Mr. Harlan owned Harlex, a six floor apartment building in the buzzing city of Lin. The building was new and laced with the most modern elements. Rent was low, but tenants never stayed long. Complaints about noises, tin walls and what not. Harlan hated turnover. New ads, new checks, new complaints. He wanted steady money, quiet people who paid on time and asked no questions.
One evening, Harlan found a way. He bought a small vaporiser device easy to hide in the basement near the main air intake for the building’s newly installed air system. No one checked the vents. He mixed in a clear, odorless liquid he got from a dark corner contact: a synthetic opioid, stronger than fentanyl, designed to hook fast through lungs. Tiny amounts, diluted in water, turned to mist. Just enough to make people feel calm, happy, sleepy. Craving more. The kind of high that makes you forget bills, jobs, moving plans.
At first, nothing obvious. Tenants in 2B, the young couple, stopped arguing. They smiled more, paid rent early. The single mom in 4A slept better, missed fewer shifts. The old man in 5C, always grumpy, started chatting in the hallway. Harlan watched from his office window. Smiled. But the hook sank deeper.
After a month, people changed. They stayed in more. Skipped outings. Called in sick. The couple in 2B fought less but now they never left the apartment. Food deliveries piled up outside doors. The mom in 4A lost her job but didn’t care; she just needed to breathe the air. The old man stopped visiting his daughter.
“The building feels like home now,”
Be told a neighbor once, eyes glassy. Harlan raised rent a little. No one complained. They couldn’t imagine leaving. When someone tried packing out, the withdrawal hit hard. Headaches, shakes, panic. They unpacked, stayed and renewed their stay.
One tenant, a new guy in 3C named Leo, noticed first. He felt too good. Too calm. Then the cravings when he left for work. He traced it: every time he came home, relief washed over him like cool air. He checked the vents. Found a thin tube running from the basement, dripping mist. Traced it back. Saw Harlan adjusting the device one night. Leo confronted him. Harlan laughed softly.
“You like it here, don’t you? Everyone does. Stay. Pay. No trouble.”
Leo tried to leave that night. The shakes started before he reached the door. He crawled back inside. Slept. Stayed. Word spread slowly among the tenants. Whispers in hallways.
“The air… it’s in the air.”
Some finally had enough and seek help from the hospital. Others gave in. Became part of the quiet, smiling building. Harlan never got caught. Police came once for a welfare check. Tenants answered the door smiling.
“Everything’s fine.”
No evidence. No complaints. Just people who loved their home too much. Years later, the building still stands. Rent low. Waiting list long. New tenants move in, feel the calm settle in their lungs, and never want to leave.