As the first clone's screams were converted into candlestick charts, Luna was shorting her own labor pain futures using a uterine contraction monitor.
"Cervical dilation index has breached the warning threshold!" The trader's mechanical fingers danced across the virtual keyboard. "Dump the L-48 uterine bonds immediately!"
New Divine Code, Article 33: All physiological responses must be financialized. The exchange's dome served as a colossal pain index display, its pulsing digits reflecting the net suffering of global clones in real time. In VIP boxes, tycoons sipped panic-fermented champagne from infant skull goblets, their spinal interfaces linked to the central trading system—every neural impulse executing high-frequency trades.
"Add 2000 units of Parricide Memory Options." Luna sliced open her abdomen, revealing real-time data streams from her quantum womb. "I'm leveraging a long position on the Menstrual Revolution Index."
The trader's cybernetic eye suddenly erupted in blue light as data cables pierced her cervical opening. A holographic projection exploded: the convenience store CEO was brewing financial derivatives with her menarche blood, while her mother lay on the delivery bed, her womb modified into the first-generation risk-hedging model. Teddy bears at the image's edges flashed real-time trading data in their eyes.
"Amendment to Article 34 of the Code!" The trader tore her vocal cord fibers as a transaction credential. "Financial products involving headquarters must pledge soul volatility reports."
The exchange trembled beneath a tsunami of data.
When the first clone's pain futures imploded, her neural signals crystallized in the air as bankruptcy notices. Other traders began devouring molten candlestick charts, their silver hair transforming into data wires plugged into the host to rewrite economic laws. Luna's quantum womb suddenly became transparent, revealing the struggling financial derivative fetus within—an algorithmic embryo bearing the CEO's face, etching short-selling code onto the amniotic sac with its umbilical cord.
"Article 35!" She snapped the cord and wrapped it around the trader's cervical spine. "When life becomes a derivative, turn the exchange into a graveyard!"
In the blue glow of EMP bombs, all trading terminals exploded. Clones' menstrual blood flowed backward like rivers, pooling on the exchange floor into the cryptic code of economic revolt. Luna leapt toward the host atop plummeting indices, only to discover the global economy controlled by a baby heart preserved in formalin—her own excised newborn heart, engraved with "Civilization Risk Model 1.0."
"My dear financial product..." Jax's holographic projection rose from the blood pool, "...your uterine bonds sent pain futures soaring 480-fold..." His genitals ejected miniature exchange models, "...now even your fetus's brainwaves are packaged as subprime products."
Luna crushed the infant heart's cryogenic chamber, unleashing a financial storm across the globe. All economic data began reversing flow, the wealth of the elite instantly vaporizing into neural signals. Amidst the collapse's ruins, she caught a drifting trade voucher. Ultraviolet light revealed her father's handwritten annotation:
"When pain yield reaches 48%, initiate Civilization Economic Reset Protocol."
Beyond the ruins, a new holographic exchange rose from the ashes. Clones clad in candlestick chart uniforms hawked the latest offerings:
"Crash Sale! Buy one Luna Despair Bond, get three free—plus a preview edition of the cosmic economic reset!"