Darren stood in front of a grimy ATM wedged between a vape shop and a pizza place that definitely failed health inspections.
He pulled out his phone.
Opened his bank app.
"Alright, Soul Bank. Let's see if this monopoly money actually spends."
He tapped WITHDRAW $40.00, enough for food, maybe a bus pass, and dignity if it was on sale.
A soft buzz hit his head.
The system lit up.
[PROCESSING REQUEST...]
[Confirm Conversion of Emotional Yield → Tangible Currency]
Warning: All Real-World Expenditures Are Traceable by Market Spirits.
Continue?
"Traceable by what now?"
No one around heard that but the pigeons. They looked just as confused as he felt.
He tapped YES.
His phone pinged.
He checked the screen with shaking hands.
Bank app. Balance: $40.27.
It had been $0.27 thirty minutes ago.
He stared at it for a full minute. Then laughed.
"Okay," he said, voice hollow.
"It actually works."
He placed his card into the machine.
The atm machine shuffled...
Then $40 spat out in two crisp twenties.
He grabbed the cash, waited for the universe to explode.
Nothing.
[Transaction Approved.]
And his soul remained intact, for now.
"Cool. I can buy a sandwich and some existential dread."
MOMENTS LATER....
He ordered two greasy slices and a drink.
Paid in cash.
Sat by the window and just… stared at the world.
Everyone walking by had a value tag now.
That couple arguing? [Regret: 0.6]
The kid on the phone? [Desire: 1.1]
The woman in the red heels? [Worship: 0.3 | Envy: 1.5]
The guy with the dog? Flat zero. Emotionally bankrupt. Respect.
Darren took a bite of pizza.
"Hot. Greasy. Paid for by someone else's inferiority complex. Delicious."
System pinged.
[Daily Market Drift Detected]
Current Value Fluctuation: ENVY ↑ 8%
Tip: Trigger multiple targets in high-density zones for bonus return.
"Did this thing really just tell me to go people farming."
He didn't move.
Just stared out the window.
"...God help me, I'm considering it."
He thought about it, then decided going home was probably the next best idea at the moment.
His apartment wasn't far. He walked with his head half bowed, not quite from shame or from exhaustion either, just the kind of posture that life eventually molds you into when ambition dies.
The door creaked like it hated him.
Darren walked into his apartment with a takeout bag in one hand and a pocket full of guilt money he didn't want to think too hard about.
It wasn't a bad place, it just looked like no one lived here on purpose.
The walls were beige. The couch was old. The fridge hummed loud, maybe even louder than the f**king neighbors argued.
He dropped the bag on the table and sat down like the floor had given up on him.
He pulled out the $20 remaining from earlier and stared at it for a second.
"I just got paid for making someone feel bad about me doing better than I actually am."
He said it like a joke, but it didn't land.
After a while....
Takeout box half finished.
TV playing something he wasn't watching.
Phone face down, cracked screen flickering.
Darren opened the Goldscript with a flick of his fingers.
No password, no lock. It just responded. Like it was always listening.
[Ledger Units: 0.6 LU]
[Real Balance: $60.00]
[Emotional Network: Expanding…]
Nearby Emotional Activity: Moderate Yield Potential
Would you like to engage?
He stared at that last line.
"Would I like to engage?"
"That's a weird way to say, 'Want to mess with someone's feelings for cash?'"
He didn't click anything, not yet atleast.
Just closed the panel and leaned back.
Across the room, the envelope from the bank still sat on his desk.
He hadn't touched it since.
Didn't know if he should go back.
Didn't know if he could.
"What happens if I just ignore it all?"
"What if I'm already part of something I don't understand?"
He exhaled through his nose.
Laughed dryly.
"I can't even afford to quit magic capitalism."
"Shit."
Darren sat up. Rubbed at his face.
"Okay," he muttered. "Let's get something straight."
He held up one finger.
"One, If this is schizophrenia, I'm gonna be so pissed. I can't even afford meds."
Finger two.
"Two, if this is real… then I'm sitting on a money printer powered by feelings."
A pause. Then...
"Three, what the hell do I even feel anymore?"
He stood up, walked barefoot across the cold tile, and pulled open a single cupboard.
One stale protein bar, a half empty bottle of vinegar and a memory .
Darren sighed.
"Well," he said, unwrapping the bar, "guess it's time to monetize the mental breakdown."
Objective is to Trigger the system again.
The plan was simple... ish.
He sat back on the couch, closed his eyes.
And started trying to remember something painful, maybe.
Mom's funeral?
Too blurry.
Getting dumped over text in college?
Annoying, but mostly funny now.
The day Dad left?
Hazy. Distant.
Nothing came.
No ping, no glow, definitely not money.
He opened his eyes. "Okay. So does this thing needs other people only?"
Which meant…
Darren looked around.
Not much to work with.
His eyes landed on a cardboard box by the edge. It was taped shut, dust covered. He hadn't opened it in years. Not since he moved in. Not since...
He knelt down, pulled it closer, peeled the tape back slowly.
Inside was photos, Drawings, Notes, One old cassette player and on top, a wrinkled scarf that smelled faintly of lavender.
His hands shook as he picked it up.
"Don't be stupid," he muttered to himself.
He almost put it back.
Almost...
Instead, he held the scarf up to his face. Closed his eyes.
And felt it.
Her voice, humming in the kitchen.
The light catching the dust in the air.
Warm hands pulling his blanket up when he pretended to be asleep.
The scent of lavender and laundry soap.
The way she smiled when she said he was her little star.
His chest tightened.
[Memory Detected: Category – Love]
[Intensity: 82% | Emotional Integrity: Stable]
[Yield Estimate: $1,300.22]
[Would you like to convert this memory?]
[YES] [NO]
Darren froze.
His heart pounded so hard it drowned out the city outside.
He could feel the memory now, very real, very Precious.
And the system wanted to take it.
He didn't click anything.
He just sat there, scarf clutched in both hands, a tear sliding down without permission.
"$1,300..." he whispered. "For one moment."
Silence....
The box glowed faintly, like the system was waiting. Patient. Cold.
It didn't push.
Didn't warn.
Didn't bargain.
Just… waited.
Darren shook his head. "I'll think about it."
And for once, the system didn't say anything back.
Darren didn't move for a while.
The scarf lay across his knees like a loaded weapon.
Not the kind that killed you instantly, but the type that just took something out of you piece by piece.
The memory still echoed in his chest like a fresh wound.
And the system waited silently.
Well, atleast for a while. Then.....
[Would you like to convert this memory?]
Yield Estimate: $1,376.22
He whispered the number again.
"Thirteen hundred."
That would cover his rent, food, electricity. Maybe even one good night in a real hotel where the sheets didn't itch.
All for what? One memory.
A memory that he'd already been losing around the edges.
A voice that didn't sound as clear anymore.
A smell he could only remember when he closed his eyes.
A smile he kept trying to recreate from old photographs.
Wasn't that what grief was? A slow erasure?
Was this really that different?
His fingers curled tightly around the scarf.
He laughed dryly. "God, she'd hate this. She'd slap me on the head and call me a dumbass."
He sniffed, wiped his cheek roughly. "But she's not here, is she?"
And that was the cruelest part.
He closed his eyes.
He focused on the memory. On every little fragment. He pulled it all up, her humming, the warmth, the peace.
He didn't know what was gonna happen but he had a guess. Everything had a cost.
And with trembling fingers… He clicked [YES].
There was no dramatic sound. No blinding light.
Just a strange, subtle wave inside his skull. Like someone had pressed delete on something sacred.
His heart skipped, his breath slowed and then... Nothing.
He blinked.
Stared down at the scarf.
And for a second, he didn't know why it was actually there.
He picked it up. Sniffed it.
"Lavender?"
Faint. Familiar but meaningless.
He turned it over, confused.
He remembered the box. But not what was supposed to hurt.
He opened his mouth to say something, maybe a name, but it wasn't there. The syllables floated out of reach, like a dream he couldn't really touch.
There was no grief.
Just a quiet blankness.
And then a ping.
[Memory Converted Successfully]
Deposited: $1,300.22
New Balance: $1,360.49
Warning: Memory is unrecoverable. Thank you for your contribution.
[Harvest Level: 1 Unlocked]
New System Permissions Granted.
Darren staggered back.
He clutched the edge of the couch, breathing hard. Sweating.
And then something shifted.
The glow of the interface changed. Clean white lines stretched in his vision, text rearranging, reorganizing..
It spoke again.
This time in full sentences.
[Welcome...]
Access Granted: Emotional Mapping, Target Recognition, Passive Field Reaping (Dormant).
Recommended Action: Explore. Observe. Engage.
Darren didn't speak.
He didn't feel relief, or joy, or even guilt.
He just sat back there, numb.
Pulled the scarf into his lap again.
And stared at it like it was someone else's.
"Did I ever really like this scarf?" he asked aloud. His voice was Hollow.
The system didn't answer.
It didn't need to.