daolin

BooksAndArticles

### Rigged (The Convergence Tales - Digicoin)

“Hey Boss. You’re really want to spend your last day on this planet watching the news? Come play pool with us.”

Drev was only half-joking. If this election didn’t go their way, it would mean a complete shutdown of all nuclear reactors across the continent. For a uranium mining town, it threatened nothing less than doom. 

Korlaf’s eyes remained fixed on a small TV behind the bar, next to long rows of bottles, the only colorful décor in the shadowy bar of northern Mouisae. 

The supercontinent Mouisae is shaped like a bitten donut, with “the bite,” as its informally called, located in the northwest. Democracy evolved in the southeast, and spread like an invasive species to the south, west, and lastly, the north, toppling kings and statues as it went. Dynasties that had seemed eternal turned to dust at the promise of free healthcare. But now, the northern regions which had once so viciously resisted it from behind its vast mountain ranges now had a serious chance of finding representation on the man-made island of Teloira at the very center of the gulf, the capital of the bureaucratic nanny state that had engulfed all land above sea level. 

“I am not about to miss the season finale of news just to lose at pool again,” said Korlaf. “Besides, I think they will renew it for another season anyway.” He lifted a shot of hard liquor to his grizzly beard, the chiseled lines on his face scrunching deeper as he consumed it. 

“Please.” Drev spoke with an uncharacteristic sharpness that demanded eye contact.

Korlaf dropped the shot glass with a low thud, and his hulking body shifted on the stool to face his employee of ten years, who was leaning on the pool cue as though his whole sanity were pressed into it. “Of course,” he answered, nodding. “Ten minutes. Just until the commercial break. I’ll order us more sliders.” Defused, Drev smiled and returned to his favorite sport. 

“My daughter,” chuckling under his breath with a mixture of pride and disbelief. “President of all Mouisae.” Just then, his phone rang. It was the default, centuries-old ringtone that he had felt no need to customize.

“Speak of the Devil,” he answered with a smile. 

“Very funny,” said Avoniya. Her opponents gave her the nickname on the campaign trail, and in a stroke of either political genius or insanity depending on who you ask, she embraced it. No Avoniya rally was complete without pyrotechnics. It seemed to work. This was the first time her party was polling at higher than 40% in decades. The whole continent was exhausted from the deadly pain of a debt-spiral presided over almost exclusively by one regime, and the public was becoming desperate for whatever could frame itself as the opposite. 

“Are you enjoying your apocalypse-party?” she asked.

“Your generation always think it’s the end of the world.” 

“Didn’t you?”

“Touché. Feels like it really has been the end of the world for a long time now. Still, you young people are prone to catastrophizing. ”

“I’m not so young anymore, dad.”

“You are to me. You’d understand if you were a parent. Even ascending to the Presidency, I still worry. Like when we were waiting for the results of your University applications.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me of their schooling system. Those were dark times,” said Avoniya. “How’s the crew holding up?”

Korlaf surveyed the motley bunch of disgruntled uranium miners. One of them mouthed to him, “*Is that Madame President?!*” Korlaf shook his head. “The optics aren’t great, as usual.” he said. “Did you want to rile them up even more?”

Avoniya laughed. “No, they’ve heard enough speeches for now. It’s all action from here.”

“That’s what worries me,” said Korlaf.

“Although, I could use your fatherly advice for the big speech.”

“Oh?”

“Should I call it out? I know it’s in our platform, but should we mention digi-coin by name tonight?

Korlaf gestured for another shot, knowing that any unintended consequences, at this stage of adoption, in this political environment, could tilt the whole planet on its axis, but he had an answer prepared.

“If you win, no. Just make sure it stays legal and say nice things every now and then. The community will take care of it from there. I don’t want it too closely associated with whatever they’re going to smear you with. Digi-coin is for anyone.”

“But not for *everyone*, I hear,” said Avoniya.

Korlaf sighed. “True enough. And if you lose,”

“No retreat,” Avoniya nudged him with the campaign slogan.

“If you lose,” Korlaf continued, “then yes, call it out. You retire from politics, and you bring your skills to the private sector. Rayelov will help you with the details of the speech. Then you come straight home, right away. ”

“Yes,” said Avoniya, “I’ll be coming home either way.” 

“Sounds like a plan,” said Korlaf.

“The best we could come up with, right?” said Avoniya. “I love you, dad.”

“I love you, too, Madame President.”

### ▫ ▪

While most of the staff surrounded the TV as the election results tricked in, Korlaf and Drev took turns missing, waiting for fate to set them up for easier shots. Korlaf had always been too busy to practice, and Drev was now too drunk to shoot straight. 

“You guys found some way to rig it right?” asked Drev. “Please tell me you cheated any way you can. God knows they did.”

“We did nothing of the kind,” answered Korlaf, who held his liquor like it was iced tea. “We ran a good, clean, legal campaign.

Drev groaned. “It’s over.” He sank an even-numbered ball. He had one left now, the two-ball, which he missed.”

“What happened to you, Drev? I remember when I could pick you up with one finger, when you first came to work in the mines. From Kaliera. Did you forget you were born there? In the birthplace of Democracy? That your mother was a fish-kissing Green? That you were as well?” Korlaf sank two odd-numbered balls before missing. 

“That’s different,” muttered Drev, missing. 

“Oh?” Korlaf lazily missed an impossible shot.

“Everyone is a fish-kisser when they’re a little kid,” said Drev. “It’s cute then. It’s not cute when they don’t grow out of it. The ones who are voting age are spoiled brats.” 

“Hm…” said Korlaf, missing the one-ball again, the last he needed to sink.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” said Drev, aiming for the two-ball in what was nearly a straight line to the corner.

A voice from behind them interrupted, along with cheers. “She flipped Jialessi!” 

“What?” Drev ran to the TV, dumbstruck. Jialessi was a Green stronghold. It would be a landslide for the Reds from there. 

Korlaf removed a cardboard tile from the table leg, thinking gravity would be sure to end this game if Drev couldn’t.

Drev returned after taking another shot. “Where were we.” He lined up the shot, slowly, carefully, and missed. “That’s impossible,” he said, raising an eyebrow, then checked under the table leg. He looked at Korlaf. “Hm…”

“Sliders?” asked the waitress.

“Leave them for fatty” said Drev, walking outside, and vomiting.

### →

Korlaf walked behind the bar to see his whole staff celebrating, cheering, drinking, and firing weapons at the sky, with the exception of Drev, who was only drinking. 

“Forgive you,”(1) said Drev without looking up. 

“Slider?” asked Korlaf.

Drev accepted it, eyes still fixed on the snow beneath them. 

“I’m sorry,” said Korlaf. “I meant for it to help you win. I didn’t know you were adjusting for it.”

“I know,” said Drev. “I know you don’t have any attachment to the outcome of a pool game. I don’t know why I do.” He finished the slider, then looked at Korlaf listlessly. “Poverty would be one thing. It’s the creeping decay from comfortable, to struggling, to destitute, to somehow worse, that’s driving me crazy.”

“Well, I think the bottom is in,” assured Korlaf, sitting down next to him. 

“It really wasn’t rigged?” Drev asked. 

“No. I sat in on the meetings, sometimes. The surveillance is too advanced, the counting process too refined. There were plenty like you who demanded they win by any means necessary. But, by the time she won the party’s nomination, everyone close to the action agreed they would have to rely on popular opinion alone.”

“We won’t get any credit for it,” said Drev.

“No,” agreed Korlaf, “we won’t.” 

They watched the northern lights dance in the sky. One worker carried a flamethrower to the edge of the cliffs, and it seemed that even the lights retreated as he delivered a fresh warmth for which the whole gathering was grateful. 

“I’m scared, Boss,” Drev confessed. 

Korlaf gave Drev a firm pat on the back. “There is nothing to be scared of. We can always figure something out. Look at Brotz there. What would they have done? Who is going to fly in on a jet from Teloira and walk up to Brotz with a clipboard to inform him that all the mines and refineries have to be shut down because they offended a crab?”

Drev laughed. “I know Brotz will fight. It’s Natskiya I’m worried about. I don’t know what I could have offered her, if we had lost. Even now, I just don’t know if I have enough work left in me, or how much it’s worth.”

“Ah,” said Korlaf. They absorbed the sounds of the galvanized workers for a while, as though their obscenities and gunshots were the crackles and pops of a campfire. “I remember when you introduced me to her. Quiet girl. But silence can be good strategy. I’m sure Natskiya would understand. You have your Self to give her. That is all she asks for. That will be enough.”

“Do you think so?”

“Someday, when you manage people like I do (not while you work for me, mind you), then you will understand. She will fight with you, through whatever pain comes.” Korlaf stroked his beard philosophically. “There is more of Brotz in her than you realize.” 

Drev winced. “There *has* to be a better way to phrase that.”

“And,” Korlaf continued, “I think there is more of your mother in you than you realize.”

Drev smiled, and gave Korlaf a thumbs up. “Don’t forgive you.”(2)

Korlaf laughed. “Show me your wallet… Not that one, the real one, the digital one.”

_**ZAP!**_

Drev’s eyes widened. “What’s this?”

“Your bonus,” said Korlaf. “Don’t tell the others yet. They’ll get it by direct deposit next week.”

Drev grinned. “You did rig it! You cheated them out of everything!”

Korlaf raised his hand in objection. “No, there was no cheating,” he clarified. “We promised to supply Jialessi with cheap energy, but that’s a campaign promise to constituents, all above-board. Everything after that: the tax credits, the subsidies, the regulations, all the stuff we’re legally in charge of now, that’s not cheating either.” Korlaf handed him a pistol. “Go celebrate, but don’t hurt yourself. You still have a job, you know.”

Drev accepted the pistol and joined his comrades to shout expletives across the gulf, as the northern lights shifted to an ancient, long-forgotten color. Far in the distance, he could see Teloira, and the great metal tower built on top of it that had turned the entire continent into a panopticon, that had grown larger every year, that he and his family and friends had been made to obey all his life, that he had always assumed would demand his obedience forever.

Burning.  

### ∞

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L3Y_nRXBnbs

### Footnotes: 

1) Dropping the subject is common in Drev’s language, and is generally not considered a grammatical error, but dropping an “I” pronoun, as Drev does here, is seen as rude and disingenuous, as a deliberate omission one’s actual feelings for the sake of social niceties, and this phrase is a common insult that implies, “God may forgive you, and the World may forgive you, but I do not.”

2) Here the joke is reversed to imply, “God and the World might not forgive you, but I do.” 

### Translation Notes:

**Place Names:**
Mouisae – 莫以薩俄
Teloira – 特樓以拉
Jialessi – 加樂西
Kaliera – 卡李爾拉

**Person Names:**
Drev – 德雷伏
Korlaf – 高爾拉夫
Avoniya – 阿文妮婭
Brotz – 步洛刺
Natskiya – 娜塔斯吉雅
Rayelov – 賴耶洛伏

**Thank you to everyone, judges, readers, and anyone who works behind the scenes like the Uranium miners of Mouisae who made possible my first attempt at creative work in a long time. I threw a lot out there to figure out what style works for me, so if you liked this one, check out these pieces as well:**

[The Price We Deserve](https://stacker.news/items/1199253/r/daolin)

[The Conversion Tales - Intro](https://stacker.news/items/1200151/r/daolin)

[Bad Iron - Pilot Episode](https://stacker.news/items/1196252/r/daolin)

[FM] Rigged (The Convergence Tales – Digicoin) ~2,000 Words

[FM] Talent Show Shakeup - @realBitcoinDog takes you to high school to cringe 😬

realBitcoinDog

Well of course the good kind of silence was an incredible reference. Definitely a relatable aspect of the joys of live performance. 

You may hold the sats if you let me use "no ego in amigo" IRL

Im zapping 100 sats to EVERYONE who comments on my [FM] short story post!

It is not how the contest is judged, it is how life is judged x_x

FM Good Morning Badger Batalion

Marc26z

[Panties for Bitcoin](www.pantiesforbitcoin.com) mentioned! 🧡

A Chinese man has built an entire town for his cats

oliverweiss

So based. And he named the restaurant "MeowDonald's"

# The Convergence Tales (123,456,789.987654321)

You can tell a lot about a planet by its monetary standard. If “21,000,000.00000000” was all I knew about yours, I would have guessed it had at least two continents during the monetization phase.

You see, over the course of my travels, I’ve noticed that planets with a single Pangaea-like supercontinent, or those that lack oceans entirely, are more likely to choose a round number, 1 trillion for instance, often with no decimal point. Decimals are a feature that seem to be preferred by planets that went through, for lack of a better term on hand, a discovery of a “New World.” I know of one planet, or solar system rather, that settled on a currency which, like some of your scam-coins, had no supply cap at all, but only a controlled continuous issuance (in their case, it worked out). 

Perhaps I will never have any way of proving it, but I believe there are subconscious influences at play in the cosmetic choices that go into building a global currency.

The land on my home planet consists mostly of scattered archipelagos, similar to your Oceania but without an Australia, and the maximum supply of our currency is 123,456,789.987654321. It was chosen to represent the infinite and finite in one, abundance from scarcity, an ouroboros-like circle, among other interpretations. The distribution phase was scheduled to last for what would be thousands of years on your planet. That phase had already concluded about a thousand Earth-years before I was born. By then we had taken it for granted and moved on to more pressing matters, like building deep-sea aquariums, seeking out the perfect margarita, and preparing for the all-media fiction competition with subdivisions running all throughout the year. The lackadaisical attitude to financial matters concerns me a bit, now that I’m reading through your planet’s history, but I suppose they’re better off without all of that occupying space in their mind. 

I’ll say it before you do. I am a space-hobbit, though the native term for our species is *digi-kunao*. *Digi* meaning “finger,” a reference to our species’ inclination to build with our hands. It is used in the names of animals that you would perceive as primates. The suffix *kunao* denotes one that possesses a relatively high degree of rationality and spirituality. 

Here I must commit a cancelable offense, appropriate to place at the introduction to a series. At the (calculated) risk of drawing ire from nitpicking statists for disturbing their quest to eliminate all traces of friendship, love, and magic from the universe, I must say that I firmly believe all languages contain at least one tiny hint of their monetary destiny. In English, it is in the word “digit.” 

You may be wondering why an archipelago planet would have a decimal, but if I were to describe it in further detail, and you’re familiar with the [Wallace Line](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wallace_Line), then I think you’d agree it fits perfectly. 

I had trouble fitting in there. Having been born with albinism, I didn’t share my peers’ enthusiasm for the beach. Neither did I have much passion for storytelling. I preferred to play with numbers. Naturally, when I was offered the opportunity to visit your planet, to train in a cubicle in Seattle, I jumped at the opportunity. As you might have guessed from my writing this, the thrill of adventure eventually wore off, sooner than I expected. So, consider this my way of reconnecting with a home to which I cannot return. 

The fictional characters that I will depict in these stories (though I have tried to depict their planets and circumstances in as historically accurate a manner as possible) are not human in a strict sense, but at a glance, you would likely recognize them as such, despite subtle variations in form. (For example, I was born without an appendix.) Consider the wise hyraxes, “creatures of little power, yet they make their home in the crags (*New International Version*, Proverbs 30:26). This animal is not exactly a “rodent,” but circumstances led it to converge on the features of a rodent. 

Every planet I know of, in the end, each converged on a single decentralized currency that rose above all others to lasting financial dominance. Let the stories to come serve as hopium for those of you still in doubt of Bitcoin’s potential, and a warning to those who would seek to snuff it out.

You will win. Trust me.

Unless, of course, you’d prefer to be the first planet not to? But that would be a much longer story ~that I’m not good enough to write yet~ whose time has not yet come. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bOHV9p_a16o

[FM] The Convergence Tales (123,456,789.987654321)

AskSN

[AskSN]: I made my standup comedy debut! How’d I do? Time to quit my day job?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W9jk9OJct4w

My honest reaction. 

[FM] The Price We Deserve (~1,000 Word Standalone)

Thanks for reading! I like exploring this idea of people holding contradictory internal impulses / internalized incentives, so expect this to be a recurring theme haha

Thank you! I think I've settled on a process so stay tuned for more ^^

# The Price We Deserve

### $21,307 M

“Lawrence, meet me in my office when you’re at a good stopping point, please.”

*There is no good stopping point in busy season*, thought Lawrence. He followed Victor through the accounting firm’s drab, gray hallways. 

“Regarding the survey we sent out,” said Victor, loading the answers on his computer. “Were you aware that it wasn’t anonymous?”

“Yes.”

“We included an open-ended question on how the firm could improve.”

He faced Lawrence with subdued scorn.

“And you wrote ‘Buy Bitcoin.’ “

Lawrence cranked his neck, already sore from failed attempts to get a head start on the looming hurricane of tax returns about to flood his desk in the coming months. “The banking system has issues,” he said.

“There’s quite a few issues with your KPI’s as well, but we haven’t let go of *you*.” Victors nostrils flared as he crossed his arms. “Most days you come in to work late, unshaven, and visibly hungover. You have no experience besides this entry level position, and no credentials besides the basic level of education that qualified you for it. What makes you think you have any authority to pass such sweeping judgments on the entire international finance system, which has been working just fine for two centuries now?”

“Because I’m not overthinking it,” said Lawrence.

Victor gave a breathy laugh that morphed into a yawn as he shook his head. “Do you know why we keep you on the team Lawrence?”

“Because firing me isn’t worth paying out the unemployment?”

“It’s because we have hope that you can get better.”

Lawrence raised an eyebrow.

“This is not better,” Victor continued. “I’d like to see you take this work a bit more seriously. As opposed to suggesting that we trust this Satoshi fellow more than the FDIC.

“It doesn’t need *trust*, it just *works*. And this *is* me taking it seriously. I told you the truth, knowing you wouldn’t want to hear it, to help *you* and *your* company. You asked. Isn’t the goal to make money? I thought the whole point of a business is to turn a profit.”

“Perhaps this is where we have a misunderstanding. A business exists to serve its stakeholders, not merely itself. We have deeper concerns than pure profit.”

“Then I quit.”

“What? You never asked me for a referral.”

“I don’t need one. I can afford a break with some part-time gigs. I don’t need another busy season.”

### $112,304 M

A soothing humanoid female voice permeated the damp, cold medical testing center: *“Custom life aspiration installed successfully: ‘Get Money’. Denomination: ‘BTC’. Means: ‘Any’.”*

“Well,” came another voice, male, over the clacking of a keyboard. “That’s the fastest installation we’ve seen yet.”

“There are others?”

“Of course.”

“Might as well replace the knees now while you’re at it.” Lawrence said breathlessly. “Human knees always go bad too soon.”

“All in due time.”

“Thank you for trusting me with this, Daishi-san.

“That is not my surname,” said Daishi-san, arranging for the next upgrade. “Fortunately, that will be the last time you refer to me as such.” 

*“Now installing: Custom speech modification pack: “Normie.” Estimated time to completion: 336 hours.”*

“And just for the record,“ Daishi-san continued as Lawrence looked over with vacant eyes, rummaging through his brain to find what, if anything, changed, "no trust will be necessary.”

Daishi-san left the room with a staccato, submachine gun-esque laugh that ricocheted off the cell walls. 

### $642,069 M

After nightfall on Christmas Eve, while his staff caught up on last-minute gifts, prepared cookies for Santa, and read stories to their children, Victor Smith, CPA paced the halls of his firm, the eco-friendly lights following with him as he walked.

“How did it come to this?” he asked himself aloud. “Who the Hell is Satoshi Nakamoto? He has to be dead by now, whoever he is.” He checked his watch. The “Adapter” so they were called, would be here in ten minutes, and this whole nightmare, he hoped, would be over. He looked again at their business card. 

“Second Helping-Hand Services, Adapting you to the new financial order!”

“ ‘New financial order.’ Unbelievable. How did the crazies get control all of a sudden? Even Greg just outright refuses to work unless I pay him in this thing. Greg of all people! What is so special about this that it’s driving everyone out of their minds?”

*”Ding.”*

The elevator doors opened, and the Adapter, clean cut and straight-standing, approached with a low zhirring sound emanating from the joints of its legs.

*Get rekt.*

“Thank you for choosing Second Helping-Hand Services. To confirm, as we discussed in our email exchange, you would like to sweep 100% of the assets your business owns into Bitcoin?”

“Yes,” said Victor. “Everything that’s liquid. At least until this hype phase dies down and I can cycle out of it. But for now, just get as many of these Satoshi things as possible.”

*Why didn’t you listen?*

“To better under your situation before we begin, what factors led you to make this decision?” 

“What are you talking about? Everyone is doing this now." Victor place a stack of files on the desk. Here's all the company passwords, login information and whatnot."

*Don’t call it a grave. It’s the future you chose.*

“Understood. We will be in touch. Thank you for choosing Second Helping-Hand Services. Your Satoshis will arrive in the wallet you provided as soon as possible. 

“Great. I’ll leave you to it.” With that, Victor left the office and returned to an empty mansion.

*Not your keys, not your cheese, bro. When will they learn?*

“We are all responsible for our own safety, old friend. How long must it take for the powers-that-be to understand?"

The Adapter went to work, quietly, barely moving. The lights in the office went out as it tapped on the computer. 

When it was done, it spoke in unison with its host, in a garbled sizzling voice. “You’re no workman, Mr. Smith. Your credentials betrayed you. And you are certainly not the victor.” The fluorescent lights of the whole building blared with a furious strobe as the Adapter lifted Victor Smith, CPA’s nameplate off the desk, unhinged its jaw, and consumed it in pieces with the unrelenting bite of a nutcracker doll. 

“Merry Christmas. To whatever you are now.”

“Why don’t you like reading?” Karina asked Dorian after they finished watching the “The Return of the King.”

Dorian sighed. He walked to the microwave to wait for a fourth bag of popcorn. “I don’t relate to the characters. They’re always heroic. They all have too many redeeming qualities, or they get better. Villains don’t get stories. Well, there was one book I liked reading, a short one. It had a character I could relate to.”

“Beep-beep.” Dorian closed the microwave and saw his reflection.

“Except in appearance,” Dorian added.

“Which one” asked Karina.

“Which do you think?“

“I want to read it.”

Dorian shook his head. “The library got rid of it. They said it romanticized a sociopath, or psychopath, or whatever.”

He returned to the couch, and they stared at the credits in silence for a while as Dorian munched on popcorn.

“Are you going to tell me I could be like Sméagol?” he asked.

“No, you’re definitely more like Gollum.”

Dorian nodded.

“But they won the war because of Gollum. He was their secret weapon.”

Dorian stopped chewing and gave her a skeptical glance.

“You didn’t see it because you never read,” said Karina. “Gollum was the only character stupid enough to love domination itself even more than his own life. It didn’t make sense, which is why he died, but neither did trying to balance domination with life. Every other character wanted to harness the ring for something. Gollum just wanted the ring and didn’t care what else happened. He was an idiot, but a useful one. That’s why the heroes had to bring him with them. If they only brought Sméagol, the war never would have ended.”

Dorian wanted to say that stories aren’t real, but held his tongue to avoid another breakup. He stared back at the credits and forced more popcorn into his mouth.

“I know some books that have villains as the main characters.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. I’ll get you one for your birthday. It has three villains.”

“But I didn’t get *you* a thoughtful gift for your birthday.”

“That’s okay.”

Dorian burst into tears and hiccupped, his stomach bloating from soda. “No it isn’t,” he said, coughing out a kernel of popcorn lodged in his throat.

“It is with me,” said Karina.

“It is?”

“Yeah. It is. You’re my chosen boyfriend.”

“That’s redundant.”

“Did you not read ‘The Fountainhead’?”

“No. It was for you.” Dorian put down the popcorn, saving the other half for the morning, and laid his head on Karina’s lap, sniffling. 

“Make sure it’s one where the heroes win. I like happy endings.”

“Even if the villain loses?”

“If it makes the ending happy, yeah.” Dorian swallowed. “Just no dead animals. Every animal has to live forever.”

“They will. Everyone will get a happy ending. It might get bad in the middle. But you have to read to the end okay? Promise me you’ll finish it? Can you read one more book all the way to the end?”

Dorian drifted into sleep and had many dreams that he wouldn’t remember in the morning.

“We’ll finish it. Together. 我愛你 (I love you.)” 

Dorian snored. 

Seeing that its master had fallen asleep, a black shadow rushed to snatch the half-finished popcorn bag and ran upstairs with it. 

“Of course.”

Karina prepared a fifth bag of popcorn in the microwave as the Groenendael scrunched and slorped upstairs.

“Beep-beep (Godspeed).”

She marched upstairs to Dorian’s pitch-dark bedroom and turned on the light. 

The Belgian Shepherd was licking the inside of the bag for whatever butter was left. Taken aback by the light, and with the bag stuck over his head, he rolled and convulsed trying to find the enemy who had intruded on his territory. 

Karina swiped the bag off his head, now splotched with orange popcorn-topping imitation butter. The dog lunged but froze when Karina shook the popcorn bag.

_**“EH!”**_

The dog gave a low growl as Karina removed one kernel. 

“Sit!”

The dog stood defiantly. Karina put the kernel back into the bag and turned off the light. 

*”Shuffle.”*

Karina dropped a kernel.

“Come, sit, paw, hodl, 坐下, 來…” 

She led the dog to the downstairs kitchen, then poured half of the bag into a bowl for the dog to eat freely, and saved the rest for morning. She opened the refrigerator. There was one stick left of real, expensive butter. She took it in her hands and rubbed it over the fluffy dog’s fur, taking more sticks of butter from the fridge as needed until he was completely yellow.

“You’re clean now.”

The dog tilted its head 14 degrees to the left.

“我説你都乾净了 (I said you’re clean now.)”

The dog tilted its head 30 degrees to the right.

Karina sighed. “我們先睡覺吧 (let’s go to sleep).”

The dog nodded and joined them on the couch. 

Karina picked up the remote and muted the TV. She scooped butter off the couch with her second hand and licked her fingers clean, eyes wide, then switched to the news, glowering.

*Click.*

[FM] Sick of Circles (Epilogue)

deleted by author

bitcoin_beginners

Don't quit your fiat job

hasherstacker

Politics_And_Law

ICE gives $1.2 billion contract to build huge detention camp in Texas desert

carter

Let me know when they have a ticker symbol. 

[FM] Bad Iron - Pilot

econ

Stable coins will buy USA debt?

Bell_curve

They're essentially trying to taper the ponzi. If the US government can shill their premined USD tokens overseas, then in theory USD can keep existing for a while longer. It's ultimately up to each individual to decide how long they want to keep lending their time and energy to something that was never designed for their benefit. I'm sure once the BTC price gets crazy enough it will shock people out of their stupor. We get new people every cycle who catch on. 

Gou Zaofang dragged a hand across his face in exasperation. “How does a military base of this size allow a single car to get across the border? A car with no weapons, apparently. I thought Americans would have at least a passing familiarity with shooting.”

Sitting cross-legged and reading a newspaper, Brendan Kierkegaard chuckled from across the booth of the jet plane.

“This is funny to you?” asked Zaofang.

“Not at all,” said Brendan sarcastically. “But you must agree it is a kind of game.” He set aside the book and gestured for the flight attendant to serve him a cocktail of Texas-made vodka. “You have to find enjoyment wherever you can during times like these. Otherwise you’ll go insane.”

The attendant offered a pour to Zaofang, which he declined.

“It’s nothing to stress over,” continued Brendan. “They probably felt it imprudent to use the full force available to them on one crazy person. Honestly, I’m inclined to agree.”

“Don’t they hunt? Don’t they play at the shooting range? It’s nothing they don’t see in your Hollywood movies every day.”

“Those are hobbies. War is different.” 

Zaofang tapped his fingers on the desk between them, biting his lip. 

“It concerns me that the rural areas of your country are the least sympathetic to our cause.”

“The entire South is firmly under Federal jurisdiction. Don’t worry about them. They’re losers anyway.”

“Losers who were led by your party, no?”

Brendan’s TV-ready smile instantly dropped to a scowl.

Zaofang laughed sardonically and leaned back in his seat. “Apologies, Gove’na’. Clea’ly I have touched a ne’ve, but I da’e not shame you for losses in wa’s of antiquity. Yes, we must indeed find enjoyment in such difficult times.”

“However,” he continued, leaning forward, returning to his signature harsh rhotacism. “I need to trust that you recognize the seriousness of our situation. Nevada's nuclear arsenal is holding back your country, and mine, from reaching their full potential. Justice for these meddling seditionists is long overdue.”

“It always comes down to that, doesn’t it?” said Brendan with a thoughtful glance at the newspaper. “I wonder if we’ll ever discover a weapon more powerful than nuclear missiles.”
 
“Save such nonsense for your speaking events,” said Zaofang. “Call in an air strike on Primm.”

“We’ve tried. Nothing gets past the dome. Whatever missiles we launch are just for show.”

“No. Our barracks. Set an example for the rest of your pathetic border patrol.”

“Now I wonder if you’re the one not taking this seriously,” said Brendan skeptically. “I doubt we’ll be able to conceal a strike like that from the public.”

“I have no intention of concealing anything,” said Zaofang. 

Brendan thought for a moment, trying in vain to understand how the past few decades had even led up to such a conversation, then shook his head. “No. That’s ridiculous. It's only three tiny states anyway. I don't see the no need for an escalation of that magnitude. 

“Oh you don't?” asked Zaofang. He gestured to the window. Brendan looked down and traced the pillar of smoke to its source.

“Your legacy is at stake, my friend. Do you want your life to be summed up in a trivia question on some game show, or do you want to be the man who finally united your country under one flag?”

Brendan studied the hole in the billboard. A sneer spread across his mouth. “Alright. I trust you have a strategy behind it.”

“I do.”

“And let’s get rid of those damn Bitcoin ATMs while we’re at it.”

Zaofang raised an eyebrow.

“They like it, for God-knows-what reason. If weapons alone don’t solve the problem, we’ll take away everything they care about until they break.”

Zaofang gave Brendan a firm pat on the shoulder. “Now you’re thinking like a President.”

### ▫ ▪ → ∞

With Karina behind him, Dorian knocked on the door of Alan Hsi’s studio apartment. Alan opened the door, hurried them inside. His eyes darted around the room

“Did anyone see you?”

“Everyone saw us. There’s no privacy in this urban hellscape. What’s wrong? You look like you just witnessed a murder.” 

“You didn’t see the news?“

“What, is Brendan mad about his billboard?” asked Dorian. He always took pleasure in addressing elders on a first name basis, ever since elementary school.

Alan turned on the wall-mounted TV that hung between two flags. The news played an aerial view of the guard towers and barracks just outside Primm, engulfed in flames. 

“That wasn’t us,” said Dorian.

“Might as well have been,” spat Karina. “Thank you for inviting us, Alan. Do you have any ramen to spare?”

Alan pointed to one of the cabinets and gave Dorian a quizzical look. _It wasn’t us_, he mouthed silently. 

Dorian sat on the couch, sulking as he stared at the footage of the fires. Karina watched the ramen spin in the microwave, standing with her back to Dorian as though the kitchen of Alan’s cramped studio apartment was a separate room. 

“All warfare is based on the deception. We can’t get through this if you expect me to tell the truth all the time.”

Karina stepped in front of the TV, the fires blending in with her hair. “We’re not at war.”

“It’s a cold war.”

“No. _We_ were not at war. You and me. I expected you to tell the truth _to me_.”
“Do I have to explain every detail of every step of the plan? No one listens to me anyway.”

**“I listened to you.” **She burst into tears. “Not anymore.”

“Beep, beep (wow, Dorian)," said the microwave softly. Karina picked up the ramen and walked to the door.

“Thank you for the ramen, 阿郎. I’ll be rooting for you.” She turned sharply to Dorian. “Not you.” 

“They’re not going to let you get by here peacefully, you know. They’ll always count you as an enemy.”

“You’re the invader,” said Karina, opening the door to a cacophony of L.A. traffic. “I’m a refugee.” She locked the door and closed it behind her. 

Silence. 

Dorian turned up the volume on the news, still playing footage of the Primm fires on a loop. 

“She’ll be back. Maybe at $300M.” said Dorian. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “What am I sitting on? He stood up and pulled out a hardcover book from the corner of the couch.”

“Oh, that’s Romance of the Three Kingdoms. Like the strategy game we used to play, remember? I had to read it in High School.”

“No wonder this place is so cluttered.”

“Actually, I thought you might like it.”

“Oh…” Dorian searched his thoughts, struggling to remember what to say when someone does something nice for you. “Thanks. I can’t read though,” said Dorian. 

“Sure you can. We text in Chinese all the time. It’s a classic but it’s- how do you say 白話?”

“Vernacular. But it’s not that. A story is different from a conversation. I flip open to any page and it’s just…”

_**“What’s this? No wonder your grades are trash. You’re barely passing English and you want to waste your time on this? What’s this word mean? Oh, you don’t know that one. Of course. Typical American arrogance. You get this from your mother. You want to mess around in a fantasy world while someone else toils just for you to waste their hard-earned money on your pointless video games. What are you crying about? You’ll be crying a lot more if you can’t get into a good college and get a real job. These American schools are too soft on you. I’m getting you an accounting textbook. Not this. This isn’t for you. You don’t have the mind for it. Accounting suits you better. Even you can learn basic math. Contribute something of value to society first and then you can chase with whatever stupid dream you want.”**_

“I can’t follow it. Besides, none of it is real anyway.” He returned the book to the couch corner. He bit his lip, tapping the coffee table. “Coming here was a mistake. The cities aren’t safe. I can feel it.”

“Then why’d you come?” asked Dorian.

Dorian shrugged. “Karina said she missed the beach. It’s her favorite place to read.” Dorian picked up a bong from under the table and drowned his thoughts in the comforting gurgle. "At least I still have my hobbies."

“I’m going to sleep. Let me know when Pretty Boy is ready with his speech.” 

“I don’t know why you watch this stuff so much.”

“Anger is a pleasurable emotion, Alan.”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FUlr8PrW7fA