Tandy Leigh could have been clean.
She could have been happy with it, too. When she used her powers, her mind didn't dwell on when and where she'd get her next fix, or who she'd have to steal from, this time.
Because what better high is there than adrenaline rush? And with her super strength, and heightened reflexes to match, adrenaline was hardly tough to come by. The first time she took down a criminal, for example.
The first time was selfish- the guy had just ripped her off, given her half the amount of drugs he had promised, then bolted. She caught up with him easily, taking him down with a kick to the back of the knee. And when she stood over him as he blubbered and whined, she felt something she thought only the drugs could give her. Power.
But she still took his stash.
The second time was a hold-up, in a lonely general store. What had brought her inside was the screams of a young girl over her bleeding, store-clerk father. An old, stained memory, hidden beneath years of the drug's filth, resurfaced slightly. And when the bumbling crook shot her twice in the chest? Heh, it tickled. She'd never forget the look of worth in the girl's eyes. Her worth. She was worth something, even with most of her brain killed by long years of habits and addictions. And because she liked the warmth that spread through her chest at the sight of her good, she kept doing it. Kept saving lives, kept catching crooks. In the middle of the night, kept awake by the shakes and the fever because she had been too busy to nab any drugs, the feeling of worth held the smile on her face.
But then the day of judgment came. She woke up, and looked through weak eyes at a dim, unforgiving world, and realized it was gone. Her worth, her purpose, had been stolen in the night. With her weakened muscles, she could hardly even get out of bed and out the door.
The whole day was spent adjusting to the weakness, to the pain where once there was only numb. She bit her lip to keep from screaming, then tasted salt, as warm blood flowed from where her teeth had cut through. And the drug's calls were back as well. She couldn't hear anything but the drug's whispers. So she snatched an unwatched purse, went and got high.
A few hours later, an anonymous 9-1-1 call led to a young Jane Doe being admitted to hospital because of drug overdose. Because she died the next morning without waking up, police were unable to find out who she was. Runaway, homeless, professional, dealer- they had no way of knowing. Missing Persons wasn't looking for her- it looked like nobody was. Jane Doe #127 was buried without a name or family, in an unmarked hospital plot. But no one was really bothered- cases like these were a dime a dozen. No one of any worth was involved.
But Tandy Leigh could have been clean.