The future is happy. Mandatory happy. You do not smile, the Joy Police in their lemon suits “recalibrate” you in a golden spa chair. Nice and easy.
Cecil Von Wittershaw runs the game. He is rich, stylish, borderline obsessive. Think custom made suits, cigars from Havana, and a financial portfolio tighter than his hair part.
Then bang. The Joy Police show up with bad news. There has been a breach in the system. Someone wants to steal the real stuff and wipe joy off the map.
In this world, emotions are luxury goods. They come in glass capsules, pure, powdered, and priced higher than gold. Joy, ambition, desire, just pick your poison. Whoever controls the last batch does not just run the market.
They run humanity.
