Stavrostopol was the carrier of unnamed illness.
Citizens were fungus that grew up on the streets. You could tell from their faces who was addicted to suspicious substances produced by medical corporations. The addicts were easily noticed. They were morbidly pale, suffering from exhaustion that the drug influenced their organism. At night their faces shone lit by the moon. And it was at night that they especially looked for another doze of the substance. They were eager to buy it from anyone who offered the lowest price. The substance was sold at the chemistries but those who had taken the drug for longer time searched for even stronger pills. Their faces were covered in paroxysm of pain, it was hard to understand their talking, and even if you understood their words you could tell that they carried no meaning at all.
The worst of all was that they had once dreams of getting somewhere, reaching their point of destination, having a goal in life. However, once grasped in the routine of thoughtlessness they could not get out of it. They moved pointless, caught in a loop from which they couldn't exit. Thousands of ghostly faces wandered around the city, looking for their regular chemical feed, driven by a singular desire to satisfy their now basic need.
Citizens were fungus that grew up on the streets. You could tell from their faces who was addicted to suspicious substances produced by medical corporations. The addicts were easily noticed. They were morbidly pale, suffering from exhaustion that the drug influenced their organism. At night their faces shone lit by the moon. And it was at night that they especially looked for another doze of the substance. They were eager to buy it from anyone who offered the lowest price. The substance was sold at the chemistries but those who had taken the drug for longer time searched for even stronger pills. Their faces were covered in paroxysm of pain, it was hard to understand their talking, and even if you understood their words you could tell that they carried no meaning at all.
The worst of all was that they had once dreams of getting somewhere, reaching their point of destination, having a goal in life. However, once grasped in the routine of thoughtlessness they could not get out of it. They moved pointless, caught in a loop from which they couldn't exit. Thousands of ghostly faces wandered around the city, looking for their regular chemical feed, driven by a singular desire to satisfy their now basic need.
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