Bitcoin Box

A magazine dedicated to all things Bitcoin


Bitcoin Rising

author: Kiba
published: 2011-03-30 18:10:23 UTC

On the morning of October 17, 2017, the US stock market saw its greatest performance. The overall value of stocks rose on the average of 20,000 percents. The nominal GDP for that year exceeded all others since or before. The government paid off its entire debt. The profit earned by American that day is astronomical. Unfortunately, numbers can be deceiving.

That morning, I woke up into the bone-chilling cold in the middle of an abandoned but spacious warehouse. After I brushed my teeth, I rigged up my sleeping bag to my bookbag. That bookbag contains some of my most valuable material possessions. I have a pair of smartphone, a ruggedized and souped up netbook and a few essential such as dental products, illegally brought military rations, water bottle, a small electrical toolkit and several encrypted usb drives.

A phone rang after I finished packing for the day.

"Yo, boss! The people started to revolted, "the voice stammered.

"What?!" I replied in confusion.

"Populist crowd outside are demanding an end to capitalism as well seizing property! Since you're the richest man in the world, you have to leave the city!"

"There's no way I am the ri--�, I replied back. In midsentence, the phone begun to errs a long beep.

"phone network is down. Searching," the phone’s computer voice announced.

I decided that today’s events won't ruin my day. After all, the employee from half-way around the world is probably exaggerating the danger. I have work, food to buy, and deals to make. Before long, I was out in the street, intent on making my way to the grocery store.

It was very soon that I started smelling something particularly rotten. By the time I crossed the street, I was increasingly surrounded by rats scurrying around every wall, every tunnels and every manholes that they can find. The smell strengthened, so I decided to make a turn on the next corner in the hope of steering away from the smell. Then, I came upon a five feet tall mound of trash, with every kinds of vermin feasting upon it. Some of the trash started to liquefy and some began falling down the mound. I turned away in disgust and returned whence I came from. Soon, it was clear to me that city maintenance is no longer done. Traffic lights flashed, trashes accumulated and manholes busted with sewage.

In the next route I took, several policemen blocked a passage to the grocery store. In order to pass through the checkpoint I would need an identification card, which is something I rather not have. Every time their eyes swept through cars and people, I felt like they're trying to catch me, because I am at that point, the world's richest tax evader. Instead, I took one of the many detours around the blockage to the grocery store.

At the store, the scene was filled with men, with their wheelbarrow of cash, rammed the money into the checkout lane as soon as their spouse finished shoving everything in their shopping chart. Several store employees went from shelf to shelf, furiously pasting a new higher price tag. By the time I reached the entrance of the store, there was nothing for the world’s richest man to purchase. My digital cash, uncoupled with the pink market’s dollars economy, had not suffered the consequences of hyperinflation. However, they are simply no match for the grocery non-acceptance of the currency I hold.

Soon, the phone locked on to a wifi signal and downloaded the latest news into my phone. Amongst the news was an agorist alert. I opened up the content.

It reads, "Emergency agorist hotdog mobile truck now in service." I opened up the link contained in that alert, and soon I was confronted with the high price of hotdog. It costs 2.1e-7 bitcoins. Nonetheless, all the grocery store in the city no longer have any hotdogs. So I purchased the rocket hotdogs option. My digital wallet registered a minute changes in the number of bitcoin I hold.

Shouting and smashing sounds begun to echo from a distance. The sounds grew louder minute by minute. Absently, I stared into my phone, reloading the page for the delivery status of my food. Variously, it read "being chased by police", or "being chased by the crowd". Then it finally read "Get to a safe location before we deliver your food". Then it finally showed me the GPS coordinate for delivery.

"CHARGE!" a voice commanded.

"Shit!" I shouted back. I ran as fast as I could to get away from the mob. The crowd pursued me with enormous resolution. Their collective feet drummed a thousand beat per second. I spotted a narrow street and redirected my course into this street. Soon, they were squeezed in by the tight walls, and I was able to put in some distance between them and me.

I continued running for several streets, as hard as my leg can sustain. Only moment after the escape, the cellular network came back online, and the agorist truck communicated to me the location of the delivery.

I finally ended up in the city’s center, along with other arriving agorists.

"So, you ran into the mob?" an old hobo asked.

"Yes, I did," I said.

"Yeah, they’re a scary bunch. They chased me a half mile after they figured out that I was stinking rich with bitcoin!"

Soon, a black truck rolled down the street with the unmistakable circle-A plastered on its side; the A stood for anarchy. A Gatling gun popped up, but it was not bullets; instead, it was "rocket hotdogs". The gun dazed the crowd with hotdogs. It was not one hotdog, but several for each customer.

The truck beamed a message to every phone owned by the anarchist crowd.

"Save and give!" the message commanded. The truck left the vicinity shortly after.

"I think we’re supposed to give the surplus to those hiding in their apartment," the old man conjectured. "The surplus hot dogs are still expensive, but we need the city to get back on its feet."

The black market crowd dispersed as quickly it had met. You never know what the forces of chaos, either the mobs or the police, are going to do.

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