Beast World: They Hated Me, Then I Cooked Them Dinner

The Enforcer flinched, instinctively taking a half-step back. The heavy energy rifle in his hands wavered. The sheer physical presence of a Level 6 male dropping a partial bio-form transformation in a confined space was suffocating. The air pressure in the room literally changed. Terra’s ears popped.

"This is a direct violation of Board protocol, Kagan," the lead Enforcer warned. His voice sounded tight, leaking fear through the external speaker of his helmet. "If you protect her, you forfeit your military rank."

"My rank is tied to my combat output, not corporate politics," Zev replied coldly. His massive, scaled arm remained resting against the cracked concrete floor, a clear, lethal threat. "The law clearly states a female cannot be exiled without a full tribunal if she has active, high-level contracts. Go back and tell the Board to schedule a hearing."

Zev was using the legal loopholes of this dystopian society. Because females were the ultimate resource, the laws surrounding their "ownership" of males were incredibly complex and heavily weighted in their favor. The Enforcers looked at each other. They were grunts, sent to do the dirty work quickly before the public caught on. They were not equipped to handle a tribunal or a violent confrontation with a Level 6 serpent beast.

"Fine," the lead Enforcer spat. He lowered his rifle. "But her bank accounts are zeroed. Her property is seized. You're living in the slums now, princess. Let's see how long you last without Daddy's credits."

The Enforcer gestured aggressively to his men. They turned and marched out, the heavy thud of their boots echoing down the filthy hallway. The moment they were out of sight, Zev’s scaled arm shifted back into smooth, pale human flesh. Zev didn't look at Terra. He just stared at the empty doorway.

"They're gone," Terra whispered, the adrenaline slowly leaving her system, leaving her shaking and weak.

Zev turned his head. His golden eyes locked onto Terra’s face. The brief moment of protective energy vanished, replaced instantly by his signature, terrifying coldness. "Get up," Zev ordered.

Terra pushed herself off the mattress. Her legs felt like jelly. She stumbled slightly, catching herself on the rusted bedpost. As Terra stood up, she caught a glimpse of herself in a cracked, filthy mirror leaning against the far wall. She gasped. The original Terra Mason had completely ruined this body. Her hair was dyed a toxic, neon pink, slicked back with cheap gels. Her face was heavily caked with thick, waterproof synthetic makeup—a stark white foundation with harsh, black lines drawn aggressively around her eyes. She looked like a deranged clown.

Worse than the aesthetic disaster was the physical feeling. Terra’s skin felt suffocated. Her pores were screaming under the heavy chemical paste. Her stomach cramped, a dull, throbbing pain radiating through her abdomen. This body was severely malnourished. The original Terra had likely survived on expensive recreational stimulants and diet pills to maintain an unnaturally thin figure. She was weak. Pathologically weak.

Terra rubbed her forehead, her fingers coming away coated in greasy white makeup. "I need to wash this off," Terra muttered, mostly to herself. "I need to detox."

Zev let out a short, harsh breath through his nose. It was a sound of pure disdain. "There is no running water in this sector," Zev informed Terra. "The pipes were shut off when your father's company lost the grid contract. If you want water, you go to the filtration river at the edge of the slums."

Terra looked at Zev. He was not going to help her. He had fulfilled his part of their desperate bargain—he had stopped the Enforcers. Now, he was waiting for her to fulfill hers. He was waiting for the food. And he was waiting for his freedom.

"Take me to the river," Terra said, trying to keep her voice steady. "I can't walk through the slums looking like this. I'm a walking target."

"You are a target," Zev corrected coldly. "But you have my mark on you. The low-level thugs won't touch you. They can smell a Level 6 contract."

Zev was right. As Terra focused, she felt a strange, heavy warmth sitting right below her collarbone. It felt like a small, burning ember buried under her skin. That was his Beast Mark. His life bound to hers.

"I'm not voiding the contract today," Terra stated clearly.

Zev’s jaw tightened. His hands balled into massive fists at his sides. Terra saw the veins bulge in his forearms. "You promised," Zev took a step toward Terra, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl.

"I promised I would void it," Terra held her ground, forcing herself not to back away. "And I will. But if I break it right now, I have zero protection. You just heard them. I have no money. No home. I need time to stabilize. A few days. Just give me a few days."

Zev stared at Terra. He was calculating the odds. If he killed Terra now, he died. If he waited, he might get his freedom.

"Three days," Zev said. The words cut through the air like a knife. "You have three days to cook this miracle food. You have three days to figure out your survival. After that, you sever the bond, or I will drag you to the Enclave borders myself and throw you into the wasteland."

Zev turned his back on Terra and walked out the broken doorway. "Follow me to the river," he tossed the words over his shoulder without looking back. "Keep up. I won't wait if you fall."

Terra took a deep breath, fighting down the nausea in her stomach, and followed Zev out into the dystopian nightmare.