The news spread like wildfire.
Under dim alleyways and inside abandoned warehouses and in cheap, dingy motel rooms, where the clandestine exchange of little plastic baggies and wads of hard cash occurred, word spread behind closed lips and pressed hands and through hushed rumors and muted whispers, that there was a new drug on the loose.
It was said to be like meta-methamphetamine, similar to crack cocaine of crack cocaine, or the distilled spirit of alcohol. It was said to be able to produce hallucinations like LSD, simulation like nicotine, pleasure like opium. They were naming it Liquid Gold, Diamond Sand, Powdered Fire. But mostly, they just called it Angel Dust.
They called it Angel Dust. Angel because taking just a pinch made you high enough to feel like you were in heaven, and Dust because if you took a pinch too much, then you'd actually be seeing the angels. Addicts all wanted to buy it. Suppliers all wanted to cook it up and sell it. The drug lords and the gangs and the cartels all wanted the cash from selling it. The government wanted to stop it.
Everyone, everybody wanted a piece of it.
Alliances and counter alliances and agreements were merged and broken as suspicions were raised and fears and rivalries were heightened. Threats were made, tensions skyrocketed. Hitmen and gunmen were hired. Guns were gathered and ammunition was stockpiled. Soldiers were armed. When push came to shove, shots rang out and the people, the gangs, the government, and everybody else finally declared war over it.
And as with any war, the innocents always ended up getting caught in the crossfire.