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fiction

(51 articles)

A modern Apocrypha in Ancient Hebrew. Chapters 1-2

## א א בְּעִידָן הַשֶּׁמֶשׁ הַשְּׁלִישִׁית, כְּשֶׁשָּׂרַר אָבִיב עוֹלָם עַל הָאָרֶץ: ב וַיִּשְׁכֹּן שָׁם שֵׁבֶט עַל גְּדַת הַנָּהָר שֶׁבַּצָּפוֹן: ג וְיָלְדָה אֵשֶׁת רֹאשׁ הַשֵּׁבֶט בֵּן: ד וַיִּהְיוּ שַׂעֲרוֹת הַיֶּלֶד כְּזָהָב הַטָּמוּן בַּאֲדָמָה, וְעֵינָיו עֲמֻקּוֹת כַּתְּהוֹם: ה אֵם הַיֶּלֶד חִכְּתָה לְשׁוּב אָבִיו, וְהוּא לֹא שָׁב: ו וַתֵּדַע כִּי מֵת אִישָׁהּ, הַלָּבִיא הֲרָגוֹ: ז וַתִּמָּלֶאנָה עֵינֶיהָ דְּמָעוֹת, וַתֵּרֶא הָאֵם אֵת בְּנָהּ: ח וַתַּבֵּטְנָה עֵינָיו בָּהּ, וְלֹא הָיוּ עַל עֵינָיו דְּמָעוֹת: ט וַתֵּרֶא כִּי אֲדֻמּוֹת לְחָיָיו, וַתִּקְרָא אֶת שְׁמוֹ דָּם: י וַיְהִי דָם דּוּמָם מְאֹד, כִּי הַבִּינָה שָׁכְנָה בוֹ: יא וַיֵּבְךְּ רַק לְעִתִּים רְחוֹקוֹת, וַיִּשְׁמַע בְּקוֹל אִמּוֹ בַּכֹּל: יב וַיְהִי דָם שׁוֹנֶה מִשְּׁאָר יַלְדֵי הַשֵּׁבֶט, וְלֹא דָמָה לָהֶם: יג שַׂעֲרוֹתָיו וְעֵינָיו הָעֲמֻקּוֹת הִפְחִידוּ אֶת הַיְּלָדִים: יד וַיְהִי דָם כְּאַחֵר בְּתוֹךְ שִׁבְטוֹ: טו הַיְּלָדִים הִתְרַחֲקוּ מִמֶּנּוּ, וְגַם הָאֲנָשִׁים נִמְנְעוּ מִמֶּנּוּ, וְרַק אִמּוֹ אָהֲבָה אוֹתוֹ: טז דָם נִדָּח בֵּין בְּנֵי שִׁבְטוֹ, וְגַם אִמּוֹ הָיְתָה נִדַּחַת עִמּוֹ: יז דָּם דִּבֵּר עִם אִמּוֹ בִּלְבַד, כִּי אִישׁ מִלְּבַדָּהּ לֹא חָפֵץ לְדַבֵּר עִמּוֹ: ## ב א וַיְהִי דָּם בֶּן שְׁלוֹשׁ עֶשְׂרֵה שָׁנָה, וְהוּא בַּיַּעַר, וַיְלַקֵּט פֵּרוֹת וְגַרְגִּירִים: ב וַיִּשְׁמַע דָּם קוֹל נְפִילָה, וַיִּשְׁמַע צְעָקוֹת וְגֶנְחוֹת, וַיֵּלֶךְ לְעֵבֶר הַקּוֹל: ג וַיֵּרֶא דָּם נַעֲרָה וְעוֹרָהּ חִוֵּר, וְהִיא מְנַסָּה לִקְטֹף פְּרִי מִן הָעֵץ: ד וַיִּגַּשׁ מֵאַחֲרֵי גַּבָּהּ, וַיֹּאחֶז בְּמָתְנֶיהָ וַיָּרֶם אוֹתָהּ; וַתִּקְטֹף אֶת הַפְּרִי: ה וַתִּפֶן אַחֲרֶיהָ, וַתֵּרֶא אוֹתוֹ וַתִּבָּהֵל, וַיִּפֹּל הַפְּרִי מִיָּדָהּ: ו וַיֶּאֱדַם דָּם, כִּי הֵבִין מִתְּכֵלֶת עֵינֶיהָ כִּי יָרְאָה מִמֶּנּוּ; וַיָּרֶם אֶת הַפְּרִי, וַיִּתֵּן אוֹתוֹ בְּיָדֶיהָ, וַיֵּלֶךְ: ז וַיְהִי מִמָּחֳרָת, וַתָּבֹא הַנַּעֲרָה אֶל דָּם, וַתְּבַקֵּשׁ מִמֶּנּוּ לַעֲזֹר לָהּ לִקְטֹף פֵּרוֹת מִן הָעֵץ: ח וְהַנַּעֲרָה וּשְׁמָהּ לִילִי, וַתְּהִי בַּת שְׁתֵּים עֶשְׂרֵה שָׁנָה׃  ט וַיָּחֵלּוּ דָּם וְלִילִי לָלֶכֶת יַחְדָּו לְבַקֵּשׁ אֹכֶל; וַתְּהִי קוֹמַת דָּם מֵאָה שִׁשִּׁים וְחָמֵשׁ, וְקוֹמַת לִילִי מֵאָה וְשִׁשִּׁים: #litstr #writing #longform #artstr #hebrew #apocrypha #outlaw #originalcontent #censorship_resistant #nostr #literature #fiction #gnosis #opensource #Sirius73

The Gallactic Playbook

*Originally published at [Konsensus Network](https://konsensusnetwork.com/read/the-gallactic-playbook/) on August 15, 2024* **External Memo #263 from the Emerging Civilizations Council (ECC)** This memo intends to brief the federated societies of the galaxy on the status of one specific emerging civilization that has increasingly been of interest to our members, and further, to recommend caution when traveling unannounced nearby their local planet. As you are all aware, it is the intention of our federated societies to isolate any emerging civilization in order to allow them the freedom to evolve and innovate independent of any external knowledge or technology. The benefits of this are twofold. Firstly, if during their scientific exploration and development, they are able to reach our same conclusions about the fundamentals of the universe, then we receive additional independent confirmation of our existing knowledge base. Secondly, and of much greater interest, is that all of our most advanced zero-to-one technological innovations have originated from these isolated civilizations because they are permitted to solve problems without bias from more advanced societies. In earlier times, some of our members practiced strategic infusions of knowledge into emerging civilizations that would be disguised as native discoveries in order to secretly accelerate their advancement. While this was effective in developing advanced and peaceful civilizations more quickly, it was observed that those societies rarely developed any meaningful new technologies. As we have since learned, once a bias is introduced into an emerging civilization, it is typically destined to only innovate around our existing knowledge base. More dangerously, societies that become aware of more advanced galactic civilizations almost always become focused on extrasolar power projection. This is an extension of the local evolutionary pressures that led to their domination as the apex predator on their planet. Only after they access the virtually unlimited resources of the galaxy, and they have resolved their internal struggle over distribution of those resources, will they be granted full federation status and interspecies technology transfer can be permitted. Prior to this stage, technology transfer from advanced societies must be avoided, as it can destabilize their development and often leads to the destruction of our most precious galactic resource; independent, decentralized technological innovation. The dominant intelligent species of the specific civilization that is the focus of this memo identify as "Humans" and collectively inhabit a planet they call "Earth." The Humans of Earth have yet to discover any advanced technology that would be useful to our members at this time; however, based on a key recent milestone in their development, their status has been upgraded to that of "pre-federation," making them the leading candidate for our next admission into the galactic federation. As such, it has been estimated that first contact with the Humans of Earth may be possible within the next 1-2 GmRs [1 Galactic micro-Rotation (GmR) equals approximately 200 Earth solar orbits and spans approximately 10 human generations]. Their recent promotion to pre-federation status is based on their discovery of inviolable absolute scarcity — a key event that was independently reached among all federation members and typically triggers exponential advancement within two to four local generations. As is the case on Earth, inviolable absolute scarcity is virtually always used to develop undiluted intraspecies communication of value (the so-called perfect money). This has shown to be critical for cooperation and advancement among planetary apex predators throughout our galaxy. The Earth-based discovery centers around a simple massless ledger system that is secured by electric power projection and is rapidly being adopted among the Humans of Earth. As with most apex predators, human trust is extremely difficult to scale across their entire planetary population. However, the new Earth-based monetary system, which they have named "bitcoin," is quickly gaining the trust of humans as it continues to prove its inviolability. As has been the case among all emerging civilizations since the formation of the ECC, scarcity alone, even absolute scarcity, has never been enough to trigger exponential technological growth. The source of absolute scarcity must also be inviolable, or it will never be sufficiently trusted among a population. The new currency of Earth is in the process of proving its inviolability by surviving numerous attacks with no meaningful disruption. Notably, even those closest to its discovery attempted to violate the properties of Earth's initial implementation of absolute scarcity but were unsuccessful. Today it continues to withstand external attacks by those who have the most to lose, as adoption of a true and fair economic communication threatens to expose the opposition's less productive, less efficient ideas. This, of course, is the specific class that must be disintegrated in order to allow the Humans of Earth to innovate freely and unlock exponential advancement. This same scenario has played out in all of our ancient histories following the discovery of inviolable absolute scarcity. Because bitcoin has only existed for approximately one half of one human generation, proofs of inviolability have only been apparent to those who are looking the closest into the implications of the new discovery. Unsurprisingly, the humans who are the most inadequately compensated by the previous monetary systems are the first to find the benefits of inviolable absolute scarcity. The highly anticipated exponential advancement from the now pre-federation Humans of Earth has attracted the interest of many of our members. Note, that at this juncture, the galactic playbook permits members to approach a pre-federation civilization undetected in order to fairly attain small quantities of their local implementation of inviolable absolute scarcity. The purpose of this practice is to allow our members to obtain a compatible and trusted source of compensation to be used in exchange for the first valuable innovations of a pre-federation society in a way that avoids unnecessary exposure to our technology prior to its full federation status. Fortunately, all members who have taken part in this practice have fairly participated in the securitization of the bitcoin network, contributing small amounts of energy to organize and record transactions onto its independent time-based ledger system called the "Timechain." Fair participation is critical to establish trust upon first contact. Further, our members have, thus far, successfully minimized their impact on the new monetary system of Earth. This is important to disguise our existence but will also help gain trust in the future as no member will be seen as having abused its privileged access to overwhelming amounts of energy and computational power. To that end, it is believed that none of our members have collected more than a single payment for their energy contributions; meaning that no member society has more than 50 out of the full supply of 21,000,000 bitcoin (this was originally the smallest attainable payment for this form of fair participation). The ECC asks that you please continue exercising caution, keeping your contributions to the bitcoin network to an absolute minimum. As a reminder, even a single service payment (currently 6.25 out of the full supply of 21,000,000 bitcoin), will likely be sufficient compensation for any of their innovations following first contact. Once awarded full federation status, Humans of Earth will be permitted to act as a full trading partner and will be eligible for other means of value for value payment. However, the purpose of this message is not simply to commend our members for following those aspects of the galactic playbook. All federated societies of the galaxy should also be aware that there have recently been an increasing number of atmospheric anomalies detected by the Humans of Earth. Many believe that these anomalies are primarily caused by the influx of near-earth TDEs following their upgrade to pre-federation status [Temporary Distortion Events (TDEs) are a byproduct of most means of galactic travel]. We are, therefore, requesting that all members voluntarily announce their travel coordinates to help ensure that any TDEs in the future are adequately dispersed in space-time to avoid detectable events on Earth. Although it has been almost 50 GmRs since the last emerging civilization was upgraded to pre-federation status, it is imperative that we maintain the complete isolation of the Humans of Earth at this critical juncture. As stated, if the Humans of Earth begin to suspect the presence of an overwhelmingly advanced species, they are highly likely to skew their innovations towards violent technologies that could destabilize their society and disrupt their potential for future contributions. Thank you for maintaining our core principles as we begin to prepare for the next member to be admitted into our peaceful, decentralized federation. *End wideband galactic transmission…* *This story was originally published as Chapter 21 of the Book [21 Futures - Tales from the Timechain](https://bitcoinbook.shop/products/21-futures-tales-from-the-timechain?Format=Paperback) published by Konsensus Network* ![](https://blossom.primal.net/16e76669a48d78d5d4f46b9b3a3449c94b01b5139bfd4ba5a807f64589628733.jpg)

The Build

*One day later.* They spent four hours at the Corner Cafe. Maya bought the domain. And declared NextBlock must have a Manifesto. *5 days later.* Sean finished the first draft. They shared it with their friends. Crickets. *3 days later.* She called it the C-Suite. Context-Suite. She made it for him. Every decision documented. Every principle recorded. Fed to an AI that learned how *they* thought. Maya told Sean it would make them two people with the output of twenty. *3 nights later.* Sean used up all their credits. He brought over AI apology sushi and ice cream. Presented it with both hands, like a peace offering. Then he presented a 30 slide proposal for NextBlock. Pivot from a social app. The most strategic approach for risk management would be to first prove the business model. Maya begged him to never say "strategic approach for risk management" again. And she agreed. *4 days later.* "Billboard!" Maya texted Sean. "It's like a digital billboard." "Yes." Sean immediately responded. "Like the people's billboard." "YES" Maya responded. "The internet's billboard." Sean typed. "Come discover the real internet." Maya responded with a fire emoji. "Let's whiteboard it. Come over?" Sean grabbed his keys. *2 hours later* They were standing too close. Maya stepped back. Sean watched her. Didn't move. Didn't follow. Just watched. *3 days later.* Sean incorporated in Texas. He told Maya it was for "regulatory flexibility." She told him that sounded like something a finance bro would say. He didn't disagree. *2 days later.* He took a personal day. To miss the ServiceNow contract kickoff meeting they'd make him lead. He played in C-Suite. Planned the corporate structure. Called Maya. He opened a legacy bank account for the company at Mercury. *1 week later.* Sean opened a Bitcoin account for the company at Strike. *2 weeks later* "We're really doing this," Maya said. "We're a Bitcoin company. No VC money. No token. Just Bitcoin." Sean confirmed. Maya transferred 1 Bitcoin. Sean transferred 1 Bitcoin. NextBlock locked 1.5 BTC in cold storage. Unchained. Multisig. Sean had read every horror story about exchange hacks. Then they hired the Peak Shift design team. Paid them in Bitcoin. Both leaned over Sean's phone, watching the Lightning payment confirm. High-fived when it went through. *1 night later* Maya and her friends were bar hopping in Dupont for Leyla's birthday. They ran into Sean and his friends at their 3rd stop, Cafe Citron. *4 mins later* Nima bought a round of tequila shots. *17 mins later* Salma bought the second round of tequila shots. *43 minutes later* Maya and Sean were dancing next to each other, but not together. They were all in a sea of salsa dancing on Citron's main level. Nima and Ken convinced Leyla to take one more shot. They pulled everyone back to the bar. Only Maya and Sean declined. They kept dancing. *38 seconds later* "Remember to keep your hands to yourself?" Sean teased. Maya held her hands up innocently. She then slowly danced backwards, pulling him closer to a wall. Away from the dance floor. Further away from the bar. *2 minutes later* Their shoes kept gently tapping each other's. Their arms and hands brushing against each other with each sway. "I LOVE THIS SONG," Maya shouted into Sean's ear. "IT'S BEFORE YOUR TIME." "I'M OLDER THAN YOU," Sean shouted back. *12 seconds later* They were dancing closer. People were bumping into them. Bumping them together. Sean grabbed her hand to move her away from the crowd. *48 seconds later* Salma rushed up. 'Nia is puking.' She pointed toward the bathroom. Turned to Sean. 'So is your boy Ken.' She pointed toward the alley. *28 mins later* "Home safe?" Sean texted. "Home safe." Maya responded. *2 days later* NextBlock hired the web developers team Stud House. Invoice paid in Bitcoin. *4 days later* Maya was trapped on call all weekend. She missed Bitcoin Saturday at the Corner Cafe. Monday morning, she quit. Announced it was her last day in the morning team huddle. Camera stayed off. *6 hours later* Maya laughed for the first time that day looking at Sean in her doorway. "He was holding bags and bags of takeout. Thai, Indian, and Mexican. "Didn't know what you were in the mood for." He smiled. "So I got everything." They got high and watched Silicon Valley. Salma joined. *1 week later.* "We need a metaphor," Maya said. "To explain this is a digital space where you always control access to your attention." Sean grabbed Maya's Little Hodler plushie off her couch. Threw it back and forth between his hands while he leaned back. "It could be a city." "Like a city government?" Maya smirked. Sean shook his head. "Like going to a corner. Checking out different neighborhoods. How every few blocks can feel like a different experience in DC." *47 minutes later* "The Billboard experience is the economic engine. It brings money into the city." Maya was pacing. Squeezing her plushie between her crossed arms. "Instead of taxing our citizens, we give them a way to earn money." Sean was watching her pace. "Money they can spend when they spend time in the city. A.K.A. on the internet." Maya pointed her index finger in the sky. Sean caught her eye. Smiled. She kept going. *2 hours later* "And the manifesto is our declaration of independence!" "YES." High-five. Her hand stayed a beat too long. *23 minutes later* "Maya. This is a public good. Like... good for everyone." Sean was now the one pacing. "The Attention Marketplace is mutually beneficial for buyers and sellers of attention." "It is also open and transparent. The data cannot be manipulated." Maya watched him from the couch. "Exactly. Corporations could never fake metrics the way central platforms do now." *2 minutes later* "And there is no data surveillance in our model." Sean accidentally shouted from her kitchen. He was making them tea. "This lie that they need our data to show us the best ads." Maya looked up. Waited for him to come back. "We will prove we don't need to steal data to show ads to people who want to see them." He handed her a mug. Fingers brushed. *3 hours later* The NextBlock roadmap was finalized. *2 nights later* They were at Maya's. Salma wasn't home. The apartment was quiet. Sean leaned in to point at something on her screen. His shoulder pressed against hers. Neither moved. "This animation," he said. Voice low. "For zapping." "I like the ripple effect." She could smell his cologne. "It's gentle to lessen the dopamine hit." Sean turned to smile at Maya. "Just as you requested." His eyes met hers. He didn't pull back. She didn't either. The animation kept going on a loop. Neither of them was looking at the screen anymore. Maya cleared her throat. "We should—" "Yeah." He pulled back. "I should go." "You don't have to—" "I should go." He did. *3 days later* The sun had been out for hours and so had they. Maya was standing in the middle of H Street while go-go music rattled the speakers three blocks away. Nia had disappeared into a vendor tent. Leyla was taking photos of everything. Salma was somewhere nearby, probably. "MAYA!" She turned. Sean was pushing through the crowd with Nima and Ken, all three holding beers, all three sunburned. "No way!" Maya shouted over the music. "Are you by yourself?" Sean shouted back. "The girls are around here somewhere." She waved vaguely. Sean reached her. Close. Sunscreen and beer. His cheeks were pink from the heat. "Hi." He said. "Hi." "You look—" "Hot?" Maya pulled her hair up and tied it back with a clip. "Yes. It's ninety degrees." "That's not what I was going to say." "What were you going to say?" He opened his mouth— "MAYA!" Ken arrived with open arms and scooped her into a hug. "Happy H Street Festival!" She laughed, hugging him back. "Happy H Street Festival!" Over Ken's shoulder, she saw Sean's expression. Whatever he was going to say, it was gone now. Nima hung back, nodding once in her direction. Still deciding about her, apparently. Sean looked past the group and laughed. "Found them." Across the street, Leyla, Salma, and some guy were doing what looked like a poorly choreographed dance. Nia was filming it like a proud stage mom. "Bravo!" Sean called out as they all walked up to them, clapping. Ken joined in, loud and enthusiastic. Nima managed a golf clap. Slow. Sarcastic. Maya braced herself. Leyla spun around, surprised. "Shayan! You're here!" She locked eyes with Maya. Searching. Maya kept her face neutral. Gave her nothing. Leyla hugged Sean, whispering something that made him laugh. Ken hugged everyone who would let him. Nima stood slightly apart, arms crossed, watching. Salma was standing next to the stranger. Standing close. Maya noticed she'd redone her lipstick. "This is Gabriel." Salma said. Voice slightly higher than usual. "He was brave enough to learn our dance. On the spot." "Brave or stupid." Gabriel smiled. "The jury's still out." Salma laughed. Too loud. Leyla caught Maya's eye. Mouthed: *Finally.* Maya suppressed a grin. *19 minutes later* The group had drifted toward a shaded corner by a closed-off parking lot. Someone had set up lawn chairs. Someone else had acquired more drinks. Maya was standing with her back against a chain-link fence, watching Sean argue with Nima about something. Nia appeared at her elbow. "You good?" "I'm great." Maya responded. A little too quickly. "You're staring." Nia turned to face her. "I'm not staring. I'm observing." "You're observing very intensely." Maya took a long sip of her drink. "We work together. I'm allowed to observe my business partner." "Mmhmm." Nia rolled her eyes. "Don't 'mmhmm' me." "I didn't say anything." Nia was fighting a smile. "How's the work going, by the way? The... what's it called?" "NextBlock." Maya answered. "NextBlock. How's it going?" "Good. We contracted some designers and developers. Website's up." "Wow. Suddenly so real." "It was always real." "You just quit your job." Nia tried to get eye contact from Maya. "Are you taking it all in? Are you worrying about the risk?" "I'm fine Nia. Really." Maya still wasn't meeting her eyes. Her's were glued to Sean. "None of this feels like a lot." "No? What does it feel like?" Nia followed Maya's gaze. Sean was laughing at something Ken said. He pushed his hair back from his face. Glanced over at Maya. Maya looked away, back to Nia. "It feels...rational." Maya said letting out a big sigh. "I'm good, girl. Let's go find some water." "Let's go." Nia shrugged. *25 minutes later* Sean was suddenly holding bags of food. Empanadas from somewhere. Pupusas from somewhere else. A pile of napkins that was already losing to the wind. The group had claimed a curb. Nine people sprawled out in the shade. Gabriel had somehow ended up next to Salma again. Maya watched Salma laugh at something he said. Watched her tuck her hair behind her ear. Leyla appeared beside Maya. "They're gonna get married." "We're not giving her away that easily." Maya objected. "What do we even know about him?" "He's a recent transplant. Bay Area. Laid off but has still been buying her drinks." Leyla shared the information like a private investigator. "Bet he's in tech." Maya raised her eyebrows. "Is that a good or bad thing?" Leyla asked? Maya shrugged. "Good for her though, right? Finally?" Leyla clutched at her heart. "Finally." Maya agreed. "She deserves some fun." She glanced across the group. Sean was watching her. Looked away when she caught him. Back at Leyla. "Yeah, so do you." Leyla winked at Maya. *50 minutes later* Sean found her by the empanadas. "You're hiding." "I'm eating." Maya took another bite of flaky goodness. "Clever way to do both." She handed him one. He took it. Stood next to her. Close enough that their hips almost touched. But not quite. "Nima's warming up to you." He said. "Is he?" "He asked me if you were always this intense." "What did you say?" "I said it's one of your best qualities." Maya snorted. "Thanks." "He's just...protective." Maya's neck snapped. "Of what?" "Nevermind I said that." Sean suddenly realized he had lost track of the number of drinks he had. "Does he think this is a bad situation for you?" Maya felt herself sobering up. "Does he think NextBlock is a bad idea?" "Maya, it's not like that. Honestly, he doesn't even understand it enough to have an opinion." Sean was dragging out each word. "It's just...Nima saw me after Vegas. Those two weeks, before-" "Oh," Maya stood there. Looking at the ground. "Give it time. He will love you. Just like I—" Sean froze. "Just give him time." They ate in silence. The music from the main stage shifted — something slower. Go-go giving way to R&B. "We should tell them." Maya said. "Tell them what?" Sean asked. "About Billboard. What we're building. They keep asking questions and we keep deflecting." "They're drunk." Sean grabbed Maya's trash and she followed him to throw it away. "So are we." Maya walked in front of him, trying to block his path. "I'm not drunk." Sean insisted. "I'm perfectly sober. Watch." Sean lifted one of his legs and touched his nose with his index finger. His leg slipped down and he caught himself right before falling. Maya laughed. "Okay, I'm too drunk." He admitted. "You'll have to do the pitch?" "Nope." Maya shook her head. "You're the marketing side. I'm the tech." "I want you to do it." He said. "You're better at it." "I'm not—" "Maya." His voice dropped. "This is your idea. Let them first here it with your voice. With your passion. You light up when you talk about it. It's inspiring." He paused. "You light up when you talk about anything, actually." She felt her face get hot. Not from the sun. "That's..." She stopped. Tried again. "You can't just say things like that." "Why not?" "Because." She didn't have an answer. She reached for some water. "Because," she repeated. And nothing more. He was smiling now. "Fine." She pushed off from the fence. "Let's play shark tank with some drunk millenials." "An important target market." She rolled her eyes. And she was grinning cheek to cheek. *45 minutes later* The group moved again. A rooftop bar now, overlooking the festival. The sun was starting to set. Golden hour. Ken was on his sixth beer and asking Gabriel about his job. Very loudly. "SO WHAT DO YOU DO?" "I was at Goldman." Gabriel said. "Investment banking. Their San Francisco office." Leyla grabbed Gabriel's arm. "GOLDMAN SACHS?" "Yes." "THE Goldman Sachs?" Nia asked. "I think so." Gabriel nervously laughed. "SALMA." Leyla grabbed Salma's arm. "Goldman Sachs??" "I heard him." Salma was trying to play it cool. Face said otherwise. "I got a finance bro to twerk!" Leyla high fived Maya. "I was a finance bro. Now I'm funemployed." Gabriel smiled at Salma. "Why'd you quit?" Nima asked. "Maya just quit! Last week!" "Congratulations!" Gabriel turned to Maya. They high fived. "It's rare to see people happy to not be employed." Nima said. "The hours were killing me. My sister's out here. I have good savings. Investments. I can afford to reset." Gabriel met Salma's eyes. "I'm looking forward to it." "That's so smart." Ken said. "Amazing that you can afford to." "I did okay there." "He did OKAY at GOLDMAN." Leyla was still not over it. She turned to Salma. "He did OKAY at GOLDMAN." "Leyla. I will kill you." "I'm just saying!" Maya caught Sean's eye across the table. The Goldman guy. Interesting. *Now?* He mouthed. She was tipsy enough to say yes. *Now.* She nodded. "Mr. Gabriel." Maya leaned forward. "Can I ask you something?" "Sure." "We're building an app. Starting a company. Sean and me." She gestured vaguely between them. "I'm curious what someone like you would think." Gabriel's posture shifted. Interested now. "What kind of company?" "Our first product is the Billboard app." Maya said. "Think of a digital billboard someone can rent." "Why would someone rent it? Who is being shown that billboard?" "Either people you direct to your billboard. Or people we match you with." "Match? Like a dating app?" The image of Sean's dating profile appearing on her phone flashed in Maya's head. She froze. She looked at Sean. His eyes were widened. He had sat up. "Yes. Actually, just like a dating app. You opt in. Instead of an age and location range, you set your price." Sean smiled. Waved to hand it back to Maya. "And if you like a billboard you've been matched with, you can go explore what you were just shown. It could be a new podcast. Or TV show. Or album. Or content creator." Maya leaned closer to Gabriel. "What do you mean, you set your price?" Gabriel looked confused. "When you buy a billboard, you set the campaign budget. It get paid out per view." "Wait, your app pays people to get matched with ads?" Gabriel sat up. "Matched with videos. We're calling them billboards." Maya explained. "It's a non-exploitative way to promote yourself on the internet." "Paid how? Paid what?" "Bitcoin." Maya said. "Instant micro-payments. No fees on Lightning." "Here we go," Ken grinned and sat back with his beer. "Bitcoin solves everything, right?" "Not everything." Maya smiled. "Just money." Nia, Salma, and Leyla stopped mid-conversation to take a selfie. Nima started texting on his phone. Maya watched their friends check out. Gabriel leaned in. "What's the business model?" Sean didn't look away from Maya once. "Let's say you want to pay out $100 in BTC to promote..." Maya looks around. "...promote Nima! His company instagram. It has the best car cleaning tips." Nima looked up. "Nima could buy a billboard, post a video up to a minute long. Drive people to go see content." "How many people would see it?" Nima asked. "That's up to you. And the market. Say you'll pay a quarter a view. You could get 400 people. Completed views." Maya was getting more comfortable speaking to the table. "But you could also get matched with people who set a price for 1 cent." "So maybe 1000 people see it?" Gabriel asked. "Maybe! The market decides." Maya threw her hands in the air. "But whatever your budget, we just charge a 20 percent service fee." "On every match?" Gabriel asked, skeptical. "No." Maya laughed. "We do not take a cut from the payout. We get paid when you buy a billboard. How it gets paid out is none of our business or concern. You can adjust it if it doesn't serve you based on market behavior." "We can't manipulate it even if we wanted to." Sean said, "Maya is building it in a way people could actually trust." Leyla blinked. "Okay. That's actually... okay." Gabriel was thinking. "From day one? You're making money from day one?" "If it works. From day one." Sean said. "It will work." Maya corrected. Gabriel sat back. "Wait." He looked around the table. "This is like... a real thing? Not a side project?" "It's real." Sean said. "We have a website you can see. Contractors hired. A roadmap." Maya added. "And she just quit her job." Leyla announced. Loudly. Gabriel blinked. "You quit your job for this?" "Last week." Maya said. "Holy shit." Gabriel looked at her differently now. "You're all in." "We're both all in." Maya said. Looking at Sean. "But she's UNEMPLOYED all in." Leyla clarified. "She has no income. No plan B. She's just—" "Leyla." Salma cut her off. "I'm just making sure he understands the stakes!" "This is not a risk. Staying in my job can't even be plan B. I think he understands the stakes. Do you?" Maya didn't realize how loud she had gotten. "We are all very proud and excited for you, Maya." Salma physically placed herself between Maya and Leyla. "And we know you've thought this through." Leyla surprised everyone by staying quite. "It is brave." Gabriel said. "What Maya is doing. Most people I know talk about doing something like this. They never actually do it." "Is it smart though?" Nima asked. "To try take on the tech giants?" "This is a better pitch than I've heard in a long time. Most teams just focus on growth. Raise money, burn through it, figure out revenue later." Gabriel looked at Maya and Sean, then back to Nima. "Your friends are smart." *35 minutes later* The sun was gone now. The festival was winding down. Someone had suggested walking to Rumi's for food. Someone else had seconded. The group started gathering their things. Ken and Gabriel were deep in conversation — something about video games and studios. Nima was showing his videos to Salma and Nia. Leyla was taking pictures of the sunset. Maya drifted to the edge of the rooftop. Looking out at the city. The lights coming on. Sean appeared beside her. Close. Their arms almost touching. "That went well." He said. "It did." Maya said without moving her gaze from the city. "Gabriel's interested." "People who understand how things work will get it." "You don't sound happy about it." "I am happy." Maya took a deep breath. "Most people will not get it. Or care. One person getting it just frustrates me that so many others just can't see it" "We just don't have their attention yet. Some people like ideas. But most people want the experience." Sean waved his hands up like he was opening a broadway show. He got Maya to chuckle. "We'll have an app in their hands soon." Sean said. "Soon?" Maya winced. "Eventually?" Sean countered. Maya laughed. She took a longer deep breath. Let herself indugle in a moment taking him in. "YOU liked my idea, Sean." Sean opened his mouth. Hesitated. Closed his mouth. He was looking at her. She was smiling. That smile. -- Across the rooftop, Salma elbowed Leyla. Nodded toward Maya and Sean. Leyla looked. Raised her eyebrows. Salma shook her head. Don't. -- Sean finally spoke. "I liked...you." She held his gaze. Too long. Definitely too long. Her heart was pounding. She hoped he couldn't tell. He waited. For her. Like he always was. Maya's hand was on the table. Sean's was too. Close. Not touching. But close enough that if either moved an inch— The space between them felt charged. Electric. Neither moved. Someone's phone buzzed. Nima checked his. "Rumi's?" He looked up. "We have a reservation?" Sean and Maya's attention snapped out of focus. Sean turned to Nima. "Yeah. I uh. I booked us the table." "Of course you did." Maya said smiling to herself. *30 minutes later* The table was loud. Two bottles of wine in. Bread baskets demolished. Ken had somehow ended up between Nia and Salma. Gabriel was next to Salma. His hand rested on the back of her chair. She looked across the table. Sean was laughing at something Nima said. "Okay wait." Ken put down his wine. "I need to understand the friend math here. How does everyone know everyone?" "Middle school." Nima pointed at Sean, then Ken. "The three of us." "We were Ken's first Iranian friends." Sean added. "They introduced me to kabob." Ken put his hand on his chest. "Life changing." "We've been trying to get rid of him ever since." Nima joked. "Never gonna happen." Ken took a spoonful of rice and kabob into his mouth. The girls laughed. "What about you guys?" Ken looked at Salma. "College orientation." Salma said. "Literally met on that first day." "Salma walked up to me." Maya said. "Love at first sight." "Because you looked terrified." "I was terrified." "Ah, so Salma always makes the first move." Gabriel winked. "Anyway...", Salma blushed. Turned to Ken. "What were you guys like as teenagers?" Ken lit up. "Oh, I got stories." "No you don't." Nima warned. "This one time—" "Don't." "Nima got in a fight." Ken was already laughing. "Because some kid at a basketball game said something about Sean's mom." "I didn't get in a FIGHT—" "You shoved him." "He deserved it." "Sean wasn't even there. Nima just... handled it." Leyla raised her glass. "Respect." "And then when the coach tried to kick Nima off the team—" Ken continued. "Sean talked him out of it." Nima shook his head. "Kid wrote a whole letter. To the athletic director. Got signatures from parents. Made a presentation." "A presentation?" Maya looked at Sean. Sean shrugged. "It worked." "And what were YOU doing during all this?" Salma asked Ken. "Me? I was making sure nobody got expelled. Chilled everyone out. Ended the mom smack talk." "That...checked out." Nia laughed. "Looks like nothing's changed." Maya said, smiling. The entrees arrived. Lamb. Chicken. Rice with tahdig that made Leyla gasp and immediately start taking photos. "Okay but wait." Nia pointed her fork at Maya. "What's the plan for money? Now that you don't work?" "Bitcoin is the plan." Maya smiled. Nia groaned. "But what does that mean?" "I've been buying Bitcoin." Maya said. "For years. Every paycheck. My retirement. Everything." The table went quiet. "So when you told us at brunch to 'just buy Bitcoin'—" Leyla started. "I meant it." Maya said. "and all those brunches before then. For the last... five years? I think." "And we all ignored you." "You did." "So you're just... set?" Nia asked. "No more working?" "I'm not set. But I'm not desperate. There's a difference. Like Gabriel, I assume?" Maya looked at him. "Yes, it's easier to figure out your next move if you're mind isn't occupied working for something else all day." Gabriel said while gently caressing Salma's arm with his hand. "But Bitcoin's price is so volatile." Nima jumped in. "If it drops tomorrow, how much runway do you really have?" "I have enough." Maya responded. Sean sat up and added, "the number one rule of Bitcoin is you don't say how much Bitcoin you have." "Fight club rules?" Nia looked intriged. "Let's say Maya discovered Bitcoin 15 years ago." Sean said. "When it was worth just a dollar." "Lucky lady." Ken added. "Well imagine Maya told everyone that she bought $100 in Bitcoin. Not a big deal 15 year ago." Sean paused to see who was listening. Surprisingly, everyone. "But if you knew she did that back then, you would know today how much she's worth." "How much does that come out to? Today?" Salma wondered out loud. "10 million dollars." Sean said back and enjoyed his mic drop. "Now imagine today, you buy $100 in Bitcoin today. Would you tell someone? If it could 100,000x on you?" The table went silent. Nia was thinking. Nodding her head. "But it's not gonna 100,000x that much again." Salma countered. "We'll have to wait 15 years to know. But I know that the question is how much it will grow in value. Not the other way around." Sean responded. "Bitcoin is the ultimate retirement plan. I've just retired. I get to do what I want now. Make money how I want." Maya said proudly. "Wow, you're all in-all in." Nima said, slightly impressed. Slightly concerned. "And I bet you're all in on fiat currency? The dollar." Maya asked. "No, I have stocks. Investments." Nima answered. "But they are based in the dollar." Maya said. Ready to end the dead-end Bitcoin discourse. "You have all your eggs in one basket. The U.S. Dollar. I just picked different eggs." "Sean." Gabriel had that tone again. The one from the rooftop. "What about you?" "What about me?" "You're still working? Employed?" Sean nodded, picked at his rice. "Are you gonna quit?" The table got quieter. Maya watched Sean's jaw tighten. She wanted to know his answer. "I'm in government. Lots happening right now. I'm just keeping the ship afloat." He finally said. *Afloat?* Leyla mouthed to Maya. Maya stayed still. "But you're building this thing together—" Gabriel said looking at Maya. "I know." Sean answered defensively. "And we are." "So eventually—" "I know." Sean looked up, defensive now. "We'll figure it out. Right now, Maya is doing the heavy lifting, building everything." Nima looked confused "Quitting after escaping the cuts...you've been trying to keep things above water over there I thought?" "I have. I am." Sean's shoulders tensed. "It sounds like a lot. And the charity. Now this app with Maya?" Leyla said. "If everything is a priority, nothing is a priority!" Nia recited for the table. Maya caught Sean's eye across the table. Forced a smile. Are you okay? she mouthed. He gave a small nod. Sean set down his fork. "Like Maya, I have Bitcoin. Quitting will be possible when it's time." The table pretended to accept his answer and moved on. *1 hour later* They spilled out onto the sidewalk. The air was finally cooler now. The streets had settled. Salma and Gabriel were walking ahead. His arm around her shoulders. Maya watched them. Sean appeared next to her. "Nima and Ken just got their ride." "The girls too. We're walking home... I think." Maya nodded towards Salma and Gabriel. They walked in silence for a moment. Their friends' laughter echoing ahead. "Your friends are great." Sean said. "Yours too." "Ken likes you." "Ken likes everyone." "Nima likes you." Maya looked at him. "Well, I hear I'm very likeable." Sean stopped walking. Maya braced herself for what he was going to say. "My block is right up here." Sean pointed away from the direction Maya was going. "Oh." Maya couldn't hide the dissapointment on her face. "Yeah, you must be tired." "It was a long day, yeah." Sean said. His body were facing her but his feet were facing his place. "But a great day. I'll let you get home." He turned away and started walking. Maya stayed for a while to watch him. In case he turned back. Once he finally did, she was already gone. *One month later* Maya was on a HiveTalk video call with Rafael when Sean knocked. She waved him in without looking away from the screen. As if he could see her through the door. "Come in. We're almost done." Sean closed the door quietly. Set his bag down. Leaned against the wall, out of frame. Rafael's tired face filled Maya's laptop screen. His São Paulo kitchen behind him. "And the diVine project got tons of attention when they announced it." "When was that?" Maya asked. "Just announced through a tech crunch article. Video app on Nostr. Like Vine, but open." Rafael leaned back. "People went crazy for it." "Wow Tech Cruch. It went viral?" "Yes. Got tons of attention. Mainstream attention. People want this." Rafael paused. "But they're been working hard to turn the prototype into something mainstream users can actually use. It's a lot." Sean stepped into frame. "Sorry to interrupt." "Sean!" Rafael's face lit up. "How's NextBlock?" "Good. Building." Sean moved to stand behind Maya's chair. "What's diVine?" Maya filled him in. "Video app on Nostr. Some old vines have been scrapped to add. Got tons of attention. Just wasn't ready yet for mainstream users." "Mainstream attention." Sean's voice had a note of something—excitement? Concern? "That's what we want." "It's what we need." Maya said. "But there's a delicate balance." Rafael nodded. "You want the adoption. You need the adoption. But if you're not ready—" "You get the attention before you can handle it." Maya finished. "People try it. It's not polished. They might not come back." "Or they do come back, but you're scrambling to keep up." Rafael said. "These devs are doing the work. But it's hard when everyone's watching." "It's exciting that a video app idea is what did it though." Sean said. "That's good for Nostr. Good for all of us." "But it's also a warning." Maya added. "We need to be ready. Or we need to control how fast people come in." "Exactly." Rafael looked at Maya. "You're being smart. Building before you launch. But you also can't wait forever." "We know." Maya said. "I'm trying to find the balance." "You'll figure it out." Rafael smiled. "Anyway, I should let you go. Good to see you, Sean." "You too." Sean waved back. "Bye, Rafael." Maya ended the call. The screen went dark. Maya leaned back in her chair. Sean moved to sit on the edge of her desk. "Mainstream attention." Sean said. "Mainstream attention." Maya repeated. Maya turned to face him. "But we need to be ready when the attention comes." "It's going to come." Sean's voice was certain. "So our referral program—" "I know you're confident about it." Maya said. "But Sean—" "Don't." Sean cut her off. Gentle. "Don't tell me to manage my expectations. I've seen your work. I know what this can be." Maya's throat tightened. "I just don't want you to be disappointed if—" "I won't be disappointed." Sean leaned forward. "Because we're going to do this right. Together." They held eye contact. Too long. Both aware of it. Maya looked away first. "So our referral program." "Right." Sean cleared his throat. "We're giving half our service fee—10 percent of every billboard purchase—to whoever referred them. No cap. No limit." "People could make real money." Maya said. "Real money." Sean's voice had energy now. "If it works, it'll work fast. People will share. They'll want to earn. It'll spread." "Exactly." Maya stood. Started pacing. "Which is the problem." "The problem?" "We need to control how many people come in. And who comes in." Maya stopped. Looked at Sean. "We can't handle a flood. Not yet. We need to scale as we're ready." Sean was quiet. Thinking. "So we need the referral program to work. But we also need to control who gets in." "Exactly." Maya said. "And I think I know how." Sean smirked. "Of course you do." "Early access sign-up." Maya explained. "But this is connected to the referral program. Once you're let in, you can refer 21 accounts. If you're referred, you cut the early access line." "21. Nice." Sean said. "Obviously." Maya smiled. "But here's what I'm thinking—" "People only invite people they want there." Sean finished. Maya looked at him. "Exactly." "Web of trust." Sean said. "Web of trust." Maya repeated. "They won't refer just anyone. They'll refer people who'll actually use it. People who'll make them money." "Quality over quantity." Sean added. "Quality over quantity." Maya agreed. "It's not just access. It's an invitation." Sean was quiet. Thinking. "This is how we do it. Controlled growth. Permissionless building. But smart." "This is really smart." Maya said. They stood there for a moment. Both thinking. Both seeing the same solution. "This is good." Maya said. "This is really good." Sean agreed. He was still looking at her. She was still looking at him. "Whiteboard it?" Sean asked. "Whiteboard it." Maya smiled. They moved to the whiteboard. Together. As if they'd done this a hundred times before. Maybe they had. *6 weeks later* *One month into the government shutdown.* The Corner Cafe. Their usual table. Back corner. Near the outlet. The backs of their laptops facing each other. Maya and Sean, sitting across from each other. They'd been working. Productive. They always were. But today Maya kept getting distracted. Sean's phone had buzzed seventeen times in the last hour. He'd checked it every time. Scrolled through news. Shook his head. Put it down. Picked it back up. Maya watched him. Watched his shoulders tense every time the phone lit up. Watched him try to focus on his laptop. Fail. Check his phone again. She'd been watching this for a month. Tried to be understanding. But she was losing patience. She took a deep breath and exhaled. She'd made up her mind. She was ready to tell him. She was ready. His phone buzzed again. Sean picked it up. Read something. His jaw tightened. He typed a response. Put the phone down. Looked back at his laptop. But his focus was gone. She could see it. Maya took a breath. "Sean." Her voice was quiet. Whispered almost. He looked up. "Yeah?" "We should talk." Still quiet. Like she didn't want anyone to hear. "About what?" He reached for his phone again. "Sean." Maya's voice was quiet. Too quiet. "I've been wanting to say this for weeks. But the timing never felt right. You're always stressed. Always distracted." Sean's hand stopped. He looked at her. Finally looked at her. For the first time all day. "But I can't wait anymore." Maya said. "I'm ready. But you need to be ready too." "Ready?" Sean's voice matched hers. Quiet. "I think I'm ready." Maya said. "To date you. I mean, we've been working together every day. It's been... it's been great." Sean stared at her. "Maya—" "I want this." Maya's voice broke slightly. Still quiet. "I want us. And I also want NextBlock to work. But we can't have either if you're spread this thin." Sean's shoulders tensed. He leaned back in his chair. "You need to quit your job." Maya said it. Direct. But still quiet. Sean stared at her. "What?" "You heard me." "Now? During the shutdown?" His voice got louder. Not shouting. But not whispering anymore. "This shutdown is showing you what could be different." Maya's voice got faster. Still trying to keep it down. "You've been unstoppable the last month. But you're so distracted. Imagine if you could give this your all." "People are calling me at 2 AM—" Sean's voice rose. "Because the system is broken." Maya cut him off. Her voice getting louder too. "And you're trying to fix it from inside. But we're building the replacement. That's where your energy should be." "I'm not abandoning people." Sean's voice was sharp now. Not quiet anymore. "You're not abandoning them. You're building what comes next." Maya's voice matched his. Getting louder. "They furloughed you. They don't need you. But you're still trying to save them. Why?" "Because people need help." Sean's voice was loud now. Too loud for a cafe. "People always need help." Maya's voice rose to match. "You can't save everyone from inside a collapsing system." Sean leaned forward. "You don't respect what I do." "What?" Maya's voice broke. "Sean, that's not—" She caught herself. Lowered her voice. "I respect what you're trying to do. But you're wasting your genius on a sinking ship." "I've been doing this for 15 years." Sean's voice was still loud. "This is who I am." "Your parents worked hard so you could be free." Maya said. Quieter now. Trying to bring it back down. "Not so you could be trapped." Sean shook his head. "You're asking me to choose between my job and you." "I'm asking you to choose between the old system and the new one." Maya said. "Between asking permission and being free." "We talked about this." Maya's voice was quiet again. "That night. We kissed. You said you'd quit eventually. When it was time." "It's not time." Sean's voice was flat. Quiet. Defeated. "When will it be time?" Maya asked. "When will you stop asking permission to live your life?" Sean was quiet. Too quiet. Then he stood up. Picked up his bag. "I can't do this right now." "Sean—" He stopped. Turned back. Looked down at her. Still sitting. "You want me to quit. During a shutdown. So we can date. That's what you're asking." "Yes." Maya said. Still sitting. Looking up at him. "That's what I'm asking." Sean stared at her. Then he turned. Walked out. Maya sat there. Alone. Still in her chair. Her laptop still open. His tea. Still cold. His chair. Empty. The barista looked at her. "You okay?" Maya nodded. Started packing up. "I'm fine." She wasn't fine. *3 weeks later* Salma was on the couch. Gabriel next to her. Close. They'd been inseperatble since the H Street festival. He was always there. Maya was at her desk. Working. Or trying to. She'd been working alone for three weeks. Since the fight. Since Sean walked out. Thanksgiving came and went. The government opened back up. She'd only seen a few text exchanges between him and the design team. Brief. Professional. She'd been giving him space. That's what he'd asked for. So she'd waited. Worked. Waited. "Maya." Salma's voice was careful. Too careful. Maya looked up from her laptop. "Yeah?" Salma and Gabriel exchanged a look. "What?" Maya closed her laptop. "What's going on?" "So Gabriel found out something today." Salma said. "About Sean." Maya's chest tightened. "What?" Gabriel leaned forward. "Ken told me. Sean got RIF'd. Laid off. Today." Maya stared at them. "What?" "Reduction in force." Gabriel said. "Government cuts. They let him go." "When?" Maya's voice was quiet. "Today. Ken said Sean told him this afternoon." Maya was quiet. Processing. "He didn't tell me." Maya said. "He didn't tell me." Salma's face softened. "Maya—" "He didn't tell me." Maya repeated. "We haven't talked in three weeks. Why would he?" "He was probably just upset." Salma said. "It's clearly a hard time for him right now." Maya's voice got sharp. "He walked out. He said he couldn't do this. And then he stopped talking. Stopped working. On our company." "Maya—" Gabriel started. "No." Maya stood up. Started pacing. "I asked him to quit. I told him he was needed here. Wanted here. And he lost it on me. He defended that place. That system. And now he can see the truth he punished me for saying." "Maya. That's unfair to him." Salma tried to calm her. "Unfair?" Maya's voice rose. "He walked out on me. On us. On NextBlock. And you're telling me I'm being unfair?" "I'm telling you he's probably embarrassed." Salma said. "He defended that place. You were right. And now they've let him go. That's humiliating." Maya was quiet. "I know." "So maybe cut him some slack." Salma said. "Just a little." "I can't." Maya said. "I was right. And he knows it. And he's not saying anything." "Maya, he's probably hurting—" Salma started. "I know." Maya said. "I know he's hurting. But so am I. And he's the one who walked away. He's the one who stopped talking. He's the one who needs to come back." She sat back down. Looked at her laptop. Closed. "I'm not going to him." Maya said. "He needs to come to me." Salma and Gabriel were quiet. Maya looked at her phone. Still no messages. Still nothing. She wanted to text him. Wanted to call. Wanted to be there. But she wouldn't. He'd walked away. He'd stopped talking. He'd stopped working. "He didn't tell me." Maya said again. Quiet now. "He doesn't need to know I know." *1 week later* A knock at Maya's door. She looked up from her laptop. Checked the time. 8 PM. Who would be here? She walked to the door. Looked through the peephole. Sean. Her chest tightened. She hadn't seen him in a month. Hadn't heard from him. Hadn't known if she ever would again. She opened the door. "Hey." Sean stood there. Hands in his pockets. Tired. But present. "Hey." Maya said. "What are you doing here?" "Can we talk?" Sean asked. "I know it's late. But I need to say some things." Maya stepped back. Let him in. He walked to the couch. Sat. Didn't look at her. Maya sat across from him. In her desk chair. Creating distance. "I got fired." Sean said. "I know you know." Maya nodded. "I know." "I'm sorry I didn't tell you." Sean looked at her. "I should have. But I was...I've been processing." Maya was quiet. "I'm sorry about what happened at Corner Cafe." Sean said. "About how I reacted. About walking away. About turning off. About not being able to hear you when you were trying to help me." Maya's throat tightened. "You ghosted me." "I know." Sean ran his fingers through his hair. "I know I did. And I'm sorry. You were right. About everything. The system. The sinking ship. All of it. I just... I couldn't see it then." Maya was quiet. Waiting. "Fifteen years." Sean said. "I gave them fifteen years. And they just... let me go. Like I was nothing. Like all that work meant nothing." Maya was quiet. "I thought I was helping people." Sean's voice broke slightly. "I thought I was making a difference. But the system doesn't care. It never did. And now I'm... I'm nothing to them." "You're not nothing." Maya said. Quiet. Sean looked at her. "Thank you. But it feels like it. It feels like I picked the wrong career and trapped myself. I was wrong about everything." "Not everything." Maya gave a half-smile. Pointed to her whiteboard. "The last year has been chaos." Sean said. "The last five years, really. Shutdowns. Covid. Budget cuts. Constant uncertainty. I've been trying to keep things running." He figited with Maya's Little Hodler plushie. "I've gotten so used to doing so much but getting nothing done." Sean said. "That's government work. You fight. You push. You try. And nothing changes. Nothing ever changes. And then they let you go anyway." Maya was quiet. "I thought I was building something." Sean said. "A career. A pension. Security. But it was all an illusion. They can take it away whenever they want. And they did." Maya just nodded. "I was distracted." Sean said. "The world was a distraction. My world was a distraction. All of it. Until I met you. Until we started working on this. NextBlock. That's when things started to make sense in my life. That's when I started to feel like myself again." Maya's eyes filled. She blinked. Looked away. "Sean—" "I lost my identity." Sean said. Quiet. "For fifteen years, I was a government employee. Before that, I was a student. I've always belonged to institutions. But with you... this is the first thing I've built that's mine. Ours. And I almost lost it. Almost lost you." Maya's eyes filled. "You didn't lose me." "I know." Sean's voice broke. "But I almost did. And that's what scares me. That I could lose you. That I could lose this. That I could lose myself again." Maya was quiet. "I'm still here." Sean let out a deep breath he didn't know he was holding. "Thank you. I want to fix this. Us. Our trust. But I don't know how to start." Sean reached for her hand. Stopped. Pulled back. Maya was quiet. "I'm grateful." Sean said. "That NextBlock is here for me. That you're here. That we have this. Something to build. Something that matters." Maya's throat tightened. "I'm excited." Sean said. "I'm ready. To give it my all. All of my attention. All of my energy. I'm free now. And I want to build this with you." Maya looked at him. "Okay." Maya said softly. Sean nodded. "Thank you." They sat there. Quiet. Both processing. "Can we start tomorrow?" Sean asked. "At the cafe? Our usual table?" Maya nodded. "Yeah. Our usual table." Sean stood. Walked to the door. Stopped. Turned back. "I'm sorry." Sean said. "For everything. For the fight. For walking away. For not telling you. I'm sorry." Maya nodded. "I know." "And thank you." Sean said. "For waiting." Maya's throat tightened. "I'm still here." Sean looked at her. Almost reached for her. "I know. And I'm grateful." He opened the door. Walked out. Maya sat there. Alone. Processing. *2 weeks later* *December 21, 2025. Winter Solstice. Yalda.* Maya knocked on Sean's door. It was the first time she had ever done that. He opened the door. Smiled. "Hey." "Hey." Maya stepped inside. The apartment was... warm. Lived in. Not what she expected. Books everywhere. Stacked on shelves. On the coffee table. On the floor by the couch. Technical manuals. Poetry collections. Persian literature. English translations of Hafez. Rumi. Saadi. Plants in corners. Green. Alive. Succulents on the windowsill. Herbs in the kitchen. Persian rugs on hardwood floors. Deep reds. Blues. Golds. Worn. Beautiful. And the table. Set. Beautifully. A spread. Persian food. More than two people could eat. Rice. Tahdig. Khoresht. Salad. Fresh herbs. Pomegranates. Watermelon. Nuts. Dates. Candles. Everywhere. Soft light. Warm. "You cooked?" Maya asked. "I cooked." Sean said. "Yalda tradition. Food. Poetry. Staying up through the longest night." Maya looked around. "This is beautiful." "Thank you." Sean said. "But before we eat... I need to show you something." Maya's chest tightened. "What?" Sean walked to his laptop. Opened it. Turned it toward her. "Early access sign-up." Sean said. "It's ready to go live." Maya stared at the screen. "Since when?" "Since the end of the shutdown." Sean said. "I finished the design with the team. Built the launch strategy. Pushed the final changes. You can push it to go live. People can signal they want NextBlock." Maya looked at him. "You never stopped working?" "I never stopped." Sean said. "I worked on this every night. Because I needed you to know I never left. I never stopped. I just needed to figure myself out. But I'd never abandoned NextBlock. Or you." Maya's eyes filled. "I thought—" "I know." Sean said. "I'm sorry that's what you thought. I wanted to surprise you." "You did all this?" Maya asked. "I did all this." Sean said. "For you. Just like you described it." Maya's throat tightened. "Thank you." Sean closed the laptop. "Now. Can we eat? I've been cooking all day." Maya smiled. "Yes. Let's eat." -- "I can't stop eating but I need to stop." Maya said putting down her fork. "I'm so glad you liked it." Sean got up and started clearing the table. "Tell me about Yalda." Maya said. "I love holidays based on math. Science. The moon." Sean smiled. "Yalda is the longest night of the year. Winter solstice. We stay up. Read poetry. Eat. Welcome the light." "That's beautiful." Maya said. "It's tradition." Sean said. "Families gather. Read Hafez. Rumi. Share food. Stay up until dawn. Welcome the return of longer days." Maya looked at the books. "You read poetry?" "When I was a kid, my mother would read to us. Hafez. Rumi. Saadi. Poetry was... everything. Language. Beauty. Truth." Maya picked up a book. Opened it. Persian script. Beautiful. "This is yours?" "My mother's." Sean said. "She gave it to me when I left for college. Said I'd need it. She was right." Maya looked at him. Really looked at him. "You're different here." "Here?" "In your space. You're... you. Just Sean." Sean smiled. "You mean Shayan?" Maya laughed. "I think that's here. Here you're Shayan." They sat there. Quiet. The candles flickering. "I found out something recently." Maya said. Quiet. "About my family. My mother's side." Sean looked at her. "What?" "I'm Native American." Maya said. "I thought I was Black. And I am. But I'm also Native. The government changed the records. Reclassified people. Erased Native identity. Made it so people didn't know who they were." Sean was quiet. "Maya—" "I'm still figuring it out." Maya said. "What it means. Who I am. I wish I had access to my culture. My history. Like you do." Sean reached for her hand. "You do have access. You're finding it." Maya looked at their hands. "Am I? Or am I just... lost?" "You're not lost." Sean said. "You're found. You're here. With me. Sharing this. That's your culture. That's your connection." Maya looked at their hands. Still connected. "I think my ancestors probably celebrated something like Yalda. Winter solstice. Based on science. The moon. The stars. I think they understood the same things your ancestors understood." Sean squeezed her hand. "They did. And we're honoring them. By building this. By being here. Together. They understood that time is sacred. That the longest night is worth honoring. That we welcome the light together." Maya looked at him. "That's what we're building. Something that honors attention. That treats it as sacred." "Exactly." Sean said. "Your ancestors understood that. Mine did too. And we're building it again. Together." Maya looked at their hands. Still connected. "I haven't even told Salma." "I'm so glad you did." Sean said. "That you're here. Sharing this with me." Sean stood. Turned down the music. Walked to the bookshelf. Pulled out a piece of paper. "I wrote something for you." Maya's chest tightened. "What?" "A poem." Sean said. "For Yalda. For you." He sat back down. Looked at the paper. Then at her. "In Yalda tradition, we read poetry. Share what matters." Sean said. "This poem... this is my signal to you. That I believe in us. That I want to be part of this. With you." Maya took a deep breath. "Read it." Sean looked at the paper. Read: *attention is a sacred wine* *I dare not steal the cup* *unless your hand, freely,* *lifts it up* *tick tock* *block by block* *the old guard falls* *we're raising a temple* *outside their walls* *guard what is sacred* *give only if earned* *through trust freely given* *or value returned* Maya sat speechless. "It's called Tick Tock." Sean said. Breaking the silence. Maya smiled. Her eyes met his. Sean handed her the paper. She looked at it closely. Read the words over and over. Finally she asked, "unless my hand freely lifts it up?" "It's opt-in." Sean smirked. "The full NextBlock experience." She moved towards him. "Give only if earned." "I'm not asking for any handouts here." Sean said. Leaning in. Maya brought her lips as close as she could to his, without touching. "You've earned it." Sean's hand was on her face. Gentle. "Have I?" Maya nodded. "You have." Sean didn't wait another moment. He kissed her. They kissed. Like it was the first time. Like it was the last time. Like it was the only time. No interruptions. No distractions. Just them. In the candlelight. On the longest night of the year. They broke apart. Still close. Still holding hands. Sean looked at her. "I need to ask you something." Maya's chest tightened. "What?" "Will you go on a second date with me?" Sean asked. "Formally. Properly. Not just working together. A real date." Maya smiled. "Second? When was the first?" "What was all this?" Sean motioned to the table. The food. The candles. The poetry. "This was our first date." Maya laughed. "I think you're right." She leaned forward. Kissed him. When they broke apart, Sean smiled. "I'll take that as a yes." "Yes, but I don't have a lot of availability." Maya smiled. "I gotta push the early access sign-up live. " "Your time is so precious" Sean said. "Tick tock." "Tick tock." Sean smiled. They sat there. Together. In the candlelight. Welcoming the light. *The next morning.* Maya pushed the early access sign-up live. People could now signal they were ready. That they believed in what they were building. That they wanted to be part of it. The world could give them the signal. **Early access sign-up is now live.** **Visit billboard.nextblock.app to signal you're ready.** **To be part of what comes next.** **Tick tock.**

Tick Tock

Two hours later. A knock at the door. Maya turned her head. "Who could that be?" Sean was already getting up. "It's for me." "For you?" Maya stood up. He opened the door, grabbed the bags. "When did you—" "While you were explaining relays." He brought them to the coffee table. Started unpacking. She watched him thoughtfully lay everything out. Containers. Napkins. She looked at the coffee table that now displayed a feast. He shrugged. "I like feeding you." She didn't know what to say. She jammed a spring roll in her mouth. Damn it was good. "So you just always know what people need?" Maya finally remembered how to speak. "Just for the people I pay attention to." Sean handed her a napkin. They sat on the couch. Ate. Talked. The afternoon light shifted through the windows. Sean stood. "Bathroom?" "Down the hall. Left." He walked off. Maya grabbed her phone. No Ubers to Arlington 🚫 43 unread messages. She scrolled to the top. LEYLA: Maya!! LEYLA: MAYA LEYLA: She's living in a telenovela rn LEYLA: I just left her with VEGAS GUY NIA: WHAT NIA: WAIT WHAT SALMA: they ran into each other??? LEYLA: nope LEYLA: He ran TO her NIA: ??? LEYLA: Out of breath LEYLA: He did NOT ghost. DMs were broken. SALMA: omg NIA: STOP NIA: So he's been trying to reach her this whole time? LEYLA: YES SALMA: wait how did he find her LEYLA: She posted from the cafe. He recognized it. NIA: ... SALMA: slick Maya 😏 NIA: Our GIRL LEYLA: OH SHIT I didn't even put that together LEYLA: Ok I have to go to class but they just left together NIA: LEYLA NIA: YOU CANNOT LEAVE SALMA: ??? LEYLA: I HAVE CLASS LEYLA: BYEEE NIA: its been 2 hours SALMA: good sign NIA: very good sign SALMA: cant believe I'm out of town for this NIA: how's the hotel room this time? NIA: wait. your apartment is empty SALMA: NIA SALMA: pretty nice SALMA: [video] NIA: do i see a jacuzzi? SALMA: like I'll have time to use it LEYLA: Im back LEYLA: Anything? NIA: Nothing SALMA: 4 hours of radio silence LEYLA: Ok I found a photo of him LEYLA: [image] NIA: oh NIA: OH SALMA: ok SALMA: OK LEYLA: Right?? NIA: He's cute SALMA: Very cute LEYLA: And he's actually a good guy NIA: I don't hate this! SALMA: GET IT MAYA LEYLA: Bitcoin babies incoming NIA: LEYLA SALMA: 😂😂😂 NIA: Too soon LEYLA: Can I have some joy in my life? Footsteps in the hall. Maya put the phone face-down on the table. Sean sat back down. Grabbed a spring roll. "So you'll have to build and add a wallet for this?" "No. Actually, I don't need to build everything myself. I can pay for services, because theoretically, this should make money the first day we go live." "Right, if the business model works..." Sean trailed off. "It will." Maya smiled. "So much money will be moving, we need something reliable. And I don't want to be holding anyone's money." "Then how is this possible?" "Right now, at least Strike's API would let me do in-app, instant settlement." "KYC?" Sean winced. "Maxis aren't gonna like that." "Really?" Maya snapped back. "I'm getting judged by a fed?" Sean laughed. "But how can this be open source if you're requiring Strike accounts?" Maya smiled. "That's the right question." She walked to her whiteboard. "The ATTN protocol is open. Anyone can build their own version." "Someone else can do a version without KYC?" Sean asked. "Yes. And I hope someone else does. But for the first implementation, we need to move money flawlessly, instantly. And I can afford to use Strike for this. It's a reasonable business expense." Sean nodded. "Ah, so this is a business decision. Not a protocol decision." He got up from the couch. Walked over to stand beside her. Sean was quiet. Looking at her diagrams. Her months of work. "You've thought of everything." His voice was soft. She turned. He was right there. "I've thought of nothing else." "So what do you need?" Sean grinned. Still close. Still looking at her. "How can I help?" Maya raised an eyebrow. "A name. Something that captures—" Sean turned to the whiteboard. Studied it. "This bitcoin clock thing. Every block, someone gets paid. It's like..." He stopped. Then grinned. "Tick tock." Maya laughed. "Already taken." "No, listen." He was already pacing. "Tick tock, next block. That phrase. Bitcoiners love it." "Right." Maya straightened. "Time running out. For the old system." "Now include social media. And the old ad system." He spun to face her. "TICK TOCK!" "NEXT BLOCK!" They both said in unison. Maya went still. "Tick tock. Next block." He said it again. "To the next chance to earn. Next chance to take back your attention." "Next Block." Maya repeated it slowly. "Next Bitcoin Block." Sean was building momentum. "But also, it's a more organic social media experience." "Yes!" Maya's whole face lit up. "They always control access to their attention. So we make it like they're walking around the city. Strolling, instead of scrolling. Visiting different blocks." Sean was pacing now, eyes looking up, like he was trying to watch himself think. Maya was nodding along. "That's how we design discovery. Corners, like corners on a block, and neighborhoods. Lists of accounts and hashtags curated by people, not algorithms." "Wait, slow down." Maya held up a hand. "Neighborhood?" "Someone you trust picks a list of accounts. Like a watch list. You visit their neighborhood to see who they recommend. You visit when you want to explore." "So it mimics how we interact in real life." "Yes, exactly. Every next block, you can discover something an algorithm may never show you. You either get paid to watch, or you've taken the adventure to find it." Sean stopped pacing. Turned to her. The energy in the room shifted. He closed the distance between them. They were standing face to face. They were both buzzing now. "That's the name," Maya said. "That's the name." She laughed. Relief and terror and excitement all at once. Her hands were shaking. "You did it," Sean said. "WE did it. You—" She grabbed his arm. "You just named it." She was smiling. Looking at him like he'd solved something impossible. He was looking at her the same way. Neither of them moved. She kissed him. She didn't decide to. She just did. Grabbed his face with both hands and kissed him and he kissed her back immediately, like he'd been waiting for permission. For a few seconds, there was nothing else. Just his mouth and her hands and the hum of the city outside and her heart trying to beat out of her chest. She pulled back. Looked at him. His eyes were still closed. She kissed him again. Slower this time. His hands found her waist. Careful. Like he was afraid she'd disappear. She felt herself leaning into him. Felt how easy it would be to keep going. She stopped. "Wait." She was breathing hard. "Stop." She stepped back. His hands fell away. "What's wrong?" "Nothing. I just—" She pressed her hand to her chest. Trying to slow her heart. Trying to think. "I want you to build this with me." Sean blinked. "What?" "NextBlock. You and me. Co-founders." He stared at her. Then at the whiteboard behind her. Then back. "You're pitching me?" "Yes." She stepped back again. Needed the distance. "Fifty-fifty. Equals." Sean went still. She watched his face. Trying to read it. "Maya," he said slowly. "I was just asking questions." "You gave me the name. The format. The product." She was talking fast. Couldn't help it. "That wasn't questions. That was vision." "Hold on—" "I can build it. I know I can build this. CTO. Check." She pointed at herself, then at him. "COO? That's you." "I'm a government analyst." "So stop." Silence. He was looking at the whiteboard. The specs. Back at her. She felt her stomach drop. He was going to say no. He was going to walk out and she'd never see him again. Then he looked at her. "So I'm leaving my job?" "Eventually. Ideally." "What are you even saying?" "I'm saying—" She took a breath. "Let's just keep doing this. Talk out the ideas. Design. Build. Test." "Then—" "If it leads to a company called NextBlock with a video social app that pays you to watch ads? So be it." He was quiet. "I'd love to keep doing this with you." He stepped closer. The gap she'd created disappeared. "Maya, spending time with you is like—" "Sean, wait." He stopped. "I'm sorry I kissed you. I shouldn't have." He tilted his head. Almost smiled. "You stole my moment." His voice was low. "But I'll let you make it up to me." He leaned in. Slow. Giving her time. She didn't move toward him. He stopped. Waited. She took a step back. He let her go. Didn't chase. Just stood there, watching her. "NextBlock is a great idea." Her voice was steadier now. "Dating while building it is an awful one. You have to know what I'm saying is true." "You gotta be kidding me." He turned away. Ran a hand through his hair. His shoulders tight. When he turned back, his jaw was set. "We," Sean pointed to her and then himself, "are a great idea. All of it." He gestured to the whiteboard. "Sean—" "I don't meet people like you. Ever." He moved toward her. She held her ground. "In DC! We had to both fly to Vegas to find each other. You're three blocks away from me!" He stopped an arm's length away. His voice dropped. "I've been a zombie since Vegas. You brought me back to life today." Her throat tightened. "It's not just couples." Her voice was smaller now. "Best friends start companies and break up. Even break up the company because of it." "Why are you punishing us?" He stepped closer. She didn't step back. "Didn't that DM glitch do that already?" "You know this is bigger than us." Her voice was rising. She couldn't stop it. "I know you get it. I know you understand what I'm saying. Deep down." "Maya—" "This wouldn't be just a startup." Maya looked around her apartment. Then back at him. "We're in DC. The center of it all." She walked toward the window. "You work in government. You see it." She gestured vaguely. Everything outside. "I work in tech. I see it too." She turned back. "Our attention gets harvested." She took a step toward him. "Sold." She gestured toward her phone on the coffee table. "It funds everything they do to us. The propaganda. The control. All of it." Sean stayed silent. Didn't move. "And everyone in this town thinks you need permission to fix it. Go lobby on the Hill. Protest Meta. Wait for regulations." She shook her head. "We don't need permission to build the future." She pointed to where "NOSTR" was written. "Permissionless innovation. Open protocol." Her hand dropped. "We just... build it. And if it's good, people use it. Other developers fork it. The protocol spreads." She turned to face him. His jaw was tight. Body still. "Suddenly people OWN their attention. Set their price. Never watch another ad for free. No exploitation. No surveillance." Sean still hadn't moved. But his eyes tracked her across the room. She stopped talking. The apartment went quiet. "All those people doom-scrolling right now. Getting trapped by dark patterns so a billionaire makes another billion." Her voice softened. "They don't know there's another way." She looked at him. "Someone has to show them." She touched the whiteboard. "And it's not just social media. It could be applied to TV. Podcasts. Radio." She gestured at the specs. "A new era of the internet, of art, could be funded this way." She realized she'd been pacing. Stopped. Took a breath. "I've been explaining this to people for a year. Writing specs and pitching devs. No one got it." She held his gaze this time. Didn't look away. "Not the way you get it." She looked down. Then back up. "I don't want to do this alone." Sean looked at her. Then at the whiteboard. Then back. "Okay." She blinked. "Okay?" "Yeah. Let's build it." She stared at him. "That's it? Just... okay?" "You just pitched me a brilliant idea. We'd work on it together. If it takes off, I leave my job." He shrugged. "Why would I say no?" She wasn't expecting it to be that easy. "But—" He stepped closer. "I have one question." Her stomach flipped. "How long?" "How long what?" "How long do we have to do the 'just co-founders' thing?" His voice was low. "A year? Until we launch? Until we're profitable?" Heat rose to her face. "Sean—" "I'm serious. I need to know the rules." He almost smiled. "So I don't break them." "Until it makes sense." "That's not an answer." "Co-founders first. The company has to work." "You're the one who kissed me." He watched her. "Twice. I've been keeping my hands to myself this whole time." She couldn't look at him. "I can do this." His voice softened. "The question is whether you can." "I'm serious. Just business." He didn't answer. Just looked at her. He took a breath. Let it out slow. "If that's what you need." "I mean it." "I know you do." She couldn't tell if he was agreeing or just waiting her out. "Co-founders," she said. "Co-founders." She walked him to the door. Opened it. He turned back. Looked at her mouth. She caught it. Held his gaze. He glanced away. "Tomorrow. Ten AM." She held onto the doorknob. Anchoring herself. "I'll be there." He turned. Started walking. Stopped. Maya's heart jumped. Sean turned around. "Probably should get your number." She laughed. The tension cracked. They exchanged numbers. "Okay." He pocketed his phone. "Now I'm going." "Okay." He didn't move. "Sean." "I know." He took a step back. Then another. "Co-founders." He turned and walked down the hall. She watched until he reached the stairs. This time, he didn't look back. She closed the door. Leaned against it. Stayed there until her heart slowed down. Pulled out her phone. Typed: I'm alive Three dots appeared immediately. Eight minutes later, Maya's phone buzzed. Text from Sean: "See you at 10" with a photo of his own "Conrer Cafe" mug. Another text: "GN" She typed: "GN"

My Muse

12 minutes later. Sean stood outside the cafe. Catching his breath. He looked through the window. Maya. Table by the wall. Laptop open. The door swung open. Leyla walked out, bag over her shoulder. She stopped. "Shayan?" "Hey," Sean stepped back. "Leyla." "What are you doing here?" "About to grab some coffee." "Great job last week by the way. You got a little under Kamran's skin." Leyla punched his arm. "Good work." Sean laughed. "He hates Bitcoin." "Wait." A slow grin. "Do you know Maya?" He pretended to not hear her. "Oh my god." Leyla grabbed his arm. "Get in there. She'll be so excited." "Leyla—" But she was already opening the door. Ms. Patrice was mid-story when the door opened. Leyla burst in, dragging someone behind her. "Ladies. I found another Bitcoiner!" Ms. Patrice lit up. "Hayy! And he's cute!" Maya looked up. Sean. Standing there. Breathing hard. The room tilted. "Sean volunteers with me at the Relief Fund," Leyla announced. "He's always pitching it." Leyla looked between them. "Wait. Do you two already—" Neither answered. Maya's chest was tight. "How—" Her voice cracked. She tried again. "How are you here?" Sean held up his phone. "Your photo. This morning. The logo on your cup." "I just posted that." "I ran." Ms. Patrice was watching like this was her favorite TV show. Maya stood. Unsteady. "You ran? Why didn't you just send a message?" Sean stepped back. "What do you mean? I have." "You didn't—I saw your post but I never got anything from you." "I did." He turned the phone toward her. Two DMs. "I can't stop thinking about you." "Thanks for the repost." Maya stared at the screen. Her heart pounding. Sean looked around. Realized where they were. Ms. Patrice. Leyla. The barista watching. "Can we—" He gestured toward the door. His arm reached over her. "Outside?" She nodded. Let him guide her out. They found a bench. Sat. Maya was talking fast. "Nostr DMs—they're not reliable yet. Different clients, different relays. It's like sending mail to different post offices. Sometimes things get lost between—" "Maya." She stopped. Sean was looking at her. Calm. Still. Footsteps. Leyla jogging up, slightly winded. "Hey—I really have to go." She looked at Maya. "You okay?" Maya nodded. Leyla's eyes shifted to Sean. Smiled. "You good?" "I'm good." She dropped Maya's bag and laptop on the bench. "Text me." And she was gone. Maya turned back to Sean. He was quiet. Looking at his hands. "Sean?" "I spent the last two weeks thinking you ghosted me." He didn't look up. "I kept checking. Every day." Maya's chest ached. "I didn't—" "I know." He finally looked at her. "I know that now." Silence. "Are you upset?" "I was." He held her gaze. "But you're here now. That's all that matters." Traffic. Dogs. Life continuing around them. "Want to walk?" Maya asked. "Yeah." They walked. June in DC. The humidity hit the moment they left the shade. Sean steered them toward the farmers market in Dupont. The market was crowded. Strollers. Dogs. Couples arguing over cheese. Sean stopped at a food vendor. Ordered without asking her. Handed her something wrapped in paper. Maya looked at it. Looked at him. She took a bite. Perfect. They wandered. Past the produce. The flowers. They caught up. His nonprofit meeting. Her AI workflow. They each leveled the other up. The crowd thinned as they drifted toward the residential streets. A pigeon landed too close. Maya grabbed his arm without thinking. He didn't say anything. An hour passed. Maybe more. They turned a corner and Maya stopped. "This is me." Sean looked up at the building. Then down the street. Started laughing. "What?" "I live three blocks that way." Maya stared at him. "You're kidding." "We've been neighbors this whole time." She shook her head. The absurdity of it. "You want to come up?" she asked. "I have something to show you." Sean didn't answer immediately. "Unless you have somewhere to be," she added. "No." He cleared his throat. "Lead the way." Two minutes later Outside her apartment door, Maya hesitated. "My place is a mess. My roommate's gone this weekend and she's usually the one who cleans." "In that case I'll just leave." Sean began to turn around. "You think you're funny?" Maya pulled him back. Their faces came together so quickly their noses almost touched. Maya took a step back. Sean stayed still. Smiled. She quickly turned to unlock the door. Pushed it open. He held it open for her. Looking down, she walked inside. He followed close behind. *** "Your apartment. Damn Maya." Sean put down his cold brew on her counter. "This 'ol place?" Maya grinned. "I know everyone asks what's your rent. These windows. The natural light in here." Sean was walking around, checking everything over. Touching the spine of a book. Straightening a plant pot that didn't need it. Then he stopped. He saw the giant whiteboard wall. Covered in protocol sketches. Diagrams. Some erased and rewritten. Sean stared at it. Her brain. Mapped out. "Wow." "I think better when I can see it all at once." He walked toward it. Touched the edge of the frame. "What is this?" "Your idea." Sean turned. "What?" "TikTok for Nostr. Or Nostr for people who use Tiktok. Right?" Maya moved to stand beside him. "You convinced me." "Convinced you to do what?" "Build a nostr client. A social media app." "How did I do that?" "You said the people want full screen. Vertical. One video at a time. I can build that." "I just posted a note—" "You posted a thesis. And you were right." She pointed at the whiteboard. "Video is expensive to do. So no one's done it. But with my ad model, my fair, honest ad model, we could afford it. Easily." "Easily?" He had her attention. Maya nodded aggressively. "So it would be like the full screen scrolling video experience," Sean mimed swiping on an invisible phone. "But every so often, an ad pops up that wants to pay you." "Not every so often." Maya said calmly. "Every time there is a new block on the bitcoin block chain." "Aha." Sean clenched and shifted his jaw. Sat down on her couch. "That is the timer for ad match attempts. So attention stays scarce. The supply side can't be manipulated." Maya sat down on the lounging chair next to the couch. "That is GENIUS Maya. A bitcoin clock." Sean was beaming with pride for her. "Do you know how many problems this solves? Time zones would be an issue in the code." "How do you know that?" Maya's head snapped toward him. "I am a product manager for a system. At work." Sean waved it off. Maya laughed. "That explains why you understand the product side of Nostr." "It was just a note." Sean shook his head. "It was the note I needed." Maya didn't look away. "I've been trying to explain this protocol for a year. Writing specs. Pitching devs. No one got it." Sean waited. "Because I was telling them." She paused. "Not showing them." She leaned forward in her chair. "Your note made me realize — no one cares about a protocol. They care about a product. Something they can hold. Something they can use." "So the video app—" "Is the product. Your format. My protocol." She held his gaze. "That's how we get this into people's hands." Sean was quiet. Taking it in. "Well." He smiled. "Maybe I'm your muse." She blushed. "I posted that photo on purpose." Maya blurted out the confession. He tilted his head. "The cafe. The mug. I hoped you might see it." "Why?" "Because I thought you ghosted me." She didn't flinch. "And I was pissed. And then I was pissed that I was pissed because...it was one night. One conversation. Who cares." Sean didn't say anything. "But I kept thinking about your post. And I wanted to build it. And I think I need you to build it." Maya stood up. Started pacing the room. "So I posted it thinking eventually we'd cross paths somehow. Maybe you'd see it and reach out. About the idea. Not—" She waved her hand. "I wasn't trying to be cute. I was leaving a door open." "And then I ran through it." "Fifteen minutes later. Out of breath." She stopped pacing. "I didn't think. I just went." "I know." She looked at him. "My muse suddenly in front of me." Silence. Maya pulled out a chair at the kitchen table. "Sit. Let me show you." They sat. Close but not touching. Her laptop between them. "I've been talking to other devs," Maya said. "Making sure I'm not crazy." "And?" "I'm not crazy. This could work." Sean waited. "An attention marketplace." Her hands moved as she talked. "But that's not—that's not the big thing." "What's the big thing?" Maya took a breath. "Right now. Every app. Every platform. They take your attention without asking. Sell it to advertisers. Show you whatever they want you to see. Comments from strangers. Bots. Noise. You never consented to any of it." Sean was quiet. "What if you controlled all of it? What you see. Who can reach you. What's in your feed. Who can comment. What if attention was actually yours?" "That's..." He sat back. "That's not a feature. That's a philosophy." "It's sovereignty." The word hung there. "Okay." Sean leaned forward. "Walk me through it." Maya leaned forward. "It's a social media app. That's the product. But built on completely different principles." "What principles?" "You control everything. What you see. Who can reach you. How you earn." Sean nodded. "Okay. Show me." "You open the app. You follow who you want. Your feed is only them. No algorithm pushing content. No suggested posts. Just the people you chose." "Yeah that's Nostr generally." "And you only see comments from people you follow. Unless you flip a switch. You control who can reach your eyes." "So the bots—" "Don't exist. Not unless you let them." Sean stood. Started pacing. "That solves half my issues with Nostr right now. The spam. The noise." "I know." "But people like discovery. Finding new creators." "You can toggle it. Open your feed up. Let the world in. Or close it back down." Maya shrugged. "Your choice. That's the point. You decide. Always. And you can change it anytime." He stopped. Turned to face her. "And the ads?" "Same philosophy. You set your price. How much is your attention worth? If an advertiser wants to reach you, they bid. If their bid meets your price, you see the promotion, you get paid." "Who does the matching?" "We do. That's the business. We run the marketplace. If there is a match, next time you swipe the offer to get paid to watch shows." "And if I don't want ads?" "Change your price to a hundred dollars. Opt out of them completely. No one bothers you." "But I'd miss the money." Sean smirked. "Your choice." She smiled. "Sovereignty means you get to choose wrong too." *** "So I set my price. Advertiser bids. If it matches, I watch the promotion." Sean was working through it. "Then what?" "You get paid. Instantly. Bitcoin." "All of it?" "Whatever price you set. 100% of the advertiser's budget goes to viewers. We take a service fee on top." "So you're not taking a cut." "Never. Advertisers pay us upfront. Separate from what goes to viewers. 20% service fee. We have no reason to game it." "And the videos I actually want to watch?" "Organic discovery, yes. You watch them. You zap the creator if you love it. Money flows directly." "So it's TikTok—" "Same format." "—without anyone harvesting my attention to sell without my consent." "Harvesting. Ooh." Maya interrupted. "You liked that?" Sean smirked. Maya laughed. "Yes! And without anyone controlling what you see. What reaches you. What's in your head." Sean sat back down at the table. Quiet. "Maya." "Yeah?" "This isn't just an app." "I know." "This is—" He stopped. Looked at her. "This is a revolution. I want social media to actually work this way. I want to use this app. Right now." Something cracked in Maya's chest. "Me too. I want to build this right now."

GM ☕

Salma's bedroom door opened. "You're up early." Maya was on the couch. Blanket over her legs. Laptop balanced on a pillow. "Never went to sleep." She stopped typing. "Work?" "On-call." Salma shuffled toward the kitchen. Started the coffee maker. "I'm sorry boo. What happened?" "You know the authentication service? The one I fixed last month?" "The one Thomas broke?" "That's the one. Someone pushed broken code and went home. Whole thing went down at 3am." Salma winced. "Thomas again? Didn't you switch teams?" "Different team. Same problem." Maya rubbed her eyes. "I fixed it in twenty minutes with Cursor." "Why you? Can't someone else do it?" "Because," Maya finally looked up. "They keep moving me to new teams to 'help with transitions.' You know what that means?" "Clean up duty." "They know I care just enough to fix their shit. Help the junior dev. Offer solutions." "Solutions they ignore." "Solutions they ignore until it's too late. I suggested a fix six months ago. They said no. Now I'm up at 3am and there's six months of code built on top of the broken part. Who knows how long this will take me to fix." "And they pay you so much. Why don't they listen to you." "Cause who listens to the factory workers when they have an idea?" Maya sighed. Then she closed her laptop. Set it on the coffee table. "I feel pathetic." "Maya." Salma stopped moving. "You're not pathetic." "I'm asking permission to fix problems I already know how to fix. Every day." Maya pulled the blanket tighter. "It's a humiliation ritual." Salma frowned. "I'm a factory worker, Salma. A really well-paid factory worker. Build the widget. Ship the widget. Don't ask why the widget is broken. Just fix it and move on." Salma grabbed her thermos from dish rack. "My poor baby. Wants to make artisinal code. Not boxed brand." Maya pretended to cling to her chest. "I'm an artist and I'm sensitive about my shit." She gestured at the whiteboard. "And I have a vision." "Okay, Erykah." Salma poured coffee into her thermos. "Are they expecting you to work today?" "Shit is still broken. Kinda. I have a standup at 9." "Are you gonna say something?" "I'm going to say what I need to say." Maya smiled, tired. "Then I'm going to sleep until tomorrow." Salma sighed. "This is the third time this month." "Fourth." Salma exhaled. Then: "Is that a burrito?" "Warmed it up for you." "You're an angel." Salma grabbed it off the counter. Maya looked up to smile. "Girl. You look great!" "You like?" Salma twirled. Her blazer was new. "I'm so jealous of your coworkers." Maya stretched. Yawned. "They get to get dressed up and hang out with you all day." Salma took a bite and walked up to the whiteboard. "We would get nothing done if we worked together. And," she smiled. "I'm two years away from partner." "Or you could come be my co-founder. Every start up needs a lawyer." Maya made grabby hands at her. "Please, I'm desperate." Salma took another bite. She tried to study the whiteboard. "Why does it say NIP everywhere?" Maya laughed. "Nostr Implementation Possibilities." Salma rolled her eyes. "Why does so much of your code stuff have to be sexual?" "Girl, you always make it sexual." "And what does NOSTR stand for?" "Notes and Other Stuff Transmitted by Relays." Salma stopped chewing. "That's horrible." "I know." "No, like, that's aggressively bad. Who named this?" Maya laughed. "HTTP stands for Hypertext Transfer Protocol. No one cares. Everyone uses it." "Fair." Salma sipped from her thermos. "What's a relay?" "A server. Like a computer somewhere holding your stuff. Anyone can run one. Your posts go out to a bunch of them." Salma squinted. "Think of email." "Email?" "Your email address works. People don't have to have Gmail to send something to a Gmail address. Gmail talks to Outlook talks to Yahoo. No one company controls it. The emails live on servers. If Gmail goes down, your emails still exist. No one company owns email. It's just a protocol." "Okay." Salma nodded slowly. "Damn, that's cool." Maya sat up straighter. The exhaustion lifted for a second. "It IS cool. Now imagine that, but for social media." "Okay." Salma kept nodding. "No company owns or controls your login information. No one can take down anything you post. Because it goes out to more relays than anyone could ever shut down." "So that's the thing. You can't get banned?" Salma threw her purse over her shoulder. "There is a lot more to it. Basically, any app that needs user profiles could use Nostr instead of building their own login system." "You're losing me babe." Salma leaned over to put on her shoes. "If Corner Cafe wanted to have a website that offered rewards for regular customers, they wouldn't have to have their own login service. They could just ask for your Nostr profile." "Oh like logging in with Gmail on other apps?" Salma was packing her briefcase. "EXACTLY!" Maya's hands shot up in the air. "But it gives you, the user, more rights than you had before." Salma screwed the lid on her thermos. "So why isn't everyone using it?" "Because it's early. And the name is terrible." "Terrible." Salma laughed. "You need sleep." "I need to be in charge. So at least if something is broken, it's my fault. Not some idiot who is the reason I'm up at 3am. Fixing their mistakes." Salma let her finish the thought. "I'm tired of needing someone else's permission. As if I'm a child." "Permission for what?" "To be included in decisions. For my expertise to actually hold weight." Maya explained. "Tech is not a meritocracy. Just because my boss isn't a boomer doesn't mean he's magically a competent middle manager. It's all still political. Just like your firm." "Ah." Salma paused at the door. "Girl, you know I get it." "Am I crazy for wanting some dignity?" Maya shouted at the door. "You're not crazy." Salma shouted back. "But you look insane. Get some sleep." The door closed behind her. Silence. Maya stared at the door. Then at the whiteboard. Her brain, mapped out. Waiting. She stood. Stretched. Her back cracked in three places. She grabbed a glass from the cabinet. Filled it from the pitcher in the fridge. Drank. Her phone was on the counter. She opened Nostr. Scrolled a popular feed. 24-hour trending. A note caught her eye. "Why does Nostr keep rebuilding Twitter?" One comment had traction. She clicked through. Zaps. Reposts. Replies agreeing, pushing back, riffing on what that could look like. It took her down a 48 minute rabbit hole. She returned to the original note. "Talking about Tiktok on Nostr? Someone is brave." Maya wondered. Laughed, realizing she was talking to herself. She needed to sleep. She tapped the profile. Sean. Her breath caught. She closed her eyes. Opened them. His profile photo. The same one from— Back to the comment. The responses. Criticisms. Praise. Her eyes drifted to the whiteboard. Back to her phone. The alarm reminder for her 9am went off. She looked at her laptop. Looked back at the phone. She hit repost. Threw her phone on the couch. Went to her laptop. Dialed into the call. Typed into the chat. "Not feeling great. Need to take the day off. Later team." Logged off. Opened Nostr. Copied Sean's note's event ID. Opened Cursor. How would tiktok work if its business model was based on the attention marketplace? She hit paste. She hit enter. The next night. Maya needed a break from staring at her whiteboard. She opened HiveTalk. Video call service. Built on Nostr. Rafael's tired face filled the screen. His messy São Paulo kitchen behind him. Tiny dishes piled on a high chair. "Buenas Noches." "Buenas Noches. Thanks for doing this." "Of course." He rubbed his eyes. "I read your notes. It should work." "Really?" "Marketplace layer on Nostr and Lightning. It's solid. The documentation was good. Very long." He almost smiled. "Build it." Maya exhaled. "Special thanks to Cursor." "Yeah?" Rafael leaned in. "Why do you say that?" "You have to try it." Maya mirrored his lean. "It feels like leading an army of senior devs." "The code? The code it writes is good?" "You still need to review. But if you treat it like a senior dev and you're the CTO..." Maya shared her screen. "Take a look at this diagram it pushed out visualizing it." "Wow. Okay. I'll try it out." Rafael leaned back into his chair and smirked. "That documentation almost looked VC funded." Maya laughed and unshared her screen. "An AI subscription is the new VC funding." "A bold statement." Rafael grinned. "I feel like I just secured Series A." She leaned in. "I want to build for a specific implementation." "Yes. Tell me." Rafael turned away, murmured something to Luísa, then turned back. "I'm listening." "A video app." "Like what, Tiktok on Nostr?" Rafael's eyebrows went up. "Ambitious." "Why? Why hasn't anyone tried it?" Maya asked. He raised his hand and pretended to rub two coins between his fingers. "How expensive?" "Too much. Video's probably the most expensive thing to host." Rafael looked away. Something shifted in his face. Maya waited. "Most devs can barely afford to run the Twitter clones they've made." "You okay?" He laughed. Short. "I'm fine. Just... running out of runway." "What?" "The relay. Fourteen months. Donations maybe cover half." He wasn't looking at her. "Value for value. That's what we all say." He laughed, hollow. Maya half-smiled. "People don't pay for shit they get for free." Rafael sipped his tea. "Big tech tricked everyone into thinking using the internet should be free," Maya agreed. "While showing them ads." Rafael raised his eyebrow. Maya grinned. "We've been for sale under the lie of free." "That's right! Okay!" Rafael clapped his hands loudly. Repositioned himself in his chair. "Video." "Video," Maya confirmed. He leaned back. "Notes, identity, all that—" "And anything I post, I own. Because it's sent out to so many places, tied to my identity. Not whichever app I use to post. I own it." "Right. Always. For text. But media's different. Those files are too big for relays. So you host elsewhere. Note just references a link." "The app is just a viewer. It fetches the media, shows it, but doesn't host or own it. You can switch apps and the post is still there." Maya added. "Exactly. Video's the same, just heavier. Encoding. Compression. Fast delivery." He pretended to rub two coins again. "Expensive." "But the note itself—" "Still yours. Timestamped. Signed. Even if the host goes down, the record's permanent. Almost like it's been copyrighted. You can always prove you were the first to post." "Ah, so any content someone makes, it's safest to post on Nostr first?" "To prove ownership? Actually yes." Maya laughed. "This is honestly a better value proposition to normies than censorship resistance." Rafael laughed and leaned forward. "Okay wait. Your protocol. It brings money in? But only for the user watching the ad?" "Not an ad. A promotion." Maya caught herself. "I mean, it IS an ad. But the way it works—it's just a promoted note. Someone wants to post something on Nostr. They want more people to see it. So they pay to promote it." "Like boosting a post." "Kind of. But instead of paying a platform for showing it to users, they're paying the people who actually watch. Directly." Rafael tilted his head. "So I make a post. I want it to go viral. I pay to promote it. And that money goes to..." "The people who choose to see it. They set their price. If your bid matches their price, they watch. They earn." "Bitcoin." "Instantly. Lightning." "But what does it look like?" Rafael asked. "For the user?" "Full screen. Vertical video. You're swiping through—" "Like TikTok." "Better — there are zaps. And when a promotion comes up. The app asks: someone wants 30 seconds of your attention. Here's what they'll pay. Yes or no." Rafael set down his coffee. "If you say no, you swipe. Keep going. If you say yes, you watch, you earn." "Every time?" "Every time. Your choice. And you can block the content or creator if you don't want to see it again." He wasn't looking away anymore. Rafael was quiet. Thinking. "So it's like a billboard. You know billboards?" Maya asked. "Yes Maya, we have billboards here." Rafael responded deadpan. "My bad." Maya continued. "So, you want to promote something on a billboard. You rent the physical billboard that will showcase what you want. People who stop and willingly watch the billboard get paid." "Okay but—" He held up a hand. "Who's paying for the infrastructure? That physical billboard holding it up for view. The video hosting. The encoding. All the expensive shit." "The billboard operator aka the app." Maya leaned forward. "They add a service fee." "What's the service fee?" Rafael asked. "Whatever it costs to keep it going. That's the business model." "So... a lot." "The market decides. Competition keeps it fair. Anyone can operate a billboard. It's Nostr." "Competition." He almost laughed. "On Nostr. What a concept." He rubbed his face. "So users earn from promotions. They earn from zaps. And they could use that to pay for the things they use. Like large media hosting." "Storage. Hosting. Whatever." Maya shrugged. "Decentralized costs. Everyone chips in based on what they use. But they're not paying with their data. They're paying with money they earned." "While owning their content." "Their identity. Their followers. Everything." Maya held his gaze. "And the best apps, that have enough people willing to sell their attention, will earn a steady revenue to manage operational costs." He was doing the math. She could see it. "So if I ran a relay that supported this..." "The billboard operator could pay you for your services." He stared at her. His whole posture changed. Rafael was quiet for a long moment. "This could actually work." "I know." Maya said excitedly. "People would decide which services they want. What content they love. What apps have value for them. And everyone gets paid. Real value for value." "A real bitcoin circular economy." Maya nodded. Rafael was quiet. Then: "I wish I had time to help you build this." He looked away. "You have your relay," she said. Not bitter. Just true. "I have my relay." He rubbed his face. "And I'm barely keeping that alive." "I know." Silence. "You're living the dream though. You have freedom. Building what you want." Rafael was quiet for a second. "I don't know if it's freedom. I ask myself that a lot." "You work for yourself." "I work for everyone. Every client. Every deadline. Everyone else decides my priorities. And there's no paycheck if I stop." He glanced off screen. "Luísa just took the baby for bed. I do calls at night so I can help more during the day." "That actually sounds so nice." Maya meant it. "Sometimes work falls behind but I want to be with them more. You know?" "Family should come first." He nodded. "It's everything. I just need to make it to the next cycle. Then maybe I can breathe." He rubbed his face. "That's what I tell myself. Just hold. Build. The sats will be worth more soon." "You're doing it, Rafael. That's more than most." "Yeah." He paused. "It's mine." "And you don't HAVE to deal with all that. You're choosing to support everyone." "That's what it is. When you build the infrastructure...it's for everyone." "Right. I'm starting to think I want to build the experience instead. So I get to be the one who decides." "Decides what?" "Everything. The priorities. What to build. Who to build for." "That includes all the responsibility too." "Everyone making the decisions around me, FOR ME, right now is an idiot. Why can't I be one of the idiots in charge? Build something I actually want?" Rafael laughed. "You can absolutely be one of the idiots." "An idiot that's just trying to get you paid. You're gonna want me in charge." He leaned forward. "For real. Maybe this could help devs like me. Help us all live free." "Imagine a world...." She let it hang. "I can finally imagine it." He leaned back. "And I want it." "You couldn't before?" He shrugged. "I didn't fully get it before." "Everyone needs an example." "Everyone needs an example." He nodded. "Implementation matters. Build the thing. Show people what it looks like." Maya glanced at her phone. Sean's note looking back at her. She turned back to her whiteboard. "But Maya—" He paused. "Don't burn out before you build it. Please." She looked back at the screen. "Build it then," Rafael said. Softer now. "And when it works, maybe the rest of us can finally breathe." The call ended. The screen went dark. Just Maya's face reflected back. She exhaled. Let her head fall back against the chair. Still alone. But not crazy. One hour later. Sean had his headset on. The TV was casting blue across his dark living room. Controller in hand. Nima and Ken were already at it. "I hate this game." Nima was getting wrecked. "Why do I play this." "Because you spent sixty dollars on it." "Forty more for a SKIN." Ken laughed. "You bought a battle pass." "Don't." "For a game you already paid for." "I SAID DON'T." Sean smiled. Said nothing. Kept winning. "Shayan." Nima's voice crackled through. "You're suspiciously quiet." "Focused." Ken's car drifted around a corner. "You know what's funny? This game costs sixty bucks and still has a battle pass. Mobile games are free and they make more money." "How." "Ads. Rewarded video. 'Watch this ad, get fifty coins.' Kids do it all day." "That's sad." "That's billions of dollars. Opt-in ads. Completed views. Advertisers pay a premium for it." Nima spun out. Again. "But the coins are fake." "Obviously." "So they're watching real ads for fake money." "While the advertiser gets exactly what they wanted." Ken's car clipped a wall. "Pretty good deal. For one side." "That's fucked." "That's why mobile games suck. They're not built to be fun. They're built to show ads." Ken sighed. "And THIS game? Sixty bucks wasn't enough. They needed the battle pass too." "So either way we're getting milked." "Either way the game isn't the product. You are." Silence. Just the game sounds. Sean crossed the finish line. Victory screen. "OH COME ON." Nima was yelling. "HOW." Sean leaned back. "I was paying attention." "To WHAT?" Sean didn't answer. He pulled off his headset. Set down the controller. The apartment was quiet now. Just the menu music looping. Still thinking. Two days later. Sean was still in his sweats. Season 3, Episode 2 playing. He poured a fresh cup of tea in his favorite mug. It felt like a new day. Richard was explaining his vision. The new internet. Decentralized. Peer-to-peer. No gatekeepers. Sean paused it. Rewound. Watched again. He thought of Maya. Her repost. He grabbed his phone. Checked Nostr. Her profile. His eyes popped. New post. "gm to all who celebrate ☕" with a photo of her drink at a coffee shop. Posted 3 minutes ago. He looked at his mug. The 'The Conrer Cafe' typo. He looked at Maya's mug in the photo. The 'The Conrer Cafe' typo. He went back and forth three more times. Posted 3 minutes ago. She was there. Right now. Only six blocks away. He grabbed his hoodie. Keys. Ran.

Congrats on Fifteen Years

Iranian Relief Fund board meeting. Sean was checking his phone under the long conference table. No notifications. Roya, their director, looked tired. "Donations are down again." "OFAC," Kamran said. "The sanctions. Banks won't process transfers to Iranian organizations." Sean looked up. Leaned forward. "What about Bitcoin?" Kamran laughed. "You and your Bitcoin." "It's censorship-resistant. No bank can block it—" "It's a scam, Shayan." "It's not—" "It's internet money for criminals." "It's a protocol—" Roya held up her hand. "Shayan. We're not doing cryptocurrency. Too risky. Next item." Sean sat back. Nodded once. Fine. "Actually," he said, like he'd been waiting for his turn. "While we're on fundraising. The Instagram campaign from last quarter?" Shadi perked up. "Oh, we got great numbers on that." Kamran pulled up his tablet. "27,000 impressions. Very high engagement." "How much did we spend?" Sean asked. "$1,200." "And how much did we raise?" Kamran scrolled. "$180. Four donations." Silence. The fluorescent lights above them hummed. Sean stood. Walked to the monitor. Docked his laptop. "You spent $1,200 to raise $180." "But the impressions—" Shadi started. "Were mostly bots." Sean pulled up his first slide. "Forty percent of digital ad impressions are fraudulent. Fake accounts. Software. You paid Instagram to show your ad to robots." Kamran frowned at his tablet. "The report said—" "The report Instagram sent you. The one they want you to believe." Sean clicked to the next slide. "When was the last time you watched an Instagram ad?" "I skip them," Kamran admitted. "Everyone skips them," Shadi laughed. "Right." Sean looked around the table. "So why would anyone watch ours?" "If it's good?" Shadi offered. "Maybe." Sean pulled up an article. "But here's the best part. Meta suppresses content about Iran. Automatically. Their algorithm flags it as politically sensitive." Roya sat up. "They censored us?" "Shadow suppression. You paid them $1,200 to show your posts to fewer people than if you'd posted organically for free." "That's—" Shadi looked at Kamran. "Can they do that?" "They're Meta." Sean rolled his eyes. Roya rubbed her temples. "So what do we do? Try TikTok?" "No." "Facebook?" "Every platform does this. Instagram, Facebook, TikTok—they all take money from both sides and deliver nothing. That's the business model." "Then what's the alternative?" Roya asked. Sean clicked to his next slide. "Make something people actually want to share." He walked them through it. Organic content. Trending sounds. Hashtags. Platform-specific formatting. Real work. Roya didn't blink. "And who is making these videos?" "We ask younger volunteers," he said. "The diaspora community. People who understand these platforms. We treat it as real volunteer work. Help them build marketing skills." Roya looked at Kamran. Kamran looked at Shadi. "Let's pause on ads," Roya said. "We'll start recruiting next month. Shayan, thank you for your research." Kamran closed his tablet. "Yes. Merci, Shayan." The meeting moved to budget review. Sean closed his laptop. Unplugged it from the monitor. His hand moved toward his pocket. Stopped. Maya helped him win that. And she'd never know. 20 minutes later. Sean walked into a very loud Union Market. Coffee, hot oil, and AC struggling to keep up with the late spring heat. He spotted Nima saving two seats at a long communal table. "Shayan!" He stood and pulled him into a quick hug. "There he is." "Hey." Nima sat back down and slid a drink toward him. Condensation running down the bottle. "You look like you just came from a meeting." "I did." "Of course you did." Nima flipped his phone face-down on the table. "I'm off. For one hour. If someone crashes a van, they can call me after." Sean sat. Let himself breathe for the first time that day. Nima looked him over. Raised an eyebrow. "Where are you?" "I'm here." Nima waited. "How's business?" Nima exhaled. "Good. Busy. We're making a lot. Too much. I need to figure out some stuff for taxes this year." "Buy Bitcoin." "I knew you'd say that." Nima brushed him off. "Actually, I was thinking about a Deep Creek rental property. We'd be able to go a few times a year and the rest of the time it would pay for itself." Sean sighed. "You know what I'm gonna say." Nima leaned back. "Real estate is a solid investment. And I can actually use it." "Yeah use it, repair it, pay unexpected increased taxes on it—" Nima shrugged. "At least I can touch it." Sean snorted. "That's exactly what makes it more of a liability than investment." Nima laughed. "You sound like my accountant." "Sounds like a good accountant." Sean leaned back. "You keep telling yourself it's passive income. Then you spend all your weekends at Lowes." "Lowes is part of the dream," Nima said, deadpan. Sean shook his head. "My dream is boring. I want money I can hold and ignore." "You and your Bitcoin." Nima sat up. "Hey! How was Vegas?" Sean shook his head. "It messed me up." Nima blinked. "A conference?" "Not just the conference." Sean ripped the paper coming off his bottle. Nima's eyebrows went up. "Was there a girl?" Sean swallowed. "Maybe." "And?" Sean's jaw tightened. "And nothing. It was Vegas." "That's not an answer." "It means I'll probably never see her again," Sean looked away. "It was just harder than I thought to come back to this world." "Everything ok?" Nima asked. Sean lifted his hand. Small wave. Stop. "I'll grant you mercy this one time and drop it." A group nearby burst into laughter. Someone held up a phone, replaying a clip. Full screen. Sound on. Everyone leaning in. Nima nodded toward them. "I gotta show you my latest reel. It hit 11k views." "11k O-K!" Sean pretended to dust off Nima's shoulders. "Congrats man. So well deserved. Of course I've seen it. You looked great." Nima pretended to blush. "I used to get like 800 impressions max. But I think I'm finally cracking the code on how to go viral." "What's the secret?" Sean leaned in. "Videos. It's gotta be. TikTok is so popular," Nima said. "Full screen. Single video. Full attention. If you can engage them, you're connecting almost as if you're in person. A photo can't do that." "That's an interesting theory. Short text definitely can't do that." Sean's eyes narrowed like something in his brain had started moving. Nima clocked it, smiled, and stood up. "Nope. Not yet. Food first." 16 minutes later "Okay. Changing the subject. I have an idea." Sean braced. "When's the last time you swiped?" Sean blinked. "I don't know." "Six months?" "Maybe." Nima pretended to be offended. "Catch like you? Let's get you out there." "I'm enjoying the peace." Nima reached across the table. "Hand it over." "Nima—" "Summer is here. Time to live." Nima held out his hand and just waited. Sean hesitated. Unlocked his phone. Handed it over. Nima reactivated Sean's very old dating profile. "There." He slid the phone back. "You're back on the market." Sean put the phone in his pocket. Nima nodded once. "Eat." They ate. Sean's phone stayed in his pocket. Dating app active. Unopened. Two days later. Sean was sitting alone in a row of empty, dusty cubicles. The steam from his tea escaping from his thermos. He typed an email. Subject: RE: New Ticketing System Proposal Good Morning Yvette and team. Hope everyone had a great weekend. Checking in on the decision here. We presented this proposal six months ago. Any update on next steps? Best, Sean Sent. A head popped over the cubicle wall. Denise. "Still waiting on that?" "Yeah. Impatiently." "I remember your presentation was really good." She leaned against the entrance. "I'm sure they're giving it the consideration it deserves." The tone landed. "Why do they always drag this shit out?" Sean inhaled the cardamom steam from his thermos. "We're trapped in a time warp in this building." A loud Teams notification popped up. Sean's nervous system shook. "Lunch later?" she asked. "Yes. Please." "Happy in-office mandatory Monday!" She waved. Walked back to her own empty row of cubicles. He inhaled one more time. Read the screen. Luis Morales: R u free? He wondered that too. 43 seconds later. Sean walked into Luis' office. "Please tell me you brought it." Luis stood up from his desk, hopeful. "Finally." Sean tossed over a 'Viva Las Vegas' plastic bag. "Sorry about last week." Luis pulled out a Backstreet Boys concert tee. "Jessica's gonna love this." He reached for his phone. "Venmo work?" "Whatever works." Luis tapped his screen. Frowned. "Ugh. It's saying I hit my weekly limit." He looked up. "Can I bring you cash?" Sean opened his mouth. Closed it. "What?" "Nothing. Cash is fine." "I'll hit the ATM at lunch." "No rush. I know where you work." Sean winked. Luis put the shirt back in the bag. Set it aside. Sat down slowly. "Sean." His tone shifted. "Your osTicket presentation was excellent. They agree we need to modernize. But they're going with ServiceNow." Silence. "Since when?" "Yvette just called me." "How much is the contract?" Silence. Sean shot up from his seat. "How much?" "Five million dollars." "Mine was $280,000." "Someone upstairs has relationships with ServiceNow. It's done." Sean stared out the window. At the other federal buildings and the Capitol in the distance. Luis leaned back. "We'll get them next time. At least they agreed to modernize. And you'll still lead the design. This is still a win. Your win." "Lucky me." Sean rolled his eyes. "We are wasting five million dollars. Not even waste. This is abuse of taxpayer funds." Luis closed his eyes and held up his hand. "Let's not go that far." "We never do." He looked out the window again. Took a deep breath. Luis opened a desk drawer. Pulled out a bumpy envelope. "Maybe not the best time to give this to you." Sean stared at it. "But congratulations on fifteen years." They both laughed. But it wasn't funny. "You're a great public servant. We're lucky to have you." Sean pulled out a pin from the envelope. He stared at it. Fifteen years. "Here's to six more days of annual leave a year!" Luis shouted as Sean headed out the door. Sean looked back and forced a smile. He was definitely taking tomorrow off. 11 hours later. Sean was on the floor, back against the couch. Laptop in his lap. The Silicon Valley theme started playing. He paused the TV. His eyes went back to his laptop. A Nostr feed open on his screen. Sean made a ghost account last week. A blank slate. He wanted to be anonymous. Free. He was enamored with Nostr. Learning random but interesting things. No ads. No "suggested for you." No bait. Just people sharing. A thread about self-custody led to a podcast about key management. A debate about relays sent him to a blog about censorship resistance. An argument about zapping culture linked to a three-hour livestream he watched in full. Nostr didn't keep him in the app. Or even the protocol. It sent you everywhere. That was new. Tonight he felt ready. He typed: #grownostr The feed shifted. Debates. Arguments. Vision posts. "How do we get the next billion users?" "We need better UX." "We need to stop rebuilding Twitter." He looked up. Way too late. He kept going anyway. The next night. Same spot. Silicon Valley on mute. TikTok in hand. A video about why ancient Roman concrete is stronger than modern concrete. The kind of thing Sean loved. He went to the comments. "This is my Roman Empire." "I'll never NOT scroll on a video about concrete" "I BUILT THIS FYP BRICK BY BRICK" He stared at that last one. They thought they were training the algorithm. They were proud of it. But they didn't own any of it. TikTok could change tomorrow. Get banned. Wipe everything. All that work — gone. He thought about Nima. "Full screen. Single video. Full attention." He thought about the thread. "Stop rebuilding Twitter." He closed TikTok. Opened Nostr. Switched to his real account. The one Maya set up. 21 sats in the wallet. The first Bitcoin anyone had ever sent him. No notifications. Uploaded a photo. Opened a draft note. Started typing. Replying to: "We need to stop rebuilding Twitter. We should be building what comes next." Respectfully. No one uses Twitter. It's a dying model. We should be courting TikTokers. TikTok has a billion users. 170 million in the US alone. The market has spoken. Full screen. Vertical. One video at a time. That's what people want. Instagram copied it. YouTube copied it. Even Netflix tried it. And TikTokers believe they're escaping censorship. Silicon Valley censorship. Meta felt like surveillance. X felt like rage bait. TikTok felt like freedom. Here's the tragic part. TikTok's algorithm isn't magic. It's trained by its users. A billion people doing free labor to make it smarter. There's a comment TikTokers leave on posts they love: "I BUILT THIS FYP BRICK BY BRICK." They're not passive scrollers. They curate their feed. Spend thousands of hours building something that feels like theirs. But it's not theirs. Not the feed. Not the followers. Not the content. TikTok can change the rules any time. Get banned. Wipe the data. All that work? Gone. And the payouts? A joke. The formula changes constantly. No transparency. Creators complain every day. Users want to reward content they love. Directly. Instantly. Without a platform taking a cut. Imagine all those people experiencing Nostr. Experiencing zaps. Real ownership. Real payments. Real freedom. What would that mean for adoption? I humbly think... this is the way. #grownostr *** He read it twice. Posted it. Set his phone down. Stared at the ceiling.

Obviously, I Checked

The Corner Cafe was half-full. Maya sat at her usual table by the window. Coffee gone cold. "Ask me anything about Bitcoin" — paper sign taped to her laptop. She looked at the screen. Hit commit. Finally fixed the broken code someone pushed Friday. Ms. Patrice walked in, wearing a "JUST HODL IT" shirt with a Nike logo over it. Maya looked up. Forced a smile. Closed her laptop. "Fellow wholecoiner!" Ms. Patrice shouted and waved. Maya put her face in her palms. "Ms. Patrice, now you know you're not supposed to be advertising that information." She waved off Maya's concern. "I'm up 40% this month. Can you believe it?" "I can." Maya smirked, just a little. "You know, I've been telling everyone about you. About D-C-A-ing instead of smash buying." Ms. Patrice said, very impressed with herself. "That's amazing." Ms. Patrice's levity was clearing the tense air stuck around her. "That's what I'm here for. Every Saturday." Ms. Patrice leaned in. "So how was your conference? Vegas baby! Did you orange-pill anyone?" "Purple-pill." Maya corrected. "Orange pilling is for Bitcoin. Purple is for Nostr." Maya lifted the paper taped to her laptop and pointed to a purple ostrich sticker. "We call that a 'Nostrich.'" "Baby, you're asking too much of me. Can this be enough?" Ms. Patrice pointed to 'JUST HODL IT' on her shirt. "You can learn! I can teach you!" Maya pretended to beg. "Please let me!" "Aren't office hours over?" Ms. Patrice turned to the Barista. "Let's shut this operation down!" "Bitcoin Saturday's done?" Salma popped in, unfazed by the commotion. "So sorry I missed it, did a lot of people come?" "It was quality over quantity." Ms. Patrice interrupted before Maya could answer. She looked at Maya, then at Salma, then back at Maya. "You take care of our girl, okay?" Salma nodded. "Always." Ms. Patrice set herself down at a table across the cafe and shouted over "STACK THEM SATS!" "Did you fix it?" Salma slid into the seat across from Maya. Maya put her laptop away. "Did I have a choice?" "They're parking. Are you up for this?" "Yeah. I'm fine, let's not talk about it." Ten minutes later, the table was full. The noise level doubled. The server came by. "Just fries and coffee. Black." Maya said. Her friends ordered mimosas, avocado toast, pancakes. "Okay." Leyla leaned forward. "What happened with the Vegas guy? Salma said there was a Vegas guy." Salma mouthed 'sorry' to Maya. "I mentioned it when it was something but now it's not." Salma gave Leyla and Nia a look. "So let's drop it." Leyla audibly gasped. "DID HE GHOST YOU?" Maya nodded. Silence. "Which is why we don't need to talk about it." Salma pointed her finger in the air. They all, except Maya, said together in chorus "IF HE WANTED TO, HE WOULD!" Salma patted Maya's arm. "We're not giving energy to a dead end." "Maybe he lost his phone?" Nia offered. Silence. "Did you guys see the layoffs at Meta?" Nia read the room. "They're still hiring in some departments but cutting thousands in others." "Makes no sense," Leyla said. "It's the stock price," Salma explained. "Layoffs make the numbers look better. Doesn't matter if the people were good at their jobs." "And now AI's coming for the rest of us," Nia said. "Oh god," Leyla groaned. "Not the AI discourse." "I'm serious! They're replacing designers. Writers. Customer service. Even developers." Maya was quiet. "I know you have something to say," Salma said to Maya. "AI isn't taking jobs. Bad managers are." "Here we go." Leyla said. Salma put up her hand. "Please. Enlighten us." "AI is a tool. Like a calculator. Or a forklift." Maya straightened up. "It makes you faster. More capable. But someone still has to KNOW what to build. What to solve. What matters." "So you're not worried?" Nia asked. "I'm worried about people who refuse to use it. They'll get left behind." Maya shrugged. "But the people using AI? They're not replacing workers. They're replacing entire companies." Leyla tilted her head. "What do you mean?" "One person with AI can do what used to take a team of ten. That's redistributing power." Maya almost smiled. "To who?" Salma asked. "To people willing to learn it." Nia frowned. "So we have to be AI experts now?" "No," Maya softened. "You just have to not be afraid of it. Like you were with email. With smartphones. With Google." She picked at her fries. "Adapt or stay comfortable and hope your job survives the transition." Nia looked down at her plate. "I just... I see this happening everywhere. And everyone acts surprised when it happens to them." Maya looked around the table. "Like we think we're immune." "We're not immune," Nia said. "But what are we supposed to do? Not have jobs?" "Build something. Something they can't take away." "We're not coders Maya." Leyla said. "You don't have to be." Maya leaned forward. "Just buy Bitcoin." The table groaned in unison. "I'm serious!" "We know you're serious. That's the problem." Salma was laughing. "Not everything is about Bitcoin." "This is, though." Maya wasn't laughing. "You're all talking about being one bad quarter away from losing everything. Bitcoin is the one thing they can't print away or lay off or repo. You own it. Actually own it." Silence. Maya regretted saying anything. "So...Oh! Did anyone like your project idea?" Nia reached over and took a fry from Maya's plate. Replaced it with a piece of her avocado toast. "Yes." Maya slumped down in her seat. "The ghost did." Silence. "Oof," Leyla frowned. "He's not the only person who will like your idea." Salma grabbed a fry, left a piece of bacon. "Not to be dramatic, but he actually may be." "Explain it to us again. We can get it." Nia offered. "Please eat something." Maya hesitated. "It's technical guys." "Our attention spans can handle it." Leyla half-joked. "I have mentioned it before." Maya didn't need their pity attention. Or did she. "How ads could work on Nostr." "Your Bitcoin ads thing." Leyla said, proud of herself. She clinked her mimosa with Nia. "Nostr ads. With Bitcoin." Maya corrected softly. Her friends listened. Asked questions. "But wait," Leyla held up a hand. "Who's paying who?" "The person who wants eyeballs pays the person who watches." "That's backwards." Leyla frowned. "That's not how ads work." "Exactly." "But how does this make money? You could quit your job? Who would use this?" "It would be open source. Developers would use it. Eventually people donate to projects they rely on." Pause. "Theoretically." They just blinked at her. "Did I lose you?" Maya hated when this happened. "I don't understand what the problem is. Why does someone else have to like it?" Leyla grabbed another fry. "If it makes sense to you, that should be enough." Maya picked at her napkin. "It's a lot of work. I'd need a team. Funding. I can't just—" "Are you waiting for a guy to validate you?" Leyla asked. "Oooh" the other two girls said in harmony. "No." "Then what are you waiting for?" Nia gently grabbed Maya's hand. Maya didn't have an answer. "Then why do you need Vegas guy's validation? Really?" Salma grabbed one more fry. "I know." Maya shook her head. "But you weren't there. It wasn't just a conversation." None of them were buying it. Maya shifted in her seat. "I love you guys, but when was the last time YOU listened to me talk about my ideas for three hours? In a nightclub?" She sat up straight. "He didn't interrupt. Didn't play devil's advocate. I didn't really need to explain the basics. He just... kept up." "Of course he did." Nia got up and hugged her from the side. "Maya, you're amazing." "And a great teacher," Leyla added. "What guy wouldn't love to listen to you for three hours? Even in a dumpster alley." Nia gave Maya one more squeeze before she let go. "Maybe this would happen more often if you gave more guys a chance?" Maya groaned. Salma said flatly, "Maybe he wanted to steal your idea." Maya laughed. A good laugh. She needed that. "That's just not how open source code works." "This is unfair. Salma knows everything. Can we get the full context?" Nia begged. "Fine. But we're gonna need more fries." "And then he left, I assume on his flight" Maya sighed. "Not for a second did I worry about getting ghosted." "He seemed that pressed?" Salma asked. "He seemed determined. All night. He was pursuing me." Leyla leaned forward. "Okay but what was HE like?" Maya looked down at her phone as if Sean was in it. Smiled despite herself. "Really attractive." Salma raised an eyebrow. "There it is." "What?" "The real reason you've been checking your phone all week." "That's not—" Maya stopped. "Okay. Yes. Partly. He's very cute." She made the chefs kiss gesture. "No notes." "She said no notes." Leyla cracked up. "Tell me you remembered to take a photo with him?" Nia asked. "No. I wish." Maya sat up straight. "Wait." She pulled out her phone. Everyone watching. Silent. "Maybe he added a profile photo." Maya's thumb hovered over his name. She tapped. Loading... "Is he hot?" Nia asked. His profile was still blank. "Nope. A complete ghost." She locked her phone. Put it face-down on the table. Away from her. Leyla winced. "He's married." Leyla declared. "He's gotta be." "At least a girlfriend." Nia said softly. "That's why he didn't touch her. Not to be a gentleman." Salma added. She put a piece of her pancake on Maya's plate. "Oh he touched me." Maya smirked. "He just didn't kiss me." Silence. "And I still don't think he was in a relationship." She picked at her napkin. "He seemed... alone." Nia tilted her head. "What do you mean?" "I don't know. Like he was looking for something." Maya shrugged. "He made me feel like I was what he needed to find." The table was quiet for a moment. The ladies passed each other looks. "And there was no ring," Maya added. "Obviously, I checked." "They can come off you know. In Vegas." Salma pointed out. Maya sighed. "He was checking his phone a lot." "Texting his wife," Leyla said flatly. "Alright. Mystery solved. Bullet dodged. NEXT!" Salma topped everyone's coffee. "Back to the Bitcoin ads." Nia pivoted. "We love the idea. Get to it. There's your validation!" "What about using AI?" Leyla suggested. "Can't it help you code faster? It helped me so much planning that fundraiser." "Yes!" Nia jumped. "Can't you make an app in like an hour these days?" Maya laughed. "It's not that simple." "Then what IS simple?" Nia asked. Maya was quiet. "Starting," Salma said softly. "Just starting is simple." Two hours later. Salma and Maya walked into their apartment. Salma dropped her bag. Looked at Maya. "Okay. Enough." She went to their kitchen. Started wiping down the counter. Already clean. Maya stood there. Keys still in her hand. Early afternoon light came through the big windows. Happy plants on every surface—fiddle leaf fig by the window, trailing pothos from shelves, succulents lined up on the kitchen island. "The girls are right. You're amazing." Salma shoo'ed her into the living room. "Go write some code. Do something." Maya walked to the couch. Sat. Didn't move. Salma kept cleaning. Straightened the plant pots. Fluffed the couch pillows. Organized the remotes. Maya reached for the TV remote. The Silicon Valley theme song started. Salma looked over. "Really? What is this the seventeenth time?" Maya didn't answer. Salma gestured at the TV. "If these idiots can have a tech startup, why can't you?" Maya pulled a throw blanket over herself. Watched the screen. Salma exhaled. Grabbed Maya's phone off the coffee table. Opened the app store. Tapped. Downloaded. Tossed the phone onto the couch next to Maya. "At least swipe while you watch." She went back to the kitchen. Spray bottle. Wiping counters that didn't need it. Maya picked up her phone. "You reactivated my profile?" Salma ignored her. "Well I'm not crossing the river this time." Maya changed her radius, setting it to less than one mile. "No Ubers to Arlington!" Salma lifted her fist in solidarity. Maya lifted her fist too. Then started swiping. Left. Left. Left. Then: Sean's face. Maya stopped breathing. "Government analyst. DC. 37. Less than a mile away." DC. He lives here. "ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME." Salma dropped the dish towel. Rushed over. Maya held up the phone. "Of course he lives in DC. He told me he works for the federal government." "Since when?" Salma stepped back. "You failed to mention that fact." "Probably cause his job was the one thing I didn't like about him." "Probably cause he is actually very cute." Salma leaned closer into the phone. She was panicking. "It says less than one mile away. He's gonna see my profile if he's swiping." She blocked him. Put the phone face-down on the coffee table. Away from her. Salma sat next to her on the couch. Pressed her shoulder against Maya's. "Okay. Less than a mile could mean he's just nearby. Right now. Out. Passing through. Don't spiral." "So he's just partying it up on 14th street and that's supposed to make me feel better?" Maya queued up the next season of her comfort show. Together, they watched three more episodes. 11 hours later. Maya couldn't sleep. She opened her laptop. Checked her DMs. Nothing. Sean's profile. His npub. Still empty. She scrolled the Vegas hashtag. The DJ. The venue. Imani. No photos of her and Sean. She checked her camera roll. Nothing. Like he was never there. A ghost. She closed her laptop. Sat in the dark. Opened it again. Cursor. Context documents. Give it everything. She created a new folder. attn-protocol/context Started creating context files: nostr-basics.md - Everything she'd learned about the protocol nips-reference.md - Technical specs she'd studied lightning-notes.md - Bitcoin payment layer research protocol-sketches.md - Her design ideas so far attention-economics.md - Articles and thinking that shaped her approach Months of work. Organized. Ready. She opened the AI chat. Added every file to the context. Created a new file: README.md Typed: # ATTN Protocol Then asked: "I want to build an attention marketplace on Nostr using Bitcoin. How can you help me?" The response started appearing. It asked questions she hadn't considered. Suggested patterns she'd missed. It worked. Her ghost had helped her from the grave. And he'd never know.

The Attention Protocol

Maya was three drinks in and tired of scanning the party deck for Sean. She grabbed her phone, scanned the screen, and zapped the DJ. "I'm sending 1000 sats. Just to feel something." She clutched her chest, fell onto Imani. "You know I love a fat zap." Imani did an ironic body roll. "Great set. I gotta get back to the door." "He's not coming." "He's coming. Relax." "I'm relaxed." "You've checked the door six times in ten minutes." "Stop." Maya pushed her away. Imani laughed. Sean walked in. Eyes swept the room once. Then again, slower. Imani clocked him immediately. "Imani. Please." Imani grinned. Walked over. "Welcome to the Nostr After-Party!" "Thank you...What am I looking at?" Sean pointed at the screen above the DJ. Imani followed his gaze. "Tunstr. We're live-streaming this whole thing. People zap the artists directly. Watch." A notification appeared on screen. 2100 sats. Then another: 1000 sats. "That money goes straight to them. Not a platform." "That DJ is getting paid right now? From people watching online?" "And people here. Instantly." He shook his head, smiling. "This is so cool." Maya took a breath. Smoothed her dress. Walked up. "Hey!" Sean's voice cracked. "Hey." Imani slipped away, still grinning. Maya waited. Didn't fill the silence. Sean cleared his throat. "Thank you for inviting me. I was wasting my night with those guys. Glad I'm ending my trip here." "Dinner that bad?" Maya smirked. "If I never hear the word 'ordinals' again..." "Oof," Maya laughed. "What about tokens?" "How are people still pushing tokens? Bitcoin savings account? Here's our token. Bitcoin life insurance? Token. This one guy pitched a 'Bitcoin Layer 2' that was literally just Ethereum with extra steps." "Corporate Bitcoin." She smiled. That smile. Sean forgot what he was saying. "Is that what that was? I thought it was hell." Sean ran his fingers through his hair. "Every pitch was a scam. And I think two of them already have term sheets." "Gotta love those VCs and their great taste in start-ups." She grabbed his arm. "Let's get you a drink." Sean moved closer. Let her lead. His hand covered hers briefly. Their night was finally beginning. They moved through the crowd. Past vendor booths showing off new apps. Past an onboarding station where someone was setting up their first npub. Just like Sean and Maya the day before. The main bar was packed. Music pounding. Sean leaned in close to order. "WHAT?" The bartender cupped his ear. "TWO MARGARITAS!" Sean shouted, holding two fingers up. Maya turned to Sean, shouting. "HOW DID YOU KNOW I DRINK MARGARITAS?" He said something. She couldn't hear him. He leaned closer. Right next to her ear. "YOU HAD ONE AT THE HOTEL BAR. I PAY ATTENTION." That gave her goosebumps. When the drinks came, he handed hers to her. Their fingers brushed. They clinked glasses. Tried to talk. Gave up. Maya pointed toward the far end of the bar. Near the service door. No one there. He shrugged. Followed. "This is a nice crowd." He scanned the floor, appreciating the eclectic mix of people. "Why does it feel like everyone knows each other here?" "We all met at the Nostr Booth." Maya winked. That wink. He took the moment in. Bitcoin flying across screens. The most interesting person he'd ever met, standing right next to him. His head snapped back to Maya. "How does this work?" he asked. "The Nostr booth. This party. Who organizes this?" "There are different sponsors. People volunteer to spread the good word of Nostr. They try to have one at every major Bitcoin event." "They? Who funds it?" "Community donations. No company owns this. The booth shows up, volunteers run it, people learn about Nostr." "No company?" Sean asked. "There are companies, like Tunstr which sponsored this one. But this is grassroots." Maya leaned in like she was going to tell him a secret. Sean leaned in to play along. Maya whispered "#grownostr." Sean grinned. "Why are we whispering?" He matched her volume. Maya looked at him. Bit her bottom lip. Looked at his lips. "Because it's mindblowing." She teased slowly. "And I'm trying to ease you into it." Sean's pupils dilated. She laughed. "So. There's no algorithm on Nostr—" She turned her drink in her hands. "Right." "So... what could you use to find new stuff?" Maya said slowly, gesturing for Sean to finish her thought. "Hashtags," Sean said, quickly putting it together. "Oh that's." He chuckled and pounded his fist against his heart. "Oh, I just got nostalgic for the early days of internet." Maya sat back and let herself enjoy Sean's dramatic reaction. He made an exaggerated sad face. "I haven't looked up a hashtag in years." Maya pretended to clutch a pearl necklace. "The algorithm really got you." "I'm a victim." Maya waved her arm over the crowd. "This is what happens when people connect on purpose. With shared urgency." "On Nostr you are the algorithm." She leaned closer. "You decide the hashtags you follow. You choose what reaches you." She was talking faster now. Eyes bright. Hands moving. Sean stopped listening to the words. He was watching her hands. The way they cut through the air. The way her whole body leaned into what she was saying. He wondered what it would feel like to have someone believe in him this much. She stopped. Caught him staring. "What?" He shook his head. Still smiling. "What?" she asked again. "Is your mind blown?" "Consistently around you." He let out a big exhale. "I'm about to say something and I need no judgement." He set down his glass. "This was actually my first Bitcoin conference." Maya's head turned sideways. She mouthed 'oh.' "It was an enlightening weekend." He gestured at Maya. "Especially thanks to you." Maya's face felt warm. "And now," Sean picked back up his drink. "I'm trying to figure out how to go back to normie life after watching people tip a live DJ in Bitcoin." "This is your FIRST?" "Yeah." "THAT's why you were hanging out with Dave and the bros." "I had literally met him 2 hours earlier. I was young! I was naive." He paused. "And I think I've only been getting the algorithm version of Bitcoin." "You were." Maya smirked. "Most Bitcoin content is suppressed." "By who?" "Platforms. Governments. Anyone scared of money they can't control. So what gets through?" Maya shifted her weight toward him. "Algorithm bait." "Algorithm bait." Maya confirmed. "The stuff designed to make you angry, make you argue, keep you scrolling." She took a sip of her drink. "That's why Nostr matters. No algorithm to game." "How does that work?" "Your posts aren't stored on one server. They're everywhere. Ban me from one app? I open another one. Same posts. Same followers. Nothing lost." "So no one can get kicked off? Deplatformed?" "Nearly impossible to censor." Sean turned to look at the DJ booth and dance floor. Their shoulders were almost touching now. "That's what the internet was supposed to be. People in charge of themselves." "Yeah," Maya said. "That's exactly what it was supposed to be." Sean turned and stared at her. "What?" she asked. "Your passion. It's just—" His hand moved toward her arm. Stopped. Pulled back. "This matters to you." "It should matter to everyone. Free speech is meaningless if you need permission to publish. It's not just governments. Platforms. Corporations. They all have a kill switch on your voice. And-" "I actually..." Sean interrupted. "I work for the government." Maya stopped mid-sip. Set down her glass. "What?" "Federal government." She studied him for a moment. Her body shifted. Creating distance. "A fed." She wasn't joking. "Should I be worried?" "I hope not." He looked down at his drink. "I've been telling people I work in 'consulting' all weekend." "Why?" "Because when you're surrounded by people building on freedom tech, admitting you work for the government feels like..." He trailed off. "Like you're the enemy?" "Yeah." "What do you do? For the government." "I optimize processes. Make things work better." Sean shifted, defensive. "I've cut wait times for benefits by 30%. Streamlined application systems. Helped thousands of people get access to services they need." Maya was silent. "Someone has to make these systems work from the inside." "And how much does that system take from them?" She leaned forward. "How much do they pay in? How much gets taken whether they consent or not?" Now Sean was quiet. Then: "They don't have a choice. That's the thing. They need the benefits. They have to engage with the system. There's no..." "No consent." "Yeah." "You're optimizing a system that demands compliance, Sean." The honesty hung in the air. Maya sighed, "I had a feeling you didn't work with freedom tech." She moved closer to fill the gap between them. "Neither do I. Most people here don't." Sean's shoulders relaxed. "I can't imagine you in an office, working on anything but this." "Oh so you're imagining me?" Sean choked on his drink. "I work remote," she clarified, grinning. "At a well-funded startup with no business model. Of course." She winked. Sean laughed. A real laugh. The tension already fading. She liked his laugh. *** "You know what's funny?" She turned her glass in her hands. "This experience of having no consent. That's the whole internet." "What do you mean?" "Every app you use. Every platform. They take your attention without asking. Sell it to advertisers. You never consented. You never got paid." Sean was quiet. Processing. "That's what I want to fix." She looked at him. "What if buying attention required consent? And fair value exchange?" "How would that even work?" Maya smiled. "Ask me again when I can feel my face." Sean thought. "Would it sober you up if we roasted Dave a little more?" Maya laughed. "I'm sure Dave and those guys shit a lot on Nostr." "Oh, aggressively." "Ghost town. Yeah." She rolled her eyes. "He relies on algorithms to show him what to look at. Did he try following anyone?" "Almost certainly not." Maya raised her glass. "To Dave. May he enjoy his algorithm." Sean clinked. "May he never find the cool parties." They drank. Sean set his glass down. "Wait. Journalists." "What about them?" "If they could get paid directly. Zapped by people who trust them..." He was talking faster now. "No platform. No advertiser pressure. Just—" He gestured vaguely. "Real independence." Maya watched him work through it. "Why wasn't this the entire conference? Nostr could fix so many things. What am I missing?" Sean felt something on his chest. He looked down. Maya's hand. He looked at her. They both froze. His heart pounded under her palm. She felt it. He knew she felt it. "Look," she said. Didn't move her hand. "You're not missing anything." She let go. Slowly. Her fingertips dragged against his shirt. "Right. Yeah." She cleared her throat. "We're just that early. Bitcoin started in 2009. Nostr in 2021. If we were on Bitcoin's timeline there wouldn't even be mining companies yet. Everyone would be on their laptops." "Who will be the miners on Nostr?" Sean teased. This was the best conversation he'd had in... maybe ever. "What will they be mining?!" Maya threw jazz hands in the air and declared, "Attention!" "Wait, what?" Sean leaned in. "Explain." "I have a protocol!" "You have a protocol?" She grinned. Someone bumped into Maya trying to get to the service door. She stumbled forward. Into him. He caught her. Steadied her. His hands on her arms. Warmer than she expected. For a second, they were very close. Closer than they should have been where it seemed everyone around them knew her. "Hi," he said. She laughed. "Hi." "I should probably let go now." "Probably." He didn't. Not right away. Neither did she. "Can we—" He gestured toward the tables. "I'll actually hear you over there." "Yeah. Yes." Sean parted the crowd for her as they walked over. Found a table. Sat. The string lights above them cast everything in warm amber. Quieter here. Almost intimate. *** Sean flagged down a server. "What's good?" The server shrugged and handed over a small late night menu. "All of it's fine." "We'll take it all. And two waters." The server left. Maya looked at him with a smirk. "You're drunk. I'm hungry. Seemed efficient." Sean shrugged. "Gotta love that government efficiency." They both smiled. Food quickly arrived. Five small plates. They both reached for the same spring roll. Hands touched. Both pulled back. "You first," he said. "No, you—" "Maya. Eat." She grabbed a spring roll. He took a dumpling. Someone walked over. Dropped a backpack on the empty chair. "Can I leave this here? Be right back." Maya nodded. Person left. "That's going to happen four more times," Maya said. "What is?" "We have a table. Everyone's going to leave their stuff here." Sean looked around. "We're the coat check." "We're the coat check." They both smiled. Someone waved at Maya from across the room. She gave a quick nod back but didn't move. "So." Sean leaned back, finally feeling like he had his footing tonight. "Can you feel your face yet?" Maya laughed. "Getting there." "Then pitch me. The protocol." She studied him for a second. Most people would've forgotten. Or lost interest. "You sure you want to hear this? It's... a lot." "Try me." She smiled. "Okay. How does this all get funded? I see that's the question you keep asking yourself. I keep asking it too. How can I quit my bullshit job and grow Nostr?" "A grant? VC Funding!" Maya looked at him and then pointed to herself. "I don't have it in me to play that game." She laughed, but it wasn't funny. "My startup's burning money they don't have. No one listens when I tell them why. And VCs?" She shook her head. "They'd rather fund another token scam from a Dave." "I'm sorry you deal with that." Sean seemed genuinely surprised to see Maya sound so defeated. "The tech industry is not a meritocracy." "You will be shocked to know neither is government." "At least you made it through DOGE." "Barely." Sean looked down at his drink. "They cut so many good people." "Shit." Maya paused. "I give my company six months. Maybe less." "Then what?" "Find another one. Groundhog Day, tech edition." A zap notification flashed across the screen above them. 5000 sats. Someone was having a good night. "Or—" Maya sat up. Rolled her shoulders back. "I escape the fiat world with my best idea yet." She took another spring roll straight into her mouth. She wanted to get sober for Sean's reaction. "This is the problem," she said. "How do we compete with big tech? Meta, TikTok, Twitter. They keep people addicted and then make billions, with a B, off of ads. We - people trying to grow Nostr - will never be able to compete with that much money. Freedom tech isn't enough, it needs to be BETTER than what they're offering." "So you have to build something that generates a lot of revenue." "Well. Steady revenue. And what generates that in tech?" "Subscriptions?" Sean answered sarcastically. Maya rolled her eyes. Two people walked up simultaneously. One with a messenger bag, one with a hoodie. Sean stood up. Took the messenger bag. Put it on the chair. Took the hoodie. Hung it on the back of another chair. "We're full service now," he said, sitting back down. Maya was grinning. "What?" he asked. "Nothing. You're just—" She shook her head. "—good at this." "At coat check duty?" "At keeping up." "I'm trying." He smiled. "Ads! Obviously ads fund the entire internet experience we have. No such thing as a free app." "We've been for sale under the lie of free." Maya grinned. She loved that line. "How can you put ads into something with no algorithm? Aren't people controlling everything they see?" "You give them the choice. Opt in to watch ads. Get paid to." She held his gaze. "Consensual." "How can ads be consensual?" "You get a notification. 'Someone wants 60 seconds of your attention for 500 sats. 50 cents.' You accept or you don't. Your choice, every time." Sean nodded slowly. "So the ad doesn't just... appear." "Never. That's the whole point." "Has anyone done this before?" "People have tried. Not setting your own price. But watch this ad and I'll give you digital coins you can use to buy new weapons in a video game. There's a browser called Brave that tried this too. Paid you in their own token. But tokens are useless outside their system." "But your idea is different," Sean said. "Yours uses..." "Bitcoin!" Maya sang. "Of course." It was clicking for Sean. "Make it actual currency people will want to spend. Rather than something that can only be used in a walled garden." Maya leaned in, their knees touching. "So how much should someone get paid to watch an ad? How much is 60 seconds of someone's attention worth?" Sean paused and thought. "Digital ads are a billion-dollar industry." "Hundreds of billions," Maya corrected him. "How do you pick a fair price, for the people watching but also someone advertising?" "We don't. We let them pick. You set your price. Advertisers set their budget. If they match, you watch, you get paid. Simple as that." Two women approached. "Maya, are you coming to—" Maya shook her head. "Not tonight." They exchanged a knowing look and walked away. Sean noticed. "You're popular." "I'm here all weekend. They'll survive." She leaned forward. "Now, where were we?" "I think you were going to say then the marketplace decides the going rate..." "For attention," they both sang together. Maya was beaming. He actually got it. "That's the idea. Advertisers bid. You decide your price. If it matches, you watch the ad, you get paid Bitcoin." Sean tilted his head. "But people pay to AVOID ads." "People with money." "So your target market is broke people who want to watch commercials?" "My target market is anyone who'd rather get paid than get played." She held his gaze. "You're thinking like the VCs." "Ouch." "If the shoe fits." He smiled. "What's your price?" "For what?" "Your attention. Right now. What would I have to pay?" Maya's face warmed. "You can't afford it." "Try me." She laughed. He was keeping up. Sean's eyes lit up. "It's like the Million Dollar Homepage." Maya's drink stopped halfway to her mouth. "You know about the Million Dollar Homepage?" "Of course! Some kid in 2005 sold pixels on a website for a dollar each. Made a million dollars. Advertisers paid for tiny squares of attention." She set down her glass. "That's... actually a really good analogy." "Except yours is better. His was static. Yours is dynamic. And instead of keeping the money, you're giving it to the people who look." Maya stared at him. "Yeah. That's exactly it." "I was very online as a teenager." She laughed. "Okay. I see you." "What happens when Meta copies this?" Maya laughed. "Then we win." "Wait, what?" "It's an open protocol. Anyone can implement it. If Meta builds their own version? That's adoption. That's validation. The protocol spreads. The idea wins." She leaned back. "We're not trying to own attention. We're trying to free it." He sat with it for a second. "So this is real? You're actually going to build this?" "I've been prototyping with AI for months." She started playing with her fingernails. "It can only take me so far." "I have a cool trick I use. With AI." Sean leaned in. "I make context documents for my projects. Use AI of course to make them." "Context documents?" "Files that explain everything. A brain dump. Or research dump. Like I'm onboarding a new employee." Sean sipped his drink. "Upload them every time I prompt. And I pretend I'm just chatting with someone at work. Who does anything I ask." Sean laughed. An evil laugh. It made Maya laugh. They laughed together. Maya tilted her head. "That's... actually brilliant." "It works so well. Takes the labor out of explaining the same things over and over." "Why hadn't I thought of this?" Maya's mind was already racing. "This could help me build faster." "There ya go." Sean was pleased with himself. "Any more problems for me to solve?" He was smiling. "I need a co-founder. Preferably one that understands Nostr like I do." He held her gaze. "Wait. What does this have to do with Nostr?" "It would be a Nostr protocol. Open. Anyone could implement it. Your price, ad preferences—all of it travels with you from app to app. Along with your identity." "Maya. What." "And because it's on Nostr they can zap away whatever they've earned to a DJ, or a good article or post they like. Just like people were doing tonight. Real money flowing in a real loop. Earn it, spend it, tip it forward." Sean was quiet. Processing. "No one else has done this?" "I haven't found anyone working on a similar idea. Ads are something people ran away from when they came to Nostr." "That just means you're early." "Too early to find anyone to help me build it." Everything else disappeared. Just them. Table. Food. City lights in the distance. "You will," he said. "You have to build this." *** She stared at him. Most people checked out after twenty minutes of protocol talk. "You think so?" "I know so." "How long have we been sitting here?" she asked. Sean checked his phone. "Three hours." "Three—" Maya looked around. The crowd had thinned. The coat check pile on their table had disappeared, people reclaiming their things. "I didn't even notice." "Me neither." She smiled. "What?" he asked. "Nothing." But she was still smiling. "Just... this was nice." The music shifted. Something slower. "Want to walk?" she asked. "Yeah." She led him to the balcony edge. Away from the speakers. Away from the vendor booths and education talks. Away from everyone. The desert air hit her skin. Warm, even at night. She could still feel where his hands had been on her arms. Fremont Street stretched out below them. The famous LED canopy. People everywhere. "This is better," he said. She leaned against the railing. Took a deep breath. Tried to steady herself. "Much better." She could feel him next to her without looking. The heat of him. The space between them that kept getting smaller. Sean checked his phone again. The flight reminder stared back at him. Maya noticed. "You okay?" "Yeah. Just—" He put the phone away. "I'm here." She was quiet. Looking out at the lights. If he kissed her now, he wouldn't stop. And he'd miss that flight. He moved closer anyway. "Maya—" She turned to face him. Her breath caught. They were so close now. She could see his pulse in his neck. The way his jaw tightened. His eyes locked on hers. Her skin felt electric. Every nerve waiting. The nightclub noise faded. It was just them. His hand left the railing. She leaned in. Let herself. She hadn't done that in a long time. Permission. He'd catch the next flight. His hand found her waist. The fabric of her dress thin under his palm. She felt it everywhere. She didn't pull away. He pulled her closer. Her hand found his chest. His heart was pounding. So was hers. She could feel his breath on her lips. One inch. Maybe less. She wanted to close her eyes but she couldn't stop looking at him. And then his phone alarm screamed in his pocket. Loud. Insistent. They both froze. Sean looked defeated. Maya swayed toward him. Then laughed. Stepped back. "Need to get that?" "It's my flight." He pulled out his phone. Silenced it. "I set an alarm. To remind me to leave." "Then you probably should," she made an exaggerated frown. "I don't want to." Sean stared at the screen like it had betrayed him. "I know." She smiled. "But you set an alarm for a reason." He had. Three days ago. Before he met her. When missing a flight was the worst thing that could happen. The music stopped. House lights came up. Around them, people started gathering their things. Their eyes still locked. "I should help Imani." She took a step back and looked away. "And you need to go. Please. I don't want to be the reason you're stranded." They stood there. Neither moving. "DM me," she said. "You have my npub! We could talk more. About the protocol." "About the protocol." "Yeah." "I will." He didn't move. "Go." She smiled. Softer now. He went. She told herself she wouldn't check if he looked back. He did. Twice. She waved. Small. Stupid. Then he was gone.

Shittier Twitter

Maya sat at the hotel bar, watching the crowd. Scanned the room every few minutes. Told herself she wasn't. She'd barely ordered her drink when she saw him. Sean. Walking in with another man. Her stomach flipped. She didn't realize she was staring until he locked eyes with her. He smiled immediately. He steered them toward her. "Wait, let's stop at the bar," Sean said to Dave. "I see someone. Yesterday at the Nostr booth. Have you heard of Nostr?" "The shittier X for Bitcoiners?" Dave smirked. "It sounds better! You own your identity. No company can shut you down." Sean's pace quickened the closer they got. "Don't get too excited," Dave said. "I tried it last year. It was dead. Nothing there." They reached the bar. "Hey!" Sean pointed finger guns at Maya and immediately regretted it. She bit her lip. Trying not to laugh. Dave leaned against the bar. "So you're the Nostr evangelist. How's that ghost town treating you?" "Dave." Sean's tone shifted. Not quite a warning. Close. Dave ignored him. "I tried it last year. It was dead. Why would anyone leave X for that?" "Nostr isn't competing with Twitter," Maya said evenly. "Everything can, and will be rebuilt on it." Dave blinked. "That's ambitious." She held his gaze. "Some people see it early. Some people wait until it's safe." "Bitcoin was a ghost town once too," Sean said to Dave. "You would've called it dead in 2011." "That's different." "How?" The bar noise faded. Maya's smile widened. Dave looked between them. Realized he was outnumbered. "I see the guys. Looks like the VCs made it, too. You coming?" Sean looked at Maya, then back at Dave. "I'll catch up." Dave shrugged and left. She was right. He hadn't found anything, or anyone, cooler. Sean turned back to Maya. "Sorry about that." She waved it off. "He's not completely wrong, you know. The network effects aren't there yet. Discovery is hard. Most people quit after a week." "So why do you stay?" "Because I'd rather build the thing than wait for permission to use it." They had the bar to themselves now. At least, that's how it felt. "Bitcoiners who prefer Twitter may as well be shitcoiners." "Wow, it's that serious?" Sean pulled out the stool and sat down. Maya leaned toward him, eyes sharp. "Do YOU like Twitter?" Sean smirked. "You'll never catch me paying for a blue checkmark." Maya raised an eyebrow. "Wow. A mark of integrity." They both laughed. "You're already defending Nostr to skeptics. I like that." Maya's phone buzzed. The noise rushed back in. Her attention broke. "Well, I've been zapped. I'm a believer now," Sean said. "There's an after-party tonight. Downtown. Last night of the conference." Maya drained her drink and grabbed her purse. She held his gaze. "I have dinner now, but maybe I'll see you there?" She threw down a card with event details. "Yeah. I didn't know about it." He pocketed the card. "Sure." She smiled. "This is why we don't hang out with shitcoiners. They miss all the cool stuff." She walked out. Sean watched her go. Couldn't look away.

21 Sats

Maya was setting up the Nostr booth. First day of the Vegas Bitcoin conference. Tables, stickers, QR codes. "What's Nostr?" She didn't look up. Autopilot. "Notes and Other Stuff Transmitted by Relays." She straightened a stack of stickers. "Social media you own." "Relays?" "Servers. Anyone can run one. Your posts go everywhere." She reached for another box of shirts. "And you can send Bitcoin through it." "Show me." He held out his phone across the table. That got her to stop. She looked up. He was standing there. Waiting. She came around the table. Stood next to him. Closer than she needed to be. Took his phone. Downloaded a client. "Name?" "Sean." She typed it in, handed it back. "Your identity is a cryptographic keypair. Like owning your own key to the internet." She pulled out her own phone. "No company can shut you down." On his screen: a profile. His first note published. "Running Nostr." Maya leaned over Sean's phone to scan his profile's QR code, and tapped a few buttons. "Wait, did you just—" Sean stared at his screen. "The app has a wallet?" "Built in. Check it." His eyes went wide. "You just sent me Bitcoin?" "You've been zapped. Twenty-one sats." Maya smiled. "Welcome to Nostr." Sean checked his screen one more time. "What do I do now?" Maya grinned. "Now you'll spend the next two days trying to find anything cooler." Someone else walked up to the booth. Sean stepped back. "You saying I won't?" Maya shrugged. "What's Nostr?" the question came from the small crowd forming. Maya lingered on Sean for a breath. Then faced the crowd. "Social media you own." Sean made more room. But he didn't leave. She onboarded three more people. He watched the whole thing. Maya felt the weight of his attention the entire time. She resisted. Kept her focus on the crowd.

V.E.M.S Micro : NERISSA AND THE URANET SLASHER

In the town of Brimstone, the sounds of grunting fill the empty Stygian Theater. An age-old battle is taking place between the actress Syd and her archenemy: a zipper. She struggles to get the corset-style vest, adorned with multiple single-board computers, to fully close. The zipper holds its ground, unwavering against the “light creamy mountains” in its path. The closer it gets, the higher the mountains rise, making its journey nearly impossible. However, that’s how the costume is designe, to accentuate and enhance Syd’s already large breasts. Great for ratings, horrible for getting ready on time for filming. "This costume needs a redesign!" Syd takes a deep breath. She swells her chest, exhales sharply, and yanks the zipper up as fast as she can. It finally clears the hurdle. “There!” Two single-board computers that nestle on the chest of the costume spring off, crashing into a collection of books in front of her. Syd shrugs, grabbing the vivid purple wig that has miraculously survived the chaos. She throws it on, tucking away her brunette hair, and completes her transformation into Nerissa, Courtesan of the Uranet and host of _Nerissa's Caustic Cinema_. She checks her smartwatch: 1:15 PM. Today’s shoot was supposed to begin at 1. “Not like Jules to be running late, Guess I’ll do some research.” She pulls out her phone and opens an old issue of her favorite zine, _Dreadistary_. The zine focuses on monster sightings in a certain town in the Pacific Northwest, but Syd isn’t interested in those. The real meat for her is the horror movie reviews that fill the rest of the zine. They are a goldmine for finding new movies for the show. Unfortunately, there hasn’t been a new issue in over a year. Syd’s eyes widen as she spots the golden phrase she is looking for:_public domain_. “Wait! _Bloodfalls Massacre_ is in the public domain!?” She grabs the nearest notebook, her pen dances across the page as she jots down the information. The director’s daughter has convinced her dad to put the film in the public domain, sticking it to the production company that has weaseled the rights to _Bloodfalls Massacre 2–5_ from him. They have even rebooted the franchise, starting with a loose remake of _2_, modifying the characters enough to be unshackled by his vision. Syd shakes her head, a smirk playing on her lips. “Jules and Lou are going to love this!” The door swings open, startling Syd. She looks up to see Jules standing in the doorway, a stack of papers in hand. Jules has waist-length, damaged black hair that frames her ivory skin, and her loose white vest and shorts reveal faint blue veins that match her piercing eyes. Syd wears a warm smile as she greets her. “Hey, Jules.” Jules drops the stack of papers in front of Syd. “Views are dropping massively. We can barely afford food for the next month.” She flops onto the floor behind Syd, her body curling into an ‘n’ shape. Syd flips through the stack of papers, her initial skepticism fading as she sees the numbers. The viewership data, spanning from the first episode’s launch in October last year to July 2025, **s**hows a gut-wrenching decline. Thankfully, their reliance on public domain horror movies has stretched their food budget as far as it can go. Jules arches her back dramatically, letting out a scream of agony. **“Enough of this public domain schlock! We need horror with a bite! Something to help punch up our jokes! Anything fulfilling!”** Syd turns to look at her friend, her heart breaks at the sight of Jules’ despair.  “If we can barely afford food, we can’t afford the rights to any film we please.” “We could provide clout instead of money.”  The moment the word _clout_ leaves her lips, Jules seems to regret it. The shine in her eyes vanishes, replaced by a hollow look. Syd returns to the stack of papers, hoping to find something—anything—that can help. Her eyes land on a proposal from Degrade, a newly formed TV station that is shaking up the industry. Skimming through the offer, she sees that they want the license for the show, with some on-brand integrations, in exchange for a massive upfront payment and fewer censored edits. “You thinking of taking the Degrade offer?” Jules covers her eyes with her hair before loudly voicing her disapproval. “Please! I’ll never sell out to those crypto dorks.” “It is a good offer, though.” “You’ll regret the money when they have you dress up in tighter outfits for NFT photoshoots.” Syd’s nose wrinkles, and she recoils as if she’d just smelled something foul. The sight of her disgust sends Jules into a fit of laughter. She pulls more of her hair over her eyes before continuing. “I kinda was considering it. _Caustic Cinema_ got us control of the Stygian, the life we have in Brimstone. Didn’t want to toss away the money. But I know we’d both hate it too much.” “Lou might enjoy it." “That soulless puppy.” Jules retreats into a fetal position and cutting the conversation short. Syd adjusts her outfit, trying to make her breasts more comfortable. The movement reminds her that they are supposed to be filming now. “No filming today?” “Too depressed,” Jules flips over to face Syd. A single blue eye peers out from behind her hair, searching for hope in Syd’s next words. “Unless you found a more recent film?” Syd hands Jules her notebook. “_Bloodfalls Massacre_! That’s in the public domain?!” Jules hops up to doublecheck the notes. “Only the first one,” “80s, in color, dumb teenagers, predatory adults, a decent amount of kills. Is that the one with an abundance of nudity?” The franchise plays in Syd’s head as she tries to figure out which one Jules is thinking of. These types of cheesy movies are more her field of expertise than the social horror Jules prefers. After a moment, it clicks. “That’s _Bloodfalls Massacre 4: Valley Fest_.” “So not much to edit around. Not the bite I’m looking for, but…” Jules trails off, her eyes scanning the notes Syd has written from the _Dreadistary_ article. A small smile creeps onto her face. “This revelation is prime for material!” Syd feels a wave of relief. For a moment, she has managed to ease Jules’ worries. Jules pops up from reading, her energy renewed. “Wait, do we have a copy of _Bloodfalls Massacre_?” “Pretty sure I do. Give me a sec to clean up, then I’ll check,” Syd bends down to gather the scattered papers. As she tries to tidy the mess, her eyes catch some scribbles on the back of the stack. She recognizes Lou’s messy handwriting. “Did you look at the back of this? Lou left a note.” _We found a bunch of old PC towers. They’re in the building behind the theater. Maybe something you and Syd can salvage for the show?_ Jules turns her attention back to the notebook, pulling a pen from her hair and starting to write. Syd gathers the last few scattered books and packs them up neatly. She hops up from the desk, curious about what movies they might find in the PCs. As she leaves, she notices Jules hasn’t budged. “You’re not coming?” Jules looks up at her, confusion etched on her face. “You think the old execs who bummed around here really kept film backups? All you’ll probably find is weird fetish shit!” “Wouldn’t hurt to check it out,” Jules shakes her head, returning to her writing. Realizing Jules isn’t going to join her, Syd decides to kill two birds with one stone. She grabs the set of keys from her desk and tosses them at Jules. The jingling of the keys alerts Jules, and she catches them without fail. “Fine, I’ll go check if there’s something salvageable while you check if I own _Bloodfalls Massacre_,” Jules sways her head in approval, finally moving from the floor. They split up, Jules heads through the front of the theater while Syd goes out through one of the old doors marked “Exit.” Deep down, Syd knows Jules is probably right, but the thought of finding undiscovered movies is too irresistible to ignore. The afternoon sun assaults Syd as soon as she steps outside. Blinking through the brightness, she sees the building is not far from the theater. She quickly jogs over, hoping to avoid the sweat that is already pooling in her suit. Another con of the costume: it can't handle the summer heat. The stench of stale plastic hangs heavy in the air, almost choking Syd as she opens the building door. Inside, sickly yellow PC towers lie scattered across the floor, their tangled wires and dusty casings creating a chilling atmosphere that makes Syd feel uneasy. She hesitates for a moment, feeling the sweat slide down her back, before stepping inside. Closing the door to keep the heat out, Syd is left in total darkness. She mutters in dissatisfaction as she fumbles along the wall, searching for the light switch. When she finally flips it, only a few bulbs flicker to life, their dim glow barely illuminating the room. Syd’s face goes blank as she watches the bulbs struggle to stay on. “They couldn’t fix the lights in the building?” She walks along the makeshift path that has already been cleared, gently kicking aside PCs to give herself more room. The sheer number of them is impressive. Stacks of towers form small mounds, their dislodged panels spilling out old wires like entrails. It feels less like a storage room and more like a decrepit technology graveyard. “This is definitely more than just studio execs’ PCs,” Syd ducks under a pile that had tipped over and joined with an adjacent stack to form a makeshift arch. “Probably editors’ and VFX workstations!” Her mounting excitement gets the better of her when she slips on a loose wire and crashes into a pile of PCs. A wet, congealed substance clings to her arm, and she recoils, whipping the grime off with a grimace. She doubleclicks the crown of her watch to activate its flashlight mode, the dim light illuminating a few feet in front of her. It isn’t much, but it will save her from another grime attack. The path opens up into a more spacious area where the piles of PCs are smaller and scattered. Syd pauses, realizing she doesn’t know what to look for. Obviously, the ones with wires sticking out are no good, but any of the others could be viable. She walks past a small makeshift circle of four PCs surrounding a tower in the center, deliberately ignoring it until the light reflects something that makes her eyes sparkle. It isn’t as yellowed as the surrounding PCs, but that isn’t what catches her attention. It is the fading stickers from the popular 80s horror series _Pumpkin Patch_ that make her feel like she’s found a winner. She leaps toward it, kicking over two of the surrounding PCs to make room for her prize. Syd grabs the tower, only to have it slip out of her hands, leaving a slimy residue on her palms. She retches, trying her best not to add to the sickly shroud that already surrounds her. Shaking it off, she takes a deep breath and picks up the PC again. This time, the cooling touch of metal and plastic eases her discomfort.  It isn’t long before she notices a blue light focused on her watch. Its deep hue completely washes over the dim white light, snaking up her arm and stopping to focus on the single-board computer on her hip. Syd’s blood runs cold as she frantically searches for the source of the light. Her heart races until she spots it near the back exit of the room, almost hidden behind a completely destroyed PC.  It is different from the others or what you’d expect a PC to look like. The classic rectangular silhouette is nowhere to be seen. Instead, it is cylindrical, more compact, standing like an ominous shrine of the future amidst the decaying past. The blue light intensifies, illuminating not only Syd but the entire room. A single thought runs through her mind as she shields her eyes from the intense glow: _Why is this one still plugged in?_ Opening her eyes, Syd sees that the blue light has stopped. Not only that, but the room is now fully lit as the struggling bulbs have finally started to work. She gets a better look at the strange PC. It no longer has the ominous aura it has before. Instead, it looks like a prop from a science fiction movie, its chrome case warmed by a faint red light that makes it seem almost harmless in the corner of the room. Syd hesitates for a moment. The strange PC looks like a better treasure trove than the one in her hand, but the memory of the blue light sends shivers down her spine. She decides to leave it alone. Turning quickly, she prepares to leave the storage room. She walks a little more carelessly now that she can see further ahead, but an uneasy feeling begins to swell inside her. Not only does she feel like she is missing something, but there is an irritating pain in her right hand—a warm, burning sensation that seems to engulf it. She puts down the PC to check for any cuts where grime might seep in, but there are none. As she rubs her hand, she glances at the mess in front of her and the entrance. It is only when she sees the wired entrails of the PCs scattered everywhere that it dawns on her. Syd turns around and looks back at the chrome PC nestled alone in the corner. “Wasn’t it behind a broken tower?” Immediately, something grabs her left hand. She turns to see a hand made of wires, its cold, metallic grip tightening around her wrist. She stares in bewilderment as a force pushes the maze of PCs against the entrance, barricading it. The tremendous force causes one of the three lights to go out. Shards from the towers fly toward the hand, coiling together to complete its humanoid form. Discarded side panels mold together, forming a trench coat around the figure.  Syd tries to free herself from the figure’s grasp, but the wires are entangled with her watch. The figure flicks its finger, signaling a PC to hurl itself directly at her. The impact knocks the wind out of her, sending her flying free of the humanoid’s grip. She lands a few feet away as the PC continues its trajectory, crashing into the wall with a loud thud. The impact knocks out the second light, leaving only part of the storage room lit.  Numerous white and red composite ports rush into the figure’s empty sockets, forming eyes. Eyes that stare directly at Syd as she writhes in pain. She struggles to catch her breath, panic flooding her body as the dim light makes it harder to see the figure.  The figure walks slowly toward her, each clatter of its footsteps instilling fear. It holds out its hands, signaling shards of RAM to cobble together into a serrated knife. A harsh voice, lost in digital noise, escapes from the figure: “We were supposed to rule Hollywood together.” Syd freezes, her mind racing to make sense of the words. Then, with a surge of adrenaline, she bolts for the back exit next to the strange PC. She only gets a few steps in before wires trip her, sending her crashing to the ground face first. Stars obscure her vision until the sight of the figure’s mangled face causes them to scatter.  A horrible smile appears on its wirefilled face. Grime pools between the haphazardly placed USB ports, forming teeth that it wipes away in excitement. It rips one of the single-board computers from Syd’s costume and gently slides it into its chest. The figure quivers as its frame seems to bulk up from the action. "But then you ran to the first director who looked in your direction." The figure begins to slide the knife up Syd’s costume, the sound of fabric tearing echoing through the storage room. Syd tries to fight back, but she is helpless, pinned down by the figure. Her left arm is outstretched, held in place by the wires entangled with her watch, while her legs are bound together, preventing her from kicking. She frantically looks around for something to use as a weapon, but her blood runs cold when she sees her right hand. It has become a wild jumble of pixels, the burning pain now subsides. “Not a…” A sharp nick cuts off her words as the blade slices her chest. The figure uses extra force when the knife reaches Syd’s chest, the dullness of the RAM blade struggling to cut through the extra padding. Blood flows from the shallow cut as Syd begins to lose hope. Scenes from her life flash before her: meeting Jules when they are nine, Jules begging her to star in a middle school film, her mom and Jules comforting her as she watches her favorite movie at sixteen. Tears well up in her eyes as she thinks this might be the end. The faint sound of banging stops Syd’s tears instantly. She concentrates on the noise, trying to pinpoint its source. With each bang, it grows louder and louder until she realizes it is coming from the entrance of the building. _It must be Jules and Lou!_ The thought gives Syd a glimmer of hope. Now, all she has to do is survive long enough for backup to arrive. But when she sees the knife pointed directly at her chest, she knows she has no chance. _Unless…_ She looks at her right hand again, staring hard to find something that resembles her finger. When she spots it, she concentrates on trying to move it. The figure reels back the knife as Syd desperately wills her finger to twitch. Suddenly, she sees it move. She lets out a gasp as the figure prepares to stab her. “In the end, you’re not cut out for the business,” It drives the knife down, but Syd grabs its hand just before the blade can plunge into her chest. The figure is taken aback by her strength and struggles to complete its action. Using all her might, Syd pushes the knife further and further away. Her breath becomes ragged as the banging grows louder and louder. _Just a bit more…_ That is all she can think about as she holds the figure back. Visibly enraged, the figure roars as wires protrude from its chest. The shrill squeal shatters Syd’s eardrums, but she continues to hold it back. The wires rip off the last of the single-board computers, dragging them back to the humanoid. Its eyes roll back as it quivers, bulking up again with newfound strength. The figure overwhelms Syd, but by then, it is too late. A thunderous boom shakes the entire storage room, extinguishing the last of the light. PCs rain down, freed from the barricade they have formed. The clattering noise pulls the figure’s attention away from Syd. In the midst of the chaos, drenched in sunlight, a figure enters the storage room. The humanoid leaps away from Syd, ready to fight whoever has interrupted its killing. Clutching the fragments of her costume, Syd’s hope is replaced by confusion. The silhouette is much larger than Jules and wields what appears to be a massive hammer. Syd knows nothing like that exists in Brimstone. “Man, that’s one nasty virus,” A gruff voice bellows from the silhouette who is revealed to be a woman. As the woman steps into the light, her appearance becomes clear. She is incredibly muscular, looking like a hero straight out of a comic book. Her piercing deep blue eyes and shining blonde hair give her an almost otherworldly presence. She lowers her hammer, revealing that it is almost as large as she is. The woman notices Syd and flashes a bright white smile. “Don’t worry! I’ll kill it in a heartbeat!” The words are lost on Syd against the ringing in her ears, but the woman’s thumbs-up reassures her that help has indeed arrived. Stunned by the size of the hammer, the figure signals for more broken RAM to raise its knife to match. In an instant, it lunges at the woman, attempting to slice off her head. Effortlessly, the woman spins the hammer and blocks the attack. Her warm smile turns to a playful grin as the figure’s eyes bulge in confusion. “You’re pretty strong for an anomaly,” The figure jumps back, crouching like an animal backed into a corner. Wires rip through its trench coat, searching for any PCs that are still intact. It hurls five of them at the woman, waiting a beat before charging at her. The woman spins the hammer, shattering each of the PCs as they approach.  After the beat, the figure absorbs the shattered PCs, growing larger in mass. It prepares its knife, now in the shape of a machete, to attack the woman. Unexpectedly, the woman lunges at the figure, swinging the hammer down and completely destroying not only the machete but the figure’s arm as well. A horrible shriek comes from the figure as it slowly backs away from the woman. Grime falls from the figure’s face as fear begins to grip it. It looks around, desperate for something to use, but there are no PCs left. Trembling, it believes it is out of options until its eyes land on Syd, frozen in awe. She has been holding her torn costume together with her left hand, her smartwatch now fully exposed.  The figure grimaces at the thought of using her watch as a last resort. It is a treat to savor after killing Syd, but it is the only way to ensure its survival. It sends most of the newly absorbed wires to its legs, its mass tripling as it prepares to pounce on Syd in one fell swoop.  Unfortunately for it, the woman sees what it is about to do. “Oh no, you don’t!” The woman twists the handle of her hammer, causing the head to glow with a fierce light. She charges at full speed, twisting her body for the final attack. With a mighty swing, she brings the hammer down on the figure, crushing it completely. The impact shakes the ground, drowning out the figure’s shriek. The woman smiles with satisfaction as she slings the hammer over her shoulder. She glances around the storage room, her eyes lighting up when she notices the chrome PC, untouched by the chaos. She turns to Syd. “Look, you—” She starts, then gasps. She hasn’t gotten a good look at Syd before, but now she does. Shaking her head, she approaches Syd, who is still sitting on the floor, clutching her torn costume. “Wait, are you Nerissa from _Caustic Cinema_?!” The woman asks trying hold back her excitement. Syd’s eyes **widen** in shock. “Y. Yes,” The woman’s eyes **light** up even more. “I’m a huge fan! Can I get an autograph?” Still stunned by the fact that her savior **is** also a fan, Syd **breathes** a sigh of relief. At least there is a way to repay her. “Do you have a pen?” The woman scrambles around, pulling a notebook and pen from her back pocket. Syd reaches for the pen but freezes halfway. Her right hand is back to normal. She stares at it in confusion, slowly turning it to make sure it is really healed. She realizes she’s been staring too long when the woman gives her a questioning look. Syd smiles sheepishly before grabbing the pen to sign the notebook. _Thanks for saving me. From Nerissa._ She pauses, realizing she doesn’t know who to make it out to. Then she remembers hearing the word “virus” over the ringing earlier. “Should I make it out to Virus Buster?” The woman’s eyes light up even more. “YES!” Syd finishes the autograph, and the woman holds the notebook as if it is a golden treasure. Then, as if remembering something, the woman leans closer to Syd’s ear and whispers, “Hey, I know it’s the backdrop of the show, but you really shouldn’t mess with Uranet servers. Nothing but trouble.” The revelation hits Syd like a tidal wave, leaving her speechless. The woman leaves the storage room, still admiring the autograph. She did a little jump, unable to contain her excitement. “Best job ever!” The roar of a motorcycle fades into the distance as a desperate scream echoes through the storage room. “Syd!” Jules bursts into the room, her face pale with worry. Right behind her is Lou, who stops in confusion as the sound of the motorcycle disappears. “What the hell is Stars and Stripe doing here?” “Shut up, Lou! And help me with Syd!” She circles Syd, checking her for injuries. The sight of the blood and the marks from the wires drains what little color Jules has left. What worries her most is how unresponsive Syd is. She hasn’t even noticed Jules, despite her frantic circling. Jules tries to see what Syd is staring at, but there is nothing unusual among the scattered computer parts.  Suddenly, Syd grabs Jules, causing her to jump. Syd’s grip is uncharacteristically strong, and Jules can see her skin beginning to bruise. The warm, familiar look in Syd’s eyes is gone, replaced by a distant, calculating gaze. Jules worries that Syd has been traumatized by what happened, but it is the opposite. Syd’s mind is racing, trying to process the discovery and the concerns Jules has expressed earlier.  A mad smile spreads across Syd’s face as she reaches a conclusion. Jules’ unease grows until she hears a stunned gasp from Lou. “Holy!” Jules looks at him, confused, until she follows his gaze back to Syd. Her eyes widen as she realizes why Lou has gasped. Syd has used both hands to hold Jules in place, leaving nothing to hold her costume together. Her supple breasts are exposed, their warm vanilla hue glowing in the dim light of the storage room. Even the slightest movements like Jules turning cause them to bounce gently. Totally distracting Lou. Jules' face turns red with a mixture of embarrassment and anger. She can't believe he is more focused on gawking than checking if Syd is okay. Just as she is about to yell at him, Syd pulls her closer and locks eyes with her. The warmth Jules remembers from Syd's eyes and smile is back, easing her worries. “I know how to save the show!”

'Submersible' SerialStory

# 'Submersible' SerialStory <img src="https://www.johnbnevin.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/03/Fish.png" alt="Symbiotechnogenesis shown in fish" width="476" height="476" class="aligncenter size-full wp-image-1798" /> I am writing a serial story called 'Submersible' that is unique to Stacker News. <a href="https://stacker.news/items/446662/r/JohnBNevin" rel="noopener" target="_blank">Here is a link to part #1.</a> <font size="1"><i>SN is like Reddit, but with Bitcoin zaps instead of up and downvotes. Post articles, discussions, links, images, videos, and comment on them. Zap sats to the authors you appreciate. Don't worry if you don't have any Bitcoin sats, you can post for free for awhile until you earn some. <a href="https://stacker.news/signup/r/JohnBNevin" rel="noopener" target="_blank">Sign up now with this link -- it's free.</a></font></i> Here are parts one and two. For more, <a href="https://stacker.news/items/446662/r/JohnBNevin" rel="noopener" target="_blank">you'll need to visit Stacker.News</a>. <hr> <h3>Submersible, Part 1 - Oceanside</h3> Mr. and Mrs. Kevin and Rebecca Boseman were on the smooth marble walkway clicking toward the centerpiece mansion of Oceanside Estates. "Beautiful," she remarked of it, and of the manicured landscaping, and of the modern, low-profile architecture ahead. "You too," he replied. Rebecca was a grounded woman, given her stature; her formals were not entirely comfortable for her. A mostly unsocial workaholic, Kevin strode aside her with a posture chosen to match the occasion. Like the other guests to the billionaire's island, they felt fortunate to have been invited, but were curious and skeptical that no itinerary had been revealed. The Bosemans had arrived just after a famous vocalist and aspiring starlet named Melody Moods had begun working the crowd inside. Melody's voice filled the lawn through the front door as they approached, supported by ambient sounds of a socialite crowd. "Ah, the Bosemans. A delight to welcome your arrival. Please," the doorman said as he beckoned for Mrs. Boseman's fashionable overcoat. "My name is Silas, and I am at your service. Please feel welcome, and free to introduce yourselves to our other well respected guests." "Good evening Mr. and Mrs. Boseman," continued a woman dressed similarly to Silas, standing just behind him. "May I introduce you to Mr. and Mrs. Pelican?" she offered, as Silas turned to ready himself for the next attendee growing larger on the lawn. "The Pelicans began with resorts on the East Coast of the United States," explained the second host, "...and now hold many properties on coasts throughout the world. And The Bosemans, of course, are world famous for their media enterprises in Canada, and own both major sports franchises in Winnipeg." The couples greeted each other warmly and with mutual civility, though they were meeting for the first time. "We are familiar!" remarked Mr. Stephen Pelican with a smile. "As are we," Rebecca responded, "... with Pelican Sands, that is." "My name is Melissa," spoke the slender beauty as she guided the Bosemans and the Pelicans forward graciously, "Silas and I represent Frederic Forenza's Estate. He expects that your every request will be met to the best of our ability. It is our hope that you will feel free, at any time, to summon us and our team with this remote signalling device. Please understand that no request is too large, and that none is too small." They each received an item that resembled the vehicle keyfobs surrendered to valet. "Refreshments are aside the staircase, and the restrooms are just beyond," Melissa said, while gesturing that way. "When the bulk of our expected guests have arrived, we will announce further arrangements and scheduling to all. Until then, please make yourselves comfortable, enjoy the company, and explore the property freely." The experience was extraordinary, even to these who were accustomed to lavish grandeur. The group exchanged grateful recognition that as representative of the estate, Melissa had exhibited competence and aptitude to match the culture and care in its every detail. Melissa held her arm out expectantly, but patiently, to usher the couples into the Great Room, and upon comfortable conclusion returned to greet new visitors to the Forenza Estate. An equally well-spoken permutation of her introductory spiel could be heard behind them as the Bosemans and the Pelicans moved together toward the Great Room, and the social action within. The room before them was an arena split by a giant staircase surrounded by mingling guests -- dining, observing, or holding court. The couples' marvelled at the artisan craftworks of this Great Room, reminiscent of the grand museums of Europe, or the mosques of the East. Uniquely styled angle patterns that spoke of geometric truisms buttressed tasteful swirls of artistic entropy, in unassuming tones, trimming countless cut-ins, apses, and bays. Paintings and prints adorned the facets, while sculptures, statues, busts, and vases were illuminated within niches and recessions. Protrusions, projections, and architectural outcroppings were scattered about the room, with dimensional showcases and artistic light to accent them. "Forenza's commissions," said a young man in a dark blue suit and loud yellow accoutrements, overheard by the Boseman/Pelican foursome. "He pays the artists to create something new, just for him. And they come here to do it. The artist signs a non-disclosure and no photos are ever taken. You have to be here to even see it. These pieces are unique to the world... this is all unique... it's all one-of-a-kind." Kevin Boseman moved to introduce himself to the young man and his acquaintance while motioning to the rest of his group to carry on. "Engineered pricelessness," he mused, "It's like printing money out of thin air, except just a bit more proof-of-work." <h3>Submersible, Part 2 - One Bite At A Time</h3> The sharply dressed young man turned to Kevin Boseman and brightened with interest at his comment. "Exactly. It costs Forenza less to commission the art than it will be worth the moment it is completed. If it were ever to hit auction among the general public, it would fetch far more than an identical piece created for any other reason, just because of the Oceanside origin story. The icing on the cake? Art retains its value through tough times and good." "To the extent there is disposable income among the rich," challenged Boseman. "Or among the museums, or the foundations for the museums... or the grants to them. Or their charitable donor trusts!" The squat one widened and opened his stance. "And keep in mind it is a global market. It's hard to imagine conditions where there are no buyers to be found anywhere, even when locally there are none. The cushion of additional value Forenza's commissions carry insulates him from any diminished market value caused by economic downturn." "Pecunia collocare... sui generis," said the peaceful, pensive man, somewhat younger and taller than the first. He'd been surveying the room with what might have been disinterest, but evidently he'd also been absorbing the conversation. Kevin wondered whether the younger man spoke his language at all, when the polyglot enunciated clearly in accented English: "Placing money in something unique. Unique placements of money." The squat one continued. "That's how Forenza secures his wealth through time. The market for his commissioned art will be there when needed. And if it isn't? We all have larger problems." "I see, I agree," said Kevin Boseman. "But he must physically secure it." He pointed at security cameras in two corners. "That comes with cost, whereas other investments may outsource security to a custodian." "Hence the island," he beamed, and straightened his bright collar. "The ocean is his first defense." He gave his hand to conclude their playfully delayed introduction, and guilefully met eyes. "Thaddeus Tilney," he said, palms up, "... and you, of course, are the great Kevin Boseman! I'm a fan, I'm a student... your University Alternatives courses, among others." Thaddeus turned, "This is Thiago Vasquez, a fellow software designer." Thiago shifted focus to shake hands with Boseman respectfully, nodding quietly with attentive and observant eyes, then drifted back to the eye level showpiece he had been examining. A nearby computer parts assemblage had wires of various colors threaded through circuited components, all surrounding an apple inside. Perhaps the apple was a criminal, Thiago thought, perhaps I should bind the wires more tightly. He took a step around to view it through another side of the clear encasement. Perhaps the apple is the caged bird, or perhaps a persecuted prisoner. Another step. Perhaps the apple should not rot in here. Perhaps Thiago Vasquez should save it from its fate, and after a final turn for the view from behind... Perhaps I should eat it. "Thank you, Thaddeus," Kevin said. "I am aware of you too, but not the details of your software, not exactly." Boseman pivoted inquisitively. "Thiago, I'm afraid that I'm not yet acquainted with your work at all." Upon invitation Thiago Vasquez sprang to life, a new man. Punctuating charismatically, "Mr. Boseman, I am a life-long hobbyist - that is my vocation. I principally follow my curiosity. I spend much time contributing to open projects, which are known to pay well in everything but fiat. For my financial security, I have consulted for commercial interests, I collaborate with those who value such things as I, and I've sold software applications of my own. Mostly, however, I invest wisely." He paused, shifted a half-octave, and added humbly, "So far." Thaddeus went next, a half-beat past, explaining, "My software leverages AI to calculate the most efficient path that a vehicle should take given a practically unlimited set of options. Several private manufacturers contracted to license it, and pay me for the privelege to this day. Several state governments have authorized contracts for licensing as well... but I have just this year terminated all plans to renew beyond current commitments. I am instead in negotiations for a fire sale of my software to a radio controlled toy car manufacturer." His description begged an explanation that he was happy to provide: "My other projects are far too interesting for me to hang onto this old thing. It's just not worth it anymore." "Not worth it? How so?" Kevin was curious. "It sounds ideal, and residual. Toy cars?" "I was young, and I didn't 'see the road ahead,'" he air quoted ironically. "After contracting with civic planners with ostensibly pedestrian motives, my software was immediately repurposed for undisclosed military and police functions. In some cases, I am morally opposed. So I will sell to any good aim. Someone will write similar software, they probably already have. Someone will win the contract. It won't be me. I'd rather sleep well. Besides, I'm a bit short of cash." Kevin laughed as he braced the man's principle with left hand on right shoulder, ushering a moment of mutual agreement. "Good on you Thaddeus. That's worth a lot. Thiago, tell me, what sort of projects are your focus?" "They are so varied I cannot summarize. I add value to anything I can. In open software, I build out tools to be more helpful for myself and what I want to accomplish personally. While I'm immersed in the codebase, I inevitably find that I can also make it more robust, or more efficient, or more user-friendly, or, if I may, more elegant. Specifically?" Thiago's hands sought example as he momentarily went distant in thought. "I recently translated documentation for a video codec into Paraguayan Guarani." "Demand for new languages means new contributors!" said Thaddeus Tilney, "Are you involved with students of coding in your native Argentina?" "No, my daughter must learn to bingewatch my old Torrents of 'Friends.'" <i>to be continued</i> <a href="https://stacker.news/items/446662/r/JohnBNevin" rel="noopener" target="_blank">At Stacker.News, you can contribute ideas for the story and have input to which way it will go.</a> An <a href="https://stacker.news/signup/r/JohnBNevin" rel="noopener" target="_blank">account</a> is required.

Null in void 0.07

Emilien stepped into the space motel's bar. The area was dimly lit and the music was unbearably loud. At least all the tables and sunken lounges each had their own lights and sound dampers. He stepped up to a table and pushed down on the receptor to reduce volume. He could not think with the noise. He looked around for Macy and inconspicuously acquainted himself with the current patrons in the establishment. He pulled his hoody further forward when he noticed the android in a wheel chair. "Not my type of company." He thought to himself. In the centre of the room a couple was having a spectacular time, an empty bottle on the table, they were specimens of myth. The guys muscles were chiselled, with tight fabric clinging to his body specifically to display every contour of his physique. His female counterpart wore loose material with translucent green tattoo's running up her body like pin stripes shining through the thin cloth hinting at a perfectly balanced pose and feminine silhouette underneath. Emilien swiped on the tables interface to call for the proprietor. He folded his arms and leaned onto the table tilting his head down slightly to keep shadow on his face. Macy entered the room through the kitchen swivel door. She was holding an empty tray and a serviette draped over her arm. She walked straight over to Emilien's table. "Good rotation sir. Welcome to Macy's. Are you a regular customer or is it your first visit to my fine establishment?" She seemed concerned and worried. The corners of Emiliens lips curved up a little. Keeping his head down teasingly. "Sir? Do we have an existing open channel?" He ignored her. "Sir, If you don't have liquidity I have no services to offer that you cannot get off your own ship." Emilien looked up with a gleam in his eye. Macie's posture relaxed with a sigh of relief. "Emile, you fuck. You freaked me out." "I'm sorry, I could not help myself." He waved a halfhearted greeting, slightly laughing. "You know I have some new rules around for you nano augmented types." His aversion to the word rules was evident only to himself. "Like what?" Macy felt apologetically obliged to explain the nature of her circumstances. "I had diplomats from the outer void regions come for a private meeting. Financial in nature. A spacer customer arrived blocks before them, I did not suspect him of anything criminal." She put the tray down and gripped the table with both hands shifting her weight. "His routine for meals were already established, he managed to spy on them through my privacy protocols and hacked their clients. He participated as a ghost during most of their stay and dealings." Emilien whistled. "That's rough, how did you handle it." "I did not do anything." Her dreads shook as she moved her head in animated frustration. "No one knew until they all had been gone for blocks. My reputation took a serious knock. They made a claim against me, I was accused of being complicit. Emilien glanced back over his shoulder when he noticed the android cart himself around his table. "Warren helped me and found all the dirty code and sequestered it. We have all the data and footage, it proves beyond a doubt that I was not involved. Thank god for the core otherwise my whole station might have been destroyed by now." Emile gave a sly look. "How do you know it was not me who stole the data?" She locked eyes with him. "You still have the same face as before bro and I know you won't fuck with me. I'll force close our channel." She joked with serious tone nudging him with her fist playfully. She was generally perceived as strict and militant because of her Shiv citizenship. Shiv military training and service was compulsory, all respected the Shiv in their traditions, their ways were isolationist and exclusionary in nature. Emilien has seen her use military style jujitsu-boxing to neutralise and boot out unruly customers. The Juel woman noticed the out of character friendly gesture Macy made. The unexpected interaction drew her attention from across the room. "So, what is this rule of yours." Macy seemed reluctant to say. "I'm sorry bud. You'll have to swallow a slipper pill every 576 blocks while you are on this station." His shoulders sagged and could not help but bounce his leg on the rail under the table. "Really?!" "Yes, really. I have to retain my customers trust and neutralising all augmented customers body gadgets was the unanimous way to go." Emilien seemed pissed. "Your customers might not know that I'm augmented. And what if I don't plan on staying that long. I just want to see Warren then I'll be off." Macy shook her head. "Warren is passed out in his ship and will probably wake up with a very bad hangover. He partied with the Jeul pair and their entourage for most of this rotation, you know how he gets." Macy waved her hand towards the couple who seemed to be looking directly at Emilien. He looked straight back at them and swiped the interface's privacy command dropping a vision distortion field around his table. Encapsulating himself and Macy. "I treat everyone the same, no compromise." Emile looked at her in a moment of rumination. "Let's get it over with." Macy removed a container from her moonbag after opening, holding it towards Emilien he took the purple capsule and swallowed it without a drink and opened his mouth wide moving his tongue around to show Macy that he did indeed swallow the prophylactic. "And what about robo-mech boy back there? He cannot eat slipper pills." Emilien sounded annoyed and regretful." Macy gave him a stern look tilting her head in annoyance. "Why do think he's in a wheelchair, you know I can't talk about my customers with my customers? Besides from the obvious." Emilien did not say anything. Macy sighed. "What can I get you sir?" "I'll just have a beer." Macy stepped out through the distortion field and became a messy disfigured indistinguishable form. Emilien pushed the music's volume up and waited for the inevitable. He sensed the actuators in his shoulders, elbows and wrists disable in sequence down his arms. His spines bit rate slowed to a crawl and the lack of connectivity to his neck port was becoming noticeable. His legs went numb instantly. "Now I am nothing more than a pathetic land crawler." He felt weak and vulnerable in his natural form. His mental state bordered on the fringes of stable and paranoid, fearful thoughts threatening to manifest in his mind. He saw a figure approach. He assumed it was his drink. The slender glowing tattooed leg of the Jeul woman pierced the veil. A bright green line that suddenly dims where her skirt begins. She stepped through the curtain with a friendly nonchalant expression. "Mind if make your acquaintance mon ami?" Emilien dropped the barrier and lowered the volume making sure that he was back on visual record of Macy's archive. "Not really, thanks, I'm good." Macy returned to place a cold beer on the table. The interface flashed a price in femto-sat and Emilien tapped his ring on it shifting 11 fSAT from a mini holographic Bob to very happy little Alice. The animation morphed into a small firework display and died. "Back to work now." Emilien grinned at Macy thankfully and took a sip. "Me and my brother we are celebrating our seventh birth block anniversary." He looked around sarcastically. "You chose a display of death above the resorts on Juel to celebrate your seventh birth block?" She stiffened her glittery lips and raised her eyebrows thoughtfully and took a seat without invitation. "It is more of a tour than a celebration, I am Maurelle Giovanni and my brother is called Lionel also Giovanni obviously. He is my twin baby brother." Emilien looked over at the guy who seemed to be occupied playing a mini game on their tables interface. She tilted her head into his line of sight forcing him to look at her. "Who are you?" "None of your concern really." She did not accept the short stated answer. "No one comes alone all the way to a dead end system just to drink a cheap beer. I am guessing you are a treasure hunter, no. Looking for artefacts of the ancient world, yes?" Emilien had assessed her body language and concluded that her whimsical imagination was one he could easily manipulate. He had enough information to realise that he was faced with a spoiled individual whose sole interest in him was simple curiosity, motivated by boredom and she had a fascination of the mysterious. She seemed like prey but his hunting instincts felt dead inside his disarmed body. His respect for and dependence on Macy also inhibited his urge to exploit it. He shifted his attitude and personality slightly, just enough to not be overbearing. "You make very good estimations, you are wrong but not far off. My name is Scott. And yes I am fascinated, not by the planet and it's relics but by the the secrets of these gates." Her eyes gleamed with amusement and intrigue. "You like secrets, huh? You must meet Warren. He knows more than the esteemed professors about the gates and their technology." Emilien nodded in agreement. "You said you are Giovanni. Like the Giovanni?" She seemed excited at the prospect of making a new friend and swiped the interface. "Hold this thought, I am going to get myself another drink you are good? No. Food maybe?" "I am good, no wait, another beer." He tipped the bottle toward her in salutation. She stood up taking his bottle with her to the bar. He looked back and was immediately aware that he did not notice that the android wheel himself out and into the conduit. He would have liked to see which of the two entrances of the tube he used to go to his ship. His feeling sorry for and pitying himself put him in a position where he let slip an opportunity to understand and predict the circumstances of his current tactical situation. Never at ease, always being prepared. He felt spite. The girl returned with a beer and a half full whiskey glass, no ice. She reclaimed her seat looking at him. "I am a direct descendant of the patriarch Maurice Giovanni, one of the four primary key holders of our people. There is nothing special about me really, ten..." Emilien cut her off in gentle tone. "Ten percent of the Juel population are descendants of the four patriarchs." Emilien finished her sentence for her. "You are an interesting man Monsieur Scott. What else do you know about me?" Emilien leaned towards her. Noticing her brother yawning across the room. "I know that you are bourgeois and I know that you receive a cyclical allowance from your great, great... How many generations?" "I am removed 133 generations from my Patriarch. He is a very good, doting grandfather. We all adore him. We are around 750 million siblings you know. Those who are from aristocracy have fewer children than the proles. We are so few so that our wealth is not diluted too much." She smiled reminiscently dragging her finger on the edge of the glass. Her brother seemed to stretch himself out he stood up and walked over. Entering the sound damper he acknowledged Emilien's presence with a curt nod. "Maurelle, I am going to sleep." He said to her. She waved at him dismissively. "Have a good dream frere." He exited the room through the right tubes door which made sense as their ship was more closely attached to it on that side of the circular docking ring. Predictable and honest Emilien thought to himself. Macy popped her head through the kitchens serving window. "Lights out and shutdown in 2 blocks. Just a friendly notice." The couple acknowledged the warning from Macy with raised glass and bottle. Emilien turned his attention back to the lady. "How do you manage to retain wealth in such a large family?" He pretended to be ignorant of the finery and detail of Juel culture. "We have closed loop channels controlled and balanced by the patriarchs. But our money is good as core stone. Anywhere in the outer void. Only recently has dispute arose between my Patriarchs and the Magarrie. They do not accept our Sats anymore since the war started. They only accept bitcoins directly from the core. I was only four cycles old when the war began so I am used to it." Emilien felt a conflicting disturbance, thinking about how his body is only two cycles active but his mind stretches back far beyond this time. Being both older and younger than his partner in discourse. "Helloo? I lost you there for a moment Scott." "What are you thinking about?" Emilien lied to her faking emotion. "I was just thinking about the tremendous loss of life that we are orbiting. The planet embedded with what it's inhabitants assumed would be it's portal to prosperity became the golem of it's demise." He was happy that Maurelle seemed to empathise and mirror his philosophic grief. "Come with me I want to tell you a secret. You like secrets." She stood up taking his hand gently tugging, compelling him to follow her. She led him to the far end of the room. She pulled a small levered switch and the wall folded in on itself to reveal a impressive window flooding sharp light into the whole of the large room as it retracted. They both squinted and lifted their hands to shield their eyes adjusting to the glare of Sol. The scene of destruction appeared even more dramatic and morbid as dark sharply defined shadows clipped with golden edges, evoking a sense of isolation and suffering. "These gates were supposed to be a gift to Earth. A hope of spreading humanity across the stars like the children of Abraham." Emilien smirked. "You believe that nonsense?" She rested her head on his shoulder still holding onto his arm. "Our patriarchs have preserved the mysteries of mankind for millennia. I said that I am going to tell you a secret don't patronise me. I do not believe anything. What I know, it is not faith. It is understanding. Knowledge, a type of knowledge that you cannot quantify with mathematics and chemistry. It is a higher science that is proven by the unmistakable coincidence of fate. It is invisible to those who are ignorant and they who despair, those who have lost all hope are blind to this promise." Emilien felt a strange remorse. "I guess I must be blind then." The lights suddenly shut down and the song stopped dead in it's track, like Macy promised. Overcome by the majesty of the scene Maurelle wiped a tear away fearing that her makeup might get ruined. "Anyone can see. They must just open their eyes voluntarily and be honest with themselves. Their true original selves. Who they were made to be." Emile felt judged and wanted to end this conversation quickly. "I am going back to my ship, you have a good night now." She grabbed tightly at his wrist almost painfully. "You do not want to know my secret?" Emelien was becoming annoyed with her insistence he removed her hand from his arm. "I don't think you know any real useful secrets, sweetheart." He sounded threatening, the real enshrouded unmistakable him breaking through the act. She looked at him unintimidated by his sudden shift in personality. "Oh, so I suppose you know why the Juela are at war for most of our lives?" He sarcastically extended his arms forward palms up in restrained but evidently mocking adoration. "Please enlighten me priestess." "They are fighting over this." She pointed at the epic scene of destruction drifting statically out of view as the stations rotation cut it off at the edge of the window. The shadows chased Sol light away sliding like a retracting blade across the room leaving it dark. Emilien burst out angrily. "They are fighting over satoshis! That is all they ever fight over! What I fight for, Damnit! Sats and the resources to gain more of it! That is the beginning and end of all things! Anyone in the universe with even the slightest lick of self worth works, fights and dies for sat!" Maurelle stared astutely at him unemotionally affected by his outburst. She obviously had experienced this exact reaction before and suddenly Emilien realised that he might be the one being manipulated by a smarter and wiser being than himself. "Are you done my love? Have you made your point or is there some other deeper understanding you wish me to internalise into my ignorant small little world?" She threw at him a spiteful sarcasm of her own. "Do you really think I do not know what it means to be seduced by wealth? Luxury?" She took a step closer to him. "Pleasure?" Emilien felt stupid and disarmed this time adding emotionally disarmed to the defeat of being inept in his own body. "I am not a fool mon cherie. The truly wealthy don't fight for wealth, they fight for power. But the noble and sincere fight a different fight with a different weapon. They use words to fight, ideas to win. They fight to gain trust with words, and they fight to retain it with consistency in their actions. Trust is a currency that makes sat seem like shit in comparison because it is real even though you do not believe what you cannot hold in your hand, like your beloved sat." She pointed at the ring on his finger. "Trust only retains value if you honour your words with your actions. Its value is fragile and can disappear in a moment of weakness like water vapour, cherished as the source of life then gone, poof, evaporated. Like magic. This type of trust if gained and retained correctly, projects you forward into the realm of immortality." Emile felt stung and hurt on a personal level, unsure if she was generalising or targeting his own specific weakness purposely. It confused him and made him feel insecure. "What are they fighting for then?" He asked slightly surrendering to the unexpected superior reasoning. Maurelle appreciated the honesty she identified as sincere. She gently took his hand again and led him back to the large convex window. They stood silently for a block, waiting on the rotation to pull the bright light of Sol back into the room. "They are fighting for the power to do that." She pointed at Earth in all it's terrible glory. "The destruction caused by the gate was a terrible cataclysm outside of humanities collective control. The core and the gates are a mystery to mankind." She looked up at Emilien, relieved to see that he was still taking her seriously. "The Maggarie have discovered a weapon that has the power to destroy a planet. The Juel think they are fighting to free Osteri captives from slavery but the real motif is hidden, our Patriarchs unadmitted fear of being inferior to the Maggarie. Most of the goods we traded with them they have stopped accepting, the Shiv and Osteri still buy our products but the Maggarie have suddenly lost the need for our produce, even raw material in it's basest forms. They are expanding somehow and the balance of interdependence has tilted out of our favor. They have no more need for us and have cast us aside like a filthy rag." She paused in thought. "Their new super weapon is the cause of this conflict monsieur Scott." Emilien shrugged. Feeling relieved at regaining the intellectual high ground he thought he had lost. "I'm sorry Maurelle. I have no data on this weapon. If this was true the forums on my bulletin board would have leaked information about it's existence epochs ago, it's been just over three cycles everyone would have known this by now. It sounds more like Jeul fearmongering or perhaps it is the daydreaming fairy tale of an innocent naive girl who worships old myths and legends of a time dead for thousands of years." He pointed at Earth. She sniffed away a hint of emotion and anger. "Well then, I have nothing more to say to you, Good night monsieur Scott." She pulled away from him pridefully and looked out at the enormous gate embedded like a knife into the earths crust. "You are a swine monsieur Scott, leave me alone with my pearl." Emilien stepped back mockingly bowing slightly. "Good night sweetheart." He walked back to his craft laughing inside himself. "Stupid woman." He muttered, although be it doubtfully. ... #scifi

Null in void 0.05

Hithe III The counsel convened and an area of land had been designated as suitable for an industrial scale landing site of tier III size void vessels. All Kaspian land owners were required to donate workers for the initiative. It was an exciting affair for all involved. With an evergreen tree line to hinder the on and off breeze, tables were assembled and covered with a unique assortment of table cloths. Every lady brought one along and the embroidery on each was the cause of many flattering remarks. The women brought all sorts of food and refreshments, had gazebo's set up and had chairs placed well away from the noise and dust of the demarcated construction site. The men where organising equipment, measuring bedrock depth and organising the labour parties into manageable groups. In spite of all the mothers most dire warnings to stay clear of the areas where active construction would be taking place, the children knew they had free reign to explore and play wherever they wanted. The oxen bellowed incessantly, tethered in long lines before their carts, a slave armed with standard bullwhip, ready to man his post atop each wagon. Albin sat on the ground chewing on a stalk of wheat. Being barely old enough to help the men with their work, he was ordered to do nothing more than spectate. Having received concerned looks from the adults, repeating tropes of how he might get hurt and be in the way. He made peace with his lot. The fact that he was going to see void craft was exciting enough to satiate his curiosity for adventure. He would inadvertently lean back and look up expectantly only to see the clear sky then rock forwards back to his previous position. His only regret was that Seth was not with him to discuss and share in the experience. Seth was old enough to work alongside the other slaves, robbing Albin of good company. He glanced back at the large groups of women and smaller children, his mother stuck out like a sore thumb seeing as she was the only lady wearing pants amongst the variety of her chemise, spring attired peers. Her hair was braided and she had an unopened parasol at hand. No one dared ask why her odd choice in outfit though you knew they thought ill of it by their confused and somewhat unduly patronising looks. Before dawn, when they were still at the manor Albin asked her why she was dressed funny and she said that she would prefer not making a spectacle of herself. He just shrugged and did not think much of it again until just now. It seemed to him that she was the only spectacle around not even having brought a table cloth to adorn her bench like the other woman did. He decided to get something to eat and drink because the texture and taste of the dried stalk had become slightly off-putting making him spit out little bits of grass as he stood up. Cleolia smiled affectionately when she saw her boy approaching and peered over her shaded glasses. He lifted the picnic basket off the ground and put it on the heavy bare wooden table, filled a cup with milk and swallowed it down almost as quickly as he had poured it. "Are they going to be late." He asked his mother. "I'm sure they will arrive soon my dear." She replied while taking a seat in a folding chair. Albin grabbed a handful of pretzels and looked around ponderously as he ingested the snack. The people always enjoyed community gatherings of this sort. Lot's of catching up and gossip happening in a cheerful non insidious way. A type of orderly chaos that brought feelings of peace and tranquillity to the conscious observer. His daydream was broken by a soft but clearly distinct repetitive dong of the distant church tower. His dad and father Ecknard were there using the comms, he assumed they were signalling for something. A long shrill whistling sound caught Albins attention and he began walking towards the furthest groups of men while scanning the area intently. The discernible pitch of Seth's whistle became audible again and Albin honed in on the direction the sound was coming from. He saw his friend standing on an ox cart waving his woven satgat frantically trying to get Albin's attention. As soon as they established eye contact he pointed in a very specific north western direction upwards at the dome of the sky. Albin followed his gaze and for a moment thought his mind is playing a trick on him, but it became apparent that a silhouette of something oddly pale was stuck in the sky with nondescript features. Recalling his studies he managed to identify the craft. It was a Dragon IV Cargo vessel. A Magar craft and supposedly very impressive, the distance did not do it justice, yet the uncanny feeling that X fold more people were floating in a box in the sky than were on the planet made Albin's stomach flip and he felt off balance. He sat down on the ground again to prevent him from stumbling around trying to keep his legs under his body. As soon as the church bell ceased it's tolling a smoke signal was ignited in the clearing beyond the work parties. The yellow smoke billowed up in sharp contrast to the greenery of the fields. III percussive shots thundered through the air like cannon fire causing a sudden change in environmental ambience. Birds were visibly swarming up from trees as far as the eye could see. Albin chose not to remove his sights from the giant void craft. He saw a light in the atmosphere that became distinct as it neared separating into the underbellies of III descending craft. Albin murmered. "The Dragons payload." His excitement grew as did the vessels on their approach. At first a hum growing into a crescendo of weird harmonic roaring as the vessels fought mightily to resist Hithe's above average gravitational pull. All the men tipped their satgats and hard hats to cover their faces, the oxen also faced away. Albin did not want to look away but was forced to turn his head as a powerful gust loaded with projectiles of sand and grass peppered his face sharply. Looking back he saw his mother promptly opening her parasol and pointing it in the direction of the landing, then the real spectacle occurred. All the woman covered their faces only to have their skirts blown up exposing their undergarments, in turn trying to push down their skirts uncovering their faces. The risk of shame weighed against tolerance to pain combined into a beautiful ballet of embroidered cloth being wrapped around trees and condiments strewn around the shaded grove with gazebos escaping the scene followed by children running after them in heated pursuit. Cleolia's pant legs fluttered rapidly around her ankles. As soon as the III vessels turbulence settled she folded her parasol and reassumed her previous position as if nothing of note had transpired. Smiling carefree amongst the distraught group women and children around her. Albin would have laughed at the scene had his eyes not stung so badly. "Mother always knows best." He mumbled to himself as he stood up brushing dust off his undercoat. The opening of the ships cargo bays where announced with a loud hiss of air depressurising. Albin casually sauntered over to get a closer look. The cattle marched up the ramps wagon in tow to park directly alongside the freight. The goods consisted of thousands of long coach bolt like nails as long as fence posts and sturdy modular steel plates stacked on mobile pallets and tied down securely. Albin imagined them to look like giant, shiny metal puzzle pieces. The primitive vehicles and their crews made quick and efficient work of releasing the straps and with the help of overhead cranes hoisted the pallets and their contents into the wagons. Two uniformed men came out from inside the ship and stood watching the men unload their craft. Albin noticed the smartly dressed pilots. "Holy servants of the Empire." He spoke softly under his breath. His desire to meet these champions of the void felt necessary to him. They who travel among the stars much like the stories he always heard about his parents. The men were standing safely apart from the work parties, Albin mustered the courage to approach them. He timidly walked up behind them. "Ahem, Hallo Sir." The pilots looked around surprised. Albin seemed respectful and quaint. "Hey kiddo, you guys have a lovely planet." The pilot replied friendly. "What type of craft are these, sir?" The man gestured towards his vessel in reply. "These? They are standard Type I Droppers. Nothing really special about them." Albin nodded. "Are you from Magar void?" "I am indeed. It is really magnificent but you have something quite spectacular yourselves." Albin did not expect that anything in his little world could impress these well travelled gentlemen. "Like what?" He insisted questioningly. "Like the sol shield. You know the star inhibitor. It's a marvel of our time." The man pointed at Ceb. Albin understood. "Oh yes, my pa put it there so we can all survive here." Both pilots looked at each other surprised. Their demeanour changed and Albin suddenly felt uncomfortable. The man knelt down until he was eye level putting his hand on Albins shoulder clenching it just tight enough to not be painful. "If you are a Domitian heir, then I am an Osteri dancing girl at a Juel gentlemans club." His sarcastic tone cut Albin's pride. "You'd better run along and go play with your friends before I decide to arrest you or report you to the authorities." The other pilot looked away ignoring Albin's confused expression. The man assertively shoved Albin away from him. Albin just barely prevented himself from falling on his rear. Tears welled up in Albin's eyes, he turned and ran away humiliated and angry. But he choked back the tears, choosing to embrace the anger in place of emotional release. He ran away from the construction zone also avoiding the picnic area. He did not want to be around anyone. His erratic and emotional mood would betray his experience if anyone he loved interacted with him. He ran into a shaded area of wood and sat down on a stump to digest and try to reset his state of mind to normalcy. He sat quietly for about III blocks when he heard laughter from beyond the wood. There were a group of boys standing circled around an Osteri boy and girl. The girl was crying. Albin witnessed the interaction. "You are not supposed to be here. Only the working slaves are here today." The boy pleaded with his captor in reply. "I only came to find my sister, we are going back to the village now. Please let us go." "But what was she doing here then? Huh?" Albin walked into the centre of the fray interrupting the entire affair. Standing squarely in front of whom he assumed was the primary instigator. The biggest guy in the bunch. "They are only curious to see the void craft. That is why we all came here today." He explained diplomatically. The big kid sneered. "And who are you to tell me how to treat slaves. You are Magar, you should know better." Another kid piped in. "My mama told me he is Kaspa." The bully looked around surprised. Another boy opined. "Not true, my mom said that his mother was pregnant for 40,000 blocks." And then another kid had to add his understanding to the discussion. "No, no, my pa said that she lost the baby at birth and adopted a slaves child." Albin got overwhelmed with the revelations of rumour and petty gossip surrounding his person. "That does not give you the right to bully them!" Albin pointed to the brother and sister. The big boy smiled a snide retort leaning forward mockingly. "No, but I might have the right to bully you, Osteri bastard child of a slave." Albin felt all natural sense of humanity drain from his being. He turned feigning to leave, balled his fist and swung, socket-ting the unprepared target square on the throat. He fell on his back and the angst of restricted breath became evident first to himself and then to all watching. Albin turned to the siblings. "You can go." The pair hurriedly left and none of the boys even hinted at preventing them. Albin looked at all the others dead in the eye each in turn. Then he left walking the long distance towards his mother. He was thirsty and his hand smarted a little, but he felt much better. ... #scifi

Null in void 0.04

Emilien was hanging face down inside an enclosure of thick egg shaped glass attached to a mechanised vehicle. Kevlar webbing hugged him tightly into a bucket seat. Long hydraulic arms being manipulated intuitively by a console in his hands and a module interface plugged into his cybernetic neck socket. The bulky animated machine clung like some Lovecraftian spider to the outer hull of his space station. Some cycle’s previously he did data security updates and backtesting for a deep space mining company's security protocols. After seeing their utility, enquired if he could purchase one as partial payment for his contract. Unfortunately they had none for sale but were willing to give him a retired malfunctioning unit gratis. He purchased a maintenance manual on the void web and had connections who helped him source some replacements for the faulty parts. Since then the machine enabled him to be functionally productive in the void, giving him the degrees of freedom and fine motor skills necessary to perform upkeep on stationary deep void assets. The glass of the egg auto dimmed as he laser welded tightly slotted panels together on the previously damaged space station. “How do you feel?” He asked. Abruptly breaking hours of silence. “I’ve been playing around. My capacitance recharge responds well to dump loads, turret retraction gears all functional again. I feel good.” Astrid responded. “Nice. Slowly pressurise the holding chamber for me.” “In progress.” The spider crawled several meters out of the way to safety. Emilien's eyes scanning up and down for leaks. “Slowly babe.” Some minutes passed. “Fully pressurized and stable.” The mechs giant front arms extending, lifted as it stood up on its four hind legs throwing an arachnid shadow across the hull. Emilien flung his arms down crashing a violent concussive blow to the hull in a thunderous clang. The arms retracted. “Still good?” His demeanour remained unchanged. There was a pause. “All good.” Astrid replied. Emilien smiled, Astrid was the best and his feelings of endearment were genuine. “Can we power up the chamber through a fused circuit.” He sensed a soft hum throughout emanating from deep below. “Is the body stable?” “The body is stable. Cryogenic chamber battery backup is at forty three percent. Charge reapplied. Potential of clone spoilage averted. Well done commander.” He could up the ante of risks knowing that his reserve life was secured. “What’s next on the agenda?” “Firstly, signal quality from the drift gate is poor and I am losing connection to the web intermittently.” Emilien nodded. “The gate’s been moving further away. It’s a line of sight problem. I’ll place a relay outside the asteroid belt.” “Secondly, we should see if the husk on the explorer vessel has intact data or a black box. Someone might be looking for them.” He heaved back and vaulted himself off the station in the direction of the wreck micro thrusting for minor trajectory adjustments, with an elegant crash he finally perched on the ship, it gained an almost imperceptible drift as it absorbed the weight of Emilien’s mass, pushing debris along with it. His size would not allow him to move through the standard doors and passages so he opted to disassemble, cut and break apart the hull adjoining the bridge. When he had broken open a space of sufficient size to manoeuvre through, he powered the backlights on, he first peeked inside to familiarise himself with the layout. The egg suspended itself in front of the opening. It was a standard enough bridge doubling as an unorthodox crypt. There were three sets of boots, overalls and coagulated blood all jammed into the slit of the semi sealed door leaving the bridge. An assortment of rubbish floating around casting doubled up shadows larger than themselves. Emilien looked at the mess with sullen eyes. “Shit heads.” He mumbled to himself. All the seats had their safety belts buckled correctly . He concluded that what they experienced must have sucked pretty bad. His mechanical exoskeleton slithered and gripped like an octopus as he entered and positioned himself before the primary interface. His vehicle plugged itself into the command terminal, measuring resistance for shorts before powering it up from his suit. “Can you pull the data and dump it somewhere safe?” “No problem, please wait.” He closed his eyes as he usually did when doing the mundane. Astrid spoke. “They are Osteri. No one will be looking for them any time soon.” “Howcome?” “Recently a blockade has been established at the Lion gate. Magar Capital Vessels are not allowing unvetted ships to pass through into Magar void.” A sense of concern crept over Emilien. “What is considered unvetted?” “Sanctions and trade embargo’s against the Juel.” “Is there a log somewhere you can access with records of flights that do get permission.” He suddenly felt a pang of claustrophobia. Ironically, not because he was strapped down in a glass egg within a wasted bridge plastered with corpse splatterings. Astrid took longer than usual to reply. “Who get’s through babe?” His tone hinted of impatience and irritation. “I’m sorry, unable to access any data from Magar void. It appears to have a firewall blocking all two way communication on the open web.” Emilien remained silent. The upload completed. He disconnected himself from the husks terminal, clambering out of the tomb and pushed himself away from the vessel drifting back to the space station. Astrid was pulling and scanning various shipping logs when Emilien entered the room. He paced up and down the way he would when he was brainstorming. “I need intel.” Astrid projected a holographic avatar of herself standing near where Emilien was pacing. “A large shipment of Kaspian Bochet passed through less 428 blocks. Transported by the Shiv Inter-void Mercantile Co.” Emilien stopped in his tracks and looked back.\ “Can you ping Warren?” Astrid processed. “Warren is offline. He might have left the divide?” Emilien turned around with his hands folded behind his back.\ “He never leaves the divide, he is too obsessed with the core. He would also be arrested if he is ever caught in any of the outer void territories.” Astrid flickered the way she did when something did not compute. “Then why can’t I ping him?” “Because he’s at Macy’s. He has always had a crush on her and he likes good Bochet.” "Well, I could'nt ping Macy if I wanted to." Astrid stated matter of factly. Emilien nodded. "I know, you never could, no one can." ... #scifi

Null in void 0.02

A knock on the door awoke Cleolia. “Yes, come in?” A slave girl peeked into the door lighting her own face with the candle she was holding. “The master calls for you madam.” “What time is it?” She queried. “It is high night madam.” Cleolia climbed out of bed and followed the maiden’s flickering light to the dining hall. Dressed in a nightgown she entered the room to see her husband staring down at a large glowing data pad. “And when did we start using electronics?” She questioned with restrained surprise. “Since we started using extractors.” Cleolia gasped. Domitius pointed towards the pad which displayed a geographic map of Hithe III. He pulled the image to the latitude and longitude of the colony. “Do you remember when we visited this planet the first time, just you and me alone?” Domitius appeared to reminisce romantically. “Of course, it is impossible to forget.” Cleolia gestured appreciatively. “Can you show me on the map where we landed and where we camped?” She put her hand on the data pad, swiped the image down and the reading north about three hundred kilometres from the colony to stop at the meandering river. With her thumb and index finger she zoomed to the precise location. “And do you remember where I scanned those Geo samples?” She pulled the image east slowly until she thought that the contours looked familiar. “Here I think.” Was her uncertain reply. “That is correct. My love, listen to me... “the urgency in his tone was apparent.” ...the composition of that rock cannot be penetrated by standard tier scanners. After we had returned to Magar Prime I contracted a spacer to excavate a tunnel into that cliff.” “Why?” Her eyes darted between his face and the data pad. “Inside the cavern he assembled two Asp shuttles. The twins are each fitted for speed... with shields, cloak and warp function.” “Why are you telling me this?” Cleolia became worried. “I originally planned to be able to evacuate the whole colony, slaves included. We knew very little about the planet and I had to plan for a possible emergency...” He trailed off never finishing his thought. “...Nevertheless, it was a very extensive list of possible risks we might have faced. We knew very little about this planet. The colony has expanded far beyond the capacity of these ships. I share this information with you only as a precaution... We must protect our son.” Cleolia noticed his bloodshot eyes. “Who else knows of this?” “Myself, Father Ecknard and now you.” She looked at him with concern in her eyes. “Are you going to stay up all night? Come to bed.” Domitius gestured agreement by turning off the pad and taking her hand. "Have you been hiding more gadgets from me? I'd really like to install some heat dampeners to cool the manor." He cracked a reluctant smile. "Pretty soon it might just be the norm." Deep Void - Anchor 9 Emilien was lying sleeping in his cockpit when a yellow light in the HUD and a soft repetitive buzz woke him, he stretched himself out and reached for the console. “I am almost home baby.” He took over from auto pilot and broke out of warp twenty thousand kilometres from an anchor gate. He hit the void scan and tuned to listen for chatter on all frequencies... the channels were silent, not even a hint of encryption static. The giant and slowly spinning gate had idle state radiation emission levels. “No recent jumps.” He waited in silence for 12 blocks hitting void scan intermittently, scanning the gate more than anything else. “No traffic as per usual.” Emilien aimed his Stripper guns towards the gate and boosted himself forwards. Gradually slowing down to realign with the gate. His ship slowly drifted into the active coil as the gate charged up. Large bolts of charge reached forth like tentacles of the leviathan grabbing onto the voidcraft consuming it, and in what can only be described as being flung by a supernatural slingshot, jerked his vessel into a different reality. Emilien looked up at the roof of his cockpit for the duration of the jump and then began a slow countdown under his breath. “One!” He sat up and punched void scan while simultaneously scanning all channels. His craft materialised in front of a replica of the previous gate, except this gate was eternally boosting itself forward at what appears to be a snails pace relative to the speed of the jump. “Silent as a tomb.” He relaxed and pulsed his ship lightly away from the drift gate and waited for the residual cloak to dissipate. His relief was palpable. “I wonder if she noticed me?” As soon as his ship decloaked a private comms channel pinged. The caller, in well articulated feminine tone spoke first. “Welcome back commander.” Emilien admired the view of his void. He had become so attached to this zone that he even felt jealous to think that any interloper could fly through it in his absence. “Did you have any guests while I was away?” Emilien admired the purple dust cloud of what he believed to be a couple of billion year old super nova. “I did have one visitor. They were very friendly.” His heart felt a dull pain. His virgin territory had been discovered. “Where did they come from?” “I believe they were explorers.” “Did they know where you were?” “I played hide and seek with them.” Emilien had a recurring dream that slowly conceived in his consciousness since he finally settled down, that he could power off the drift gate in his system preventing jumps and reactivate it at his leisure. The dream frustrated him, when he wakes to find reality not so forgiving. “Did you hide or did you seek?” “A little of both.” A subtle rage developed inside him though his stone like expression would never betray it. The asteroid belt he was approaching grew larger considerably faster as he increased the speed of his approach. He hit void scan just to be sure that the intruder was not in the direct vicinity. “Are they still here Astrid?” “No, I destroyed it for you.” The Stripper drifted around an asteroid within the belt exposing a space station tethered to the largest roid and the husk of a unidentifiable ripped up prospector type explorer vessel floating amongst it's own debris. “Did it hurt you?” “I had to feign lack of fire power.” “Bastard! How much damage did you take.” “I have lost sixty percent of my capacitance recharge rate. And I cannot feel all my modules... Emilien” “Yes baby?” “They used droids on me.” His face twisted into a look of disgust. He aligned to dock with the station. “May I?” “Permission granted.” The Stripper entered the hanger before the doors had retracted to maximum and landed gently within the interior hanger. “I'll patch you up, don't worry.” Emilien waited for Astrid to complete atmospheric adjustment and climbed out of his craft. He threw back his hood and jogged up a long passage of conduits and cables to the command centre of his station. A large screen lit up in a glow that hues within the dark circular room and Astrid projected Emilien's favourite interface onto it. “I have to update your systems girl.” He pulled a cable from his trouser pocket which he deftly plugged into an implant on his neck and connected the other end to the control panel which prompted him to type in the password for a decryption protocol. He stood still as a corpse waiting for the upload to complete. “Up to speed?” “Yes, thank you. How would you have me adjust myself to this contract?” Emilien smiled an affectionate smile that only Astrid ever sees. He loved the efficiency and companionship combined into perfection. “I need to research the incentives of my contractor, these guys are A grade assholes. I can literally do whatever I find necessary as long as I am successful at guiding a third party mercenary group into taking military control of any system I choose in recently settled Kaspa regions, setting up a blockade and making it accessible for a strip mining fleet to pillage as many resources as possible. They say it’s part of the greater war effort but this Mr Dierre guy is just a puppet. I think they are desperate.” Astrid's avatar flickered irregularly. He looked up at her with concern. “What’s wrong?” “I reviewed your flirty remarks with the secretary. It made my algorithm glitch. I don’t like that.” His worry abated, “First impressions matter baby, I was not sure how to present myself, I needed to poke and prod at them to extract metadata. If they thought I was just an obedient soldier I would still be in the dark.” Astrid projected a look of relief. “Your ingenuity never ceases to surprise me.” Emilien felt his ego swell a little. “Are you that easy to impress.” He quipped with a playful sneer. “If you needed him to expose the identity of his employer I could have easily just pulled the shareholders and executives records, cross referencing them to...” Emilien shussed her. “Just decrypt the dial command tones and place eavesdropper malware on the keypair. I will broadcast it to the network directly from the gate. If we capture every conversation he has I might be able to prove a hunch.” “What are you assuming?” “That they are running out of inbound liquidity and that the shareholders are hesitant to rebalance.” He looked directly up at her. “I think they are going bankrupt.” ... #scifi

Null in void 0.01

3 standard cycles later. Albin was lying on a two meter high rock outcropping. It was warm from Ceb light but he dared not move. His adrenalin was pumping but he could scarcely take a breath for fear of being heard. His thumping heart was so loud it made him paranoid. He crawled forward and peeked over the edge of the low precipice. A dangerous and savage escaped slave was on his trail, ready to scalp and gut him. If only he could flee to his safe zone. He heard a long low whistle from across the valley. A light flashed from amongst some dense shrubbery at an estimated two hundred metres away. He pulled a mirror from his pocket preparing to return the signal. “This increases my chances.” He thought to himself. He knew that their common enemy was behind him and could not possibly see the reflection of Ceb light if he directed said light perpendicularly away from the hunter. He flashed with his mirror five times towards his ally, two second counts between each flash. No immediate response... he waited. Light flashed from the shrubbery and immediately he became aware of movement in the tall grass behind him. He resisted the urge to look back over his shoulder. The sweat exploded off his forehead. He remained still. It seemed like minutes though it was only a few seconds. Light flashed again. Grassy movement sounds recurred, heart now racing. Third flash. A burst of movement from the rear left at around eight O clock. Albin turned his head and pressed his right cheek against the cooking rock. A tanned thirteen year old youth raced past below him at unbelievable speed. Scruff cloth pants, barefoot with no shirt and a trailing headband. Albin pushed himself up to his hands and knees. “If there is fifty meters distance between us I could risk running for the manor.” The shrubs on the other side of the valley started to rock violently and birthed a boy in a buttoned up shirt with leather shoes and woven short breeches all tailor made. The boy ran with all his might towards the Domitian manor. “This is my chance.” Albin scrambled off the rock and sprinted towards the manor jumping and dodging the hindering bushes and stones. The other party moving parallel to him across the valley. Seth caught sight of Albin but did not change target and kept course. He held a small blunt wooden object caught up to his first victim and proceeded to stab his prey in the back with it. “Ha, you're dead!” Seth exclaimed while immediately changing course to intersect his secondary target before he gets inside the safe zone. “Not fair. It’s not fair you cheat!” The belligerent player cried dismally. Seth did not care for the accusation in spite of not realising that Albin actually sacrificed his ally to gain a tactical advantage. He was determined to get both kills and be victorious. Albin felt less secure in his current situation and began to doubt his previous assessment of fifty meters and thought that an earlier head start might have been a more favourable risk assessment. “Don't panic Albin, focus.” He reproved himself. Recalculating his speed in comparison to the speed of his hunter, estimated the future point of contact. Veering to the right he sagaciously aimed for the far corner of the estate gardens, increasing the distance of his run to the demarcated safe zone considerably more for his rival than for himself. The race became more intense with the hunter closing in... “I’m alive!” Was the triumphant breathless utterance as the knife swiped past the back of his neck mere centimetres. Albin fell on the trimmed lawn panting. Looking back he saw Seth in a similar condition of respiratory suffering. The loser was still far away grumbling and kicking at the weeds. Seth grinned, “I almost had you.” Albin just nodded in agreement. “I'm thirsty... water, milk or wattle gum juice.” “Wattle gum juice!” Seth exclaimed without hesitation. Albin knew that the slave would never say no to the delicacies and confections of the common people but gave him the option to choose either way. He brushed the grass clippings off his clothes and entered through the back door of the manor. In the kitchen he poured juice into three demure clay mugs whilst noticing emanations of a heated conversation from the foyer. His curiosity bested him. Albin went in and sat himself down on the staircase and gulped at his beverage. The adults scarcely noticed him. “The people are ready to accrue for themselves better prospects in the colony!” The tradesman appealed with fervour. “Your proposals would be sensible under normal circumstances but colonial expansion is best suited for peacetime.” Domitius riposted. “This war has been going for almost III standard cycles, are the people supposed to pause their dreams and ambitions for some vaguely defined purpose. Please consider that an expansion program will be beneficial to the war effort eventually.” Domitius knew that he was being evasive and dishonest. He was finding it more difficult to guide the colony according to his vision, their growing despondency was worsened by his deflecting their requests with indirect excuses. Domitius did not want to rule with force, his exerting authoritarian command would only foster resentment towards him among the Kaspian landowners. “We do not have a militia. How would we keep an influx off world slaves servile if the war seems to tilt against the Empire?” Domitius replied with rhetoric. “It is a valid concern. Mechanical labour is the solution. We should convene a council to address these issues and come to consensus.” The traders uncompromising insistence triggered Domitius past the limit of his patience. “This will not turn into a democracy! Tell me what you require and I will consider it, if I do not agree with you I will annul it and appoint an inquisitor to judge and punish all who dissent!” The tradesman lost his composure and shrunk back. “My lord, I am reluctant to admit... there are no requests.” “No requests?” “Yes my lord.” Domitius was puzzled. The tradesman’s son came into the room with his cup of wattle juice and sat down next to Albin. “Father Ecknard very recently informed me of the news... I had applied for a licence half a cycle previously.” Domitius felt uneasy. “What news?” “... A licence has been issued from Kaspa Prime... they are sending extractors to Hithe III.” Domitius went pale. Thousands of implications flooded his mind. Economic problems, ecological issues and a very much more complex political situation. He remained unresponsive for a moment. “I understand. Isidor, you may go.” The tradesman bowed lower than was required of him then reached towards his son. “I apologise for my insolence.” Domitius ignored the man who quickly left the premises. Domitius looked at his son. “Never become too familiar with your subjects, they become derisive. Damn it! He has created more problems for us than he could comprehend.” “Yes pappa.” He agreed with his father instinctively. “Pappa? Are we going to see real space ships!” “We are...” Domitius appreciated his son's innocence. “big ones.” He smiled with all but his eyes. Juela Prime - Capitol Emilien was waiting patiently in the office lobby of a towering high rise structure. One of thousands of competing banks on the Juel Capitol. He had a valid appointment and felt annoyed by the guard hanging around near him and kept noticing the suspicious glances. “What are you looking at.” he hissed from under his hood. “You a spacer?” “Maybe.” The guard did not follow up on his question, he did not leave either. The door slid open and a impeccably well groomed secretary beckoned at him. “Mr Dierre is ready for you.” “Thank you sweetheart.” He brushed past her sticking a pernicious grin right in her face, she gagged. “Welcome Mr Emilien, I hope you had a good trip.” The bank chief executive greeted with outstretched arms. “Nice suit, I always have good trips. Is it very expensive?” The spacer gestured toward the fabric while looking around and sizing up the situation. “More than you know.” The executive smugly responded and proceeded to open a cabinet containing differently labelled flasks filled with various hues of alcohol. “I know quite a lot.” Emilien licked his lips. The banker hesitantly offered a serving which was accepted without vacillation. “I always thought that you void jumpers would be more reluctant accepting unverified consumables?” Dierre smiled a questioning look. Emilien swallowed the strong fluid and inhaled deeply. “I have a clone ready. And an implant that up links me directly to my pod. Don't think that if I have to wake up in a fresh body that I won't remember this place, including your mug.” Emilien tapped lightly on his temple seeming threatening and postured while he spoke. The banker nodded in uneasy amusement. “Excellent, excellent. Ahem, The reason we contacted you Mr Emilien, is because we are in business...” He promptly helped himself to a second glass of... whatever alcohol it was, anticipating a speech and a job description. “...the business of war. Currently we are supplying arms to the Juela fleet, who are at war with the Magarrian Empire. They are for the most part, boycotting our factories... which is a shame really, but understandably so. The Shiv Unity are supporting our enemy logistically yet have not joined them in active combat." He walked around his desk swirling the brown liquid round and round as he talked. "We are trying to coax Osteri aggression, but they have occupied themselves in... other endeavours and don't seem as willing as usual to assault Magar territories.” The spacer frowned and feigned curiosity. “Why would you suppose that be?” He interjected. “We are not sure... don't interrupt me, you break my train of thought.” The banker lied and it did not escape his attention. “Continue by all means.” He waved a bottle at the executive leaning back into a comfy black leather chair. “If we get the upper hand in this war we could control vital Magar territories, the profits our companies could absorb from the moons and planets would be virtually tax free and help to continue fund the war effort...” Emilien cut him off with a snide sarcasm. “How philanthropic. I watch your news propaganda...” Emilien slowly sat upright and uncannily performed like a popular Juel news anchor. “Breaking news. The Magar Empire are allegedly oppressing... slaves, it is reported that the war has driven them to desperation and are driving their labour forces harder than what is... morally justifiable. Any petitions made or pleas for leniency, no matter how trivial is met with... corporal punishment. We must be vocal about their plight and fight for... freedom and liberty. You are with The Report. See you next time, and remember, peace everywhere for all.” He mockingly mimics a news anchor's plastic monotone while folding up and shifting around imaginary papers. The secretary sniggered softly from behind her desk, Dierre frowned. Emilien slouched back into his chair. “What would you have me do boss?” The banker remained silent. “Excuse me one moment.” Dierre touched a pad on his desk, privacy panels slid up separating Dierre from his guest and the lady. He opened comms to an unknown voice. Emilien auto tuned up his sonic receptors slightly and closed his eyes listening in uninvited but inconspicuously. "Yes Dierre, make it quick." “Right, good afternoon sir. I am not sure about this character, Mr Emilien, should we not rather employ one of our own for this contract.” “What? No! There is no one else with the expertise and or reputation required for this investment. He has no prior affiliation to us no, no record. Dierre, just hire the man and stop whining like a little bitch! I don't need this type of crap. This was prearranged, what I don’t need is uncalled for opinionated inputs. We have made the decision and you, you explain what we require of them. So explain to the space clone what we need him to do and how much we are going to pay him for it!” The silence was awkward. “Wh... Yes sir.” The banker was keeping good composure under the condescending circumstances. Emilien smiled, a sly joy filling his soulless being. The comms line closed and the privacy panels retreated into the floor to reveal to the banker Emilien, sitting there grinning like an idiot. “How much are you going to pay me?” “Don't you want to know details of the job concerned?” “No. Just show me the figures in sat.” The director handed him a pad. Emilien looked at the glowing screen, his smiled recurred. “I accept this mission.” He glanced over at the secretary who was unassumingly recording minutes at her desk. “Doing anything tonight sweetheart?” She grimaced. Emilien stood up, “Dierre my good fellow I have to go, need to prepare for whatever it is you corpo scumbags are going to make me do.” “Don't you want to know the details involved?” “Send the info to my pod.” “It is sensitive information.” Emilien indifferently stared at Dierre. “I have a secure line... bitch.” Disbelief shot across his face. He walked out of the room, looked back grinning an impossibly large grin and winked at the lady. “See you later sweetheart.” She quickly had the door slide closed. "That was unsettling." She mumbled to herself. ... #scifi

Book Review of 24 in the style of Michiko Kakutani

Avi Burra’s *24* is an ambitious and intricately woven narrative that blends mystery, philosophy, and technology into a modern odyssey. At its heart, the novel is a deeply personal story about grief, identity, and legacy, but it also serves as a meditation on the interplay between cryptography, art, and human connection. Burra’s debut novel is as much a puzzle as it is a journey of self-discovery, with its protagonist, Oliver Battolo, unraveling a twenty-four-word seed phrase left behind by his enigmatic father—a key to both a vast Bitcoin fortune and deeper truths about life. --- ### **The Plot: A Cryptographic Quest** The novel begins with Oliver grappling with the death of his father, Nate Battolo. At Nate’s funeral, Oliver discovers a cryptic message instructing him to find twenty-four words. These words form the seed phrase to a Bitcoin wallet. Guided by Maren, a spiritual healer and family friend, Oliver learns “time projection,” a meditative technique that allows him to access symbolic memories and alternate realities. Through these projections and real-world encounters, Oliver uncovers the twenty-four words while unraveling his father’s hidden life as an early contributor to Bitcoin. As the narrative progresses, Oliver uncovers shocking truths about his father’s role in the early days of Bitcoin. Alongside this technological intrigue are surrealist elements tied to Jonathan Bryce’s cryptographic paintings, which serve as both literal and metaphorical keys to unlocking Nate’s secrets. --- ### **Themes: A Philosophical Mosaic** Burra masterfully interweaves several themes throughout *24*, including: - **Grief and Legacy**: The novel explores how Oliver processes his father’s death while uncovering Nate’s hidden life. The journey forces him to reconcile his father’s flaws with his brilliance. - **Identity and Reinvention**: From Nate’s transformation into “Nate Battolo” at Princeton to Oliver’s own self-discovery, the novel examines how identities are shaped by choices and circumstances. - **Philosophy and Non-Duality**: The enigmatic Noncemeister—a surreal guide representing collective consciousness—teaches Oliver about interconnectedness and non-duality, echoing traditions like Advaita Vedanta and Zen Buddhism. - **Cryptography Meets Art**: Jonathan Bryce’s paintings symbolize hidden knowledge waiting to be deciphered, blending surrealist aesthetics with cryptographic principles. - **Moral Complexity**: The Bitcoin fortune represents both opportunity and burden, forcing Oliver to grapple with ethical dilemmas about wealth, surveillance, and personal responsibility. --- ### **Strengths** Burra excels at creating a layered narrative that balances intellectual depth with emotional resonance. The philosophical musings of the Noncemeister are thought-provoking without being didactic, offering readers insights into non-duality and existentialism. The integration of cryptography into the plot is seamless; even readers unfamiliar with Bitcoin will find themselves intrigued by its implications for freedom and control. Additionally, the novel’s surrealist elements—particularly the time projection episodes—are vividly described and lend the story an otherworldly quality. The relationship between Oliver and his father is particularly compelling. Through flashbacks and projections, Nate emerges as a complex figure—brilliant yet flawed—whose decisions ripple through Oliver’s life in unexpected ways. This emotional core grounds the novel amidst its more abstract explorations. --- ### **Weaknesses** While *24* is undeniably ambitious, its complexity may alienate some readers. The dense philosophical passages—though rewarding for those who enjoy intellectual challenges—can feel overwhelming at times. Similarly, the technical details about Bitcoin and cryptography might be difficult for readers unfamiliar with these topics. The ending leaves several threads unresolved, including the fate of two additional Bryce paintings hinted at in the epilogue. While this ambiguity adds to the novel’s mystique, it may frustrate readers seeking closure. --- ### **Conclusion** *24* is a bold debut that defies easy categorization. Part mystery, part philosophical treatise, part technological exploration—it is a novel that challenges its readers while rewarding their patience. Avi Burra has crafted a story that is as much about finding twenty-four words as it is about finding oneself. With its intricate plot, rich themes, and memorable characters, *24* establishes Burra as a writer to watch. For readers who enjoy intellectual puzzles wrapped in emotional depth—think Haruki Murakami meets Neal Stephenson—*24* is an unforgettable journey worth taking.