Prologue
Everything was still as she sat there. More still than usual, in fact.
The grand masterpiece of Jet, it was. The sky was painted in it's typical bright hues, all tropical and such like she'd see in old magazines of those strange getaway islands. It was beautiful in it's own, casting its color over the Commonwealth as if the entire state lived beneath a stained glass window. There was a short but peaceful moment in the time that it took for the sunset to saturate all that it glared at.
But she had it better… and that's where the Jet came in. Sitting there on the rooftop of an old apartment building, periodically inhaling the drug, she was able to view what looked like a postcard capture in its utmost vibrancy. It wasn't like anything else she'd seen before, and each time it got even better.
Then, as if God said, 'fuck your sunset,' the girl ran out of her beloved Jet. She pushed the red pump frantically, her stimulated hands somehow managing to crack the plastic from the repeated gesture. Lips still wrapped around the exit way of the drug, she tried sucking in any that might've been released from her efforts. It was a futile attempt, however.
"Shit," she said as if in pain, gingerly setting the device down beside her. I mean, I will be if I don't get myself more of it… she figured while thinking to herself. Being addicted to post-war chems was no easy feat, especially when you grew up looking to Jet as a rehab from the outside world and not the opposite. A severe dependency on the drug eventually left her crippled anytime she was without it- or some other form of wasteland bullshit that would substitute in its place.
Regretfully turning around and hopping down from the crumbling edge of the roof, she muttered to herself in a sort of aggravation. "Guess I'm heading back to fucking Goodneighbor..."
