Drugs ruin lives.
I’ve witnessed good men fall victim to untamed urges off powder. I’ve seen stellar students drive their mothers to suicide after shooting up. But, nothing, absolutely nothing, compares to Psychodexim.
I’m an officer in the New Mexico State Patrol. I live and work in Deming, about 40 miles north of the Mexican border. Things are quiet here most of the time. In this sleepy town, the violent crime is low, and people tend to mind their business.
Except for a few repeat crackhead offenders, my call log is docile. The bulk of my work comes from flagging suspicious vehicles northbound from the border. Cartel mules routinely ride through my town en route to major cities such as LA and Las Vegas. My work with these monsters is minimal. I tag and track them, then send over my Intel to bigger honchos in the DEA, Border Patrol, and FBI. At that point, I wipe my hands clean and carry on to my next task.
On Christmas Day of 2024, my unremarkable career was upended. I was on patrol from 3 p.m. till midnight. I was able to celebrate Christmas with my family in the morning. I watched my daughter’s eyes glimmer as she opened a brand-new iPad, and enjoyed coffee and quiche with my wife. Around 2, I prepared for work. I put on my uniform and drove to the local elementary school parking lot to perform routine paperwork. The first two hours went as planned. The radio was dead silent. Everyone was at home with family, and not on the streets stirring up any criminal mischief. Around 5:30 p.m. I received word of violent activity in the Walmart parking lot. I lackadaisically meandered over there as the call seemed eerily relaxed.
When I arrived, I saw a homeless man many officers colloquially dubbed “Clifford.” He was an obese Native American man who consistently concocts criminal mischief. He alternates between belligerent blackout drunkenness and near-death stillness of opioids. He gained the nickname Clifford due to his large size and the racial epithet of having red skin. Despite many officers describing him as a “red skin” his skin is more yellow due to severe jaundice from liver failure. However, he looked different. His skin had more pigment, and his expression was one of joy rather than drunken stupor.
“Officer Rodriguez! What a blessing to see you!” He exclaimed in perfect cadence. I was taken aback as his speech is usually slurred and incomprehensible. “Merry Christmas, Cliff. I received word of some violent activity, would you care to elaborate?” I asked probingly. “Me? Violent? Oh no sir, it seems you have the wrong man.” He uttered with an ever-growing grin. I side-eyed him and looked over to Officer Mahrez, the officer who originally phoned in for backup. Officer Mahrez had the same inhuman smirk on his face. “Officer Rodriguez! This is all one big misunderstanding! I just wanted you to come to celebrate the birth of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ with Cliff and me! We have an amazing gift in store for you!” Officer Mahrez joyfully exclaimed with a grin so forceful his teeth began slicing into his gums. At that moment, Clifford pulled a green capsule from his pocket. “Here Officer Rodriguez! For your health and well-being!” He stated with his hand extended holding the green capsule. I snatched the capsule and placed it into my pocket. Their faces turned to disgust as I did not consume the pill. “Ok, Clifford. I hate to do this, but put your hands behind your back. I gotta take your new ‘happy pills’ to forensics.” At demonic speed, Officer Mahrez lunged for my gun and Clifford began attempting to pin me. I reached for my taser, hit Officer Mahrez in the neck and he recoiled. I then grappled away from Clifford, hopped in my patrol car, and sped away.
During the 5-minute encounter with Clifford and Mahrez, the radio received hundreds of calls. The last 5 minutes had more reports than the rest of the year combined. Oddly enough, all of the 203 calls had been marked as resolved. I immediately called my FBI friend Dave Ferntz. Ferntz was a sharp man, and always had a better grasp of ongoing threats due to his higher clearance. “Ferntz, what’s the fuck is going on?” I eked out as my voice quivered. “Rodriguez, I’m surprised to hear your voice. We’ve lost contact with all officers south of Route 10 and west of Las Cruces.” “Ferntz, you gotta get guys out here now.” I dropped my friendly tone in favor of a more urgent one. “Bear with us Rodriguez. You’re my only guy on the inside. What’s going on.” I collected myself and recounted my experience with Clifford and Mahrez.
“A green pill you say? Are there any markings on the capsule?” I scanned the little green pill and found XGZ-277 in little black letters on the left side of the pill. I repeated my findings to Ferntz. “Jesus Christ.” He uttered with apparent fear in his voice. Ferntz was the type of guy who always maintained an unbreakable poker face, however, I heard him express emotion for the first time in my 22 years of knowing him.
“Rodriguez, listen carefully. Get your family. Take I-25 north. You need to be in Colorado in the next 5 hours. Don’t stop driving north. We’ll have a safe house in Wyoming. Don’t stop under any circumstances. I will update you as soon as I can.”
I went 120 mph home. I told my family to pack a bag each and get in the car. We drove on deserted roads for hours. They frantically asked questions, and I angrily ordered silence. After 8 hours of driving, Ferntz called me back. “The safe house is 21 miles west of Wheatland. See you shortly.”
After 10 hours of driving we drove through fortified gates at an abandoned military fixture. Exhausted, we entered the doors of a makeshift residence. “Rodriguez, I’ve never been happier to see someone,” Ferntz announced with a faint smirk. Before I could even muster up a response, he chimed in, “How about you let me see that pill?” I handed over the green capsule and he carefully examined it. “I didn’t think this was possible.” He mumbled to himself. “Please Ferntz, we’re exhausted, scared, and confused. Can you please explain what’s going on?” I managed to squeak out my question, despite my mental and physical exhaustion. “Sure, Rodriguez. What I’m going to tell you lives and dies in this room. Understood?” I nodded slowly.
He began to explain, “In the 1960s, the CIA attempted to master mind control through the MK-Ultra project. While many of the plans were to undermine foreign adversaries, we also had grand domestic agendas. One of the greatest efforts of the project was to “civilize” drug addicts that had overrun urban streets. After years of research, we perfected a drug, called Psychodexim, that would render drug addicts docile and completely complacent to the wills of the state. Those who consumed the drug would lose all autonomy and be under the control of a predetermined master. However, there were some unexpected side effects. Those who had been administered the drug became hellbent on having anyone they encountered consume the pill as well. After numerous researchers were assaulted and drugged, the operation was shut down and all remnants destroyed. However, it appears that some foreign adversary has replicated the drug. They planned on using cartel members to peddle the drug to major U.S. cities to compromise the American population as quickly as possible. However, some drug mule decided to get high off his own supply and popped the pill just north of the border. Since then, the pill has spread exponentially through border towns. The National Guard has been deployed, and all threats have been neutralized.”
I did not care at all about my hometown or the place we left behind, I was only worried about my family’s well-being, “We’re safe here, right?” With a large smile, Ferntz assured, “This is the safest place on Earth. Go wash up, get some rest, and I’ll have someone prepare us dinner.”
I took a warm shower, slipped into comfortable clothes, and returned to the kitchen. My family, Mr. Ferntz, and 10 armed guards began eating a large baked pasta dish. I hadn’t eaten in hours and devoured every bite on my plate. With a massive, menacing smile Ferntz asked “Did you enjoy your meal kids?” My children nodded enthusiastically. He craned his neck to me, “How about you Rodriguez?” “Absolutely delicious Ferntz! Send the chef my regards.” His smile grew dastardly large, encompassing his entire face, “Oh I will Rodriguez! However, you should be thanking me! I put a very delicious ingredient in there… one you and your family will enjoy very, very much.”