"Just give me the stuff!" Jahn cried in desperation as the human lorded the needle over him. "I did what you asked, I-" he choked, not really comfortable with saying it out loud. The human refastened his belt and adjusted the buckle all with one hand and shook his head towards another, heavier, human standing in the corner. "Inject him then throw him out on the street." The careless attitude hurt, it always did, but Jahn's entire nervous system was craving a release only the Glitterryll injection could give him. It didn't matter to him if they'd pick up his limp body and throw him out into the dirty street and he'd spend the entire ten minutes of his high getting acid rain all over his barely covered body.
He'd get his fix and that was all that mattered.
After four months of sobriety on the FSS Entrepod near Agamar he had the stupid idea to hide on one of the cargo ships bringing Binka Fruit to the Core. He was almost completely free of the withdrawals, too, but somehow that and the boredom of that old space station made the cravings stronger than ever. Maybe he couldn't live with the clarity that being sober provided. Maybe he couldn't live with the innocent life he took on Nar Shaddaa trying to steal an algorithm from Blackwell, all for just a single fix. The shame was too much and besides, he found that he was better at this slicing thing when he was at least somewhat high. It didn't take him long to write the code for that class 1 dataplague that disabled security on that cargo ship long enough for him to slip in, after all, but he had written that little gem back on Nar Shaddaa before the virus hit. When he tried to write something similar sober... he just couldn't do it. The image of that dead woman just kept floating back into his mind and he...
"Come on!" he raised his voice and he instantly knew it was a mistake as the human stepped back as if he had just heard someone insult his mother. "Seems like you don't really want this, pink boy?" Jahn interlocked his fingers and sat up straight as if begging or praying to some deity that spice dealer was to him right now. "Please, I need it."
Another exchange of motions and the fat human suddenly dashed forward, grabbed Jahn and threw him across the room onto a dirty matrass. "You've got nothing I need, though," he laughed. The human was in the business of taking the pretty and young addicts, cleaning them up and then as long as they entertained his clients they'd have regular injections. Jahn just failed his entry exam and thus became nothing more than a loose end.
The needle was in before Jahn realized it, but he still immediately knew something was wrong. The dosage, the amount of fluid injected, something. The spike in adrenaline didn't help slow it down, but the Zeltron was sure he was just injected with a lethal overdose and he had to do everything he could not to panic. He'd overdosed before. What did he do back then? If only he could remember!
It seemed like only a few seconds had passed when he suddenly felt the slightly acidic rain pour down on his face and bare marked arms. Between that moment and the hard knock on the durasteel sidewalk? An eternity. He only faintly heard the laugh from the fat human before the sound of the rain drowned it all out.. all except that annoying peep in his right ear. By some miracle he had the presence of mind to reach for the small datapad in his back pocket, something the dealer hadn't cared to steal, and he called the emergency number programmed within..
"Republic Trauma Team, what's your emergency? Mister Harlan?"
Seems like his mother forgot to cancel his Republic premier health insurance yet.
@Killa Ree
He'd get his fix and that was all that mattered.
After four months of sobriety on the FSS Entrepod near Agamar he had the stupid idea to hide on one of the cargo ships bringing Binka Fruit to the Core. He was almost completely free of the withdrawals, too, but somehow that and the boredom of that old space station made the cravings stronger than ever. Maybe he couldn't live with the clarity that being sober provided. Maybe he couldn't live with the innocent life he took on Nar Shaddaa trying to steal an algorithm from Blackwell, all for just a single fix. The shame was too much and besides, he found that he was better at this slicing thing when he was at least somewhat high. It didn't take him long to write the code for that class 1 dataplague that disabled security on that cargo ship long enough for him to slip in, after all, but he had written that little gem back on Nar Shaddaa before the virus hit. When he tried to write something similar sober... he just couldn't do it. The image of that dead woman just kept floating back into his mind and he...
"Come on!" he raised his voice and he instantly knew it was a mistake as the human stepped back as if he had just heard someone insult his mother. "Seems like you don't really want this, pink boy?" Jahn interlocked his fingers and sat up straight as if begging or praying to some deity that spice dealer was to him right now. "Please, I need it."
Another exchange of motions and the fat human suddenly dashed forward, grabbed Jahn and threw him across the room onto a dirty matrass. "You've got nothing I need, though," he laughed. The human was in the business of taking the pretty and young addicts, cleaning them up and then as long as they entertained his clients they'd have regular injections. Jahn just failed his entry exam and thus became nothing more than a loose end.
The needle was in before Jahn realized it, but he still immediately knew something was wrong. The dosage, the amount of fluid injected, something. The spike in adrenaline didn't help slow it down, but the Zeltron was sure he was just injected with a lethal overdose and he had to do everything he could not to panic. He'd overdosed before. What did he do back then? If only he could remember!
It seemed like only a few seconds had passed when he suddenly felt the slightly acidic rain pour down on his face and bare marked arms. Between that moment and the hard knock on the durasteel sidewalk? An eternity. He only faintly heard the laugh from the fat human before the sound of the rain drowned it all out.. all except that annoying peep in his right ear. By some miracle he had the presence of mind to reach for the small datapad in his back pocket, something the dealer hadn't cared to steal, and he called the emergency number programmed within..
"Republic Trauma Team, what's your emergency? Mister Harlan?"
Seems like his mother forgot to cancel his Republic premier health insurance yet.
@Killa Ree
