Chapter 7: Crypto Bites & Blood Rights
401 Words
POV: Elara (Underground Safehouse, 3:17AM)
The receipt from the Lycan Council fluttered in my grip. *$1.2M for silver nano-mist.* I’d seen cheaper hospital bills.
Caden groaned on the stained mattress, his silver veins pulsing to the beat of Heather’s live-stream replay on the fox-eared girl’s phone:
“ SAW THAT, RIGHT?!” Heather’s face filled the screen, her pupils blown from adrenaline (or whatever Marcus had injected). “I DID NOT SIGN UP FOR WEREWOLF TINDER—”
The video cut to a sponsored ad: VENMO SILVER TEARS – GET PAID TO HUNT!
“They’re monetizing the apocalypse.” I crushed the receipt.
The fox-girl—Lira, apparently—kicked a rusted server tower. “Worse. They’re crowdsourcing it.”
The screen flickered to a map of the city, dotted with red markers. #SilverShotChallenge participants: 12,879 and rising.
POV: Marcus (Bloodsinger HQ, 3:21AM)
“Beautiful.” Marcus zoomed in on the live donation counter: $4.7M USD | 2,304 BTC
His tech team whooped as the SilverSwap app processed its millionth transaction. Humans trading silver bullets for crypto. Delicious.
Then his phone buzzed.
Mother Lycan: You were supposed to ELIMINATE the hybrid, not make her a damn influencer.
Marcus smirked and typed back: “Darling, we’re way past elimination. Now we IPO.”
He flicked to Heather’s newest story—her silver-tipped fingers hovering over a “BUY NOW” button for lycanthrope-hunting gear.
POV: Caden (Fever Dream, 3:25AM)
Memory shard #1: His mother signing a contract with Marcus’s ancestor. The parchment bled where their pens met.
Memory shard #2: The first hybrid screaming as they sealed her in the steam-core coffin. “You’ll need us when the blood tears run out!”
Memory shard #3: A teenage Marcus, smirking as he injected something black into Caden’s little brother. “Relax, cousin. It’s just… family medicine.”
Caden’s eyes flew open.
“Jax was a test subject.”
POV: Elara
Lira tossed me a modified Keurig. “Silver bullets are sold out. We’re using coffee pods now.”
I stared at the “LYCANTHROPE-KILLER ESPRESSO” label. “Who the hell is manufacturing these?”
The safehouse door burst open.
Heather stood there, drenched in rain and glowing faintly silver.
“So.” She held up her phone, where Marcus’s last Venmo memo flashed: “KILL THE HYBRID – $500K”
She grinned. “How do you feel about going viral?”
- Writer
