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.

Ina stepped into the living room. The sunlight streaming through the dirty windows was blinding after the darkness of the basement. Dust motes danced in the air.

She scanned the room. Behind the sofa, in the shadow of the overturned furniture, she saw a flash of gold.

Angel. He was sitting on the floor, his knees pulled to his chest. He was still shivering. The bandages she had left him were wrapped around his torso in a messy, haphazard way. Some of the cuts were still bleeding through the gauze.

Ina sighed. She walked to the coffee table and picked up the bottle of disinfectant. She moved slowly, making sure her footsteps were audible, toward the back of the sofa.

Angel heard her. His golden ears flattened against his head. He pressed himself harder into the wall, a low whine escaping his throat.

Ina stopped a few feet away. She crouched down, bringing herself to his level. She held up her hands, showing him the bottle and the clean cotton pads she had grabbed.

"Let me redo this," she said, her voice soft. "If you don't clean it properly, it will get infected."

Angel shook his head frantically. Tears welled in his eyes. The original owner's memories were too strong. Every touch meant pain.

Ina didn't push. She sat down on the floor, a half-meter away. She placed the bottle between them. "I won't hurt you," she said. "I didn't hurt you earlier, did I?"

Angel hesitated. He looked at her, his blue eyes filled with confusion. She was right. She had given him water. She had backed away. It didn't make sense.

"Target loyalty fluctuating. Current status: Extreme fear mixed with confusion."

Ina saw the crack in his armor. She inched forward, moving slowly. She reached out and gently touched the edge of the sloppy bandage on his arm.

Angel went rigid. He squeezed his eyes shut, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood. He waited for the pain.

But it didn't come. Ina's fingers were careful. She untied the knot, her touch light. She avoided the raw skin. Her hands were large and calloused, but her movements were surprisingly gentle.

Angel opened his eyes. He stared at her hands, confused by the lack of cruelty.

Suddenly, the front door exploded inward.

The sound of splintering wood was deafening. Ina and Angel both jumped.

A man stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the bright sunlight. He was tall, his shoulders broad. His silver hair was disheveled, and his clothes were dirty and torn. In his hand, he carried a bag of cheap nutrient fluid.

Denton Carr. The white tiger.

He had just come back from a day of hard labor in the city. He had been working to pay off the original owner's debts.

His eyes swept the room. He saw Ina crouching over Angel. He saw the bottle of disinfectant in her hand. He saw Angel cowering against the wall.

The angle was bad. From where he stood, it looked like she was forcing something on the boy. The memories of the original owner's "medicine"-the acid, the poison-flashed through his mind.

His amber pupils contracted into thin slits. A deep, terrifying roar ripped from his chest. He dropped the bag and lunged.

He was fast. Faster than Harlan. He crossed the room in two strides.

His hand closed around Ina's wrist. His grip was crushing. He yanked her away from Angel with brutal force.

Ina lost her balance. Her heavy, momentum-laden body was violently shoved backward. She couldn't catch her footing, stumbling back several clumsy steps under the sheer power of the beastman before crashing heavily into the glass coffee table.

The glass shattered. The sound was sharp and violent. Pain flared across her back and arms. Shards of glass bit into her skin.

"You crazy bitch!" Denton roared. He stood over her, his chest heaving, his eyes wild with fury. "You promised! You promised if I went out to work, you wouldn't touch him!"

Ina lay in the wreckage of the table. She pushed herself up, wincing. Her hand was cut, blood dripping from her fingers onto the floor.

Angel peeked out from behind the sofa. He looked at the furious Denton, then at the bleeding Ina. He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but no sound came out.

Ina looked up at Denton. She didn't scream. She didn't cry. She didn't beg. She just stared at him, her eyes cold and assessing. It was the look of a soldier evaluating a threat, not a victim fearing an abuser.

Denton faltered. The coldness in her eyes threw him off. This wasn't the whining, hysterical woman he knew.

Ina stood up. She wiped the blood from her hand on her pants. Her voice was low, cutting through the tension like a blade.

"If you don't need your eyes, I can donate them for you. Look closely at what I was doing."

She kicked a piece of glass aside. She pointed at the floor. There lay the disinfectant, the cotton pads, and the unused bandages. No acid. No poison. Just medicine.

Denton followed her finger. He saw the supplies. He looked back at Angel, noticing for the first time that the messy bandages had been partially unwound, and the wounds beneath were clean.

His body went stiff. The anger drained from his face, replaced by a stunned confusion.