The storm had passed, but its echo still clung to the glass. Mist draped the valley in pale veils, and the world outside The Hut looked suspended—uncertain, unfinished. Alias stood by the hearth, hands deep in his pockets, staring into the orange core of the fire. Ava curled on the couch, knees tucked beneath her, watching him with the stillness of someone listening not just to words, but to the weight behind them. He hadn’t spoken in minutes. Just paced, brooded, pulled threads of thought fr...

The wind had stilled. Outside, the stars pressed against the black glass of the sky, like code waiting to be read. Inside The Hut, the only movement was the dance of firelight on old books and steel edges. Ava leaned over the table, the flicker tracing the curve of her neck, the tension in her shoulders. She hadn’t touched her tea. Alias watched her from across the room. “You don’t believe in tomorrow,” she said. “You believe in escape.” Alias tilted his head, not unkindly. “I believe in esca...

Snow padded softly against the windowpanes of the Hut. The wind etched rivulets down the glass, like calligraphy slowly washing itself away. Alias sat cross-legged by the fireplace, a wool blanket folded over his knees, an annotated copy of Ficciones resting face down on the table. He had reread The Lottery in Babylon twice this week. Babylon, Borges had written, had been overtaken by a mysterious company—“the Company”—that turned chance into a moral, political, and metaphysical system. At fi...

In the archives of the Republic of Letters—unmarked, unpublished, mostly disbelieved—there exists a curious manuscript. It is bound not in leather but in a polymeric fabric reminiscent of forgotten futures. It bears no author's name, only a cipher: A-L-I-A-S. Scholars, for want of anything better, catalogued it under Pegged: A Testament. This document, if one dares call it that, contains neither a confession nor a prophecy but something more disquieting: a blueprint of a financial system that...

The Hut, after Ava left Handwritten letter on heavy, cream-colored paper, sealed in a plain envelope Ava, I don’t know why I write this. Perhaps because words, when set to paper, force a certain honesty that speech allows us to evade. Or perhaps because, in a world where so much dissolves into the digital ether, I still believe that ink has weight, that permanence has meaning. You asked me—half a challenge, half a joke—if I had any illusions left. If I thought Pegged could be more than just a...

1. Neoclassical Economics (Markets as self-correcting through supply, demand, and rational actors) Core Premises: Markets allocate resources efficiently based on price signals. Rational individuals maximize utility, firms maximize profit. Equilibrium is a natural state of the economy. Alias' Objection: "Your model assumes a world that no longer exists." Neoclassical economics is built on 19th-century mechanical metaphors—equilibrium, rationality, and marginal adjustments—yet the modern econom...

Dear readers, As I mentioned last week, I am working on the formalisation of some key issues covered in the Pegged storyline. I thought I needed to explain why - in Alias' mind - lotteries are an essential building block of a viable stablecoin protocol. And what it means in opposition to a managerial approach to the challenge impersonated by Lionel Steenberg's convictions. Please, as ever, feel free to react. Your input is really valued. Let's dive into it... Alias sees lotteries and chance-b...

Dear Readers, Thank you for following Pegged! As the project evolves, I want to share with you the current reading order of Pegged v.1, structured into three acts plus the prologue. This will give you a clearer path to follow and allow you to immerse yourself in the unfolding narrative with its intended progression. Your feedback is invaluable at these early stage of the work—I encourage you to share your thoughts on the story, characters, and themes. Additionally, if you know others who migh...

The moment Lionel Steenberg allowed himself to consider Boris as an option, he felt a wave of distaste roll through him. The former Wagner operative, a man of no principles beyond brute efficiency, was the antithesis of everything Steenberg had built his career upon. Steenberg prided himself on operating within the confines of the institutional world, wielding financial mechanisms like a scalpel. Boris was a sledgehammer, a blunt-force instrument meant for operations that left trails of blood...

The conference room was dimly lit, its cold sterility punctuated only by the glow of multiple screens displaying live metrics, graphs, and real-time intelligence reports. At the head of the long, polished table sat Lionel Steenberg, his fingers tented, his jaw tight, his piercing blue eyes fixed on the unfolding catastrophe displayed before him. Across from him, his lead operative, Markus Reinhardt—a precision-minded analyst whose usual composure had been frayed by the past weeks’ relentless ...

Buba sat on a low stone wall at the edge of the beach, his hands resting on his knees, his eyes fixed on the horizon. The tide was coming in, rolling forward in gentle waves, erasing the footprints left behind by the day’s beachgoers. A fitting metaphor, he thought. Some things left no trace. Others, like the words Alias had spoken to him, stayed. "That’s why it starts with people like you, not the ones looking for a quick profit. The ones who see the bigger picture." Buba frowned, rolling th...

This document is an invitation to build the Pegged system, launch it, and leave it behind. Pegged is not a company, not a product, not a service. It is a self-sustaining system that, once deployed, will operate without intervention, without updates, and without control. Our objective is not decentralization in the abstract, nor is it censorship resistance, trustlessness, or permissionlessness—these are just technical details. The only objective of Pegged is irrevocability. What is done, is do...