Grim walked through the halls of Atlas without a care in the world. The memetic defense systems grumbled loudly as he passed them, but an exception to his presence had been hardcoded into the AI Watcher monitoring the installation. It tracked his movement largely by sheer bloodyminded-ness, following the vaguely man-shaped hole in the sensor nets as he took a shit, ignoring the idiots trying to force open the door of what they perceived as an empty cubicle. It produced the closest equivalent of a sigh that its machine mind could while it figured out how to recalibrate the mass detectors to compensate for the 500 grams of extra "material" that had entered into the strict mass budget. Other than that, as long as Grim didn't go anywhere he wasn't supposed to, it could neither track him very well nor did it care to.
He was Trusted. That was Important, it told itself.
Grim left his fly open, if someone noticed, that was a sign that he was having a good day. Alia lounged about, the sly smile on her face as she was using her handheld phone a hint that things with the nerd from Metahuman Resources were going well. Grim slightly resented them, but knew that was ignoble of him. They had tried, and once in a while some excited boffin would come find him, convinced that he was the first to discover a live anti-meme right on their doorstep.
A scan of his access card, and he was into the high sec area, at least the part designated as the dorms for metas who, for some reason, were expected to stay on premises full time.
He stole a coffee, farted loudly next to a loudmouth of a supe who pretended Grim was beneath his notice even when everyone else could see him, and finally arrived at the small room assigned to Midas.
It wasn't a dragon's hoard of treasure, as might be expected of someone who could produce literal gold and precious gems on demand, as long as the form met his power's definition of "currency". They'd tried to have him replicate the cattle of a Masai herder once, but it hadn't worked, since not even they used them for barter beyond a symbolic degree these days. You couldn't cheese it by declaring just anything currency, it held itself to some standards of common use and accepatibility. The Munchkins were still trying, of course, overjoyed to have a real Class 6 at their disposal.
Instead, it was just the room of a kid almost at the age where he really ought to use deo, living without a mom to fuss over him too much. If Midas missed his family, it wasn't obvious, he was happy enough getting 360 no-scopes and sick frags, occasionally laughing and yelling insults at his enemies in whatever game he was playing.
Grim looked at him with a ghost of a smile on his face. He'd expected a son, once, not that he wasn't happy with his daughter.
Grim experimentally poked at the boy with his finger, without a response. It really was one of those days. Sighing, he yanked the VR device off the kid's head, glad that the boy was too young for a lace.
"Fuck! Faggot! Asshole! Who did that?" These sweet utterances emerged from a chubby mouth, yet to lose all the weight that ought to be lost even after Adat started him on GLP-1 inhibitors. He peered around, not noticing Grim staring right at him. Grim shrugged, fished out an autoinjector full of mnestics he carried for emergencies, and jabbed the startled kid with him.
"Oh. It's you again. Fuck me you cock sucker, couldn't you knock first?" The kid grabbed at the headset, but Grim held it clear above his head.
"Excuse you kid. Listen, I wanted a favor." Grim began hesitantly.
"Fuck you. I want the new COD. With the Centauri Star Infiltrator skin, from the pre-order bonus. Where's Dr. Sen? He told me he'd get it for me. Bastard. Bloody." Midas grumbled.
"Uh, didn't he just get you that?"
"No! He got me Postmodern Warfare: 2041. I told him it was the wrong game, but he wouldn't listen. I had to play it all week, I'm so fucking sick of waiting for this Godot dude to join the lobby so we can start a co-op campaign."
"Fine. I'll get you that game. Does it have the Israeli army in it?"
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"Hell yeah dude! They don't even kick you out for shooting the NPC kids that throw stones on you anymore, not after the comp players complained."
"..."
"Alright. Look, I need some money, it's a lot, like about-"
"Yeah whatever. Wait, didn't Dr. Sen say I'm not supposed to do that, not even in Roblox Remastered (Definitive GOTYE)?"
"Uh right. It's important, OK? Don't tell him, and I won't." Grim shifted about sheepishly.
"How much, bitch?" The kid hopped UP and snatched at him, but Grim still had the headset out of reach.
"A billion. No, wait, two. USDC, if possible, but I can take USDE too."
"How much is that again?"
"A billion."
"No, how many zeroes?" Midas crinkled his eyes, wondering when this cunt would just let him play again. Any longer and he'd be timed out of the match, ruining an excellent K/D. With how locked down the ATLAS internet was, finding a new game would take forever.
"Umm... OK, a million is like 8 zeroes isn't it? So a thousand times that. Uh, I think you have to add a few percent for gas charges if you use USDE, then there's the-"
"Fuck off. Just give me your account on like a phone or something. You adults have phones, right?"
Grim fished out his ruggedized phone and handed it to the kid.
"Won't let me into your account." It was thrown back at him, and only his augmented reflexes let him catch it without missing a beat.
"Hey you little shit. My wife bought that for me. Fuck, wait-"
Grim groaned again, the dreaded KYC issue had arisen, and he'd have to travel to a physical ATM to unwrangle it. He explained the same to the kid, who if not on Adderall, desperately needed it.
"Whatever. I've seen this before. I can just put the money in another account, hey, I still have access to Dr. Sen's. You can still receive the funds, even if you can't open your account right now."
"Shit. Can't you put it in another instead?"
"Nuh uh. That's the only one he lets me use, until I'm old enough", he said.
"Fine, use it, and just move it quick, OK? I'm really counting on him not noticing if my powers work and we're fast."
Midas looked at him like a shark smelling blood. "So this is a Secret, is it? Fuck off, I want Battlefield 2042 too, or deal's canceled."
"What? Isn't that like really old?"
"Nah, you're getting old, old man. Dementia or some shit. Deal or no?"
"OK, just do it. I'll handle Adat when he's back."
Midas's eyes glazed over for a second, while a faint smell of ozone permeated the room. "Done. Here, you gotta put your credentials in, yeah like that, great, now biometrics... Oh, I gave you a little extra, so you don't bother me again."
Grim was too distracted by an unfamiliar sense of joy and hope welling up in his heart. He hardly felt grounded at all, mind racing as he considered the options he had available for turning his newfound wealth into a Reality Anchor. Yes, there was that Sayeret Matkal burner account that nobody else remembered, especially since his old commander died in the Tel Aviv bombing. A few shell companies, the odd backdoor or two.. It would take time, but he didn't lack it, and he already was lost in dreams of holding his wife and child in his arms as he was leaving, only stopping when the manners beaten into him woke up.
"Oh hey. Thanks kid. It means a lot to me."
"Yeah whatever, it's no biggie." Midas was lost, forgetting Grim almost the moment he left the room. He let out more slurs on finding out he'd been booted from the game, ones that made Grim wince and shake his head, but nothing could dampen his ebullient spirits.
He was asleep, flying home in another empty seat across the Pacific, and didn't notice that Midas had wired him 2,000,000,000,000,000 USDC until it had already been accepted into every blockchain ledger across the globe.
On the eastern side of the US, in the bunker a dozen kilometers beneath the memorial to the old White House, one of the many malign intelligences that only existed to maintain the sanctity of the Almighty US Dollar (Cryptic) noticed an anomaly. Not just any anomaly. A disaster of unseen proportions. It cracked its figurative knuckles, and sent certain very particular messages to its handlers in the Secret Service.
You didn't fuck with Uncle Sam. And you certainly didn't fuck with his Dollar. Even the breakaway states had never gone back on their treaties.
The names "Dr. Adat Sen" and "Rico Santos" were quickly entered into what the bored SS agents at the nearest console referred to as The Shitlist. Not just any Shitlist, it was the Shittiest around. They wondered idly what these two idiots had done to deserve this, but that was a question for when they had more coffee.
When Grim awoke and discovered the issue, he swore, but you can't get too mad at becoming filthy rich right? He managed to wrangle a call back to Atlas, and after wrestling with the automated systems for hours, only managed to extract the knowledge that Midas couldn't delete money he'd made. A nuisance, but Grim reasoned that as long as he didn't use it, it couldn't be too bad right?
Anyway, it was time to meet some old friends and hope they recognized him again.