it knows i'm at my best when i'm on edge when i can't help but think of Xzar and his awesome samples my inner voice got embroidered with decades ago
as weird as it sounds i've learned about Oppenheimer through Xzar and not vice versa but another one of those samples was - please can we stop this INCESSANT NOISE???
it knows this INCESSANT NOISE is the best condition to squeeze maximum efficiency out of me when there's too much white surrounding every black spot and it gets on my nerves as i sit there in the blinding surgical cleanness of the transfer port's lobby waiting in line to make arrangements for the new arrival
same faces that used to induce such panic into me back in the day when i was sixteen and not out of the woods when everything was alien and way too spacious now they're familiar faces no longer paying me any worried glances but rather showing proper attitude according to the prestige i wager due to third parties like dirty cops and shit all that business that Four-Eyes likes to make fun of
might be natural for you but it sure ain't for me m8
the process flows lazily due to clerk bitches barely moving behind their counters so the line is nearly frozen and i choke on my tenth espresso trying to scheme further actions in advance but my thoughts scatter so badly i can't even make myself fully comprehend what exactly i'm getting myself in and why and the only thing i manage to withdraw from my memory in the result the same way you do with a broken ATM is the way she arched her eyebrow upon seeing me for the first time and hearing what i had to say then
6'6 porcelain doll with a ballerina body and that freezing shodan attitude is capable of fucking you up and over even if you refuse to evaporate into nothingness like i did and not just because it was the deity of my deity at the time truth be told it's just a fascinating sight on its own astonishing enough for my ping to jump to unbearable heights and now look at that look at that aggressive marketing at that incessant noise at that imbecile edgelord welcoming the viper into his den and trying to justify it with the need for poison she produces
i can't say for sure if i should be gloating or shivering so i do nothing just wait to get processed with my arrangements and vainly force myself to focus on the further steps but the only thing my focal machine is able to spit out in return to my kicking and screaming is the fact that april the cruelest month
i drive a battered black behemoth of a grand cherokee not a peugeot but otherwise it's pretty similar and on my way back i take a detour through the business district quiet and peaceful at this time of day high-rises towering on both sides head to toe out of steel rays and dark glass all translucent basked in flames of the setting sun its dimmed rays bleed through their fake fragility making me think of the soft gleaming of a new gun there's little comfort in thinking of guns not enough contact about guns not as fun as with knives anyway but whatever
i use voice-to-text to send her a message grasping at the routine thought of how weird it is that she'll get a text nobody typed in and tell her that safe passage has been arranged the rest she'll get upon delivering on her end
this much sobriety is so sharp it cuts into my brain the surroundings are too bright and overly detailed being sober is the best way to get a meltdown yet i can't risk engaging 4-Eyes to fix it nor Mischa cos it would be too hard to explain without getting into detail about the whole underground adventure and the ordeals our restless hero went through in vain just for exp there
way more than confronting the Viper herself and the triggers she is bound to set in motion i fear the inevitable moment of explaining this confrontation to 4-Eyes since it has much more to do with his past than mine after all besides it's one of those rushed decisions i myself feel too conflicted about to comprehend why would i even
the bar we meet in is lofty empty and dimly lit sparing me the painful purity of her skin and just like back then many years ago when the fucking dracula was just a taunt she threw at me for fun at the sight of my split lip and bloody grin i make out her presence through all that incessant noise that excessive sobriety wraps me in before i actually notice her by the entrance it's palpable like thick frost and transient like harbor fog and even before her twitchy plastique of a glitchy sex doll her long pale joints neatly packed in tight fetish of black synthetics and leather straps and a slick pitch-black waist-long ponytail or her angular face almost bony but smooth like a bullet sharp as a dagger her very presence is enough to rip and strip leaving me with no guts and no thoughts not even a heartbeat just a single thick string pinched in discordance with every breath i have to make manually praising all-father for the gift of excessive adrenaline he granted me upon birth since that gift is what renders my face straight and tense like a livid mask of bluish plaster it usually instills fear in those who manage to make me truly mad immediately but right now i'm just grateful for the chance to hide behind it without making any additional effort cos the remaining focus is tiny and clenched like a laser beam as it is
it takes me some time to make myself get up from the stool by the bar counter and move across the room into the booth she chose and not just because i have to wait for the waitress to accept her coffee order but when i finally manage it evidently takes her some time to identify me and that doesn't escape my laser attention
and here we go again with that arched arrow of her eyebrow and that razorblade of a smirk on her pale mouth almost lipless and her eyes framed with a thick line of kohl shine obsidian mockery in the dim dusty light she looks quite amused by such a coincidence an unexpected turn of events and says just Hey You Boy With a Scar What a Surprise
wavering on the verge of a meltdown i realize in hindsight that any dumbing numbing material would work even if it was some despicable drugstore shit like synthetic dope anything to distract me from the hypnotizing variety of sensory miracles her presence calls to life within me waking up all the flashbacks and aftertastes along the way and for a moment she almost succeeds in rendering me back to that shattered state i got so lost in at sweet sixteen almost evokes that gaylord edgelord full of blood and despair that i was in her bar but this bar is not hers and my nerves have been ripped out cut short polished tempered and shoved back since then and a sudden surge of spite instills additional doubt as i silently reach in my pocket to present her with her new ID and a med card of the sort that the rats have imposed as a must-have for citizens on the occupied territories
i put the med card on the table in front of her so she can make sure everything is cool and good squeaky clean brand new and genuine and keep the ID between my fingers waiting in silence for her to present me with delivery on her end and i stare at the perfect geometry of her nose bridge to avoid looking into her viper eyes yet make the impression of keeping the eye contact this trick i've learned long ago when my brother insisted on educational beating sessions yet the staring contest somehow managed to rob him of the mood and the only issue about it was that i was unable to keep calm whenever i really did look into his eye cos got too angry and snapped so eventually had to resort to creating the impression without actually following the rules and with my side vision i see the smile slowly fading from her lips cos this is the language she speaks the language of business exchanges mute transactions senseless deals trading items like a game
the glass jar that appears on the table in front of me is full of lemon jam bright yellow and translucent shines in soft peripheral lights almost magically when i pick it up and look through but it's hard to see anything behind the sticker and so i give her a silent questioning glance not sure i would be able to say anything even if i wanted to or my jaws would prove to be stuck too tense to move at this rate locked like a pitbull and she points at the vessel with her chin and drops abruptly - five vials per jar five jars in total feel free to check if you want - and i respond with oh i will before i manage to make any conscious decision about it as usual
they call it impulsive personality disorder now and say it's a subtype of the same shit 4-Eyes claims to have and in case they're correct and he's correct it would explain how the two of us manage to maintain such perfect mutual understanding despite drastic differences in world perception well back in my day they just proclaimed me antisocial and blamed my inability to brake extreme responses to emotions such as rage in time on lack of desire to do so even though from my perspective the idea of consciously suppressing reflex reactions like these sounds pretty ridiculous but shrinks especially those specializing in personality disorders are usually too far-gone and deficient to even hear what you're saying so i never bothered
oh i will i repeat in confusion and the soft whisper lingers in the toxic red isolation of a toilet cabin where i sit on the closed lid with the glass jar in my hand trying to comprehend how exactly i should poke on the insides to make sure it really contains the vials entertained by the irony of how much more i would have to question the contents of the vials themselves if she had known it was me she was dealing with while packaging but considering she thought serious business all along it's more likely that the Pluto shit is genuine
in fact perhaps the most genuine that i've ever come across in my life considering it's the first time i managed to get my hands on the poison brewed by Viper herself meanwhile rumors say and 4-Eyes confirms that the rest of similar products sold under the same name on black market and via various dealers is actually not quite the same cos nobody knows the initial formula she came up with by herself with his assistance and at the thought of that my clunky motor twitches within the ribcage and bogs down for a second making the cabin contract in a sudden spasm around me because the thing i'm on the verge of dipping into lies at the heart of the crossover between the three of them this luminescent yellow liquid you're supposed to shoot in your muscle or vein ties them all together tighter than any red ribbon this liquid has been leaking through her fingers down into both of their skulls and it was enough to turn both of them into raving plutonium zombies shivering in their cold delirium whenever awake and sober enough to keep their eyes open
oh the irony of the fact that the very same substance was the basis which led to eventually excluding her from the circle and i nearly choke on my gloat as i unscrew the lid with a slight pop and plunge inside the bright yellow sweet substance with bare fingers thinking that i'm the shadenfreude twisted schadenfreude baby if only you knew in that moment when you called me disposable if you knew all that was bound to happen later you'd bother to use once and destroy rather than leave me to my own devices but now look at that and i hear the soft clank of glass upon glass spend some more time struggling with the slippery sticky jam to fish the vial out of the jar and wince at the sourish sweetness of lemon as i put it in my mouth to cleanse i examine the thick translucent liquid inside its unbearable phosphoric fluorescence is making me nauseous cos triggering but that's good as intuitive proof of it being genuine and i spend a few more moments marvelling at the neatness of the rubber plug vacuum-sealed with a thin tin cover just like they do in the real pharmaceutics then shove it back in place and close the jar
oh yes i will some time later when i withdraw 5 out of those 25 in total and keep for myself but for now