Bitcoin Slot Machines

One year later

The red light came on.

"Alright." Deja sat forward. She was sitting in one of the three oversized velvet chairs on the set. "Are you guys ready to talk about this one?"

Frankie leaned back in his chair. He was wearing the same matching 'VERIFIED HUMAN' sweatshirt as her.

"Let's do it." Imani grinned. Placed her mug down on the end table by her chair.

A large 'The TOUCH GRASS Podcast' neon sign glowed green behind them.

Frankie shook his head. "Like, he really thought he could come back from it."

"Alright, so listeners." Deja glanced at the camera. "Basically, this creator, his handle is Drax on NextBlock."

"I almost feel bad for him." Frankie laughed.

"You've definitely seen some of his stuff." Deja turned to Frankie. "He went viral years ago. Songs from texts from his grandma using AI. And he'd act them out."

"Those were so stupid." Imani rolled her eyes.

"Right." Deja kept going. "Looks like he tried to copy another creator's shtick. She was making these 'POV you're an agent and your human is doing a digital detox' videos."

"And people on there went nuts." Frankie scoffed. "Like immediately called him out. Even for taking other people's content back in the day."

"Yeah, so maybe 'Grandma's Anthem' was actually stolen too." Deja shrugged. "Who knows."

"He's done." Frankie cleared his throat. "The trust is gone."

"Did you see the hashtag they're using?" Imani laughed. "The videos in the #noATTNtoDrax district is ROUGH."

"But that's not the big deal. That shit happens on NextBlock like every other day." Deja lowered her voice. "Drax was still posting like nothing happened. His neighborhood count was dropping, right?"

"He kept doing what he thought would work." Imani raised an eyebrow. "'Cause it used to."

Deja continued. "But Drax didn't care until Mischa, who runs the ComedyTech neighborhood, took him out of hers."

"Which is her prerogative to do." Imani sat up. "It's her neighborhood."

Frankie shrugged. "But it's one of the most popular ones. It killed a lot of his reach."

Deja held up a finger. "But did you hear now? This dude is trying to sue Mischa."

"WHAT!" Imani's hands went up.

Frankie threw his head back. "Sue her for what? Taste?"

"HA! Let me pull up the filing." Deja grabbed her phone. Started scrolling. "It's something like...what's the legal term for causing financial harm?"

Frankie frowned. "Who's covering the legal fees? He can't have that kind of money left for a bullshit lawsuit."

"Mm." Deja kept scrolling. "He's just trying to stay relevant."

"Doesn't matter." Imani waved it off. "He can't win."

Frankie rolled his eyes. "Like how much could he have been making on there?"

Imani held up a finger. "You'd be surprised. I've seen a citizen post a video and make a thousand dollars," she snapped, "like that."

"Not surprised at all." Deja pretended to dust her shoulder off. "Been there. Done that."

Frankie nodded. "Even our listeners get decent zaps for clipping the show."

"Shiit, I zap 'em!" Deja reached out to Frankie. "Thanks for helping out the show!"

"Exactly." Frankie's palm met hers. Slap, slide, snap as they pulled apart.

"But Drax's stuff has always been a little controversial, right?" Imani faked a frown. "Poor guy thought drama would get him views."

"But see that's why I love NextBlock." Deja settled back in her chair. "Rage bait won't work there. There's too much cool shit to let drama distract you."

"It's so legacy." Imani played with her braids. "Thinking impressions matter anymore."

"You know what I like?" Frankie adjusted the cap on his head. "No view counts. Anywhere. Can't fake a number they don't even show."

"Exactly." Deja added. "Like how many people actually reposted your video. Cause that's free attention you're getting. That's worth more than a zap."

"Nah." Frankie waved a hand. "Zaps are all that matter. Either they liked it and tipped you or they didn't."

"But guys..." Imani leaned in. "I don't think you know what Drax did when this all first went down."

"What?" Frankie asked.

"He tried to run billboards, like an apology tour." Imani sighed. "But it's been something like...80% opt out."

"Shiiit." Frankie sat back. "People don't even want to be paid to see his stuff."

Imani threw a hand up. "YUP."

"That's kinda brutal." He turned to Imani. "Like, he can't even pay his way back in."

"You can buy attention here. You just can't force yourself on anyone." Imani opened her hands.

Deja laughed. "Bet you half the city probably has him blocked at this point."

"Even though they don't censor." Imani crossed her legs. "You have to be on your best behavior on NextBlock."

"We're all adults." Frankie cleared his throat again. "Just don't be an asshole. Don't steal people's shit. We can see everything!"

"People can spot a fake. And they'll just block your access to their attention. Poof." Deja flicked her hand open. "You can't come back from that."

"But like, that's him thinking he's still in legacy social media, right?" Imani tilted her head. "On YouTube, even if he was getting canceled, he'd have options. He'd run ads to trick everyone into thinking it's blown over."

"No way his management will even advertise him off another Block." Deja jumped in. "Cause they wouldn't want to risk everyone mass opting-out that one too."

"He can try to sue." Imani snorted. "But Mischa isn't an algorithm or company that banned him."

"I think the point everyone's been missing though is this is Mischa's job." Deja sat forward. "Right? Operating that neighborhood. People like it cause it's ZERO AI slop. She vets all the Blocks she adds."

"And she hosts those livestreams for people to meet each other." Frankie's voice softened. "She's built a community there."

"She better have a good lawyer though." Imani's voice dropped. "Defending this shit gets expensive."

"I've sat and watched like five billboards straight in her neighborhood before." Frankie smiled. "I can spend so much time in there."

"Yeah, she's finding the best Blocks." Deja glanced at her phone. "And after this Drax drama, I think like yesterday...yeah...she already has ten thousand more visiting her neighborhood."

"The people have decided!" Imani threw her hands up. "They'd rather give her a cut of what they earn, than let him pay them."

"Dammmn." Frankie slapped his knee.

"But this is what I keep saying!" Deja held up both hands. "People think they can still get away with the shit that used to work!"

Frankie tilted his head. "Yeah cause they haven't figured out how to game NextBlock. Yet."

"Lemme tell you how to game NextBlock." Deja crooked a finger.

"Oh I'm listening." Imani laughed.

"Good." Deja smirked. "Pay attention."

"Imani is the last person who needs your advice." Frankie gave Deja a side eye. "She knows the founders. She can just ask them."

"OH that's right!" Deja clapped once. "You know Sean!"

Imani rocked in her chair. Flipped her hair to the other side. "I do."

"Oh," Deja sighed. Put her hand on her chest. "I loved his talk on the future of television."

"Did he say it's dead?" Frankie chuckled.

Deja's eyes popped. "Oh, I have to send it to you."

"It is a good one." Imani scrunched her nose in agreement.

"You know, the whole business model to fund production for like anything streamed?" Deja sat back. "It's ads! Or product placements."

"Right," Imani was nodding. "Just companies paying to promote themselves."

"Mmm." Deja took a quick sip of her tea. "So what if TV shows weren't on networks. Or even Nextflix!"

"So like...YouTube?" Frankie grinned.

"No. Like NextBlock. They replace ads with billboards, in the ad breaks. Right? So people get paid. But the show also gets paid from that billboard. Whatever price the show sets."

"Okay. Okay." Frankie eyes were at the ceiling. Thinking. "So a TV show is like a neighborhood basically?"

"Kinda. But think about what that would mean. You could make a pilot and bam!" She pounded a fist into her hand. "You got funding for a whole season."

Imani whispered into her mic, "If your shit's good."

All three started laughing.

"It would be wild though. If that worked." Frankie scratched his neck. "No more product placement. No network deciding what gets made."

"That's the whole idea." Imani gestured between them. "The show is the network now."

Frankie sat back. "Guess this Sean's got vision."

"I love Sean. He's crushing it." Imani sat up. "But Maya's my girl. And I knew her before they met. I was there that night she first shared her idea with him."

"Wow." Frankie sat up. "You were there when they met?"

"Yup." Imani nodded. "Four years ago. I watched her talk through her protocol with him for hours. At a Nostr event actually."

"Stop." Deja held up a hand. "That's too cute."

"It was nauseating." Imani groaned. "But Sean was definitely who she needed. There was no app idea until him."

"Wait." Frankie put up a hand. "What's the difference?"

"Their protocol, the attention protocol, is the rules for buying and selling attention. That's the idea Maya had." Imani spread her hands. "The NextBlock app is the video social experience that uses those rules. That was Sean's idea."

"Mm." Frankie squinted. "Still don't get it."

"Sorry," Deja clicked her teeth. "Me too."

"Okay, like email." Imani tried again. "Email is a protocol. Gmail, Protonmail, those are different apps that use it."

"Ohhh." Frankie shot her a finger gun. Sucked his teeth.

"Okaaay, Maya." Deja was on her phone and typing. "Well alright. That's an attractive couple...and she's the developer...Love that."

"She is. And she thought this shit out." Imani leaned in. "Sean will be first to tell you this can't be gamed."

"Yes it can. Lemme tell you." Deja waved her closer. "The game is...your shit's just gotta be good!"

"HA!" Imani held her hand up. Deja smacked it.

"I remember right when we joined, we did a billboard." Deja chuckled. "I think I set it to a quarter a view and sent it out to our subscriber list. It was just a minute teaser of a pod episode."

"We had more downloads that week, yeah." Frankie said. "But the comments were the best part."

"Yeah cause the comments can get zapped," Deja pointed at him. "Everyone brought their A game in there."

"But remember," Frankie's eyes widened. "On one of our first billboards, someone made more in the comments than we did on the video."

"Yeah. 'Cause you can make real money, the content is like premium here." Imani's hands opened wide. "Right? But then no one is even lazy in the comments. Cause people love to zap what's good."

"Yeah, I love zapping. 1 sat here, 1 sat there." Deja pretended to throw coins into a fountain. "Ohh great joke, thanks queen."

"Great gif, thank you sir!" Frankie pretended to throw a coin.

"You know I live for a messy comments section." Deja said. "I stay checking the Pulse. I'm nosey as hell. I want to know who zapped who."

"And it's never too chaotic cause there aren't any bots." Imani picked her mug up off the end table. "Most of Nostr still hasn't even figure that out."

"HUMANS UNITE!" Frankie raised a fist.

"But girl. Speaking of Nostr..." Deja turned to Imani. "That's what we wanted to talk to you about today. Last time Imani came on she explained Bitcoin and Satoshis..."

"SATS," Frankie wagged a finger at her. "We're calling them SATS."

"And that was great. Magical internet money. I'm slowly getting it." Deja groaned. "But you gotta explain Nostr to me. Your girl just stopped using IG. I'm trying to catch up."

Imani sat up. "Wait. Did you read Stacking Bread yet?"

Deja winced. "No."

Frankie blinked. "Girl. Even I've read it."

"It's the best way to ease into all this stuff." Imani shrugged. "Just read the book."

Frankie turned to the camera. "Yeah, listeners, for those who don't know, Imani has been circling around all this tech—"

"Freedom tech." Imani corrected.

"Freedom tech, for years. We want to understand it." Frankie repeated. "NextBlock says that no matter what we post to our Block, it can't get taken down."

"Where was this in 2024?" Deja shook her head. "When I got shadow-banned for posting for Palestine."

Imani set her mug down. "That post? On NextBlock, nobody buries it. No algorithm deciding who gets to see you. And it's yours. They can't take it down, can't shadow-ban it. It just stays up."

"And it's not just NextBlock." Imani went on. "Same tech, hundreds of other apps. All open."

"So, in all those other apps, we just log in with our NextBlock account?" Deja asked.

"Kinda. Yeah." Imani took a breath. "Technically with your npub."

Deja interrupted. "Girl. Slow down. Npub?"

Frankie cut in. "It's like your user name. Your account."

"Yes!" Imani exhaled. "One login. You're you everywhere. Same account, no new password. You visit my neighborhood, it's all Nostr projects, and you walk in as you."

Frankie pulled the mic closer. "And all your followers follow? Right? On these other apps?"

"All the contacts, in your address book." Imani emphasized.

"Followers is from legacy. We don't follow people, we visit them now!" Deja clapped between each word. "Keep up!"

Frankie waved Deja off.

"Coming up: Imani explains the entire internet. Let's run an ad first." Frankie gestured wide. "Sorry listeners, it's not a billboard that'll pay you."

Deja turned to the camera. "Go touch some grass while you wait."

The red light blinked off.

Ten months later

The elevator door closed.

Maya let out a long breath. Her shoulders dropped.

Shayan was watching her. Already smiling.

"Thank god we're finally alone." She stretched her neck to the side.

"Mm." He took a step toward her.

She dropped her head to the other side. Her blazer was on her arm. Her blouse still a little wrinkled from the mic she'd ripped off earlier.

He took another step. "You were ruthless up there."

She bit back a smile.

He laughed. "I still can't believe you shouted 'can't be worse than a model that loses eight billion dollars to fraud!'"

"I can't believe I laughed about it with the crowd." She lifted her chin.

"Yeah." His hand found her waist. First time all day he'd let it. "Can we please practice a little more restraint next time."

She put her hands on his chest. "I was so unprofessional."

The numbers above the door started climbing.

He grabbed her face. Kissed her.

Her back hit the wall and she laughed against his mouth.

His hands moved to her hair. To her back.

"You can't wait three minutes?" She pulled back.

"I'm not used to having to wait." He kissed her again.

She pulled him closer. Closed her eyes.

The floor stopped moving.

The chime snapped them back.

They jumped apart. Maya straightened her hair.

The elevator door opened. To an empty hallway.

Shayan exhaled. "We're in the clear."

She walked out. "You're proud of yourself."

He followed. Smirked. "A little."

"Someone from the conference could've seen us."

"And then what?" Shayan pulled out the room key. "We're in Vegas, baby."

"It only took you five years to finally get me back to your hotel room." Maya walked through as he held the door.

Inside, their suite was a mess. Her dress from yesterday over the chair. Three laptops were open on the desk. Their minibar already raided. They each threw their 2031 CES SPEAKER badges on the dresser.

Shayan headed for the coffee machine.

Maya tossed her blazer on the couch. Kicked off her heels. Climbed onto the bed.

She pulled out her phone. Opened the group chat.

No 🚗 to Arlington 🚫. 47 unread messages.

She scrolled to the top.

---

---

Shayan walked over with her coffee. Placed it on the nightstand. Tossed a bag of pistachios from the minibar onto the bed.

Maya grabbed them without looking up. Smiled at the screen. Typed.

He kissed the top of her head. Walked to the window.

Thirty-five floors below, the Strip was glowing. He watched the water dance in the Bellagio fountains.

He turned back. Watched her scrolling on her phone.

She wiped a tear from her face.

Shayan walked over. Sat next to her on the bed. Took the phone gently out of her hands. Set it on the nightstand.

She looked up.

His eyes met hers. "Hi."

"Hi."

"What did Salma say?"

"Basically that our child doesn't miss us." Maya slumped into his chest.

"That kid can be such a jerk." He patted her back. "We gotta remember to get Salma a Spice Girls Reunion t-shirt."

"That can't be all we bring back for her." She pulled away. Rolled her shoulders. "She deserves three nights in a hotel too."

"Right." He leaned back on the bed.

"Look at her." Maya put her phone in front of his face. Her eyes filled.

Shayan looked at the photo. "My Baba joon."

She wiped her cheek with the back of her hand. Exhaled.

"She looks older." Maya kept looking at the screen. "Doesn't she look older?"

He looked again. His thumb traced the screen. "Can you send these to my mom too?"

"I will." She kissed his temple. Put her phone back down.

"I texted with Gabriel earlier too. She's doing great." His hand reached for her leg. "It's just a few days."

She turned to face him. Sat cross-legged on the bed.

He did the same, lying down. Then closed his eyes and reached for her hand.

She held it. Used her fingers to draw circles on his palm. Then up his arm. Then back down to his hand.

Shayan settled deeper into the bed. "Can't believe how well this is going."

"I can." Maya kept drawing on his palm. "But, I couldn't have done this without you."

Shayan opened one eye. "Yeah you could have."

She shook her head. "No. It only works because it's both of us."

"It works too well. We definitely pissed people off today." He smiled. "Should we be worried?"

"Worried isn't the right word." Maya was now focusing on his wrist. "I just didn't think it would land as hard as it did today. As fast."

Shayan yawned. "And that woman from Oracle, trying to argue technology needs to track people."

She rolled her eyes. "Like it was a law of physics."

"And the Meta guy said the same thing. Twice."

Maya scoffed.

"They don't even realize what they're saying out loud anymore." He cleared his throat. "These people are psychopaths."

She chuckled. Bit her lip. Kept drawing circles up his arm.

"And then to call us a novelty." His eyes were closed.

Maya took a long, deep breath. "'Bitcoin slot machines' is what they called it."

"I heard three other people call us that today." Shayan let go of her hand. Sat up. "That's gotta be the talking point."

"Let them." She finally stood. Stretched her arms over her head. "As if that's the worst thing to be called in Vegas."

"That's all they have. To scare people away." He yawned again. "Bitcoin is our only barrier."

She looked down at him. "It's our superpower."

He laughed. "Our click-thru-rates are our superpower."

"8% and with no surveillance capitalism. Imagine that."

Shayan shook his head. "Took no prisoners."

Maya let her head fall back. Laughed.

He reached for his phone. Tapped something. Held it out to her.

Maya took it. Squinted at the screen. "What? Tomorrow's flight is delayed?"

"Kinda." He stood up. "We need one more day. Just to celebrate."

Now she frowned at him. "But Salma thinks we're coming back tomorrow."

"She's always known we're coming back Friday." Shayan's smile got wider.

Maya looked at him. Back to the phone. "When? How?" Back to him. "Why did you do this?"

He put his hands on her shoulders. "Because my CTO has been killing it lately and she deserved an extra day of PTO."

She set the phone on the nightstand. Pulled him down onto the bed.

She climbed into his lap. Buried her face in his neck. "Thank you."

"Tick Tock." He almost sang. "I think the old guard is falling."

Maya took one more inhale. Then stood and walked to the closet.

"Do you need help with your dress?" He sat up. Stretched his back.

She shook her head. Started changing for dinner.

He changed into a fresh shirt.

"And that asshole sat up there and called it innovation." Her zipper caught at her shoulder blades.

"Uh huh." Shayan walked over. Lifted her hair off her neck. Zipped her up.

"Everyone there knows that 60% of impressions are non-human now." Maya switched out her earrings. Bigger hoops replaced smaller ones.

He watched her as he sprayed on his cologne.

"No one can verify real attention." Maya adjusted herself in the mirror. "Not like us."

His eyes followed her hands.

She walked over to him. Fixed his collar.

Their eyes finally met. She breathed him in.

"Wait." Maya stepped back. "Why did we get ready so quickly?"

His arms wrapped around her. "Why are we even leaving?"

She tilted her head. "That's a good question." Her hand found his chest.

He pulled her closer.

Her chin lifted.

She could feel his breath on her lips.

And then his phone alarm screamed in his pocket.

She didn't move.

It buzzed again.

He pulled back. Looked at the phone. "Speaker's dinner."

"Wow." Maya turned away. Couldn't hold back her laughter. "Another one of your damn phone alarms ruining my night in Vegas."

"Actually." Shayan grabbed her. Pulled her into his arms. "We can be late."

She found his belt loop. Pulled him onto the bed.

Two hours later, they made it to dinner.

For now, nobody else would get their attention.

Three years later

The gavel cracked twice.

"This hearing of the Subcommittee on Digital Engagement and Commerce will come to order." Senator Whitfield cleared his throat. "Today's examination concerns the operation of NextBlock, Incorporated."

The chatter in Room 216 of the Hart building turned into whispers.

Below the dais, photographers knelt in the well, cameras tipped up at the witness table. The shutters never fully stopped. A soft, constant clicking, under every word.

Maya straightened in her chair. Kept her head high.

The placard in front of her said Reis. The one to her right said Yousefi.

Shayan put a hand on her wrist. She exhaled. He let go.

"I will have you escorted out if there is another outburst from the gallery." Senator Whitfield pointed his gavel directly to the people in the second row. One of them was holding a sign in black marker that read "FREE THE INTERNET."

Shayan closed his eyes. Took a deep breath. The whispers around him finally dissolved.

Whitfield looked down at his list. "Senator Vargas."

"Mr. Yousefi. Ms. Reis. Thank you for being here." Vargas held up her phone. "Your company claims to fight this country's addiction crisis. The one this device started." She set it down. "You haven't ended it."

"Under the banner of freedom technology, you've persuaded people to sell themselves for a currency most of them will never have enough of to matter." She pulled off her reading glasses. "So tell us plainly. How is that liberation? Because to me it sounds like a more sophisticated way of profiting off people's attention."

The chamber went quiet. Even the shutters stopped.

"It's the opposite, Senator." Shayan answered into the quiet. "We're not profiting off their attention. It was always theirs, taken everywhere else for free. We just built the one place that has to ask."

He set his pen down. "The liberation isn't that we pay them. It's that they can say no. Nobody chooses for them. Not even us."

"Nobody." Vargas picked it up. "That's the trouble, isn't it, Mr. Yousefi? You've built a place where nobody answers to anyone."

"We answer to the code, Senator." Shayan gestured to Maya, then himself. "We wrote the rules into it ourselves. So we can't exploit you. It's a promise we can't break."

"A promise." Vargas set her glasses on the table. "Promises can be broken."

"Not when it's written in code." Maya's voice carried across the chamber.

"Code can be rewritten, Ms. Reis. You wrote it. What stops you from changing it tomorrow?"

"Nothing, Senator. We could change it tonight. But you'd see us do it. The rules are public. And anyone who didn't like the change would leave, and take their name, their social graph, their attention with them. We'll always be incentivized to keep that promise, because no one is trapped in our app."

Vargas's eyes met Maya's. Maya didn't blink.

"You profit from the same compulsion every other social media app does." Vargas turned to Shayan. "Except yours adds a constant dopamine drip of money. That only feeds the addiction. Does it not?"

"The addiction was never the money, Senator. It's the algorithm. Every other app runs a feed that learns what gets to you and feeds you more of it. Outrage. Fear. Whatever you can't look away from. That's what hooks people. Not the money."

"We don't run one. Nothing here is built to keep you scrolling, and we don't make a dime off how long you stay. So there'd be no reason to."

"That isn't what I asked." Vargas didn't move. "They call your app a bitcoin slot machine, Mr. Yousefi. You pay people to keep coming back. I asked about the wallet. Not the feed."

"You said yourself, the money isn't enough to chase, Senator. But it's something they can spend. On the creators they value. On what they want more of. It's an economy. It moves."

"A slot machine pays out just enough to keep you pulling, Senator." Maya's eyes stayed on her. "Ours pays you so you can back what you actually want to see."

"Moving on." Vargas picked up a new page. "Your platform has been accused of encouraging mob mentality. There is no appeals process. A single accusation, true or false, and a person can be erased in an afternoon. How does NextBlock expect an innocent person to recover from that?"

"Senator, the only coordination we've seen runs the other way." Shayan's hands hovered over his notepad. "Marketing firms filing baseless suits against the people who run our biggest communities, pressuring them to platform clients who couldn't earn the attention on their own, who—"

"That is not what I asked." Vargas turned to the Chairman. "Reclaiming my time. Mr. Yousefi. How does an innocent person recover?"

The shutters picked up. Whitfield leaned in. "The witness will answer the question."

Shayan looked at his hands. Then up. "They might not."

The shutters broke loose. A hard run of clicks, the loudest yet. He waited them out.

"You're right, Senator. A crowd can get it wrong. Someone can be accused of something they didn't do." Shayan continued. "But an appeals process needs a judge. Someone with the power to override what people choose to look at. That's the exact power we took away."

Vargas raised an eyebrow. "So the innocent are an acceptable loss."

"No." Shayan's jaw tightened. "On the old platforms, when that happened, they just deleted you. You couldn't even speak. Here, no one can erase you. You can always tell your side."

"You say you answer to the code, Mr. Yousefi." Vargas held his eyes. "I answer to people. The ones who get ruined by a crowd on your platform, with no way back."

"I can't give them a way back, Senator." Shayan didn't look away. "But I can be honest with the people who trust us enough to be here. People using social media need to understand the rules of engagement. What is permanent. What can be removed. What will always be public. We make these things very clear."

She gathered her papers. "I hope you have a better answer soon. For their sake." She turned to the chair. "Mr. Chairman, I yield."

Maya's foot found Shayan's under the table. Tap. Tap.

Whitfield checked his list. "Senator Cole."

"Thank you." Cole leaned into his microphone. "I'd like to enter into the record a list of seventeen trade associations that have filed formal complaints against the NextBlock platform."

He gestured to a staffer. A poster board went up on an easel beside the dais. Seventeen names.

"The National Restaurant Association. The American Gaming Association. The National Reverse Mortgage Lenders Association. And fourteen others."

He looked up.

"Each one represents an industry that says it cannot reach its customers in your application. We have heard versions of this complaint from businesses in nearly every state in this country."

He let the names stand on the easel a moment.

"The complaint is that NextBlock systematically censors commercial speech. Mr. Yousefi. How do you respond?"

"People are choosing not to look, Senator. We couldn't stop them if we tried. No one, not the advertisers, not us, decides what anyone sees. That's by design. It's the only way it can't be rigged."

"Choosing." Cole repeated. "You'd have this committee believe that people, on their own, with no one steering them, decided to stop seeing this advertising. In the millions."

"No one steered them, Senator. There's nothing here to steer with."

"It's the same for us, Senator." Maya took it from there. "A quarter of the people on NextBlock have also switched off our promotions. We can't reach them either."

Cole lifted the board off the easel. "Every name on here is a legal business, Mr. Yousefi. They employ Americans. They pay their taxes. They broke no law." His voice climbed. "And most of the people on your platform have shut them out and never looked back. These industries say they have no way to earn a second chance."

"It can't be forced, Senator." Shayan kept still. "We can't make a person watch what they don't want to. That's all these complaints are. Industries that can't buy their way in here."

Cole picked up a new sheet. "Political speech. Our staff reviewed your filings. Several Super PACs report their access is blocked from ninety percent of accounts. Members of this body have personally told me they cannot reach their own constituents on your platform. Is NextBlock discriminating against political speech?"

A murmur ran through the gallery. Along the dais, senators sat forward.

Under the table, Shayan's knee grazed Maya's.

"Those aren't filings, Senator. That's public data from our attention marketplace, anyone can pull it." Shayan let the shutters run, then went on. "And it isn't discrimination. Both political parties get tuned out at the same rate. It's fatigue."

"Fatigue." Cole turned to the senator seated to his left. Scoffed. "Polite phrasing for a boycott of constitutionally protected speech."

"A boycott is also constitutionally protected, Senator." Shayan sat back. "We built NextBlock so people can always opt out. Social media that runs on consent. The First Amendment protects the speaker. It has never once required a listener."

Behind them, the gallery stirred. Whitfield's hand drifted toward the gavel.

Cole's voice cooled. "If this committee finds that NextBlock organized these boycotts, and did not merely permit them, you will be back in that chair." He squared the page in front of him. "Mr. Chairman, I yield."

Whitfield ran a finger down the list. "Senator Park."

Down the dais, Park didn't reach for his notes.

"Good morning, Mr. Yousefi. Ms. Reis. Let's get right to it." Park raised his finger to the room. "There is a serious threat NextBlock has imposed on us that needs to be addressed by this Congress. Through their legitimate business, they've given massive exposure to a decentralized, censorship-resistant protocol for global networking."

Behind him, a staffer raised a chart showing the NextBlock Citizen census data.

"Since launching, NextBlock's user base has doubled year after year, around 40 million today. This could be an app more dangerous than any that's come before it."

Park turned his attention to Maya.

She was squinting. Trying to read the board behind him.

"As NextBlock's CTO, could you please explain to the committee why, on your network, someone can scream a lie and no one can ever take it down?"

"Of course, Senator." Maya adjusted her microphone. "Ten years ago, if you wanted to build anything social online, you had to own the identity layer yourself. Every person's name, their data, their connections, sitting in your company's database."

She watched the row of senators above her. Watching her.

"Nostr ended that. A person's identity is a key they hold, not something on a company's server. Their posts live on relays, and anyone can run one. So someone like me can build on top of it without ever holding a person's identity hostage."

She pressed her hands flat on the table. "It's a better way to exist online, Senator. Your name is a key only you hold. No company hands it to you, and no company can take it back. You own what you say. Which means you answer for it."

"Ms. Reis." Park folded his hands on the table. "Your explanation ignores the dangerous content that is monetized on the Nostr protocol. Content your application steers people towards. Your encouragement to use this technology is frankly irresponsible."

The gallery erupted.

Whitfield's gavel cracked. Once, twice. "Order. I will clear this room."

Shayan waited for it to settle. He didn't look back.

"You hear them, Senator. Every person behind me is an adult. Soon, you will let them walk out of this building into a world full of lies, and liars, and people who could hurt them. But you trust them to handle it. To decide who to believe. Who to ignore. Who to walk away from."

Shayan met Park's eyes. "Why is it irresponsible to let adults keep that same autonomy online?"

Park shook his head. "It is almost concerning how naive you are pretending to be, Mr. Yousefi. I shouldn't have to tell you that AI has made it nearly impossible to assess the truth online. It is not the same playing field as the real world."

"I worked for this government for fifteen years, Senator. Naive is the last thing I am. I've seen what happens when a few people decide things for everyone."

He looked down the row of senators. "I wouldn't hand that power to anyone in this room. Not to you. Not to me."

"So instead you hand the power to publish anything to predators, foreign operations, and other threats to our country?" Park responded.

Maya pulled the mic to the edge of the table. She slowly leaned in to speak. "What you're asking for is a backdoor, Senator. That will never happen."

Somewhere behind her, the chatter began.

"And if that's why this committee wants an excuse to come after us, so be it." Maya's voice was level. "But your resistance to this technology will not slow its adoption. Whether you like it or not, the people have tasted freedom."

"It's permissionless, Senator. No one can stop it. Shut us down tomorrow. There are already eight other apps with their own attention marketplaces. Hundreds more that use Nostr."

The sound climbed. In the second row, the FREE THE INTERNET sign rose again.

She placed her hand over Shayan's wrist. Looked back at Park. "Naive is thinking people will accept less than owning their own identity. Naive is thinking you could buy stolen attention forever."

She held Park's eyes. "No excuse, no lie you tell, will ever convince people to give up these rights."

Behind her, the room surged. Whitfield's gavel came down. The noise swallowed it.

Park fired back. "It is the responsibility of this Congress to protect the people."

"And until Congress can do that without violating their digital rights, NextBlock will offer a place where their rights are protected." Maya sat tall in her chair. "The heist is over. You cannot steal our attention anymore."

The room broke open. In the well, the photographers fired in a steady roll, flashes washing over the table.

The gallery came up off its feet. FREE THE INTERNET signs rising along the second row. The noise climbed past anything the gavel could reach.

"This committee will stand in recess." Whitfield could barely be heard. "We reconvene at two."

Shayan had Maya by the hand before the gavel stopped banging. They went up the aisle together. Past the cameras, reporters calling out questions neither of them answered, and through the doors.