes me from my musing. It sounds like something made of wood being struck full force with a sledgehammer, hard enough to make a sharp splintering sound in the process. If I had to guess, a certain someone just put a fist through their coffee table after watching the mayor's demise unfold.

Once again, I find myself unable to blame them. It has to hurt seeing the one alien who worked their way into a notable position of power get assassinated like that, especially after narrowly escaping a hostage situation. With her gone, power goes straight to her human deputy until next election, which will most likely be dominated by humans anyway. Don't get me wrong, on some level I'm happy that we're finally taking control of the planet after years of an authoritarian superpower ruling us. And ugly as it may sound, I'm always going to be biased towards members of my own species over aliens. That's just how it is, no point feeling sorry about it. But the aliens banded together to elect an official via a system we created, in an entirely legal fashion, only to have her murdered in cold blood simply because she wasn't human. Nothing she could have said or done would have prevented it, Nightingale did virtually everything right and still ate shit for reasons beyond her control. That's a kick in the teeth that not even I can ignore.

As for my own personal feelings on the matter, they're complicated to say the least. I know for a fact I'm not happy about the mayor dying - she was a good person and didn't deserve to go out the way she did. That being said, there's a certain level of detachment that comes with watching someone you hardly know die. I've only ever seen her on TV, and never for more than a few minutes at a time. I didn't idolize her the way some people do, if anything I guess I'm more upset about how she died than the fact that she died at all. That guy with the stupid helmet can spout as much bullshit as he wants about "apathy" and "the calm before the storm", this was a racially motivated killing and we all know it.

Instead of being super distressed or filled with rage though, I mostly feel empty. Hollow. I don't feel like crying or breaking something, I feel like laying down and trying to forget it happened to begin with. Is that a bad thing? Should I feel worse than I do? I genuinely don't know, and that bothers me.

Shaking my head, I stand up from the couch and plod over to my bookshelf. As much fun as I'm having with today's episode of Am I a Bad Person?, wallowing isn't going to do me any good. I said I was going to enjoy my Saturday, and god damn it that's exactly what I'm going to do. But, uh, maybe not by reading a book. Sweeping my eyes over the dusty collection once is enough to remind me that I've already read everything here at least two times. Three or four, in the case of my favorites. So I stalk off to the kitchen for a drink, only to realize that I don't have anything aside from water, coffee and almond milk. It's too late in the day for caffeine, and- you know what? I'm not thirsty right now. Maybe I'll go for a walk?

No, walks are stupid unless I actually have a destination in mind, especially with people like Cherry and that Faceless running around.

It isn't long before I slump back into the couch with a frustrated sigh. TV doesn't sound fun anymore, and I don't feel like listening to music. Fuck, there's gotta be something I can do to take my mind off things.

Ultimately, I end up getting off the couch less than ten seconds after sitting back down. If I'm gonna sit here in miserable silence, I may as well do it somewhere comfortable. Who knows, maybe I'll even fall asleep. Take a short nap. Yeah, a nap sounds good right about now. I think I'll do that.

 

So, little known fact about me: I can't take naps. Not won't, can't. Once I'm up in the morning, I'm up, no matter how much time I spend closing my eyes and desperately trying to dissolve back into my sheets. Doesn't matter if it's 4am or if I hardly slept the night before, I can never seem to fall back asleep unless one of two conditions are met. Number one, it's late at night, or number 2, I'm at work. Work is the one place where I could absolutely knock out in broad daylight, and the largest cup of coffee in the world would not be able to stop me.

It's a magical, and also supremely annoying trait that's been present my whole life as far as I can remember. Nonetheless, I give it a shot every so often in the hopes that this time it'll be different, and I'll finally get to take one of those glorious midday naps that every other adult on the planet seems to enjoy so much.

As you might have guessed, however, this time was not different.

I ended up lying in bed for who knows how long, trapped in a purgatory of hazy consciousness. And lo, right as it felt like I was starting to get somewhere, someone had to come knocking at my door. If we're being totally honest, I probably wasn't going to fall asleep anyway. But that doesn't stop me from grumbling bitterly at the mere concept of whoever's disturbing me as I peel myself out of bed and shamble out into the living room.

My unwelcome guest knocks again as I approach, and hearing it a second time is what helps me notice that they're not actually knocking per se. It sounds more like someone tapping on the door with their nails.

If you figured out who it was based on that alone, congratulations, you're smarter than me. Unfortunately, I didn't think to put two and two together until I was already staring through the peephole. And who should be standing there, right in front of the flimsy wooden door to my home, but fucking Cherry.

The upper half of her face is too high up for me to see, but the leather jacket is all I need to know it's her. I stand absolutely, perfectly still as my foggy brain struggles to figure out how we're going to address this. But before it can decide, she bends her neck down until we're eye level with each other.

"I know you're at the door, Clyde. Open up, it's important."

Her usual mocking tone is absent, replaced instead by a startlingly bitter one that tells me she isn't messing around. If this wasn't the case, I might have considered keeping the door shut or telling her to screw off. Alas, it isn't, and I crack the door open a little while peering at her through the gap. She stares back at me for a moment, head returning to its usual height, before rolling her eyes.

"Can I come in?" It's not actually a request, and we both know it. I wouldn't be able to stop her if she decided to shove her way inside, and even if I closed the door again she's more than heavy enough to break it down. Nonetheless, she waits until I step out of the way with a defeated sigh to slither across the threshold, and into the remnants of my last bastion against her.

After kicking, or I suppose slapping the door shut with the tip of her tail, she sticks a hand into her pocket while taking in an eyeful of my home.

"Right, first thing's first." I backpedal when she pulls a knife out and aims it directly at me. Our eyes meet, she snorts once, and then twirls it in her fingers so that the hilt is facing me instead. "This is yours."

...It is? Oh shit, it is! Now that I'm not fearing for my life, it's much easier to recognize the shape and color of my faithful pocket knife. I must have dropped it in that alley the other day and never noticed because I was so eager to get home.

"Thanks." I mumble sheepishly, taking it from her and flipping the blade back into the handle. In hindsight, I should have realized something was up based on how small it is alone. It looked tiny in her gargantuan hand, to the point where she was holding it more like a pencil than a weapon.

"Mhm. Second thing," Cherry pauses to lower more of her stomach onto the ground, which both makes her shorter and closes the gap between us without any awkward leaning on her part. "You remember those two nut jobs that showed up when we were having dinner?"

I'm still not over the fact that she's in my living room right now. Regardless, I nod my head uneasily. "Yeah?"

"Well, I don't know how much of our conversation you caught, but that Muton didn't just pull a gun because he was angry. Him and his buddy were there for something, and the pistol only came out once he realized I was on to them."

"W-what do you mean 'there for something'?"

"The fuck do you think I mean?" She grunts. "Neither of them ordered food, and both of them were staring at us between glances at each other. They clearly recognized one of us, and at the time I figured it was me. Wouldn't be the first time someone sent thugs my way, y'know? 'Thing is, when I looked into it afterward I couldn't figure out who sent them. Usually it's easy to tell when someone in a high place has it out for you, and the list of people who might want me dead is small enough that I should've been able to figure it out by now. As you might've guessed, I couldn't, which brings me back to you."

Cherry punctuates the sentence by hovering a clawed finger inches away from my chest. "Woah, wait, me? You're saying they were there for me?"

"I'm saying they might have been there for you. So, can you think of any reasons why someone might want you dead? Kidnapped? Maybe a broken leg or two?"

"Wha- No!? What the hell kind of question is that!?"

"Focus." She reprimands. "I need you to think about this real hard. If not you, what about your friends? Your family? Hell, what about you coworkers?"

Deep breaths, Clyde. Deep breaths. Try as I might, I can't come up with a single reason that somebody would want me or anyone that I know dead, kidnapped, or otherwise harmed. I'm clean, the most illicit thing I've been involved in since moving here is jaywalking for Christ's sake. I don't know any of my coworkers well enough to say the same for them, but surely that'd preclude me from being associated with them wouldn't it? For the sake of my sanity I'm going to say yes.

"Do you have any idea how crazy this all sounds!? No, the answer is still no. Nobody that I'm close to would be in this kind of trouble without telling me."

Cherry takes the opportunity to study my face while I talk, staying silent for a few seconds afterward to finish the job. Right as I'm starting to get uncomfortable, she backs away from me and returns to her typical stature.

"You're either the best liar in the world, or the worst. And for your sake, I'm hoping it's the worst." With that, she takes another dive into her magical pockets to fish out a folded up piece of paper, gingerly holding it out to me between two fingers.

Warily, I take it from her and begin to unfold it like it'll explode if I'm not gentle enough. Printed on the inside is... a Burger Palace receipt?

"Wrong side."

With some of the tension being defused, I flip it over, and what I find brings it all rushing back. "Is this-"

"My phone number, yes." Scrawled across the back are the numbers 211-555-0133. They're written in blue ink, and judging by the handwriting I can tell it was a battle to make them all small enough to fit. "See, you have this uncanny ability to always be in the wrong place at the wrong time. First it was me, then it was the Muton, then it was the Faceless. Maybe you pissed off god in a past life, or maybe someone's out to get you. Either way, things are going to heat up around here with Nightingale gone, and of all the districts for a human to be stuck in you picked the worst one. So keep your head down, stick to populated areas, and if you feel like you're being watched again, I want you to call me. Got it?"

"But why?" I ask, dumbfounded. "What do you care what happens to me?"

I can tell by the look in her eye that she wants to say something snarky, but for whatever reason, she doesn't. "To an extent, it's always been my job to know what happens in this part of town. Let's just say that I was, ah, commissioned to take that job a little more seriously the other day. If there really is some unknown group on your ass, you're going to lead me to them, and in exchange I'm going to make sure you don't get turned into a crime statistic. Pretty good deal, if you ask me."

I'm still not sure how much I believe any of what she's saying. What could anyone possibly want with me? I'm not special, I'm not valuable or unique. I'm a nobody that keeps to himself and spends most of his time lying down or at work. Why else would she be doing this, though? To give me her phone number? No, that'd be stupid considering she knows I wouldn't call her unless my life depended on it. If this was another bizarre attempt to "flirt" with me, she would've asked for mine instead.

Still, I don't want anything to do with her, especially if she turns out to be wrong.

"And what if I don't want your help?"

"Really, Clyde?" She replies, pinching the bridge of her snout.

"Yes, really. How do I know I'm any safer around you than I am around whoever else happens to be after me?"

"How do you know you're safe around me right now?"

For some reason, I open my mouth like I've already got an answer lined up for that. The truth is I don't, so all I'm able to give her is a blank stare while the words sink into my head. Was that sarcasm? A threat to make me stop arguing? A genuine quandary to get me thinking?

Fortunately, she doesn't wait for me to figure it out. "I'm gonna level with you for a second. All that shit I said at the diner about 'taking what I want'? It was talk. I said it because it smelled like you were into it. If I was being serious, I would've just dragged you into an alleyway when we first met instead of beating around the bush with dinner."

Almost immediately, my face starts to heat up. Now is the worst possible time for my face to start heating up, but I do my best to ignore it regardless. "So, what, you're saying that was just your fucked up way of hitting on people?"

"Hey. I told you I wasn't any good at it." The viper grumbles.

Jesus, she's serious isn't she? "You realize people call the cops on each other for stuff like that, right?"

"So why didn't you call the cops on me, genius?"

"That's not the point!"

Once again, Cherry surprises me by raising her hands in surrender. "Alright, sheesh. I'm not here to beg for your forgiveness anyway, I'm here because I've got a job to do. A job that becomes ten times harder if a coroner has to scrape you off the asphalt before you'll let me do it."

Right. That. Me potentially being hunted down for reasons beyond my comprehension. As much as I hate to admit it, she has a point. A very morbid point, but a point nonetheless. There's a twisted sort of comfort to be derived from the knowledge that she could've done all sorts of things to me by now and simply chose not to. Looks like I was right about aliens and social norms.

"Fine. If anything strange happens, I'll tell you." And if it turns out this was all a big load of nothing, I never have to deal with you again.

"Attaboy. I'll keep looking in the meantime, but if neither of us finds anything within a week you should call anyway so that I know you're still alive. Don't, and I'll assume something's wrong." OK, scratch that.

With our business concluded, she loops around in a half circle to make for the door. Right as her hand touches the knob though, she pauses and looks back at me. "Oh, and fair warning. That number gets out to anyone that it shouldn't? I won't be able to protect you from what happens next. Not even if I tried."

And then she's gone. One click to throw the door open, and another to shut it behind her. As soon as she's out of sight, I collapse onto the couch with my face buried in the cushions. It's been a rough day, and the urge to take another shot at that nap instead of making dinner is strong.

Well, look at the bright side pal: you were complaining about the Fringe being dangerous, and now you have your own personal attack snake. Things could be a lot worse, couldn't they?

Notes:

This chapter was mostly setup and worldbuilding, so I apologize to anyone who finds that kind of thing boring. Promise it'll be worth it later, though.

Chapter 5: Around the Corner

Notes:

This chapter was originally going to be double the length it is now, but I ended up chopping it (more or less) in half for a few reasons. Chief among those reasons is the hope that having some more "tangible" progress on the fic will help me feel less overwhelmed. The parts that were cut are now the beginning of the next chapter.

Ideally, updates won't be this far apart in the future, but I'm hesitant to make any promises.

Over the last few days, I've found myself playing a very familiar game of waiting for the punch that never comes. And needless to say, it isn't a game that I enjoy.

In the logical half of my mind, I know that everything Cherry said about me being the target of a hypothetical manhunt is complete and utter nonsense. It's stupid, ridiculous, it makes no sense and therefore I shouldn't be as worried about it as I am. But lately that logical "half" is starting to feel more like a quarter, with the rest of my brain going full panic mode in an attempt to somehow reconcile the situation. Sleeping's gotten harder than it already was, and no matter where I go I find myself looking over my shoulder in every sense of the word. Every passing glance from every normally unassuming stranger has me on edge, wondering if this is the one. If this is finally the part where I let my guard down and get burned for it.

I still can't be certain of course, and deep down I want to believe that I'm getting worked up over nothing again, yet at the same time it's hard to shake the feeling that I've been getting weirder and weirder looks from people as the days go by. Being one of the only humans in the Fringe meant I was already sort of getting those, but they were more confused or curious than anything, and typically only happened when I was entering my apartment or shopping at one of the local stores. Now, it feels like they're everywhere, and the harmless tone they once took on seems to be shifting in a direction I'm really not comfortable with. It was easier to deal with before, but now that I know there's a chance someone's out to get me? I can't afford to dismiss the stares as being completely impersonal. Any one of them could mean trouble, especially when I'm getting this many at once. For all I know there could be humans in on this too, and the fact that I've only run into aliens as a problem so far is pure coincidence. Everyone is a threat.

Well, almost everyone.

I look down at the Burger Palace receipt clutched in my left hand, eyeing the numbers on its back while shifting indecisively on my couch. How fucked am I that Cherry of all people is starting to seem trustworthy? Mind you, the bar isn't set very high right now, but I'm no longer concerned that she'll try something the second I turn my back. She seemed a lot more earnest the last time we talked than in any of our past encounters, and it gave me a better sense of who she is. A brash, headstrong alien with questionable social skills and a slightly misaligned moral compass. If all of her clumsy advances really were just talk, I have no reason to be afraid of her unless I somehow manage to piss her off. Granted, she could try to rob me again, but for some reason I can't see her doing that. I mean, she's had ample opportunity to hasn't she? The diner, the alley, me inviting her into my home like an idiot. I remember her using the word "toll" way back when, so maybe I'm in the clear as long as I avoid that street. Either way, the fact that she isn't an active threat to me automatically puts her above anyone I don't know for the time being.

The other important thing to consider is that despite being the one in danger, the situation is pretty much out of my hands at the moment. I have no idea who these people are or what they want, and Cherry's only watching my back because it helps her collect information. If I told her to screw off she'd probably just continue to do it quieter, and if I decide not to call out of spite she'll come knocking anyway within a week. The last thing I need is to find out she can pick locks the hard way because I was feeling petty.

So, for better or for worse, I'm stuck with her. That doesn't mean I have to like her, but for the time being it's in my best interest to tolerate her presence. I guess a weekly phone call just to say nothing's happened isn't so bad, is it? Maybe I should rip the bandaid off and get that out of the way before I forget.

Triple checking her sloppily written phone number, I dial it into my cell and press 'call'. It's late right now, and I'm calling a day early, but I doubt she'll care. Worst case scenario, I leave a message while she shakes some unfortunate soul down for their lunch credits. The idea comes closer and closer to becoming a reality as the dull electronic ringing repeats, until right as I'm thinking of what to say it cuts off.

"Hello?" A familiar voice grunts.

"Cherry. Hi."

"Clyde." Her tone noticeably softens upon realizing that it's me, and frankly I'm not sure how to feel about that. "Did something happen? I wasn't expecting to hear from you until tomorrow."

"No, no. Nothing like that. Just figured I'd get it out of the way before I forget, if that's alright."

"Too late now, I guess." I can practically hear the shrug in her voice. "So, nothing to report then? Everything's good on your end?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah?" She echoes skeptically. "You don't sound convinced."

I sigh into the receiver at her prodding, scratching the back of my head. "Just a little paranoid, is all. Trust me, I'll tell you if anything serious happens. Best not to worry about it for now."

"Clyde. Buddy. I wasn't exaggerating when I called this a job, I'm literally getting paid to worry about it."

"You are?"

"Sure am. So let's get something straight - I'm the brain in this relationship, and you're the eyes. You don't know what you're looking for, so your job is to tell me what you see. My job is to decide if you're just a little paranoid, cota?"

'Cota'? Her choice of words trips me up at first, but after a moment I conclude that it sounds a lot like an ADVENT word. Lots of As and Ts and vowels in the middle, if that makes sense. Must be the alien equivalent of 'capiche' or something.

"Uh, yeah. Alright."

"Good. Now, if you've seen anything that's even the slightest bit off kilter, now's the time to speak up."

Screw it, may as well. "Again, nothing major, but I've been getting a lot of weird looks from people lately. More than I usually do."

"Define 'weird'."

"I don't know how to describe it. It's not any one specific emotion, just... off. Like there's something wrong with me. Does that make any sense?"

"More than you'd think." Cherry mutters. "You said nothing serious though, right? Nobody's gotten in your face or anything like that?"

"Not yet. Should I expect them to?"

The viper hums in thought briefly, and the longer she takes to answer the more worried I start to get. "Imagine if the human mayor was incinerated by aliens on live TV. Now imagine being an alien in one of the wealthier areas downtown right after. What do you think would happen?"

Oh. Oh. "Shit, I never thought about it like that."

"Yeah, they never do. If the positions were reversed, I'd be worried about you getting lynched. As it stands, you're probably fine as long as you don't go wandering down any more alleys." That actually makes me feel less safe than I already did. On top of the fact that getting racially motivated stares is never fun, my fears have been proven at least partially valid and I've got a second threat to look out for on top of the first. "As for the other issue, I doubt the looks you're getting are connected. Whole thing could still be a bust for all we know."

"Could be." I repeat the words in a futile effort to try and reassure myself. Even Cherry's telling me it doesn't make much sense, so why can't I stop stressing over it? "Maybe I should cancel my plans for the weekend anyway. Stay inside."

"Mmm, not sure I'd go that far. What kind of plans are we talking, here?"

I hesitate before giving her an answer. "'Plans' was a bit of an overstatement, I just wanted to get some grocery shopping done tomorrow."

"And you shop at that corner store a few blocks down, right? Bill's?"

How does she- you know what, no. At this point I'd be more surprised if she didn't know where I got my groceries. "I do, why?"

There's another pause, this one decidedly less tense, followed by what sounds like papers shuffling somewhere on her end. "Well, part of the deal was that I agreed to look out for you, didn't I? I'm a busy woman, and frankly I don't think you're in enough danger to warrant taking time out of my schedule yet, but I happen to have some errands to run in that area tomorrow. If you're up to tag along, we could swing by the store after. Might even have time to walk you home."

I squint despite the fact that neither of us can see each other. She wants me to take a walk around the district with her? Really? I know I was talking about having to trust her more, but this seems like a pretty sharp jump to be making all the same.

Then again, maybe that's my nerves talking. I've already established that she's got no real reason to hurt me, and we'd be in public presumably the entire time. Plus, can I really afford to pass after what happened last time I was there?

"Now, when you say 'errands'-"

"Relax." She interjects. "If I was doing anything serious, I wouldn't offer to bring you with me. It's all perfectly legal, mundane legwork."

Somehow, I doubt that. "And what time would we be going?"

"How's 11am?"

A little earlier than I'd usually be out and about, but it means we'd be in broad daylight the entire time. That's about as safe as I'm going to get, isn't it? "Fine."

"Sweet." If she had anything else to say, it's promptly interrupted by the sound of something falling over in the background. Faintly, I can hear Cherry mutter a curse before her attention shifts back to me. "Hey, I gotta go. If anything else comes up you can leave a message or wait until tomorrow. See you then." She waits a second or two to hang up, and once she does I immediately start to wonder if I've made a mistake. Here I am, willingly spending time with this person who robbed me the other week. I really am fucked, aren't I? What does a guy do in this situation? What would dad do?

Probably shoot the first alien to glance in his direction, that's what. I know full well my father would've responded to this by getting into fights with strangers and carrying a loaded pistol at all times. It's a wonder he's lasted as long as he has out here, likely thanks to mom holding him together. What would she do?

The thought of finally calling her crosses my mind, but only briefly. I'm an adult now, I don't need them. Either of them. I can figure this out on my own.

Shaking my head, I get up from the couch and trudge off in the direction of my bed. I should probably go to sleep at a reasonable hour if I don't want to be a zombie tomorrow.

 

Knock knock knock

For the second time in a week, I open my front door to find Cherry waiting on the other side.

It's a surreal experience, to be honest. Like my brain isn't entirely convinced that it's real. She's standing right there, maybe a foot away from me, and I'm not running or hiding or thinking of ways to defend myself. It feels wrong, a lot like when I first had to accept that I'd be living with aliens as if they were human. But I got over that with time, didn't I? Maybe I can get over this too.

"You ready to go?"

"Yeah, one sec." She slithers to the side as I step out into the hallway, shutting the door behind me and making sure it's locked. A cursory pat down confirms I've got my phone, wallet and of course keys on me. Probably should've done that before I locked myself out, huh? Oh well.

I make it all of three steps from the door before running into the first inevitable roadblock of having a viper following me around: stairs. I live on the third floor, and this building doesn't have an elevator. How the hell did Cherry get up here? Can vipers use stairs? As if to answer my question, she nudges me out of the way and places her hand on the railing, before leaning forward and sledding down the stairwell like it's a hill covered in snow. I watch in a mixture of fascination and horror as she slides all the way down and out of sight in a quarter of the time it'd take me to walk.

By the time I collect myself and follow her down, Cherry's waiting in the lobby with her arms crossed. "What, you never seen a viper use stairs before?"

"No." I blink. "How did you get up the stairs?"

"Pulled myself by the hand rails. Hell of a workout, but I'm used to it by now."

Wait wait wait, she can do that? "Don't you weigh like... four hundred pounds?"

"Four hundred and three." She corrects. "Now come on, we've got places to be. You can make fun of my weight on the way."

Wordlessly, I follow her out of the building while trying to run the math behind that in my head. It's not a bad day outside, by the looks of things. Little on the hot end, but not sweltering. Very few people walking around. Might have to stop and grab a bottle of water, if we're out here long enough. 

Back to the matter at hand, though - I figured four hundred was an exaggeration, if anything. How did it turn out to be a lowball? Better question, how did she pull herself up the hand rails if she weighs that much? That'd be like trying to do a pull up with a whole second person dangling from your legs.

I'm vividly reminded of our first encounter, where she lifted me into the air without breaking a sweat. It was near instant, her arms were completely steady the entire time and I don't recall hearing so much as a grunt of exertion on her end. Are vipers stronger than I thought, or is Cherry just built and I never noticed?

Against my better judgement, I risk a glance at her as we make our way down the sidewalk. Her torso's definitely on the thicker end compared to some of the others I've seen (especially the newer ones) but it's hard to tell how much of that is her and how much of that is the jacket. I figure that thing can't be too thin, especially since she's got a gun somewhere inside it and I can't see the outline. Maybe it's padded? Cherry absolutely strikes me as the kind of person to wear a ballistic jacket, assuming she could find a way to circumvent the price. Where would she find one with the right dimensions, though? The sleeves are waaaay too long to fit a human, chances are it was custom made.

My gaze shifts ever so slightly upward from her shoulder, and I almost stop walking when I realize that she's been side-eyeing me this entire time.

Instead of trying to come up with an awkward excuse, I turn back to the sidewalk in what I really hope is a casual manner. I can see her still watching me in my peripherals, the silence growing more and more strained with each passing second. Finally, she groans and looks away.

"OK, this isn't going to work."

"What isn't?"

As if in reply, Cherry reaches over to drop her hand onto my shoulder. She does it gently, her grip loose enough that I could literally shrug her off, and yet the contact earns a flinch like I've just been shot all the same.

"This." She says, giving me a quick squeeze for emphasis. "If we're gonna be working together, you can't be scared shitless of me 24/7. You need to loosen up, relax."

"Easy for you to say." I complain, gingerly removing her hand by the wrist. "You're not the one who got jumped by an alien almost triple your weight."

"Eesh, still mad about that one, huh?"

"I... no." I answer after a moment. "I'm certainly not happy about it, don't get me wrong. But it's been, what, two weeks at this point? The 20 credits didn't send me spiraling into poverty, I've got bigger things to be mad about. It's more that you can't threaten somebody like that and expect them to just 'loosen up' afterwards."

Cherry's eye ridges press together, and while at first glance it looks like a scowl, I quickly realize that it means she's thinking. "Alright, then how 'bout we play a little game?"

"A game?"

"Guess you could call it more of an 'exercise', but I like to think of it as a game." She explains. "The city taught it to us during pre-release screening, said it was a good way to make friends. The way it works is that you ask somebody a question - something simple, like their favorite color or favorite food, and then they ask you a question back."

"And you want to do this, why, exactly?"

"It's like exposure therapy. You're afraid because you're used to me going out of my way to be intimidating, so the best way to get you out of that mindset is to have a nice, boring conversation."

'Exposure therapy' my ass. A round of small talk isn't going to magically smooth things over between us, and I'm not sure why she expects it to. Still, I guess it's worth a shot isn't it? If I'm stuck with her, I may as well try to get comfortable, and it couldn't hurt to satiate my curiosity along the way. Not like I've got anything else to do aside from stew in the uncomfortable silence.

"Alright." I concede. "We'll play your game."

"How gracious of you. Since you're being such a good sport, I'll let you ask the first question."

Where do I begin? It's probably best to steer clear of anything potentially incriminating, and knowing Cherry, I shouldn't ask anything that I'm not ready to hear the answer to. Let's keep it nice and simple for now. "How'd you get your name?"

Instantly, her eyes narrow until they're almost slits. "What's wrong with my name?"

This was a terrible idea. I knew it was a terrible idea, why did I agree to this in the first place? "I didn't mean to- I mean, I didn't say there was anything wrong with it. It's just-"

My panic rapidly becomes annoyance when she breaks into a laugh, nudging me with her leather-clad elbow. "I'm messing with you. Really though, you asked that like there's something wrong with it. Human women name themselves after objects all the time, don't they? Iris, Dawn, Rose, stuff like that."

"Well they do, but we don't really name people after food."

"Why not?"

"Because..." Hey, wait, why don't we do that? "I dunno, we just don't."

"Uh huh, that's what I thought." She huffs triumphantly. "See, this is what I'm talking about when I say that humans tack a bunch of weird rules onto everything. 'Dick' is perfectly acceptable, but I can't name myself after a fruit? Forget that. It's my name, I'll decide if it makes sense, thank you very much."

"Fair enough, I guess."

"My turn. How'd you get your name, huh? Did your mommy pick it out for you?" Despite the playful tone behind her words, something tells me that Cherry's name is a bit of a sore spot for her.

"My dad, actually. He named me after a character from one of his favorite movies."

"You mean Bonnie and Clyde?" She asks, tilting her head.

"I assume you've seen it?"

"Once or twice. Not sure I'd call it one of my favorites, but your old man has good taste."

'Good taste', hoo boy. I stifle a wince at her poor choice of words, doing my best to keep the conversation rolling before she has a chance to notice. "Uh, how about your favorite color?"

"Green, technically."

"What do you mean 'technically'?"

"I mean that my 'green' is probably different from your 'green'. I like whatever color humans have decided is green, even though it could actually be purple for all I know." In hindsight, I should have expected that. Her eyes are red, and she's probably got some kind of super enhanced vision that changes the color spectrum. One of the many perks of being a biological war machine, I suppose. "What about yours?"

"Black. It's simple, doesn't really make you stand out, and it mixes well with every other color." To my (admittedly mild) surprise, Cherry nods in approval. "How about... your favorite food?"

"Pork. Forget gauss rifles and nuclear reactors, bacon is the single greatest thing humanity has ever invented." For some reason, I was expecting her to say beef. Close enough. "So, what do you like to do in your off time?"

"I like to read books, watch TV sometimes." I trail off while trying to think up some of the other things I do when I'm not at work or passed out, but now that I think about it? I really don't do a whole lot with my day. Most of my time gets eaten up by work, and I don't have any interests that'd be realistic to pursue on my kind of budget. This is to say nothing of my recent low energy and sleep issues. "That's about it, really."

Cherry makes a face that I can't quite seem to decipher, the rim of her hood twitching once. "What, you don't go out drinking with your buddies? Cook? Paint? You strike me as an artsy kinda guy."

Artsy? I don't think I've ever had anyone call me artsy before, so I'm not sure if I should take it as an insult or a compliment. Drawing's something I only did as a kid, painting never stuck with me, and while I'm not totally incapable of feeding myself, I've never had the patience to cook anything complex outside a handful of special occasions. Writing's something I briefly entertained, with the operative word being briefly. Who knew trying to put words on a paper could be so stressful?

"No. I'm guessing you have a ton of cool and interesting hobbies?"

"Oh yeah." She replies without missing a beat. "When I'm not kicking puppies and burning down hospitals, I like to crochet and take long walks on the beach."

"City 31 doesn't have a beach."

"And I don't have legs, wise guy." I recoil when she raises a fist as if she's about to slug me, only for the alien to stop herself short halfway. "In all seriousness, work keeps me pretty busy. I've got a dayjob to balance just like everybody else, and then there's the freelancing I do on the side. Wracking up several hundred credits a month for Lucy on top of rent, power, food and all that junk isn't easy on minimum wage. Whatever time I do have free, I usually spend relaxing with my sisters."

'Freelancing' is certainly one word for it. "So what you're saying is that you don't have any hobbies either."

"Nope. That's different, though - you're human, and the only person you have to look out for is yourself. So unless you have a second job and a kid that I don't know about, I'm calling bullshit. There's no way you blow all your free time on soap operas and comic books."

"Hate to burst your bubble, but it's the truth. Why do you care so much, anyway?"

There it is again, that face. I'm having trouble equating it to any human expressions, but if I absolutely had to pick one, the closest match I can think of would be concern. "'Cause it reminds me of somebody I know."

"Oh?"

"I'm gonna go out on a limb and say that you're not living in this hellhole by choice, are you? You moved here because you couldn't afford to go anywhere else, and now you can't afford to leave. Is that right?"

"No." I reply defensively. "The fact that rent's cheap helps, sure. But I like the architecture, y'know? It reminds me of the old world. And the... uh..."

The look Cherry's giving me is all I need to know that I'm not even close to fooling her. "You also don't make more than seven credits an hour, do you? Maybe eight, with no health benefits."

Actually it's six with no health benefits, but I'm not saying that to her face under any circumstances. "Where are you going with this?"

"So: you work a dead end job for minimum wage, come home every day too exhausted to do anything but sit there, and then make barely enough money to survive, but never enough to actually improve your life. Anything paying more demands a skillset that you don't have, and changing that would cost enough money to pay your rent for the next six months. Feel free to stop me when I get something wrong, by the way." I don't, or rather can't, so she continues. "Humans are supposed to eat, what, three meals a day? I'm betting that you only eat two. You barely sleep, but spend hours laying in bed every morning anyway. You have no aspirations in life beyond not starving to death. Your parents had nothing, so now you have nothing, and the only things supplementing your will to live are caffeine and spite."

Cherry ends her little tirade by spreading both arms out expectantly, waiting for me to say something back, but all I can do is stare. After all, what can I say to that? What in the ever-loving fuck can I possibly say without digging the proverbial hole any deeper? I can't say that she's wrong, no matter how much I might want to. The harder I try to come up with a rebuttal, the more clearly I remember having this exact conversation with myself the day Nightingale died. Everything she said is more or less true, but for some reason it sounds so much worse coming out of someone else's mouth.

Evidently, my stunned silence is a response of its own. She takes a deep breath before lowering her arms, and looking back to the sidewalk ahead of us. "Like I said, seen it all before. You're a victim of circumstance, Clyde, just like her."

"Like who?" I finally manage to sputter. The only answer I get is a dismissive wave.

"Doesn't matter. What does matter is that sooner or later, it's going to catch up with you if you don't do something about it. 'Rest of the world doesn't give a damn whether or not it's your fault, rent's still due and the Earth still spins."

For one teeny tiny moment, my temper gets the better of me, and I forget my earlier trepidation to jab an angry finger in Cherry's direction. "Alright, no, we're not doing this. I'm not catching flak about my financial status from you of all people."

If my sudden burst of courage garners any kind of reaction, she's very careful to keep it hidden. The reptile doesn't flinch, doesn't squint, doesn't so much as blink at anything I've said. All she does is keep on slithering.

"Kinda looks like you are."

Self preservation is the only thing holding a big fat 'fuck you' at bay right now. "So what do you propose I do, huh? Resort to crime? Turn out like you?"

"Never a bad time to start."

I wait and I wait for her to hit me with the 'just kidding', but she doesn't. There is no punchline, there is no gotcha, there is no derisive laugh. She was being dead serious the entire time.

"You're not kidding. Holy shit, you're not kidding." Once again, I find myself at a loss for things to say. "Look, I don't have the time or energy to get on your case about what you do, but leave me out of it. I've gotten this far by staying clean, and I don't plan to stop just because money's a little tight."

"A little." She snorts. "Let's say you get hit by a car tomorrow. Maybe somebody's had a few too many beers, or they're checking their phone. Either way, it's not your fault, but now you've got a broken leg. Do you have 200 credits for an X-ray? How about 200 more for the cast? 130 for the doctor's fee, another 600 for the treatment, and then you have to pay for crutches. Oh, and I'm pretty sure you don't have a car. Wouldn't have run in to me if you did, right? So how are you getting to work for the next two months it'll take to heal? Can you afford all that time off? What about groceries?"

I can hear her getting progressively more amused with each inconvenience added to the pile, like she's trying to get under my skin. And painful as it might be to admit? It's working. "People don't just get hit by cars at random."

"Sure, and they don't just get mugged at random either. Or stalked while buying groceries. Or shot at on dinner dates."

"That was not a date."

"'Course it wasn't. Point is, you're one of the unluckiest people that I know. If anybody's gonna get hit by a car, it's you, and you'll need a fallback for when that happens."

While I'm still not convinced that there's some freak accident waiting around the corner to ruin my day, I also can't pretend that the threat is nonexistent. What was it that I said right before Cherry jumped me? 'There's no way I'm about to get mugged, right?' And then I did.

A long, scaly arm bumps into my chest abruptly, interrupting my walk and train of thought at the same time.

"Tell you what. You're a stubborn little guy, and I like that, so I'll drop the issue for now. Think on it a bit, and we'll pick it up some other time." Before I have a chance to respond, she glides past me and into the confines of the alleway we've stopped in front of.

"Wait, where the hell are you going?"

"Nowhere you need to be." She calls over her shoulder. "Do us both a favor and wait there, yeah? I'll be back in a minute."

And then she's gone, around a corner without the tiniest hint of explanation. Again.

I am really not liking all the deja vu that today's been giving me. With nothing else to do, I lean against the wall of a nearby apartment building and exhale in frustration. What is it with that snake and her weird lectures? Is it all some misguided attempt to help me, or is it her way of venting on the rest of the world? And how does she always magically know what to say? Is she smarter than I give her credit for? Am I just stupid? Either way, I don't need money bad enough to let her talk me into a life of crime. I'm not that desperate, and in a way I'm kind of offended that she thinks I am. If something bad does happen, I'm sure I can find a way to get by that doesn't involve screwing someone else over.

A good minute or two tick by with no word from Cherry, so I decide to occupy myself with the occasional passing car. There really aren't a ton of them out here, are there? Makes sense, gas is pricey these days. Getting run over might be more of a concern in, say, Renova Heights. Out here, though? I can't see it happening unless I'm totally blanked out while crossing the street for some reason.

Speaking of which, another unwelcome flash of familiarity pulls me from my daydreaming. It's that feeling again, the one you get when you're being watched. It doesn't take me long to find the source - a lone, scruffy-looking hybrid across the street. He's leaning against a wall too, arms folded as he stares me down. At least, I'm pretty sure he's staring at me. Is he staring at me? It's hard to be sure from this far away, he could be looking anywhere in my general direction really. Maybe he's zoned out like I was, and I happen to be where he's faced.

I squint a little in an effort to soothe my fraying nerves, but what I see only makes them worse. The harder I look, the more apparent it becomes that he is staring at me. Intently, too.

It's only then that I realize how exposed I feel without Cherry at my side. I know it's the whole reason that I agreed to come with her in the first place, but I didn't actually think it'd make as big of a difference as it does. She has a sort of aura to her that tends to scare people off (myself included), and while I wouldn't say that I feel safe inside it, I do feel like the only person I have to worry about is her. How's that saying go? It's like toilet paper, you don't appreciate it until it's gone.

And assuming that someone does actually have it out for me, her absence is exactly what they'll be waiting for. Moments precisely like this one, right here and right now.

A black van passes between the two of us, breaking line of sight for maybe a second. By the time it's gone, he already has a phone out and is busily punching something in on the keypad. The hybrid lifts it to his ear, maintaining eye contact with me the entire time, and starts to say something that I can't hear from this distance.

"Whatcha lookin' at?"

The fact that I'm already on edge doesn't mesh well with Cherry suddenly materializing behind me. I jump, making a decidedly undignified noise and whirling around to face her. She doesn't look smug for some reason, she looks genuinely concerned about me startling more easily than usual.

"Anyone ever tell you that you're really quiet for being 403 pounds?

"Nah, I don't make a habit of giving them time to." She quips. "You didn't answer my question, though."

With a breath, I turn back to the hybrid only to find that he's gone. Poof, vanished. Away with the wind. I don't see him walking away either, no matter what direction I look. The strangest thing is that there aren't any alleys or cars for him to hide in. He either booked it into one of the buildings at the first sign of Cherry, or aliens can actually teleport and there's a conspiracy to keep it hidden from humans for as long as possible.

"Some guy was staring at me again. A hybrid, standing right over there. Don't know where he went."

The viper hums thoughtfully at my description, scratching her chin with clawed fingers. "He do anything weird?"

"Pulled out his phone after a while, made a call without breaking eye contact with me. Aside from that, no."

"Did you catch what he was wearing?"

Should I have? "Nah, didn't think to."

"Ah well, wouldn't worry about it too hard if I were you." Something about the way she shrugs is wrong, a little too noncommittal. "I'll keep an eye out just in case, but in the meantime we should get going. Need to drop this off within the hour."

She hefts a black duffle bag that I swear wasn't there before, slinging it over her shoulder and starting down the sidewalk. Curious as I am about its contents, I know better than to ask at this point. Career criminal goes down an alleyway and comes back out with a bag? It doesn't matter what she said earlier about all this being legal, there's gotta be a bomb in there or something.

After a short yet troubling internal debate about whether or not Cherry would blow up a building, I push the thought from my head and catch up to her at a jog.

 

 

Thankfully, the rest of the walk passes in sweet, relaxing silence. I'm not sure how long it took us to get from point A to point B, because I spent the whole thing more or less spaced out. What I do know is that at some point Cherry stuck an arm out again, and I subconsciously stopped in an effort to avoid her. So here we now stand, outside a relatively drab-looking building. It's short, only a single story tall, with an ash grey exterior that looks like it's seen better days. Dark green canopies hang above the two windows on either side of the front door, which are in turn covered by black metallic shutters that could probably stop a bullet. The sound of music barely manages to squeeze its way through the walls, so faint that I'm having a hard time picking up on the melody. All I can tell is that it sounds electronic in nature, a sharp contrast with the otherwise dull building in front of us. In fact, the only thing that doesn't look depressing about it is the neon pink and orange hologram generator near the door. A gaudy sign is projected above it, depicting-

Oh no.

"Something wrong, Clyde?" Slowly, I turn to find Cherry wearing the biggest shit-eating grin known to man. I look between her and the sign a few more times as realization sets in like frostbite.

"I am not going in there."

Chapter 6: The Nest

Notes:

Remember how I said I was hesitant to make any promises about upload frequency? Yeah. This is a little something that we in the business like to call foreshadowing...

Much like the last chapter, this one was cut toward the end. The cut portion will become the next chapter, which may be longer than initially planned as a result. In the future I'd like to move to longer, more cohesive chapters, but we'll see how that goes.

I've said before that it can be hard to decipher certain alien expressions, but not even I can miss the way Cherry's smile widens.

"What, in there?" She asks, feigning innocence. "Why not?"

"You know exactly why."

"'Fraid I don't. Go on, enlighten me." She's going to make me say it, isn't she?

"Cherry, my ADVENT may be a little rusty, but I'm not fucking blind!" I snap, pointing at the sign. Projected right by the door is the image of a silver-scaled viper in a red dress and matching gloves, one hand resting where the knees would be on a human, and the other toting a drink with a little umbrella sticking out of it. She's encircled by alien text, most of which I can't make out, but I know the last two words are 'time' and 'baby'. It doesn't take a gene therapist to put the pieces together.

"You mean you're getting all worked up over a sign that you can't actually read?"

This snake is going to be the death of me.

"I think the picture gets the point across perfectly fine."

"That point being?"

I drag a palm down my face in exasperation, turning away from the display. "You know what? Forget the stupid sign. I'm still not going in."

"Soooo, about that." She winces. "I have some business to attend to once we're inside. Boss doesn't like loiterers, and I'm not sure you should be out here alone after what happened earlier anyway."

Damn it, that's a good point. I've already tried my luck once, and the universe gave me a warning shot for my troubles. Even if I felt lucky enough to try it a second time, security running me off means I'd have to go somewhere else while Cherry does whatever it is she's doing at a place like this.

"Are you sure you can't just drop off your contraband and then come back out?"

"Nope."

"Positive?"

"You know I hate having to repeat myself, Clyde."

She watches patiently as I run through various options in my head. Try as I might, I can't come up with any alternative solutions here. There's no magical third option that gets me out of both issues, it's one or the other. The question I now have to ask myself isn't how I escape this scenario, but whether getting kidnapped is worse than seeing a viper give somebody a lap dance.

The internal debate that ensues is, once again, very short.

"How long is your 'business' going to take, exactly?"

"Ten minutes, give or take."

With one last defeated groan, I hang my head in resignation. "Let's get this over with."

"Good choice." The alien beams. "For a minute there, I thought I might have to drag you in by the arm."

Yeah, that tracks. Like a man being led to the electric chair, I trudge reluctantly up to the door with Cherry at my side. A pleasant gust of cold greets us as soon as she pops it open, beckoning us further into the building. The electronic music grows louder as I oblige, and the fruity scent of air freshener fills my nostrils. Somehow, none of these things make me regret my decision any less.

We step fully inside, and with the door closed behind us, the room becomes a dimly lit haze of gaudy colors and moving bodies. The floor and walls are an ashy shade of grey, with a neon blue stage on the left, a hot pink bar counter on the right, and a forest of tables that blend the colors in between. Patrons of various species are crowded together, with a startling amount of them being human. But the only people that stand out amongst the masses are the vipers. All of them are dressed in bright, sparkly dresses and gloves not unlike the one on the sign outside. The snakes themselves come in various colors, from yellow to blue to white, with each individual dress being a different hue to match. Some of them are surrounded by customers, others are delivering drinks as they pass by the tables. One of them's on the stage, flanked by a pair of blocky speakers, and coiled around a motherfucking stripper pole. Her scales are the classic shade of yellow and orange, while her clothes (if you can call them that) are pitch black. She's wearing what would probably be a relatively modest swimsuit on somebody much smaller. On her, however, it's really just a clump of threads that look like they might fall off if she so much as breathes wrong. She's entirely off the ground at this point, almost horizontal as she hangs off the pole with her tail. The way she twists and bends would put an olympic gymnast to shame, all while her hands are free to-

A sharp pat on the back catches my attention, and I look up to find Cherry barely suppressing a laugh. "Y'know, I could introduce you two after the show if you'd like."

"No!" I answer a little too quickly.

"Heh, your loss. Welcome to the Viper's Nest." Seriously? That's the best they could come up with?

Electing not to comment on the name out loud, I turn myself as far away from the stage as I can. "So, where are we going?"

"We aren't going anywhere." She says. "You're staying here, I'm heading out back. Can't take you with me."

You have got to be kidding me. "Did you seriously make me come all the way in here just to bail immediately?"

"D'aw, what's the matter? Can't go that long without me?" She reaches down to ruffle my hair, only withdrawing her hand the second time I swat at it.

"No- I mean, yes. I can. But what happened to the whole 'not leaving me alone' thing?"

"I said I didn't want to leave you alone outside. In here, security's tight enough that you'll survive ten minutes without me."

That's... not wrong, unfortunately. I don't think anyone would be able to pick me out from a distance with how crowded this place is, and a cursory glance confirms there are several mutons in suits that can only be here for two reasons. Looking tough, and violently ejecting anyone too drunk or too stupid to be intimidated.

"What am I supposed to do until you get back, though? Stand here?"

"Oh, I'm sure you'll figure something out." She snickers.

"I'm still not a-"

"Not a xenophile, I know, I know. Find an empty seat and stare at your phone for a few minutes then. Anyone comes up to you, politely turn them down. If the staff ask, you're with me. Just don't do anything stupid and you'll be fine, cota?"

Thanks Cherry, reeeal helpful. Don't do anything stupid, why didn't I think of that?

"Fine. Do whatever it is you gotta do, guess I'll be waiting at the bar."

She gives me something between a wave and a salute before slithering toward the crowd. I watch her slip between two people with an uncharacteristic grace, vanishing into the mass of bodies with ease.

Here we go. Ten minutes, starting now.

Desperate not to stand out, I start to make my way toward that bar counter I saw earlier. The seats nearest the door are all occupied, which means I have to head toward the middle of the room. And since some genius decided to plant a pool table ten feet from the entrance, I have to wade around everyone occupying it to get literally anywhere that isn't here. Today's Fun Clyde Fact: I hate crowds. Not because I hate being around a bunch of people, but because I seem to be the only person on the planet with an ounce of spatial awareness. The constant bumping, stopping mid-step, and having to shout "EXCUSE ME" three fucking times before people get the hint grinds my gears harder than you can imagine. And true to form, today is no different.

To my surprise, the people around the pool table are mostly human. There's about eight of them, with two being hybrids and all of them being men. I head as far to the right as possible and give a polite "Excuse me" to the guy blocking my path. He either doesn't hear me, or doesn't care, so I make sure to say it a little louder the second time. That finally gets his attention, and he gives me a vague nod of acknowledgment before shuffling forward by a whole inch.

I feel like we all know how this is going to turn out, but I'd like to get out of the open as soon as possible for a number of reasons. So, I go to squeeze past him, and of course his elbow shoots right into the back of my arm on the way. If my arms weren't pressed against my sides, that would've been a nasty rib shot.

This joker has the audacity to turn around with a stupid look plastered onto his stupid face, gripping the pool cue angrily. "Hey buddy! You screwed up my shot!"

"Really? Bummer." I reply, already walking away. I don't even make it a full step before someone else almost walks straight into me, another human guy with a glass in his hand. Have I mentioned how much I hate crowds?

The nearest bar seats are, unfortunately, occupied. So I have to keep sidling my way through everybody until I come across one that isn't. One is the operative term here, because wouldn't you know it, I do eventually find a pair of empty stools. I look to my left and right first as if I'm expecting somebody to run up and try to fight me for it, but as soon as it's clear that they won't, I plop down in one with a relieved sigh.

Alas, said relief lasts for a grand total of two seconds.

I almost fall out of my damn seat at the feeling of scales brushing against my arm. My head snaps to the left, and to my horror, I find a viper in the once empty stool at my side. She's got pale blue scales, a silver dress, and this look in her cyan eyes that I really do not like. 

"Oooh, I'm so sorry." She croons in a faint accent. "I didn't mean to scare you."

Except you absolutely did, you big scaly liar. It's written all over your... well, everything really. Her face, her tone, her posture, everything about her screams "smug motherfucker". But sure, let's pretend she didn't for the sake of civility.

I clear my throat tersely, settling into as relaxed of a position as I can given the circumstances. "It's fine. You're fine."

"I am? Gooood." She makes a show of wiping the nonexistent sweat from her brow. "Management doesn't like it when we scare the customers, but you looked so lonely over here by yourself! What was I to do?"

Aside from leave me alone? Good question. "Well, I appreciate your... concern? But I'm good, so if you'll excuse me."

I spin my stool away from her, only to realize that I don't actually have anywhere to go unless I feel like facing the guy sitting next to me. I end up in this awkward position where I'm not exactly looking at her, but out of the corner of my eye I can still see her creeping even further into my personal space.

"Hey, it's alright. I get it." There's a touch of innocence to her voice that almost convinces me she's being genuine. Almost. I really should tell her to piss off again, shouldn't I? Unfortunately, curiosity makes a more compelling argument than common sense.

"OK, I'll bite. What is it that you get, exactly?"

"The fear. A lot of customers come in like this at first - scared, confused, sometimes angry. It's only natural. But we can fix that."

For some reason, I find myself shivering a little at the suggestion. There's something about the way she says it, something dripping from the words that I can't seem to describe. And I hate it.

"Fixed? I don't need to be 'fixed,' lady. And certainly not by you." I manage to growl.

Much to my relief, she backs off of me slightly, settling more into her seat. "I didn't mean that as an insult. But, well, listen to yourself. Scared, confused, angry, all of the things I just listed. And yet, you chose to come in here, did you not?"

"I came in here because I had no choice. I'm waiting for somebody, and I can't sit outside because-" I cut myself off, realizing this random alien stripper doesn't need to know about my situation. "Can you just leave me alone? Please?"

Slowly, the gaudy act begins to fade. With a disappointed frown, she gets up from the seat and begins to slither away. "Alright, sorry. Bere beltor."

She says that last part under her breath, not quite quiet enough to slip by me. Fortunately for us both, I have no idea what she said, so I'm going to assume she wasn't insulting me and move on with my day.

Finally, that ever-elusive relief creeps back into existence. I allow myself another attempt at decompression, attempting to enjoy what little of the club's atmosphere that I can. I've never understood the appeal of places like this, truth be told. They're loud, crowded as all hell, and the food's rarely worth the price. I suppose the social aspect is something to consider, but why would I want to talk to anyone here anyway? Especially considering I'm not a xenophile.

My eyes drift out toward the crowd, and then inevitably toward the stage. I catch myself at first, then ultimately decide it doesn't matter. I'm just curious, is all. A quick look isn't going to hurt anything.

Sure enough, that dancer's still up there, going at it on the pole. As I watch the performance, I can't help but study her, making a series of small comparisons in my head. I don't consider myself the judgey type, generally speaking. Don't have the time or energy to worry all that much about what other people are into. Still, I have to wonder what it is that people see in vipers to bring them here. This place is packed, and if it wasn't making money it wouldn't be here at all. Is it because aliens are naturally into other aliens?

I scan the room as best I can without getting up, picking out the individual patrons within the writhing mass of bodies. There are definitely a couple of alien customers here - hybrids, sectoids and mutons. Oddly enough though, I'm not seeing as many as I had originally thought. I knew there were a lot of humans when I came in, but... no. Hang on. 

Is this place mostly humans?

The longer I look, the more of them I start to see. A couple here, a few there, some crowded around that table. I look at the occupied seat to my other side, and bang, there's a human guy right there. It feels like for every alien, there's two or three of us in here. That might not sound too crazy in a vacuum, but in the Fringe? I don't think I've seen this many in one place before. Ever. 

I look back to the stage, studying the dancer on the pole again. I guess I get it, in theory. I mean, vipers are mostly human-shaped. They've got hips, breasts (I refuse to believe that "venom sac" bullshit) and a lot of them sound pretty close to human women if you close your eyes. But how do you get past everything else? They've got fangs like knives, claws that are entirely too long to be practical in day-to-day life, and on top of all that they're huge. They're people, just the same as me. I get that. And yet whenever I look at one, my mind swims with thoughts of being bitten and scratched relentlessly. I think back to my first encounter with Cherry, being grabbed and tossed around like that. Imagine getting into bed with one of those things. Being pinned down, wrapped up and-

Nope. Nah. Don't do it. Don't go there.

With a frustrated sigh, I turn away from the display and focus on the bright pink of the countertop. That is, until I notice someone sitting to my left again.

It's another viper. Another one, because of course. Why wouldn't there be another one? Was I really stupid enough to think I'd be able to sit here totally undisturbed for more than thirty seconds at a time? Silly Clyde, that's not how it works.

This one's closer to the kind I'm familiar with. Her scales are the color of a pumpkin, her eyes are a pale green, and her dress is pitch black. Got the whole Halloween color scheme going on, huh?

"Enjoying the show?" She asks smoothly, tracing a circle on the counter with one nail.

"Not really."

My reply is intentionally unenthusiastic and blunt. She doesn't take the hint.

"Oh? And why is that? Could it be that it isn't personal enough for you?" Much like her predecessor, she takes the first available opportunity to not-so-subtly slide closer to me. "I can change that, if you'd like."

It's happening again. My whole body is strangely warm, and I can actively feel the blush creeping into my cheeks. Why now? Why does this always happen at the worst times?

"N-not interested, thanks."

I don't manage to say it with nearly as much authority as I had hoped. Instead, it comes out choked and awkward. She picks up on that, and there's a noticeable shift in her demeanor as a result. It's like a shark smelling blood. Her eyes narrow, she sits up straighter, and before I know it what little space exists between us is rapidly shrinking.

"Come on, don't be like that." She says, close enough that I can almost feel her breath on my skin. "I don't bite, honest. Management doesn't let us."

The scent of her perfume fills the air around me. It's clearly some kind of fruit, but instead of being sharp and acidic like citrus, it's soft and dull like mango. The synthetic element is faint enough to be unobtrusive, reminding me more of a flavored candy than the real thing.

In short, it smells great, and that's exactly why I hate it.

"Nah, seriously. I mean it. I'm not interested." I repeat. "I'll pass. No thank you. Do these words mean anything to you?"

"Mmm, nope." She replies flippantly. "Everyone thinks they mean it at first, but once you get your claws on them? Suddenly they're singing a very different tune."

The heat's beginning to rise, worse than it usually does. It's not simply embarrassment now, there's something else in there. Something explosive. I can feel a pressure building in the sides of my head, like somebody squeezing my skull between their fingers.

"Well I'd like you to keep your claws off of me, thanks."

She only chuckles in response, seemingly spurred on by my resistance. "Oh, honey. If I had a credit for every time I heard that one, I could retire and move to Highland Square tonight. Let's be honest with each other - you want it. You know you do. I know you do."

Something cold wraps around my ankle beneath the stool.

"I can smell it."

In an instant, I'm back in that alleyway again. I can still feel the hand around my throat, my mouth being covered as someone drags their tongue along my neck. It feels like I'm burning up, and inside of me, something snaps.

"WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE!?"

The viper practically jumps backward, hood flaring in surprise and tail quickly leaving my leg.

"Did none of you slimey fucks ever learn the meaning of the word 'NO!?' Do I need to spell it out for you!? HUH!? Do you need to hear it in your stupid fucking gobbledegook xenoshit language to understand!? Because I'll learn how to say it! I'll fucking learn if that's what it takes to make you goddamn weirdos keep your FILFTHY fucking hands off of me! FUCK."

I shouldn't be doing this. I'm making a mistake, I know I am. But right now, I don't care. Everything else seems to have faded away. My entire body is tensed up like a firmly pressed spring. My jaw is clenched, my head is throbbing, and both my hands are balled into tight fists.

"I-"

"NO." I bark. "I don't want to fucking hear it! Go!" Without thinking, I point in a random direction. Look at me, ordering an alien around in their own workplace. I have zero right to be telling anybody where to go right now, and I have no idea where exactly I'm trying to send her. My rage starts to simmer down, and for a moment I think this is about to backfire horribly, but it doesn't. She stares blankly into my eyes before slithering away without a word.

God that felt good.

I take a couple of deep breaths, then collapse heavily into my stool again. I don't feel the heat or the pressure anymore. It feels like a fire's been freshly snuffed out inside me, leaving only an uncomfortably cold emptiness in its wake. My head still kind of hurts, and now I'm all sweaty in an air conditioned room. Fun.

People are staring, I realize. Not the whole club by any means, I wasn't that loud. But enough to make me start shrinking in on myself again.

Yeah, I really did mess up. I walked into a strip club and blew up at the strippers for doing their job. I'm just so tired of being walked all over and groped by alien snake women. Is that wrong? I'm not made of stone. A man can only take so much.

Those muton bouncers will probably come to kick me out any second now. Whatever. I had a good run, probably burned most of those ten minutes by now. Soon, Cherry'll come back out and I'll never have to see this place again. Won't even matter that I made a fool of myself.

I'm vaguely aware of somebody moving in the once empty seat next to me. For the briefest of instants, all that anger threatens to make a return again, but I forcibly quash it with another deep breath.

Reluctantly, I look over to find yet another viper. Only this time, it's not one of the workers.

I almost think it's Cherry at first. In this lighting she looks identical, right down to the leather jacket. But I can tell this is someone else entirely by what appears to be a pair of sunglasses perched atop her nose. They're strange - more of a V shape to fit her alien facial features than the kind you'd see on a human. Since she has no ears, the temples end in a thin chain, running through a pair of holes in the upper part of her hood. It's like the unholy bastard child of a gothic piercing, and those strings that old ladies use to keep their glasses from falling off. Simultaneously the coolest and lamest thing I've ever seen.

She peers wordlessly at me from behind the pair of tinted lenses, expression even more difficult to read than usual. Then, after a moment, she speaks.

"Having a rough day?"

Her voice is similar to Cherry's, only calmer. Quieter. There's a certain relaxed air to it that I'm only now realizing is absent from the viper I'm familiar with. There's no sarcasm in her words, either. She genuinely wants to know.

I sigh, deflating on the spot like a popped balloon. "Rough month, more like."

She nods silently, turning her head away from me and toward a collection of colorful shelves on the back wall. Each one is lined with various fancy-looking bottles, only half of which have labels I can read.

"I understand." She says gently. I'm expecting her to follow that up with a 'but', or some kind of elaboration. It never comes. "You are Clyde, yes?"

"That's me." I mutter. "And I assume you're one of Cherry's sisters?"

"I am. You can call me Sal."

Well I'll be damned, one of them has a relatively normal name. "Nice to meet you. Not to be rude, but uh, did you need something? 'Cause I'm not feelin' all that chatty right now."

She shrugs, tapping her nails idly against the neon countertop. "No. Just making sure you don't get kicked out."

I freeze, then rest my head in my hands. "You saw that, huh?"

"I did. And like I said, I understand. Perhaps better than you would think."

I want to challenge her on that statement, but I don't. Much like before, there's no scorn or derision in her voice. Only empathy, and a touch of unneeded pity. It makes me wonder what the hell happened to her for my outburst to be at all relatable, and if the sunglasses have anything to do with it. Can't imagine she's wearing them indoors by choice.

"I just- Are they always like this?" I ask, agitation bleeding through. "I've never been to one, but I swear human clubs don't work this way."

"Many are. Some are not." She replies cryptically. "Tell me, when you look at the performers here, what do you see?"

It's a weird question. And yet against my better judgement, I decide to humor it. I look around the room again, passing over a couple of well-dressed vipers.

"I see snake women in sparkly dresses."

She cracks what I think is the hint of a smile at my answer. "I see a mother of four who must feed her children."

"I'm sorry, what?"

She gestures loosely toward a viper carrying a tray of drinks. Ash grey scales, orange dress. "Many of us struggle to find a purpose after the war. Some pursue art, others want to raise children. But one does not simply have four hatchlings for free. They need food, they need water, they need beds, they need toys. These things are rarely cheap."

I'm struggling to figure out how that's at all related to my question. Before I can object, she moves on to another. Light pink scales, white dress, moving to replace the current dancer on the stage.

"I see an aspiring nurse, who cannot afford the education she needs. Knowledge and will alone do not secure you a job in the medical field. You need training, and you need credentials. To the nurse, debt is the only path forward. And debt must be repaid."

And then another. Silver scales, purple dress. She laughs uproariously at a joke one of the patrons must have made. The reaction seems a little too dramatic to be genuine.

"Here, I see a falsely accused felon who will never find work elsewhere. What she did or did not do is irrelevant - she is marked for life, and no sane business owner would risk welcoming a killer into their fold. Unless she wishes to die cold and alone in a gutter, she cannot afford to refuse work. No matter where that work might come from."

Finally, her hand drops, and Sal returns to perusing the collection of drinks. I turn with her, confused and unsure of what to say.

"Are any of those stories true? Do you know those people?"

"Perhaps. But that is not the point. These workers are not paid hourly, Clyde. They are paid only when they successfully secure a customer, and that is after the proprietress has taken her dues. If they want to feed their children, to advance their career, to survive, they must take matters into their own hands. They must be aggressive, demanding. My people are not as pretty or approachable as your human women. For us, passivity is a death sentence."

The silence that follows her explanation is heavy. I have nothing to say to that. No snarky comment, no bitter complaint. Nothing. Because as much as I hate to admit it, she's right. Obvious though it may seem in hindsight, I never considered that they weren't being paid hourly. If you don't manage to rope somebody in, that's it. Maybe you don't get to eat tonight. Maybe you don't have enough to make rent. And you're competing with a bunch of other people for a limited pool of customers, too. Not everyone here is going to feel like shelling out. 

I'm once again forcibly reminded of my own money struggles. Can't afford to have hobbies. Can't afford tasty food. Can't afford to move out of this dump of a district. I don't know how I'd even begin to sustain four kids or student loan debt on top of the bills I pay now. 

Still, I don't think that means my complaints aren't warranted. Some of them should really learn to take a hint, and I don't appreciate them being so handsy. Why does their desperation have to cost me my personal space?

"For the record, none of that is to say that your frustrations are invalid." Sal notes, as if she had read my mind. "The goal of my explanation was to bring you clarity. The feeling of always being watched and pushed around - it wears on a person in ways that few can imagine. And if it makes you feel any better, yours was not the worst reaction a customer has had to their advances."

Her hand slips onto my shoulder. I tense up initially, but once the shock wears off I realize it's not so bad. It's actually, dare I say it, kind of comforting. Where Cherry seems to exude an aura of menace, Sal's calm demeanor is almost infectious. Probably helps that she's done something other than tease me, threaten me and make jokes at my expense.

You know, I think I don't totally hate this one.

Of course, nothing good lasts forever. Sal's hand jerks off of me suddenly, and I look over to find that a leather-clad arm has locked itself firmly around her neck.

"Sal!" Cherry practically spits.

"Sister." She returns casually.

"I told you not to fuck with him while I was gone!"

"What can I say? I got curious, and he was getting himself into trouble."

Cherry raises a brow, looking between the two of us in turn. "Trouble?"

Oh boy. That's going to be a fun conversation.

"Nothing too bad." I interject. "I'll explain later. Once we're out of here."

At this rate, her eyes are moving so fast that I'm worried they might pop out of her skull. After a few more seconds of fretting, she calms down, begrudgingly dropping the headlock on her sister.

"So. Did you...?"

"Only a little." Sal answers.

And just like that, she's back to fuming again. Cherry grasps at the air in front of her angrily, as if held back by some invisible force. "I am going to throttle you later, you hear me?"

"Yes, yes. I love you too."

Sal rises from her seat, and despite all the grousing, both of them bring their right hand up, then bump forearms together to form an X. Some kind of weird alien salute, I guess.

"Alright. You ready to get going, Clyde?"

"Please."

With that, we're off. I toss a quick wave to Sal over my shoulder as we go, and she returns one of her own lazily. I practically rush out the door behind Cherry, nearly stepping on the end of her tail in the process. Never in my life have I been so eager to leave an air conditioned building when it's this hot out.

As soon as the door's shut behind us, and the sound of electronic music fades, Cherry stops in place to face me. "OK, spill. What was the trouble Sal mentioned?"

Ugh. Where do I even begin?

Notes:

So. Where have I been, and what have I been up to? Short answer: depression. Long answer: REALLY bad depression. I don't want to start a pity party, so I'll spare you the details, but the point is that with everything going on I've been struggling to write much of anything for the past year or two. Obviously this is no good, so I started making a lot of big changes to my life in an effort to feel better. Did it work? Kinda sorta not really. I don't feel much different, truth be told. But over the last couple days, I was miraculously able to put words on a screen for the first time in forever. And as a result, here we are.

Once again, I'm not going to make promises that I can't keep. I don't know how long this is going to last. Maybe updates will be more frequent, maybe they won't. All I can say is that I'm going to try. Thank you for your patience, it means the world to me.

Chapter 7: Little People

Notes:

As of February 8th, 2024, the ending of this chapter has been rewritten. Some of the discussion around this chapter may not make sense as a result.

"...and I just... lost it, I guess."

Cherry listens quietly to my explanation as we walk, remaining surprisingly neutral given the circumstances. I expected her to burst out laughing or make fun of me, but so far she hasn't. Not a single chuckle or condescending smirk has been thrown my way. It's almost disorienting.

"For what? Talking to you?"

"No, it's not that." I complain. "It's the touching. The constant touching. It's not something I get hung up on usually, but it feels like every few days at this point I've got some new alien invading my personal space and putting their hands all over me. And the fact that the last couple times before this were you and that faceless jumping me didn't help." I think back to the feeling of a tail wrapping around my ankle. It wasn't that tight in the grand scheme of things, and I was sitting down anyway. Still, the feeling of being even remotely restrained sent me into a panic.

There's a moment of contemplative silence before she responds. "Yeah, guess I can see how that'd be annoying."

"Annoying." I echo. "Annoying is when you stub your toe on something. Annoying is when you lose the TV remote between the couch cushions. I'm not 'annoyed', Cherry. Honestly? I'm pissed!"

Ordinarily, I might not feel brave enough to rant like this in front of Cherry. I usually find myself nervous in her presence, on guard. Waiting and watching for some kind of attack. Now? Now, I'm too tired to worry. I feel burnt out. I'm frustrated, my patience is thin, and the initial shock of being in the same general area as her has significantly died down. I don't care if she thinks what I have to say is stupid. Chances are she's not going to try and gut me over it.

"Oh yeah?" There it is, that slight edge of amusement creeping into her voice.

"Yeah! Because you know what? I was wrong. It's not the touching itself that gets me. It's how it keeps happening! I told them several times, 'No thanks, I'm not interested.' And did they listen? No! I even asked one of them point blank if she heard me the first two times I said it. She did! She just didn't care. Then there's the faceless. You ever had someone try to choke you to death in an alleyway before!? Because let met tell you, it's fucking TERRIFYING. And you!"

I point a finger at her. For the first time during the conversation, my courage falters. I meant what I said, I don't have the energy to be quaking in my boots every time we make eye contact now. But openly insulting Cherry to her face sounds about as smart as poking a chryssalid with a stick. I hastily look around to confirm that there are indeed a couple of witnesses nearby, in the event that she decides to turn me into a fine red paste.

"What?" She asks, watching me expectantly. "C'mon, let's hear it."

She doesn't sound mad. She sounds curious, and if my ears aren't playing tricks on me, a little impressed. She seems to be taking it in stride so far. The question is, how long will that grace last?

I decide to risk it.

"Obviously there's the mugging. But then there was the fucking tongue bath that I absolutely did not need. Then you forced me to go on that weird, twisted 'date' where I almost got shot. Then you followed me home. Then you hunted me down from halfway across the district while I was buying groceries. Then you cornered me in that alleyway, and honest to god? I wasn't convinced I was going to leave that place in one piece. I thought that was it for me. I had no idea what was about to happen back there. You could've done anything to me, and what would I have been able to do about it? Scream for help? Beg? Cry?"

We happen to come across a bit of stray litter on the sidewalk. I take great care to stomp directly on an empty Burger Palace drink cup as we pass it, exhaling harshly through my nose.

"It feels like I'm always getting pushed around, everywhere I go. Like I'm a bystander in a world where everyone else has power. A background character. Somebody's who's destined to get run over and forgotten. I have no agency in my own life, and it drives me up the fucking wall! What am I supposed to do? Is there anything I can do? Is this just the way things are for me?"

I ask all that as if I'm expecting her to answer me. I'm not. I don't know what the goal is here, aside from screaming into the void to relieve stress.

Ending my rant with a sigh, I look over at Cherry to gauge her reaction. Fortunately for my bones, she doesn't appear to be angry about any of what I've said. As a matter of fact, she looks surprised. Not totally aghast, mind you. The reaction is a bit more mild than I might be making it sound. But compared to her usual two expressions, which are murder and smug, her eyes are definitely wider than usual. The contrast is pretty sharp to me.

Speaking of her eyes, both of them are firmly locked onto me. At the same time though, I'm not sure she sees me. They're sort of glazed and unfocused, pointed in my direction without truly seeing. Almost like she's looking through me.

The trance ends as suddenly as it began. I can spot the difference immediately, her dilated pupils gradually narrowing when they meet mine. Not in a hostile or threatening manner. Just back to what's normal for her. For the first time since I've met her, Cherry seems, dare I say it, speechless.

"You okay?" I ask, tilting my head at her.

She doesn't answer right away, instead opting to look me up and down. For real, this time.

"I'm fine. You reminded me of somebody again, that's all."

"Same person as last time?"

"Yup." She doesn't seem particularly interested in elaborating. "We're not talking about her right now though, we're talking about you. I didn't know you felt so strongly about this, Clyde."

Of course she didn't know. She knows aaaaall about me - where I live, where I get my groceries, who I am or am not attracted to. But the one time a bit of empathy would be great, she's blind. "Figures."

"I mean, I had a rough idea. It's part of why I left you in there on your own. I thought it'd be funny. But sheesh, you're right. That's more than an annoyance, that right there is passion."

My eye twitches. Slowly, I look up at her. "That's why you what?"

"Now hold on!" She raises both hands defensively. "I wasn't lying, I already had to be there one way or another. This delivery was important. Still, I could've asked Sal to sit with you while we were talking, or come up with some bullshit excuse to get you into the back. I chose not to because I know what the girls there are like, and I figured a bit of teasing would do you some good. Get you to loosen up, y'know? Didn't realize it'd be such a big deal."

Slowly, ever so slowly, my rage dwindles. I exhale like I'm venting steam, counting all the cracks in the aged sidewalk in an effort to calm myself down. She didn't mean to. I mean, she did. She just admitted to it. But she didn't mean for things to go quite like this. It's only kind of her fault. I could've done a better job of reining myself in.

"Well, it was." I sigh. "Guess I should've seen it coming, in hindsight. They all acted just like you, minus the robbery part."

It's then that a thought occurs to me. One that I had briefly entertained earlier, but never truly took the time to consider. The aggressive flirting, the unwanted touching, all of it is straight out of Cherry's playbook. She mentioned knowing what the girls there are like, and she called whoever owns the place "boss".

Cherry cocks an eyeridge at me, having clearly caught on to the gears turning in my head. "What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"That club we were just at. You don't work there, do you?"

Her expression remains completely frozen once I ask, which is ironically enough more telling than if she had reacted dramatically. I've been around Cherry long enough that I know more or less how she acts by now. The silent stare means she's thinking, and if she's thinking it's because the answer probably isn't no.

Sure enough, the brow comes down, and she finally responds. "I used to, back when the place first started up. Spent a few months there as a dancer before I was eventually forced to quit. Wasn't a bad gig, all things considered."

Wow, she actually admitted to it. Part of me didn't think she was going to for some reason.

"Hang on, you were forced to quit?"

"Let's just say the customers got tired of me." She shrugs. "I wasn't happy about it at the time, but in hindsight, it was probably for the best. And before you ask, no, Cherry was not my stage name. That's actually, genuinely my real name. My stage name was Bea."

Shit, I bet there's a real interesting story behind that one. After what I saw in there today, I shudder to imagine what kind of lines she must've crossed to get not-quite-fired from the Nest of all places. Tempting as it is to ask though, that may be pushing my luck. Besides, I've got other questions on my mind.

"Was it fun?" I ask in as casual a voice as I can manage.

"It was, yeah." There are subtle traces of nostalgia in her tone, as if she's reliving memories of better days. "Why, you looking for a new job?"

I humor her with a dry, obviously fake laugh. "Very funny."

"Hey, who said I was kidding? The Viper's Nest caters mostly toward humans, but we got a little something for our alien audiences too."

Wait, what? Aliens? "I thought the joke was calling me gay, what do aliens have to do with this?"

Her face splits into the widest, most terrifying grin I've ever seen. And immediately, I know I've made a mistake. "Ohohoho, Clyde. Buddy. I want you to imagine something for me, OK? Picture this: The Elders arrive on Earth, round up all the men, and cart them off into space. You have no women at all whatsoever. None. Zero. You then spend your entire life moving between a series of small metal boxes, which are full of nothing but other men. You do nothing but work and fight the whole time. You spend years without getting to rub one out even once. And then, out of the blue, you get sent to a new planet. And it has women on it, but those women are aliens."

Oh god, I think I see where she's going with this. "Cherry—"

"Ah ah, I'm not done yet!" She insists. "So you meet these alien women, right? And they're small, but not too small. They're soft, they're warm, and they make these cute little noises when you squeeze them. Imagine it, Clyde! Are you telling me that you and all those other box-dwelling men wouldn't be foaming at the fucking mouth? The market would be HUGE!"

"No way. Are you actually telling me that there's a market for this? Right here in City 31?"

"Not just in the city, but right here in the Fringe. It's like I said earlier. Human men may be the main audience, but you would not believe how many vipers will pay money to see a shirtless guy work the pole for them. I wouldn't quit your dayjob or anything, but if you were ever looking for a side gig, a guy like you could make some serious dosh that way."

I am, once again, flabbergasted by the fact that she isn't joking. She's teasing me for sure, that much is plain. But at the same time I can tell she's being completely unironic about this. If I asked her to set me up with an interview, I'm confident she would actually do it.

It takes me a whole three seconds to decide that I'm absolutely not doing that unless my life depends on it, which is three more than it realistically should. Pole dancing half-naked while a room full of horny aliens eye me up? The mere thought of it makes my skin crawl. I swear I'd have a heart attack the moment I got up on the stage. They'd have to drag me out of that club on a stretcher.

"I'll pass." I say, doing my best not to gag.

"Your loss."

"Anyway, the reason I ask is that Sal made it seem like everyone working there is miserable. You sound like you enjoyed it, though."

Cherry tilts her head, frowning more than usual. "She did? What'd she say?"

"I asked her why everyone there was so pushy, and she gave me this long rant where she'd point out different dancers and tell me their life's story. This one has student loan debt, this one's a false convict, stuff like that. Is anyone working there by choice? Do they all hate it?"

"Oh. Nah, I don't think that's what she was getting at." The viper pauses briefly to scratch her chin, as if carefully considering how to explain. "The truth's not as black and white as you'd think. Most of them are there because they genuinely enjoy it, but that doesn't mean they don't really need the money. Those two things can be true at the same time, y'know? I think her point was more that everybody has bills to pay, and you happened to be in a room full of vipers literally competing for the chance to do so. We tend to get a bit feisty when that happens, if you haven't noticed."

In hindsight, I guess that makes more sense than what I had assumed. Still, the fact that those four people in particular were in the same place at the same time seems pretty convenient. "Do you think she was telling the truth? I asked her how she knew any of this or if it was even true, and she dodged the question entirely."

"Maybe, maybe not." Looks like frustratingly vague answers run in the family. "I'm gonna be blunt: I love her, but Sal's weird. Sometimes, she knows things that you'd think she shouldn't. Other times, she's talking out of her ass. Even I can't always tell which is which."

Great. Right when I thought one of them might finally be sane. "Why? Does she have some kind of condition, or...?"

"It's complicated." She shrugs. "She's not crazy or handicapped, if that's what you're asking."

"It isn't." I assure her. "Just curious, is all. What about the sunglasses? What's up with those?"

Cherry snorts, cracking a tiny smile at the mention of them. "If you ask her, she'll feed you some nonsense about being sensitive to lights. The truth is that she thinks they look cool. Way before we came to the city, we were poking around in some old world ruins and came across a poster. It had a human wearing sunglasses on it, and she was instantly enamored. Wanted a pair so bad. She was bummed when we got here and found out they don't really fit our faces, but Ma found a way. Moved heaven and earth to make it happen for her."

There's that name again, Ma. This is the second time I'm hearing it dropped, with the first being back in the alleyway. Seems to be some kind of authority figure that they look up to. The obvious conclusion would be that it's short for "Mama", but vipers don't have moms. At least, I'm pretty sure they don't.

I'm on the cusp of asking about it when I realize that we've arrived at Bill's. Either time passed alarmingly quick while we were talking, or that club's been close to me this whole time and I never noticed it was there. Could be either, could be both.

Unlike my last visit, the AC is a boon this time as Cherry and I step into the small store. The big man waves from behind the counter as per usual, perking up somewhat at the sight of Cherry. To my surprise, he seems to get excited as she slithers over, leaning one of his massive arms on the counter.

"Wait, wait. No tell." He rumbles, squinting intently at her. "Holly?"

"Close. Cherry." The snake replies. "Don't feel too bad, it's hard to tell us apart."

"Bah!" He slaps the counter, causing the frame to rattle, then sheepishly adjusts the tip jar he almost knocked over. "Mor bete eir-ten?"

"Van. Mors bere beltor, a morta beltor."

They start chattering away in ADVENT, and after a couple sentences I mentally check out. I can't understand 90% of what they're saying. Something something "help" something something. Whatever, probably nothing that matters to me.

Since I don't need Cherry holding my damn hand to pick out some groceries, I start on my usual route as they talk. The store's fairly empty right now barring a few hybrids milling about, so there's nobody in my way as I walk. First stop is meat. I still have some at home, but it wouldn't hurt to grab a little more while I'm here. I pick a random package without paying much attention, only bothering to check the expiration date before moving on to drinks.

As I'm opening up the cooler, something catches my eye on the shelves. I look down to see that the labels on a couple of the products have been changed, namely the almond milk. It's brighter now, much less faded. And more importantly, the price has now gone up to 10 credits from 6.

I hesitate, balking at the change. Four credits may not sound like much, but for almond milk? Seriously? I don't like it that much.

With a grumble, I close the door and look for something else. Real milk's still way out of my price range, as much as I'd love it if it weren't. Maybe oat milk? Does oat milk even taste good? I think at one point it was more expensive than almond, but now it's actually cheaper. That's crazy.

In the end, I end up choosing neither. I go to pick up a fresh gallon of water instead, finding myself mildly annoyed that this too has gone up in price. Only one credit this time, but it's the principle that annoys me more than anything.

Next up on the list is eggs. As I'm making my way across the store though, a familiar feeling sets in. That prickling on the back of my neck. I turn around, scanning the store in a vain attempt to figure out what's causing it. None of the other customers seem particularly interested in me, meanwhile Bill and Cherry are still talking, so it's probably not any of them.

The paranoia might be getting to me. I gotta calm down, breathe a little.

I grab a carton of "egg product", humming the tune of a familiar song to try and take my mind off things. I'm in a store full of witnesses. Cherry is right there. No need to panic. How about some bread? Bread's boring, let's think about bread. I quickly stride over to the bread section, picking out a loaf and adding it to the ever-growing pile of stuff precariously stacked in my arms. I forgot to bring my bag again. Great. I guess it would've been weird to have it with me at the Nest, but still, it's another small annoyance that I really don't need right now.

I'm making my way toward the final stop when something catches my eye, and that feeling sets in again. Something moving behind the rack of chips to my left, barely visible between the gaps. I don't catch much, but what little I do makes me uneasy. A flash of blue. It couldn't be, could it? No. I need to see for myself so I can confirm that I'm being jumpy again, and move on with my day.

Taking a deep breath, I step around the rack of chips, and nearly fling everything I'm holding out of reflex.

She's there, just like last time. A short, pale human woman, with blue eyes and a blonde ponytail. She has the same blue shirt as last time, and a black pair of pants. This time, however, the shock on her face appears to be much more genuine.

"You." I growl, taking a step back to put space between us. I'm ready and waiting to chuck my groceries at her if she moves, hopefully that'll buy me enough time to get my knife out. She caught me slipping up last time, sleep-deprived and distracted. Not this time. Make no mistake — my skin is crawling, and deep down I'm terrified of facing one of these things again. This one especially. But above that, there's a fire in my gut. A familiar pressure building in my temples. Cherry mentioned that the eyes are a weak point, didn't she? Try and grab me again, fucker. See what happens.

"I'm not here for you!" The faceless hastily assures me. "This was a coincidence. I didn't know you would be here."

I don't care. My entire body is bristling like an angry cat's, my feet shifting nervously of their own accord. "Oh, you were just waiting for a different human to ambush, is that it? Eat my ass, you lying wad of—"

I'm startled out of my insult by the sudden appearance of Cherry, slithering up behind me then quickly looping around to my front. She interposes herself between the two of us, shoulders squared and hood fanned out wide.

"What the hell is going on here?" She demands.

An admittedly petty sense of joy fills me as the shapeshifter backpedals, cowering under Cherry's gaze. Not so fun when you're on the other end, is it?

"I swear, I wasn't after him! How was I supposed to know he'd be here?"

Cherry considers the excuse for a moment, lowering herself and shrinking her hood to appear slightly less menacing. "You weren't. 'That mean you frequent this place, though? Just to stake it out for humans?"

"What does it matter to you?"

The viper shakes her head, tongue clicking and disapproval. "I get it. Believe me, I do. But you keep that up, and you're gonna end up bringing 31PD down on us, or worse."

"Oh, so when you do it it's fine. But when I do it, it's a problem." The not-quite-woman scoffs.

I peek around Cherry just in time to see her sink a set of claws deep into her quarry's shoulder, earning no outward reaction except for a worried look.

"Remember what I said about mouthing off?" She hisses. "Disrespect me like that again, and it'll cost you a lot more than your eyes. Now shut up and listen."

Using the fingers still jammed into the faceless's shoulder, she spins them around and pulls them close, hunching over to whisper into their ear. Now, Cherry's strong, but I've heard the sound a faceless makes when it walks without trying to be stealthy. Those things have to weigh close to a thousand pounds, even she wouldn't be able to shove one around against its will. That means this one is following her movements of its own accord.

I can't hear what's being said without getting closer, and frankly, I really don't feel like doing that. So I'm left to sit and watch in anticipation as the two hash something out, both parties making rather animated hand gestures.

The conversation ends quickly, with Cherry finally ripping her hand out, and wiping it off on the creature's shirt. Wordlessly, she jerks her head toward the door, and the other alien is quick to obey. It scampers out with no further complaints, not bothering to spare another glance in my direction.

Seemingly satisfied with this outcome, the viper turns to face me, brow furrowed. "Here."

She reaches out to take the jug of water and carton of liquid egg that I'm holding, having to struggle against my grip before I realize what she's doing.

"Thanks." I sigh, feeling myself gradually begin to calm.

"Bring a bag next time, cota?"

I resist the urge to scowl at her, seeing as she just handled that faceless for me. Again. "What did you say to her? Something scary?"

"I made her an offer she couldn't refuse." Cherry smirks, as if she's made a joke that I'm not privy to. "City hall doesn't care about what happens to filthy xeno scum like us. But if enough humans go missing, they're going to roll in here looking for people to shoot. Since none of us want that, I figured, why not offer her a job? She won't be running with me or my sisters, of course. We're a little secluded. But I know somebody who could use her. Rest assured, she shouldn't be hanging around here anymore."

I'm not quite sure how I feel about that, to be honest. On the one hand, the thought of that freak haunting the one grocery store within walking distance of my apartment is terrible, and I'm relieved that it won't be happening again. On the other hand, I just watched my local gangster absorb a faceless into her organized crime syndicate. Somebody's going to be on the receiving end of that, and all I can do is pray that it isn't me.

"What would've happened if she had said no?"

"Easy. I know people willing to pay for good information, and her little rampage would've been a valuable tip. Either way, I'm getting paid, and you can buy your food in relative peace."

Maybe it's best not to look a gift horse in the mouth. I brought Cherry with me in case something happened, something did happen, she intervened. I'm safe, and I should be happy about it.

"Well, thanks again. Let me get some bananas, and then I'm done."

After picking out the last of my groceries, we head to the counter and place all of it for Bill to scan. If the muton is at all bothered by the confrontation that just happened in his store, he doesn't show it. If anything, he seems to be in a pretty good mood. He hums an unfamiliar melody to himself as he finishes ringing me up.

"You want bag?" He asks, meaty fingers hovering over the human-sized keys.

"Yes, please." There are a few more clicks as he finishes my order up, and the total flashes on the register's tiny screen. The number causes me to squint, eyes sweeping over the food to ensure I didn't grab the wrong thing by accident. "54 credits? Is that right?"

I pick everything up, ensuring that it's all the same brand I usually buy. This is almost exactly what I got last time, only I've swapped grapes out for bananas, almond milk for water, and forgone the gum altogether. That should make it cheaper, not more expensive!

Bill gives me an apologetic shrug as I look up at him for confirmation, then glances at Cherry for help.

"It's been harder to stock everything since Nightingale's death." She explains, arms crossed. "We were talking about it earlier. Shipments get attacked, deliveries get more dangerous. It costs him more to keep the shelves full."

"Christ, is it really that bad?"

I can't help but feel annoyed when the aliens exchange looks with each other in response to my question. "You don't watch the news much, do you?"

"No." I concede, scratching the back of my head. The news is depressing these days, and I've got enough to be upset about as it is, thanks. I figured if anything really bad happened, I'd hear about it one way or another.

Keeping a lid on my complaints for now, I fish my wallet out and put the credits on the counter. I'm not getting this food cheaper anywhere else. If Bill's raised prices, I guarantee you everywhere else has too. The man's never struck me as being particularly greedy, he seems more thrilled to be running the store at all than turning a profit.

He finishes scooping everything into the grocery bag, and my sulking ebbs a bit when I see him not-so-subtly slip a chocolate bar into it at the end. I raise a questioning brow, and he smiles faintly, putting his hands together.

"I sorry." He rumbles out.

Damn it, I can't stay mad at that. I give him an admittedly weak smile of my own, taking the bag off the counter and nodding. "Don't worry big guy, I know it's not your fault. And thanks."

He seems visibly relieved that I'm not upset, which is strange considering I pose zero threat to this absolute behemoth of flesh and muscle. The guy could flatten me with one hand. Does he need my business that badly, or is he just that empathetic? Call me naive, but I'd like to think the latter.

He waves at us as we leave, Cherry and I both returning the gesture on our way out the door. Seems he's something of a local fixture.

We step out of Bill's and onto the sidewalk, Cherry rolling her shoulders lazily. "Alright, mission success. You got your groceries without getting jumped again. Need me to walk you home?"

"I'd appreciate it." I confirm. "Not that I'm expecting anything else to happen, but the security is nice."

"Aw, so you do like spending time with me."

I roll my eyes, adjusting the paper bag in my hand. "Don't let it go to your head."

Cherry follows alongside me as I set off in the direction of home, reaching into the grocery bag with my free hand. I decide to take the chocolate bar out now, a little pick-me-up after a bit of a rough day. I pinch the wrapper between my teeth, ripping it open and peeling the wrapper down. Before taking a bite though, I stop, turning toward the snake at my side.

"You want some?"

She seems surprised by my offer, ultimately shaking her head. "Nah. Appreciate it, but I can't afford a trip to the ER right now."

"What, vipers can't eat chocolate?" I ask, cocking an eyebrow at her.

"Nope, humans only. It's got something in it that doesn't agree with us, forget what it's called. Think it starts with a T?"

Huh, good to know I guess. If I ever need to take an alien out for some reason, I can just slip some candy into their food.

Stowing that likely useless information away in my brain, I bite into the chocolate, savoring my apparently strange human ability to safely consume it. Guess we didn't totally get the short end of the stick after all. Mind control magic is cool and all, but imagine not being able to eat chocolate. That's gotta blow.

My mind drifts back to Bill as I'm eating it, and what Cherry said about supplies being harder to get. She mentioned shipments getting attacked, is that really how bad things are now? And who are they getting attacked by, exactly? Random street thugs? Maybe something a little more organized? Is Cherry herself involved at all? I can't imagine she's all that discriminate with who she picks on. Lately I've been hearing rumors of larger groups, though. Not just gangs, something closer to straight up terrorist organizations. Nothing solid, mostly he said she said from my coworkers. Maybe they're more than rumors.

The walk passes in silence from then on, with me finishing my chocolate bar and tossing the wrapper in a nearby trash can. I'll admit, the gesture was small but made me feel better. Nice to know that the whole world isn't out to get me.

It's as I'm thinking this that a black van passes us by, slowing to a rather suspicious pace as it does. I suppress the instinct to move away from it, writing it off as more paranoia, but Cherry's quick to stop me. She sticks an arm out, holding me in place with a wide hand splayed across my chest. She's laser focused on the van, hood flaring outward. Seems she had the same gut reaction as me.

Nobody else seems to notice this. Not the pair of hybrids on the other end of the street, not the lone viper on her phone down the sidewalk, and not the sectoid chatting busily with a human woman. Only us.

The van gradually comes to a stop, and as soon as it does Cherry's hand switches from my chest to my arm. She practically yanks me to the side, ducking behind a car parked nearby and taking me with her. I'm about to call her reaction excessive when the van's doors burst open, and a group of armored figures pour out of it like a goddamn clown car.

A muton comes first, with pale yellow skin and some sort of bulletproof vest on. He's wielding a shotgun as long as my leg, and twice as thick. Behind him is a plain-scaled orange viper, dressed in similar attire and wielding an SMG. Finally, two sectoids in strange, beat-up looking clothes jump out after with rifles, both having a bandana around their mouth and goggles over their eyes. The strange aliens begin to point their weapons at every bystander in turn, causing them all to freeze on the spot. Nobody shoots, but I'm thankful to be taking cover behind this car all the same.

"Stay where you are!" The muton shouts, stomping through the street and toward a pair of civilians. It's the sectoid and human that I saw earlier, both visibly fighting the urge to run as their assailant advances. As soon as he's within arm's length, the muton clocks the sectoid up the side of his head, causing his head to snap sideways and his body to go limp. He crumples on the spot, the muton taking a fistful of his shirt before his head can hit the ground.

"H-hey!" The human shouts timidly. "What the hell are you doing!? Let go of him!"

She grabs onto the muton's arm as if she's going to stop him, completely ignoring the fact that his bicep is wider than her torso. He growls, backhanding her with his gun arm, and she flies a good foot before hitting the ground.

CRACK CRACK CRACK

Three shots connect with the muton's side, causing him to roar in pain. He stands strong regardless, attention shifting to one of the hybrids on the sidewalk. They've got a pistol out, clearly one of the old-fashioned kinds from before the occupation. It doesn't take long for one of the terrorists to respond, the orange viper cutting him down with a hail of gunfire. The first couple of shots hit the chest, causing him to stagger backward and drop his weapon. But the last few hit him in the head, violently chewing his skull to pieces. Chunk after bloody chunk flies off of his face, eyeballs, teeth and shards of bone scattering as everything above his neck is reduced to a pink mist.

His corpse falls to its knees, then forward onto the ground, assorted viscera spilling from his throat and painting the sidewalk red. I can't help but retch, fighting with all my might against the vomit rising in my throat.

Just as quickly as they came, the aliens pile back into their van and shut the doors behind them. It speeds off down the otherwise quiet street, leaving us all in terrible, mortified silence.

Cherry is the first to react, scruffing me by the back of my shirt and hauling me to my feet.

"Clyde." She says, shaking me when I don't respond. "Clyde! C'mon, focus. We shouldn't stay here."

The most I can do is nod, tearing my eyes away from the grisly sight and speeding toward home with Cherry in tow.

 

It isn't long before we arrive, our pace fueled by what we just witnessed. I practically toss my apartment door open, waiting until Cherry's inside to slam it shut again. I lock the knob and deadbolt shortly after, giving it a quick tug to ensure it's good before allowing myself to breathe.

We weren't followed, I'm almost sure of that. There'd be no point. Still, being home with the doors locked makes me feel so much safer.

I set the bag of groceries down on my kitchen counter, then prop my arms up on it and take a few deep breaths. I just watched someone's skull get obliterated. Blown to pieces, like a ripe tomato. The fact that it was technically an alien doesn't make it any less gross.

The memory causes me to gag again. I've seen some bloody things in my time, but never anything that extreme.

Cherry, for her part, doesn't appear to be nearly as fazed. She looks troubled to be sure, but not by the same thing as me.

"They're getting bold." She mutters. "I knew things were heating up, but to grab someone like that in broad daylight? Something's not right here. Morta ma, what are they up to?"

I'm wondering the same thing, myself. What in the hell was that? "Do you know what that was about?"

"Only kind of." She answers. "People aren't happy with the state of the city, haven't been for a long time. They want change, and they're willing to make it happen themselves if they have to. Some want to do that at a ballot box, others want to do it at gunpoint. They find anybody that feels the same way, band together, and use the numbers to their advantage. One of those groups started snatching up aliens recently, nobody knows why. If I had to guess, this was their handiwork."

Christ, that's the point we're at now? Terrorists rolling up in vans, kidnapping people and shooting anyone who tries to intervene? It's not even me specifically anymore, everybody has to worry about what might happen if they simply take a walk outside at the wrong time.

This is insane. I thought moving to the city from the camps would make us safer, I thought we'd be stepping out of the wilderness and into civilization. There's nothing civilized about this, there's no peace and order.

This is madness.

Anarchy.

How the hell are we supposed to live like this?

"Hey." Cherry bumps my arm lightly, lowering herself closer to my eye level. "You alright?" 

"No, I'm not alright! Why would anyone be alright after that!?" I snap.

"OK, easy." She urges, raising both hands. "Let's calm it down a little."

I bite down on my tongue to stop the first thing that comes to mind from tumbling out of my mouth, instead opting for a slightly more measured response. 

"I am sick of being told to calm down. Every single time something fucked up happens to me it's 'Just relax, man! Don't freak out, dude!' like I'm crazy or something! The mugging, the stalking, the getting felt up by strangers, all of it! When is it enough, huh? When am I allowed to be upset?" 

"Clyde. Clyde. Look at me." Her tone is firm, but not aggressive. "I'm not saying you can't be upset — hell, I'm upset. But panicking isn't going to get us anywhere. Remember that they're targeting aliens, not humans. Don't try to be a hero, and they have no reason to come after you." 

I wave her off, scooping up the grocery bags again and moving into the kitchen. "You don't get it. It isn't just about that, it's about everything that's going on. Political assassinations. kidnappings, armed insurgents in the streets. You said it yourself, even grocery stores are having their shipments attacked by criminals. This city as falling apart at the fucking seams, one problem at a time." 

"Oh, I know. Believe me, I know." She agrees. "But it's not the end of the world, and I don't say that to make light of things. Bad things happen, times get tough, guess what? Life goes on, anyway. It may not be pretty, but you'll live." 

"And what if I don't?" I ask tersely. "We're at a point where the price of food and water is jumping up several credits at a time overnight. Rent's probably going to follow too, and you can bet your ass my cheapskate boss isn't giving me a raise any time soon. What if I can't make rent and get evicted in the middle of winter? What if I catch a stray bullet to the dome meant for someone else? What if the next person to mug me isn't as 'merciful' as you are?" 

I stop myself, sighing harshly and opening the fridge to put things away. "I don't know why I'm asking you all this, not like you'd care." 

I'm startled by the sound of her slithering up behind me. I can practically feel her presence, the height difference only exacerbated by the fact that I'm leaning down. I'm expecting her to say something or touch me in some way, but instead I watch in a mix of apprehension and confusion as her head appears in the corner of my vision, long neck hovering over my shoulder. She examines the nearly bare interior of my fridge for a few seconds, then backs away, moving on to open one of my cupboards. 

"Uh, what are you doing?" 

"Checking something." She replies cryptically. 

There's nothing much in the cupboard she has open, only a bit of coffee and some toothpicks. So she moves on to another, finding a box of cereal. She shakes it real quick to feel that it's mostly empty, then picks a different door. 

"No, seriously. Why are you going through my stuff?" I demand.

She doesn't answer. She doesn't even bother looking at me as she checks the pantry, the silverware drawer, the cabinet where I keep my pots and pans, everything. My kitchen's tiny, so she manages to check everything before I can protest further. When she's done, she turns toward me, her face once again bearing a confusing expression. 

"I should've known." She sighs. 

"Should've known what!?" 

Cherry squeezes past me and into the living room, then begins to dig through one of her pockets while muttering something under her breath. She pulls out a fist full of credits, then drops them unceremoniously onto my coffee table. I follow her into the room and put my questions on hold to count them, finding 20 exactly. 

"For the love of god, Cherry, answer me! What are you doing!?" 

"Giving you your money back. You need it more than I do." 

I'm sorry, what? I glance between her and the credits several times, now dealing with two extremely bizarre occurrences in the past hour. "What the hell are you talking about?" 

"Believe it or not, I'm not completely heartless." She explains. "I have my limits. Things I won't do, lines I won't cross. And one of those things is robbing people that are poorer than me. I target people that I think can afford to take the hit. People that'll be a little shaken up after, but otherwise fine. Not people who might die because I shook them down for their pocket change." 

I should be happy. Logically speaking, I should absolutely be happy about this development, right? I've been mad about her robbing me all this time, and here she goes, giving me back exactly what she took without even being asked. 

For some reason, though, I'm not happy. The gesture feels less like a kindness and more like a slap in the face. She's not giving it back to me because she's realized that theft is wrong, she's giving it back out of pity. Because she thinks I'm so broke that I'll starve without it. Instead of relief or joy, all I feel is my temper threatening to rear its ugly head for the third time today. 

"Oh, fuck you!" I seethe. "Just because I'm not living in a penthouse downtown doesn't mean I'm that poor." 

Cherry folds her arms, clearly unimpressed by my defiance. "You just watched me root through your kitchen, Clyde. It's empty. Hardly anything in there but coffee, and maybe half a bowl of cereal."

"Yeah, which is why I needed to go to the store today!" 

"And why you got hardly anything." She retorts, inclining her head toward my single bag. "That'd last most people a few days, tops." 

"If that only lasts you a few days, then you're bad at rationing." 

One of her brows shoots up, and I realize that I've made a mistake. "Why are you rationing food if you're not poor?" 

I want to throw something. I want to toss things out my window so bad, I want to swipe everything off my coffee table and flip the whole thing over. But I don't. 

Deep breaths. Breathe. 

"Alright, fine. Maybe I'm not the most well off." I manage to admit. "So what? Do you think this redeems you, somehow? Do you think it makes you some kind of Robin Hood instead of a two-bit thug?" 

"No." She counters flatly. "I'm not a good person, I know that. Got tired of crying over it a long time ago. But it's like I said, just 'cause I'm not a whiny sap doesn't mean I'm stone cold all the way through. I can still want to mitigate the damage I cause, y'know? I can still feel solidarity for everyone that's out there struggling, just like me and my sisters. Case in point, you." 

Her tone softens a touch at the last sentence, and there's an uncharacteristic hint of sympathy in her eyes as it does. It's faint, muted, maybe even restrained. But it's there, and that makes it conflicting. Both touching and in a way even more aggravating. 

"Oh, wow. Solidarity. Thanks, that sure makes me feel better about getting mugged!" I exclaim dryly. 

This snake has the raw, unmitigated gall to look annoyed by my reaction. "This again? I thought we were past this." 

"No! We're definitely not past it!" I nearly shout. "I got tired of complaining about it constantly, sure. That's not the same as me being over it." 

"Well what more do you want me to say!?" She asks, throwing her hands up. "I'm sorry, alright? Is that what you want to hear?" 

It is, actually. Or at least it would be, if she didn't sound so begrudging about it. "Yeah, right. You being sorry about something? That'll be the day." 

"I mean it! Look, I—" Cherry gears up as if she's about to get loud, then stops, visibly forcing herself to relax. "I know what I do is wrong. It's bad, it hurts people, I get that. But I keep telling you, it's not personal. I don't enjoy doing it, and I try my best to make it as painless as possible. I know we got off to a shitty start, and I probably wouldn't like me either if I was in your shoes. But..." 

It's rare to see her trip over her words like this. Usually she seems so much more self assured, like she knows exactly what she wants to say about everything in advance. Now, it's like watching someone fumble around in the dark for a lightswitch. 

She struggles for a few more seconds, and with considerable effort, manages to force out the words she's stuck on. 

"I like you. Maybe you don't like me, and that's fine, but I don't want you to end up homeless or starving because of me. So, here it is: I'm sorry for robbing you. Seriously, I wish I hadn't. Here's your money back." 

She gestures limply to the credits on the table, and an uneasy silence settles in between us. 

"...Why?" I ask after a moment. 

"What do you mean, why? I just explained." 

"No, I mean why do you 'like' me? Is it because you think I'm cute? Is this just some ploy to get into my pants? Are you trying to bribe me into forgetting what you did?" 

"Wha— No!" She says, recoiling sharply. "I mean I care about what happens to you, no sex involved."

"Oh, that's rich." I sneer. "You don't get to have it both ways, Cherry. You don't get to rob me and then say you care afterward just because you like me all of a sudden. It doesn't actually fix anything, you know that right?" 

Her nostrils flare as she takes a deep breath, clenching and unclenching her fists. "Damn it Clyde, I'm trying to do something nice for you here. Why are you being so difficult about it?" 

Christ, I don't have the energy for this right now. I rub my temple to soothe the headache I'm developing, eager to put my groceries away and lay down for a while. 

"Forget it. Just go." I begin bitterly. "Thanks for the money, get out of my apartment. I don't need anything else from you." 

She wants to argue. I know she does, it's plain as day by the way she's standing. And I almost think she's going to, at first. Much to my relief, though, she doesn't. The most I get is some quiet cursing under her breath as she heads for the door, clearly not intent on fighting me over it this time. 

I count the one blessing I've received today as she slithers outside, coming just shy of slamming the door shut behind her. Once more, the room is plunged into silence. It isn't any more comfortable now than it was before. 

Notes:

Do you like vipers? How about dragons? Deathclaws? Other assorted, perhaps anthropomorphic creatures? Then you might like The Viper Pit, which is a discord server centered around all of the things mentioned above. It's focused on writing and art, providing a space for creators to help each other out and share their work. Even if you just want to read, it's a great place to find new stories. If you like my work, you'll probably like a lot of what gets posted there too.

https://discord.gg/vzedRgpyjt

No pressure of course, but feel free to join if it sounds interesting. You'll find me on there too, albeit under a different name.

Chapter 8: A Matter of Perspective

Notes:

IMPORTANT NOTE: I decided to rewrite the ending of last chapter pretty significantly. The reasons for this are complicated, but the short version is that I rushed it instead of thinking it through. Several things didn't come across the way I intended them to, and it perpetuated a few issues that I've been trying to fix. The new ending is more in line with what I actually wanted the scene to accomplish when I first planned it out.

You ever lose interest in something that you used to love? 

It sneaks up on you, sometimes. You think to yourself, yeah, I'd like to go do that right now. That'll cheer me up. So you do, only to find out that it doesn't. You think everything's gonna be great, and then you have that hollow, disappointing moment of 'oh' where you realize that you're supposed to be having fun and just... aren't, for some reason. 

That's about where I'm at right now, swirling my drink idly as I stare out into space. 

Normally, I love bars. The atmosphere, the people, the snacks, everything. Not vomiting after a mere whiff of alcohol took some work on my part, but once I got there, man was it worth it. Especially once I figured out how much more fun people are after a few beers. Most nights, hitting up a bar would be a great way to unwind and blow off some steam after a stressful week. 

Just not this week, apparently.

I almost feel scammed, in a way. Robbed. And don't worry, the irony of that statement isn't lost on me. Why aren't I enjoying this? Why aren't I having a good time? 

Who am I kidding? I know why. And evidently, so does somebody else. The feeling of eyes on me gets too strong to tune out, so I reluctantly look over at the viper seated to my right. She looks like me in a lot of ways, only a lot thinner, and wearing sunglasses. Indoors. At night. 

"What?" I ask gruffly, already bored of our impromptu staring contest. 

"Are you ready to talk yet?" 

I roll my eyes, looking away from her and taking a half-hearted sip of my drink. Tempted as I am to drown my problems in poison, it's some fruity low-content shit that's probably 90% water. 

"About what?" 

"Sister." She says flatly. "Do not play dumb." 

I think about it for a moment, tapping my claws against the glass in thought. 

"You've got five minutes." 

Sal gets that stupid grin on her face, that little smile she has whenever she's real proud of herself but doesn't want to gloat. "That is all the time I will need. Now, look over there." 

Raising a brow, I turn around to peek over my shoulder. She's pointing toward a group of human guys at the back of the bar, dressed in casual clothes. Jeans and t shirts, mostly. A few weeks ago, I might've been sizing them up, trying to figure out who'd be easy to rob and who'd be easy to pick up. But tonight, I don't feel interested in any of them. Not even the tan one with the long hair. I usually love running my fingers through the stuff. 

"What am I looking at, exactly?" 

"Those men." 

"Yeah? What about them?" 

Sal snorts, her point having been made. "You have hardly paid attention to them all night. You are distracted, and I think we both know by what." 

"Yeah, alright, you got me." I groan. "I'm not feeling it tonight, so what? That a crime?" Not that I'd care if it was. 

"Oh, you are very much 'feeling it', I know that you are. Only, for someone who is not here right now." 

I huff, but don't really have a better rebuttal. "What's your goal here. huh? Are you just looking to rib me for no reason right now?" 

"Cherry!" She gasps dramatically. "How could you imply such a thing about your dear, sweet sister? You know that I only want what is best for you." 

"And you want to tease me." 

"And I want to tease you, yes." She admits. "But that is not the point. I really do want to help you." 

"Sal, c'mon. It's not happening." 

She shakes her head, frustratingly insistent on pushing the issue. "It can, but only if you are willing to work for it." 

"I'm telling you, he's not into me! That's how it goes sometimes, doesn't need to be a big deal." 

"Pfft. He is absolutely into you." She scoffs. 

"Oh yeah? And how would you know?" 

In reply, Sal pulls her glasses down for a moment, peering smugly at me over the rim of them. Her eyes are the only answer that I need. 

"You didn't." I hiss.

"I told you that I did." 

I resist the urge to slam my glass into the counter, knowing it'll shatter into a million pieces and that I'll have to pay for it. "Motherfucker, you said it was only a little!" 

"It was!" She insists innocently, pushing her shades back into place. "Nothing intrusive! He was open, all I had to do was listen. Feel. You should try it some time."

"Oh ha ha, very funny." I say, choosing to ignore the barb. Instead of writing her off again though, I consider what she's saying, mulling the idea over in my head. "Was it really that bad?" 

Her grin widens. "You have no idea." 

I can't help but frown, downing another swig of beer while I think. "I don't get it. He doesn't laugh at any of my jokes, he gets all creeped out whenever I try to flirt with him, and he's still pretty torn up about the whole robbery thing. You're saying he likes me? You're sure?" 

"I am saying he could." She corrects. "He finds you attractive, that much you already know. But getting him to like you as a person, that is another matter entirely." 

"I could have told you that, genius." I grouse. "What do you think I should do, then?" 

She takes a frustratingly long draw from her own glass for dramatic effect, which is twice as obnoxious when I remember that she's drinking water. 

"I think you should be nicer to him." 

Seriously? "...That's it?" 

"Yes."

"That's all you got for me? Be nicer to him?" 

"That is indeed what I said." 

I flop down onto the counter, forehead thumping against it as I let out an exhausted groan. 

"Should've known you were fucking with me."

Sal pats me on the back in a manner that comes across as both condescending and genuine at the same time. "No, I mean it. The poor boy is terrified of you, and for good reason." 

"But I am nice to him!" I protest, sitting up to look at her. "I mean, I gave him his money back, I've saved his ass two, maybe three times now, I go out of my way to babysit and look out for him when I really don't need to, what else am I supposed to do!?" 

"You are nice to him by your standards, yes. But your standards are somewhat... skewed, sister." 

"Oh?" 

The viper taps her chin, carefully considering her choice of words. "You are loud, rough and abrasive. It serves us well in our line of work, but when it comes to wooing human men? Not so much." 

"Hey, I can be charming!" I protest. "I mean, Ma usually has me handle negotiations for a reason, right?" 

"Yes, that reason being that you are terrifying." Sal snickers. "Scaring people is your strong suit. You are good at intimidating them into obedience, but intimidation is not how you get love. It is how you get a slave. Is that what you want? A subservient doormat, who only pretends to care about you for fear of reprisal?"

Doesn't take me long to think it over. "No." I confirm wearily.

Sal grins again in response, this time in a manner that's more encouraging than teasing. 

"See? I knew you were better than that. If you want someone to love you, then you must be willing to open yourself up to them. You must be gentle and patient with them. And most of all, you need them to trust you. That cannot happen when you are so aggressive." 

"So how do I handle it? How do I talk to him if I want to make things better?" 

"I told you: be nice. But above that, open up to him. Tell him the truth, help him understand. If he has questions, answer them. Do not snap at him, and do not hide things, even if they may be uncomfortable to admit." 

I polish off the rest of my drink, eyes stuck at the bottom of the glass. There's a knot forming in my stomach suddenly, and it's not from the alcohol. "It's not that easy, sis. You know that." 

"Maybe not. But you have done it before, no? You can do it again." 

The implication bounces right off me, at first. But once I get what she's saying, my eyes narrow so fast that I can physically feel it happening. 

"You're not suggesting..." 

"I am." 

"No." My tone is firm enough that most people would know better than to keep going. Sal, unfortunately, is not most people. 

"Cherry—"

"Don't you 'Cherry' me! I said no!" 

Her sigh is faint enough that I know she was expecting this reaction. For some reason though, she chose to poke the bear anyway. 

"Relax, you are overreacting." She pleads. 

For the briefest, teeny tiniest of moments, I'm filled with the urge to clock her. I would never do that, of course. She's my sister. But the feelings she's managed to dig up are explosive. That's the worst part, they aren't normally this bad. Usually it's just a rough chapter of my life that I can look back on and laugh at, but right now? Right now, it hurts. The memories are making me tense in a way that they shouldn't be able to all this time later. 

"Overreacting?" I snarl. "The smokes haven't been fucking with your memory, have they?" 

"No, I remember." 

"Then why the hell are you bringing this up? You're out of your mind if you think I'm doing any of that ever again." 

"I am not saying that you need to go all the way." She clarifies. "What I am proposing is more of a healthy balance. A middle ground. Some concessions must be made on your part if you truly want this man to like you." 

I wave the bartender over hastily, licking my dry lips. Gonna need a lot more alcohol in me to make this conversation tolerable. 

"And what if I don't?" I ask sharply. "Plenty of other guys in the city, right? Guys I haven't robbed. Maybe this one's a bust, I could just find a new one and start over." 

She does it again, that infuriating little smile. "Then go ahead, by all means. There are three right there." 

She gestures toward that table of human men again. I don't even bother turning around. 

"Damn it." I curse, downing my second glass of beer. I hardly even taste it on the way down, only catching a vague whiff before it's gone.

"I thought so. You like this one, you are attached to him." 

The bartender, an older human man with a moustache, refills my drink without being asked. I nod appreciatively at him before taking a much more controlled sip than last time. 

"I am. He's cute, he's nice, and he's got a bit of backbone, but not too much for his own good." 

"And?" She asks expectantly. 

I furrow my brow as much as I can, even though we both know she's got me. "What do you mean 'and'?" 

"There is more to it than that. I want to know what." 

Yeah, the jig is up. I look away for a second, tracing a nail around the rim of my glass as I figure out how I want to say this. 

"He reminds me of 'Liz." 

"...Ah." 

Ah. That's it, that's all she's got to say. Ah. 

Can't say I blame her, personally. It's not exactly a fun topic, I wouldn't know how to reply to that either. 

"He's just like her, in a lot of ways. Young, innocent, trying to make his way in this shithole of a city while keeping his nose clean. He's managed so far, more or less, but he's one good accident away from having it all come crashing down." I pause to take another sip, struggling to hold my somber tone at bay. "One little slip, that's all it takes. One wrong turn into an alleyway at night. Hell — he almost had it, too. If I hadn't been there when he got jumped by that faceless? Shit. Who knows what would've happened." 

For the first time all night, Sal's quiet. 

"So, you want to ensure that what happened to her doesn't happen to him?" She finally asks.

"Bingo." 

It feels ironic to admit, considering I robbed the guy. I didn't know, at the time. Maybe I should've. 

"And did you start to feel this way before or after you mugged him?" 

It's hard to tell whether or not she's joking, but the point is fair either way. "After. I know that's hypocritical of me, but in my defense, I didn't think I'd ever care for the guy this much. When I first saw him, I was lonely and figured, fuck it, what do I have to lose? Turns out the answer is more than I was expecting." 

I can already hear Ma yelling at me in my head. What was I thinking, getting attached to one of my victims like that? Why'd I go and do something so stupid? 

"So, we have established that you like him, and that you care about him. We have established what needs to happen if you want this to go anywhere. Now the question is, what are you going to do?"

There's an uncomfortable tightness in my chest that I can't seem to shake. It's a feeling I know and hate, the feeling of vulnerability. You'd think I wouldn't be feeling it right now, wouldn't you? I mean, I've been beaten, shot, stabbed, burned, and even survived Ma's crude chip-breaking process. I put myself in danger every week, and hardly even flinch. But this, this is the thing that gets me. The idea of opening myself up to somebody. Dropping the facade. 

Morta ma, I'm pathetic. 

"I know what I should do." I begin hesitantly. "But what if it backfires on me? What if it all blows up in my face again, and the whole thing turns out to be for nothing? Then what? Where does that leave me?" 

Sal reaches over to gently massage my shoulder, eyes barely visible over the top of her shades. "You must let go of the past, sister. I know it is not easy, but you must remember: Clyde is not Allen. Clyde is not Tim. Clyde is not Matthew. Clyde is Clyde, and you cannot punish him for the actions of men that he has no association with. By your own admission, he is different from the others, no?" 

"Maybe." I mutter. "That's the scary part, I don't know for sure. I mean, I've got a decent feel for the guy, but let's say I do somehow manage to salvage this trainwreck. He could be very different once he's not worried I'll pummel him for stepping out of line." 

"Doubtful. Even if it wasn't, I believe the risk is worth the reward." She shrugs. "He seems nice. If you are too scared to make a move on him, perhaps I will." 

"Touch him, and I'll peel the scales off you like an orange." 

"There's the Cherry I know." She chuckles, raising her glass of water in a mock toast. 

I appreciate her encouragement more than I'll say out loud, and I think she knows it. I'm not really in the business of trusting anyone other than myself, but my sisters are the sole exception. Sal especially. I can't say for sure that I'd respond this well to the exact same advice coming from, say, Pip. Not because I have anything against her, but because if there's anyone that knows anything about moving on after being treated like shit, it's Sal. 

Right as I'm on the verge of saying something, a buzzing in my pocket cuts me off. I reach into one of my jacket's inner pockets, pulling out an old, black cell phone with a scratched up screen. It's clear enough though that I can recognize the name on the screen.

"Damn it, gotta take this. One sec." 

My sister nods patiently, keeping quiet while I hold the phone up to my ear. "Hello?" 

"Cherry." A plain female voice greets me from the other end of the line. "How are you tonight?" 

"Fine, fine." That's not true exactly, but I don't think she's calling to ask about my fucked up love life. "Something up?" 

"Yeah. Two somethings, actually. First, I've been looking into that personal matter you asked about. Nothing solid yet, but I think I've got a lead for you. Stop by my office next time you're here, and we can discuss it." 

I perk up a little at the idea, taking a celebratory drink. "Hey, I'll take what I can get. Appreciate it, Xug." 

"Sure. Second thing, you owe me 300 credits." 

My heart jumps into my throat, and I squeeze the glass so hard it almost cracks. 

"I'm sorry, I owe you WHAT!?" 

"Remember that last shipment you brought me? Well, I went over the manifest again, and it turns out it was one item short. That item was worth 300 credits." 

"And you think I stole it!?" I ask incredulously. 

"I didn't say that." She clarifies. "But, you're my point of contact for the whole operation, you know? So, I'm informing you that I'm short 300 credits, and somebody has to pay. Now if you were to find whoever did steal it..." 

Ah. Clever bitch, aren't you? "Then I'd be off the hook?" 

"Exactly. Tell you what: I'll even throw in a little bonus if you can get the item back for me, as a show of good faith." 

With that extra bit of info on the table, I allow myself to relax a little. She doesn't actually expect me to pay her all that money. She just wants her merch back, and she's lighting a fire under my tail to make it happen. 

"Phew, really had me going for a second there Xug." 

She doesn't laugh, but I can hear the traces of a smile in her voice. "Ooo, feeling confident, are we? Already have a suspect in mind?" 

"Oh yeah. I know exactly who to talk to." I pin the phone between my head and my shoulder, already cracking my knuckles in preparation. "What's the item?" 

"Mk. II Dry Heat." 

"Gotcha. Expect me some time tomorrow." 

"I look forward to it." 

She hangs up, and I stuff my phone back into my jacket before downing my last beer of the night. I've probably had enough to get your average human drunk at this point, but all I've got is a light buzz going. Not enough alcohol to slow me down, but enough that I'm in the perfect mood to knock somebody's teeth out.

"Boss called. Something was missing from the last drop off." I explain. "Pretty sure Ricky nabbed it, so I'm gonna go have a polite chat with him. You wanna come with?" 

"Tempting, but no." Sal answers. "I think I might stay here for a little while. Don't worry, I'll take care of the tab. You go have fun." 

I nod gratefully, tapping my forearm against hers. "Thanks sis. For everything." 

"Any time." 

Feeling mildly better than I was when we entered, I slither out of the bar and into the rapidly dimming evening. 

 

 

 

It doesn't take me long to find the guy's apartment. 

See, I've never actually been here, since most of our meetings happen on the street. But when the two of us started working together, I decided to take a little precaution. I picked up his scent, got Pip to shadow him for a while, and nailed down a rough location for where he might live. I was never actively planning to do anything with the information, of course. But it was some nice insurance to have, just in case he ever decided to, I dunno, steal 300 credits worth of cargo and leave me with the bill?

Like I said, I'm not exactly the trusting type. 

Sure enough, a few minutes of poking around the building later, and I find a door that smells just like him. Hard to say for sure, but I think he's home, too. Poor guy has no idea what's coming to him. 

After straightening out my jacket and taking a few deep breaths to get myself in character, I tap my nails gently against the aged wood of his apartment door. There's a few seconds of silence, then footsteps as he walks over from inside. Judging by the way they stop, he's probably looking at me through the peephole. Instead of scaring my way in, I keep my body language relaxed. Loose shoulders, hood drawn in, like I'm casually visiting a friend. After all, that's why I'm here, right? All we're gonna do is have a friendly chat, and ol' Ricky here's going to explain to me how this is all a silly misunderstanding, before handing the missing merch over nice and easy. I'm definitely not about to break this guy's legs in his own home, no ma'am. 

Finally, the door opens up. Standing on the other side is Richard, a scrawny hybrid kid with big eyes and sticky fingers. Not a literal kid, of course. But for some reason, he kinda reminds me of one. 

"C-cherry." He stutters in a mildly high-pitched voice. "What are you doing here?" 

"Heeeey Rick." I drawl, putting on a faint smile for him. "How's it going?" 

"Uhhh, good? I guess? But you didn't really answer my question." His eyes are shifting around wildly, and he leans over to peek past me as if there are more vipers waiting outside. Smart, but not this time. 

"What, a gal can't pay a visit to a friend?" I retort innocently. 

He opens his mouth, and I can tell exactly what he wants to say by the look on his face. We aren't friends. Fortunately, he chooses to hold the comment back instead. 

"How do you know where I live? I don't think I ever gave you my address." 

That's right, you didn't. "Bah, don't worry about that. I got my ways. Can I come in?" 

I swear, I can see the little gears turning in his head. He knows something's up. But with the door open, it's already too late. I've managed to inch forward ever so slightly, so that if he tries to slam it shut, I'll catch it. 

Realizing that he's sunk, he steps out of the way, oh so graciously allowing me to slither inside. I'm vividly reminded of Clyde for a moment, since I pulled something similar on him the day I went to return his knife. Now, in my defense, I didn't do it on purpose that time. It was more a force of habit. Still, I'm starting to see what Sal was saying earlier. Not sending him the best signals with stuff like that, am I? 

"S-so, is this about uh... You know, work?" Ricky asks, shutting the door behind me. 

"Yep." I don't offer any more explanation quite yet, instead opting to take in my surroundings. His apartment's pretty simple. A faded green cloth couch, a short, square coffee table, and not much else. He's got a TV set up across from it, but it looks so beat-up that I'd be surprised if it actually worked. The setup actually reminds me of Clyde's living room. 

Damn it, can I stop being reminded of Clyde for a minute? Kind of in the middle of something, here. 

Getting back to business, there isn't a whole lot in here. The couch and table are the only furniture, which means if he was going to pull a weapon out of somewhere, it'd be the couch. He could potentially have something on him now, but by the way he's awkwardly hovering near the door instead of putting distance between us, I don't think he does. I'd be on him before he could get it out anyway, no point. 

In other words, he's toast. 

"Alright, Ricky." I begin nonchalantly. "Remember those rules I laid out when we first started working together?" 

He pauses, then nods. "Yeah. Don't lie to you, don't make you repeat yourself, and don't try anything stupid." 

"Smart kid." I roll my neck to the side, audibly cracking it once, then look down at him. "So, where is it?" 

"W-where's what?" 

Wrong answer. I don't outwardly react yet, instead slowly creeping a few feet toward him. "C'mon now, what did we just discuss?" 

The hybrid realizes his mistake, backing up against the door for space. Probably shouldn't have closed it on yourself, buddy. 

"Wait, wait! I don't get it, what are you looking for!?"

"Oh, you know exactly what I'm looking for." I sneer, planting a hand on the wall beside him. "Don't make me ask again." 

"I don't! I swear, I have no idea what you're— HMPH!" 

I reach out with my free hand, grabbing him by the cheeks and holding his mouth shut. At this point, there's no need to put on appearances. I drop the act completely, letting my eyes burn holes into his own. Adrenaline is pouring off of him in waves, filling the air around us like a cloud. Once upon a time, the scent alone would've driven me to violence. Even with my chip removed, I can still feel it. The urges they conditioned into us from birth. To some extent, the damage done is permanent. A trace of the past that'll never fully go away.

But I'm different now, and I have restraint. This kid doesn't need to die. I just need to scare him into making the right choice. 

"Since we've been working together so long, I'm gonna help you out here, Rick." I whisper. "You stole something from the last shipment, I'm here to get it back. That much you already know, right?" 

He doesn't answer. Doesn't even try to nod or shake his head. He just stares at me with his eyes wide. 

"What you probably don't know is that the item you stole is worth 300 credits. Xug wants it back, and she wants it back bad. Bad enough that she was willing to stick me with the bill for it." 

Realization flickers in his eyes. Good, we're getting somewhere. 

"Yeaaaah, you get it now, don't you? 300 credits is a lot of money, Ricky. Do you have any idea the things I'd do to someone for that kind of cash?" I let that sentence hang in the air for a moment, then bring my face closer to his. "Maybe the better question is, do you want to find out?" 

"Mmm, mmm mm!" He shakes his head vehemently. 

"Alright. Then I'm gonna let go of your mouth, and you're gonna get one last chance to tell me what I want to know, cota?" 

I let go. He takes a second to breathe, then points behind me. 

"T-the couch." He mumbles. "Under the couch." 

Just to make sure he doesn't try anything, I grab him by the shirt and drag him along with me as I move toward it. One hand's still holding onto him, so I wedge another beneath the dusty underside, and lift. Sure enough, there's a little black box with some white serial numbers sitting under it. 

I'm honestly pretty surprised. The couch should've seemed obvious, given that there's not many other places to put it in here, but what kind of idiot leaves something this dangerous under their couch? The kind named Rick, apparently. 

"See!" He practically shouts. "There it is! I wasn't lying!" 

Reluctantly, I let him go, snatching the box up and peeking inside. Everything looks to be good, nothing missing. Or at least nothing I can see. I doubt Ricky knows how to take one of these things apart without losing a hand in the process. 

"Why'd you do it?" I ask plainly, setting the couch back down. "You weren't planning to use this thing, were you?" 

"No! God, no." He exclaims. "But... Well, I met these guys who were. Maybe. They were talking about making life better for us, aliens stuck in the city. They didn't give me any details, said they couldn't for security reasons. But they offered me a lot of money if I could get one of these to them. More than what Xug pays." 

Hm. Handing it off to another buyer for more credits is about what I expected from a guy like him, but making life better for aliens? Who exactly was he gonna give this to? 

"Who?" My tone is firm, and doesn't leave much room for argument. He hesitates before answering. 

"I don't know. They wouldn't give me their names, not yet at least. Maybe that would've changed, if I managed to deliver." 

There are traces of sadness in his voice. Not disappointment that he won't be getting paid, something deeper. Heartfelt. Whoever he was going to sell this to, he probably thinks it was the right thing to do. On some level, I can respect that. He probably isn't lying to me, either.

Making sure the box is sealed, I place the thing gently inside one of my inner pockets. Shouldn't be too fragile, but I don't want to risk any accidents. Especially not after going through all this work for it. 

"You said you needed this job, right?" 

"I did, yeah." He admits, looking at the floor. "Look, I know I messed up, and I'm sorry. I didn't think she'd notice if one little thing was missing. Do you, uh... Do you think she'll let me stay on after this?" 

Under other circumstances, I would've laughed in his face. Here and now, though? I'm not so sure. 

"Y'know, your stupidity may have just done us all a favor, Rick. How 'bout this: you stay here, relax for a while, rethink your loyalties. I'll see if I can smooth things over with the boss. Doubt she'll trust you with legwork again, but we may have another use for you." 

Rather than relieved or hopeful, he looks scared. "Beggars can't be choosers, I guess." 

"Did it to yourself, pal." I shrug. "Anyway, that concludes our business for the night. You sit tight, we'll contact you with news." 

"How? You don't have my phone number, do you?" 

"Don't need it." 

My meaning doesn't click with him right away. When it does, he looks even less happy than before. 

Satisfied that I'm not about to have a hole chewed through my finances, I pop his door open and slither outside, careful not to catch my tail when I close it again. Now, I could take this to Xug right now. It'd probably be safer. But home's closer, and I already said I'd see her tomorrow. Maybe I oughta relax, do some thinking. Yeah, that sounds good. I know I was getting on Ricky's case for leaving this thing under his couch, but I'm sure it'll survive a night in my closet. 

With my mind made up, I head for home. 

 

 

 

The next morning...

 

BZZZT. BZZZT. BZZZT. 

I feel around blindly for my phone on the nightstand, finally finding it after a couple tries. I poke at the place where I think the button is to kill the alarm, but for some reason it keeps going. 

Cursing under my breath, I will my eyes to open, turning over in bed to see what the problem is. Thin beams of sunlight filter in through the gaps in the blinds, illuminating the otherwise dim room. Did I oversleep? 

No. When I pick up my phone, there isn't an alarm. I'm actually being called. Tap the button to accept, holding it up to my ear begrudgingly. 

"What?" I yawn, not bothering to hide my grogginess. 

"Cherry!" The voice is familiar, and frantic. It's cut off by the sound of something heavy slamming in the background, and somebody yelling. "Cherry, I need your help!" 

It takes my brain a minute to fully wake up and process what I'm hearing. I recognize that voice. 

It's Clyde. 

Notes:

I don't plan to have more chapters from Cherry's POV, this was just a one-time thing that I felt would be fun and help the story a bit. If you guys really liked it, I could potentially shift some things around to have more of them in the future, but in general I don't like excessive POV hopping in stories.

Chapter 9: Found

Notes:

Happy New Year! Been a while, hasn't it? We're starting the year of the snake off right with a big chapter update. Because it's been a while since the last one, I recommend going back and reading the previous chapter if you don't remember what happened. Certain events from it are naturally going to be VERY relevant to this one.

"For the last time ma'am, no. We do not take coupons." 

The elderly human in front of me gapes, staring like I'm speaking to her in binary. She peers down at the weather piece of paper in her hand, up at me, and then down again from behind her round glasses. She has pale skin, green eyes, and white hair that's surprisingly curly for someone her age.

"What kind of store doesn't take coupons!?" She demands. "Every store takes coupons!" 

"This is a thrift store." I remind her, brow furrowed. "Not Supermart." 

"Some thrift stores take coupons!" 

I stop, close my eyes, and take a deep breath. 

"OK, but ours doesn't." 

She's flabbergasted. Absolutely stumped. Perplexed by the knowledge that this coupon she's fished out of lord knows where is not valid at this random store she's probably never been to. 

"This doesn't make any sense." She mutters, focus no longer on me. "I've been here before. They take coupons. I swear they do." 

My first instinct is to just say that she's crazy and leave it at that. Unfortunately, I doubt that's going to get her out of my hair. Maybe if I can figure out where the hell this coupon's actually valid, I can look it up and direct her there instead.

"Ahem. Miss, can I see the coupon, please?" I ask, holding out a hand. She looks confused, but also a little relieved, placing it gently in my palm. Let's see here, RN Thrift? Probably the same type of store as us. 

I hold up a finger in a 'hold on' gesture, then take out my phone and punch the address into my browser. With how slow our wifi is here, the loading takes a minute. But once it pops up, I find a store under that name on...

Huh. 

The store's address is the exact same as ours. I zoom in on the picture to be sure, and yup, that's our building. Below the name is a big red banner that reads 'PERMANENTLY CLOSED'.

I turn my eyes back to the coupon, searching for an expiration date. When I finally spot it, everything comes together. 

"...I'm afraid you're a few years too late, ma'am." 

"What?" She asks, tilting her head. 

"This coupon's for RN Thrift. This is South Fringe Thrift. RN was the business here before us, pre-invasion. The coupon's expiration date was 8/27/13 — 27 years ago." 

I hold it out for her, and she takes it back, adjusting her glasses to get a better look. Waiting for her to slowly make out each tiny number is agonizing, but she does manage it. Eventually. 

"So the place closed down, and they used the building to open another thrift store?" She asks. 

"I'm just as surprised as you." I admit with a shrug. "What are the odds, right?" 

She sighs, stuffing the worthless piece of paper into the pocket of her coat, then looks back at me. "I'm really sorry. I shouldn't have given you such a hard time about it." 

Try as I might, I don't have it in me to stay mad at her. She's old, probably been living here a real long time. Plus, the knowledge that our store opened up on the corpse of another thrift shop is funny enough that the tension's been defused.

"It happens. I take it you used to go to the old place a lot?" 

"I did." She nods. "With my husband." 

And just like that, the mood's back down again. She looks sad, for a moment, but brushes it off, taking a step away from the counter. 

"Sorry again. I.... I think I'm going to go now. You have a nice day, young man." 

With a small wave, she's off. 

Once she's through the door and out of view, I allow myself to breathe, and my shoulders to slump. That isn't the turn I was expecting that to take. Annoying customers are dime-a-dozen in this line of work, and nine times out of ten they end the same way. That way is not by mentioning their dead husband, in case you were wondering. 

Still, the whole thing makes me think — It's crazy how people can just move on from all these life-changing events, isn't it? I look around the store, taking in the admittedly simple sight of its interior. A relatively large, square room, separated into rows of metallic white shelves and racks. Clothes, toys, board games, kitchenware... All surprisingly mundane things, given the circumstances.

Aliens invaded, conquered our government, and people just kept on living. They went to work, they made food, they played Monopoly with their families. Then XCOM showed up to tear it all down, and guess what? For most of those people, life went on, same as usual. 

The Fringe is one of the oldest districts in City 31, surpassed only by Old Town itself. Almost all of these buildings were here before the aliens. When ADVENT took over the city, all of these buildings remained mostly untouched. Now they're gone, we're all free, and guess what? Same old buildings, same part of town.

The thrift store that used to operate here went out of business, and there's a non-zero chance it happened because the owner got eaten by a goddamn Chryssalid. Yet here we are, 27 whole years later, with a brand new store of the same type in the same building. Not much changed. It's all still here. 

How did Cherry put it? Rent's still due, and the Earth still spins. 

It's surreal. But more than that, it's inspiring, in a way. Terrorists attack a museum , the mayor gets blown to pieces live on air, kidnappings happen in the streets. Here I am though, still at work. And when my shift's over, I'll probably go home, eat some food, watch a little TV, and then go to bed to do it all again the next day as if there's not a crisis happening right now. 

Life goes on. If this stupid thrift store can survive a literal alien invasion and three changes of government, maybe I'll make it out of all this alive. Maybe I really will be OK. 

The storage room door clicks open behind me, and I turn to find a lanky, pink figure slinking out. I consider myself to be a little thin, but this guy's downright emaciated. If he was human, I'd tell him to see a doctor. He's got a surprisingly snazzy black polo shirt on, with a baggy pair of blue jeans. A woolen red scarf is wrapped around his neck and lower face, covering what would otherwise be an exposed set of human(ish) teeth. It does nothing, however, to conceal his bulbous head or pitch-black eyes. 

"Morning, Zed." I yawn, shooting him a half-hearted wave. Two small, grey devices are affixed to the sides of his head, resting on each ear like parts of a wireless headset. There are two glass pieces on them with an LED light, both of which begin to glow blue as he addresses me. 

"I believe it is afternoon, Clyde." A calm, synthetic voice says for him. It's not exactly monotone, but it's not especially expressive either. 

I shrug, going back to staring out the glass door and windows at the front of the store. It's pretty quiet today, even outside of the store. Not many people on the sidewalk. Maybe that's a good thing, I could use a bit of peace and quiet. 

Zed shuffles up to my side, his footsteps both clumsy and soft at the same time. I'm leaning forward with both elbows on the counter, but instead of joining me he just stands there, following my gaze out the windows like he's trying to see what I see. 

"Is everything alright?" He eventually asks. "You appear to be bothered by something." 

"It's been a rough week." I answer, not really wanting to elaborate. Fortunately he doesn't press the issue, likely knowing that this isn't the 'talk it out' sort of funk. Perks of being a sectoid, I guess.

By law, almost all of them have to wear psionic dampeners. Little machines that prevent them from throwing shit or controlling minds. Even with the dampeners on, though, they can faintly sense the emotions of those around them. Not enough to read your mind or tell exactly what you're thinking — just enough to get a good feel for your mood. 

And cheat at cards, apparently. Clever bastard.

"Oh! Would you like to see a picture of Heather?" He asks abruptly. "She always makes me feel better when I am sad." 

Heather, Heather... It takes my brain a second to recognize the name. "That's your cat, right?" 

"Yes!" He starts taking his phone out without waiting for an actual answer to his first question, but I don't stop him. I like cats. I mean, I haven't ever seen one in person, but they look pretty cute in all the pictures and videos online. 

Eventually he finds a good one, and leans over to show me his phone. I look down to find a picture of a fluffy little animal on the screen, with a grey-furred body and a white-furred face. It's got a pointy snout, two round, black ears, pink fingers, and, uh, a rat-like tail? Hold on. 

"This the right picture?" I ask, cocking a brow at him. 

Zed tilts his head, double checking that it is before turning back to me. "Yes? Is something wrong with her?" 

"Zed. That's a possum." 

"What? No, that is a cat!" He insists. "Look: Whiskers, fur, wet nose, a tail. Cat!" 

"Zed, most mammals have those things." I sigh. "Dogs, squirrels, rabbits, whatever. That's a possum." 

He closes his gallery to pull up a browser, making strange noises as he does. Ordinarily he talks through the readers on his head, but now he's making a sort of whispering sound to himself the way a human might mutter. 

After a few seconds, his shoulders slump, and he turns back to me. 

"Oh." 

"Yeah. Possum." 

"....I see." 

Nonetheless, I pat him gently on the shoulder and nod toward the phone. "Still cute, don't get me wrong. Just not a cat. Where the hell did you get a possum, anyway?" 

"I found her digging through my trash at night!" He answers, instantly perking up again. "She was very afraid at first. Lots of hissing, and baring her teeth. When I went to pick her up, though, she did not bite. She enjoys sliced bananas, and gentle scratches behind the ear."

He swipes through a few more pictures, partially for my benefit and partially for his own, showing off a few different pictures of Heather in his apartment. Contrary to what I was expecting, there's not a lot of destruction going on. Only a single mildly-chewed throw pillow. 

There's one of her curled up on his lap like a tiny, gray croissant. One of her opening her mouth at the camera in some sort of weird, silent scream. And another of her rampaging through an army of what look like tiny, plastic figurines. 

Now, I'm 90% sure that it's illegal to own a possum in City 31. Especially one you randomly scooped up out of a garbage can. But frankly, it's none of my business. I don't have the energy to go around policing people's pets, and Zed's always been a pretty cool guy to work with. Plus, he doesn't appear to have been bitten or scratched by it yet. Maybe he knows what he's doing. 

"Well, I'm happy for you? Yeah. Those are the words." I decide, rolling my neck. "She's a cutie. Just be careful, I hear those things carry a lot of diseases." 

"She is actually very clean! Heather loves her bath time." He swipes to another photo of the possum covered in soap suds and being brushed with what looks like a dollar store hairbrush meant for humans. 

As much as my inner grouch wants to continue being a downer, I do have to admit. It's a pretty cute possum. I don't think I'd want to own one, but I'd definitely give it some scratches on the chin. 

Across the room, I hear the sound of the front door squeaking open, and give Zed a very gentle elbow to the hip. Our unspoken code for "don't get caught slacking off in front of a customer". He nods, putting his phone away and making to leave, but I grab his shoulder before he can. 

"Hey, before you go — Just wanted to say thanks, man. For, y'know, taking the time, and all." 

Zed can't smile, seeing as he doesn't have any lips, but something about the way that he nods gives me the impression that he'd like to. 

"Any time!" His reader chimes. 

I don't feel better, exactly. Not in a way that's substantial. But cute animal pictures have, at the very least, taken some of the edge out of my mood. It takes less effort to put on a fake smile when a hybrid woman walks up to the counter to ask where we keep the coffee mugs. I point her in the right direction while Zed meanders off, finding something to look busy with so that one of the middle managers doesn't tear his throat out. 

With customers present, we have to cut the chatter to stay alert. Not because there's a lot happening, but because it "looks professional", which is boss-speak for "I want you to suffer as much as possible". Time passes at a crawl, and to some extent it does all start to blend together. 

That is, until a customer coughs to get my attention. 

When I snap back to reality, there's a viper waiting patiently in front of the counter. The yellow scales and red eyes give her away as one of the older gens, like Cherry. I get a little worried at first, but calm down once I realize she isn't wearing a leather jacket. I still don't know what their deal is, but Cherry and her sisters never seem to go anywhere without the damn things. 

This one's wearing a black and red t-shirt that's cut low enough to reach the bottom of her chest, and not much more. Might not be made for someone her size. She's got a faint, hopefully friendly smile, and in her hands is a bundle of black fabric that I can't identify. 

"Hello!" She says, struggling somewhat against her accent. "You work here, right?" 

It's a stupid question, seeing as I'm standing behind a counter with a nametag pinned to my shirt. But it's also a very frequent stupid question, so I'm used to it at this point.

"Yup." I answer with practiced composure. "How can I help you today, miss?"

"Ah, excellent. I was wondering if you had these in a larger size?" 

I'm prepared for her to pull out a t-shirt, or something. Maybe a sweater. One of those viper tail skirts, perhaps? Pretty sure we have a few of those lying around. But instead, she stretches her hands out to show me what looks like the top half of a motherfucking lingerie set. A thin, lacy black bra that is, once again, obviously not her size. 

"Uhhh... Why do you have that?" I ask. 

She tilts her head at me like it's the most obvious thing in the world, and gives me an innocent smile. "Why, I picked it off the clothing racks of course!"

The viper uses her tail to gesture somewhere behind her, but I don't even need to look to know that this isn't ours. 

"I'm preeetty sure we don't sell those, ma'am." 

"But this is a thrift store!" She exclaims. "You sell lots of things, yes? Clothes especially." 

I'm getting really tired of people thinking they know my job better than I do. "We sell shirts, jackets, and pants, yes. We do not sell, er, women's underwear."  

"W-what? Why wouldn't you?" Her chipper demeanor falters, giving way to confusion. She seems really thrown off by the idea that we don't sell bras, for some reason. 

"Because it's illegal." I explain, fighting to keep the 'duh' out of my tone. "Wearing somebody else's used undies is a surefire way to catch all kinds of diseases in all kinds of places. You haven't been doing that, have you?" 

"Not yet." She mutters, grimacing a little. "Anyway, do you guys sell anything new? I need a little support for the girls, here." 

In case the picture somehow wasn't clear enough, the viper reaches under her bust and proceeds to push it up for me with her hands. Instinctively, I look away, locking my eyes firmly onto her nose in an effort to avoid the absolutely titanic force that draws my eyes south.

"N-nope! No, sorry." I stammer. "You'll have to find another store for that, but we do sell jackets if you'd like one of those." 

"Aw jeez, really? You sure you don't have any in the back somewhere?" 

"Positive." 

There's this brief, tiny moment of relief when she finally stops propping her tits up for me to see. It is glorious. A little pocket of calm amidst the storm. Alas, it all comes crashing down when she plants both hands on the counter and leans forward, forcing me to step back as her long neck invades my space behind the register. 

"Are you sure? I'm sure a smart guy like you can find something." She murmurs. "In fact, how about I come help you look?" 

It's at that moment that it clicks. This was never about the bra, it was all just an elaborate attempt to flirt with me. 

"You cannot be fucking serious." I breathe, resting my face in one hand. "Really? Here?" 

The viper seems taken aback by my response, backing up a bit and lifting a brow. 

"Huh?" 

"If you think you're the first alien snake girl to try and hit on me at a really shitty time, you're in for a shock." I deadpan. "I'm at work right now, man! This place is bad enough as it is, can you give a guy a break!? Jesus." 

A figure appears around the corner of a nearby shelf, perhaps drawn by our conversation. I quickly recognize the pink form of Zed. 

"Pardon me, miss." He interjects smoothly. "Our cashier is quite busy right now. Is there something I can help you with?" 

She snorts, but otherwise disregards him. "Screw off, baldy. I'm not talking to you." 

OK, that's it. Once upon a time, I would've been a stuttering mess in this scenario. But number one, I'm sick of it happening to me over and over again. The novelty's worn off — it's not bizarre or surprising anymore, it's just annoying. Number two, I'm in a store full of people who I'm sure will have my back. And number three, I can't let her disrespect Zed like that. We may not talk much outside of work, but Zed's probably the closest thing I have to a friend in this shithole of a city. He doesn't deserve this. 

"Ma'am, I'm gonna need you to leave the store now." I say, folding my arms. 

She looks absolutely incredulous, like she can't comprehend the idea that I'm not either slobbering over or terrified of her. 

"What'd you say?" She asks. 

"I said get the fuck outta my store, thanks." I repeat, enunciating each word for her. It's not my store, obviously. But who cares? It felt cool to say, and I want her gone.

To my surprise, she's quick to fold, holding her hands up in surrender. "Woah, woah, hold on. I'm sorry, I can see we got off on the wrong foot here." 

The only reply I grace her with is an eyeroll.

"Let me make it up to you! How about I buy you dinner some time?" 

"No!" The last time I went out to dinner with a strange viper I had never met, it didn't really go so well.

"Please? Come on, don't be like that!" 

I sigh, pinch the bridge of my nose, and then press a small black button next to the register. 

"Darla to the front of the store, please." I speak into the intercom. 

There's a pause, a bit of staring, and then the sound of footsteps growing nearer. I don't break eye contact with the viper as the break room door opens up behind me, and yet I already know that the large, yellow head of a muton is currently poking out of it. With a pretty big frown on, too, if I had to guess. 

"What?" She grunts, clearly not happy about being disturbed.  

I don't even need to say anything. The viper groans, realizing she's sunk, and turns on the spot to leave. 

"Fine!" She grumbles. "Be that way. I'll see you later regardless." 

She mutters that last part, saying it so quietly that I'm almost certain she didn't mean for me to hear. Unfortunately for us both, I did. And the moment I register what exactly she just said, my stomach flips like it's an acrobat competing in the olympics. 

"What did you just say?" I ask, stopping her in her tracks. 

The viper turns around, locks eyes with me, and just stares for the longest time. There's a slight quiver to her brow and a twitch to her hood, like she doesn't know what I'm getting at initially. When she realizes, there's surprise. A smidge of panic, maybe. 

But then, she grins. 

The alien shoots me a wink that makes my blood run cold, turning to leave once more. Before she can, Zed runs up and grabs her by the wrist. What for, I couldn't tell you, but she's quick to shake him off with an angry hiss. He stumbles backward, not daring to impede her a second time as she slithers out the door. 

Ho. Ly. Fuck. 

Sensing that her presence is no longer required, Darla retreats into the break room. That leaves me, Zed, a few errant customers, and the overwhelming lizard-brain urge to hide under a rock that I'm currently battling. Remember everything I said about not being afraid anymore? Yeah, I take it back. That scaly yellow bastard just kicked things up a notch. 

I'm in the middle of deciding what to do when Zed strides up to me, a determined look on his half-concealed features. He furiously taps a button on the back of one inhibitor, lowering the volume as he leans in close. 

"Follow me." He says cryptically. I'm not in the mood to argue. When he opens the break room door, I slip in behind him, matching his gait step for long step. 

The break room itself is nothing special. The floor is a white tile that almost blends in with the off-white walls. There's a pretty thin table, a couple of folding chairs, a wooden set of shelves with cubbies in them, and a microwave on top of the lone counter. Darla's currently sitting at the table, with a comically small phone in one hand and a comically large sandwich in the other. Day in the life for a muton, I suppose. Across from her is a greasy-looking hybrid guy in a white dress shirt and slacks. He turns to us on our way in, but the second his eyes catch mine he looks away. 

In case you were wondering: no, I have not forgiven Benny yet. 

"Benjamin." Zed says, raising the volume on his headpiece again. "Man the front desk, please." 

Benny's head snaps back up to look at him, brows raised. "What? But I'm on break right now!" 

"Your break ended five minutes ago." Darla helpfully chimes from across the table. "Quit being such a kracsad and get out there." 

The hybrid swears under his breath, but doesn't argue, getting up from his seat and walking out the door. 

"Thank you, Darla." Zed says. 

"Uh huh." 

With that finished, he crosses to the other end of the room, and to a second door that leads to storage. This is the infamous "back" of the store that every customer asks us to check. It's like an oversized broom closet full of boxes and clothing racks, mostly full of junk we haven't put up yet. The lights turn on automatically as we enter, though not before flickering indignantly, as though we've disturbed their rest. 

Once we're through, and the door's shut behind us, Zed turns to me, lowering the volume on his inhibitors again. 

"You are in danger." He says bluntly. I try to laugh, but with how shaky I'm feeling and how dusty it is in here, I end up giving him a dry cough. 

"Yeah, I gathered that much. Why are we back here?" 

This time, he hesitates, staring at me long and hard. He has no pupils, or at least not any that I can see. His eyes are big, empty pits of black with nothing noteworthy going on inside. And yet, for some reason, I can tell as I stare into them that there's a mental war going on in his head right now. He's debating something, and he's debating hard. After what feels like half a minute, he cracks, folding his hands in front of him. 

"That woman, the viper. I read her mind." He admits sheepishly. 

It doesn't take a psion to figure out how I'm going to react. Zed begins to frantically wave his hands before I can say anything, making a hiss with his mouth that sounds pretty close to a human "shhhh". 

"Not in the way that you think!" He hastily clarifies. "My inhibitors are on, and fully functional! But, as you know, I can still feel little traces of someone's mind, even while my own is shackled. Especially if I touch them." 

I think back to a few minutes ago, when he rushed over to grab that viper by the wrist. Zed, you clever son of a bitch. 

"So when you grabbed her earlier..." 

"Precisely." He confirms. "I could not discern her exact goals, but fortunately you managed to upset her enough that I could catch a glimpse." 

"Shit! Well, what'd you get?" I ask eagerly. 

The sectoid scratches his scalp with a long, bony finger. "It is difficult to say. She wanted something from you, and did not get it. That much was clear, already. But there was something more to her. Something I am struggling to put into words. Can I show you?" 

"Show me?" I echo, eyeing him. "What do you mean show me?" 

"You know that I can, to a very limited extent, read minds with the inhibitors active. As it happens, I can also — to an even more limited extent, I assure you — control them. I cannot actually influence you in any way, especially not while you're aware that I'm doing it. It is more like I can share a thought between us, allow you to feel a trace of what I feel. Does that make sense?" 

"I guess so." I say, still not entirely convinced any of this is a good idea. 

Zed backs up a few steps to give me breathing room, and it's only then that I noticed he was practically in my face. He reaches a hand out, but instead of trying to grab me, he just leaves it there halfway, palm up in invitation. 

"Do you trust me, Clyde?" He asks. The psionic readers on his head have to interpret his thoughts to decide on a tone, which makes it really difficult for someone like him to lie. If he was planning anything bad, I would most likely hear it in his synthetic voice. 

Right now? He doesn't sound like he's up to something. He sounds worried. Doing this is either opening himself up to me in a way he normally wouldn't, or he's legitimately concerned for my safety and wants to help. Hell, it could even be both.

Slowly, I stick my own hand out, and drop it gently into his own. His palm feels so strange, the skin glossy and taut like plastic wrap. Carefully, he turns my hand in his own and closes his fingers, until we're doing something that resembles an impromptu handshake. By instinct, I return the gesture, squeezing lightly while I wait for whatever he's doing to take hold. 

To my surprise, it's subtle. In fact, I almost don't notice it, at first. I was expecting some kind of vision, or maybe a voice speaking into my head. Instead, I get what feels like a very sudden mood swing. Out of nowhere, there's a hunger in my gut. A desire, a craving. I want something, and I want it bad. As I think more on it, I realize that it's not something as simple as sexual lust or a need for food. Someone has something that I need, and they'll give it to me if I can just pull this off. 

Suddenly, it hits me — I know this feeling. In fact, I know it very well. It's the feeling I get when I see something in a store that I can't afford. It's the feeling I get when I'm not sure if I'll have enough to pay my rent this month. 

It's the feeling I get when I look at housing ads in another district. 

Money. I want money, I need money. If I can do this job, I will have money. 

But I don't do the job. I fail. 

No, I don't just fail. I fuck it up completely! This was supposed to be easy, and yet I fumbled the bag like a fucking amateur. There's confusion, then anger, then fear. Seconds, that's how long it took me to ruin everything. What am I going to do now? 

And then, finally, there's a reprieve from the din. A bit of smugness, laced with bitter spite. The plan didn't work? Fine. There's still a way to make this happen, and it's going to be a lot more fun. 

Zed lets go, retracting both his hand and mind from my own. I snap back to reality, my thoughts finally untangling from the ones Zed was showing me.

"Do you see what I mean?" He asks. 

I try to respond, but my mouth is dry, and my tongue feels heavy. Instead, I just nod. 

"I cannot tell what it is she wants from you, or what exactly she's planning. Only that you should not stay to find out." 

This is it. They've found me. I don't know what the fuck is going on, but I know that a lot of weird things have been happening to me lately, and they're getting progressively more difficult to pass off as coincidence. How do I explain this one? How do I make up an excuse to cope? I don't. I can't. 

What do I do? This is my job! If there really is somebody out to get me, they know where I work. My house isn't far from here, either, and I always get home on foot. It wouldn't be difficult to follow me. 

Oh god, wait. That last one was a viper. She never got to lick my neck like Cherry did, but what if she has my scent now? 

"Clyde!" Zed grabs my shoulder and begins to shake me, desperately attempting to get my attention. 

"I know!" I snap, immediately wincing. "Sorry, just- I know. I'm working on it, OK!? What do you want me to do? I can't just walk home, they'll follow me!" 

To my confusion, his psionic readers begin to make an incoherent warbling sound. It sounds almost like they're trying to say a hundred different words at once before they finally settle. "I do not know. Call the police?" 

"And tell them what?" I scoff. "A snake lady looked at me funny? We have no idea where she went, and they're not coming all the way down here to protect me!" 

Zed turns around and begins to pace, fingers tapping against each other anxiously. "There must be a solution! Something we can do!" 

It doesn't take long for the answer to come to me. Automatically, my hand dives into my pocket, but I stop myself the second I touch my phone. Do I really want to do this? Is this going to make anything better? Part of me is saying yes, and another is absolutely disgusted by it. I'm really going to do this, aren't I? 

I think long and hard about our interactions, the time we've spent together. There have been so many opportunities for her to do something terrible to me, so many opportunities for it to blow up in my face. I still don't like her, and yet deep down I can't help but remember how much safer I felt walking next to her on the street than I normally would alone. 

How's that old saying go? Better the devil you know than the devil you don't. 

"I have a plan." I finally announce, looking to Zed with a hardened gaze. "I know someone who can help, they'll get me home safe. Just need to make a quick phone call. Can you give me some privacy?" 

Why, I'm not exactly sure. But I don't want to make the call with someone else in the room. It feels embarrassing, somehow. 

"Are you sure?" The sectoid asks, tiling his head at me. "I cannot fight, not with these inhibitors active. But I still want to help." 

As I look into Zed's eyes, I'm reminded that I may be talking to a soldier right now. I try not to ask any aliens I meet about their part in the war, as a rule of thumb. Nothing good ever comes of it. Still, Zed may have fought. He may have killed. Either that, or he's just very brave. 

Soon enough though, my thoughts turn back to the simple, dorky co-worker showing me pictures of his pet possum. 

"I'm sure." I insist, nodding toward the break room door. "Thank you for warning me, Zed. Really. I'll shoot you a text when I'm home safe, yeah?" 

Satisfied, he nods, sighing heavily on his way out. 

"Good luck, Clyde." He says, slinking through the door. 

It's only once he's through that I let out a sigh of my own. 

Taking out my phone, I open up the contacts menu and click on Cherry's name. After another couple seconds of hesitation, I hit "call", and press the phone to my ear. There's no answer, at first. It just rings. 

And rings. 

And rings...

Until, finally, I hear a voice. 

"PLEASE LEAVE YOUR MESSAGE FOR: TWO, TWO, ONE. FIVE, FIVE, FIVE. ZERO, ONE-" 

I hang up, growling a little under my breath. God damn it, this is the one time I actually want to talk to you. Don't do this to me. 

Fingers crossed, I call her again, praying that the first time was just a fluke. But once again, it ends up going to voicemail. Damn it, she must be busy. Guess I'll give it a few minutes, and try again. 

With the wind thoroughly taken out of my sails, I sit down heavily on a nearby box. All that hype for nothing, huh?  Here I was ushering Zed out of the room like I was about to contact Satan himself. 

I tap my foot impatiently, breathing in the still, musty air of the storage room, then check the clock on my phone. What felt like the passage of several minutes was actually only one. So, I go back to tapping my foot, humming a little tune, and breathing in the dusty atmosphere of the small, dark hole I'm currently hiding out in like a wild gopher. I'm even running from a snake, and everything. Look at me go! 

Right as I'm about to say it's been long enough and call her again, there's a series of slow, loud knocks. 

Way at the back of the storage room is another door, this one leading outside. We never really use it, though, so it's blocked off by a bunch of boxes. The sudden impact causes flecks of dust to fly off of it, forcing me to shield my eyes and nose with one arm. But beyond that, I freeze, keeping even my breathing to a minimum in an effort to stay as quiet as possible. 

Like I said, nobody ever uses this door. 

After a while, whoever's on the other side knocks again, a bit more insistently this time. "Delivery!" They call, apparently convinced that there's someone in here. 

The voice is a viper, that much I can tell right away. Whether it's the same viper as before, I can't say for sure. Something about it is off, but the door's muffling it enough that I can't say for sure. Either way, the timing can't be a coincidence. I bite down anxiously on my tongue, stuck between trying to get her to go away and keeping quiet so she thinks I'm not here. Eventually, there's a third set of knocks, but I don't answer those either. I just let the silence stretch on, praying she'll give up if she thinks the room is empty. 

I actually think it's worked, up until the door knob starts to rattle. 

It's not a hard, rough rattling. Not like somebody trying to jiggle it loose. No, it's more of a gentle shake, like someone's looking for something. 

Crap, does she know how to pick locks!? 

"H-hey!" I shout, unsure of what else to do. "What the hell are you doing to our door?" 

"Delivery." She repeats, sounding a little annoyed. "I've been standing here for ten minutes!" 

That confirms my suspicions. She didn't actually know I was in here, she just guessed. Did she think this would be a good way to break in, if nobody was around to hear her? 

"We're not expecting anything today!" I answer, projecting enough to get through the boxes and door. "Quit messing with our doorknob, thanks!" 

There's a pause, but it doesn't last very long. "Uh, no. I have a bunch of boxes out here, and they all have your company's name on them. They're definitely for you." 

"Bring them around the front, then! I'll have management look at them later." 

Another pause. She wasn't expecting to have to out-bullshit a retail employee today, was she? 

I almost think she's given up when I don't get another reply. Before I can fully relax, though, I catch a faint sigh from the other side of the door. 

"Morta ma, enough." She growls. "Just come outside, already. I'm not here to hurt you. Only to arrange a meeting." 

My gut tells me I shouldn't engage with this. I should back off, head to the break room, and try to give Cherry another call. But in the entire history of this bullshit, this is the first time that I've been given any direct information on what's going on. A meeting, she said. Undoubtedly a sugarcoated version of "I'm trying to kidnap you", but it's more than I've ever had to go off of. 

I ignore the way my heart is pounding and inch forward, leaning on the boxes for support. If I can keep her talking, maybe I can squeeze a bit more information out of her. 

"With who?" I demand, trying to maintain a neutral tone. 

"Obviously, I can't tell you that." She fires back. "But they're very interested in someone with your, ahem, particular skills." 

I bring a hand up to rub my temple, looking down in frustration. What skills? What is she talking about? I can't do anything that anyone else who was raised in a camp couldn't. 

"Sorry, but I think you have the wrong guy." 

She gives me a single dry, mirthless chuckle. "You watch too many movies if you think that's going to work, doctor." 

My breath catches, eyes widening. Doctor. Doctor? What does she mean, doctor? 

"I'm not a doctor!" I protest, banging my fist against the cardboard below me. "Listen, lady. I don't know who the hell you think I am, but I swear to god, you have the wrong person. I'm a nobody who grew up in a camp, the only skillset I have is knowing which parts of a Chryssalid don't taste like raw sewage!" 

There's another bout of silence, this one more tense than the last. 

"You have until the count of 10 to open the door." 

Oh, shit. 

"One. Two." 

I whip my phone out, fumbling the password multiple times in my haste to get it open. Every key feels microscopic as I navigate to my contacts again. 

"Three. Four." 

I hit Cherry's number again, pressing the phone to my ear and verbally praying that she responds. As the phone rings, I look around for anything I can use to barricade the door. All that's here is an empty clothing rack, and more boxes. Not what I wanted, but it'll have to do. 

"Five. Six."

Her counting grows louder and more aggressive with every passing number, to the point that it almost sounds like she's shouting to be heard from the other side. Whatever her intentions are, it only adds fuel to the fire of my desperation, spurring me to move faster as I press my body against the nearest stack of crates and push. 

"Seven. Eight." 

Huffing, I kneel down, pressing my back against the boxes in preparation. The phone, meanwhile, is still ringing. 

"Nine." 

Suddenly, the ringing ends. It's replaced by a dull, groggy voice coming out of the receiver. 

"What?" 

"TEN!" 

Something heavy impacts the door, rattling the frame and the boxes I've piled in front of it. I clench a fist and exhale, fighting to keep steady in spite of it all. 

"Cherry!" I shout, nearly being interrupted by another hard slam. "Cherry, I need your help!" 

"Wha- Cripes, what was that!? Are you OK?" 

"NO!" I exclaim, weathering another hard slam from the door. "They found me! Don't ask who, 'cause I don't know! But they're on my ass, and they are not happy!"

The pounding on the door serves to illustrate my point, no doubt audible even without me needing to hold my phone to the noise. 

"Address!" She barks, voice nearly as frantic as my own. 

"35th and Main! Look for the thrift store!" 

"On it! Just hang in there!"

Getting my phone back into my pocket proves challenging. Another well-timed bash nearly knocks it out of my hand, but I narrowly manage to keep my grip. 

The viper's next strike causes the door to make a dangerous creaking sound, hinges beginning to give away even with the extra weight I'm providing. If she had legs to kick with, it'd probably have come down by now. I'm lucky that all she's got is her shoulder. 

Across from me, the interior door flies open. A bulky yellow figure strides into view, thick lips curled into a snarl. Darla pops the last vestiges of her sandwich into her mouth, swallowing it in one go and stomping toward me. 

"What the FUCK is going here!?" She roars, eyes flicking between me and the door. Another slam answers her question, and her expression rapidly morphs from anger to confusion, then to anger again. "Move." 

As much as I'd love to be on the wrong end of an angry muton, I oblige, rolling to the side and onto my feet. Without me in place, the boxes slide forward a short distance, the door visible begins to bend at the middle. Before it can be struck again, though, Darla pounds it three times with her fist. Not to break it even further, but to get the attention of the viper outside. 

"I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING, BUT YOU HAVE FIVE SECONDS TO GET YOUR CLAWS OFF MY DOOR BEFORE I COME OUT THERE AND TIE YOU IN A KNOT, RAT-BREATH!" 

Immediately, the assault ends. The room is plunged into an uncharacteristic silence as the bashing stops, both of us standing stock-still as we wait for some sign of the would-be intruder. Eventually, though, we share a glance, and realize she's gone. 

For now. 

I'm a little surprised that worked, to be totally honest, but only a little. The Fringe has lots of unspoken rules to it that I've had to slowly pick up on over time, and the biggest one is "don't mess with mutons". Even the most malnourished, gangly, out-of-shape muton on Earth is built like a juiced gorilla. Darla's just a normal retail employee like me, but I bet you 10 credits she could knock that viper out cold if they came to blows. 

Satisfied, she gives a distinctly bull-like snort, then turns away from the door. Her normally bored demeanor is now totally gone, replaced by a clear unease that I'm not used to seeing. 

"You OK?" She asks. 

I take a deep breath before I answer, trying and failing to relax my body. "I don't know. I mean, I'm not hurt, but— Christ. My hands are still shaking. Do yours do that? Haha. Ha." 

It feels almost like I've run a marathon, minus the leg pain. Even now, when I'm sure she's gone, I can't help but keep an eye on the door at all times. 

Darla lets out a deep, rumbling whine not unlike a dog that's trying not to bark. "Zed told me something was up, but he was light on the details. What's happening, Clyde?" 

"It's a long story." The response is automatic. Pre-packaged, and bland. I don't need to drag anyone else into this. They're trying to live normal, peaceful lives, just like me. "Listen, I got someone coming to get me soon. Once I'm gone, you guys shouldn't have any problems. I know you're only middle management and not in charge of shifts and whatnot, but I cannot stay here." 

"Seriously? Someone was trying to break down the door a moment ago, and you're worried about your shift being covered?" She gawps. "Forget about it. You worry about getting home safely, let me worry about Mr. Ross." 

"Thanks, Darla." I sigh. "I just... I really need this job, you know?" I don't know if I'm ever coming back, truth be told. The idea of returning to work at a place where somebody attempted to kidnap me twice in the span of 30 minutes sounds insane, but what am I going to do without it, exactly? There are no jobs out here, not for someone like me. How am I going to pay rent? 

Later, Clyde. Worry about that later. 

"I'm gonna wait in the break room. If a viper comes up to the counter with a leather jacket on, she's safe. Let me know when she gets here." 

We head back together, Darla giving me a little wave and a worried look as she goes. I swear, I've never seen her emote this hard about anything. She's probably just as rattled as I am. A strange thought, considering what I was saying about mutons earlier. 

Nobody else is in the break room right now, which means they're all out watching the store. I don't think that snake will try the same approach twice, so for the time being, I feel safe enough to put my head down and close my eyes. You'd think I'd have a hard time resting after that, and to some extent I do. I wouldn't be able to fall asleep now if I tried. But it's easy for me to sort of drift off and stop paying attention to things, you know? Get lost in my own head, pass the time. It feels like almost no time's passed at all when there's a series of taps at the break room door, causing me to bolt upright in my seat. 

I'm gonna have some really strange reactions to people knocking on doors for the next few days. 

I get up, stretch a little, and when I open the door, Zed's waiting on the other side. 

"I was told that this one is safe." He explains, gesturing to the figure behind him. Sure enough, it's Cherry, eyes wide and hands planted on the counter. A strange feeling wells up in my chest as she slithers over to the far end of the counter, concern bleeding through her otherwise stoney expression. 

The circumstances are far from normal, I know. But honestly? I don't think I've been this happy to see someone in a long time. 

"Clyde! What's going on? Are you hurt?" 

"I'm fine." I insist, holding up a hand to stop her. There's a slight twitch to her own hands as she stops in front of me, as though she wants to reach out but is thinking better of it. "Can we just get out of here? I'll explain on the way." 

She doesn't seem happy with that answer, but ultimately, she nods, backing up and waiting for me to follow. I breathe, take one last look at the concerned faces of my coworkers, and shoot them as casual of a wave as I can manage before heading for the door with Cherry in tow. 

For all I know, I may never see them again. 

I try not to think about it too hard, stepping outside with my serpentine shadow in tow. By instinct, I start to walk in the direction of home, then realize that may not be the best idea. 

"Alright, now's as good a time as any." I take another few steps away from the door, so that we're not hanging out right in front of the building, then motion for Cherry to come closer. "I don't know what's going on. I don't know who she is, who she represents, or anything like that. But there was a viper in the store making weird comments, trying to get me to go with her, and when I said no she tried breaking a fucking door down to get to me. Something seriously messed up is going on here, Cherry!"

She listens to my story with rapt attention, eyes narrowed with focus. They shift from side to side, taking in our surroundings as subtly as possible, and then return to me. "Follow me." She whispers after a moment, beginning to slither in the direction I was walking. 

"Hey, my house is this way! We can't lead her there!" I protest, matching her quiet tone. 

"I know. Here's the plan: keep walking. I'm gonna lead us through a few wrong turns, then down an alley. She's gonna think we're trying to lose her, but it'll be a trap. We need to lure her out ASAP." 

It sounds too easy. Too simple. I want to argue, especially given my past experiences with aliens and alleyways in the Fringe, but at the same time I don't exactly have a better plan. Cherry's right, we can't go anywhere with the risk that she could follow. And if it came down to a fight between the two of them? My money's on Cherry.

"Alright, what do we do once we're in the alley?" 

"You'll see." She answers quickly. 

Something tells me I'm not going to like what she has in mind. But as long as it gets me out of this mess, I don't care. 

We keep on walking for a block or two, then Cherry jerks her head to the right and veers into an alley. I follow suit, navigating down the dreary grey and brown paths of wood and brick, until we reach a long stretch that runs behind several buildings unobstructed. It's wider than you'd expect out of most alleys, enough so that a truck could fit through with space to spare. That's probably its exact purpose, now that I think about it. 

Cherry looks around once, twice, and seems to heavily consider doing it a third time before finally deciding she's satisfied with our surroundings. I look on in a mix of confusion and fascination as she goes through what looks like an exercise warm-up routine: rolling her shoulders, cracking her neck, and taking a series of slow, deep breaths. 

She turns back to me, gaze hardened, and begins to speak. 

"Alright, this is a good place to stop for now." 

"Great," I reply impatiently. "Now what?" 

"Now, we talk business." I must be making the weirdest face right now, because she chuckles a little before continuing. "What? Don't look at me like that, you know I don't work for free." 

Right as I open my mouth to start swearing like a sailor, Cherry brings a finger to her lips in a shushing motion. Her entire expression shifts briefly, like she's taking off a mask, and she gives me a slow, exaggerated wink before returning to 'normal'. 

It's a ploy.

"I- What are you talking about!? You said you'd help me!"

Now, I'm not much of an actor, but I'm confused and stressed out enough that it all manages to sound pretty authentic anyway. Small mercies, right? 

Cherry winces loudly, the noise tapering off into a low 'oooo' sound. "Yeah, I did. But I never said anything about helping you for free. Especially now that you've got a damn bounty hunter on your tail! I mean, if they were human, maybe. But do you really expect me to tangle with another vas on gratis? Pft. Keep dreaming, kid." 

The ease with which she plays the part concerns me on a subconscious level. A part of me starts to get scared that she really is about to leave me here, and it helps to fuel the desperation in my voice. 

"W-what am I supposed to do, then!?" 

"Make me an offer." She commands, looking down upon me like a queen atop her throne. "Tempt me." 

I have to stop myself from actually pulling my wallet out, instead patting it as I try to remember how much I've actually got on me right now. 

"Uh... 20 credits?" 

Cherry laughs again, this time much louder and more boisterously. "Oooh, that's cute, Clyde. Just like the night we met. Points for creativity, but not gonna cut it." 

"It's literally all I have!" I shout. It's not exactly an act, this time. "What do you expect me to do, give you my fucking credit card?" 

There's a long, very pointed silence where she just stares at me expectantly.

"Cherry, no! Absolutely not! You're out of your mind if you think that's happening." 

"Shame." She shrugs, slithering toward me. "Well, little guy, it's been fun. Unfortunately, I have people to do and things to see. Good luck with the whole wanted man situation, sounds like a real doozy." 

I look up at her, trying to remind myself that this isn't real. It's all an act, right? Just a game. A cunning ruse to lure out the latest in a long line of stalkers, nothing to be worried about. 

"So that's it then?" I mutter. "After everything, this is goodbye?" 

The façade cracks ever so slightly, a hint of remorse peeking through her eyes. 

"Fine. How about one last kiss, for the road?" 

Much like the first time we met, she reaches out, taking large fistfuls of my shirt. Instead of lifting me fully off the ground, she pulls me close until our faces are less than an inch apart. And rather than actually going for a kiss, she starts to whisper.

"Circling around the back. Stall her, cota?" 

I almost think she's going to go for the kiss after all. Ultimately, though, it never happens. She relinquishes her grip on my shirt, and slithers off toward the nearest exit. 

"Happy trails! And don't bother trying to follow me."  

I watch the last bit of her tail vanish around the corner, and just like that, I'm alone. The silence left in her wake is terrifying, like something straight out of a horror movie. The anticipation, there it is again. Waiting for a punch that never comes. I'm expecting the viper from earlier to drop in at any moment now, but she doesn't. There's nobody here but me. 

Time ticks by, and nothing changes. Is she actually coming? I've got no way of knowing whether this is a bust, she could've bailed at the first sight of Cherry. 

Or, maybe I'm not hamming it up enough. Think, Clyde. What do you look like when you're panicking and don't know what to do? 

It all comes to me naturally. Almost as soon as I ask myself the question, I'm pacing, muttering literal nonsense under my breath in an attempt to look stressed. I think this is what they in the industry call "method acting". 

Just, y'know, for real instead of for show. 

Soon enough, my effort pays off. Something changes in the corner of my eye, a faint hint of color that's in the wrong place. I practically whip my head around to look at it, and boom. There she is. 

She's only got one eye peeking around the corner of a wall, hood tucked in to try and minimize her profile. Unfortunately for her, the bright yellow and red sticks out like a sore thumb. I don't even need to say anything, she can tell I've spotted her by my reaction alone. I take a step back as she emerges from her hiding place, serpentine hood unfurling once again. She's got this satisfied smile on her face, somewhere on the border of "relieved" and "smug". Like she was hoping this would happen, but wasn't entirely convinced it would. 

"Well well well, look who it is." The viper drawls, slowly advancing on me. "Told you we'd be seeing each other again." 

Her movement is slow, slow enough that I can easily maintain the distance between us. But that's only because she's letting me. Cherry said to stall, so I need to keep her back as long as possible. 

"DON'T COME ANY CLOSER!" I yell, squaring my shoulders and holding out a hand. 

She looks amused by the gesture, but nonetheless, she stops. "Or what? Your little girlfriend hung you out to dry, doctor. I heard the entire conversation. No one is coming to save you." 

No one is coming. The sentence causes my breath to quicken, but I force the fear down and chew the inside of my cheek. Doctor. She called me a doctor again. Whoever she thinks I am must be some kind of genius if they're so important, right? What would they do to keep her back? What's a threat I can pull without a weapon? 

"C-Cyanide capsule!" I blurt out. Much to my relief, her eyes widen. "Yeeaaaah, that's right! I popped one into my mouth after Cherry left, knew you'd be coming not long after. Your employers want me, right? Take one step closer, and I bite it. Literally!" 

I cannot believe this is working. I pulled the first random science fiction movie bullshit that comes to mind out of my ass, and she's actually buying it. I keep my voice loud and unsteady, going for as much of a manic look as I can. Cherry's still nowhere to be seen, I need to sell this bluff as long as possible. 

The viper rests her hands on her hips, scowling at me but making no further moves. "Really? You act like I'm taking you to a slaughterhouse. They aren't going to hurt you, they just need your help." 

"My help with what?"  

"Tch. I told you, there is only so much I am allowed to say." She reiterates. "Why not just come with me? Isn't it better than this drawn out game of cat and mouse?" 

"Oh, just follow me! I know I'm literally trying to kidnap you, but I promise nothing bad will happen!" I sing, imitating her accent as obnoxiously as possible. "Do you think I'm stupid!? Tell your employers that I'm not going anywhere. Write me off as a loss, find someone else, I don't care! Just leave me alone!"

It happens again. Movement, way in the background, barely registered by my panicked mind. A yellow and black shape slides across the ground behind her, and I realize it's Cherry, slithering flat to the ground like an actual, feral snake. Her pace is glacially slow, carefully keeping her clothes off the ground with her arms. I pull my eyes away and back to the other viper as quickly as possible, careful not to blow her cover. 

"I don't get it." My assailant continues. "Are you truly so eager to die? I know people of your background are usually unstable, but this seems excessive. Better us than someone out for revenge, no?" 

"Eager to die? What, you think I'm livin' the dream over here?" I scoff, measuring Cherry's progress out of the corner of my eye. "Stuck in this run-down district, surrounded by aliens giving me funny looks all day? Getting chased, stalked and harassed by the likes of you? Oh yeah, I'm having a great time! No friends, no prospect, just my dead-end job and crippling insomnia! Why would I ever want to throw that away!?" 

My raving seems to have genuinely caught her off guard. In a matter of seconds, her face has gone from frustrated to visibly concerned. 

"They were not lying when they said you would be... touchy." 

Behind her, a shadow begins to rise. 

"You want to see touchy? I'll show you touchy." I growl. "Turn around, asshole." 

She's not fast enough. There's barely enough time for her to look surprised before an arm hooks around her neck, drawing her into a choke from behind. Both vipers tumble to the ground, thrashing and writhing madly in an effort to subdue each other. They're moving so fast that I can't even tell what's happening, it's all a blur of movement and angry hisses. The frenzy only ends when one of them cries out in pain, the whirling ball of scales gradually coming to a stop. When the dust settles, Cherry's got her in a chokehold, and her torso wrapped up in her tail. The other viper claws futilely at her captor's hood, before giving it up and tapping her arm for mercy.

"Dro-zan, dro-zan! I surrender!" 

Cherry eases up just enough for her to breathe, arm still firmly locked in place. It's only now that I realize my suspicions were correct: Cherry's arm is almost twice as thick as hers. I can hear the leather of her jacket creaking as it struggles to contain the muscles underneath. One of these people is at a very distinct advantage, here. 

"Try something stupid, and I'll pop your damn head off." The larger of the two grunts, mildly out of breath. "You're not the first vas I've killed this way. Probably won't be the last." 

Her victim seems to think it over, going limp after some deliberation. 

Once I'm sure she's not going to try anything, I cautiously walk forward, getting just close enough to get a better look at her. No defining features, as far as I can tell. She looks exactly the same as any other viper. Even after all this, I wouldn't be able to pick her out in a crowd. 

"Do you know her?" I ask Cherry. She checks the other viper's face with her long neck, then shakes her head. 

"Voice sounds familiar, but I can't say. She's got deodorant on, scent's all muddled." 

"Who I am isn't important." She rasps, struggling to breathe. "I'm nobody. Even if you knew my name, it wouldn't get you anywhere." 

Even now, even with Cherry threatening to squeeze the life out of her, she still sounds so confident. So sure of herself. Sure that she's got one up on me. And you know what? I've had it. 

I'm still afraid. In fact, I'm terrified. But I've got this pressure in my skull, a tightness in my jaw. Deep inside of me, something primal is waking up. 

With a deep breath, I straighten my back, and look her in the eye. 

"Who do you work for?" 

My words are slow, calm, but firm. I keep my emotions reigned in for now, trying my best to at least appear like I'm collected. Maybe she sees through it, maybe she's just too foolhardy to care. Either way, she laughs. 

Or she tries to, anyway. Cherry's not making that easy for her. 

"Still not going to tell you, eir-ten." 

"Alright." I say, casually striding to the side wall of the alley. After a quick search, find what I'm looking for. One of the few upsides about the Fringe being a run down piece of shit? You can always count on a few loose bricks.

Picking it up, I walk back over to her, turning it over carefully in my hand. 

"You don't want to tell us who you work for?" I begin. "Fine. I can live with that. But after everything you put me through? You'd better give me something I can work with." 

"Hah. Why would I do that?" 

I look down at her, then at Cherry. Her brows are raised, like she knows what I'm about to do and is surprised I've got the balls. You know what, Cherry? I'm surprised too. In my head, I picture myself smiling down at our captive viper, and saying something badass to put the fear of God into her. When I try to think of something to say, though? Nothing comes to mind. This isn't a calm and calculated action on my part. Not a cunning thought going on in my head. But I want answers, I need answers, and she's the one who has them. 

So instead of talking, I take the brick, and I smash it right into her face. 

There's a grunt, almost a yelp, and a startled hiss after the impact. The alien looks up at me, shock plastered all over her features. 

"Talk." I command. 

She doesn't. 

"Alright." 

Thwack. 

"Talk." 

Nothing. 

My breathing's not stable anymore. Any illusions of calm are gone. I hit her with the brick once, twice, three times, until my arm is sore and there's yellow blood leaking down her face. Alien bones are tough, so I hear, but there's a visible indent in her nose from where I've definitely broken something. 

"COME ON! SAY SOMETHING! SAY SOMETHING, OR I SWEAR TO GOD, I'M GOING TO GRIND YOUR FACE INTO DUST." It's more of a plea than a threat, but I doubt she notices.

The viper coughs again, spitting a bit of blood out onto the concrete, then manages to find her voice. 

"Belt..." She rasps. "My belt." 

Cherry pulls upward, lifting the viper to give me easier access. She wasn't wearing a belt back at the thrift store, I'm sure of it. But lo and behold, there it is. It looks like something you'd see on a police officer, only a lot smaller. I think we sell a couple of these, infact. Little satchel belts for vipers, seeing as their pants don't come with pockets. She doesn't stop me as I flip the bag open, reaching inside to feel around. I find what I think is a couple of credit chits, something shaped like a tube of lipstick, and- bingo. 

It feels like some sort of rectangular device. When I fish it out, my suspicions are confirmed. It's a grey, plastic rectangle with a tiny LED light on it, a speaker, and a button on the side. It looks like a cross between a radio and an MP3 player.

"Push the button." She instructs me. I share a quick look with Cherry, then comply, hearing a faint bit of feedback. "Bring it closer. Needs my voice." 

Reluctantly, I comply, holding it out to her. She swallows heavily, clearing the spit and blood from her throat, then leans forward as far as Cherry will allow. 

"Morta beltor." 

I don't know what she said, but as soon as she says it, Cherry's entire demeanor changes. Her eyes widen, pupils narrowing into slits, and her tongue begins to flicker like crazy. In an instant, she's dropped her hold on the viper, damn near throwing her aside in an effort to get away. Before I can get away, she comes at me in an almost full-force tackle, scooping me up in her arms and carrying me away. The brick falls out of my hand, and in the commotion, I almost miss the sound of a vehicle approaching us. 

Almost. 

Cherry slams into a nearby wall with her shoulder, throwing the both of us behind a dumpster. I struggle instinctively, unsure of what's going on, but she holds me tight as gunfire erupts from the end of the alley, pelting our cover like a storm of hail. Eventually, it stops, leaving us with just the sound of our own labored breaths. When she lets go, I roll to the side, flopping against the dumpster right next to her. Carefully, I peak part of my head around the corner of it. 

The viper is right where we left her, slowly beginning to stand. And behind her is a large, gray van with several figures beside it. Hybrids, a sectoid, and even another viper. There's five of them, counting her, but the newcomers are decked out in gray Kevlar and scars. They keep their weapons trained on our position, but don't fire anymore. Not yet, at least. 

"Alright!" The viper calls, wiping the blood from her nose. "I tried to help you out, I really did! But if you want to play rough, then we can play rough. You have thirty seconds to get out from behind that dumpster with your hands up, or we turn it into swiss cheese. You'll probably survive, but it won't be pretty. 

I duck back into cover, desperately scanning the environment for a way out. We're on the wrong side of the alley, now. The wall the dumpster is pushed up against runs on for too long, not a break in sight. The corner Cherry left through earlier is on the other side, right in their line of fire. I'd never make it. 

When I look over at Cherry, her gaze is fixed in the same spot. She's probably thinking the same thing. Her eyes don't leave the spot, though. Not as fast as mine. She finally looks back to me, and I can see that she's conflicted. A terrible realization hits me at that moment: 

Vipers are fast. They've been known to dodge bullets, even if only narrowly. If she stayed low enough to the ground, she'd probably make it. 

But I wouldn't. 

"Cherry." 

"Twenty seconds!" 

Her eyes meet mine, both of us experiencing a million emotions all at once in the span of a single second. She looks to the exit again, like she wants to go, but every time she's inevitably drawn back to me by some invisible force.

"Kor." She mutters angrily. "Kor, kor, kor, mor prima kracsad!" 

"Fifteen, and counting!" 

"Cherry, what do we do!?" 

She makes this weird face that I've never seen before. If she had teeth, I'm sure she'd be gritting them. Instead, it looks like a silent wince that never seems to end. The viper at my side reaches into the inside of her coat, and takes out a small, black box with white numbers printed on the side. 

Caught between haste and caution, she peels it open, taking something out and stuffing the empty box back in place. In her hands now is a round, grey device with a blue band in the center, roughly the size of a baseball. I've never seen anything like it before, but the odd shape at the top gives it function away immediately. 

"Is that a grenade!?" I hiss. "Why do you have that!?"

"Long story!" She returns, fiddling with the arming device. "Damn it, they didn't look like this during the war. Come on, come on..." 

There's a telltale beep sound as soon as she gets it. I'd recognize it anywhere, ADVENT troopers weren't shy about tossing these around at our camps. 

"Five seconds!" 

"ENOUGH!" Cherry shouts, waving her free hand in the air above the dumpster. "You win, we're coming out!" 

There's a chorus of faint mumbles from our assailants, too quiet and too far for me to make out. 

"Smart woman! Now come on, don't waste my time." 

Cherry pokes just her free hand out of cover, then the top of her head, then eventually the rest of her. She rises up slowly, planting one elbow on the dumpster's lid for support while keeping the hand with the grenade well out of view. 

"You want me to toss you my weapon first?" She asks, filling her voice with suspicion to throw them off. 

"You know what? Great idea! Let's have it." 

"Sure thing." Behind the dumpster, she thumbs the mechanism, causing the grenade to emit a series of low chirps. Cocking her arm back, she tosses the grenade up and toward them in an arc. I peek my head just in time to see everyone realize what she threw. 

"GRENADE!" 

BOOM

I retreat behind the dumpster right as the fuse ticks down, still feeling the heat wave from the blast as a thundering sound fills the alley. There's one explosion, the telltale sound of plasma detonating. And much to my surprise, it's followed almost immediately by a second. Metal and debris scatter, crashing into the dumpster, bouncing off the walls, and raining down around us like a storm of ash and dust. My ears are still adjusting, but I'm sure I can hear the sound of someone screaming in pain. Multiple of them, in fact. 

Before I can fully process what's going on, there's a hand around my arm, hoisting me up and onto my feet without a word. It's Cherry, I quickly realize. One hand holding me, and the other aiming her pistol. 

"Clear!” She announces, breathing almost as heavily as I am. "C'mon, we're getting out of here!”

When I look over, the van is a total wreck. The front half of it's been blown to bits, and the back half isn't looking much better. I can see bodies on the ground around it, some moving and some not. One thing's for certain, though. None of them are in a position to stand, let alone stop us as we leave. Cherry doesn't even need to pull very hard to get me to follow her, my legs are moving the second I know I'm not staring down the barrel of a gun. 

 

________________________________________________________________

 

 

I find a strange sense of deja vu setting in as we burst into my apartment. I come in, Cherry closes the door. This time, she's the one to lock it rather than me. There are no grocery bags this time, and yet I feel as though I ran here carrying a whole truck full of them. The door is closed, my adrenaline fades, and with the last ounces of my strength, I collapse onto the couch before my legs can totally give out on me. 

I'm vaguely aware of a presence nearby. A second weight setting down on the couch with me. Nothing comes of it. Neither of us speaks. It's the middle of the day, but I swear, I could fall asleep right here and now. I feel tired in a way that transcends simply laying down. No amount of sleep the night before could have prepared me for any of this. 

Something touches my arm. I flinch violently, sitting up to watch Cherry recoil like she's touched a hot stove. 

"What are you doing?" I ask, too tired to sound angry. 

"Sorry. You uh, you looked like you could use some comfort." Her tone is low and soft, a lot more gentle than I'm used to hearing. "Do you want me to leave? I think you'll be safe, at least for a while. Plasma 'nades tend to make people think twice about where they stick their noses." 

I consider the question carefully, feeling an odd weight sink into my chest. Under normal circumstances, the answer would be obvious. Right now, though? Right now, I just don't want to be alone. 

"....No." 

Cherry nods, curling her tail up on the couch and setting her hands in her lap. 

"We've got a lot to talk about." She says somberly, almost apologetically. "And I've got a lot to apologize to you for. For now, how about you just relax? I'm not going anywhere, I promise." 

I don't say anything back. I don't nod. Even that feels like it'd be a herculean effort, right now. All I do is sit there, breathing in and out while I try to let the stress of the day roll off my body. It's not that easy, of course. I didn't expect it to be. But it must be working, because at some point my eyelids start to feel heavy. And before I know what's happening, I've started to drift off. 

Maybe a nap wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. 

Chapter 10: Mask

Notes:

This chapter took a little longer than I would've liked, but I did it! I didn't take a whole year to update.

I don't remember what I was dreaming about, exactly. 

There was an inky black void, some shouting. It felt like I was running from something. There was no actual running, of course. You can't run in the void, it's like trying to wade through a tub of peanut butter. But when I wake up, my heart is pounding and my legs are twitching. I want to say I was reliving a twisted version of something from my past, but it was all so nebulous and hazy that it's impossible to tell. 

All I know for sure is that when I finally peel my eyes open, I feel like shit. 

My face is pressed against the left arm of my couch, glued in place by a layer of dried sweat. The uncomfortable wet spot below my bottom lip tells me there might be a bit of drool in there, too. Fun. 

I detach my face from the couch with a grimace, blinking the sleep from my eyes and yawning. The living room is dim, but I can tell by the faint light still shining through the open blinds that it's not night yet. Looks like I wasn't out that long. When I go to check my phone for an exact time, though, a feeling stops me. I'm covered by something, I realize. Something heavy. I'd mistake it for a blanket, if not for how firm it feels. 

The darkness of the room makes it hard to identify initially, but as my eyes adjust, I quickly realize that it's a jacket. Cherry's jacket. With me being curled up the way I am, it's just big enough to cover most of my body. Beneath the leather and cloth, there's a series of what feels like hard plates sewn in, covered by an extra layer of padding. The inside is surprisingly soft, though. Comfortable. It's trapped my body heat well, keeping me warm, and the leather smells faintly of what I think is deodorant or perfume. 

Wait, why the hell do I have Cherry's jacket? 

I sit up, grab the jacket, then pause. Some petty part of me wants to throw the damn thing off like it's carrying a disease, and I almost listen to it. Instead, I fold it up and set it on the other end of the couch. Christ, that thing is heavy. How does she wear it all day? 

The sound of the kitchen faucet turning on alerts me to the location of the snake herself. I look over to find her filling a glass of water from the sink, dressed in nothing but a white tank top. On the kitchen counter between us is a couple of things that I can only assume are hers — some plastic tubes that look like pens, a keyring, and a pistol holstered in some leather straps. Must've taken those out before giving me the jacket. 

Soon, she shuts the tap off, raising the mostly full glass to her lips for a drink. For some reason, I expect her to lap at it like a cat or a dog. Instead, she takes gentle, downright human sips, tilting her head back until it's empty. She wipes her mouth with the back of her arm, sets the glass down, then pauses when her eyes meet mine. 

"You want one?" She asks, voice low and quiet. 

I open my mouth, groan, and then manage some proper English on the second try. "There's a jug in the fridge. Please." 

The viper nods, taking another glass from the cabinet and opening the fridge to fill it. She slithers toward me with it when she's done, stopping only to hit the light switch on the way. The room wasn't dark enough that I couldn't see, but I'll admit, it's nice. Once my eyes adjust, that is. She holds the water out, and I accept it gratefully. But it doesn't even make it to my lips before I stop dead. 

In this light, with her jacket off, she looks like a different person altogether. Her shirt is thin and sleeveless, leaving her arms fully exposed for the first time since we've met. The first thing I notice is that each one is built like a goddamn cannon. Even resting like this, the way the scales mold around each muscle is unmistakable. Her shoulders and torso follow suit, the mass flowing smoothly into her thick neck. And yet somehow, none of this seems to compromise the curve of her figure. I don't get to spend long thinking about that, though. 

Because the next thing I notice is that her arms are covered in scars. 

Long, jagged slash marks, stretching in rows from her biceps all the way down to her wrists. The spacing is mostly random and often uneven, not the work of some sort of industrial accident. These are battle scars, I realize. And the closer I look, the more familiar some of them become. I never saw much combat living in the camps — my parents did their best to keep me away from it, for better or for worse. But when you grow up in a place like that, you learn to recognize the signs of a chryssalid attack real quick. Some of the marks near her forearm are unmistakable, a 'lid or two had to have gotten her good. Most, though, look like slash marks from a knife. Those ones look a lot fresher than the bug marks, more vivid. But then again, I don't know how snake scars are supposed to look. 

Fortunately for me, my hand moves even while my brain is distracted. I take the water from her and start drinking automatically, looking away once I realize partway through that I've been starting for a little too long. If Cherry notices, she doesn't say anything, instead slithering back to the kitchen for another drink.

After refilling her glass (still from the sink), she returns to her spot on the other end of the couch, gently moving her jacket so that it's draped across the back. Unsure of what to say, I give her a questioning look. When she catches it, she just shrugs. 

"You looked cold." 

"...Thanks." I mutter.

"Mmmhm." 

The water is heaven on my dry throat, and the chill of it helps me feel the tiniest bit more awake. Today's events come rushing back to me, my brain finally registering the weight of what happened. I'm being hunted. It's real. They found me, nearly got me, and now I'm out of a job.

Only reason I'm sitting in my own apartment right now is Cherry. 

When I turn to look at her, she's watching me. Not directly, of course. Her eyes are pointed insistently at the blank screen of my TV. But I can tell by the way she sits that she's paying close attention to my every move, like she's waiting for something. What that is, I can't really say. 

With my glass drained, I sit up, stretch, and set it down on the coffee table. 

"So." I croak. "You had something you wanted to talk about?" 

Cherry raises a brow, taking another sip of her own water before answering. "Shit. You want to jump right into it, just like that?" 

"What else am I supposed to do, sit here and stew? Hit me." I grunt. 

She inclines her head, as if to say "fair enough", then adjusts the way her coils rest on the couch. I have no idea if couches are comfortable for vipers, truth be told. What do they normally sit on, giant rocks? 

"I'm gonna level with you here, Clyde. When I first started talking about the fact that somebody could be after you? I didn't really believe it." She says, one finger tapping silently against her cup. "I wasn't lying — It seemed like the most plausible explanation to me after what happened at the diner. But c'mon, even I know that the odds of some random guy in the Fringe being the target of a real life, honest-to-god manhunt are slim to none. It was bullshit. Or at least, it was supposed to be." 

I squint at her, chewing on my words for a second before responding. "You're not saying you made it up, are you?"

"No, again, that was genuinely the best explanation I had." She repeats earnestly. "But the key word there is 'best'. As much as I try to make it look like I've got all the answers, the truth is that I don't. Sometimes, some crazy shit happens that I just can't explain. I figured if I waited a bit and kept my ear to the ground, I'd find something. Something to tell me that it was all just a big misunderstanding, something to make it look silly in hindsight." 

Growling in frustration, Cherry tilts her head back and proceeds to dump the rest of the glass into her open mouth. In the time it takes me to blink, she's swallowed. 

"I wasn't supposed to be right, damn it." 

"Why'd you act like it was such a big deal, then?" I sigh, massaging my forehead with one hand. "I mean, you were right, so it was a big deal. Thanks for warning me, seriously. But if you thought it was all a load of bull, why bother giving me your phone number? Making me check in every week, walking me to the grocery store... What was the point?" 

 "Honestly?" She hesitates, her mouth hanging open briefly. "I wanted to spend time with you. Yeah, I was genuinely looking out for your safety. But I figured, hey, cute guy needs me to hold his hand for a while? Make him feel safe? Sure, why not. There are worse ways to spend an afternoon. I wasn't banking on it turning into much else." 

Of course. Even Cherry, the person who first brought up the possibility that I was being watched, thought it was a load of crap and that I was just being paranoid. Anger begins to bubble up inside me, only to die just as quickly as it arrived. I'm tired, too tired to even be mad. Instead, I feel hollow, like a furnace that's out of wood. The only thing left is the cold, black ashes of what I was feeling a few hours ago. 

"So now what?" I ask, giving her a pointed look. "We know the truth. Congrats, it's real: I'm being hunted. What's your plan now?"  

"Well, that depends. What do you want to do?" 

Uh, not get kidnapped? What kind of question is that? How am I supposed to plan around this, exactly? 

I hold all of those angry questions back, and instead choose to take a deep breath. "I don't know, which is why I asked you. What are you looking at me for, exactly? You're the one with all the master plans and connections and shit, I've got nothing." 

"I'm looking at you because this ain't about me, Clyde." She answers. "You're the target, here. Do I know what I'd do in your shoes? Sure. I can tell you what to do, if you really want. But I can also tell you right now that you're not gonna like most of my ideas. I figure the best thing I can do right now is find out how you wanna play this, and back you up from there." 

"...Alright, that's... a lot more level than I was expecting. What's your interest in 'backing me up', though?" I can't stop the suspicion creeping into my voice and onto my face. "This isn't a maybe anymore. It's real now, these people have guns and have already tried to shoot us once. What's your reason for sticking around?" 

Cherry's head lolls backward, a slow, sigh-like hiss escaping her scaly lips. "How many times do I have to say it before it finally sticks? I. Like. You. As in, I am directly invested in your continued existence. That means that if somebody is trying to snatch you up off the street like a stray cat, I would very much like to speak with them first. And by speak with, I mean murder. Does that make sense?" 

"OK, are you dodging the question or am I having a stroke?" I ask. "I know you like me, I heard you the first five times you said it. But WHY? I'm not your friend. What the hell did I do to make you want to tangle with these guys on my behalf?" 

The face she makes tells me that she'd be gritting her teeth, if she had any. An awkward middle ground between a snarl and a wince. Soon enough though, she relents, slowly beginning to deflate. 

"It's a bit of a long story. You sure you wanna hear it right now?" 

"YES! Stop stalling and just tell me already." I plead. "Fuck."

"Alright, alright! Easy! Just gimme a sec, yeah? It's not something I talk about often." 

Cherry gets this uncharacteristically wistful look in her eyes, turning away from me to stare off into the void of my living room wall. Her claws tap lightly against the empty glass in her hand, a gentle 'ting ting ting' filling the air, before she sets it down and swallows like she's forcing a glob of tar down her throat. 

"There weren't always six of us." She begins quietly. "Me and my sisters, we were runaways. People who broke free before XCOM managed to take down the Psionic Network. It was just Ma, at first. Then me, then Holly, then Pip. Our way of freeing people was... crude, to say the least. Didn't always work. In fact, most of the time it'd just kill whoever we were trying to save. But every now and then, we'd get a survivor. And if you were a survivor, you were part of the pack. The Vas-Ten Prima — First of the Vipers. 

"Once we were free, we had to rough it out in the wilds. Us, and however many other Vas we could grab without ADVENT catching on. Our numbers went up and down, over the years, Sickness, starvation, skirmishes with Kracsad troopers. Most of us didn't make it. But a few of us managed to get aaaall the way here, to City 31. Me, Ma, Lucy, Holly, Pip, Sal, Carrie, Bailey, Priscila... and Lizzie." 

She tries to count the names out on her fingers, runs out of fingers at "Bailey", then gives up, counting the last two by nodding her head. 

"Remember how I said you reminded me of someone?" She doesn't continue until I nod my head. "Well, that someone was Liz. Sweet girl, usually a little grouchy though. Stuck in a dead end job that she hated, living off of scraps, always getting walked on or pushed around. The resemblance'd be uncanny, if you were a few hundred pounds heavier and covered in scales." 

Reminded. Hated. Was. I'm noticing a lot of past tense words here, and I've got a feeling that I know more or less how this story ends. 

"What happened to her?" I prod, carefully watching Cherry's reaction. She looks at me, tries to smile, then realizes she can't. 

"Stabbed to death in an alleyway." She mutters, eyes slowly losing their focus. "It was the middle of the night. Poor girl was on her way home from work, picked the wrong street to walk down. Two humans with knives found her, carved her up like a Chryssalid over a campfire. No rhyme to it, no reason. And by the time I showed up, she had more holes than she did scales.

"But this ain't about Lizzie, it's about you. Moral of the story? This city'll eat you alive if you let it, for no reason other than the fact that you dared to live in it. When I look at you, I see that poor girl's face again, and I just... Shit, Clyde!" She swears, shaking her head. "I know it's stupid, I know it's dumb. I'm a criminal, I robbed you, I'm not supposed to get attached. But I did, because I'm an idiot, and now it's too goddamn late to just take it all back and pretend I don't care, because I do! I care about you, and I don't want you to end up like Lizz. That's why I'm doing all this. That a good enough answer for you?" 

I've heard Cherry rant before. It's a thing she does sometimes - we run into a topic she's got strong feelings on, and she launches into some big spiel like she's my grandma trying to teach me a life lesson. This time, though, there's something different about it. Something about her posture, her tone. She's missing the dry, sarcastic voice she usually has. She's missing the strong, straight posture and aloof side eye. Instead, everything about her seems so tired and drained.

When we were in that alleyway, and she pretended that she was about to leave me to fend for myself, slipping between personas was so easy for her. So fluid, and quick. As easy as flipping a switch. And the more I think about it, the more it all starts to fall into place. Cherry's usually so guarded with her feelings. You could shoot her in the chest, and she'd hardly even flinch. 

Right now, she's not acting or wearing a mask. Her usual air of supreme confidence is gone. 

For some reason, I still can't shake the feeling that there's things she isn't telling me. But at the same time, I've seen and heard enough to feel like I've got a genuine read on her. This Lizzie girl must've been important to her, because by god is she serious. Whether I think her reasons are stupid or not, this is legitimately she feels.

"Yeah." I eventually reply, throat still a little rough. "It is. I believe you, Cherry." 

"Good." She sighs, shoulders sagging. "I don't normally talk about that sort of thing with anyone but my sisters, and even they have to force it out of me like they're pulling old scales." 

I'm not sure what the proper response to that is, really. Thank you for trusting me? Sorry you went through all that? Before I can decide, Cherry exhales slowly through her nose and perks back up. 

"Now, back to what I was saying earlier. Ball's in your court here, buddy. It's your life on the line, how do you wanna play this?" 

Ah, the question I've been dreading. I lean back on the arm of the couch, eyes drifting toward the ceiling. 

"Unfortunately," I grumble, "What I want to do and what I can do are two very different things. I don't like sitting around, you know? I don't like having a problem hanging over my head that I can't do anything about. It makes me restless. If I had my way? I'd find whoever's behind this, and... hm. I mean, I guess I'd want to talk to them first, just to figure out what's going on. But after that?" 

I hesitate, unsure if I really mean the words that I'm about to say. Cherry looks me in the eye for a second, seems to guess what I'm thinking, and cracks a genuine smile. 

"Y'know, Doc always said that knowledge is power. And boy, do I know this lovely little spot by the docks for getting people out of your hair."

Her soft, tired voice makes it sound like a joke. But coming from her of all people, I can't really be sure. 

"Doc?" 

"One of my sisters. Anyway, I like where your heart's at, but you don't really strike me as the fighting type." 

The comment is a bit of a blow to my pride, but she's right. Over the course of my life, I've directly caused the death of two people. One was more of an assist on my part, and the other was technically an accident. I've been in fights before, but nothing like this. Not even close. 

"I'm not." I admit. "And that's the part that pisses me off. I can fight. I know how, I've done it before. If it was just one person, I'd do it. But how the hell do I fight this? I don't even know who these people are, or how I'd find them! Do I just sit here? Wait for them to find me?" 

"Nope, that's where I come in." She grunts, stretching her scarred arms. "Remember how I said I care about you? Well, it's time to put my money where my mouth is. I've been looking into the attack at the diner for a while now, but a few days ago I decided it was serious enough to warrant calling in a favor with my boss. And last night, she told me she had a lead. I don't know what that lead is, exactly, but I know that Xug wouldn't waste my time with something vague and half-assed. Why don't you come down to the Nest with me tomorrow? We can see what she's dug up together, then plan from there." 

As much as I hate looking a gift horse in the mouth, I can't help but cock a brow at her. "No offense, but are you sure this is reliable info? 'I called in a favor with a strip club owner, and she has a lead' sounds pretty sketchy." 

"Heh. Yeah, that's fair." She chuckles. "Do me a favor and hear her out, though — If you're right, and it's nothing, you can laugh at me and say 'I told you so'. I won't even break your arms after."

"Fine." I concede, throwing my hands up. "Not like I have any better ideas." 

"See? That's the spirit. We can head there any time tomorrow. Or today, but you probably don't wanna go anywhere after that, huh?" 

"Nope." I confirm, reaching for my phone. I tap the power button to discover that it's currently 3pm, a bit earlier than I had guessed. It doesn't feel like I'm only halfway through the day. In fact, it feels like I've just lived through enough action to fill several days, even though it all happened in the span of roughly an hour. Maybe even less. 

Below the time is a couple of notifications, mostly texts and missed calls from people I know. One from Zed, asking how I am. One from my manager telling me to take the day off, as if I wasn't doing that already. One from Danny, a guy I haven't talked to in almost a year now...

And about a dozen from mom and dad. 

I skim the first "where are you?" message before swiping every notification off the screen, and shutting my phone back off. I don't feel like dealing with them right now. 

"So," Cherry ventures, "What do you plan to do in the meantime?" 

That's a good question, actually. My eyes glide lazily around the room, hovering over every object in my living room as I mentally decide that I'm not interested in any of them one at a time. TV? No. Reading? Nah. Food? Not hungry. Shitty mobile games on my phone? Don't feel like it. Everything sounds so dull right now, so pointless and hollow. And when I think about the prospect of getting up to do something, my limbs feel like they're made of stone. 

"Sit here." I shrug. "Rot for a bit. If I wait long enough I'll probably pass out again, which sounds nice. Eventually I'll wake up, it'll be tomorrow, and then we can go see whether that lead of yours is bull or not." 

Her eyes drift away from mine, the silence between us slowly but surely growing awkward. 

"Gah, fuck this. I'm staying. You mind if I stay?" 

"What?" 

"I don't want to leave you alone right now." She explains. "You'll probably be safe for at least a few days, but still, it doesn't sit right with me. I'm not gonna force it or try to intimidate you, but if you'll let me, I want to stay here for the night. I'll sleep on the couch, then tomorrow we can head to the Nest together." 

"Cherry." I mock-gasp with what little energy I can muster. "Did you just... politely ask permission for something?" 

The viper rolls her eyes, flopping back against the couch. "Yeah, yeah. Listen — I know I haven't always been the nicest person, even outside of the whole robbery thing. It's not that I try to be an asshole, but it's how I'm used to doing stuff, y'know? All my life, it's been important. It's kept me safe. And that means it's difficult for me to 'turn off'. That being said, I'm realizing that if I want you to trust me at all, I need to start by being less of a kracsad to you. So, there you go. This is me, doing that. For you. You're welcome." 

She gets progressively more unsure of herself with each closing word, ultimately wincing at her own hastily tacked on "you're welcome". 

"Crap, wait, that sounded bad. What I meant to say was-" 

"Stop." I interrupt, stuck between wan smile and a groan. "I get it, and thanks. Where's all this coming from, though? Did you hit your head fighting that other viper, or something?" 

"Had an epiphany at the bar last night." She answers evasively. "Let's leave it at that." 

And just like that, she's right back into her old habit of smoothly dodging. Out of all her nasty habits, though, that one's a lot more tolerable. Ordinarily, you wouldn't be able to pay me to let Cherry stay in my apartment overnight. But with everything that's happened today, and her somewhat mysterious change of attitude, I think I'm willing to make an exception. 

The fact that I'm still a little terrified of being alone may or may not also be a factor. 

"Alright. If you're fine with sleeping on the couch, you can stay." I tell her. "I have a spare blanket in my closet, I'll bring it out before I go to sleep. I'd tell you not to touch the thermostat, but it hasn't worked since I moved in, so who cares." 

She snorts a little at my comment, nodding toward it from across the room. "Yeah, I was wondering. Is it just you? Does anyone's thermostat work in this place?" 

"Nope." 

"Ha. Figures." 

Before I can say anything else about my cheapskate of a landlord, my phone buzzes. I hold up a finger, pull it out, and then immediately hit silence upon reading the name. 

"Anyone important?" Cherry asks. 

"Parents." I grumble vaguely. "Don't know what their deal is, but they've been trying to get a hold of me for the past hour." 

"Gonna guess you're not on good terms with them?" 

I don't answer, instead stuffing the phone back into my pocket, and leaning back to stare at the ceiling. She seems to take the hint, settling into the only somewhat awkward silence with me for a time. Like many things in my life, however, it doesn't last.

"So are you gonna ask about the scars, or what?" 

I immediately sit back up, tilting my head in confusion. "Huh?" 

"The scars." She repeats, holding out her arm. "I don't show 'em to people often, but everyone I do show asks at some point. Figure we can save ourselves some time and get it out of the way now." 

"Why would I- Do people just bring them up randomly? Is that normal?" 

"Yeah, kinda." She responds, seemingly just as confused as me. "I saw you staring at them earlier, and you've been looking every now and then when you think I won't notice, so..." 

"Woah, hang on now. No I haven't." I object. 

"Clyde, c'mon." 

"I'm serious, I haven't been ogling your stupid scars!" 

"What are you looking at, then?" She demands, scaly brows furrowed. 

"Not the fucking scars, I can tell you that!" 

She squints at me, looking like she's ready to argue again, then freezes. For a moment, I think this is her self control winning out over her urge to be a pain again, but the grin that slides over her muzzle quickly tells me I'm wrong. 

"Oh, I'm sorry." She yawns, stretching her arms out again. "Were you looking at these?" 

She suddenly poses like some sort of model, with her elbows raised and hands behind her head. It takes me a second to realize what she's showing off, the flesh of her arms beginning to bulge outward. 

"N-no, that's not-" My tongue picks the absolute worst time imaginable to trip over a word, and the viper reacts like a shark smelling blood. Before I can protest, she switches to a different pose, curling an arm inward so that her bicep pops out. The muscle strains against her scales like a wild animal beneath a net, shifting and popping as she moves her arm. Even from here, I can tell that it's roughly the size of my head, large even with the inherent size difference between us. 

Before she can take it any further, though, there's a series of knocks at the door. 

Both of us tense up immediately, ready to move at a moment's notice. When we exchange looks, a silent conversation happens between our eyes. Cherry holds a finger to her lip, signaling for me to be quiet, then lowers her torso slowly from the couch to the floor. She slithers across the carpet, horrifyingly quiet for her size, popping up again once she's reached the door. She presses an eye to the peephole, trying a few different times to angle her face so that it fits, then casts a look back in my direction. 

I don't know what it is, but something shifts on her face when she looks at me. Like she's making some sort of connection in her head. What it is, I can't say. But it must be something big, because a second later she decides to ease the door open. 

I won't lie, I panic. I'm jumpy and exhausted, so naturally I lunge for the other side of the couch, crawling as far away from the door's line of sight as I can. Fortunately for me, Cherry only opens the door enough to poke her head out, long neck allowing her to speak even with most of her body hidden behind the door. 

"What?" She grunts, voice slightly muffled. 

"Uhh, do we have the right room?" A man's voice mutters. I can't hear the conversation very well from here, but it sounds familiar. Really familiar. Familiar enough that I start to lean back in again to get closer to the door. 

"Yeah, see the sign? This is it." Another voice replies. This one belongs to a woman, and it sounds just as familiar as the other. My mind races with possibilities, cycling through the short list of people that know my address. 

"Sorry, does Clyde live here?" The man asks, a little louder now. "He's a human, about this tall. Looks a lot like me?" 

The words cause my heart to jump into my throat. It can't be, there's no way. 

"No." Cherry responds flatly. "We got a couple humans in this building though, try the bottom floor." 

The woman outside clears her throat, raising her voice a bit to match. "Are you sure? We've checked every apartment on this floor, and one of your neighbors mentioned a human living here. A human that looks a lot like the one we're looking for." 

Her voice is calm, but firm. There's a subtle intensity to it that tells me she knows I'm here. And if I'm picking up on it, there's no way Cherry isn't. 

"You two are real eager to find this human." She points out, suspicion clear in her tone. "What are you, debt collectors? I'm not helping you break some random guy's legs." 

"Hon, maybe we should-" 

"Just tell her?" 

"...Not what I was going to say, but we could." 

Cherry cracks her neck abruptly, the sound loud enough to carry clearly into the living room. 

"You creeps got five seconds to explain, or I'm tossing you both headfirst down the stairs." 

There's a quick, heated exchange between the two voices that I don't quite catch, loud enough to be heard but too quiet to understand. Finally, the man speaks up. 

"Of course we're eager to find him. He's our son."

Notes:

Big thank you to VanillaTin for beta reading, and providing me lots of valuable feedback on the fic. If you want some more viper stuff to read, he actually has his own XCOM fic which I recommend:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62459470/chapters/159844315