This is a non-canon omake.

Soundtrack: Crystal Express -Raury

"Square the fuck up, you scum-guzzling cockrags," Skidmark's voice crooned out over the massive speakers. He waved down at the crowd with one of his hands, while gripping the microphone like a lifeline. In the other hand, he pinched a silver canister between two grimy fingers like a blunt. Scott's eyes followed the swinging pendulum. "I've got a new way to earn your stripes. You chuckletaints are gonna be lapping this shit up like week-dead puss. I'm telling you maggot-toking fucks, this shit is the real fucking deal."

The leader of the Merchants laughed at some question shouted up at him. That gurgling laugh turned into deep, hacking coughs. Squealer stepped forward to slap him on the back hesitantly. Skidmark gagged out a green and brown wad over the edge of the railing and watched it soak into the dirt.

"No, my cock-brained cokehead, this ain't the kind of shit you inject, snort, or smoke. Nothin' that fucking crude. This is the shit of the gods. This is archangels' jism. This is Jesus, Buddha, and the baby-mama-fuckin' prophet's wet dream. This" —Skidmark rattled the canister above his head— "is a genuine fuckin' superpower in a bottle!"

The crowd let a roar that seemed to shake the building. People surged forward, closer to the foot of Skidmark's elevated stage. Hands grasped at the air from the crush of bodies, all desperate for a chance at the stuff.

The red rave lights glared off the metal can, stinging Scott's eyes. He looked away, to the girl at his side—what was her name again?—and nudged her with his arm. "C'mon, let's fuck off. I saw an empty place, back over by the store for pencils and shit."

"Fuck, are you crazy?" the girl nudged him back, harder, with a bony elbow. She gestured up at Skidmark's platform. "Look at that shit! That's the kind of shit we came here for."

"Yeah, that's right, you miserable, louse-diddling douches! Come one, come-fucking-all! We're here tonight to see some blood! And I ain't talkin' about your pussies, you rank fucks!" Skidmark's voice rang out across the broad expanse of the mall. He gestured with his hands, activating his power and drawing screams and laughs from the people. Scott and the girl couldn't see what was happening from their position.

"Is it?" Scott replied. He looked down at the joint in his hand. The paper had been rolled by her, but it was a sloppy, rushed job. The end of it was still lit, but only barely. It glowed, warm red and orange. He put it to his lips, breathing in and out with a thick cloud. There was a hint of spiciness there. "I just wanted to find some pills, and then, you know... hang out?"

He heard her huff out a breath, although his attention drifted over to the mob that was cheering and bellowing invectives. When the girl finally looked up toward him, he turned to meet her eyes. They were a pretty cornflower blue, but the whites, her sclera, those were tinged a harsh pink from their earlier endeavors. She bit her lip, drawing his gaze downward. Red kissable lips. Red lacy bra. Red flushed cleavage.

"Okay, fine. You win." The girl's lips twisted down into a pout. She threaded her arm through Scott's, tilting her head in the direction of the clusterfuck below Skidmark's stage. "Let's just see what all the fuss is about. Maybe we can poach some pills off one of the guys watching. I been here before during the fights, it's real easy."

"The fights?" Scott asked warily, but he did follow her as she strode over. Not like there weren't benefits to following in her wake—her ass looked fine in those tight jean shorts, and her hips swayed as she walked. Maybe it was for his benefit anyway. He was paying for her, after all, and even if she did sort of like him that was just icing on the cake, right?

The girl slipped into the crowd as soon as she was close enough. Scott hastened his pace, following her into the horde of people. "Hey. Hey! Where'd you go?!"

One of the spectators, a big guy with big jeans and a big, bushy mustache, turned to sneer at him. His teeth were dirtier than the ground beneath them, which already exposed literal soil. Flecks of spit peppered Scott as the man spoke. "The fuck you talking to, pretty boy? The fuck you talking for? Can't you see, there's other people watchin', other people got a stake in this shit."

Scott backed up, raising his hands in surrender. "Sorry, man. Just looking for my- for my girl."

"What-the-fuck-ever." The big guy laughed an ugly laugh and turned back to watch the show. Scott shoved past the gaggle of women next to him, careful to stay out of his way.

"Hey! Hey, um, Ma- Madison?!" Scott shouted into the crowd. He whirled in place as he saw a flash of red—her hair?—but it was just a spray of blood from the arena. Droplets flew toward the jeering audience before getting caught in the effect of Skidmark's impromptu dance floor. The propulsion field glittered with scintillating greens and reds. The flying blood zoomed back onto the dance floor, and the spectators roared. Scott tried again. "Madison, where are you?"

A hand grabbed at him from behind. Scott struck out at the attacker before checking who it was.

"Jesus, you crazy fuck!" Madison said, her voice higher pitched than usual. Her cheek, where he'd hit her, reddened by the blow. She punched him in the shoulder, though her fist was small and Scott could barely feel it through the haze of drugs. He felt the intent behind it, though. Madison stepped back from Scott, swaying on her feet. "By the fucking way, asshole, my name's Madeline."

"Shit, shit, I'm sorry," Scott mumbled. He reached out and steadied her with his hands. He gave her a once-over, not even lingering on any of her curves. "Jesus, did you get pills?"

"Maybe," Madeline hiccuped. Her head lolled back, then nodded forward again. "But I got somethin' even better, Scotty."


Someone jostled Scott from behind, knocking him into Madeline. She spun as he fell into her, and he spun too, to keep her from falling. They ended up pressed together. Scott tried to ignore how her boobs were probably squished up against him. No, definitely squished up against him.

Madeline tugged him closer by the chin, close enough to whisper in his ear. It was all Scott could do to keep from heavy-breathing into her cheek.

"A dream come true," said Madeline. She pulled away from him, pecking him between the eyes. "And a front-row seat to your debut, lover-boy."

"Debut as wha-"

He felt small hands give him a powerful shove in the gut, hard enough to drive the wind out of him. Then he fell, the broken-tile floor betraying his footing. He stumbled back and felt the inexorable pull of Skidmark's rainbow-colored power.

'No!' was all Scott could think as he felt himself being sucked into the arena. His vision went all blurry as his body was dragged in, but he could still see Madeline's cherry red lips blow him a kiss. 'No, you can't do this to me. Not alone.'

"Jesus Christ, Scotty, we're not gonna be alone," his brother repeated. A hint of annoyance was starting to seep into his voice. Not that that was entirely unjustified, as Scott had probably voiced his concerns a dozen times in the past half hour, but Scott did think it was a bit uncharitable. "I got a friend who's meeting us there. He's the guy who set this whole thing up. We'll be fine."

"I just don't know about this, Gabe," Scott said. He followed a short distance behind his angijuk, his older brother, eyes darting from one side of the street to the other nervously. "Some guy in a shady neighborhood is just handing out food, just like that? I feel like we're out of our depth."

Most of the lights in the city were out of course, because of Leviathan, so it was pretty dark even by eight or nine at night. Some people, especially around here, tried to keep the darkness at bay with lanterns or fires. Scott could spot some of the telltale red glows from windows and doorways. They were just other people, he assured himself.

Gabe laughed, a hearty rumble that echoed down the otherwise empty street. Shadows flickered in the window of a nearby house. "Yeah, well, your depth perception's whacked, little bro. Just step lively, huh? We've got to get back before Lex notices we're gone."

Scott sighed, but he picked up his pace. He'd said his piece. Gabe would go on to do whatever he felt was right, leaving Scott to follow his brother's lead.

Damp garbage squished underfoot as the two boys hurried down the block. Gabe had the address that they were looking for on a scrap of paper, while Scott had already burned it into his brain. Gabe was keeping an eye out for his friend, leaving Scott occupied to find the actual address.

At least they made a good team. With Gabe's nonchalant swagger and Scott's careful discipline, the two of them tackled most problems in their way. These last days and weeks had been harder, of course. Lex had gotten sick early on after the attack. Gabe was working overtime and underfeeding himself. Scott himself, he was still struggling to find some sense of control in this clusterfuck of a city.

Maybe it was stupid to try and find something to cling to when the going was as rough and unpredictable as this, but Scott didn't have much choice in the matter. He had to have something to stick to, a plumb line to keep himself measured against. How else could he keep his sanity?

In the end, it was the city itself that saved him. The streets were ruined, often flooded. His brother and sister weren't in any place to commiserate with him. But the rigid structure of society and even the feel of Brockton Bay - the familiar view out his window, that nightly glow of red fires that he'd observed - that stuff held true. That was one way he could count the days until he and his siblings could get out of here.

Not that they were headed anywhere, not any time soon. Work was hard and getting supplies was even harder. Most of what he and Gabe were making went toward food and medicine. Lex couldn't work. Even if she could, though, Scott would be hesitant letting her, just because of the state the city was in. It was too dangerous.

Speaking of which, Scott's' heart rate picked up as they arrived in front of the building. It had once been an alright apartment building, but one corner of it looked to have been decimated by Leviathan. A veritable army of squatters was visible through the many windows and holes in the building's face. More warm, red fires. More flickering shadows. Neither were helping to calm Scott's nerves.

"Alright," Gabe muttered under his breath, as much to himself as to Scott. "This'll be quick. Second floor, left side of the building."

Scott's keen eyes tracked the trek they'd have to make up. He shook his head. "What? That doesn't seem right. That's the side of the building that got sandblasted by Leviathan."

"Who knows, little bro. Maybe that means nobody wants to sleep over there." Gabe readjusted the strap of the backpack that he was holding, pulling it tighter to his body. With his other hand, he reached out to tousle Scott's hair "That make enough sense for your punkass, left-brained self?"

"That just makes me think there might be a reason even squatters don't want to live there," Scott said. Gabe just laughed and walked up the sidewalk to the front entrance.

"Let's go, man. Sooner we get this stuff, the sooner we can get back to Lex. So c'mon. I don't like leaving her with that Lauren chick. She seems... shifty, y'know?"

"Lorna," Scott corrected, but he followed after. He didn't voice his own thoughts about the girl, they didn't need the distraction right now. 'She is shifty. Driving Lorna away, driving the three of them apart. Making things harder and driving Gabe to desperate measures like this.'

As Scott had expected, it wasn't hard to get up to their meeting place. The stairs were easy to find and that block of apartments was closest to them. The real concern he had was his footing once they got there. It might seem like only the outer face of the building had been damaged, but that was a bit harder to conceptualize.

He took a cue from Gabe and sucked in a deep breath. He held it for a few seconds and let it out. 'That's better.'

There was a murmured conversation going on in the apartment that they had been instructed to seek out. Gabe and Scott exchanged a glance, half a dozen unspoken messages passing between them. This was why they worked together so well. Understanding each other.

"Your idea," Scott murmured, letting the movement of his lips convey the message more than the actual volume of his words. Gabe nodded and rapped on the door sharply.

Footsteps shuffled around inside the room. A lot of footsteps.

"Told you he'd come," someone said. Beside Scott, Gabe stiffened. It looked like he was having second thoughts too, all of a sudden. Did the voice belong to someone he knew? His friend?

Scott's mind shifted into overdrive. If someone was waiting for Gabe - well, the two of them were in this together - then that certainly couldn't mean anything good. Scott's mind raced back to the people he'd seen through the windows on their walk over. Red bonfires. Those weren't to stay warm. They were to declare allegiance. Red and black. One gang's colors.

"We need to get the fuck out of here," Scott hissed. Gabe nodded back to him, curt.

The lock jiggled and the door swung open before they could turn to go. Despite the meager light, Scott could make out a person, a guy with a sunken face, wide eyes. The man threw his arms out wide. His voice was tight when he spoke. "Gabe! Hermano! How you been, man?"

Gabe cleared his throat. "Isaac. Hey, I-"

Isaac's face exploded outwards, showering Gabe and Scott with fragments of bone, globs of brain, and so, so much blood.

The gunshot rang in Scott's ears. The whole world seemed to be shaking along with him. Or was that just the tremulous movements of the damaged building itself? Scott didn't know. He couldn't focus on that, couldn't really focus on anything.

As the shuddering vertigo subsided, he could finally make out the figure in the doorway. The man was broad-shouldered and his chest was deep, in the sort of way that made him look bigger than Scott and Gabe might look if they huddled together. And neither Scott nor Gabe was particularly skinny. Scott's gaze traveled up the man, tracing the black, blood-stained wife beater and the bulging muscles. The guy had probably once had a shock of white hair atop his head, but it had been shaved off in a new and very telling style.

Red on black. Black on red. They meant the same thing. Empire Eighty-Eight.

Their new host grinned down at Scott and Gabe, clearly reveling in the power that he had over them. Not only was he big enough to pound both of the brothers into the ground, he had a gun. The great unequalizer. Maybe he had some friends behind him too - Scott couldn't see past the neo-Nazi's bulk.

"Come on in, homeboys," the ubermensch ordered them. When Gabe didn't move fast enough, the guy lunged forward and grabbed Gabe by the collar. A quick yank dragged Gabe after the man into the ruined apartment. Scott was far more compliant, stepping in past Isaac's headless body.

There were indeed others in the apartment with the big guy. One of them was a man just as big as his friend with a head of dirty blond hair and a beard just as thick. The other was the odd one out, a slender women with hair shaved shorter than the first man. Despite her small frame, what Scott could see of her body was corded with muscle and scars. There were also two massive blades lying on the cracked countertop that she was half-sprawled on, although she was currently sipping from a blood-red smoothie. Scott hoped it was just strawberry-flavored.

"What the fuck!" Gabe finally managed to spit out. Somehow, he jerked out of the grasp of the big guy and whirled around to face the three imposing figures and Scott. Gabe's eyes burned with anger. "You just killed him, you crazy fuck! What the hell is wrong with you?"

The big guy just laughed again. Gabe steeled his jaw. Scott let out a breath. 'Fuck. No. You idiot.'

"Sure, laugh your ass off, you stupid Nazi cunt," Gabe snarled at the man. His fists were clenched at his sides. His brother could be intimidating too, Scott knew, but he also knew he couldn't take three people who were bigger than him. Scott could see how this would play out, and it was bloody and painful and bad for the both of them.

While Scott had been thinking, the big guy had been striding forward. A meaty thwack jerked Scott out of his thoughts as the man backhanded Gabe to the ground with one huge fist. Gabe let out a groan and tried to rise, but a jackbooted foot kicked him down again.

"Hey! Get away from him!" Scott found himself saying. His eyes darted to the bearded guy and the woman. They were still standing where they'd been, watching the proceedings with little more than mild interest.

Scott took a cautious step forward. Neither of the other two thugs moved to stop him, so he kept going. He charged the ubermensch, wrapping his arms around one huge arm and his torso. Then he drove his knee into the back of the guy's leg. Not exactly the crotch, as he'd hoped, but it stopped the big guy from kicking at Gabe. Scott kneed the guy again as best he could.

"Get the fuck off, you little roach," the Nazi grunted. He swung an elbow back and nailed Scott in the jaw, hard enough that he saw stars. Scott found himself staggering back until he fell, landing only a few yards from the gaping hole in the apartment's wall. A cold draft stung his eyes.

"Scott! Go! Get the fuck out!" Gabe hollered. He tried crawling further into the apartment, where Scott was. Another hearty kick to the gut dropped him for the third time.

"You Eskimo fuckers got fight in you," the man rumbled. He stepped over Gabe. Scott was frozen in place. He couldn't move, even as the big guy wrapped a huge hand around his throat. The man leaned in close. His breath smelled foul, that was all that Scott could think about. "You're not good enough to fuck with us, though. Makes me wonder what the fuck you're doing in Chosen territory."

"Chosen? What?" Scott gasped for breath as the man tightened his grip. The world was changing, growing blearier and dimmer by the second. "I...I..."

Gabe's body collided full-force into the hulking Nazi's back. Scott was knocked out of his grip. The big guy almost fell forward too, catching himself before he could.

From where he lay on the unstable floor, he could see the man and the woman rise from where they were seated. He tried to cough out a warning to Gabe, but with his hurt throat, he couldn't.

"Run!" Gabe yelled at Scott as he slammed his fist into the man's belly. It sounded like the two of them were underwater to Scott, the words coming out slow and muted and garbled.

'I can't hear you,' Scott wanted to say, but the words wouldn't come out. He could only watch.

He watched as the woman's blade sank into Gabe's back, hurled from halfway across the apartment. He watched as Gabe plowed forward, throwing himself into the off-balance Nazi in front of him and sending the man down a good twenty feet to the street below. And Scott still could only watch as Gabe, bleeding and limping and coughing wetly, grabbed Scott by the collar of his shirt and threw Scott down after the first man.

Scott fell as if through molasses, watching blood splash and lights flicker through the big hole in the dark apartment as he hurtled downward to the hard ground awaiting him below.

Scott could do nothing but lie on the ground listlessly as stomping feet kicked up reddish soil and other detritus into his face. His ears were ringing, partly from the fall and partly from the overwhelming noise. The pleasant buzz of the weed was fading rapidly into the background of his mind, replaced by an intense feeling of panic.

'Paranoia,' he realized, recalling the scant details he'd picked up about marijuana since he'd joined the Merchants. He was startled out of that thought as a booted foot tripped over him. His ribcage, to be precise, which was still tender from the unexpected fall. The sudden pain was a harsh reminder of the situation that he was in. 'Then again, it's not paranoia if everyone's out to get you.'

And everyone was, weren't they? He looked out into the crowd, getting only angry glares and jeers in return. Where were... where were the friends he'd picked up in the past few weeks? He strained his eyes, but he couldn't see anyone familiar in the cluster of red-faced spectators.

"Rick? Doug?!" Scott yelled at the mob. He had to duck as some guy who was watching kicked a pile of trash at him in response. He definitely didn't see his new friends. 'No surprise there.'

A bellowing laugh caught his attention. There was only one person loud enough to be heard over the brawl. Scott cast his eyes upward to see Skidmark. The cape leered down at the spectacle, probably having the time of his life. At his side, Squealer was holding a blunt for him, occasionally pressing it up to his chapped lips so he could smoke without taking his eyes off the fight.

Scott's vision blurred with red. Of all things to feel right now, he was angry, angrier than he'd ever been in his life. He imagined that out of this whole clusterfuck, nobody could be as angry as he felt right now. The weed was only taking that anger and twisting it, making him feel like his head was going to explode from the intense emotion. His pulse thudded behind his eyes.

He pulled himself to his feet. Staggering steps carried him into the midst of the brawl.

This wasn't Scott's fault. Sure, he'd gotten fucked with, and the drugs and the girl hadn't helped with that, but that rationale was barely secondary in his mind. All he could think of was how Skidmark had thrown this chaotic party, not for shits and giggles like it'd seemed, but to get a fucking lackey out of it. How that girl had jerked Scott's chain like he was a dog, how fucking conniving she'd been.

Scott knew, just knew, that if by some miracle he got out of this alive, she would come back to him on her hands and knees. She probably wanted him to win the vial for her like some fucking knight in shining armor.

'Well, I don't feel like being the hero here,' Scott thought darkly. 'I can be the monster too.'

His fist moved of its own accord, finding its way into the face of a Merchant woman. She shrieked in outrage, scratching at him, and Scott hit her again. His third blow drew blood, and the woman went down.

Fuck that bitch Madeline. Fuck Skidmark. Fuck Rick and Doug, and Gabe, too, whatever had happened to him. Everyone had an angle. Everyone just fucking wanted something out of someone else and they would do absolutely fucking anything to get it. It wasn't Scott's fault he couldn't see through those assholes' facades, it was the drugs. They twisted his brain in knots, turned everything upside down and inside out.

He'd thought that the drugs would make things better. That they would make this shithole of a city start to make sense again, bring some sort of clear, cause-and-effect order back into his life. 'Take pills, feel different. Smoke up, feel it more. And then do that three times a day, like clockwork. That's the only routine you need, soldier-boy.'

Except the days had blurred together and the hours had too and Scott could see he'd been fucking hoodwinked by that first goddamn dealer. Just like everyone else. Hell, thinking of that slimy pill pusher just put Scott in mind of Skidmark again and Madeline and that only made him angrier.

He fought his way through that mess of bodies, blood and projectiles flying past him, red and green forcefield at his feet, stupid fucking rave lights and stupid fucking Skidmark above his head. Scott turned his face skyward to let out a scream of rage. The anger came out through his eyes instead.

"No. No, you're lying!" Lex shouted at him. Her face was red, and twisted with anger. Mascara ran from her eyes. Why had she been wearing mascara? It didn't matter. That didn't matter. What mattered was calming her down.

"I'm sorry, najak," was all Scott could repeat. He looked like hell and he knew it. There was blood matted on the back of his head from where his fall had been broken by the ubermensch's teeth. Half his body was bruised, and the other half was basically a bruise. His hands hung limp at his sides. "I wish I was. I really, really wish I could lie about that."

"Gabe couldn't just die like that!" Lex cried. She jabbed a finger at Scott accusingly. "You wouldn't just leave him like that, Scott! Iteq! Itialuit!"

Shouting curse words wouldn't be enough for a Summer, Scott knew that. When Lex charged at him, Scott just wrapped her up in a hug. After a few tense seconds, she accepted it, burying her tear-streaked face in his shoulder. Her small fists pummeled at his back nonetheless, weak and listless.

"I hate you. Both of you. I hope you know that," she said in a small voice. Scott nodded, his chin digging into the crown of her head. She breathed in shakily. "Good. Then it won't be a problem when I leave. Okay?"

Scott's kneejerk refusal caught in his throat. Lex was shaking like a leaf in his arms, but... but he couldn't stop her from leaving. It wouldn't be right. Gabe hadn't given Scott a choice in the matter. But Scott wasn't going to do the reverse of that, force Lex to stick with him. They were barely scraping by before this. Now, with Gabe gone? Maybe it was better if she made her own way.

"I wish you all the best, Lexie," he said. He hugged her tight. Maybe a bit too tight. "I... I wish I knew what was coming-"

"Don't bother, Scott," Lex said as she pulled away from his embrace. Scott told himself that it was blood from a cut on his head, not tears, that blurred his eyesight as she stepped back. She ducked her head to the side, not making eye contact. "I know you always got a plan for everything, how you always... just don't bother, okay? Not this time."

"Lex, I don't know what else to say," Scott told her. Her hands clasped in front of her, clenched tight enough to whiten her knuckles. She shook her head, probably not trusting her own voice enough to answer him.

"You don't have to say anything," a new voice said. Scott stiffened. Lorna. He didn't give her the pleasure of turning to face her. She didn't seem to mind. "You just gotta let her go, Scott. Please. You tried to care for her, you couldn't. Now it's my shot."

Scott couldn't bring himself to budge, to even turn his head, as his baby sister padded out of the room. He still felt a tug at the back of his mind as she left, feeling for all the world like that rush of wind through his hair as Gabe had heaved him out the building.

'None of this was my fault.' The words felt hollow. He glared at the wall instead, daring it to challenge him, to move, to leave him too. It didn't of course. The buildings, the structures, the city never failed him. The city, at least, made sense.

'Things only go wrong when you break the natural order of things,' he thought darkly. 'Like we di- like Gabe did. Like entering Nazi territory when you don't have skin as pale as-'

He felt, rather than saw, a piece of paper as it crinkled into his hand. His train of thought skidded to a halt.

"Maybe this'll help take the edge off," Lorna whispered into his ear. She paused. "I'm sorry about this. About everything. Goodbye, Scott."

He still refused to look as she sashayed out behind his sister. When he was sure they were finally gone, he peered down at the note that Lorna had slipped him. It was a name and address, jotted out in bright red ink. He didn't recognize the name, but he could make guesses about the sort of person it was from the address. Weymouth shopping center.

The Merchants. Scott knew where they were. He'd never been there before. It was...unfamiliar territory, to say the least. But now? With nothing left to lose? He couldn't help but feel at least a tinge of curiosity.

"So what'll it be, boy?" the guy asked with a lopsided grin. He spread his hands, indicating the worn blankets that were scattered around his feet, all stacked high with boxes and baggies of drugs. Some Scott recognized. Most of them, he didn't. The dealer's twisted smile only grew wider as he followed Scott's keen gaze. "You want psychedelics? I got more than those two. Some really good shit: Goon Squad, Vitamin P's. Always harder stuff if you want it too, of course at bargain price."

"Give me all that I can get with this much," Scott told him. He threw a wad of rolled up bills at the man, who scrambled to collect them. Scott turned away, casting his gaze out over the raucous marketplace. "I don't care what you give me. Just fuck me up. I want to keep going until I can't even see, and then keep going after that."

He was rambling. Scott snapped his mouth shut, drawing his lips in a tight line. Still, he'd caught someone's attention. A very curvy, very sultry-looking, redheaded someone.

The girl sauntered over to him on very, very high heels. Her arm somehow found its way between his arm and his side. She smoldered up at him.

"That's a lot of shit to handle for one guy," the girl said, batting her eyes. "You sure you don't need a companion on this journey you're about to fuck off on? I come very cheap."

Scott looked back to the dealer, who shrugged.

"Actually I'll take that fifty back," Scott said, sticking out his free hand. "Just get me that stuff you talked about, and whatever the lady wants."

He cocked his head back and downed the pill, letting the red rave lights and the music and that oh-so familiar feeling of falling wash over him.

At least this made sense.