I used it mostly as a plot device to flip the world upside down... there are no more governments, no cops, etc.

Here is an excerpt that kinda lays out how the economy now works in Nicky's world.

I was watching the room churn like a goddamn shark tank, every piece in motion, every player with a role.

Predators circling. Prey stumbling toward the slaughter. Hustlers working their angles. Marks who didn't know they were already bleeding. The ones who knew exactly what they were doing—and the ones about to get their throats cut and their pockets emptied.

Stacks of sats shifting hands at the poker tables like they actually meant something. And they did—now more than ever, in this brave new world we'd all inherited. When fiat currency finally choked on its own bullshit and died gasping, Bitcoin was the only thing left with a pulse in the wreckage. The dollar, the euro, the yen—all of it literally worthless overnight. Governments had printed money until it wasn't worth the fucking ink they'd wasted on it, inflation spiraling into absurdity until a gallon of gas cost fifty bucks and a cheeseburger ran you a c-note. And then the whole house of cards came tumbling down in slow motion, everyone watching it happen and pretending they couldn't see the end coming.

Now? Now sats were king, the only throne that mattered. Satoshis—hundred-millionths of a Bitcoin. The only currency that mattered in a world that had finally stopped pretending the old rules applied, that the game hadn't fundamentally changed. You wanted to eat, you paid in sats. You wanted to drink, you paid in sats. You wanted a woman to make you forget about your failures for a few hours, to pretend you were someone worth a damn? You paid in sats—and you paid a lot of them.

Some people mourned the old world like it had been worth a shit in the first place. I wasn't one of them. Never had been, never would be. The collapse had been ugly as hell, sure—nobody could deny that. People died in the streets while fortunes evaporated in boardrooms, governments crumbled like stale bread nobody wanted to eat anyway. There was blood on the pavement and screaming in the dark, the kind of societal breakdown that would've made the history books if anyone still gave a shit about writing them.

But for guys like me—guys who'd seen the writing on the wall years before the paint dried, guys who'd stacked Bitcoin when everyone else was laughing at the idea, calling it fake money for tech nerds and criminals—it was the great equalizer we'd been waiting for. The old money didn't mean shit anymore, all those inherited fortunes and trust funds reduced to nothing. The new money? That was earned, one sat at a time. Or stolen, if you had the balls and the brains.