Rapture Noir: A Friend in Need

The blaring of my alarm nearly gave me a heart attack. Christ, forgot to turn the damn thing off last night. The last thing someone with a hangover needs is that kind of noise in their skull. Taking in the silence I lay in bed for about a half hour, letting my head pulse violently and swallowing repeatedly in an attempt to combat by unbearably dry mouth. I could already tell this was going to be a bad day.

Finally managing to to work up the fortitude, I slowly right myself and make some breakfast to take the edge off. I washed it down with some tap water, lot's of tap water. My head still hurt like hell, but at least I didn't feel like dying.

Opting to start my day sooner rather then later I went down to check the pneumo and found that I had a package. A small, metal container similar to a first aid kit. When I opened the kit I found a letter and a small syringe, it read:

"Dear Mr. DeWitt."

I couldn't help but overhear your conversation from last night about the need for a self defense plasmid.  In keeping with the trend, we would like you to be our guinea pig for an invention of ours. It's a plasmid that we've taken to calling 'shock jock.' As the name might suggest it will allow you the ability to project electricity from your fingertips. Perhaps not as exciting as, say, controlling a swarm of bees. But what it lacks in flourish it makes up for in utility.

The best of luck,
A friend."

Standing there I puzzled over the letter. Who could have overheard my conversation with Rock? Hell, who just sends someone a plasmid just because they overheard something at a bar? The letter didn't even have initials, let alone a name to go off of. Well, I should at least take this back to my apartment before I decide what to do with it.

Tucking the small container under my arm I hurried back upstairs. I hastily locked the door and placed the small container on the bed next to me. In the dimmed light of my apartment I stared at the box. Did I really want to do this? There was no guarantee that it would even be what the letter said it would. On the other hand, I couldn't exactly afford a new Plasmid. And hell, it's just one more plasmid.

Opening the box I pulled out the red syringe. I hold my breath for what seems like forever before finally piercing my wrist with the needle. A surge of relief swells through me, followed by animalistic terror as my vision blurs and my pulse begins to race. Something was wrong.