CRACK ATTACK!
You decide to help your cousin in his schemes. You wonder whether you'll regret this choice later on. Only time will tell.
Your cousin escorts you to his shack in the woods a few miles away, and insists you take an oath of secrecy. You agree to this, and he leads you into the squalid structure.
Inside of the shack, all sorts of curious chemical odors wander through the air. "What's that smell, Rob?" you wonder aloud. Rob takes a deep breath and smiles. "That, my friend, is the smell of money!" He pats you on the back. "Oh, and I forgot to mention, don't use a lighter when you're in here or the whole place will blow."
You make a mental note of that. Rob leads you further on inside and you come to a room that looks like a mad scientist's dream come true. Vats of chemicals clutter one corner of the lab, vials and tubes and all sorts of other crazy shit fill another. Hunched over one of the chemical vats is an old, sickly Mexican midget. "Cousin, meet Juan." "Hola, Juan," you say in your best Spanish.
"Juan here is only twelve years old," Rob explains. "But he's one of the best cookers in the state!" Your eyes nearly bulge out of your head. "HE'S FUCKING TWELVE!?" you gasp. "HE LOOKS EIGHTY!"
Rob shrugs that shrug of his. "He's been smoking the shit since he was 2 weeks old, and his mother was hooked on the shit too. He's fine." He turns to the weathered latino and thumps him on the head. "Juan, did I say you could stop working!? GET BACK TO STIRRING!" Juan smiles weakly, then goes back to stirring the contents in the vat.
"I pay him in meth. It's a very cost-effective arrangement we have. Okay, here's the deal," your cousin says, changing the subject. "Recently the cocksuckers in state Congress made it illegal to purchase more than a couple packets of Sudafed, one of the key ingredients in meth. What I need you to do is go steal a butt-load of it from the local grocery store. Think you can handle that? Just think of the end result, us being filthy rich and tweaked out of our minds! Here." He hands you a handgun. "Just shoot anyone that hassles you." Then he tosses you some keys. "I got a car parked behind the house." He gives you a map, detailing the complicated course you must take to reach the store. "Don't let anyone get their hands on this map," he warns.
Your cousin escorts you to his shack in the woods a few miles away, and insists you take an oath of secrecy. You agree to this, and he leads you into the squalid structure.
Inside of the shack, all sorts of curious chemical odors wander through the air. "What's that smell, Rob?" you wonder aloud. Rob takes a deep breath and smiles. "That, my friend, is the smell of money!" He pats you on the back. "Oh, and I forgot to mention, don't use a lighter when you're in here or the whole place will blow."
You make a mental note of that. Rob leads you further on inside and you come to a room that looks like a mad scientist's dream come true. Vats of chemicals clutter one corner of the lab, vials and tubes and all sorts of other crazy shit fill another. Hunched over one of the chemical vats is an old, sickly Mexican midget. "Cousin, meet Juan." "Hola, Juan," you say in your best Spanish.
"Juan here is only twelve years old," Rob explains. "But he's one of the best cookers in the state!" Your eyes nearly bulge out of your head. "HE'S FUCKING TWELVE!?" you gasp. "HE LOOKS EIGHTY!"
Rob shrugs that shrug of his. "He's been smoking the shit since he was 2 weeks old, and his mother was hooked on the shit too. He's fine." He turns to the weathered latino and thumps him on the head. "Juan, did I say you could stop working!? GET BACK TO STIRRING!" Juan smiles weakly, then goes back to stirring the contents in the vat.
"I pay him in meth. It's a very cost-effective arrangement we have. Okay, here's the deal," your cousin says, changing the subject. "Recently the cocksuckers in state Congress made it illegal to purchase more than a couple packets of Sudafed, one of the key ingredients in meth. What I need you to do is go steal a butt-load of it from the local grocery store. Think you can handle that? Just think of the end result, us being filthy rich and tweaked out of our minds! Here." He hands you a handgun. "Just shoot anyone that hassles you." Then he tosses you some keys. "I got a car parked behind the house." He gives you a map, detailing the complicated course you must take to reach the store. "Don't let anyone get their hands on this map," he warns.