Goldscript: The Infinite Ledger

He didn't move.

Not at first.

Just stared at the bank balance like it might start counting backward. Like it might suddenly spell out Gotcha.

$3.69.

It wasn't much.

Not enough for a ride across the city.

Not enough for rent.

Not even enough for a coffee if you didn't count tax.

But it was more than zero.

And that made it terrifying.

Darren paced, slow and careful, like his apartment had turned into a minefield of invisible questions.

He replayed the moment in his head.

No one had sent him money. No app had opened. No sponsor, no magic chant, no glowing relic.

Just pain.

Just despair, as the notification had so neatly put it.

And then—money.

"Okay," he said aloud, voice thin. "Think, Darren. This is probably a mental break. That's realistic. You've eaten, what, half a protein bar in three days?"

He reached for his phone again, scrolled back. Same bank app. Same amount. The money was still there.

He checked for an explanation. None.

No transaction tag. No sender.

Just a raw deposit from nowhere.

The notification in the corner of his vision was still faintly glowing.

[Harvest Completed]

User: Darren Nova

Status: Initiated

His heart beat faster.

"Okay. Okay. Fine. Let's say this isn't a breakdown. Let's say it's real."

He knelt beside the shattered mug and slowly touched the sharpest shard.

Pain. Small. Clean. Honest.

[Insufficient Emotional Weight. No Yield.]

The response appeared immediately, cold and sterile.

Darren laughed under his breath. "Figures. Physical pain doesn't count."

He stood again, eyes scanning the air, half expecting another pop-up. Nothing came.

Not until he looked back at the photo in the trash.

The one he'd torn in half. That stupid picture of him and the people who'd pretended to care until the layoffs came.

He stared at it. The longer he stared, the more he felt it.

Not just anger. Betrayal. Shame. Humiliation.

All the things he didn't have time to feel in the moment because pretending to be fine was easier than collapsing in an elevator.

And suddenly.....

[Emotion Detected: Bitterness]

Intensity: 21% | Yield Estimate: $2.77

Would you like to convert?

His fingers hovered in the air.

He didn't press it.

Not yet.

He just sat down slowly on the floor and leaned back against the wall again.

"Alright," he whispered, half to himself, half to the system.

"I don't know what the hell you are. I don't know if you're real. I don't know if you're… God, or a demon, or a scam made by Amazon."

"But if you're listening…"

He stared out the window.

The city was still out there. Still breathing. Still rich. Still indifferent.

"…I've got more where that came from."

Like the system has heard him and responded.

No sound. Just calm white text.

[Welcome, Darren Nova.]

[Emotional Economy Interface Activated.]

[You are now a participant in the Goldscript Network.]

[Harvest Level: 0]

[Limits Pending Discovery.]

A pause.

Then, colder text beneath it.

[Reminder: You cannot harvest from yourself.]

Darren blinked. That part felt… dumb.

"Wait...what? Did you just....."

But the text was gone.

Nothing but his humming fridge, that barely even works. Just stood there making dumb noises.

The silence returned, but it didn't feel empty anymore.

It felt watched.

And for the first time in maybe weeks, Darren didn't feel hopeless.

He felt curious.

And that?

That was the beginning of everything changing.

---

Darren didn't sleep that night.

It wasn't that he didn't try, he did, for the record but the brain doesn't do well with mystical capitalism whispering in your ear like a haunted ATM.

He lay on his mattress (thin enough to feel the floorboards through it), arms crossed behind his head, eyes trained on the ceiling like it might blink first.

The system hadn't spoken again. Or flashed. Or pinged. It was just… silent.

He kept refreshing his bank app every hour, like maybe that tiny $3.69 would vanish and he could go back to blaming his failures on the economy instead of interdimensional finance demons.

But no. Still there.

Still real.

And he still didn't know what it had taken from him.

Morning came, if you could call it that. 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."

Pause. Then...

"Three: What the hell do I even feel anymore?"

He stood up, walked barefoot across the cold tile, and pulled open the single cupboard.

One stale protein bar. A half empty bottle of vinegar. A memory of spaghetti that made his stomach grumble on principle.

Darren sighed.

"Well," he said, unwrapping the bar, "guess it's time to monetize the mental breakdown."

---

Objective: Trigger the system again.

The plan was simple - Ish.

He sat on the couch, closed his eyes.

And started trying to remember.

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. No money.

He opened his eyes. "Okay. So this thing needs fresh meat."

It had reacted when the emotions were raw. In the moment, not just recalled.

Which meant…

Darren looked around.

Not much to work with.

His eyes landed on a cardboard box near the closet. It was taped shut, dust covered. He hadn't opened it in two years. Not since he moved in. Not since...

He knelt down. Pulled it closer. Peeled the tape back slowly.

Inside—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 remembered.

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.

Then..

[Memory Detected: Category – Love]

[Intensity: 82% | Emotional Integrity: Stable]

[Yield Estimate: $1,376.22]

[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, like a warmth inside his ribs. Real. 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 long time.

The scarf lay across his knees like a loaded weapon.

The kind that didn't kill you instantly, just took something out of you piece by piece.

The memory still echoed in his chest like a fresh wound.

And the system waited. Polite. Silent. Carefree.

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 was… few months of 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 hard enough.

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 upside 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 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 her name? But it wasn't there. The syllables floated out of reach, like a dream he couldn't really remember.

There was no grief.

Just a quiet blankness.

And then a ping.

[Memory Converted Successfully]

Yield Deposited: $1,376.22

New Balance: $1,379.91

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 in the air 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 to Level One.

Access Granted: Emotional Mapping, Target Recognition, Passive Field Reaping (Dormant)

Reminder: Host remains non-harvestable. System requires external sources.

Recommended Action: Explore. Observe. Engage.

Darren didn't speak.

He didn't feel relief, not joy. Or even guilt.

He just sat back down, numb.

Pulled the scarf into his lap again.

And stared at it like it was someone else's.

"Did I ever really miss her?" he asked aloud. His voice was soft but also Hollow.

The system didn't answer.

It didn't need to.