The Delicious unKnown

Under the vast metropolis lies the abandoned sewer system, now inhabited by an unseen people. Potions are the new heroin. Zetta is the new user.

 

 

The smooth, stone walls were coated with urban hieroglyphics, messages in the form of names and iconic images depicting acts and ideas known only to the subset of life accustomed to interpreting such cryptic dreams. She ran her hand over colors muted by the absence of light in the poorly-lit tunnel, once a sewer to the vast metropolis above, now abandoned and left to a segment of life that knew nothing of history or waste systems.

Zetta spent half of her life underground, longing to be a permanent part of this mysterious society. Her latest tattoo was still itching from the recent inking. People, all shrouded in black, their skin, if not covered by the dark cloth, covered in markings, walked by, whispering secret conversations.

The hidden door waited for her. Her knuckles rapped on the wood.

gargantuan man appeared, holding up a single finger, pulling a two-way radio to his mouth and mumbling something into it. Noise crackled out of the tiny speaker, and Zetta wondered why they still used such an archaic device.

He allowed her entrance into the large room, a skeleton of some useful part of waste control from years ago, was now filled with the freaks and underground dwellers, grinding against each other, an aura of dark magic and depravity thick in the atmosphere. Zetta weaved her way to the backroom.

The low, droning thump transitioned into a primal drive, rattling the mirrors mounted next to the row of toilet stalls as Zetta entered.

The lone occupant, a non-committal concentration at her own reflection, reapplied thick, black eyeliner to her already caked lids. Zetta immediately recognized Aphed, tossing her a casual, yet cautious wave.

 

“This one will make you float.”

“How long does it last?”

“Oh, maybe an hour. I recommend being indoors or tethered to the ground.”

“And this one?”

“That’s Euphoria. You tried it last time.”

“Oh. That’s what that was called. Basically a continuous orgasm. I couldn’t leave my flat for a week. Amazing but…”

“But really potent. And we just raised the price.”

Zetta glanced over the case full of vials, her dark eyes jumping from lid to non-descript lid. They faced each other, the open case between them.

“What about this?” She reached down and selected a deep red vial, the light catching in the liquid contained in the glass.

“That,” said Aphed, whose eyes were completely white, no impurities or color anywhere to be found, “is what we call unKnown. It’s different for every person. Effects are never the same. Time travel. Fantasies fulfilled. Overwhelming power. Magic at its greatest potential and pinnacle of fear. It’s the question mark of potions.”

The ‘potion for pleasure’ industry had long overtaken the drug industry, mainly due to the absence of addiction, but also because of the increased thrill of danger and the lure of the unfamiliar.

“Is it safe?” Zetta asked.

Aphed shrugged, her face blank. “Define safe.”

Zetta stared at the red liquid.

“How much?”

“30 quid.”

After a moment of consideration, Zetta reached into her bag and handed Aphed the money.

“Oh, a few things you should know about this: Don’t drink it outdoors. Avoid sunlight of any kind. Don’t mix with other potions. Or alcohol. Think about something happy before drinking. It feeds off fear, hope, and love. Avoid…”

“Can I just drink it now? Here? With you?”

Aphed scratched her chin with a long, black fingernail, extending her neck, her lips pursed in contemplation. She looked right then left, closing the velvet-lined case. She lifted her right hand, and the bathroom door behind her locked.

“I’m not supposed to, but,” she hesitated, looking at nothing, “I’m curious. Most people take the unKnown alone.”

“Have you taken it before?” Zetta asked, the vial lid between her thumb and forefinger, waiting.

Aphed shook her head slowly back and forth. She said nothing. Her blank eyes remained open, and as far as Zetta could tell, Aphed was watching her, waiting.

Last time, she missed a week of work. Two times before that, everyone she saw fell in love with her, making it impossible to go to the grocery. A month ago, she heard the thoughts of everyone around her, which was very distracting when trying to sleep, have sex, or use the toilet. And she knew what those potions did.

Zetta turned the lid.

She held the vial to her nostrils, breathing in, as she had been taught to do by Aphed so many months before, when she first started using. Experimenting. Tasting her first morsels of magic.

Clove, fire, merlot, honey, olive oil, the sea, fresh baked bread, rosemary, autumn. Thousands of scents that refused to be identified. It was all she could do to not consume the potion in a fit of ecstasy.

She hesitated one last time.

The tempo of the music sped up to match her accelerated heartbeat.

A fist pounded on the restroom door. Aphed didn’t flinch. She waited, a dark grin easing onto her black lips. She nodded encouragement.

“Drink it,” she said. Her voice was distant, a memory of the sound she was producing seconds ago.
The knocking on the door got louder, the person using both fists now.

Zetta lifted the potion to her lips, parting them ever so slightly, sipping in a quick breath of air before pouring the contents of the vial into her mouth.

At first, nothing.

Then Aphed fell over, her pupils returning, blood red.

Silence.

Zetta paused, then hurried out of the restroom with Aphed’s case in her hands.

The dance floor was littered with the bodies of hundreds.

She stepped over the bouncer’s corpse to exit the club.

The halls were soundless.

She climbed to the surface.

Everything was dark like the underground. Like the sewer.

Nothing moved but her heart in her chest.

She stood there for days, drinking every potion in the case.

Nothing happened.

Nothing moved.

Everything was dead.

Surely this will end, she thought to herself, just like the other times.