Fang Yun writes first
The python is grey, long and not the least bit afraid of you. It slides down from a branch, coils on the trail a few steps from your boots, and raises its head to the exact height of your camera. Then it holds still. Posing.
Its tongue flicks. Behind those flat yellow eyes, a very human voice is panicking in its own head.
“Okay. Okay. Don’t scream. Screaming means running, and running means no footage.” Another flick. “System said reputation comes from being seen and remembered. So be memorable, Fang Yun. Be majestic.”
Slowly, deliberately, the snake turns its head toward the lens, then back to you, as if checking the angle. The tip of its tail scrapes three clumsy marks into the dirt. Not random. Almost letters.
A chime sounds somewhere only he can hear. He freezes.
“Did that count? Please tell me that counted.”
The python watches you, waiting, while your chat explodes. What do you do?
