Prologue

They say you die three times, 

First when the body dies, 

Second, when your body enters the grave,

And third, when your name is spoken for the last time.

The wind at the top of the tower was biting, as sharp as the divisions it overlooked. From where Anton Krilli stood, each flicker telling a story of triumph or despair. Tonight, the story would be his, ending where it all began, high above the city that his greatest invention had transformed.

He stood in the center of his expansive penthouse, a glass fortress in the sky. His gaze swept across the urban sprawl, a view only a few could afford. Below him, the affluent sectors sparkled with a steady glow, while further out, the neglected zones smoldered in the darkness. It was here in these contrasting visions of the city that Bliss found its most grateful and its most reluctant consumers.

His creation, a sophisticated compound designed to elevate mood and suppress unwanted emotions, had been lauded as the pharmaceutical breakthrough of the century. But beyond the accolades and the public adoration.

Turning from the window, Anton walked toward his office, a meticulous space filled with the paraphernalia of science and success. The walls were lined with bookshelves that held not just books but also various artifacts from his travels and research. Each piece told a story of curiosity and conquest, of a brilliant mind's quest to solve humanity’s most persistent ailment: its penchant for self-destruction.

Tonight, however, his focus was not on past triumphs but on securing his legacy. At his desk, several documents lay spread out, plans that would see Bliss evolve from a passive agent of contentment to an active architect of society’s thoughts and dreams. He was scheduled to present these findings at the Harmonix headquarters in the morning, confident the press would approve.

Pouring himself a glass of wine from a decanter that glimmered under the soft light of his desk lamp, Anton sipped slowly, savoring the richness of a vintage few could name and fewer could afford. As he set the glass down, his reflection caught his eye in the window, a lone figure, marked by time and success, yet haunted by the isolation that both brought.

His reverie was broken by a soft chime from his communication tablet. A message from his assistant reminded him of the late-night virtual meeting with his lead chemist and board. They needed to finalize the details. Efficiency, Anton thought, was the bedrock of success. He keyed in his acceptance and prepared his notes.

Feeling prepared, Anton made his way to the private conference room within his penthouse. The walls here were soundproof, the technology state-of-the-art a necessity for the confidential nature of their discussions. As he entered, the screens around the room flickered to life, revealing the faces of the Harmonix board members, each one beamed in from different corners of the globe. 

"Good evening," Anton greeted them, his voice steady, his demeanor that of a commander ready to lead his troops into battle. "Tonight, we stand on the brink of a new frontier for Harmonix and for society. Our new formula for Bliss is not just an improvement, it is a reinvention. It will bind us closer to our users, not just chemically, but existentially."

The board listened intently as Anton unveiled the specifics of the new formula. Anton discussed the revolutionary potential, he presented variables and outcomes with the comfortable jargon of colleagues long accustomed to pushing boundaries. He spoke of enhanced binding agents, of neurotransmitter integration, of dependency not as a side effect but as a feature. 

"Imagine a world where discontent is not just managed, but eradicated. Where every citizen not only wants Bliss but needs it, as essential to their daily lives as water or air."

"Manufactured need?" A board member asked.

"Quite." Anton said.

Murmurs of approval echoed through the digital space. Some members nodded thoughtfully, others smiled, envisioning the future profits. But there were skeptics among them too those who shifted uncomfortably in their seats, who exchanged glances that spoke of unease.

"We are not merely drug manufacturers," Anton continued, addressing the unspoken concerns with a rehearsed ease. "We are architects of peace. This new step may be bold, but it is necessary. Any reservations should be weighed against the anarchy that would ensue without our intervention."

At this, a high-ranking government official, also a board member, interjected. "The State fully supports Harmonix’s endeavors. Our collaboration has yielded unprecedented stability. This new phase will integrate Bliss more deeply into the fabric of our governance, ensuring peace and prosperity."

The discussion that followed was vigorous, with questions about ethical boundaries, regulatory hurdles, and public reception. Anton parried each query with the skill of a seasoned debater, assuring them of comprehensive trials and managed rollouts, all under the watchful eyes of the government’s own regulatory bodies, ensuring compliance with national interests.

As the meeting drew to a close, the board gave their tentative approval. Anton's vision was endorsed, his leadership reaffirmed. The screens went dark, and the room fell silent, leaving Anton alone with his thoughts.

Satisfied but drained, Anton walked back to his private bar. Pouring himself a 2nd glass of wine, he looked out the window, contemplating the city below, unaware of the shadow creeping closer to his sanctuary. The partnership between Harmonix and the government was a keystone of this controlled society, a relationship that promised mutual benefit but at what cost to freedom?

But as the city clock chimed midnight, signaling the time for quiet reflection or rest, an uninvited shadow moved silently through his home. Security systems, expertly disabled, were no obstacle. This figure, a specter of vengeance from the city’s depths, had come not to debate but to deliver a different kind of message.

The figure, clad in the nondescript garb of the city’s underclass, paused at the threshold of the office, watching Anton, who was now standing once again at the window, lost in thought. The plan was clear, the purpose grim and unwavering. 

Anton Krilli had always believed in the power of science to forge a better world, a safer world. Yet, as he stood by his office window, a whisper of conscience nagged at him about the moral cost of such safety. The new formula of Bliss was his masterpiece, not merely enhancing mood but binding the user to a state of dependency that was both psychological and physiological. It promised an end to societal discord, a permanent placation of the masses.

But at what cost?

The thought was a fleeting shadow across his mind, quickly banished by years of rationalization and justification. Below him, the city spread out like a patient under anesthesia, unaware of the surgery it was undergoing. Anton turned away from the window, his reflection fading into the darkness as he mulled over the enhancements. The new Bliss was not just more effective; it was revolutionary. It would integrate seamlessly into the user's neurotransmitters, creating not just a dependency but a necessity, as vital as air.

In his study, the clock ticked towards midnight, marking the passing of another day in controlled tranquility. Anton walked over to his private bar, a sleek counter lined with bottles of rare spirits. Pouring another drink, he allowed himself a moment of pride. Tomorrow, after the board meeting, his new formula will go into production. The dissenting voices, the minor unrest in the outer sectors soon to be relics of the past.

Yet, as he toasted to his future, the air shifted slightly, like the calm before a storm. Too late, he noticed the reflection in the mirror behind the bar a figure, barely more than a wraith, a shadow draped in the garb of the city's underclass.

The figure moved with a precision that spoke of desperation and determination. The confrontation was swift and silent, a dance of shadows that ended with Anton gasping for breath on the floor, his blood mingling with the spilled wine.

As Anton lay dying, his vision blurring, the last thing he saw was the city lights below, twinkling indifferently. His thoughts spiraled, regret mingling with disbelief. Had his pursuit of control led only to this violent end? The irony was bitter, like the taste of blood in his mouth.

The figure, face hidden behind a mask, paused at the door, turning back only once to ensure Anton was beyond help. This killing was a statement, yes, but also a desperate plea for a different path, a future where Bliss did not dictate life.

With Anton's last breath, the penthouse grew eerily quiet, the only sound the howling of the wind as it swept through the open doors. The city remained asleep, its dreams curated by the very drug that had promised freedom but delivered chains.

Tomorrow, the news would ripple through the upper echelons of Harmonix Corp, down to the lowest dregs of the city. Anton Krilli, the architect of Bliss," was dead. Murdered. And with his death, the winds of change began to stir, whispering of rebellion, of war, of hope.

Below, the city stretched on, a landscape divided between light and shadow. But tonight, in the depths of the city's heart, something awakened a spark, a fury, a desire for change. The battle lines were drawn, not with words or protests, but with the silent fall of a visionary turned tyrant.

The penthouse, once a beacon of light and power, stood dark and silent as the assassin vanished back into the night from which they had come. The message was clear and would soon ripple through the highest echelons of society to the furthest corners of the slums: no one, not even the creator of Bliss, was beyond the reach of retribution.

As the wind continued to howl, sweeping through the open doors, it seemed to echo with the murmurs of change. Below, the city slept under the veil of enforced tranquility, unaware that the winds of change had begun to stir, heralding a storm that could awaken them all.