Kibalt, meanwhile, was being himself. The small dragon-like homonculus had snuck out of its bag of holding cum home, and was busily looting the ground floor corner apartment of the middle of three apartment buildings. Kibalt flitd through the window, landing on the small two person table. The kitchen had barely enough room to house a refrigerator and stove. To the right of the stove was the sink and a small portion of counter top.

The kitchen opened into an undersized living room that had a three person sofa in tattered disrepair, a floor seat surround sound chair to go with the expensive forty-eight inch plasma television, and the brand new gold gaming console. Kibalt quickly stuffed the shiny gold object into the bag, then went to through the open door to the bedroom. A small double bed covered with tie-dyed sheets sat on a series of small drawers built into the frame. Kibalt opened these, finding a large hunting knife and a nickel-plated nine-millimeter automatic.

As the little red winged lizard turned to check the living room again, the door to the apartment opened. Kibalt froze as a gaunt-looking human rushed by him to the kitchen, muttering “I got to get one. I gotta have one.” Kibalt furtively watched the man as he pulled the utensil drawer open, then set it on top of the counter and reached in the hole, pulling out a bag of syringes, a small candle, a spoon, and a bag of white crystals.

The little dragon-like homonculus watched as the man opened the package, poured a small pile of white powder on the table, then took a razor blade and made a narrow line. He pulled out his wallet, then rolled a dollar into a tube, and leaned over putting the tube just above the powder and inhaling sharpley. The powder disappeared up the tube. The man dropped the dollar on the table and leaned back, looking up at the ceiling. “Oh man, I needed that.” He sighed, then giggled. Kibalt, grinned toothily, then sprang from his hiding place, and landed on the table with a thump, causing the junkie to give a startled yelp. He pulled a ivory handled knife from his boot, then stared, jaw going slack, at the sight of Kibalt.

The man’s eyes were red and bleary as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing. “Wha’ hell are you?”

Kibalt gave a hissing chuckle then grabbed the knife, and biting the hand that held it. The man yelped again pulling his hand back to his chest. “I’m a figment of your imagination”, Kibalt told him as he tossed the box, the bag of powder, and the knife into the backpack that he carried with him. He raised his hand to his nose, then extended and wiggled his fingers. “Just a figment, remember?” He winked conspiratorially and launched himself out the window, leaving the junkie trying to decide if what he saw was because he was high, or was high because of what he saw.