Altcoin Boy

I ducked into this super tight, damp alley for a breather. Man, that night, Jakarta felt like it was totally holding its breath, like it just knew someone was on the run. The wind was kicking up this weird mix of metal, dust, and sweat – or maybe that last bit was just my own fear stink.

I peeked over my shoulder. Nada. Nobody there.

But for some reason, I still got this super weird feeling I was being trailed. Not by a person, though. Not some security camera. Not even a drone.

I peeked over my shoulder. Nada. Nobody there. But for some reason, I still got this super weird feeling I was being trailed. Not by a person, though. Not some security camera. Not even a drone.

I gave the backpack on my back a squeeze. Peeking inside, I noticed the laptop had already fired up the Genesis Terminal.

Hey there, here's the latest from CryptoGhost.

Man, something inside me shifted.

"If you're reading this, it means I failed."

Those words just kept playing on a loop in my head.

A few hours ago, I found the log after I got back to my room from meeting up with CryptoGhost in the dead forest. It's a place where the signal was lost and the world felt disconnected from everywhere else. It was actually there that I got to see how everything was connected. Nodes. Pulses. Points.

And there was one spot on the map that really stood out.

Like it was a target.

I hid for a while in an old abandoned building that used to be a photo shop, but had been closed for ages. The place was pretty spooky—dark and cold. The walls were covered in mold, but the roof was still in good shape. It was enough for me to spend a night there and make plans.

I've turned off all the signals on my phone. So, I put on a Faraday sleeve I made outta aluminum foil and a jacket in my backpack.

The laptop was only running in terminal mode, no GUI.

The only window that was open faced the alley. I put a piece of glass on the floor to see the shadows outside through the reflection.

The Genesis Terminal lit up slowly.

The first line appeared:

Booting: NODE ID #ZERO-239A

Status: LIVE

Status: VISIBLE

Tracking Initiated...

-> NEMESIS PROTOCOL ONLINE

I hit the Esc key. It didn't work.

I tried typing the shutdown command.

The terminal wouldn't cooperate.

"You can't just shut down what's already booted."

Those words popped up on the screen.

My heart was beating super fast.

I slammed my hand on the old wooden table in front of me, and paint chips fell off.

"What do you want?" I muttered to the screen like a maniac.

But it wasn't madness.

It was frustrating.

But the next line was even more terrifying.

"I don't want you to die. I just want you to choose."

— Nemesis

Then, in the silence, a notification popped up—not from the system, but from an unnamed folder that appeared automatically after Terminal was activated.

The folder name: It's in the "Secrets" folder, under "Ghostpath."

And inside it was just one file: HeavenRoot.key

I'd never heard that name before.

I checked the file's metadata. It was created five years ago.

It's never been opened.

It doesn't know who the original owner was.

There was a red message below the file that said:

"This key will split the path. But it can only be opened by those who know where all this will end."

I stared at the screen for a long time. The world felt quieter than usual.

The night breeze came in through the cracks in the wall.

But for some reason, I felt a chill down my spine.

Out of the blue...

There was a loud clanging sound of metal outside the window.

The glass reflection showed the silhouette of someone standing at the end of the alley.

I quickly turned off the screen, put away the laptop, and pulled my hoodie over my head.

But when I looked again through the crack...

The silhouette was gone.

But on the ground, right under the alley light, something was lying there.

It was a small brown envelope, like something you'd see from the old days.

I went up to them slowly.

No footprints. There's no sound.

It was just the envelope, as if it had fallen from the sky.

I checked for CCTV. There wasn't any.

I stashed the envelope in my pocket and went back to my hiding spot.

I opened it slowly...

There was a photo of someone inside. Their face was blurry. But the text below it was clear:

"HeavenRoot — the one who never logged out."

And behind the photo, there was just one sentence:

"Don't trust anyone... not even Ghost."

I closed the envelope. Then I looked out the window.

The air was getting colder.

And there weren't any stars in the sky tonight.

I couldn't sleep at all that night. It wasn't just the cold air or the occasional faint footsteps from outside. But the stuff in the envelope on the floor made my mind go even more crazy than this city's.

HeavenRoot.

The name kept ringing a bell. And the note left behind, "never logged out," made it seem like there was more to it than just a username.

I started matching the data.

I opened the old Ghost log files, which I'd pulled from backup before CryptoGhost disappeared.

I typed:

grep "HeavenRoot" *.log

One result found.

ghost_ops_log_july2018.txt: "HeavenRoot initiated rollback on node #GEN-0-JKT (rejected). Reason: violation of consensus ethic protocol."

I took a closer look at that line.

Rollback?

Jakarta node?

Did you get rejected?

Is this a case of ethics violation?

I looked for that file. I opened it with the nano editor.

The full line reads:

"Subject: HeavenRoot. My current position is rogue node maintainer. They tried to put the brakes on the Genesis system update in Jakarta, saying it was too manipulative. We didn't agree on this. Socially blocked. But... he never logged out."

I leaned against the wall. I've got my laptop on my lap.

Eyes open but mind elsewhere.

So, HeavenRoot is sort of a former founder?

I'm wondering if it could be someone who used to believe in Genesis, but then felt the system was corrupt and tried to rebel. But was it rejected?

And now... has reappeared?

I took a look at the HeavenRoot.key file.

It's only 1.1 MB.

It's an encrypted .gkey file.

I scanned it again.

The file hash matched the signature of an old private key registered to CryptoGhost.

I started to have second thoughts.

3:15 a.m.

I had the feeling I was about to be sucked into a time tunnel.

Everything ties back to 2018. That was the year a ton of sketchy crypto projects blew up and vanished. It was also the first time the Genesis system started making waves in the local scene. And maybe... just maybe, it was the year Nemesis first came to be.

I hit up some old names on a Telegram channel that was pretty much dead these days.

Tried searching for one name: "HeavenRoot."

Nothing. No results.

But then, about an hour later, some unknown account replied:

"Don't look for him. HeavenRoot died 5 years ago."

I typed back quick:

"But I just got a file from someone claiming to be him."

The reply was almost instant:

"If that's true... then you're already marked.

That file is a trace. He didn't send a file. He left bait."

Gulp.

I immediately killed all my internet connections. Ripped my laptop off the network. But when I popped open the offline Terminal again, a single line just popped up on its own:

"Trace received. Key verified. Opening door #239-A."

What? The door?

I scrolled through the last log file. The system had created a new folder:

/rootpath/2018x_logs/unclassified/

Inside it was just one text file:

nemesis_origin.txt

I opened it up.

"Nemesis is not A.I.

It is conflict. Born from disagreement.

From rejected nodes. From silenced voices.

And now, it wants those voices back."

I just sat there, sweat dripping.

So... Nemesis wasn't a single creation. It was born from the system itself. From the users who got screwed over.

I stared at the screen, and the next second, my laptop just died. Suddenly. Total blackout. A voice echoed... not from the speakers. But like it was right inside my head:

"You opened it.

So you have to close it yourself."

My heart felt like it stopped.

And from outside the building, footsteps sounded again. But this time... two pairs. And a soft whisper from the open window:

"Andi... that file isn't for you."

That voice froze my blood.

"Andi... that file isn't for you."

I spun around, pulling out the small pocket knife from my backpack. Knew it wouldn't do squat against... whatever was out there.

My steps were slow as I headed towards the cracked window at the back of this old building. I checked my reflection in a piece of broken glass on the floor, trying to catch my breath. But there was no one there.

Silence.

Then... a soft knock at the back door. Three times.

I backed up. My heart pounded faster.

My laptop was still dead. Lights out, like it lost all power. But... the battery was full. The Terminal was locked. Even the power button wouldn't respond.

As I tried to pop open the back casing, I noticed one screw had come loose on its own. Like it was touched... by an invisible hand.

The door knocked again.

Four times. Softer. But it felt like a judge's gavel hitting my chest.

Finally, I opened the door.

Empty.

But on the floor, there was a jet-black flash drive with a weird logo: a half-circle cut by a cross. Below it, it said: "REVOKE."

I picked it up slowly, like it could explode any second.

Back inside the room, I plugged it into the USB port. The laptop was still dead.

But... the terminal lit up automatically, even though the laptop showed no other signs of life. Just a black screen. The Terminal was running in its own dimension.

And there was only one line:

"Someone has used that key before.

Do you want to see who?"

I swallowed hard. Typed: Y.

The Terminal loaded. An old CCTV camera feed popped up. Location: a white room full of computer screens. Year: 2018. Location: Building 6, BSD City.

The feed showed someone's face—it was blurry, but they had one familiar thing in their hand. The same flash drive.

On the table next to them, I saw a logo that also showed up in the file:

GEN-ROOT-ALPHA.

The person looked at the camera. Then said:

"If you're seeing this... it means I failed. But you're not supposed to replace me. That file was for HeavenRoot."

Then... a rumbling sound. The video shook. Then died.

Back to the Terminal. A new line appeared:

"You are not HeavenRoot."

"You are not CryptoGhost."

"But you... can still choose."

Then one last line appeared before the Terminal completely shut down:

"ROOTWARS HAS BEGUN."

And from outside the building, I heard the sound of machines. Not cars. Not bikes. But big industrial drones. A voice popped up again from the broken earphones plugged into my laptop. A woman's voice. Calm. But chilling.

"Andi, run. They've found you."

I didn't even think.

Threw the laptop into my backpack, the flash drive went with it. Bolted out the back door, sprinting into the alley.

Footsteps behind me started getting clear. The sound of machines dropping from the sky.

And as I ran down that narrow alley, a single thought popped into my head—no idea where it came from.

"HeavenRoot isn't dead. But he's not human anymore."