The Phenixamin came in small shipments, sometimes only a few pills per package. Slowly, but surely, it was becoming less effective with each dose. The addition never stopped though.
He settled on the wooden floor of their hideout, ripping open the fresh box with little ceremony. It had arrived only minutes ago, their most recent shipment since two months ago. He needed this. His face, his body, everything was starting to grow imperfect.
His hands shook as he finally secured the thin plastic bag that held the smaller container. His drugs. How long had he waited? How long had he needed this fix? He tossed the bag aside as his small, childish hands grasped at the container.
There it was. There was his precious fix. The first pill went down with no problem, released from sweaty hands and swallowed without a drop of water beyond his spit.
The rush came fast and clean, his body reacting almost instantly to the potent mixture. He closed his eyes. He needed no religion. He only needed the small white capsules that gave him everything he wanted.
Those were his god and savior and with every one he swallowed, he whispered a little pray of thanks to them, his addiction satisfied once more.