The ball in my chest was twisting violently, whipping around a million rotations per second. It was so fast I could hear it.

But when I opened my eyes, I was in the tropics. I pushed the feeling down.

Surprisingly, I woke from a long sleep. 10:00 a.m. blinked on my TeferMinsk radio alarm. The sun dribbled through the blinds in murky lines.

Yesterday's miserable feeling was absent, replaced by a strange optimism. It wasn't absolute positivity, as if life was okay, but rather a feeling that my resourcefulness would somehow get me through the day.

I could make this money back. I'd just have to be harder on my customers. Sell smart. And stay resilient.

Today's goal: six grand.

I listened for Milo in the other room but only heard the simple hum of the AirCon. When I opened my door, she twisted on the couch to greet me, wiping the sleep from her eyes. My coat was wrapped around her waist again.

"Morning," I said, walking in.

"Hm? Yes, I think so." She scooted to one side of the couch and I sat next to her. I glanced over while slipping on my favorite brown boots with the ankle-high laces. She was still dreamy eyed.

"You sleep well?" I asked.

"Kind of. I had bad dreams."

"Yeah? That's cus you ate too late. What were they?"

"One, I was staring my dad in the face. He was trying to grab a shotgun from my hands, but I kept pointing it at him. Right here, at his chest. I don't know why. The other one I was running and running down a long road. It wouldn't end. And behind me, I could hear biker motors gaining on me. Then I woke up."

"Why didn't you leave the road?" I lashed my last knot then looked at her.

"Huh?"

"Why didn't you leave the road behind? Go somewhere else?" She looked at me with her groggy brown eyes.

"I didn't know that was an option."

"Huh. Fair enough," I said, hoisting myself off the couch. "You hungry?"

"Not really."

"Good. Cus I don't have a damn thing to eat."

Collecting my things ruined the morning’s good mood. Glasses on the counter. Check. Revolver in the bedside drawer. Check. Each was a key to getting through the day. Sliding out the silver-latch box from underneath the bed was the end all, though. Dread poured into my stomach at the sight of it.

Come on. Toughen up. I slipped a parsed out bag into my pants pocket and bolstered myself with a sigh.

My body ached this morning. I knew why. The lack of drugs in my system… My eyes felt fine, but I knew the scleras were blood red from a lack of Zentiaf. I could feel the stickiness of my eyeballs against the eyelids. The feeling was grotesque. And my stomach… it turned on its own like my guts were in zero-G.

I resisted the urge to slip a Zentiaf into my mouth. My mind needed to be alert and awake today, but on the other hand, a half dose of Siterol would calm the queasiness. The black tablet snapped satisfyingly in half between my thumbs, a purple powder puffing into the air. The half-pill went down smoothly, even without water.

Once I was ready to go out, I went back into the living room to fetch Milo. She was still laying on the couch, watching the murky morning through the window.

"Alright, freeloader. Let's go," I said. I held out my hand to boost her off the couch but she put my jacket into it instead. She was still at a loss when I offered my other hand, wondering what she was supposed to do with it. I just grabbed one of hers and hoisted her up.

"It's time to get back out there. I'll take you back to your bike. Will you be good from there?"

"Yeah, I guess so,” she said, clearly unhappy. "I know where my bike is. If I get there I'll be okay." She yawned and stretched. "What are you going to do?"

"I've got business to tend to. Gotta make some money."

"Oh. Okay. Good luck. I hope you get lots," She said sleepily, looking around for her shoes. It was an odd feeling to be encouraged. Nice. And a bit off putting.

When the bus pulled around, Milo was amazed that something so big could move. I had to shake her shoulder to knock her out of her trance.

Despite most seats being empty, we sat together towards the back of the bus, Milo in the window seat so she could watch the city drift by. Despite all of the graffiti ridden storefronts and worn out building faces, she seemed to like what she saw. I noticed her eyes darting from face to face, studying with mild wonderment the thick crowd of streetside walkers on their way to work. The girl had probably never seen so many people before.

It was a short ride to the border: the burned-out section of LowDown where the high rises were white skeletons. Buses didn't dare venture past the advised routes, so the driver kicked us out at the nearest safe drop-off point and went on his way without looking back.

We walked the rest of the way, through eviscerated neighborhoods, past storefronts burned out from raids, in the shadows of empty high rises scathed by fire from past uncontrollable blazes, and along the way, passed plenty of left behind vehicles dried to the cracked asphalt like husks in the sun. Eventually, Milo stopped by a two-story building whose insides were blacked out like a smoker's lungs. We found her bike hiding behind a thick mound of tires in a connecting garage.

She pulled it out enthusiastically, strapping on her silly black helmet. For the first time since we left my apartment, Milo looked happy.

She smiled at me as she took control of the bike and wheeled it to the center of the road, suddenly rejuvenated. That's weird. I'd never seen her smile before, I realized.

"What're you gonna do now?" I asked her.

"I'll go looking for the guys." The kickstand clicked satisfyingly when she kicked it up.

She seemed so able now, so independent. So confident to be alive. But, I wasn't so sure. I don't know why. Maybe it was just worry.

"Be careful, yeah?" She eyed me oddly, trying to figure out the meaning behind my words.

"Yeah, I will be. Thanks for everything," she said, smiling. The bike chuckled to life.

She saluted me before kicking off. Then, I watched her drive down the street, turn, and disappear. When she was gone, my anxiety worsened.

"Ah! What do I care? Get your head in the game, Dreamerboy." What am I getting so worked up over, anyway? She's a WarZoner.

I fiddled with the drug packets in my pocket. The stock was already parsed out for the day. I was ready to go. Now, just make the six grand.

"Today is a new day,” I said with rocks in my gut, “From now on, my life changes."

I'm somewhere tropical. Waves crash over sandy shores in rhythmic pulses, their sleepy movements soft as massaging hands. The sun is high, tiny in the sky like a constricted pupil.

There’s no question where I am. Palm fronds. Sweet bulbous clouds. My toes play in the sand. If there was a way to make it real, I’d do anything.

Crashhhh. The sound hangs for a few seconds after, sweet and soothing like a mother's finger to her child's lips. Shhhh, it says. Shhhh. The smell of salt gently wafts to me in the breeze. My body is gelatin on a plate.

But the little black ball inside me is spinning. Suddenly, a crack mars the surface. The whole thing threatens to shatter. I try to hold it together, but my hands aren't strong enough. So it spins faster and faster, the crack growing like a break in the ice.

The sweet sky loses its blue and the waves turn red in response. The sun above turns black, light shining still from around its edges; the inside is now a lightless hole. And it spins in the sky.

I know I can't reach it, but I have to. Without me, it will break if it doesn’t stop. But I am too afraid to step in the water.

The sun hisses loudly now, revolving a hundred million times in the span of a heartbeat. I can feel the air shivering from the power.

Then… the ball shatters without a sound. It breaks into a trillion silent pieces in the sky, glimmering like black glass in the strange dying light left behind. Some pieces drift like lazy clouds, others shoot off into the void like burning comets.

As the light from the sun finally dies, the palm trees fade. The ocean goes dark. All I feel is the sand in between my toes.

The shards draw closer, shimmering like stars-- a trillion billion stars in the sky, pieces sharp like knives, unfeeling, unguided but with ill intentions, falling towards the beach and eventually raining down on me.

Dear god. This is the end.

I cover my face, but I know it's still there. I stand in the dark waiting for the stinging pain of a million shards passing through my body.

I jolted awake, slamming my feet against something hard. My heart beat with ferocity, but when my eyes opened, the movement was soft.

Seeing was difficult at first. It was all just... colors. There was the bar.. The neon sign buzzed. Empty shot glasses glinted with ivory liquid drops pooling at their bottoms. There were more than a few… one of my cheeks was stuck to my jacket sleeve.

Despite the blurry vision, I swore a woman sat at the end of the bar, which was strange for the InShot. She had glossy black hair, cut with laser precision across her pale cheeks and wore all black: black leggings and a black high-neck top without sleeves.

It was hard to tell, but I think her skin was porcelain. She sipped on a shot glass with her legs crossed and her elbows on the bar. The woman paid me no mind... I think. Or was she watching me?

I closed my eyes, letting the wave of headache pass. Then, the comforting crash of waves… I opened my eyes again. The woman was gone. In her place was a man with a wiry grey mustache, leaning over the bar, talking to me.

"...alright? You been out for a while, boy. Hey," I snapped into lucidity. It was the bartender. There was a split annoyed/concerned expression on his face.

"Dreamer, wake the hell up. You're drooling all over my bar." Wait a minute... I'm at the InShot. My head felt like a ten ton weight when I finally lifted it.

I searched for the woman, but she was gone. Then, I rubbed my stinging eyes. The bartender wiped the barhead with a rag and alcohol where my cheek had been.

"If you didn't always pay your tab, I'd have thrown your junkie ass out of here a long time ago. Unlucky for both of us, you're the best paying customer." I'm the only paying customer.

Instead, I said, "Who was that woman?" He looked up at me confused. "You know," I massaged my temples, "The one that was sitting down there. She was just here." The bartender looked back down at the counter while he wiped, annoyed.

"Oh, yeah, her. She left here hours ago. Didn't catch her name but she said she knew you. Waited a while for you to wake up. I told her she was wasting her time." He muttered that last part to himself. I rubbed my eyes more instead of listening. I should've cared who she was, but I didn't. What the hell is going on? Why am I here?

Just then, the front door was kicked in, the hinges squealing like smashed mice. Thoom! It smacked against the concrete wall. In walked the usual suspects.

“Here we go…," the bartender muttered, giving them a brief look before scampering away to his office.

"Where are you going, gramps? How's about a drink?" Chuckles asked after him, laughing.

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"How about you grow some hair on your head?" He jabbed back, slamming the door to his office. Chuckles ignored him, eyeing me up instead. Behind him trailed in the idiot brigade, spreading out through the bar like oil on a piece of paper.

"Dreamer! You’re awake. Damn, you were out cold." Miserable, I went to push the sunglasses down over my face, but they weren't there. I scrambled through my pockets.

"Shit." My eyes were stinging fiercely. "How long was I out?" I muttered to Chuckles.

"A long fuckin’ time. Hey Moaner, how long was Dreamer out?"

"Twelve hours, I think.".

"That's right. We came to find you this morning, but you were dead asleep." I couldn’t believe it. Twelve hours? Fuck. What the hell happened to me?

"Yeah, you've been gone for a few days. Saw you two days ago walking like a zombie, talking to some scanner chick near the OutPost." The OutPost? That was miles away from here. I tried to stand.

"Moaner, what was that broad's name?" Chuckles called. I wasn’t listening. My head was spinning too fast.

The Outpost was a small industrial settlement north of here. They had use for the stuff I was slinging but not the money to buy it. They were paid in Corpo Currency. No good for me. What was I doing there?

I couldn't stop the spinning, so I fell back into my seat. The lights burned my eyes. The others were still yapping on about something.

"Just shut up for a bit, would ya?" I spat, cutting them off. "Let me think."

Chuckles eyed his group and shrugged. Moaner mimed a finger to his lips using his middle finger. They snickered to themselves. Chuckles joined them at the table in the corner, pushing down one of the weaker kid’s heads with his elbow.

In the meantime, I searched my pockets for clues. From one, I pulled out a small band of metal. My eyes were blurry but it looked like a wedding ring. What in the...

In another pocket, I found a ticket stub for a movie: The Adventures of BurgerBoy and Drippy, The Movie. I guess I went to the cinema. Why would I see this piece of garbage? The date was two days ago near midnight.

There was also a junkie's inhaler, empty, thank god, and some corpo coins. Where on earth did I get this stuff? Then suddenly my heart sank.

I tore through my pockets looking for my money or the stash of drugs. Nothing. No little packets. And no wad of cash to compensate for it. Fuck… It was gone. All gone. That was what? Six thousand down the drain? That made my head hurt.

"Motherfucker," I muttered to myself. At least I still had my revolver.

I slumped down in despair. I'd gone on a bender again. When, where, I couldn't say, but I'd lost everything I'd taken with me. While my head pulsed, I sulked.

In the corner, the boys were talking. Suddenly, another young boy burst through the entryway. He was a squirrely young guy with half his teeth, nineteen maybe, but looked much younger. His head was buzzed almost to the skin.

"Guys! Guys! There you are.” He was excited.

"What do you want, Mouse?" Moaner jabbed, annoyed already. The boy continued without missing a beat.

"Listen to this. You won’t believe it. I was in the Down Below last night and I swear I saw one–"

"No, you weren't."

"I was, I swear!"

"With who?"

"I went with two guys from the OutPost. They were looking for machine parts for their drills."

"Yeah? Why'd they ask you to go, rat boy?" Slag, the crimson mohawked youngster, asked with poison in his words.

"Cus they needed someone with small hands to grab stuff. But that's not the point. Guys. I actually saw one."

"Saw one of what?" Chuckles spat over everyone else. He was over it. Chuckles pushed down on the head of the boy he was already bullying, pretending it was Mouse’s head. The boy squirmed and punched at his arm.

"I saw a mutant!" Mouse squirmed. His eyes were wide when he said the word.

"No fucking way." The group muttered to each other in disbelief.

"You liar," Chuckles said, his tone fiery. He hated Mouse. Couldn't blame him. The boy was always lying about something stupid.

"No, I did, I did! It was all green and big, twice the size of a man. It wore a robe to cover its skin, but we still saw it! It’s eyes was glowing!" Chuckles let go of the other boy, swiping at Mouse, but Mouse stepped away from his grip.

"You're an idiot. You think we're gonna believe that crap? And how'd you get away? Huh? You squeeze that head through a grating in the sewer?" Mouse deflated.

"I don't know. It sounded pretty good to me," he confessed.

"Shut the hell up, would ya? I am sick of seeing your face, always bringing in some kind of bullshit story… If you don’t have anything to say, just shut up, would ya?" Chuckles trailed off, ribbing the boy more. Mouse wasn’t part of the gang so he got treated worse than the rest. The poor boy was just one of the many from WarZone.

None of the boys saw Milo as she timidly entered. Milo never entered the InShot. Neither did Stefi or the little one. The boys had made it explicitly clear it was their club only. But she walked in defiantly nonetheless, stepping up to me while I rubbed my temples and sulked at the bar.

"What is it?" I asked, harshly. She seemed a bit disappointed I wasn't happier to see her.

"Hey, Sleeper. I’m just checking on you." My ears pricked up, but at what I couldn't tell. "You looked pretty sick these past few days."

"Mh," was all I could muster in response. She pulled something from her pocket and gingerly set it on the countertop. They were my black sunglasses. I looked up at her, confused.

"I saw you in here earlier,” she confessed, “They were clutched in your hand. I thought you might break them by accident, so I took them for safekeeping," she said timidly, unable to look me in the eyes anymore.

Her hair was crazy again. And she looked a bit tired, a bit dirtier since the last time I saw her.

"Oh, thanks." I slipped them on, a little grateful to her. Then I whipped around, violently, grabbing her by the shoulders as a thought came to me. "Did you take my money? Do you have my shit?" Fear splayed across her face, the poor girl startled by my sudden aggression.

"Did you?" I asked again, more angry than hopeful.

"No," she shook her head, hurt by the question, "No, I didn't take anything from you." Realizing how scared she was, I let go.

"Okay. It's alright. I believe you. I didn't mean it that way. Sorry." Then I returned to sulking into my seat. Frustrated and ashamed, I heaved a long labored breath.

"Fuck, I'm so fucked," I muttered to myself. That was another six thousand down the drain. Not even a little bit of profit. Would I even get enough money this time around to buy another package? Milo, seeing my distress, put aside her hurt feelings and gained the courage to speak.

"Are you okay, Dreamer? Did something bad happen to you?" I just looked at her with dead eyes like the question was stupid. I was born.

Instead, I hid my feelings and said, "I don't know. The last thing I remember is leaving the apartment to sell my usuals… Wait, when were you at my place last?" The boys’ ears perked up at the question. They'd already taken note that she was there in the InShot, but now they quieted down to listen. Milo eyed them nervously before answering.

"Uh–uh, three days ago."

"Three days… So I lost three days. Shit."

Disgust welled up in my stomach. The memories started to come back. Nothing specific. Just feelings. Shame. Despair. Then, the soothing relief of Zentiaf.

I'd given up somewhere in the past few days and fell into a stupor, spending what little I had earned on drugs, alcohol and, apparently, shitty movies. There was no way I spent five thousand at the InShot, though. I must've lost the rest, either in drug form or cash form, somewhere in OutPost. Goddamn it. I'm such a loser.

"Fuck me," I said, stumbling off the seat and towards the exit. I didn't want to be here anymore. If left to my own devices, I was going to go back to the apartment and use the rest of the stuff. Maybe go on a week long bender this time.

"Hey, boss," Chuckles called out, sliding out of the booth clumsily to catch me.

"What is it," I said, fed up and disappointed in myself, completely over all of this bullshit.

"So. Earlier… We talked," Chuckles said plodding beside me, "I mean, this morning, you and I talked about the Spicers again. Uh, you said you'd let me come along to help you this time. You were so shitfaced, though, haha." He laughed… almost nervously. "You probably don't remember."

I put a hand on his shoulder, bile coming up my throat.

"Chuckles, I know you're lying to me," I said with an icy tone. His face went sour. "But… I don't give a shit. Whatever," I said, softly slapping his rough cheek. He smiled his toothy grin.

Fuck it. What did I have to lose anyways? The rest of the shit? If there was any left. Who's to say I didn't go back to the fucking apartment and lose all of that too.

If I didn't, whatever. I'd give it to Chuckles and he could go wild with the caravaners. I just didn't give a shit anymore. It was clear to me that I was never getting out of this hell hole.

I sighed again, this time a part of my soul leaving me. "I’m gonna grab my stash. Meet me at the market." Chuckles’ mood lightened considerably… annoyingly so.

"You got it. You heard him, boys. Let's go," Chuckles commanded enthusiastically.

The others gathered up behind him with ready smiles and shitty grins before the crew went out the door together. Moaner, as he passed the bar, threw a look Milo's way, muttering to her behind everyone else in earshot.

"Skank," he spat. She shriveled up at the word like his breath stank. It most likely did.

I felt bad. Sorry Milo. Didn't mean to cause you trouble. I stumbled past her too and out into the burning sun.

It's so goddamn bright out here. Fuck the sun. Fuck this city. I slid the glasses over my face.

The boys were out in the alleys, collecting their bikes, laughing and insulting one another obnoxiously. Their voices made my headache worse.

I turned the opposite way, looking down a back alley where trash bags rose in piles on the sides of the walls. It wasn’t a promising path, but I just couldn't stomach any more of their yapping. My feet trudged through the garbage with heavy steps.

You gotta be fucking kidding me. I can't believe it, I thought to myself, trudging along. I can't even sell drugs to addicts. How the hell did I end up like this?

After breaking through a waist high trash pile, I found myself stumbling into a large boxy space nestled at the joining point of three different alleyways. Valves and old computer panels covered the walls. At one time, they may have been used to control the water and temperature output of the buildings nearby. Now, the space was little more than a refuse dump, littered with old garbage bags and piles of junk ankle-high.

A puddle filled with greasy, muddy water sat pristinely still at its center where the asphalt had peeled away over the years. I tried not to step into it on my way.

My mind whirred trying to find the past steps that led me to who I was today. I’d kill to be who I was ten years ago. Now, I'm nothing more than a LowDowns street slinger. Fucking pathetic.

My anger was honest, but right then, I was forcing it out. A part of me was just too tired of being disappointed in myself to care anymore.

Ah, who am I kidding? I'm just a warzoner. I should just do what I'm destined to do. Get as high as I can for as long as I can and fuck the rest.

Leaving this city… pssh. This is just a bad dream. Yeah. Fuck it. Fuck it all.

With that, I stumbled towards my destiny, bitterness driving my every step. I had truly hit my place in the universe.

A sudden wave of frustration took control of me and, furiously, I kicked at a bag of garbage almost bursting at the seams. It blasted open, spraying trash everywhere.

The rotted plastic bag stuck to my boot. Swaying as I tried to kick it off, my foot slipped over the asphalt and I tumbled to the ground landing heavily on my stomach. The wind was punched right out of my guts, leaving me breathless and coughing. My glasses skittered over the rough ground.

"Ouch," I said with my first breath, annoyed, my emotions all but slapped out of me. The smell of garbage assaulted my nose. Gah. That is vile.

By fortune, I had landed just at the foot of the disgusting puddle of water. It was such a close incident that my face hung off the side of the hole which left me peering down into the glassy surface of the putrid water. Well, that was fortunate. Usually people fall into these things at their lowest point–

My blood ran cold.

The surface of the shallow pool was so still that it reflected the world with perfect precision, except... Instead of looking down into the tepid water and seeing my own face staring back, I saw a stranger’s… with dark eyes and a smile that revealed a string of sparkling gold teeth.

My breath abandoned me. I blinked, rubbing my eyes and looking into the putrid mirror again. He was gone. It was just me. Had I just…?

Peering down, the puddle showed me the sallow features of my face with exact mirror-like detail. And what I saw was depressing.

Three days worth of sleep deprivation wore wrinkles on my face, years that shouldn’t exist, and drinking too much weathered the pockets around my eyes, wrinkled my forehead and darkened my eyes like skull sockets. A dead man was staring back at me.

Whether or not what I’d just seen was a hallucination or trick of the mind, one thing was for sure… I barely recognized my own face anymore.

I turned over onto my back, disgusted. Sad. Trash crunched under my weight. Tisco bags, Manisco food packages, cartons of emptied synthomilk. Mystery bits of rusted junk poked into me through my coat.

As the murky clouds rolled over the tops of the highrises, I let out a sigh a year long…

I’ve been out of the game for a while.

As I lay there, the world around me became visibly real. It was like my senses were returning to me for the first time since… well, since Mackie.

Dogs barked wildly in the distance, their frothing voices echoing in forgotten alleys. The mongrels were saying something important, but their messages were aggressive nonsense. Unseen fliers growled in the sky, engines pocked with soot and grime popping every few seconds. It sounded like faint gunshots from WarZone.

Chuckles and the boys laughed in the alley behind me. Their bikes giggled to life before the whole crew disappeared down the street, their whining bikes growing fainter and fainter.

And the sun… it was revealing. There was color in the shadowed back alley. The sky was blue, so blue, almost black, as if you could see the night beneath it.

I could feel my stomach churning from the withdrawals. My eyes stung but wouldn't close.

Thinking on my life, I looked back at everything that led here. That boy from the WarZone slums… The young racer with an ice cold heart… The burn out, Mackie’s friend.

I’ve changed again. Who was I now?