9th March 2071
I left our newest rats to move into their containers. The next thing I know I get a mail from Zach with a picture of some syringes, asking if it’s a problem that Zoé tried to inject herself with those. Turns out they didn’t think to lock her in or chain her up, so she wandered off and dug through the waste behind the med station. Not that she had a chance of finding something, we keep the medical waste under lock for that precise reason. But she picked up some nicotine patches and a couple of empty syringes that used to contain insulin. Those were pretty much empty, but she tried to shoot up anyway. The Scrappers picked Nebraska up, trying to leave the Nest. Crawling on her hands and knees because she couldn’t stand.
With Simon’s help I made sure Zoé was okay or at least as okay as she can be and by the time I was finished, it was Zach who had wandered off. I left Whistler to babysit the girls for an hour, got Mrs. Gupta from upstairs to agree to keep an eye on them and put the Scrappers on the lookout for Zach. He had somehow made his was into Little Hanoi and was busy cooking up some Snuff. I may have been a bit heavy-handed when I took him back to their container, but I was in no mood to take any shit from him. He and the girls were screaming about how we were planning to murder them all and sell their organs. Let me tell you, I was tempted.
Fog and Jet were out to get some furniture and, from what I’ve heard, a mop. They may have been better advised to get a pressure washer. If the only thing they have to clean up tonight is puke, they are lucky. Their friends are in bad shape and there’s not much I can do except some patches for the worst of the pain.
Whistler, by the way, was more than glad to be finally able to leave. I admit, I wasn’t sure he’d still be there when I came back with Zach. He looked like shit and I’ll bet you the Cow that he made a beeline for his Tempo stash or dealer. He’s trying hard to stay sober when he’s working, I give him that. But that won’t last much longer.