Remy sat by the door, his leg itching and bouncing about, his fingers tapping against his knee in irritation, his eyes locked on his phone, the time. It was 5 minutes past the time they said they’d be here, and his legs were hurting.

  The air was way too still, and when his apartment went too quiet, he started hearing things. Voices, he swore it, but would never tell anyone. Other times he heard his parents screaming at him, he wondered if they were still alive, locked away in that concentration camp. He could hear her as well, through the wall, more than physically should have. Juniper, locking herself behind a closed, and crying herself to sleep.

  His mind wandered, as it always did. The noise outside—the hum of hover cars, the occasional neighbor knocking to check on him—kept him sane.

  The pain. It can get too much sometimes. The pain, it never let up.

  Remy checked the time again. Another couple of minutes gone by. He didn’t blame anyone but himself, he knew where he was buying the narcotics, he knew what risks he was taking, he knew he was putting what little clemency Juniper was given over them and putting that at risk. He knew by doing shady stuff like this, he was putting Euphemia’s life at risk.

  Perhaps Avaree Reyes was right, they needed to be broken apart. She was threatening Juniper almost every week, every time she visits he felt vulnerable, overly polite with him, way too polite and ever pursuant into getting him to live in a medical research center.

  Nearly half a decade long battle with the government, and they still saw him as a child. He often wondered what happened to patients taken by their families, what happens when the curtains were pull over. He didn’t trust the government, like at all. Remy has seen way too many weird shit on the internet, stuff that could get you put in a crime video.

  The after effect of exploring the dark side of Web 4.0. Illuminati shit.

  Remy moaned. The pain, it started again, sharply. Running down the edges of his forehead, then slowly traveling down his spine, aching. His nerves felt like tangled wires, sparking and misfiring with every movement. Like he had to force his half-dead, aching body to move. Every second he sat waiting here worked it away into his agony, when he could be lying in bed.

  Migraines, then mood swings, then his own body refusing to cooperate with him… He hated existing sometimes. The pain of moving alone was horrendous. He’d rather die. The government's best medication were cut off, altered to be available only to near-death patients. Potent stuff they’d offer to those undergoing brain surgery for the illness.

  Psionic Neural and Nerve Syndrome was a curse, one, he was convinced, the government made to experiment on its populace.

  One pill, and he relaxed, no different from Benzodiazepines. Two pills and the pain stops, but so does his brain. Three, and he is off to dreamland. Tomorrow, the pain would just come back. Recently, he’d found a different crutch. Black-market stuff of potent medicine, produced out of the country, made him feel like a king. It wasn’t perfect, but it made him function perfectly, except the price of it was too damn expensive.

  If Juniper found out… No. He couldn’t even think about that. He always blamed her for not doing enough, but really it was him that was the burden.

  Remy barely registered the time changing again when—knock. Knock. Knock.”

  A sharp, successive knock recurred on the door. Deliberate and loud. Was that them? On foot? He was expecting a drone delivery. No matter.

  He rushes, the pain nearly disappears. He exhales, smooths his shirt.

  Why was he nervous? Oh, right. The black-market dealer could probably kill him.

  “Delivery for Mr. Pinewell!” A female voice called out. He panicked, his weight shifted, and he kept himself as upright as possible, the pain hurt him, but he opened the door anyway. Putting his best manners on display.

  The courier was hardly what he expected. No gruff, shady 40-year-old man, nor a drone.

  A girl–no a woman around his age, stood at the door, maybe younger than her sister. Her hair was a messy dark ponytail, covered up by a flashy blue cap, heavy eyeliner on her eyes. Small piercing in her nose, and her ear. An oversized jacket making her frame trigger, though she was definitely larger than him.

  She flashed over him like he was an anomalous code. Eyes scanning him from head to toe.

  “You Remy?” she asked rudely, holding the package under her arm.

  He nods, uncomfortably, his voice dried out. “U-uh. Yeah. How does this—?”

  She snorts, hands on her hips… “Wow. You're new to this?”

  He frowns, a part of him skeptical he wasn’t about to be scammed or shanked in the gut. “No. It’s my first, time, just… never done it in person.”

  “How Adorable. There’s a first time for everything you know.” She steps inside without waiting for permission, pushing him inwards and closed the door behind him. “Alright, here’s how it works, preschooler, the money first, package after. No refunds, no crying later, and certainly no idiotic questions about where, what comes from. Got it?”

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  “I’m not a preschooler.” he protested. “And…you can’t just barge into people places like this.”

  “Could’ve fooled me,” she muttered. Courier girl bumped against him, then flopped down on his couch like she owned the goddamn apartment, putting her legs up on a table cross-legged.

  “H-hey!” he called out, taken aback by the behavior. His legs trembling. “You can’t–”

  “Can’t just what, Babyface?”

  Remy was desperate, but she didn’t care about his desperation and his boundaries. How did he keep his dignity in this situation. He didn’t want to do anything that could offend the underworld, but what if Juniper found about this, she wouldn’t approve.

  This person was treating him like he was a boy toy, which would probably sound great to a lot of people but? He needed to step up, prove to himself he was capable of handling a situation like this. She needs to realize what’s she doing is wrong. This was a home invasion.

  He moves towards her, She awaits as he places the money in her hands. She starts counting it, then she crossed her arms, observing him like a lab experiment. He takes the absent package from her. His frail fingers tremble as he slowly peels it open. Inside, the sleek compartment, revealed a set of vials, each with a description, a collection of pills marked with a designation. A thick label stitch to the box. “For the use of Psionic Neural and Nerve Syndrome (PNNS) only.”

  He exhaled, everything he sought out was in here, it could last him a month if he used it correctly. Juniper was going to start asking questions if he splurged money like water, best to wear it out over a month.

  “You got a good aura, twitchy boy. Shame if it got harvested.” She paused, then snickered at his reaction. “I Could do a thing or two, you know…”

  “What?” Remy said flustered. Staring at her in disbelief.

  “You always this jumpy?”

  “You always this pushy?” he hit back.

  “Only with guys who look like they’d snap in half if I poked ‘em. And boy do I want to poke you in half.” She said, taking off her cap. Letting her ponytail hang freely.

  “Yeah, of course, make yourself, comfortable in someone else's home.” Remy protested, knowing he was powerless.

  “What Ya gonna to do about it?”

  He sighed. It would be better if she left right away.

  She started kicking her legs in the air.

  “So,” she says, stretching her limbs. “Can I crash here for a bit? Two, maybe, three hours.”

  He blinks. “What? Are you serious, Hell no! You need to leave now.”

  “Can. I. Stay. Here. For. A. While.” She repeated, She gestures lazily at him with her fingers… “Your couch is comfy, real comfy, it won’t make me stand up, I call dibs.”

  “No.” what does he do here? What the hell was he supposed to do? Call for help? Would anyone even take him seriously?”

  Should I call Ms. Louise to handle her? No one could weather the old Matron. No. If he did, Juniper would find out about it, then it’s goodnight for him. She was in league with shadier folks. He didn’t want them to grill him.

  She pouts. “And Why not puckerbum?”

  “Stop, calling me weird names. And I don’t even know you? Because I expected a drone, and you just banged yourself inside.”

  “Banging, huh? Didn’t think we were there yet, twitchy…" She props her chin on her hand, smiling at him. “You got no one else here?”

  Oh my god.

  He stiffens, a twisted part of him, enjoyed her crass remarks. But he was no health to play along with her playful banter, besides she’s also a stranger moving illegal substances. He sighs. “Family’s gone. Why else would I buy illicit narcotics early in the morning?”

  She hums like she expected that answer. “Yeah. Figured. You got that ‘fragile cat’ look. Kinda cute, actually. You need someone to take care of you.”

  “Fragile what! He glares. “You’re messing with me.”

  “A little,” she admits, grinning. “But listen—I’ve seen people with your kinda condition just shake it off. Sick one day, healthy a month later, no drugs.”

  He scoffs, he steps back, crossing his arms. “That’s not how neurological disorders work.”

  “Not normally, no” she shrugs. “I’m not very smart, but I know you don’t have a neurological disorder. You got that purple pulse thingy, think the deep government is lying about. There are groups out there that deal with this kind of stuff. People who know how to fix it. My cousin had it. Now she does magic.”

  His throat goes dry. He’s not superstitious, but—magic? Was she stupid?

  “I’m sorry, magic? Magic Magic?” He narrows his eyes. “You mean, like… actual spell book-and-wizard-hat magic? Or just some tech scam wrapped in glitter?”

  She wiggles her fingers mysteriously, she starts making worm like wiggles with her hand. “Real woo-woo stuff. Sparkles, floating rocks, purple waterfalls, all that nonsense. Levitation and shit.”

  He gives her a flat look. “You sound like an MLM manager.”

  “Thank you.” She beams upwards. Remy wondered if she even knew what that meant. “And if you’re interested, I could introduce you to her.”

  “For a price, I’m guessing. Magic for a price?” he said, already bored with the conversation.

  “Bing bong bingo.” she alliterated off her tongue

  Without waiting for an answer, she tugs the blanket off the back of the couch and settles in like it’s hers. “Excuse me!? That’s sister’s blanket. She’s sensitive about smell, she’ll smell you off it.”

  “So what, I smell nice.”

  “It’s common courtesy, to respect people you’re visiting’s belongings, and you’re not even a guest.”

  “Whatever, anyway. Think it over, cutie,” she yawns. “I’m getting comfy now. If only some chivalrous skinny boy would come sit next to lonely old me.”

  “This is inappropriate, you’re home invader”

  “Cry me a river, dude, I just got kicked out of my apartment, going to take me awhile to get it together. ”

  “So what, you try to take advantage of the first vulnerable person you see?” Remy started shouting. “You can’t be here when my sister gets back, or I’m fucked,”

  “Woah there cowboy? Take it slow, let a girl settle in first.”

  Remy lost it, he clenched his fists and shook. “Look I can’t–” He fell over, his knees dropping to the floor, she jumped up, running towards him, right by his side, holding him together as he started coughing, rubbing his back. The pain wrecked havoc inside him, he was vulnerable, and then the stranger was holding him together.

  “Oh Shit, I’ve never seen one as sick as you, shouldn’t they have taken you up in a medical thinga-ma-place already?”

  He shook his head. “No, money.” Well, bar recent events. Still, he had no reason to go, and let them pick at his head. Juniper made a promise, to him, he hoped she lived up to it but if she couldn’t–

  Remy stabilized, this ‘tremor’ wasn’t as bad as the one he felt this morning, slowly taking in deep breaths, he felt the world around him slowly coming to crawl by the second.

  “How about we call my cousin anyhow, I’m serious when I say she had that purple pulse thing, she’ll know how to manage it, she got a support group and all that, and you’ll take me on a nice date later, how that sound.”

  He nodded, what would he have to lose anyway.

  Screw it. Might as well roll the dice. He didn’t care about the wizardry but the allure of a support group, it was enticing. If he could move his stress away from those two, it would do him good.

  “You have a name, invader girl?”

  “Scarlet, nice to meet ya–”

  “It's remy, just plain old remy.”