Vials and syringes

Peering through the tent opening, you note that the otherwise pristine fabric has been torn and smudged at the entrance. Inside the tent is a mess of papers, books, broken glass and electronics. You gulp nervously at the sight of a few dozen syringes scattered amidst the wreckage. It looks like somebody ransacked the place and then some. But it sure didn't look like a meth lab, the equipment was top-notch. You cringe at the sight of a smashed centrifuge that looks like it cost more than your education. Oh what you wouldn't do for that kind of money...actually that had been a point of contention between your morals and your debt lately.

College was expensive as fuck, your family didn't make enough to pay for all of it and you weren't thrilled at the prospect of paying off loans till you were in your forties. Maybe longer on a writers salary. Fortunately you weren't out of cash...yet. But more than once you'd come awfully close to stopping by the local strip-club to pick up a job application. You glance back at the door uneasily...you're not quite ready to go back out there. You look back inside the tent, eying the multicolored stains from the shattered vials. There sure was a lot of high end equipment in there, it would be a shame for it to rot away in a place like this ... Surely not all of it had been destroyed?