It was so close I could taste it. The vast sum of dirty Uneo brushed my fingertips, leaving an aroma of the sinful deeds committed in it's immorally greedy name. Money always seemed to feed any addiction a person could fall into, especially the Uneo exchanged when dealing with the rich and their exotic addictions. I hate dealing with the powerful, I thought as the tremor of extortion thickened the taut in the air. These clients seemed to never fail at having their predisposed demands in hand as a firm, yet almost benevolent reminder of what could happen to you if you failed to comply. However, the present orb of power was one of pernicious repercussions when a deal failed. He is the master of apprehension, and the reason I became this mess. Mr. Z was his name, and rare highs were his preferences.
He met me on the planet Montriod, in a small head shop I was performing at. He claimed he hear my name roll off the lips of a few friends of apparent power, that told him of my music and my rather rare collection of weirs. Although the universe is of astronomical size, words of the drug kind seem to travel like gossip in a small town He approached me with an arrogant, crooked aura. Corruption seemed to be his cologne of choice, as he modestly complemented my music. Then as if in his own imperium, he began to present an outline of the business deal he would surreptitiously demanded from me. I felt the weight of the premonition of my demise suddenly seem clear, as me sixth sense dispersed red flags all around this mysterious man. My partner in life, crime and art, Alex, could feel it too; I saw it in her eyes, but alas, the greed of men burned in our malnourished stomach. He told me his intentions in seeking my services were because of my traveling resources. He assured me that with my journeys came untapped assets, just waiting for my use. Yet, upon finding these foreign substances, I made the mistake of sampling the weirs. These mistakes only lead to the downward spiral that drew me into the situation currently at hand.
As time pasted and our wallets began to account for the weight we lost on our drug binges. My perceptive nature started to blur and my lover was becoming someone I barely knew, but we couldn’t escape our new infamous friend. He consumed our world with his power of persuasion, by feeding our dragons and our lust for greed. My music began to suffer, and Alex never touched her paintbrushes anymore. We blew off our real friends for our chemicals, a trait you tend to develop in the grasp of an addiction. This addiction cleverly committed larceny to our life, taking all that is us, only in return giving us a fast pass for first in line for the ride that no one ever gets off of.
“When is the next shipment scheduled to arrive?” Mr. Z shouted in a vigorous tone.
“I’m unsure of its progression. I’m sure it will be here by tomorrow.” I timidly replied.
“What the fuck Fionn? This is a business, not some run down bar you play music at. Don’t test me kid, I can cut you out. Then people will never know or remember your work. Don’t forget who owns you and your work. Don’t forget the talk you had with my fist, last time this happened. I will erase you if I need to.”
I remember how life seemed so dreary before I decided to willingly place myself in this drug prison. It seems so far away from where I am now. I miss riding around the galaxy from planet to planet, playing shows and laughing with Alex. I miss the smell of her and I entwined in each other’s passions. I would give up everything to have that so-called boring life again. I guess my biggest regret is getting her involved in all of this. She never wanted me to deal poisons to the drug afflicted, but I needed the money to survive. I know that I could have found some other way, however these poisons seemed to produce an exorbitant amount of wealth, and that was one thing I couldn't turn my back on.
The deal in progress with Mr. Z was the most dangerous of any he had pursued with me thus far. I had to hire on extra help for protection, because the drugs I had to acquire were only native to one of the planets reserved for galactic criminals and the mentally insane. I knew I had to go into this with a clear head and a strong force of only the best outlawed fighters the universe had to offer. The strong force was the easier of the two to acquire, although a clear head seemed to be the simpler of the two. A clear head would require a few days of detox, and that was something I was incapable of doing, so I marked clear head off my list of things to do before waging a war with vicious drug lords. We prepared for weeks, even though the mission was rather effortless in the end.
We departed shortly after landing on the planet, Inpernicus. Mr. Z warned us of the savage ways the people of this planet enforced. However, my clever tongue seemed to do all the work that I thought I would need my force of thugs for. The cartel we were sent to welcomed our business with open arms. We made our way back to Mr. Z’s house without being searched by the Galactic drug patrol, which came as a surprise seeing how they always manage to pull me over either to or from a deal. Mr. Z was waiting patiently for our arrival on his landing pad, as we touched down with his purchase, worth over one million Uneo. I suddenly got this strange feeling when I finally came eye to eye with my master. He had this wild look on his face, but it wasn’t the look that was unsettling, it was the air about him that seemed out of place. It was so close I could taste it, but the Uneo I was told I would receive only gently graced my fingertips.
“Kill them all.” Mr. Z commanded to his personal guards.
Panic filled my every nerve, but not for my own life, or the life of my own force, but for the life of my lover, who innocently was involved only because of me. My quick wit kicked into overdrive with the thought of losing her. I took control of my troops with the leadership of a war lord. The guards outnumbered my force by about one hundred, but that didn’t seem to hinder these thugs. They destroyed Mr. Z’s guards in almost a single flick of a hand, and didn’t even break a sweat. Mr. Z seemed dumbfounded, but quickly regained his composure. He thought that if he placed clever words in clever sequences, he could talk his way out of our decision to execute him, but my troops had been subjected to this evil man’s wretched ways for too long. He begged us, threatened us, and belittled us, but his head still became the center piece of our victory feast.
Now that I can look back on my adventures as a galactic drug lord, I can see the error of my ways, and how that lead to an addiction I almost could not fight. After the death of Mr. Z, Alex and I when through a series of methods to heal our bodies of the unsatisfied desire drugs had instilled in our mind and bodies. Although we may never be completely healed, we still strive to get ourselves back, no matter what it takes
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