BITCOIN AI (ENG). ALEXANDR ABRAMSON
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of billions of times, Nastya,” he says, smiling at her. “It all follows a program. And if there’s a program, there’s a Programmer behind it. Think about it: even turtles, without knowing the way, swim thousands of miles to the exact spot. That’s coded into them too.”
Anastasia listens, breathless, her young eyes shining with wonder. She takes the egg, feeling its warmth, and asks, “Papa, can we figure out how the program works?”
He laughs, ruffling her hair. “You can if you keep searching for answers. It’s called genetics—the key to life’s mysteries.”
That night lit a spark. From then on, she knew her life would unravel that "code." Now, nearly three decades later, in the shattered world of 2052, she stands on the brink of a discovery that might prove her father right—or challenge everything she’s believed.
The war left Europe in ruins: millions dead, cities turned to wastelands, survivors clinging to scraps of tech. Munich dodged direct strikes, but depression and decay made it a ghost of itself. Electricity is rare, fuel a treasure, food reduced to corn flatbreads and old canned goods. Anastasia works for "VitaPharm"—a pharmaceutical giant that survived the chaos, buying up scientists and their breakthroughs with promises of a "new world." But she knows they crave control, not salvation.
The door creaks, and Felix Kramer, her assistant, steps in. At 27, he’s lanky, with tousled blond hair and glasses slipping down his nose. He carries two tin mugs of herbal brew, boiled over a fire. Felix is an idealist, convinced science can still pull humanity from the abyss, though for now he just hauls test tubes and fixes the generator.
“Up all night again?” he asks, setting the mugs on the table. His voice is soft, tinged with worry. “Schultz called on the radio. Screamed that the report’s due by morning or they’ll take the equipment.”
Anastasia doesn’t look up. “Let him scream,” she snaps. “This is bigger than their reports. Look.”
She turns the monitor. The graph pulses like the faint heartbeat of a dying world. Felix leans in, his glasses fogging.
“What is this?” he mutters. “Aging slowdown? By how much?”
“Three decades,” Anastasia says, a flicker of hope breaking through her tone for the first time that night. “Genesis found the key. This virus—it’s a repairman for cells. It fixes them before they break for good.”
Felix gasps, nearly dropping his mug. “That’s impossible! It’s… it’s a chance, Nastya! After everything…”
“Just the beginning,” she cuts in, but her smile fades. In this world, such discoveries are targets for greedy hands.
Outside, in a dark alley, Marcus Stolz watches. A former soldier turned "VitaPharm" pawn, his face hides under a rain-soaked hood, his jacket drenched. He holds an old camera aimed at the basement. Marcus is a man without illusions: the war took his family, his job stripped his morals. "VitaPharm" has tracked Anastasia since she refused to hand over "Genesis." He records her and Felix hunched over the screen, sending a message to Helena Wagner: "She’s close. We need to move."
Helena, 50, head of R&D, reads it in her steel-reinforced bunker downtown—a former office turned fortress. Her thin lips tighten. “We can’t let her slip away,” she thinks, summoning a squad.
In the lab, "Genesis" flashes a warning: "Insufficient computational power." The university server, cobbled from prewar wreckage, groans under the strain. Anastasia frowns, rubbing her temples. She needs more resources to perfect the virus. A rumor from the radio surfaces in her mind: in America, in Texas, miners are building rigs that churn out terawatts of energy and computation for Bitcoin—the currency that outlasted the chaos. “If I could hook Genesis to a network like that…” she muses, pulling out a notebook. Her pen sketches a vision: rigs as neurons, AI as a brain. Mad, but in a world where survival is madness, it’s her shot.
Felix notices her pause. “What’s wrong?” he asks, sipping his brew.
“We need a new home for Genesis,” she says. “Something stronger than this junk.”
“A supercomputer?” Felix raises an eyebrow.
“No,” she shakes her head. “Something alive. A network, like in Texas.”
Felix doesn’t get it but nods. He’s used to her riddles.
The rain intensifies, drumming on broken glass. In the corner, a makeshift stove hisses as Felix heats water. Anastasia stares out the window, where lamp reflections tremble in puddles. Her discovery is a door to a new world, but shadows lurk beyond it. Her father was right: life has a program. Now she holds its key—or risks becoming its prey.
Outside, Marcus slips into the dark. Watching him is Klara Berg, 35, an activist with "Green Shield." She despises corporations like "VitaPharm" that profit off survivors and has tailed their spies for a month. Hiding behind a trash heap, she snaps a blurry photo of Anastasia’s silhouette, thinking, “What are they hiding down there?” Her shot will be the first thread tying Munich to Texas.
In the lab, Felix asks quietly, “Are you sure we’re ready? This could change everything.”
Anastasia meets his gaze, her eyes steady but shadowed with doubt. “No,” she says. “But someone has to start. And it’ll be us.”
She turns back to "Genesis," its screen blinking as if winking. The rain grows louder, and somewhere in the night, a storm brews—not just of weather, but one that will upend their lives.
Chapter 3: A Step Toward a Million
Texas. The sun blazes mercilessly, turning cracked asphalt into sticky tar. In an Austin suburb, where the husks of houses jut out like charred bones of a lost world, John Keller’s garage trembles with heat and the drone of mining rigs. Wires snake across the floor like black veins, walls are coated in dust and rust stains, and the air reeks of overheated metal and sweat. John sits at the table, his shirt clinging to his back, eyes alight with feverish gleam. On the battered laptop screen, "Crypto-Oracle" displays a forecast that seemed insane three days ago: Bitcoin has spiked 15%, just as the AI predicted. A bet of a few hundred Bitcoin cents—scraped together from selling an old truck—has ballooned into 10,000 overnight. It’s a drop in the bucket by prewar standards, but in a world where Bitcoin is the only currency left standing, it’s a lifeline.
Matt Keller steps into the garage, wiping his hands on an oil-soaked rag from fixing a wind turbine that powers their home. His face is flushed from the heat, his expression a mix of awe and unease. He repairs tech for survivors, but he trusts the earth more than his brother’s "digital dreams."
“You were right, damn it,” he says, glancing at the screen. “Ten thousand cents? That’s more than I make fixing stuff in a month.”
John grins, leaning back in his chair. His voice is rough but rings with triumph. “Told you, Matt. Oracle isn’t just code. It sees the future. In this world, it’s our shot.”
Matt shakes his head, settling onto a crate of scavenged prewar tools. “So what’s next? You can’t stay in this shack forever. Neighbors are already griping—the rigs are sucking power, lights keep flickering.”
“Next is bigger,” John replies, pulling up a map of Texas on the laptop, pieced together from old satellite data. “I’ll find a warehouse. Expand the rigs. Oracle says the next jump’s in a week. We need to be ready.”
Just then, Ryan peeks into the garage—a 19-year-old neighbor with a lean face and perpetually messy hair. He clutches a tablet cobbled from broken military drone parts, his survival tool. A self-taught hacker, Ryan scrapes by cracking old networks still catching satellite signals. For a week, he’s been sniffing John’s Wi-Fi, trying to figure out what’s brewing behind these walls.
“Hey, man,” he says, shifting awkwardly. “I, uh… noticed your traffic. Mining, right?”
John tenses, but Matt cuts in: “What’s it to you, kid? Go break your own junk.”
Ryan