Ultima Project: NY

The young man woke. His head ached. His right arm ached. His legs… ached.
He sat up, and heard himself grunt, and the sound was foreign to him. He looked at his hands and they, too, were foreign to him.
“What the…” he spoke, and his throat scratched as the words escaped him. He coughed, and rolled his tongue around his teeth to work some spit over his parched mouth.
“Where the hell..?” he squinted as he looked up at the concrete jungle around him.
A flash took him over. A view of himself sitting in a dark alley, cold and shivering.
Another flash showed a young woman; freckled & tom-boyish.
He swallowed, breath caught in his chest as tears fell from his eyes, an overwhelming sense of dread and sadness coming over him. He wept openly.
“You lookin’ for a fix, man?” came a gruff voice behind him.
The young man fought to blink tears away, and stumbled, “Pardon me? what? I don’t do drugs,”
The pusher pointed at his arms, “What’s with the tracks on your arms, then?”
The man looked down, “I don’t know,”

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