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The Other Kind of Junkie ~ Highs and Lows

classifications: Science-Fiction / Dark


The Other Kind of Junkie is a dark sci/fi story that throws together the lives of three characters into the unexpected world of corporate power and control.

As a foreign university student, Ivan's life revolves around chemical engineering and science. A dream turned into reality. He soon learns that his education plays second fiddle to the school faculty's greed for funding and world class recognition. Was this all a big mistake? Home is so far away.

The scientific community turns him into a media icon, a responsibility he deeply loathes. Something has to give.

Adopted into a cash making empire, Mardi, a drug czarina working undercover as a business thug. Her clubs produces some of the best designer drugs, but a new pusher is creeping in on her territory. Giving out a potentially lethal kind of 'candy' and using her backyard as the recruiting grounds.

Whoever this is, she's going to bounce them out, back out to the streets.

She's on an adventure of discoveries, including her own personal past.

Little Miss No-Name and first class junkie. Her habit is to get high on surreality inorder to off-set her stark, depressing reality. As long as someone supplies her with drugs, she’ll provides *them* with a warm test subject. How cool is that?

To bad Little Miss doesn't know she holds the vital key to a new age of power and tyranny.

Some renegade pharmaceutical developers and a world class marketing company are using these willing addicts. Set in the not-so-far technological future, Mardi and Ivan are destined to find the 'puppet-maker' and shut them down.

The irony of it all, it’s the junkie that will save everyone from this sick agenda.

Story: Detailed narrative introduction of a young woman's dark addiction to tech-drugs and the twisted joy she gets partaking in the steps towards getting high.

Reality: Inspired by late nights at the office and spending too much time with the coffee machine.

More like this / More by this author

Welcome to my office space. Let me introduce myself. I'm the 'tiny girl in corner':

Little Miss. 'no name'.

I haven't heard my boss properly address me in 5 years.

In fact, I don't think he knows who I am.

I have a small cubicle made for one. Inside, a sturdy chair which my let my feet dangle; barely touch the floor. A phone, its handset resting silent in its cradle. I prefer it that way. My favorite item that adorns my sparse formica table, a computer. I like my computer for many reasons. It's the window of my windowless gray cube. Sometimes I like to crawl through the colorless window and explore different places, a day off without leaving my desk. How convenient.

My computer is my best friend; how pathetic my non-existence has become.

5:00PM. Mary runs off to pick up dinner and the kids, just as Billy gets down to the pub for that 'Single-malt scotch, no rocks'.

5:30PM. I get up and approach my non-descript boss’s corner office. It has a great view of the building besides us. So close, I can see directly inside another workspace.

He looks up briefly and sees me slouching by the doorway. He's shots off this 'You’re on my time' look. I speak for the both of us, I can tell he’s quite uncomfortable in my presence.

"I can see your busy..ummm...yeah, I just want to let you, um, know that I'll be working late tonight."

We both nod simutaniously in agreement . As I turn to leave, I ask "Are you working late tonight?", he shakes his head and mumbles that he's leaving soon and that I should lock up. I give him another nod, more boldly then the first. He doesn’t notice, his eyes are fixated to his laptop.

6:17PM and I’m still here. I only have an hour to get my fix before the janitorial staff starts cleaning the floor. I need it and I crave it. Call it sick because I am sick. Always longing to ride out my next fix. Why lie? If you’re going to call it anything, give it the rawest name in the book. Give 'me' a word validating the truth 'about me'.


Jonathan and Paul went to squash; I over heard them in the kitchenette. Joanne is on a date tonight; I hear all her conversations through the carpeted wall of my cube. Riko and Megumi always leave together for their English classes. I am getting anxious. I open my e-mail box. No messages. I get online to surf a bit; nothing is holding my interest. Soon my fidgeting gets the better of me, decide to walk around. Passing the printers, the server room, and the kitchenette. The office is deserted. I run to the doors and lock them. Close all the windows and even shut off the office lights. It's just me and hollow black space. I am ready to party. I get a little twisted around this time. So, I grab my bag and walk slowly past the cubicles, whistling. I always do my dirty work at other people’s desk. It isn't fun unless you push the limits of your greed. Why hold back? I never do, I go all the way.

I circle back to stupid Joanne's desk, her over head cubical light already on, and sit down in her 'oh so comfy' red chair. I melt immediately into the buttery leather and begin to roll up my sleeves. I take my bag and drop it lazily on the desk, right in front of her stupid tacky pictures of flowers and puppies that are plastered all over the dull partition wall. I don’t understand; it’s pointless to dress up a jail cell.

"I am ready to get my rocks off”, I yell out loud into the dark-nothing-less-void. Pulling out a black leather pencil case. I begin the dark ritual by first pull out each precious item, one by one, placing them in a perfectly spaced row. The way a surgeon would lay out surgical steel tools.

I turn on her computer, and of course, she hasn’t logged out. A wicked smile flashes across my lips, thinking of Joanne sitting here tomorrow and not knowing that I was, doing bad stuff in front of her shrine of kitchiness. I stick my tongue out at a framed picture of her cats; I feel superior.

It takes a moment to locate the USB port of her floral motif box. The port is the center of flower of a flashy moded case, nestled among the petals of a black-eyed susan. I grab the cable from the neat row. I like my night job.

First, let me introduce you to 'Medusa', a cable that splits into two, then five. One cable leads to a pressure cuff, which holds a needle retracted inside. One can only imagine where that needle ends up poking me, but as long as it does, I don’t really care. I take a small rectangular box from the row of tools. It's a storage unit for my drugs. Sometimes I leave the smooth laqucred black box out on my desk, hoping that someone might ask 'What is it?'. Once a Riko said it looked like a 'nice makeup box' and that my 'makeup-ed face' was pretty.

Funny, I’ve never wear such stuff, but then again, who would ever notice such a minute detail.

Inside the box are glass orb halves, like eggs with the tops cleaned off, in a black velvet cartoon. Orbs vary in liquid fullness; specialty cocktail made by my personal alchemist.

I take the 'Medusa' and start plugging away. I puncture each orb with it’s designated prong. Perfect.

I am the last item on the list.

Sick isn’t it? Technology is such a thing of beauty. Even a no good junkie like me can admire how well ‘networked’ things are.

Sliding the red chair closer to the desk, i open a browser, type in some IP address, and it takes me to a secure site. It prompts for my login and password. Iinstantly taken to the configuration screen where I pop in some more info and hit ‘submit’. Last page, brings up a chat client where the alchemist is on the other end waiting for me.

“Yo AL” I type in.

I don’t know AL and assume it’s a guy.

“Yeah, I’m here and ready when you are k33ki” He responds.

I quickly type “Ready”

There’s silence now on the chat board.

Five green squares appear on the monitor. I immediately check the small screen inside the lid of the box. It now revels five green squares too.

I turn to the monitor and wait for AL’s instructions.

“k33ki, your unit checks out and I am switching you to autopilot. Please log out of the client now. Have a nice flight”.

Obey, logout, and before I start tripping, I turn to check my little black box. The unit begins to hum quietly and squares flash randomly against the unit's dark screen. I touch the tops of the orbs and notice they're warm. The squares, once solid, are now slowly dissolving. It’s the counting down, signaling for me to lie back, pop my grind guard in my mouth, extend my cuffed arm, and relax while the little black unit takes care of me.

I am alone, getting my fix. I feel the warmth of the cuff followed by the needle dive into my arm. A big smile crosses my little bow like lips as my back starts to arch and my head thrashes violently side to side. This only takes a hideous moment to pass. I used to watch my ex-boyfriend get off on his unit. It frightened me, until he got me my own.

"Body and mind trip out in two differernt ways. You don't know your body is convulsing; you only know the feeling of pure nirvana"

My ex was absolutely right. Tremors have subsided and I immediately feel the cuff grow cold as the needle returns to its hiding place. Finally my eyes open and I check the time.

7: 03PM. The cleaning crew is cleaning the floor below me. I un-do the cuff and check for any bruising. I start unplugging the cable from the black unit and Joanne’s computer, putting away everything exactly the way it was taken out. My body feels great and my mind feels sharper than before. For the next three days the chems will continue to work in my body, keeping me in a perma-state of surreal. I spit out my grind guard and put it back in its retainer. Catching a glimpse of my face in Joanne's desk mirror, I’m all rosy after sex glow.

Standing up with light ease, I start heading for the exit. Half way down the hall, I stop and take a moment to think.

Did I forget to do something?

Opening up my bag again, I pull out the black pencil case and grabbing the little black unit, just to check on the levels. Pressing a little button beside the right vial, the monitor wakes. There's a yellow dot above the middle vial, indicating two more injections before a unit refill is needed.

That’s never a worry, thanks to the Project, some private research facility who hooked me up with an alchemist.

I donate my body for science; they invest in my addiction

I'm not just another junkie.

I'm the other kind of junkie.

Wanderer (October 8th, 2003, 10:06 am)

You allready know how much i like this story Vi :)

drd (January 8th, 2004, 12:42 pm)

Fecking awesome! Love the feel and style.

Could do with a lil editing here and there, but the story is good.

Next installment please. ;)

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