Project Crypto

The man sat at the small metal coffee table, watching out the window, the world below. New York City. A city that had once stood gloriously had long fallen under economic pressure. Smoke rose from the streets scattered with the corpse remains of ancient cars. His watch buzzed, and a hologram popped up, the neon green numbers glitching out for a moment before stabilizing.

The date read, "August 21, 2140."

Below it, a countdown. Only an hour remained until he would go back to change the course of history.

He sighed, averting his eyes from the poverty-stricken streets. Here, in the upper levels of the city, meant only for the elite, he was safe from hunger. Safe…the unsaid word tasted bitter on his tongue. It was never supposed to be this way.

"Sir, Satoshi Nakamoto," the young waitress said, her voice trembling slightly. Their voices always trembled the working class, afraid of ending up down there with the rest of the poor, fighting to survive below. He waved her off, "it's okay, I don't need anything." He watched the girl scurry back behind the counter.

When did everything start going wrong?

It was a question he had spent a large chunk of his life studying, and after years of research, he had pinpointed a critical number of events that led to the fall of fiat currency. First, there was the housing crash of 2008. It had started back then, the catalyst that propelled the fall of fiat. Then after scurrying hours of data, he had found the final turning point. It was a pandemic that shook the world economy called Covid19. Inflation followed, and it never stopped until the dollar become almost worthless. In the year 2030, the internet was filled with pictures of people buying bread with hundreds of dollar bills. It was reminiscent of the inflation that occurred in Germany after world war 1. How did no one notice?

Suppose there had been something to counter the inflation that followed, a method for the average joe to have kept their money from becoming worthless. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, lifting away the tension of countless days of work and research. Even after all this time, all this effort, he was uncertain if their plan would work.

The rich did not want his plan to work. They spent endless amounts of resources hunting him down. If he could fix the past, then the world would never come such a dystopian place. Then, these people who had money beyond the wildest dreams would not exist. But he had made it.

"Sir Nakamoto," the girl called out.

"Yes," he answered, starting to collect the few things he had laid out on the table. Amongst them a small hard drive that held the plan for a creation they called 'bitcoin.'

"Sir, I am a huge fan of your work, you are a hero, and I just want to say thank you for everything you will do," she said, the meekness being replaced for a moment with something similar to confidence.

He smirked; this was a thankless job. No one would know what he had done because changing the past would change everything in the future. Project Crypto would never come to exist, but it was a job he was willing to do. He shifted his gaze to the small metal device in his hand. In only a few minutes, this small device would be used to travel back to 2008. The duffel bag he would take with him would have his fake identity, some money, a sum insanely large for today's time but back then. It was nothing and everything else he might need during his time there. After this, he would have two years to find a group of genius programmers to implement project Crypto.

"Could you step out for a moment?" he asked the girl.

She nodded, hurrying out the door. In a few years' time, he would return to a different world. Holding his breath, he closed and pressed a button on the time machine. He did not open his eyes for a while until the sound of the empty room was replaced by the sound of people walking, moving, and talking.

He smiled larger than he ever had. Joy warmed him from the inside. The first phase of his mission was complete. Opening his eyes, he looked around, hundreds of people moving by him, and the streets…they were clean, not filled with the skeletal remains of those who starved.

A breath he had forgot he was holding escaped, and he felt the tension leave his body. Now, he had two years to complete his mission. He would change the world.