A Night at the Neapolitan

Jack Hunter: It takes a lot of chems to get thrown out of the Neapolitan, but we were riding the line. My confidant and I made the trip to cover the Showmen's Games, a world renowned exercise in high stakes barbarism. Few in the entertainment world could match. Instead, we spent most of our time getting hopped up on Daddy-O and chugging bourbon in the casino bar. It seemed the logical course of action. The Games were notoriously deadly, even for bystanders. Liquid courage and a head full of hallucinogens were the obvious defense. What we didn't count on was the Devil's Blood. We had never heard of the stuff, and for good reason - it's an AC specialty. We weren't supposed to have it. It wasn't meant for us, but for the real high rollers. The people who, even in a world ravaged by pestilence and war, still managed to come out on top. But we found a way. The exclusivity made it all the sweeter. Not because we aspired to that lifestyle - quite the opposite. We wanted to soil the royal concoction inside our mangy, flea-ridden hides.

Jack Hunter: One hit is all it took to realize we'd made a terrible mistake. Even for degenerates as celebrated as ourselves, this was too much. The trip wasn't bad, it was glorious - horrifyingly so. We knew, instantly, that this was what money could buy. And we knew we'd never have it again. We witnessed firsthand the life that was being kept from us, and as much as we wanted to reach out and take it... ...we couldn't do anything more than slump in our chairs and watch as it drifted away. The consequences would be more than spiritual. Every inch of our bodies yearned for more after that first hit. Addictol won't be enough to cure this hunger. Maybe nothing will.