A pink, fuzzy fucking dart is sticking out of my chest like it just materialized there out of thin air. I pluck it out between my fingers, dumbfounded.
“You didn’t,” I murmur.
But oh, she did.
She walks toward me slowly. Calm. Collected. A little too pleased with herself.
“I warned you,” she says. “Told you, you shot up to number one on my shit list. Tried it all, Ghostface — coffee, muffins, a couple of good old-fashioned pranks. You avoided them like a rat dodging a mousetrap. So now? You get the dart.”
She shrugs like this is something she does every fucking day.
“You really should’ve taken the coffee. A day or two on the shitter would've been merciful. But you forced my hand.” Her voice drops to a whisper, full of fake pity. “And this was my only chance. Who knows when I’ll get another shot? You’ve been missing for days, after all.”
She spins around, calls out to the side like she’s ordering lunch.
“Hey, biker boy!” She waves at Hellbat. “Your VP’s about to have the worst few hours of his life. You might wanna call someone.”
And then she fucking skips away, into the building. Like nothing happened.
I try to call after her.
I don’t make it.
I hit the ground like I’ve been shot by a cannon. The pain rushes in like wildfire, dragging me under. I can’t even scream. It’s too much. Like something’s inside my chest, carving me open with burning claws.
I blink, and I’m not on the street anymore.
I’m in hell. Surrounded by fire, the devil laughing above me.
Did I die? Did Ria fucking kill me?
I don’t get an answer. I jolt, and I’m gone. The world shifts.
I’m greeted by cold, concrete walls. It’s cramped here. Pitch-black, except for one tiny barred window near the ceiling that lets in just enough light to see the outline of terror. I’ve been here before. I know this fucking place. It’s a memory from a time I buried so deep I forgot to fear it. Until now.
I try to breathe, but the air’s gone. My chest rises, falls, but nothing enters my burning lungs. My heart races, thundering inside a body that feels too small and broken.
The first hiss registers too late. Dozens of them come immediately after. Hundreds. Fucking thousands, a symphony of death that drowns out my hammering pulse.
I glance down, vision swimming. Black, massive snakes are coiling over my boots. Over each other. Over me. They slither like liquid shadow, endless. They start rising, up to my knees. My thighs. My chest.
I can’t move. One twitch, and they’ll strike. They pulse with hunger, fangs flashing, daring me to do something. Mocking my weakness.
Fuck me, I really did die. This is going to be my eternity, isn’t it?
The mass of snakes trembles, a slow ripple spreading through the writhing bodies.
A big one rises.
I’m fucked. It’s the mother of all nightmares. As wide as my torso, jet-black with silver streaks, its head shaped like a spear. It towers above the others, mouth open, venom dripping from curved fangs.
I don’t even have time to blink. It lunges without hesitation, teeth sinking into my chest as it yanks viciously at my flesh.
Fuck. The pain is nuclear.
The rest follow. A legion of them. They crush my bones with their jaws, crack them like ice under boots. They tear chunks from my legs. My throat. My face.
The beast tugs one final time, then rears back, displaying its trophy — my heart, impaled by its fangs. Still beating.
