The courier, a nervous man named Miller holding a briefcase full of bearer bonds, checked his watch. He was safe. He had two bodyguards—ex-linebackers with necks as thick as tree trunks—standing by the SUV.

"Clear,"

the lead guard grunted. "Let's move."

Then came the sound. It wasn't a footstep. It was a dry, rhythmic rasping. Like sandpaper being dragged over tile. Shhh-thwip. Shhh-thwip.

The lights in the garage flickered and died, leaving them in the emergency amber glow.

"Who's there?"

the guard barked, unholstering his weapon.

A figure detached itself from the shadows between the concrete pillars. The Snake. He wore a long leather duster that seemed too heavy for the heat. He didn't walk; he glided, his upper body perfectly still while his legs moved.

"You're holding something that doesn't belong to you,"

The Snake whispered. His voice had a sibilant hiss to it, a whistle between his teeth.

"Back off, freak!" the guard shouted, raising his gun.

The Snake didn't back off. He smiled, and it was a cold, humorless thing. He reached into the deep pocket of his coat.

"Don't shoot,"

The Snake said calmly. "You'll startle them."

"Startle wh—"

The Snake whipped his arm forward in a blur of motion. He didn't throw a grenade. He threw a coil of living muscle.

A Gaboon Viper—five feet of heavy, camouflaged death with fangs two inches long—landed with a wet thud on the hood of the SUV, right next to the guard's hip.

The guard froze. The human brain has a hard-wired override switch for snakes. It bypasses logic and hits the panic button. The viper inflated its massive body and let out a hiss that sounded like a steam pipe bursting.

"Don't move,"

The Snake advised, taking a casual step forward. "She senses heat. She tracks movement. You twitch, she strikes. And I’m afraid I didn't bring the antivenom."

The second guard panicked. He turned to run, but The Snake snapped his fingers.

From the ventilation duct above, something long and yellow dropped down, draping over the guard’s shoulders like a scarf. An Albino Python. It wasn't venomous, but the guard didn't know that. He felt the cold weight constrict around his neck and screamed, dropping his weapon to claw at the creature.

Chaos.

The first guard was paralyzed by the viper staring him in the eye. The second guard was wrestling a python on the floor. Miller, the courier, stood trembling, hugging the briefcase.

The Snake walked right up to him. The viper on the car hood turned its head to watch its master, but it didn't strike. It knew his scent.

The Snake gently reached out and took the briefcase from Miller’s shaking hands.

"Thank you,"

he whispered.

He reached out and patted the Viper on the head with a gloved hand, then scooped it back into his coat pocket as if it were a kitten.

"You can keep the python,"

The Snake called out over his shoulder as he walked away into the darkness. "He likes rats."

As the elevator doors closed, Miller was still standing there, staring at the empty space where the nightmare had been.