Alias leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly, his fingers drumming against the wooden surface of the table. He had spent decades navigating financial systems, studying their weaknesses, their failures, their quiet betrayals. He had spoken to academics, hedge fund managers, anarchists, bureaucrats. And now, he had to explain Pegged to a man selling sunglasses on the streets of Málaga.
"You better bring a way to explain this in words a simple man can hold in his hands."
Buba’s words hung in his mind like a challenge. The problem wasn’t Buba’s intelligence—Alias had no doubt he was sharp. The problem was clarity. He wasn’t selling an idea to a venture capitalist; he was speaking to a man who lived day to day, who had no use for financial theory, who had heard a thousand false promises.
Alias needed an argument that wasn’t abstract. A story, a concrete example, something real.
He closed his eyes and imagined the conversation.
"Buba, tell me something—when you sell a pair of sunglasses, how do you keep your money safe?"
"I put it in my pocket."
"And if the police come?"
"Then my pocket is empty."
"And the next day, you start again."
Buba would shrug. "That’s the way it is."
Alias leaned forward in his mind. "But why? Why don’t you put your money in a bank?"
Buba would laugh. "A bank? You think they’d let me keep an account without some deposits or transactions? They would charge me even if I don't use it."
"Okay, fine," Alias continued. "But even if you could, would you? What happens when you send money back home?"
"It costs me. Western Union, MoneyGram. They all take their cut."
Alias nodded. "And when you save?"
"Save?" Buba grinned. "Who saves?"
Alias tapped the table. "Exactly. The system is designed to keep you running, never resting. You don’t just earn money—you leak money. Every transaction, every moment between earning and spending, someone takes a cut. And the worst part? The money itself is always losing value. The euro buys less tomorrow than it does today. And no one asks you, no one gives you a choice."
Buba’s expression would turn more serious now. "You have a solution?"
"Yes. A system where money doesn’t drain away. Where it doesn’t lose value because of things you can’t control. A system that protects itself."
"And how does this ‘system’ do that?"
Alias took a breath. This was where it had to be clear.
"Lotteries."
Buba would frown. "Lotteries? You think I need to gamble more?"
"Not like that," Alias corrected. "Think of it this way. Every time you use $PEG, it moves, just like cash. But here’s the difference—every time someone plays the lottery, a small piece stays behind. Not in a government vault, not in a bank, but inside the system itself. And this isn’t like other money where some company holds it. The more people use $PEG, the stronger it gets. The more people play, the more it stabilizes."
Buba would scratch his chin. "So, the lottery feeds the money?"
"Yes. But not just that. The money also feeds itself. Imagine if, instead of banks taking a cut every time you made a transaction, that cut went to reinforcing the money itself. Not as a tax. Not as a profit. But as a way to keep $PEG strong. When times are good, the system takes less. When times are uncertain, it takes more—automatically—to make sure the value holds. No politicians, no central bank, no manipulation, no bitcoin. Just math."
Alias watched Buba’s imagined reaction.
"And what stops someone from taking it all? From controlling it?"
Alias leaned in. "There’s nothing to take. The money moves, the rules don’t. No one owns the system. No one can change it without consent. No one can freeze your account, no one can tell you what you can or can’t do. It’s final. It’s yours. The same way that when you sell a pair of sunglasses and put the cash in your pocket, no one can reverse that. It’s real."
Buba’s eyes would narrow. He would sit back, arms crossed, considering.
"And how do I get this $PEG?"
Alias smiled.
"Simple. You sell lottery tickets, and get a commission. You use it. You accept it. You pay and trade with it. And if you want, you play the lottery yourself—not just for the chance to win, but because every ticket helps make sure the money stays strong. Every person using $PEG is making it better, more reliable. You don’t need permission from anyone. You don’t need a passport, a signature, or a bank. You just need a way to receive it and someone willing to use it with you. That’s it."
Alias opened his eyes.
The argument was concrete. Practical. No talk of ideology, no philosophy. Just reality.
Tomorrow, he would lay it out for Buba.
