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Junkies

Junkies

Back in my fledgling days there was a recruit who always seemed to have the edge.

He was stronger than all of us, trained harder and longer because he had tremendous powers of recovery. His concentration, reflexes and agility were that much sharper than all of us.

It was demoralising that no matter how hard you busted your back to try and get that edge, he was always better.

But then one day I realised he wasn’t a regular person like the rest of us mere mortals.

His edge was a substance he injected into his veins. It gave him his superior vitality and strength.

I confess, I was tempted to be like him. I could be superior to my peers if I used the substance he did.

But then one day I saw him off the gear and I saw what a mess he was.

He wasn’t strong, he was ill; he had a disease. He was a junkie.

Of course, he didn’t see it that way. He thought he was better than the rest of us, sneering because we weren’t like him.

As time went by we knew what had to be done.

An addict like that is only interested in one thing: the next fix.

How could a junkie ever serve the greater good?

Like a cancer, we knew if we let him be, his corruption would spread and destroy us all.

So we cut him like cold turkey.

Knightlord. Seraphina.

It would be tempting to cast eyes at the pair of you and envy the advantages you have.

Your physical strength is boundless and unmatched. Wits and reflexes as sharp as tacks despite centuries of existence. Injury is impermanent and your powers of recovery appear natural marvels.

It is disheartening enough to force me to consider hanging up my garrote if I fail to fathom the mysteries a Dark Detective solves like a child’s puzzle and cannot hear the creep at my back of a Sovereign of Silence.

Yet, what gives you both these powers isn’t natural advantage.

You need to fill your bodies with a substance to gain the edge you have over mere mortals like me.

I watch you and, I confess, it was tempting to want those gifts, that competitive edge in the battle for survival.

But when I really examined it, I realised you’re both nothing but junkies.

You may look down upon mortals, separate your kind as something that stands above, but I’ve seen a vampire deprived of blood…

Your condition; your vampirism: it’s a degenerating disease and the only way you can stop total breakdown is by getting your fix.

What you call your hunt is really just the depravity of addiction.

It’s only about satisfying your craving.

Like any junkie, you pervert the greater good because if there is one thing addicts have a tendency to do is to spread their degrading habits like a malicious disease.

So like that former colleague, there’s only one way to break a junkie’s addiction.

At Fuck The World I’ll cut you both like cold turkey.

For the greater good.

Corvus