I shot the drug into my veins. Pure ecstasy. I didn't care what drug I used, as long as it got me high. For a few precious seconds, it could dull the pain of prostitution, the horrors that I had seen and experienced. Ironically, the people who sold me into sexual slavery were also the ones who gave me my only release from it. I knew that I was addicted and that the drugs were starting to take a toll on me physically, but at this point in my descent into complete and total dependence on narcotics, I truly didn't care. My boss did though. Fewer customers were asking for me now than before I had become dependent on drugs and had stopped taking care of myself as much. My hair was greasy, and I was getting sores. I was becoming emaciated, and my eyes were sunken. I had two weeks to get clean, or I would lose my only form of income. This would be the last time, I promised myself, but in my heart of hearts, I knew that this was just one more time in a line of many to come.

I was thrown out on the streets, I had no place to go except for my boyfriend's crack house. I took my few worldly possessions and crashed with him. I took what drugs I had with me, and the moment I woke up, I asked him for more. He wouldn't give me any. We fought until a thin, half-asian woman broke down the door. She took me with her to a big, abandoned mansion and shoved me into a sauna. I screamed at her to let me out, and banged on the door in a futile attempt to escape. She told me that the heat would help me detox, and screamed at her until my body went into shock. I started sweating profusely, and rolled around on the floor to try and ease the extremely painful cramping that I was experiencing in almost every muscle possible. I clenched my teeth started breathing heavily when I wasn't moaning. When I was done detoxing, I lay on the ground, exhausted. The woman opened the door and let me out. She supported me while I staggered out of the sauna. I tried to hit her, but I was too weak to do any damage. She led me to a bed and I slept the rest of the drugs off. The next day, she approached me about helping her take down some corporation that was apparently responsible for the brutal slaughter of my parents and everyone else I loved. I agreed to help her, and we started training.
We worked on a plan to get me into Division. Ironically, my persona was an angry drug addict. I assumed that we were sticking as close to the truth as we could without revealing exactly who I was so that my story seemed believable, and I wouldn't have to do research to accurately portray a character whose experiences were wildly different from mine. I trained for months, and stayed clean for the greatest length of time since before I had started using. I still had cravings every once in awhile, but they were getting weaker and weaker every day. I was healing, both physically and emotionally. My open wounds were becoming scars, the bad experiences that used to give me nightmares every night, were just becoming distant memories. I was so grateful to the woman, whose name, I learned, was Nikita. She had saved me, the moment before my life would have been destroyed. Now, I was strong, and on a warpath to I was ready to take down Division, and I would stop at nothing to destroy each and every person who was responsible for almost ruining my life.