Austin, December 2052. Winter in Texas isn’t snow but a biting wind that drives dust and debris across plains thick with thorns and the charred remains of old farms. In the industrial zone on the outskirts, John Keller’s warehouse hums like a relic jolted back to life. No longer just 15 rigs, there are now 50 mining setups lined up like sentinels of a new era. Their fans roar, blasting hot air through makeshift pipes of rusty metal stretching skyward. The hangar’s walls are blotched with corrosion, but inside, it’s a realm of tech: wires dangle from the ceiling like roots of a dead tree, and the air blends the scent of molten metal with the sharp tang of ozone. John stands amid the chaos, eyes locked on the screen: his wealth has crossed 5 million Bitcoin cents. Bitcoin climbs as the last hope in a world where paper money turned to ash, and "Crypto-Oracle" predicts each surge with chilling precision.

      Matt Keller tinkers with a rig, checking cables powered by a generator John bartered from local mechanics for old batteries. His hands are calloused, his face dusted with grime, his gaze heavy—he’s tired of being his brother’s shadow but can’t walk away.

      “You realize this isn’t a game anymore, right?” he says, wiping his brow with a sleeve. “Five million cents, John. That’s more than the gang bosses around here have.”

      John smiles, but his eyes are grave. “This isn’t the ceiling, Matt. Oracle wants more. So do we.”

      “Wants?” Matt frowns. “You talk about it like it’s alive.”

      “Maybe it is,” John replies, staring at the screen. Oracle flashes a new suggestion: "Expand network by 500%. Utilize excess energy for computation." John freezes. His dream—to turn the rigs into a brain that revives this world—is taking shape in code. A chill runs down his spine.

      Ryan sits cross-legged on an old ammo crate in the corner, his lean face bathed in the blue glow of a laptop. He’s made the rig network invisible to gangs and drones of the fractured authorities, masking signals through surviving satellite proxies.

      “Someone’s been poking around,” he says, eyes on the screen. “Traffic from Dallas. Tried to crack our data.”

      “Gangs?” Matt asks, tensing.

      “More like competitors,” Ryan replies. “Or spies. I cut them off, but they’ll be back.”

      John nods, his mind drifting. Success in this world is a beacon for predators.

      That evening, leaving the warehouse under Ryan’s watch, John heads downtown to clear his head. Amid half-ruined buildings and the dim glow of wind turbines stands the "Chain Wolf," a cyber-bar where survivors gather to swap rumors, sip synthetic ale or coffee, and escape the ruin for an hour. Its walls of rusted metal and shattered glass are lined with old screens flickering with scraps of news from underground networks. Above the bar, a hologram blinks—a cyber-avatar, an android with weathered synthetic skin and one glowing eye.

      John takes a seat at the counter, scanning the crowd: mechanics in tattered jumpsuits, black-market traders, hackers like Ryan whispering in corners. He catches snippets of talk: “Bitcoin spiked again… word is gangs in Dallas are tearing up the market… someone in the industrial zone’s eating power like a monster.” His ears prick, heart racing—rumors are spreading, and he’s at their core.

      “Coffee,” he says to the avatar, sliding 15 Bitcoin cents through the counter terminal. The android whirs, pouring a thick black brew from synthetic beans—real coffee’s a myth now. John takes a sip, the bitterness chasing off fatigue. A conversation nearby snags his attention: “Heard some scientist in Europe’s messing with a virus… eternal life or something.” John frowns. A virus? It sounds mad, but in a world where he’s building a thinking network, madness is the norm.

      He finishes his coffee and heads back, thoughts swirling. At the warehouse, Lila Parker pulls up to the industrial zone’s fence on an old motorcycle. For weeks, she’s dug into rumors of miners fueling recovery. Her friend Eric Torres, an electrician fixing turbines for the community, gave her this address. Lila pulls out a camera and binoculars, crouching behind a rusted truck frame. Through the lenses, she spots John’s silhouette at the hangar door. Her pulse quickens—this is him, the man building a new world. She snaps photos, but movement catches her eye: Ryan steps out to fiddle with wires, glancing around. Lila ducks, adrenaline flooding her veins.

      “Who are you?” she whispers, scribbling in a notebook of paper scraps.

      Meanwhile, in Dallas, inside a fortified bunker overlooking shattered skyscrapers, Victoria Kane sits—a 38-year-old ex-soldier turned leader of the "Block Pulse" gang. Her hair’s pulled into a tight bun, her eyes sharp as a blade. She’s heard of John through her spies—someone’s buying up mining gear, cutting into her crew’s resources. She orders Nick, a wiry guy in a worn jacket: “Find out who this upstart is. If he’s good, I’ll break him.”

      Nick nods.

      Back at the warehouse, John takes action. He radios Harry, negotiating two more warehouses in nearby towns—70,000 cents and a water stash. Harry grumbles, “You’re nuts, kid. Why so much metal?”

      “To rebuild Texas,” John replies.

      He pours millions into rigs, hiring workers through Matt—survivors desperate for any pay—and sends Ryan to scour the black market among drifters and traders. The network grows: a web of dozens of nodes across south Texas, linked by Oracle. The AI optimizes everything—power use, deals with communities. By month’s end, John’s wealth hits 7 million cents.

      But growth breeds trouble. Eric Torres, repairing a turbine, notices the industrial zone’s grid is overloading. He radios Lila: “Your miner’s eating power like a beast. If this keeps up, the community’s lights go dark.”

      “Keep tabs on him,” Lila urges. “I need more.”

      Eric agrees, though guilt gnaws—he doesn’t want to hurt those trying to survive.

      One night, Matt brings news: the community’s lodged a complaint with the remnants of authority. The noise and power dips have hit a breaking point. John looks at his brother, his face hardening.

      “We’ll handle it,” he says. “Oracle will find a way.”

      He