Your curiosity is stronger than your fear

“I’m not a spy I … I just need something to … you know … the trembling,” you lie.

There were some junkies and dealers at your old school. And you met some when you helped your mother in the hospital. You know how they talk when they are in rehab. And even if you never took **** before, you have acting experience and can fake it perfectly. Also, these guys have no real reason to doubt you.

“Ah, yes, I know what you mean,” the second guy agrees, “come on, baldy. She is a lost soul open your doors for hears for those in need.”

“Whatever,” the fat guy grunts and opens the door, “fine. As long as she has money. And don’t call me that anymore!”

You were ready to see a lot of misery, but even you need all your inner strength to not gasp and blow your cover. The guy looks appalling. While the guy at the door is just obese and unhealthy in general, his partner could model for anti-**** campaigns. His teeth are black, he is skinny and emaciated and his hair is long and greasy.

He grins as he shows you to follow him. you are sure it is the dumbest thing someone sane could do, but you can’t just back off now. The guy leads you down a dark floor to a big room, that has obviously once been a living room. But now it is full of tables with chemical equipment, a packing station and a storage for things you assume are important for producing ****. A pale person in a lab coat stays at one of the tables and weighs some kind of powder. You can’t say much about the person, not even if it is a man or woman, because of the operation mask and protection glasses.

“Who the fuck is this?” the person says with a strange voice that clearly is not natural, “how many times did I told you not to bring any junkies here while I work? This is not a playground.”

“Relax, Doc,” the thin guy replies playfully, “I’m doing business. This little chick is in dire need of your magic.”

“Then sell her something at the door,” the person called Doc replies impatient and goes back to the scale and powder, “I’m busy. And don’t even think about trying some pills with her! This stuff is expensive!”

“Well, what are you looking for, sweety?” the probably addicted guy asks sleazy, “we have Caribbean Joy Drops, Daemon Blood and Dream Dust.”

You are not familiar with any of these ****. You assume it is some kind of designer **** but without any further knowledge, you can only guess. You quickly decide for Daemon Blood and the addicted guy reaches for a small plastic bag with bright red, partly transparent pills. The stuff looks like jelly beans but you are sure it is highly addictive.

“Good choice, good choice,” the guy says happy and places the small bag on the table next to him, “we sell the best Daemon blood in this area. Don’t compare it with this adulterated waste the Hermanos sell. Our Doc is a true master with the magic potions. 100 and it is yours.”

You hesitate for a moment. You came here to get some information, not for ****. This is a lot of money for you and you. But of course, you should have thought about paying for this stuff before entering. The question is, are you willing to buy the **** and live with the consequences? These guys are clearly anything but pleased if you don’t buy anything.