Chapter Ten

Friday night in Toronto: the city pulsed with life, and every street was alive with people eager to throw off the week’s burdens. The city’s bars, clubs, and after-hours spots were packed, but the real scene for the boldest revelers wasn’t in the main strip—it was in an old warehouse at the edge of town, where a makeshift venue hosted one of the city’s most notorious illegal raves.

Inside, the air was thick with smoke and sweat. Fluorescent strobe lights cast blinding flashes of color across the packed floor, where bodies moved as one to the relentless beat of techno. The DJ, half-shrouded in shadows, stood atop a raised platform, arms spread wide like a conductor, his beats reverberating through the cavernous space. The music was loud enough to feel in your bones, a pounding anthem of bass drops and hypnotic rhythms that had everyone—from club kids in glitter and platform shoes to grungy teens and free spirits—caught in its spell.

A sweet, smoky haze drifted across the dance floor, tinged with the tang of alcohol, sweat, and something more illicit. Glowsticks flickered in neon greens, purples, and blues, lighting the faces of people lost in their own worlds. The crowd was a mix of denim jackets, leather pants, mesh tops, and shimmering face paint; every look was a statement, a refusal to blend in.

In one of the dimmer corners, a young couple swayed, lost in each other, their movements slow and hypnotic despite the fast-paced beat. Nearby, a small group laughed wildly, leaning into each other as if the world outside didn’t exist. And among them all, winding her way through the throng, was a woman who looked like she’d stepped out of a time warp from a very different era.

With a tie-dye tee, hip-hugging bell-bottoms, and six-inch pink platform shoes, her presence was unmistakable. Heart-shaped sunglasses perched atop her nose, the rainbow hued hair and the grin plastered across her face was one of pure, untamed glee. To anyone looking, she fit right in—another free spirit here to get lost in the night’s music, but Psychedelic’s mind wasn’t on the music or the crowds.

No, she was here for something else entirely.

She needed a proper lab, or at least a better lab then a hotplate and a sink, she also was going to need money and people to do footwork for her. She had no intention of using Lyras methods, tricking students, working with the mafia? Ugh so, uninspired, no Psychedelic had her own plans, ones that started with her finding an operating drug lab and that started with her finding buyers and dealers. The Buyers would be easy. She knew the signs of who was on what better than anyone. Psychoactives were her specialty and always popular among the ravers; she just had to keep her eyes open and manipulate the information out of people until she found the trial leading back to the suppliers and whatever half-assed lab they were likely operating out of an old building or a trailer park.

She scanned the crowd, her heart-shaped sunglasses adding an extra layer of cool detachment as she sized up her targets. The signs were all there if you knew what to look for: the glassy-eyed stares, the wide, unfocused grins, the twitchy movements. She moved through the dance floor like a spectre, a colourful anomaly that most were too dazed to notice.

One boy in a fishnet tank top with dilated pupils and a nervous smile caught her eye, and she sidled up next to him, swaying slightly to the beat. “Nice night, huh?” she cooed, flashing him a wide, carefree smile. The boy glanced over, startled, but her vibrant outfit and easygoing vibe set him at ease quickly.

“Yeah...yeah, it’s...it’s amazing,” he replied, his words slurred with the heavy weight of a high that was just about to peak.

She tilted her head, studying him with faux curiosity. “Looks like you’re having one hell of a trip. Care to share where you got it?”

He blinked, looking at her through hazy eyes before mumbling, “Ah, some guy named Leo…downstairs in the basement lounge. Told me he gets the best stuff. You just...gotta know the right people.”

Psychedelic patted his arm, her grin widening. “Oh, darling, I’m good at knowing the right people. Enjoy your night.”

She slipped away, heading toward the back of the warehouse, where a narrow stairwell led down to the basement. If Leo was selling to the rave crowd, he’d be easy to manipulate. With the right touch, she could get him to lead her straight to his supplier, and from there, to a lab she could turn into her own personal playground.

“Why take the boring route,” she murmured to herself with a grin, “when I can make my own way.”

She moved through the crowd dancing along the way as she slipped by the wall of human bodies. Techno wasn’t her thing; she preferred a trippy tune from years gone by but if there was a beat, Psychedelic was going to get her groove on one way or another. More than a few eyes fell on her as she weaved through the crowd, her retro-style and chaotic grace hard to ignore.

Her platform heels thudded rhythmically against the concrete floor, each step an unapologetic statement amid the flashing lights and pounding bass. She was a burst of vibrant chaos in a sea of neon and leather, a flower child among urban ravers. People turned as she danced past, drawn to her wild, carefree energy like moths to a flame. She winked at a group of girls who cheered her on, blowing them a playful kiss before twirling into a space between bodies.

The music might have lacked the soul she adored, but Psychedelic found her own rhythm, twisting and spinning to her beat, her movements fluid and hypnotic. She laughed, tossing her hair, letting the pulse of the crowd carry her forward. A guy in oversized sunglasses tried to catch her hand, but she slipped past him with a coy smile, her eyes already set on her next step.

The basement was just ahead, down a narrow stairwell barely noticeable through the pulsing crowd. She gave a quick, exaggerated shimmy as she reached the top of the stairs, then glanced back one last time at the dance floor with a wry smirk. With any luck, this "Leo" would have what she needed to kickstart her plans. As she descended, the sounds of the rave grew muffled, replaced by the quiet hum of anticipation thrumming through her veins.

The dance had been a wild neon sea but the basement was a den of a whole other kind of hedonism, less feral but perhaps more insidious. The basement was thick with haze and dim, its low light tinted with red and purple from a few scattered neon signs. The thumping bass from upstairs was muted here, replaced by soft, pulsing music that felt almost hypnotic, lulling those gathered into an indulgent stupor. Cushions and blankets were strewn across the floor in makeshift lounges, where people leaned back, sharing joints, vials, and whispered secrets, eyes half-lidded as they drifted between wakefulness and something deeper.

Psychedelic took it all in with a pleased sigh. This was where the real deals were happening, a sanctuary of controlled chaos that promised all manner of substances to lift minds beyond reality—or, in her case, a way to network and manipulate her way into more resources. Unlike the frenzy upstairs, this was a den of purposeful indulgence, where every hit, every pill, was consumed with a knowing smile, an acceptance of the descent into oblivion.

She slid into the space like she belonged there, weaving through the small groups with her mischievous grin and easy, confident stride. A man on her left offered her a hit from a vape pen, and she gave him a wink, taking a slow, deliberate puff before handing it back. Her mind was racing, picking up on every detail—who sat in the centre of each group, who was supplying, who looked cautious, and who seemed to know more than they were saying.

Eventually after asking around a bit, she spotted him—Leo. Relaxed but watchful, he had an air of quiet control, his gaze lingering on those who moved around him, his fingers tapping rhythmically on a small metal case by his side. She sauntered over, casually settling down near him, and gave him a look through her heart-shaped shades that could only mean one thing: Let the games begin.

She sauntered toward Leo, each step deliberate, hips swaying with a languid grace that was hard to miss. With a sly smile, she dipped her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose, just enough to let him catch a glimpse of her piercing gaze. It was a calculated move—one that invited him to look closer, to see her as something more than just another partygoer. She knew people, knew how they thought, how they saw themselves. Men like Leo wanted to feel like they were holding all the cards, that they could see through the games. And she was an expert in letting people think exactly that.

"Hey there, handsome," she drawled, letting her voice carry over the low hum of conversation and music around them. “Got anything interesting in that little case, or are you just here to people-watch?”

Leo's eyes flicked over her, equal parts curious and appraising. She let the silence stretch, enjoying his intrigued, slightly wary look. People who liked control didn’t handle silence well; they usually felt compelled to break it, and she could sense he was close to caving.

With an arched brow and a flicker of amusement, Leo tapped the case with a knowing grin. “Depends who’s asking,” he replied, tilting his head to look at her more directly. “You don’t look like you came here just for a dance, either.”

She smiled, letting the question hang in the air, feeding him just enough to keep him interested without giving away her intentions. "Oh, I’m just a girl with a keen eye for good times and good chemistry," she replied, drawing out the last word with a little lilt.

His gaze sharpened, recognition flashing for a second. She could see it—the subtle tell that she'd hooked him. Just enough curiosity, just enough mystery.

The next steps proved almost insultingly easy. She played her role to perfection, leaning close, brushing his arm, letting her fingers linger just enough to let him believe he had her full, undivided attention. Leonardo, as he proudly revealed his full name, practically lapped it up. Every fawning word, every purr in his ear—it was like he’d been waiting his whole life for someone to see him as the big shot he imagined himself to be.

And that little something she’d slipped into his cocktail? Pure magic. One sip and his guard dropped like a faulty lock. In no time, he was a fountain of information, spilling details and names as easily as he had taken in her feigned adoration.

“Yeah, babe, we got a whole operation,” he slurred, clearly feeling the effects. “Way bigger than you’d think. Basement labs, backrooms—you’d be surprised how many places are on the down-low.”

“Really?” she murmured, her voice laced with intrigue, her fingers tracing small circles on his arm. “So who’s running the show?”

He grinned, leaning in conspiratorially. “The boss… well, you wouldn’t believe it, but the guy’s practically got his own chemistry set in every other building this side of the city. Calls himself ‘Mister K.’ Real deal, too—thinks he’s making art or something.”

The Mister K. She tucked the name away with a sly smile, keeping up her charade of wide-eyed fascination. Leo had no idea what he’d just given her.

She leaned in close, her breath warm against his ear as she whispered, "So where does a chemistry girl like me find a man like your boss, hmm?"

Leo chuckled, clearly feeling far too pleased with himself. "Oh, babe, Mister K isn’t someone you just find. He’s… selective. Works outta spots all over, but you gotta know people. Gotta be trusted. Only way to reach him is if you’re invited."

Psychedelic let her hand drift down his arm, her fingers tracing a slow path as she feigned a pout. "But surely a charmer like you could make that happen, right? You know, put in a good word for me…?"

Leo’s hazy eyes sparkled with mischief. "Maybe I could. But Mister K doesn’t like strangers sniffin’ around unless there’s a reason."

She tilted her head, a smile dancing on her lips. "Well, maybe you could just… introduce me sometime, I’m a bit of a cook myself and can help with his product, maybe let me make my own impression?"

He grinned, thinking he was in control, completely oblivious to the fact that she was the one pulling every string. "Alright, alright, I’ll see what I can do," he slurred, nearly spilling his drink. "Mister K likes talent. If I tell him you’re something special… maybe he’ll wanna meet you."

Psychedelic’s eyes gleamed behind her heart-shaped glasses. Perfect, she thought, her mind already racing with possibilities. Leo had just given her a direct path to the next piece of her puzzle, and she hadn’t even broken a sweat.

She had what she needed, and the thrill of playing Leo like a violin was wearing thin. Psychedelic let out a soft, sultry laugh, leaning in close to his ear. "Why don’t we find someplace more... private to spend the rest of our evening?" she cooed, running a finger along his jawline. She could see the gleam in his eyes—a mix of intrigue and assumption, thinking he was about to get everything he wanted.

Leo, emboldened, nodded eagerly. "Yeah, yeah, that sounds perfect, babe," he slurred, already leaning a little too close.

She smiled, a wicked glint flashing behind her shades, and looped her arm through his, steering him away from the crowd and toward the nearest side exit. Once they were outside, she guided him to a shadowed corner, far from the noise and the lights, where the pulse of the rave faded into a distant thrum. His grin widened, unaware of the trap closing around him.

As soon as they reached the darkened alcove, she gave his arm a gentle squeeze and leaned in as if to kiss him. But instead, she whispered, "Goodnight, Leonardo," and with a quick flick of her wrist, pulled a small vial from her bag and snapped it open beneath his nose.

He blinked, his expression shifting from confusion to woozy disorientation as the potent fumes took hold. Within moments, his knees buckled, and he crumpled to the ground, his mind clouded and fading. Psychedelic watched him slump, her smile one of pure satisfaction.

When Leonardo’s eyes fluttered open, he found himself stripped to his underwear, tied to a bed with bungie cords that dug snugly into his skin. His head throbbed, but his vision focused just enough to see the figure seated at the foot of the bed—the woman from the rave, the one who’d whispered promises in his ear, now waving around a revolver decorated with a surreal array of happy faces, unicorns, and rainbows.

Psychedelic grinned, twirling the revolver with a theatrical flourish like some unhinged old west gunslinger. "Oh, good, you’re awake! For a minute, I was worried I might’ve overdosed you. Then I’d have to dispose of your corpse in a bathtub full of… well," she tapped her chin, "you wouldn’t understand the chemical names, Leonardo, so the point is moot!"

Leonardo groaned, struggling against the cords. "What… what is this? You crazy—"

"Careful," she interrupted, crawling across his prone body to straddle him, pressing the revolver lightly against his forehead. "I don’t take well to name-calling. Now, here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to tell me exactly how to get to Mister K, and I’m going to leave here without adding a bullet hole to that pretty little head of yours. Sounds reasonable, yes?"

Leonardo swallowed hard, his bravado draining as he nodded slowly. Psychedelic’s grin widened, and she leaned forward, her eyes gleaming with a chaotic glee.

“Excellent,” she purred. “Let’s get to know each other a little better, shall we?”

She shifted her weight on his chest, making herself comfortable while waving the revolver like a schoolteacher with a pointer, her tone dripping with mock disappointment. “Now, Leonardo,” she began, her voice lilting, “what I’m interested in is Mister K—his operation, his lab, and where, exactly, I can find him.”

She reached over to the case on the nightstand that held his stash. The lock was bent and pried open, the contents exposed. She clicked her tongue in disapproval, lifting one of the small baggies as though it were evidence in court. “See, I took a peek at your supply, and I have to say… disappointed doesn’t even begin to cover it. Subpar, lazy work. I mean,” she sighed, dangling the baggie just out of reach, “is this what passes for a ‘good batch’ these days?”

Leonardo squirmed, his eyes darting between the bag and the revolver in her hand. “Look, I don’t know much, alright? I just handle distribution!”

“Then you’ll just have to dig into those murky memories and tell me what you do know,” she said, leaning close enough that her face filled his vision. “Where’s Mister K’s lab? And don’t make me waste my time here, Leo—I’m a very impatient woman.”

Psychedelic hummed a little tune as she worked, ripping open the baggie with her teeth before examining the pills inside with a clinical eye.  "Now, Leo," she mused as she hopped off him and went to the motel sixes bedside table, crushing the pills with the mortar and pestle she’d pilfered, “you and I both know I’m going to get exactly what I want. The only question is… just how much will you suffer before I do?” Her grin was wide, a glint of mischievous malice lighting her eyes.

She moved deliberately, making sure he could see every bottle and syringe she had lined up like twisted tools of her trade. Each one promised something awful, something he didn’t dare imagine. His eyes widened, darting from the mortared powder back to her face, sweating as he seemed to consider the grotesque possibilities of what she was planning.

She dusted the powder from her hands, carefully scraping it into a vial, then looked over her shoulder with a smirk. “See, Leo, there are so many ways this could go. You could just tell me what I want and save yourself a world of hurt, or,” she tapped the syringe gently, letting it glint in the dim motel light, “we could let this little cocktail here do the convincing for me. Your choice.”

Leonardo’s face went pale as she lifted the syringe, a sickly smile creeping onto her face as she swirled the liquid inside, watching it mix with twisted satisfaction. “Oh, Leo, let’s make this simple,” she murmured, tipping the needle slightly so a small drop of the ominous mixture beaded at its tip. “I could end you in pure agony… or in bliss so intense you’d think you’d slipped into heaven. I could erase every last trace of you—no fingerprints, no DNA, no face… just an empty void where a pitiful little man like you once existed.”

He struggled harder, a faint whimper escaping his throat. Psychedelic tilted her head, her smile faltering to a look of mock disappointment.

“Oh, come on,” she pouted, lowering the syringe. “Is this how you respond to a little friendly persuasion? Now, Leo, I’d hate to waste this lovely concoction on you if you’re just going to whine.” She leaned in close, her voice soft but laced with a dangerous edge. “So, tell me… where can I find Mister K, hmm?”

“Okay okay!” he whimpered as he watched her slowly draw closer. “Mister K only has one lab, he runs it out of an apartment building he owns, a rundown place at the edge of Scarbrough called the Golden Arms apartment complex!”

Psychedelic’s grin widened, her eyes lighting up with glee. “See? Now, was that so hard?” She gave the syringe a playful flick, sending another ominous droplet splashing against the floor. “The Golden Arms… I like it. Has a certain poetic flair for a place crawling with people desperate enough to pay for his garbage.”

She stepped back, mockingly brushing imaginary dust off her hands. “Well, Leo, you’ve been positively enlightening. I’ll keep your little secrets safe… unless, of course, I find you’ve been talking about me to your pals. And trust me, you won’t enjoy my follow-up visit.”

“She casually packed her tools back into her purse humming some grovey sixties beat. She put everything away except that nasty syringe and a magic eight ball. She gave the magic eight ball a good shake and asked for it. “Should I give Leo here a little poke before I go meet Mister L?” She watched the answer float the surface then exclaimed “The Magic Eight Ball hath spoken, and it says... most likely!”

She turned on her heels about to leave them pivoted back towards Leo with a gleeful smirk skipping to the bedside. He started to scream but she stuffed a rolled sock into his mouth to silence him before she jabbed the syringe into his arm with a tittering giggle.

***

Psychedelic strolled out of the motel, her purse swinging in a playful rhythm in one hand and the briefcase full of stolen drugs in the other as she skipped along the dimly lit street. Leo would have a long, colourful night ahead of him, thanks to her little parting gift. The syringe had only contained a healthy dose of MDMA—not fatal by any means, but enough to leave him on a trip that would make him see rainbows and hear colours for the next few hours. He’d be too busy “communing with the cosmos” to be any kind of threat.

Her mind flitted to practical matters as she walked. “I need something a bit more… tactical,” she muttered to herself, tapping her chin thoughtfully. This haphazard setup of cramming syringes and supplies into her purse wasn’t cutting it. If she was going to keep playing in the big leagues, she needed a proper setup—utility belts, pouches, holsters, maybe even a hidden pocket or two for the tricks she had in mind. Women’s clothes hardly ever had decent pockets, after all. It was downright criminal.

The thought sparked an idea. “Ooh, maybe a trip to the nearest army surplus store,” she mused, her eyes alight with mischief. "Or better yet, a sporting goods store with hunting supplies. A little reinvention never hurt anyone.”

With that, she adjusted her heart-shaped sunglasses, checked the sky to make sure the coast was clear, and headed off, humming a cheerful tune as she envisioned herself strutting into her next confrontation with an arsenal of delightful mayhem ready to deploy.

She had blown through the cash and cards she’d swiped from Leo, but the haul was worth it—a whole collection of pouches, pockets, and holsters, each one painted in neon splashes and covered in stickers. The drab army green belts and straps she’d picked up now sparkled with rainbows, stars, and happy faces, a chaotic masterpiece of color and utility. She took a moment to admire her handiwork, twisting around to check herself out in a store window, reveling in how she’d transformed a tactical look into something uniquely her own.

With a wistful sigh, she thought back to the bookmobile. Now that had been a chariot worthy of her talents. A minibus disguised as a mobile library with the kind of firepower she could dream up? Now that would be a sight for Toronto to remember! Between now and… well, whenever she felt like it, she was determined to find herself a new ride, something perfect for her brand of showmanship.

“A shaggin’ wagon tank,” she mused, smiling at her own brilliance. “With psychedelic paint, a booming sound system, and a few ‘extras’ under the hood. Oh, Toronto won’t know what hit it.”

With a gleeful hum, she adjusted her new setup and strutted down the street, her heart set on finding both the means and the muscle to bring her dream ride to life.