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When the smoke came, she drew on it like she was gulping for air. Ah, sweet crystal! Sweet, sweet end of pain! Once, it made her feel invincible and energetic (and crabby as hell). Then it just made her crabby. Now it just kept her from feeling like she wanted to die. She didn't think about the strange woman anymore: nothing mattered except the end of the grey, flat despair of life without meth.
Vampire: The Masquerade - Clanbook: Followers Of Set

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Ashes to ashes, funk to funky
We know Major Tom's a junkie
Strung out in heaven's high
Hitting an all-time low

In his burned-out state, Trevor sits at the low end of the Adept scale. Although his Arete and magickal knowledge should allow him to do more than he does, it's an open question as to whether or not he could do anything more than stir smoke, alcohol or tricks of the light.
Mage: The Ascension - The Orphan's Survival Guide

And farther out than the City, father inland, where struggling Orga who could not afford the services of the City dwelled, the man who built an empire destroying Mecha was beginning to destroy himself. A little nip here, a swig now and then; eventually drink would consume him as casually as he consumed it.

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You had thought your will was strong enough, but now you wake from sleep, already standing over the box, your hands reaching out -
The light's delights.
Open the box. Let it bathe you. Its warmth is long-needed sleep, clear crystal air, a lover's embrace -
Over too soon.
The light has enfeebled you. It's raising terrible lesions on your skin. You can't survive much more of this. But oh, the Sun, the Sun...

Dawson was home alone 24-7, climbing the walls. Withdrawal, I guess. He didn't have patients to leech pain off anymore... so he started inflicting it on himself. Spent a week just whittling away at himself, a cut here, a gouge there. I mean, the guy was a doctor. He knew how far he could go without it getting fatal. But it was never enough. None of it was enough.

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If I had two caps to scrape together I'd buy the materials to make my own, but my damn hands won't stop shaking. This guy named Dixon. Something about him seems sketchy, but I can't stop now. Last time I stopped, I felt like I was going to turn inside out. At this point, I'm mostly buying his stuff just so I don't feel sick. Speaking of which, do you have any spare caps?
Jacob Hoff, Fallout: New Vegas

Make it quick will ya? I'm coming down and I gotta get my fix.
Paulie Cantelli, note  Fallout 3

Dr Klein takes his medicine daily, tiny doses of Filth. He fancies himself immune, but there is no immunity to the slime that flows along ninety-nine dimensions his science cannot see. Dr Klein is part of the soup. Now he is more, and now he is less. He has plumbed depths you cannot possibly fathom. His skull is a tentacular snow globe.
Shake it, sweetling. Shake it!
The Buzzing, The Secret World

This overweight alcoholic is nearing the end of his rope. [...] Biloc's brutality to the animals and Black Spiral Dancers has earned him their undying hatred. A few times, he has been so drunk that Aubrey Dututre has had to step in and perform the show. Biloc's days are numbered and the show is actively searching for a new animal trainer. It is only a matter of time before an unfortunate accident with the wolves takes place...
—Character Notes for Bill Biloc, Midnight Circus

Garak: Living on this station is torture for me, Doctor. The temperature is always too cold, the lights always too bright; every Bajoran on the station looks at me with loathing and contempt. So one day, I decided I couldn't live with it anymore - and I took the pain away. [...] I created a device which allowed me to trigger the implant whenever I wanted. At first, I only used it a few minutes a day, but I began relying on it more and more until finally I just turned it on... and never shut it off.
Bashir: How long has it been on?
Garak: Two years.
Bashir: And now the implant is breaking down.
Garak: That's correct.
Bashir: Then why not just shut the damn thing off?
Garak: It's too late now. My body has become completely dependent on the higher endorphin levels generated by the implant.

I'm thirsty, but the water doesn't work. It should be more... blue.
You take it like medicine at first, the lyrium. Your whole body sings with it, like the Maker's own fire. You're not scared of anything, not even abominations. After, it even takes away the nightmares. But the ration's too small. If they don't give you enough, your hands get cold. The sky starts to press down on you. Little things slip away. So you have to stay.
The senior templars all have that look, that cloudy look in their eyes. "Sign your confession," they said. I'm trying. I can't think of what name to sign.
—Confessions of an unknown templar, Dragon Age: Inquisition

The Buyer's habit keeps getting heavier. He needs a recharge every half an hour. Sometimes he cruises the precincts and bribes the turnkeys to let him in with a cell of junkies. It gets to where no amount of contact will fix him.

As a Hellstrider fells his enemies, each slain soul is rewarded by the Dark Prince. Intoxicating energy courses through the warrior's veins, invigorating his form with a potent draught of pain and despair which leaves him shuddering in delight. However, such pleasure does not last for long, and it is addictive in the extreme. A battle's end, all that remains are the pangs of suffering and a gnawing hunger that consumes all thoughts bar one - to feel Slaanesh's stimulating embrace again. Not even the dream of becoming a mighty Lord of Chaos survives, sacrificed as the cravings take hold. So it is that the Hellstriders have cursed themselves to the eternal hunt; they must fight to feed their addiction to pain and torment, or die from the withdrawal - there are no other choices.
Warhammer: Warriors Of Chaos Army Book (8th edition)

I do not know at which point I ceased to be the master and became the slave, but they have me fast in their chains. I need the powder every day now or my eyes weep and my hands shake. And they have me do things for them, as I once had them do for me — steal things, hide things, play turncoat to my own liege lord. I have thrice-damned my soul and betrayed my friends, my city and my empire to our greatest of enemies.
Doctor Anton Wiessang, Master Necromancer, Warhammer Fantasy Roleplay: Children Of The Horned Rat - A Guide To Skaven
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