New story in the works. 15 chapters. Sharing an early draft. Felt timely. Vibe checking. LMK
Chapter 1: Real Money
Jack counts silver coins. Twenty-three eagles. Twelve maples. The metal feels cold against his fingertips. Real. Substantial. Not like the numbers flickering on his UBI account.
The baby cries.
Ellen dips her brush in gray paint. Another landscape of burned Malibu. Blackened hillsides where mansions used to gleam. She paints from memory now. The real coastline lies behind concrete towers and surveillance checkpoints.
"We should have left," she says. Her voice carries no emotion. Just fact.
Jack slides a coin across the table. Silver gleams under the apartment's harsh LED strips. "Where would we go?"
"Anywhere but here."
The baby's cries intensify. Neither moves to comfort him. The sound has become background noise. Like the drones humming outside their window.
Jack's phone buzzes. UBI notification. Monthly allocation deposited. $2,847 in programmable tokens. Expires in thirty days. Just enough for their concrete box and processed food. Never enough for anything else.
Ellen adds darker gray to her canvas. "Milk hit two hundred today."
"Per gallon?"
"Per quart."
Jack counts again. Same twenty-three eagles. Same twelve maples. Their hidden fortune shrinks in purchasing power daily. Hyperinflation devours everything. Even silver struggles to keep pace.
Through their window, Malibu's transformation sprawls below. UBI housing towers where celebrity estates once dotted the hills. The Pacific Coast Highway runs like a scar between surveillance checkpoints. Citizens shuffle between towers, faces glowing blue from their screens.
Everyone scrolls Tokemon.
The platform promises everything. Fame. Wealth. Purpose. Jack watches neighbors become creators. They film their daily UBI routines. Rate their government-issued meals. Review their assigned housing. The algorithm rewards compliance with engagement. Engagement generates tokens. More tokens mean better housing assignments.
Jack counts his coins instead.
"The Hendersons got premium placement," Ellen says.
Jack knows. He watched their moving video yesterday. Their daughter needed surgery. They couldn't afford private medical care on basic UBI. So they documented everything. Her diagnosis. Their desperation. The algorithm loved their authentic suffering. Viewers sent donations. The family got upgraded housing near the medical district.
Their daughter got her surgery.
Jack counts coins. Ellen paints ash.
The baby cries.
Outside, OMNI drones patrol in formation. Transparent aluminum shells house surveillance clusters. Cameras. Microphones. Chemical detectors. Heat sensors. They map every citizen's movement through the smart city infrastructure. Each face gets scanned. Each voice gets recorded. Each digital transaction gets logged.
Jack pays cash when he can. Silver when merchants accept it. Bitcoin is necessary. The underground economy shrinks daily. Store owners cite "compliance issues." Health departments find violations. Licensing boards revoke permits. The system offers smoother alternatives.
Why struggle with metal when tokens work everywhere?
Ellen paints the pier. Before the fires, tourists crowded its wooden planks. Street musicians played for tips. Families bought cotton candy. Now it serves as a Tokemon content hub. Cameras line the rebuilt structure. Creators film against artificial backdrops depicting pre-fire Malibu.
Paradise filtered through corporate algorithms.
"Dr. Martinez closed her practice," Ellen says.
Jack stops counting. Dr. Martinez delivered their baby. Accepted bitcoin and metals as payment. Asked no questions about their UBI status. Trusted providers grow extinct. Digital-only payment systems squeeze them out.
"Where will she go?"
"Underground."
But the underground shrinks. Jack's silver dealer stopped answering his Cryptchat messages. The bakery that traded bread for coins got raided last month. "Tax evasion," the news reported. The owner pled guilty. Joined Tokemon from prison. His confession video went viral.
The system shows mercy to those who surrender.
Jack's neighbor appears on his feed. Danny something. Former plumber. Now he creates content about "UBI lifestyle optimization." His videos show meal planning with token budgets. Exercise routines in government-approved spaces. Meditation apps that sync with TRUST scores.
Danny's content gets good engagement. His UBI allocation reflects his value to the platform. Premium housing. Enhanced medical coverage. Educational credits for his kids.
Jack counts coins. Danny counts followers.
The baby's crying changes pitch. Higher. More desperate. Ellen sets down her brush. Jack stops counting. They both recognize the sound. Hunger. Not the normal kind. The kind that means something's wrong.
Jack checks their UBI balance. $847 remaining. Three weeks until next allocation. Milk costs $200 per quart. Formula costs more. The baby needs special nutrition. Premature births require expensive supplements.
Ellen lifts him from his crib. His tiny body feels too light. His skin looks pale. Too pale. She checks his temperature with the back of her hand. Warm. Too warm.
"We need Dr. Martinez," she says.
"She closed."
"The hospital then."
Jack opens his laptop. Hospital payment portal. Digital only. No cash accepted. No silver accepted. UBI tokens or approved credit lines only. Their balance won't cover an emergency visit. Their TRUST score prevents credit approval.
Citizens with hidden assets represent security risks.
Jack stares at the payment screen. Twenty-three silver eagles sit on the table. Each coin worth hundreds of UBI tokens on the black market. If he could find buyers. If he could make contact. If the Cryptchat network still functioned.
The baby's fever spikes.
Ellen rocks him gently. Her gray paint stains his blanket. Ash-colored smudges like old burns. "What about your stash?"
Jack's hidden fortune. Beyond the coins on the table. Gold buried under the floorboards. More silver cached behind false walls. Bitcoin locked in a hardware wallet. Wealth enough to buy medical care for a lifetime.
All of it illegal to possess.
Regular citizens can't hold precious metals. Only institutions qualify for Bitcoin ownership. Jack's stash predates the restrictions. Grandfathered possession requires registration. Registration means confiscation. Confiscation means redistribution through UBI allocations.
His wealth becomes everyone's poverty.
Ellen knows about the gold and silver. She doesn't know about the Bitcoin. 0.01 BTC tucked away in a hardware wallet. At current prices, enough to buy their building. Maybe two buildings. Jack hides the wallet even from her.
Some secrets carry too much weight.
The baby's breathing becomes labored. Shallow. Rapid. Ellen's face loses color. She looks at Jack. He looks at the payment screen. The hospital requires advance payment for emergency services. Tokens expire before treatment completes.
The system prevents hoarding through planned obsolescence.
Jack opens his Cryptchat app. Empty channels. His contacts went dark weeks ago. The mesh network shrinks as users abandon it for integrated platforms. OMNI-TRUST offers seamless communication. Universal compatibility. No encryption barriers.
Why struggle with hidden messages when everything works smoothly?
Ellen paces with the baby. Back and forth across their small space. Each step echoes through thin walls. Their neighbors probably hear everything. OMNI probably records everything. Smart city infrastructure captures all audio. Privacy died with old Malibu.
Jack counts coins one more time. Twenty-three eagles. Twelve maples. Enough to buy medicine on the black market. If the black market still existed. If dealers still operated. If anyone still accepted silver.
The underground economy needs customers to survive. Customers need suppliers to function. Both need trust to operate. Trust requires consistency. The system disrupts consistency through raids. Raids generate fear. Fear drives compliance.
Voluntary servitude through artificial friction.
Ellen stops pacing. "Call them."
"Who?"
"The hospital. Tell them we're coming."
Jack dials the number. Automated system. Press one for emergencies. Press two for appointments. Press three for billing. He presses one. More menu options. Insurance verification. Payment confirmation. TRUST score validation.
The system requires identification before service.
Jack provides his citizen number. The system retrieves his profile. UBI recipient. Basic tier. No enhanced benefits. No medical coverage beyond emergency stabilization. Payment required for treatment beyond life support.
The baby needs more than stabilization.
Ellen watches Jack navigate the phone system. Her painted landscapes surround them. Burned hills. Empty beaches. Concrete towers rising from ash. Her art documents their lost world. Before the fires. Before OMNI-TRUST. Before UBI housing replaced beach communities.
She paints what they remember. Jack hoards what they can't replace.
The baby's fever climbs. Ellen strips his clothes. His tiny chest rises and falls too quickly. Sweat beads on infant skin. His eyes lose focus. Ellen's panic shows in her movements. Jerky. Desperate. Maternal instinct overriding resignation.
Jack ends the call. "They want eight hundred tokens upfront."
Ellen looks at their account balance. $847 total. Enough for medical screening. Not enough for treatment. Certainly not enough for extended care. The baby might need days in the hospital.
Their UBI won't renew for three weeks.
Outside, drones shift position. Lower altitude. Tighter formation. OMNI updates its surveillance grid nightly. Citizens adapt their routines to avoid attention. Shop during approved hours. Travel predetermined routes. Communicate through monitored channels.
The system provides safety through comprehensive observation.
Jack's laptop displays Tokemon feeds. Neighbors documenting their evening routines. Dinner preparations with token-bought ingredients. Entertainment consumption through approved platforms. Family time in designated spaces. The algorithm rewards authentic content. Authenticity generates engagement. Engagement creates value.
Value supports the universal basic income.
Ellen sits with the baby. Her resignation returns. The moment of panic passes. She accepts what she cannot control. Jack admires her stoicism. Ellen endures reality without fighting it.
Jack fights reality without changing it.
The baby's breathing stabilizes slightly. Still too rapid. Still too shallow. But not immediately critical. Ellen checks his temperature again. Lower than before. Maybe the fever peaks. Maybe they have time.
Time to decide. Time to choose. Time to surrender.
Jack counts coins. Ellen paints ash. The baby cries.
Outside, Malibu sleeps under OMNI's watchful grid. Citizens dream programmable dreams in concrete towers. Their smartphones charge beside their beds. Notifications arrive on schedule. The algorithm never rests.
Tomorrow brings new content opportunities. New engagement possibilities. New ways to generate value from authentic suffering.
Jack secures his silver in the hidden floor safe. Twenty-three eagles. Twelve maples. Real money in a digital world. Heavy metal in a weightless economy. Substance in a system of shadows.
Ellen adds final touches to her painting. Gray waves crash against gray shores. No color remains in her palette. No hope remains in her art. Just documentation. Just memory. Just truth rendered in monochrome.
The baby sleeps fitfully. Fever dreams in a surveillance state. His generation will know only the system. UBI housing. Programmable money. Comprehensive monitoring. He'll grow up digital native. System integrated. Properly socialized.
If he survives.
Outside their window, OMNI drones complete their patrol pattern. New formation. Tighter grid. Lower altitude. The Crackdown approaches. Jack doesn't recognize the signs. Ellen ignores them. Only the baby remains oblivious to the coming storm.
The system prepares to collect its debts. All debts. Even those not yet acknowledged.
Jack turns off the lights. Ellen cleans her brushes. The baby whimpers in his sleep.
Real money waits in hidden places. Real problems demand real solutions. Real choices approach like OMNI drones in the night.
Silent. Inevitable. Absolute.