Durand passed along a line of dealers. As he watched, an emaciated junkie pointed out a tattoo of a molecular model on his left arm to a drug printer. The dealer scanned it under the bioluminescent light, and a moment later the molecule appeared on a disposable phablet screen—ready for synthesis somewhere nearby. He’d never actually seen this in person—only read about it. Custom highs were the drug business now. Your drug was synthesized as you ordered it—specialized just for your DNA, to create the perfect high. To gauge the precise dose, to avoid death. At maximum purity.
