- 4 -
What Dreams Are Made Of
[no time stamp]
Ups and downs. Yet again.
It’s good to have you to talk to, even if you’re just wires and plastic.
I feel worse than shit, though we did something rarer than a day without rain.
After the haze lifted, we remembered that there was something more urgent than getting money.
Too much credit, to be honest: for most of us, there was something more urgent IF we wanted to get money.
The girls got us hooked with a job sounding just as promising as insane.
Precious shit, if you want the real deal. The plants are almost all dead – yeah, this stuff was originally made from plants…who would’ve thought, eh? – and so there are a bunch of exclusive luxury goods bastards who still produce that shit. Goes for 1k per 1000 grams.
But to get details on the job, we’d had to find another girl that’s missing.
Nebraska, the youngest of our merry former-hookers-bunch knew where to find her.
She’s gone through a lot. Can’t blame her for going all thrill junkie on the people around her.
She knew of a trailer park with a bunch of perverts, snatching girls from the streets.
We hit the place hard.
After Zach fucked up any attempt to go in silently, we beat
and shot the crap out of some chipheads and even got our hands onJerry Dreamland himself.
He ran the place. I should’ve known by the screwed up mana background that what happened here is more than your usual misery and violence.
Seen some pretty bad shit during the few years of my life, but spirits…what they did to those girls!
The one we were looking for wasn’t here, but we found the other missing kid’s corner hooker.
Those assholes just…dumped her. Like some burned out chip, trash…pick your analogy.
Death was eager to cut her thread, as she lay wasted, bleeding and raped for the entertainment of two dozen backwater junkies so they could fap to her suffering.
‘You can fix this. You treated worse stuff than that’, I tried to convince myself.
I was never a good liar.
Acid, internal bleeding, cuts, broken bones…fuckin’ happy end massages compared to that.
I took the full measure of what she’s been through while I told death to fuck off and brought her back.
Comes at a price though. Struggled to stay on my feet. Good thing none of us got hurt. Well, except for Jet. His vest ate some delicious remington rocksalt. He got off pretty okay, all things considered.
Though strangling that Dreamland son of a bitch with his own guts would still be too good for him, we played this smart and called the cops to take this place down hard.
They’d owe us one; and we’d go out of this without blood on our hands.
Now I sit here in the clinic, we brought Annie -that’s the girl I saved – to.
I know we did something good.
So, why do I still feel so bad?