Mere steps from the pod a woozy malaise kicks every spot in my body at once, not unlike the time I chugged a half gallon of Fireball thinking it was Smirnoff to impress a hot coworker at a Christmas afterparty and had to have my stomach pumped (or the New Years party, where it actually was Smirnoff but I still had to have my stomach pumped). The peculiar thing is that this time it’s happening after a couple days sober.
Maybe this is a side effect from switching so quickly into a false sense of sensory reality and back? No, everyone else who’s leaving their pods looks fine. I do what any good alcoholic does to measure drunkenness--look down at my hand and see if it’s spinning. Well, it is, but worse than that, there’s a fresh prick on my inner arm that’s slightly oozing some sort of noxious purple liquid. Did something in the pod inject me while my nervous system was being hijacked so I wouldn’t notice!?
I go to confront the girl running the pods to demand answers but proceed to fall face first into the carpet. After some helpless flopping, I finally manage to muster up the strength to roll over, only to find the green-eyed bikini goddess herself standing over me. She stomps on my chest and knocks the breath out of me, which under normal circumstances would give me the biggest rager but is contextually probably a bad sign. “Were you looking for me, Detective?” she asks with a malicious wink, her crooked smile taking on a darker tone. Before I can process what’s happening two absolutely fucking ripped (like, at least four Chads taped together level buff) men in all black approach her on each side. Though my world is still spinning out of control, I can see that they’re wearing masks that are the same design as the BS tattoos: the eyes and the blood-tears glowing bright, neon red.
“What’s g-going on?” I mumble, equal parts turned on and terrified as she snaps for me to shut up and presses her foot deeper into my ribcage. The two men walk behind me; each grab one arm and shoulder (FUCK, that arm wasn’t totally healed yet after all), and they hoist me into the air. I’m definitely fucked. As I fight to subside my panic and think through the fog of whatever drug is eating its way through my system, it hits me--of course! I’m all wired up to my chans still! I just need to think straight enough to activate my Oculars, or even my Guntlets, and--
“Not so fast,” she giggles, grabbing a tiny orb off her desk and pressing a button on it; that’s got to be either a remote control vibrator or–oh, nope; it’s a short range SEMP ZPE jammer. She tosses it at my chest where it explodes like a grenade on impact sending a wave of red ZPE-like particles jolting through my body like a million tiny hedgehogs in my bloodstream. When the stabbing sensations fade, I lose all connection to everything--even my NeurOS, even Tela.
I’m a sitting duck now. Or, more accurately, a drugged up duck being held in the air by two buff guys in black suits and skull masks. My life would be pretty cool if I wasn’t the poor asshole having to live it! The crowd of bikini girls, hunks in trunks, gamers in tees and random punks that is starting to form around this spectacle is quickly broken up by employees in regular blue t-shirts--I guess despite the Telecom district affiliation, Kilroy totally owns and runs this joint now.
“Don’t worry, big boy,” the woman croons, stepping closer and placing a finger tauntingly under my chin, activating green LED chans in her lips and eyes and licking the glowing green juiciness of her upper lip menacingly. “You’re not in trouble. You’re just to be brought personally to the big guy’s doorstep.”
“Uh… okay, awesome,” I reply. “Wh-why drug me? That’s hackin’ as fuck, I’d go on my own–”
“Because,” she says, “Kilroy wants you at his personal lair--and you don’t need to know where it is or how to get there. You’re going to be a VIP guest, but you’re still a Telecom employee, Detective, Fedtel no less. You’re fortunate Kilroy takes such a personal interest in you–very fortunate, actually. Most Skulls have to go through a lot of hoops to get an invite to his own section of HQ. Kilroy must reaaaally like you. Or really hate you. Either way. Alright boys, take our friend away.” She blows me a sarcastic kiss and giggles. As I’m effortlessly carried away, the drug’s effect intensifies exponentially and in seconds, everything fades to black as I’m dragged helplessly into the void.