"Revolution doesn't start with fire and gunpowder. It starts with knowledge—the kind they don't want you to have."
2001 – Leiden, Netherlands
The folder smelled of old paper and dust, the scent of forgotten knowledge. Inside it was a graveyard of discarded cures, buried not by time, but by profit.
Elias Voss sat at his desk, skimming through patent files and research abstracts. The deeper he read, the more his stomach twisted.
1967 – A French biochemist discovers a non-opioid painkiller that targets sodium ion channels instead of opioid receptors. No addiction. No dependency. It was silenced by a buyout.
1984 – A synthetic broad-spectrum antiviral was developed for early-stage viral infections. It was safe, cheap, and effective. The patent was purchased—and left to expire.
1995 – A Nobel-winning scientist developed a recombinant insulin that could be grown in yeast instead of E. coli, making it affordable and scalable. The research was stalled under the guise of "further testing" while existing insulin prices skyrocketed.
They weren't curing diseases. They were managing them.
Elias leaned back in his chair, exhaling sharply. This wasn't just about business. This was engineering dependency.
The Hidden Hands
Professor Van Doren's office smelled like burnt coffee and old tobacco. She was sitting behind a desk cluttered with papers, the dim light casting deep shadows across her sharp features.
"You've been reading," she said, smirking as she tapped the folder with her finger.
"This is insane," Elias said. "How is this even legal?"
Van Doren exhaled a slow cloud of smoke. "Legal?" she scoffed. "You're thinking too small. They don't need legality. They have patents."
She leaned forward.
"Here's how it works: The moment a promising drug is developed, it's patented. That gives the company 20 years of exclusive rights before generics can be made. But they never wait that long."
She took a pen and scribbled "Evergreening" on a notepad.
"They tweak the formula. Change the delivery method. Add a 'new' inactive ingredient. That restarts the 20-year clock."
Elias frowned. "So they keep extending patents forever?"
"Exactly. And if a cure threatens an existing billion-dollar drug? They buy the patent. Shelf it. Claim 'further testing is required.' And suddenly, the disease stays profitable."
Elias clenched his jaw. He wasn't just looking at corporate greed. He was looking at a system built to prevent solutions.
"So what do we do?"
Van Doren slid a scrap of paper across the desk. A name. A place.
"You meet someone who tried to stop them."
The Defector
The café in The Hague was quiet, the air thick with the scent of espresso and burnt sugar. In the back corner sat a man in his sixties, dressed in a worn tweed jacket. Dr. Louis Bernard.
He had once been a lead researcher for a pharmaceutical giant. Then he exposed their darkest secrets.
"You want to fight them?" Bernard said, stirring his coffee. "Then you need to stop thinking like a scientist and start thinking like a manufacturer."
Elias frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Drugs aren't made in labs. They're made in factories. Supply chains, raw materials, logistics—control those, and you control medicine."
He pulled a small, yellowed notebook from his coat pocket and slid it across the table.
"In here is a formula for a broad-spectrum antibiotic, derived from a beta-lactam precursor that was abandoned in the 90s. It's safe. It works. But it was patented and buried."
Elias flipped through the pages. It detailed a method to synthesize a penicillin-derived compound using a modified fermentation process—one that could be done at a fraction of the cost.
"Why are you giving me this?" Elias asked.
"Because I'm old. You're not."
The Experiment
For weeks, Elias worked in the university lab, synthesizing the antibiotic. He tweaked the β-lactam ring structure, making it resistant to enzyme degradation. It was a simple modification—one that had existed for years but had never been commercialized.
He ran tests. It worked.
Then, a small outbreak of bacterial pneumonia hit an Eastern European village. The pharmaceutical companies charged $200 per dose. Elias's compound could be made for $2.
He worked with local chemists to produce it in an underground lab, bypassing traditional supply chains. Within weeks, the outbreak was contained.
The medical journals credited "improved treatment protocols."
No one knew the real reason.
The Warning
A week later, Elias received a phone call.
Unknown number.
"Mr. Voss," a calm voice said. "We know what you did."
Elias's fingers tightened around his phone. "Who is this?"
"A concerned party. Consider this your only warning—stay in your lane."
The call ended.
Elias stared at the phone. They had noticed.
The Choice That Changed Everything
That evening, Elias met Van Doren in her office.
"They threatened me."
She wasn't surprised.
"Good," she said, lighting another cigarette. "That means you're making progress."
"They think they can scare me off."
Van Doren exhaled smoke, eyes sharp. "Can they?"
Elias thought about it. Thought about what it meant to keep going. Thought about what it would cost.
And then, slowly, he shook his head.
"No."
Van Doren smiled.
"Then you're ready for the next step."
---