***JOSH***

I'm not sure exactly how long it's supposed to take for the snakes to get to Alex. And yet, somehow, I sense it when they arrive, I think. Maybe Jordan has a way of homing in on their fellow serpents of assorted colors? I'd hope so, given how much they're worth in this screwed-up magically capitalist world.

I hate assigning worth to any living thing, really, but here I've got no choice.

My boss, Phil, interrupts my thoughts by coming back into the office. In his four or five minutes outside, he's picked up a new snake that's now riding his left arm. Third-highest in value on the official Purgatorian bestiary, it's a Pink Diamondfang, capable of biting anything with extreme ease. Including stone, bone, metal...and of course actual diamonds, if it so wished. Actually, no, he. So Jordan tells me. And they do not like him. Neither does Henry, Phil's faithful Green Battery, who gives him a nasty stink-eye from Phil's right arm. Of course, the second the Diamondfang lifts his head, Henry lowers his. He knows that this new guy, pretty though he is, could bite him in half at a moment's notice and he wouldn't even feel it until it was too late.

"I think Henry feels like he's about to be replaced," I tell Phil. Not that he needs to hear it from me - after all, Henry's just as capable of putting thoughts into his man's brain as Jordan can for mine - but maybe he could do with an outside opinion.

"Replaced? Never." Phil tweaks his glasses, adjusting his transparent, circular frames. If Harry Potter were a child of this decade instead of the 90s, that'd probably be the style of spex he wore. "I've been looking for a Diamondfang my entire time here, so now I've got both flavors of strength I need."

I nod once. "No more XTS refusing to take you seriously, huh?"

"XTS, or anyone else." Phil flexes his arms. He's not devoid of muscle, he just doesn't have a lot of it. That's probably why he hired me - he needed someone capable of bouncing and punching without serpentine assistance if need be. Often, that need has been. Usually when a certain white South African tries to get handsy on my ass. No, it's not Elon Musk, obviously. You should hear Mr. Musk's horror stories about this guy too. This guy, he's here for trying to bump his head getting into a Tesla enough times to injure himself and hopefully start an international class-action suit in The Hague. Or something. Which...I mean, have you seen how low to the ground some of those Teslas are? My dad and I bumped our heads trying to get into one in a showroom, back when Tesla still had showrooms. I'm not unconvinced, though, that Musk himself hacked this guy's car to lock it in Insane Mode until it crashed on the motorway outside Durban. The resulting pileup was South Africa's biggest in twenty-five years, and I'm sure it's earned someone a few millennia of time here someday.

"Do I gotta ask for time off?" Even though I'm pretty sure I already know the answer.

Phil shakes his head. "I believe in you, man. Even if you're stuck here like me and can't help me out...but maybe me letting you go will help me out?"

"Remind me when I come back and start a Marxist revolution," I say. "Gotta elevate all the proletariat, am I right?"

"Why the hell'd you say that in a French accent?"

"'Cause it sounds fucking French, that's why."

I reach out and shake Phil's hand. "It's been a pleasure, my man."

"Glad you think so, but I'm not happy you're leaving." He pets both his snakes, one after the other. "Who can I have fill in for you on such short notice?"

"Get two of your biggest people."

"Sure, fine. Which ones?"

"You'll think of something. You're a smart-ass smartass."

"Repetition doesn't make you smart."

"And that proves my point." I turn to leave the office, but then I stop and turn around again, spreading my arms. Without another word, Phil comes up and gives me a big damn hug. "Stay frosty, stay awesome," I tell him as I pull back and leave my hand on his cheek for a couple of seconds.

He returns the gesture, completing the circuit, as it were. "'No mourners,'" he says, as any good Six of Crows fanperson would. "'No funerals.'"

"Love you too, Phil." I ruffle his hair, a gesture he doesn't return to me, for whatever reason. But he doesn't need to. I guess he's still a little too conditioned by his Earthen, heteronormative upbringing to be too comfortable with openly displaying his own affection, but I consider it an improvement that he's cool with me giving him some good touch. He sure as shit wasn't when I first met him.

Something I really miss about Alex there. He was already pretty good at avoiding that conditioning. I don't know when he's going to get to this place, but when he does, I promise you'll see me give the biggest hug of my two thousand years of life. I might even kiss him full on the mouth, I'd be so excited to see him. I don't know what it is about him - I'm not supposed to play favorites with mortals or anything - but I really, genuinely love and care about him. And I think he's bonded with me a lot better than most other mortals. Probably on account of me coming into his life at a time when he was hurting the most from his brother's death. A substitute brother? I don't mind, though. He's a good fucking soul.

Plus, he punched my dad once. Never going to forget that sweet-ass moment.

Outside the club, I tap Jordan on their cute orange head and tell them to hide. If only I could wear sleeves, but only visitors - like all those software billionaires - can do so. Permanent residents are required to bare their arms at all times. Show their best snakes for sale. And their best muscle. Well, I'm just showing my ink. Not worth too much in these parts, but it gives people a nice something to look at and memorize instead of my face. And in the meantime, Jordan slithers over my shoulder and chest, under my tank top, and settles in as a second belt. Not on my waist, but on my stomach. They're actually just the right size to slot in between rows on my abs. If I'm working those out, I'll wear them between my abs too. They love the extra warmth that generates. And lapping up my sweat, too, for some reason. Talk about a salt lick.

"'Sup, Wonderboy?"

I try my damnedest to ignore the call coming from down the street. These guys, these three white guys who haven't stopped poking fun at me since I first introduced myself to them, they don't deserve an ounce of my attention. Maybe if they weren't so bound and determined to not believe I am who I say I am, they would deserve. But like so many bullies of their ilk, they refuse to make the necessary personality adjustments. That, I think, is why they'll be sticking around in Purgatorio for a good long while.

"Yo! We're talking to you!"

But not vice versa, so I'm just gonna pass you by. What's almost making me laugh, though, is that they think they have the right to bully me because I don't have a snake visible. Well, maybe if you look really closely at my stomach, but that's why I picked out a slightly less tight-fitting tank today. That, plus I'm not super in the mood to give anyone any excuse to check me out. Free sex may be all over the place down here, but being generally disinterested in sex anyway, I haven't partaken. That, plus if I do, I'm sure I'm only going to trap myself here longer.

"I said..." I can't remember what the ringleader calls himself, but I see him reaching for my arm all the same. "We're talking to you!"

I shift just a little out of his reach, assuming he's too lazy to get off the chair he's sitting in. Unfortunately, today, he's not. He stands up, as do his friends, and he grabs my arm. With his bare arm, I'm happy to see. That Black Glacier he's got shining brightly against the white skin on his other arm like a dark scriv's wings, it's dangerous as hell. Though not as much as my snake, but still, that's some venom I don't want getting into my bloodstream. It'll eliminate so much body heat from me in a matter of seconds that getting it back will be damn near impossible without the (extremely expensive, itself worth at least two Black Glaciers a dose through official channels) antidote.

"Three against one," I muse. "Fair."

"I've said it before, I'll say it again," says the second-in-command, who also has a Black Glacier. "What's not fair is that we're here 'cause of shit people did to us in your name."

The third guy in the group, he's got a Green Battery. Not worth as much, but it gives him real brute strength in a fight if he needs it. I'd make him bleed first, though, if I had to. The disadvantage to the Green Battery is that it makes you easier to cut. Then, of course, I'd give him a kiss. Enough to really make him squirm, but he'll thank me later when my own positive energy helps heal him a lot faster than he would naturally.

"I'd denounce those who act like goddamn bigots in my name," I say, "but you wouldn't believe me anyway."

"Try us," says the third guy.

"I don't know your life stories," I tell these guys. "And I don't need to. But I'm not here to hear of your problems, I'm afraid. I got bigger fish to fry, and it's not even Friday." I pause, then pretend to check a calendar app on a nonexistent phone. "Is it Friday? Hard to tell time around here sometimes."

The guys look up to the sky, where it looks orange as hell and blazing with sunlight, but there's already a large crescent moon sliding into place over our heads. I'm convinced at this point that none of the astronomical bodies we ever see overhead are real. They're all projected from somewhere, which might explain why they never appear to obey any astrophysical rules. Samael could have that power, no?

"You got a lotta balls, yo," says the leader.

"Balls? For what?"

"Being out here with no nothing to defend yourself, bitch!"

"Okay, Pinkman..."

He gets the reference and he doesn't like it. Not if the rising of his Black Glacier's head is anything to go by. All that serpent boy - and Jordan tells me he's a boy - needs to scare me even more is a cobra's hood. Or the ability to spit his infamous chillwavin' venom.

"I'm leaving now," I tell them, backing away slowly - and trying not to look that Glacier in the eye. If I do, it's going to strike, I'm sure of it. They usually tend to do that if you try and assert too much dominance. Something I found out the hard way when a Pink Diamondfang's signature mouth appendages punctured my entire forearm in my first week. Not the same one that Phil has, but I think those Diamondfangs are sibs.

The leader stretches his hand out, and his snake rises up a little higher. Slowly, to be sure. The name "Glacier" doesn't just derive from its magnificent cold capabilities, but also from its utter lack of speed. Almost makes it a lot less fearsome, but not by much.

Well, too bad. I got a more fearsome snake in hand. Or, uh, around my stomach - except not anymore. Jordan's jumping out from under my tank top, making the leader scream and retreat. His buddies do the same, though the third guy, he actually tries to make a grab for Jordan. His mistake. Jordan, they're not the longest snake I've ever seen, but they're long enough to wrap their tail around this guy's arm, and their head around the leader. The second guy, he's backed away so much that he's all but unscathed. Smart. As for these two, though? They're frantically trying to pull away from a snake who's ready to snap their arms right off mid-radius. And they're failing. Holy shit, the Orange Crush is every bit as strong as I've heard. Strong enough to whip down and knock their bloodydamn coconut heads together.

(Yeah, I'm a Red Rising fan. Hashtag #Howler4Life. Pierce Brown may not be religious, but I love him all the same.)

Just as I suspected, the third guy bleeds fast and spurty. He's already taken a hit off his Green Battery, hasn't he? Someone was way too eager to fight, and now look at him, paying an extra price. Poor guy.

As for the leader? His Black Glacier keeps moving slowly, as if ready to bite Jordan, or me. But no, Jordan's too fast for him. Jordan slithers over the leader's shoulders and grabs the Glacier with their mouth, pulling him back to me. Now the Glacier moves fast, writhing and struggling to get away. He does not want a new master.

But a new master he's going to get today. Me.

At the risk of my own well-being, I feel his head first when Jordan brings him back to me. He's got some psychic blocks at first - most snakes do until they warm up to you. But this new snake is quick to yield to me, uncharacteristic for the Glacier. He shudders against my arm, digging into the crook of my elbow to maximize the warmth he can absorb from my skin.

His name is Tyler, and he actually feels at home with me. His old master, though, not so much. The guy used to attack people as much as possible, but never really did much to take care of Tyler. Not anymore. I'm going to make sure Tyler gets the love and attention he deserves.

He may be a heat vampire - more than a bit strange for this desert environment - but he's not automatically a bad creature.

And for sure, he won't be as long as he sticks with me.

Won't you, Tyler?

He tastes my skin in response to my unanswered question, and I set off. Now that I openly have a snake on display, I should theoretically get a lot less disturbance. And as I walk through the streets, one of the few taking in sunlight - those skies are practically Martian in their reddish-orange hue, only accentuating the blueness of the distant sun - I notice people give me a wide berth unless I happen to approach them. Which, today, I don't.

You know, maybe when I'm out of this place, I'll see about keeping Jordan and Tyler with me. They're going to be my best friends down here, so why not pay them back for helping me out? It's time they no longer had to live as slaves to Samael's system.

To all those who like to cite me as an OG communist...you're not wrong.

Watch all my capitalist "followers" have heart attacks and head explosions when they read the above.