PROLOGUE

It’s 3 AM…

…a pink haze shrouds a nondescript, dystopian town that is so deadly quiet you can hear a single needle drop—and then it does with a piercing, metallic ring. Landing on an immaculately polished marble floor, a blood-soaked, sterling silver syringe breaks the eerie silence. Not that it makes a bit of difference to the kid, who drifts into a drug-induced stupor from the custom-brewed cocktail of cocaine, heroin and morphine that he just injected between his toes. Even the sharp pain from his head bouncing off the gold-inlaid toilet like a basketball has no effect, until the gruesome morning light, when he awakes to find a throbbing purple knot protruding from his ear.

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…the distinctive crinkling noise of plastic wrappers being ripped apart breaks the silence as a gargantuan girl ferociously devours a dozen boxes of Twinkies. Sitting up on her bed in a pitch-black room, her face smeared with cream, she fantasizes about a career as an official quality control manager for Hostess, and dreams of a mansion constructed of butterscotch ice cream filled with caramel clusters, fudge chunks and marshmallow swirls.