The pain was a living thing. It had teeth and claws, and it was tearing her apart from the inside. Ina lay curled on the dusty floor, her fingers digging into the wood so hard her nails splintered.

She forced herself to focus. She had survived interrogations in the wasteland. She had survived radiation storms and raider ambushes. This was just biology.

She stared at a water stain on the ceiling, tracing its brown edges with her eyes. She counted the cracks in the plaster. She recited the serial numbers of her old rifle. Anything to distract her mind from the fire in her veins.

Then, the smell hit her. It was rank, like rotting garbage and sour sweat. She looked down. Her skin was oozing. A thick, black sludge was seeping from her pores, coating her clothes and the floor around her. It was the toxins, the years of drug abuse and bad food the original owner had pumped into this body, finally being expelled.

It smelled like death.

Slowly, the inferno in her bones cooled to a dull ache. The convulsions stopped. "Synchronization with host Ina Richmond increased to 18%," Arno's mechanical voice chimed faintly in the background of her fading agony. Ina lay there, gasping for air, her chest heaving.

She moved her hand. It felt lighter. She pushed herself up, expecting the usual strain on her joints. It came, but it was less. The heavy, suffocating weight was still there, but it had shifted. It felt... looser.

She didn't have time to celebrate. The boy. The two-hour countdown.

She grabbed the edge of the shelf and hauled herself to her feet. Her head swam, but she steadied herself. She snatched the bottle of disinfectant and the gauze from the first aid kit. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing.

She walked out of the storage room. Her footsteps were still heavy, but there was a rhythm to them now, a purpose that hadn't been there before.

Angel heard her coming. He shrank back into the corner, his body tensing. He pulled his torn shirt up, trying to cover his neck, the most vulnerable part.

Ina stopped a meter away from him. She didn't crowd him. She kept her distance, slowly lowering herself to the ground until she was sitting on her heels, her eyes level with his.

She pulled the bottle of water from her pocket-the only clean water she had found. She twisted the cap off. The plastic crinkled loudly in the silence.

Angel's eyes locked onto the bottle. His cracked lips moved involuntarily, his throat bobbing as he swallowed dry air.

Ina placed the bottle on the floor. She used her fingertips to gently push it toward him. The plastic scraped against the concrete, a soft, scratching sound.

Angel stared at the bottle, then at her. He didn't move. His eyes were full of suspicion. The memories flashed in his mind-the original owner offering him water laced with acid, the burning scars that still lined his throat.

Ina saw the hesitation. She saw the fear. She checked the data Arno displayed: "Subject has history of chemical burns via ingestion. Trust level critical."

She cursed the original owner silently. She reached out and pulled the bottle back. Angel flinched, expecting a blow.

Instead, Ina lifted the bottle to her own lips. She took a long drink, letting the cool water wash down her throat. She let out a breath, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

She placed the bottle back on the floor and pushed it again. This time, she pushed it until it was only two inches from his trembling fingers.

Angel watched her. He stared at her for a full minute, his eyes searching for the trick, the trap. But she just sat there, her hands resting on her knees, waiting.

Thirst won. The primal need to survive overrode the terror.

He lunged. His hand shot out, grabbing the bottle. He tilted his head back, chugging the water like a man dying in the desert. He drank too fast. He started to cough, the water spilling down his chin, his body wracking with spasms that pulled at the wounds on his back. He gasped, tears of pain welling in his eyes.

Ina moved. She tore open a packet of gauze and leaned forward.

Angel reacted instantly. He dropped the bottle, scrambling backward, his hands up to protect his face.

Ina stopped. She raised both hands, palms out. It was a universal gesture of surrender. "Don't move," she said. Her voice was still rough, still sounding like gravel, but the tone was steady. Calm. "I'm just leaving the bandage."

She placed the gauze and the bottle of disinfectant on the floor next to the water bottle. Then, she stood up. She didn't linger. She didn't try to force the issue. She took three steps back, putting space between them.

Angel stared at her. His golden ears twitched. This was wrong. This wasn't the script. The monster didn't retreat. The monster didn't share water.

"Target loyalty increased by 1 point. Current loyalty: -98."

One point. Ina almost laughed. It was a pathetic number, but it was a start.

She pointed at the supplies on the floor. "Bandage yourself," she said, her voice hard. "I'm not in the mood to hit anyone today."

She turned her back on him. She didn't wait for a response. She walked away, her wet, filthy clothes sticking to her skin. She needed to wash off the grime, both the physical dirt and the lingering stench of the original owner's sins.

She found the bathroom. It was small and grimy, the mirror cracked and spotted with toothpaste. She hit the light switch. The fluorescent bulb buzzed to life, casting a harsh, unforgiving glare.

Ina looked at the mirror and froze.

The face staring back at her was grotesque. The skin was sallow, covered in the black sludge that was still oozing from her pores. The eyes were puffy, buried in fat. The hair was lank and greasy. She looked like a monster from a swamp.

She turned on the shower. The water sputtered, then came out in a cold rush. She didn't care. She stepped under the spray, clothes and all.

The cold water hit her skin, washing away the black grime. It swirled down the drain, a dark, dirty river. She scrubbed at her skin, her nails raking over the flesh until it turned red.

As the dirt washed away, she began to see the truth. Underneath the layers of fat and toxin, the bones were good. The frame was solid. This body had potential. It was just buried under years of abuse.

She turned off the water. She stood in the dripping silence, her chest heaving. She looked at her hands. They were still thick, but she could feel the serum working, tightening the skin, rebuilding the muscle.

She clenched her fists. A spark of strength, real and raw, flickered in her muscles. It was weak, but it was there. It was a weapon.

She was going to need it.

Ina grabbed a threadbare towel and scrubbed the water from her hair. She walked out of the bathroom, her bare feet leaving damp prints on the dusty floorboards.

She entered the bedroom. The smell of mold and old sweat was overpowering. She grabbed the stained sheets and yanked them off the bed, throwing them into a corner. She wasn't sleeping in that filth.

She sat down on the bare mattress. She closed her eyes.

"Arno," she commanded. "Access all memory files regarding identity and exile."

The data dump hit her like a hammer. Images flashed behind her eyelids. A life of luxury. A sprawling mansion on the capital planet. Endless parties. And through it all, a face. A smiling, innocent face with wide eyes and a soft voice.

Debera Paul. Her cousin. The "true" princess.

Ina watched the memory unfold. A party. Debera handing her a glass of wine, her smile sweet. "Drink up, cousin. It's your favorite." The taste of bitter almonds. The sudden surge of uncontrollable energy. The screaming. The destruction. The scandal.

Ina opened her eyes. Her gaze was cold. It was a setup. A classic frame job. Debera had drugged her, caused her to lose control, and then used the incident to strip her of her title and exile her to this rock.

"Target: Debera Paul," Arno displayed. "Status: Imperial Princess. Ability: S-Class Mental Purification. Public Approval: 92%."

Ina scoffed. A white lotus. The most dangerous kind of enemy. She had dealt with them in the wasteland. They smiled while they stabbed you in the back.

"Current host status," she asked.

"Ability: Suppressed (Unranked). Assets: 150 Star Coins. Debt: 3 million Star Coins (Black Soil City Underground Bank)."

Three million. Ina let out a breath. The original owner wasn't just a monster; she was a degenerate gambler. They were broke. They were in debt. And they were trapped on a garbage planet.

She stood up and walked to the window. She pulled back the heavy curtain. Sunlight flooded the room, along with the acrid smell of industrial smoke.

Black Soil City. It was a dump. The streets were cracked and filled with trash. In the distance, she could see the towering walls of the Hunting Zone, separating the city from the wilderness beyond.

This wasn't the capital. There were no laws here, only power. And right now, she had none.

She turned back to the room. She needed a plan. Step one: Regain combat capability. Step two: Make money. Step three: Go back to the capital and settle the score.

She walked to the closet. It was filled with trash. Garish dresses, neon colors, fabrics so cheap they looked like plastic. She pushed them aside, digging deeper.

Finally, at the bottom, she found a pair of black cargo pants and an oversized grey hoodie. They were plain, durable. They would do. Beneath the clothes, her fingers brushed against cold, heavy steel. She pulled it out-an old-model electromagnetic pistol. The original owner had likely bought it for show, a prop for her twisted games, but Ina quickly checked the energy pack. The indicator flashed a solid green. Still fully charged. She checked the grip, testing the weight of it in her palm, feeling a familiar comfort wash over her. She tucked the weapon securely into the waistband of her new pants. A useful tool in a world like this.

She dressed, pulling her damp hair back into a tight ponytail. She looked in the mirror. Her face was still round, her body still heavy, but the way she carried herself had changed. She stood straight. Her eyes were sharp.

She opened the bedroom door and walked down the hall. The spot where Angel had been was empty. Only a dried pool of blood and the empty water bottle remained.

She followed the faint scent of blood down the stairs to the first floor. She needed food. Real food, not the synthetic trash the original owner lived on.

She walked into the kitchen. It was a disaster. The sink was overflowing with moldy dishes. The fridge was bare except for a few vials of cheap, expired nutrient fluid.

Ina picked one up. "Industrial synthetic sweetener," she read on the label. She threw it in the trash. That garbage would only slow down her body's recovery.

She checked her pocket. 150 Star Coins. It wasn't enough to buy a fresh apple, let alone the high-energy food she needed.

"Novice Quest triggered," Arno announced. "Objective: Acquire first pot of gold. Suggested method: Collect low-level materials in the Level 4 Hunting Zone periphery."

The Hunting Zone. Ina felt a familiar thrill. This was her territory. Killing and scavenging were what she did best.

But she looked down at her hands. They were still clumsy. Her body was still slow. Going into the zone alone in this condition was suicide.

She needed backup. And the only backup available was the men in this house.

She closed her eyes, searching the original owner's memories. A dark, damp image surfaced. A basement. The hum of machinery. A cold room. And inside, a figure curled up on the floor, scales dull and eyes empty.

Harlan Wright. The snake.

The memory showed the original owner turning the temperature down, laughing as the cold-blooded man shivered and begged. She had kept him in the cryo pod for weeks.

Ina's heart skipped a beat. Harlan was an SS-class potential. He was dangerous. He was lethal. And he probably wanted her dead.

But if she could tame him, he would be her sword. If she failed, he would be her executioner.

Ina walked to the counter. She pulled open a drawer and took out a boning knife. The blade was dull but sturdy. She tested the edge against her thumb. It would cut.

She slid the knife into her sleeve. She took a deep breath, steadying her racing heart. She was about to walk into a cage with a starving predator.

She turned and walked toward the hidden door that led to the basement.

The stairs were steep and narrow. The air grew colder with every step. The smell of disinfectant mixed with the musky, reptilian scent of a cold-blooded predator.

Ina kept her hand near the knife in her sleeve. Her boots creaked on the rotting wood. The dim emergency lights flickered, casting long shadows on the concrete walls.

At the bottom of the stairs, she saw it. A metal cryo pod sat in the center of the room, white vapor curling around its base. The hum of the refrigeration unit was the only sound.

She approached the pod slowly. Through the frosted glass, she could see him. A massive green snake tail was coiled tightly around the base. Above it was the pale torso of a man. Harlan Wright. His eyes were closed, his lips blue. His skin was covered in burn marks and electrical scars.

Arno's interface flashed red. "Warning! Target Harlan Wright Mental Corruption Index: 30 (Extreme Danger). Subject is on the verge of rampage."

Ina walked to the control panel. The temperature was set to minus twenty degrees Celsius. It was a torture chamber, not a containment unit.

She didn't hesitate. She pressed the stop button, then the defrost sequence.

The machine groaned. The hiss of releasing pressure filled the room. The heavy lid began to rise. A cloud of freezing white vapor billowed out, obscuring her vision.

Ina stepped back. She shifted her weight, bending her knees slightly. She kept her eyes on the opening pod.

The vapor cleared. Harlan's eyes snapped open.

They weren't human eyes. They were vertical slits, a sickly yellow-green, filled with a cold, calculating madness. He didn't wait for the ice to melt. His tail lashed out, slamming into the bottom of the pod.

He launched himself at her. He moved like a striking viper, fast and silent. His hands reached for her throat.

Ina's body reacted before her mind could process the threat. She dropped to the side, rolling across the dirty floor. The wind from his passing ruffled her hair. His tail smashed into the wall behind her, cracking the concrete.

He landed in a crouch, his tail coiled behind him for balance. His forked tongue flicked out, tasting the air. A low hiss escaped his throat.

He stared at her, his voice like sandpaper on rock. "What's the new game? Tired of the shocks? Want to fight to the death this time?"

Ina stood up. She brushed the dust from her pants. She looked him in the eye. She didn't back down. She didn't scream.

Her calmness seemed to enrage him. He slithered forward, his fangs gleaming in the dim light. "Why so quiet? Where's your whip?"

Ina pulled the boning knife from her sleeve. Harlan saw the steel and laughed, a harsh, grating sound. He tensed his muscles, ready to disarm her and turn the weapon on her.

But Ina didn't lunge at him. She turned and drove the knife into the heavy wooden workbench beside her. The blade sank deep, the handle vibrating with the force of the impact.

Harlan froze. His vertical pupils contracted. This wasn't in the script. She was supposed to attack him, or cower. She wasn't supposed to disarm herself.

Ina looked at him, her voice low and steady. "I swear on my life, from this second on, I will never lay a finger on you again."

Harlan stared at her for a long moment. Then, he burst out laughing. It was a manic, broken sound. He doubled over, coughing, a fleck of blood appearing on his lip.

"A swear? A promise from a sadist?" He sneered, his eyes full of contempt. "Do you think I'm stupid enough to believe you?"

Ina didn't argue. She knew words were worthless. She pointed at the open pod.

"The machine is off. The password is deleted. You can stay down here in the dark, or you can come upstairs. It's your choice."

She turned around. She started walking toward the stairs. She left her back completely exposed. It was a gamble. A huge gamble. One strike from his tail would snap her spine.

Harlan watched her go. His tail slapped against the floor in agitation. The instinct to kill, to avenge every shock and every freezing night, screamed at him. But something held him back. Her indifference. She wasn't afraid of him. She wasn't playing a game. She just didn't care.

Ina reached the middle of the stairs. She stopped. She didn't turn around.

"Also," she said, her voice echoing in the stairwell, "if you want to kill me, wait until I pay off the debt. Otherwise, the bank will seize you and sell you to the fighting pits. You'll be back in a cage, only this time, you'll be fighting to the death for someone else's amusement."

The words hit Harlan like a bucket of ice water. He hated cages. He hated being property more than he hated her.

"Target Mental Corruption Index decreased to 20. Current status: Extreme suspicion, attack suspended."

Ina allowed herself a small, tight smile. She continued up the stairs and pushed open the door to the living room.