Alias, You don’t ask for much, do you? I spent the past few weeks thinking about your request, and I won’t lie—I almost told you to find someone yourself. The kind of person you’re looking for doesn’t exactly appear in job listings. Someone who can build financial pathways in and out of a system that shouldn’t have any, who understands both TradFi and DeFi without being loyal to either, who can maneuver through regulations without ever stepping into the light, who knows how to hold the line w...

The neon glow outside flickered against the rain-slicked window, reflecting off the polished wood of the counter where Chang and Kenji sat, bowls of ramen steaming between them. The hum of conversation from other patrons faded into the background as Chang tapped his chopsticks against the ceramic edge of his bowl, his expression tense.Kenji: (Watching him with amusement.) "You look like you just lost a private key." Chang: (Exhales, shaking his head.) "Worse. I feel like I’m watching an entir...

McCormack sensed an opportunity to push Alias beyond the technical realm. "Alright, Alias, you’ve made it clear that you don’t see decentralization as an ideology, but rather as one tool among many. But let’s talk politics. Because let’s be honest, blockchains—and especially Bitcoin—are seen by many as fundamentally political. What do you make of Bitcoin maximalism?" Alias sighed, adjusting his glasses. "Bitcoin maximalism is an understandable reaction to a financial system people don’t trust...

The recording studio was dimly lit, an intimate space where words carried weight. Alias sat across from the host, Peter McCormack, who adjusted his headphones and leaned into the microphone. "Alright, Alias, let’s start with something that caught my attention from one of your past writings. You’ve said that decentralization isn’t the central issue in the blockchain revolution. That’s an interesting take, considering how most people in this space worship decentralization like a religion. Can y...

The lights of the city stretched before him, a network of glowing arteries pulsing with life, indifferent to the weight of his thoughts. Lionel Steenberg stood at the window of his penthouse office, a glass of whiskey resting untouched on the polished desk behind him. His eyes traced the skyline, but his mind was elsewhere—circling, dissecting, questioning. Alias. The name had become an obsession, an itch he couldn’t quite scratch, a presence that lingered in every briefing, every intercepted...

The chalet’s main room was dimly lit, the fireplace crackling softly. The team sat around the wooden table, laptops open, coffee cups scattered between them. Alias had left the room an hour ago, frustrated, needing air. That was fine. They needed this moment without him. Sofia leaned back in her chair, arms crossed. “Alright, let’s be real—Alias’ plan is good, but it’s also rigid as hell. If we do this his way, we increase the risk of failure before we even launch.” Raj nodded, sipping his es...

Scene: A Three-Star Michelin Restaurant in Geneva The dining room of La Maison du Lac was an exercise in understated elegance. Subtle lighting reflected off pristine white tablecloths, and the hushed murmur of conversation was interrupted only by the occasional pop of a champagne cork or the quiet scraping of silverware against porcelain. From the panoramic windows, the dark waters of Lake Geneva stretched into the distance, shimmering under the city lights. At a secluded corner table, Lionel...

The old wooden table in the chalet creaked under the weight of laptops, notebooks, and half-empty coffee cups. Alias stood at the head, arms crossed, his gaze sharp behind his glasses. Across from him, the team—Sofia, Chang, Amara, Raj, Yuki, and Diego—sat in various states of exhaustion, skepticism, or mild amusement. Outside, the Alps stood in their eternal silence. Inside, the tension was thick. Alias exhaled. “This is not working.” Silence. Sofia leaned back in her chair, arms folded. “Wh...

The restaurant was dimly lit, the warm glow of candlelight flickering against the polished wood of the table. The scent of truffle and aged parmesan lingered in the air, blending with the distant hum of quiet conversations. Across from Raj, Isabella, her auburn hair cascading over her bare shoulders, watched him with an amused smile. "So," she said, snapping a cressini in two, "you work in crypto, right? Tech stuff?" Raj grinned. "Something like that, for the moment I lead a research programm...

So why do it?Why expose others to this? Why wasn’t it enough to take the risk alone? Because he had tried. Because he had failed. And because Pegged had to exist—not as an experiment, not as a dream, but as a functional system that could not be stopped. And he couldn’t do it alone. Alias exhaled. This was the part he had been avoiding, the part that had crept into his thoughts at night, the part that made him sick with the weight of it. Because it wasn’t just about technology. It wasn’t about...

He had no illusions. If Steenberg and his ilk ever figured out who they were, things would get ugly.Institutional RetaliationGovernments wouldn’t negotiate with them. They would be debanked, blacklisted, maybe even arrested. Operation Choke Point 2.0 had been bad enough. But this? This would make those actions look mild.Legal Invisibility Would VanishAs of now, these people were normal citizens. The moment they joined Pegged, they became permanent fugitives from financial authorities. Could h...

The waves rolled in slow, steady rhythms, whispering against the rocky shore. Alias sat alone on the villa’s terrace, a half-drunk glass of red wine beside him, untouched for the past hour. His notebook lay open, filled with scrawled equations, risk assessments, contingency plans. But his pen had been idle for some time now. His mind was elsewhere. On the risks. Not just his risks. Theirs. Because if he brought others into this—into Pegged, into what he had started—he would be dragging them i...