[@PrinceAlexus]
Junks woke from his repressed memories and saw the Bitch he stole from earlier kneeling and weeping or some shit.  The only thought was that everyone needed to get the fuck out of here. 
[color=f7976a]"Bitch! Get the fuck up! We have to leave!"[/color] He shook her shoulders violently. So ducking violently it probably shook around some brain matter. he kept shaking and when that didn't seem to work he starting shaking her head. He looked in her eyes. [color=f7976a]"LOOK AT ME. GET THE FUCK UP!"[/color]


[color=9e0b0f]"Jerry. What the fuck are you doing? She ain't got no cash on her no more. She ain't got no use no more."[/color]


[i]No..[/i]

Above him stood a figure. I figure of his imagination?  
His name was forgotten with all the brain cells he'd burnt up in his days. His nickname was Jack. He renamed himself after the whiskey he'd loved so much when he was alive. He had taught Junks every trick he'd known until he accidentally overdosed when Junks was 15. He wore his typical appeal. Very similar yo what Junks used to wear until a few hours? Minutes? Hell time is fucked up.


[color=ff7976a] "Jack...I..."[/color]
[color=9e0b0f]"Quit your bitching and follow me."[/color]
Junks stood up and followed his old mentor as he walked and stood overlooking the convulsing bodies.
To everyone else he was talking to the crisp, hot, hellish air.
Maybe he was.