You hold the syringe full of the purple, warm liquid with your index finger and thumb, wondering what you're going to do with them. Of course you and the crew already know; The Plasmids were stolen to be sold for huge sums of cash. But you, right now, have a strange curiosity building up in you. "I wonder what would happen if I...just..."
'No', you think to yourself. That's a dumb idea. The bottles are all unlabeled - well, they're labeled, but with a configuration of numbers. You can't exactly read numbers, and only Fat Eric knows what each one does. "I assure you," he would say, dodging the question of 'What do the Plasmids do', "They're worth the effort to smuggle, assuredly!" You curl your toes slightly, basking in the warmth flowing through the floor. You don't entirely know the specific about spaceships, but the ships fuel cells are extremely hot - good for you, since you can always lay down to warm up in cold times like this.
Suddenly, the Plasmid slips out of your hands. "Shit!" you yell a little too late, it already piercing the meat of your leg. Enraged and panicked, you grab it and yank it out. "Fuck, fuck, fuck..." you mutter to yourself. "If the crew finds out - what the hell was even in this stuff? What am I gonna do?!" You grab your head. You feel a headache coming on. Is it the panic, or the plasmid!? You lean up against the cabin door, sighing. You examine the syringe. There's no noticeable difference in the amount of plasmid missing. The crew won't notice among the thousands of others...but whatever amount did go missing is inside you, right now. You can't remember if the recommended dosage was "All of it" or "A drop of it". You pray it's the former, because it'd be really hard to hide a thick fur coat from the crew...
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