The apartment was dim and cool; it felt safe like a dry cave in a storm. Raindrops tapped the windows with acidic baby fingers while the lights of ragged neon signs down the street blinked through the watery streaks. The muddled lines of light danced as satin soft shadows on the far wall.

For us, huddled over our synthetic meals, the kitchen’s sole bulb yawning white light was an island of phosphorescence in a sea of gloom. We were two rats feeding in the dimness, our spoons clinking silver in our glass bowls. Our mouths full, the crunch of cereals kept the solemn silence of the apartment as if it were sacred.

Just as I'd thought, she liked the cereal. Long after I was done, she wolfed down bowl after bowl, the sugary milk leftovers slurped up like she was a maddened addict. I sat in the quiet, in the meantime, resting my ill eyes.

Despite the calmness, I despised that she was here, like the hare despises a fox. She'd found my hiding hole. Then again, the clinking of silver on ceramic, the quick leathery sounds of a seat adjusted, the shared breaths of stale air… Her presence oozed into the apartment room by room. And oddly, it was comforting.

Then there was the sound of her spoon laid tenderly on the tile of the kitchen counter. She had finished. Rather, the box had run out more like. That's alright. It was stale anyway.

She wiped her mouth with a sloppy backhand, her ravenous hunger satiated and humanness suddenly returned. Those young brown eyes timidly found me, then lingered around the kitchen space.

Each second was an invasion of my privacy, like her eyes were somehow looking through the dark corners of my mind. What would she find?

"You have a plant," she said.

"Yeah."

"What is it?" She asked.

"A Lisenia."

"It's very green." I wondered if she'd ever seen a plant in real life before.

"What are you doing here, Milo?" She looked at me with renewed embarrassment.

"I was just curious where you lived. I didn't mean to follow you this far. After you went up I tried to find my way back and got lost. It started raining and… and I got scared."

"Why do you care where I live?"

"I told you." My gaze conveyed that I didn't fully trust her answer.

Milo looked away before she spoke again, "I don't know." The look on the girl’s face and the sound of her voice told me all I needed to know.

When I was young, just a child back in WarZone, I met a woman named Naomi. She was a humanitarian, kind-hearted, with a smile like synthetic honey, and deep brown hair. Naomi was much older than me. More experienced in life. Her words were mesmerizing simply because I couldn't understand them.

The mere fact that she was from somewhere else, that her hair wasn't buzzed, mohawked, or an outright mess, that she didn't curse or spit, or threaten me, excited my young little heart beyond words. Needless to say, I was hopelessly in love.

"Well, when the rain lets up, you're getting on the first bus back to West Brook." West Brook was the neighborhood in which the InShot was located. It was just on the border of WarZone.

"They have buses out this late?"

"Yeah, for a couple more hours." There wasn't much objection to my deal. Maybe this wasn't some kind of ploy.

I could tell Milo's mind was running. Maybe she was imagining what a bus looked like when it wasn't on fire.

"You haven't ever been to LowDowns, have you?" I asked.

"No. Never."

"What do you think about it?"

"It's like nothing I've ever seen. Everything… is so clean." I snorted at that. I guess it was truer than in WarZone. "A lot of lights."

"It's called electricity. Every building has it."

"Every building? Wow." Her genuine curiosity was cute, even though her hair pointed in every direction possible. Her head looked like a black porcupine.

"You done with that?" She looked down at her bowl as if deciding.

"Yeah." I put it in the sink along with mine.

As I tossed the milk in the fridge, I couldn’t help but notice Milo sitting still on the stool as if she were in trouble. Her head swiveled around curiously, but her hands sat in her lap like she was afraid to touch anything. I hid my appreciation in the fridge. At least she's better mannered than the others.

"Where are Chuckles and the rest?" I asked, joining her again.

"I don't know. Probably sleeping in a building somewhere."

"They won't miss you?"

"Me? I never sleep in the same place with those guys. Neither does Stefi. They're rowdy. And… you know. Besides, I'm just a girl. They don't care what happens to us."

"Yeah, I guess that's true."

"I usually sleep in my safe spot. It's kind of hidden. I make sure I'm alone when I go so one of the guys don't follow me."

"They harass you a lot?"

"Sometimes. Not during the day. And not around you."

"I see. What about Chuckles? He ever harass you?"

"No. I don't think he's interested in girls," her eyes traveled the living room, jumping from one piece of furniture to another. She'd probably never seen clean furniture before either. "I don't think he's interested in anyone," she added.

That saddened me a bit, though it made sense. Chuckles, the poor child, was the farthest thing from normal a person could get. I wondered if he was still human sometimes, or just a wild rabid dog similar to ones police squads used in chases.

"Yeah, he's different," I said, morose. I'd had it bad as a kid, but the surreal feeling that I'd been ignoring hit me in the chest like a punch to the heart. I'd escaped, or at least had some semblance of escape. They were all just coming up in the shit.

"Come with me," I said, rising from my stool. She followed with reserved excitement as if she were about to learn something new.

I walked her over to the couch where the big windows of the apartment looked over the street below. With our knees on the cushions, we leaned into the glass to see outside.

"If you look through the glass like this, you can see the biggest buildings in LowDowns." I let her have my spot and she mimicked my movement like I taught her.

"Wow," she said, genuinely. The girl's eyes got lost in the dazzling far off lights, twinkling like stars between raindrops. I couldn't help myself. She was actually adorable. I ruffled her hair as I stood up. She was so… innocent.

Milo, though, looked back at me as if offended. I was confused. What did I do wrong? She tried to mat down her hair with hurried hands, a look of shame plastered on her face.

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Oh, I see. I just chuckled under my breath and left her there. Despite the small disturbance, she was again soon lost in the images of the night.

Meanwhile, in my room, from underneath my bed I pulled out a black latch box. Behind the silver clasps and underneath the thick black plastic was my stash. Usually laden with narcotics of varying kinds, tonight there were plenty of empty containers piled on top of each other: empty inhalers, clean syringes (I didn't use or sell those anymore), and a dozen pill bottles; half for Zentiaf and another half dozen for Siterol. But no drugs.

It was all gone. I'd sold or used it. Dread filled my stomach. That meant I'd have to go see my dealer tomorrow morning.

Great.

My supply came from Little Japan. The sector was a layer below ground level, in the Underneath; it was a place of neon lights, parties, nightclubs, rich yuppies and back room prostitution, but underneath it all, everything was owned and operated by vicious yakuza clans fighting bloody gang wars.

My seller, Tito, was a half Samoan, half Japanese member of the Yamagata crew, one of the most powerful Yakuza clans in Little Japan. The gang was headed by Shimiro Yoaitzu, someone I'd never met but had heard terrible and violent rumors about. He headed a nightclub in the heart of the sector, the Red Tiger, and Tito was one of his underbosses.

Tito was unfriendly, racist, and deeply disturbed. He sold drugs from the back street of the club, out in the open, with no opposition from cops or rivals. And he dealt with me personally, usually by slinging a bag of narcotics at my face whenever we met up. Most times, I got what I asked for. Sometimes I had to make do with whatever they were throwing away. I hoped desperately that this was not one of those times.

As long as I had the cash though, he didn't care who I was or what I did with it. He wouldn’t even give me the time of day besides. It was a nice arrangement.

…except whenever the mood struck him, he'd give his boys the order to rough me up a bit. It was always out of the blue, but Tito never took my money and always gave me the narcotics afterwards. It was just something he liked to do, to put me in my place I guess…

Just the thought of entering little Japan made my heart thump a little bit faster.

I took a deep breath. We need this. For the first time in a while, I chalked up expenses and profit in my head.

Each resupply cost me fifty thousand. I could sell a batch for a hundred with fifty left over. Not a bad take for a LowDowns drug dealer, but in the end I couldn’t say how much I actually held onto. No matter the profit margin, I always seemed loose of cash.

Luckily, Chuckles took a whole bag of Duckstep today and gave me the fifteen thousand I needed to hit my fifty mark. Another day and who knows how much I'd be in the hole. I was always stepping in shit somewhere.

Damn, why’d I wait so long? A pusher wasn’t supposed to run out of his supply. Though, deep down, I knew the answer.

Zentiaf. Even now, my eyes tingled from sleep deprivation. Zentiaf was the only way I could sleep anymore.

There was also a sick feeling in my gut from the Siterol withdrawals. Siterol made the user highly alert but was very addictive. I only used it on special occasions, for example if I was going into Little Japan, but one use was all it took to get hooked bad… and the more you took it, the less it worked.

I’d need another hit soon or I'd get really sick. Fuck. Just one pill.

I double checked everywhere, at the bottom of empty pill bottles, the bottom of the case, even under the bed but with no success. I sighed. Fine. Get more tomorrow, I noted.

Along with Duckstep. Nilone. And the classic: synthetic snow. The mother of all drugs. Everyone had it. Everyone needed it.

I shut the empty case…

Drug dealing. How’d I get here? I’ll never leave this city. Not like this.

In a foul mood, I returned to the living room. “Listen, wait here if you want, but don’t touch anything,” I chastised Milo at the window while I gathered some things in a frustrated frenzy.

“What would I touch?” She asked, breaking from the window, those soft brown eyes genuine in their question. I looked around.

“Fine. Do whatever you want. I don’t give a shit. I need a shower.”

“A what?”

The drain was brown and circled by a ring of dirt when the water shut off. The soap bubbles were frothy like ocean waves in a scene vid. Except they were corrupted by ashy colors.

Milo was in the exact same spot when I stepped out. The rain had stopped and formed still droplets of various colors on the cool glass.

She was still staring out into the city, watching the flyer lights trail off in simple lines. She seemed completely enamored. This girl is simple to please.

I didn’t disturb her. Instead, I slunk quietly into my room for a nap, found my bed and dropped down on it like a trash bag full of bricks. In a stale mood, I stared up at the ceiling fan. Another attempt at sleep… how long would it take this time?

I laid back on a pile of wrinkled blankets and unwashed clothes, huffing out an exaggerated sigh. Oddly enough, I found the usual anxiety of the night, the fear, the sleepless thoughts that bewitched me into eating a handful of Zentiaf, were absent. Sleep steadily found my wearied mind.

Hours later, I awoke in a sweaty gasp… I'd had a terrible nightmare, something about a big fish eating me. After savagely chugging a bottle of water from the fridge, I looked for the girl wondering if she’d slipped out into the night.

Milo was asleep on the couch, curled up into a ball. Goose bumps ran up her arms. The rain had stopped a long time ago.

I sighed. Welp, too late now. I slept too long. The buses are finished for the night.

I didn’t give a shit. I wanted this stray out of my home. She can walk to the border. I strode over to the couch with intentions to shake her awake. But I stopped.

For once, the girl looked peaceful, like she was dreaming. Of all the things going on in my life right now, she’s the nuisance I’m most annoyed by. But why? She's asleep.

Milo snored quietly on the couch, curled up like a fetus in the womb. She looked so tiny. Ugh. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t wake her.

Fine. One night won’t kill me. You lucked out tonight, girly.

Begrudgingly, instead of waking her, I wrapped my jacket around the girl to keep her warm... Something made me do it, some kind of compulsion. It wouldn’t let me go back to sleep without it. Then I crept back to my room.

I slept with the bedroom door open after that. It felt more comfortable that way. We both slept until morning.

In the morning I woke up with an unusually clear head. Nine showed on the alarm clock. I'd had a full night's sleep. Stepping out of bed, my body felt springy and new.

I closed my hand into a tight ball and released it, just to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. The sensations felt real.

Huh. I could get used to this sleep thing.

One part of me sleep hadn’t fixed was the sick feeling in my stomach. The Siterol withdrawals were kicking in hard now that I was awake.

“Ugh.” I almost doubled over, the wheezy feeling in my stomach overwhelming. It felt like my insides were suddenly spinning faster and faster. Steadying myself, I swallowed the sensation.

In the living room, Milo was already awake. She sat on the couch watching the windows again. This time, it was the morning traffic in the street below. People crowded the narrow road, blocking the one way traffic which frustratedly made its way into the city.

My coat was wrapped around her legs like a blanket. She eyed me when I walked in.

“Morning,” I said, stepping into the bathroom.

“Yup,” she said, as if answering a question I’d asked.

I used the shower-filtered water to wash my face, then peered into the little bathroom mirror above the half sink to check my looks. My eyes were blood red. Shit.

They didn’t sting this morning which was a good thing, but that meant the irritation was from the withdrawals. That was going to look bad to my dealer when I went to meet with him.

Nervousness added to the sick feeling in my stomach.

“Alright, pull yourself together," I said to myself, "Come on. You got this. Tough. Look tough.” I slapped my face on both cheeks a couple times until the anxiety lessened. “Alright, you’ve got this,” I said, shrugging like it was nothing. Now. What am I going to do with the girl?

Stepping out of the bathroom, I snapped my fingers at Milo, gesturing for my coat. She hesitated to give away the warmth, but threw it to me anyway.

“Alright, I’m going out. I won’t be back until after dark.” I switched the revolver I snatched from my room from my back pocket into the trench coat as I slipped it on. I made sure she didn't see it.

Luckily, I found the roll of bills Chuckles had given me in the same pocket. I snatched it out and unrolled a few large bills.

“Here is some money for food. And…” I was gonna regret doing this, “Here’s a spare key for the front door. Don’t go anywhere I wouldn’t go. And put it back when you’re done with it.” I set all of it down on the countertop.

She didn’t say anything until I was halfway out the front door. “Uh, thanks Dreamer,” she choked out as if was the last chance she'd have to say it.

“Don’t worry about it,” I said shutting the door behind me. Then I was back outside, in the heat and the noise.