Carefully, I removed the thick syringe from its satchel. The liquid inside was almost colorless. Without hesitation, I pressed the needle against my abdomen, letting it puncture the flesh, another point in a neat field of tiny dots. I couldn’t really feel the methanal coursing through my body, but I knew the dead muscles were soaking it up, revitalizing, shaking a stubborn, scornful fist at death. The sensation was one of gentle bliss. It wasn’t physical, but my brain was working hard to imbue my humanz reason with pleasure. I once despised Kevin and his order for their drug habits. Now, I was one of the Junkies, and shame eluded me. There's no shame in the desire to live.