Bobby had run out of anaesthetic brain chemicals, patience, focus and other things he could use in order to keep himself going. He only wanted to go to sleep in a shady alley. His eyelids were heavy, his sense of down beckoned him to lie down, causing slight dizzyness. And yet he had a thing or two to do before it was safe. Bobby yawned, driving tears into his eyes which he wiped away. He wished he were in a nice soft warm bed where no gov agent could shoot him in the head for loitering - he also wished for a nice dose of heroin. The pain was creeping into him like an unstoppable nonreversible process that only served to self reinforce itself. And part of the pains self preservation was to instill the desire for the pain to go away. Another yawn ripped forth, arousing suspicion of the government trained sniper that had his visor trained on the kid. Was this a loiterer? It could be, and if it was not one, he could write into his report that it was one. The sniper pressed the trigger and hit a wall 2 meters apart due his magical belief that just aligning the visor cross with the head of ones victims was a valid way to use a long range anti-civilian-sniper-rifle. Bobby was warned and quickly left the scene, forcing himself to continue searching for a good place to sleep.

The sniper just stayed in his camping spot as he was rather lazy and simply would shoot someone else to meet his quota - it was a thankless job as his victims would not be able to thank him. The monetary compensation for his work also was not exactly top notch.

Life just was not fair. The snipers workplace environment had a bottle in which he collected his piss in, a bottle to drink water out of, a trash bag for his solid waste, a singular (!) roll of toilet paper and a ration bar a day - free of taste and long expired. One can always say being a child without a home that can be shot at at will is hard, but at least one has the feeling of control over ones life, be it only because one had almost nothing to lose.

The snipers work would not stop after killing a passant, he would also have to notify his accomplices with a dry voice "Loiterer shot Oak-Avenue 25.", which was his only human interaction beside watching the black van drive up to the corpse, chop it up and put the remains into a body bag. Well and clean the blood off the street. In fact he had a girl that he liked, he almost smiled when seeing her cleaning off the excrements of the dying people.

He could imagine them in a house, he would stand at the window, taking pot shots and she would come and bring him a new toilet paper roll. Reusing toilet paper really was icky, but better than just leaving it unwiped. It really was a noob move to just throw used paper away, Randy knew better now. In his utopic dreams he had two rolls of toilet paper and regular intercourse with a cleaning operative he stalked, but the world was a cruel place.

Always remember, whenever you wish you were someone else, do you really understand what you are wishing for, Bobby?

Bobby had found something highly useful, a place where he could nap. He had identified an almost empty trash container as highly suitable. Any disgust or pride or any thoughts of his future beside survival had been blown away by his crippling addiction and housing problem.

If his parents could see him from a hypothetical afterlife, they would think to themselves that they should never have given their child two neural devices - even if Bill would probably feel proud for Bobbys toughening up.

Bobby awoke and did not know how late it was, his implants had gone silent as they had run out of energy. He didn't feel better than when he got to sleep, he was cold and his body ached from sleeping in such a cramped place. At least it had been dark, Bobby needed it to be dark to sleep. The place was a bit more cramped than before... someone had thrown their trash into his container. It felt warm and like plastic, a plastic trash bag. Bobby snuggled up to the bag, which contained parts of several children with which Randy had filled his quota - for a really shitty wage under even shittier work conditions.

The night sniper had just begun their shift on a different building - he had even a worse job than the day sniper as it really wasn't easy to see at night, super hard to hit someone even if they moved and it was cold and he had to stay stationary. At least he got a better pay - after deduction of all the missed bullets he would have to pay from his own wage.

He almost wished to be a homeless dude snuggling against the remains of a fresh corpse in a waste disposal container.

Bobby knew it was time to finally get some looting done, even without his implants working, so he stopped snuggling the warm bag and got out.

The night was a beautifully clear night, but also freezing cold. In deep withrawl, Bobby began to shake and shiver, bit into his hand to feel something to concentrate on and then went on a jog. His first destination was the pizza restaurant.