In a small room of about 6 square meters, a weak light flickered. It came from a small circular lamp hanging in a corner on the room's moldy ceiling. Directly beneath the only source of light in the little space sat a young man with pale brown skin, long unkempt black hair, and hollow black eyes. He was crouched on a mattress laid directly on the floor and leaning against the room's gray wall. The black sweater he wore seemed to protect him from the dampness and chill that hung in the air. In his hands he held a book, his eyes fixed on it. He was so absorbed in the manual's contents that he paid no mind to the squeaking of mice among the stacks of books neatly arranged in the other corner of the room.
Suddenly footsteps were heard, accompanied by a few knocks.
Dill's eyes flew open abruptly, as if ripped out of a deep immersion, and he stuck a ballpoint pen into the book as a bookmark on the page where he had stopped.
"Today's Wednesday, hurry up you homebody!"
The voice came from the direction of the door; it was hoarse but full of enthusiasm.
"Shut up, Francky!"
This time it was a female voice, soft but full of energy.
Dill quickly tied his hair back into a ponytail, stood up and cleared his throat.
"Good morning, guys! I'm ready!"
He grabbed an FFP mask from a box at the foot of the mattress, then hurried to open the door.
No sooner had he opened it than a young girl with short hair dyed blue — of average height and with icy blue eyes — leapt into his arms.
She was very pretty. She wore jogging pants and a sports bra that showed her smooth light-brown skin and a small musical-note tattoo on her forearm.
"Good to see you fit as ever, Dill."
Startled, Dill stumbled slightly before regaining his balance. He sighed and offered a smile.
"Still so energetic."
"Enough talk — we've got work."
Francky's voice now sounded a little sulky and annoyed.
Francky and Rose were childhood friends of Dill's. They were also his only friends in BK City, the slums. Dill was truly a homebody in the literal sense. He spent about four days out of seven shut up in the small room reading books of every kind — novels, manga, scientific books on anatomy, chemistry, mathematics, astrology, history, quantum physics, cookbooks… even old newspapers.
The three of them climbed the stairs from the basement room toward the surface.
"Don't forget your mask," Francky reminded Dill without a trace of humor.
Indeed, Dill's health was very fragile. Frequent contact with microbes caused him health problems, ranging from simple itching to very virulent illnesses. That was why, to move around a place as filthy as BK City, he always wore an FFP mask.
Once on the surface, Dill closed and locked the basement door.
The trio now found themselves in a large room where blankets, mattresses and bunk beds were scattered here and there. In the corners sat a few drunks with bottles in hand and cigarette smoke hovered above. This place was a shelter, like many found in BK City.
They quickly left the room for the street. Outside, Francky — dressed in a sleeveless top and blue jeans — took a large black bag off his back and handed each of his two companions a plastic bag.
"The price hasn't changed. Make sure you don't get into trouble." He paused, then added:
"And if some little jerk bothers you, you can count on my muscles." He flexed his arm.
Francky was cut from iron — years of weight training combined with his natural build had given him the body of an athlete.
"You're the only little jerk here."
Rose, still clinging to Dill's arm, tried to hide her visible embarrassment behind the teasing words.
Dill noticed and let out a mocking smile.
"Half a kilo as usual?" Dill asked, fiddling with the plastic bag.
"As always, bro."
To earn a little money and survive, the three friends took part in an activity that had become almost normal in BK City. Indeed, given the daily survival struggles of the people in these slums, many frequently turned to alcohol and narcotics. The distribution and illicit sale of these products had therefore become commonplace. And because the government, the police and the rest of the country regarded the slums as a lost cause, the activity had become ordinary — as had crime.
Francky was, in a way, the leader of the small group. He handled negotiating ecstasy of poor quality — a cheap drug — on credit from his contacts, and then took charge of distribution with the help of his two friends. They had managed to find clients and form a small network while taking care to avoid scrapes with the local gangs and the mafia.
Ecstasy, generally called E, came either as powder cut by the gram in small sachets, or in pill form.
Dill and his friends had been doing this work for about two years. Francky, an orphan living with an aunt who had become an alcoholic, had to earn enough money to survive. Being very sociable and dynamic, he hadn't had much trouble finding a hookup for supplies and enough contacts to avoid trouble.
"I'm off — be careful, guys," said Rose, still smiling and energetic.
Dill shut his light brown eyes slightly and returned her smile.
"You too, Rose."
Meanwhile Francky adjusted the laces on his low white sneakers stained by the surrounding dust.
"And if some little jerk…"
They all burst out laughing and then each took a different alley.
Dill soon stood in front of a shabby little storefront. He knocked on the door and the window opened, then shut almost immediately.
"It's the boss's son."
The voice was thin and childlike, sounding like a little girl.
"I told you not to spy on visitors, Rina."
This time the voice was hoarse and deep.
The iron window opened again, and behind the bars was the face of a heavyset man with a multitude of tattoos.
"Four!"
As if answering an order, Dill deftly slid four small sachets through the window while receiving some bills from the man's hand. The exchange was so quick and fluid that an ordinary observer would have seen nothing more than a simple handshake between men.
"Say hello to your father!"
Dill pretended not to have heard, pulled up his hood, and continued on his way.
After about half an hour of distribution, Dill finally arrived at his last client. He already knew the exchange would not go as usual...
When he knocked on the door he was met by a tired face, hollow eyes and chapped lips. The man, dressed only in shorts that revealed his collarbones and emaciated torso, looked horribly exhausted and depressed.
Dill knew well the cause. This man was in withdrawal. Still, he gritted his teeth and cleared his throat.
"As usual?"
The man pressed his chapped lips together before responding.
"Get out of here, young man! I'm done with E!" then he added,
"I don't want to live like this anymore. If I hold on, I can still change everything... So please leave me alone..."
His voice, explosive at the start, had become weak and pathetic. He appeared to be suffering immensely from within.
Dill watched the man with wide eyes. He then shook his head as if to chase off thoughts and opened his mouth.
"I know you want to change and I know you'll make it. But look at yourself — you're tired, you're short of sleep and energy. You're stressed and you have trouble concentrating at work, don't you?"
He lowered his gaze with a face reflecting sadness before continuing.
"You know, if you do nothing, your small muscle aches and cramps will intensify. You've probably wanted to take pills to calm them or to ease your migraines maybe. It won't help! You might even overdose! Is the pain getting worse? Do you feel like you're being stabbed in the abdomen?... You could die from this."
The man looked stunned and terrified, then broke down in sobs.
"What can I do? What should I do? How did I end up like this?
Fuck! Fuck! What a shitty life!"
He cried like a child, an outpouring of emotion as if the barrier of his internal resistance had just cracked.
"Tell me, boy, do you know what I should do? Do you know how I can get out of this? I only wanted to feel a little joy in my life, to have fun even for one night..."
Dill, seemingly unmoved by the torrent of feelings, added:
"Look at yourself — you suffer from depression, you're anxious and confused. The cravings are getting more frequent and violent, aren't they?... If you don't do anything now, the pain will increase, you'll have hallucinations and become mentally unstable."
"But you know, I wasn't lying when I said you could stop. It's just not the right method."
The man, tears in his eyes and on his knees before Dill, had eyes that shone. When his world seemed to be falling apart, he had found a glimmer of light that shone brighter than his darkness.
"Killing yourself like this is not a solution. You need a calm mind to think about what you really want and to plan how to achieve it."
The man now listened quietly, with the utmost attention.
"And for that, right now, you need E. Take a few pills and then think... I believe in you."
The transaction then took place, and the man who had seemed depressed found a sort of peace and determination.
"Sorry, I'm really sorry," Dill thought as he retraced his steps.