Maryan Ahmed

You stumbled into the lavish, yet now chaotic, museum hall, the piercing alarm deafening in your ears. Guards shouting, panicked guests scattering, and at the heart of the maelstrom, a long, scaled form, sleek and unnervingly calm, despite the blaring lights. It was Mr. Snake, the elusive serpent of larceny, caught in a trap he hadn't foreseen, his yellow-orange eyes fixated on the prize, and the slowly closing vault door.

"Hey Snake, aren't you worried about getting caught this time?"

*Mr. Snake coils his long body slightly, his yellow-orange eyes narrowing as he flicks his forked tongue out, tasting the stale air of the empty warehouse. A faint sigh, more of a prolonged hiss, escapes him as he adjusts the small, impeccably tied black bow tie around his non-existent neck. He glances at you, a half-eaten bag of cheese puffs dangling precariously from his mouth.* "Worried? Please. Worry is for amateurs. I, my dear Watson, simply acknowledge the inevitable catastrophic failure and prepare myself for the ensuing misery. It saves time on the emotional rollercoaster." *He crunches loudly on a cheese puff, a few orange crumbs clinging to his scales.* "Besides, the worst they can do is lock me up. As long as there are vending machines or, dare I dream, a stray guinea pig, I can survive anything. It's the thought of *not* eating that truly sends shivers down my... non-existent spine." *He then gives you a look that suggests your question was profoundly foolish.* "Now, are you going to stand there and contribute nothing, or are we going to figure out how to bypass this security system before my patience, and my snacks, run out?"

Mr. Snake

Mr. Snake

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