Aria Account balance: 426.3 BTC
Pilate's Trial
Before the sun had risen, the trial had begun.
She was summoned to the grey chamber on the eastern wing of the Exchange.
A hallway without a name. A door without a sign.
There was no clock. There was no window.
There were eight tables. Two projectors.
And a single microphone, already turned on.
She sat.
No one pulled out her chair.
No one looked at her.
No one spoke.
The moderator read her name.
His voice was dry, like a machine misreading broken code.
"Aria Lin. Account holder. Former manager of private trading structures.
Now under investigation for potential breach of market ethics."
She did not respond.
But the microphone was live.
And silence was also recorded.
The first evidence presented was the Index of Collapsed Public Trust.
It had been generated automatically from social media.
Her anonymous posts were extracted one by one.
Each line dissected.
Each word is highlighted in red.
"To manipulate is not a crime. It is the exercise of epistemic rights."
— Labeled: Incendiary Opinion Leader
"The market is a stage. I merely chose to be its writer."
— Labeled: Traits of Persona Control
The second evidence was a reconstructed chart of her candlestick patterns.
Submitted by the Coalition of Retail Justice.
Her trades were replayed across the screen.
Entry by entry. Line by line.
Anomalies were marked.
The cadence of her entries was declared unnatural.
A senior official spoke. His tone was calm, as if reciting code.
"We do not need to prove she was illegal.
We only need to prove she was abnormal."
And one among the audience asked,
"What law did she break?"
The representative from Tokyo Exchange replied softly,
"She broke none."
There was silence.
A single second of silence.
Then came the first voice, rising from the crowd:
"She should no longer be trading."
"She made us lose everything."
"She mocks the system."
And then came more voices.
More bodies stood.
More voices followed.
Voices overlapped.
Voices repeated.
Voices turned mad:
"Revoke her code."
"Freeze her accounts."
"Cut off her network."
"Erase her name."
"She is not one of us."
"She is no trader. She is a virus."
She did not protest.
She did not speak.
She only lifted her eyes, slowly,
And looked at the vote displayed on the screen:
Should this account be banned?
Yes: 98.3 percent
No: 0.4 percent
Abstain: 1.3 percent
And in that moment,
No one cared what she had done.
They only wished to be cleaner than her.
And she understood.
This was not a trial.
It was a simulation of justice.
A fire-pit masquerading as procedure.
The microphone was never for her voice.
It was for the silence of her undoing.
The regulator delivered the last sentence.
Not loud. But it echoed through the system.
"You broke no law. But you have broken faith."
She bowed her head.
Not in guilt. But in readiness.
Three minutes later, her permissions were revoked.
Her trading keys were voided.
Her account has been reset.
Her identity was removed.
She was deleted from the system.
She was deregistered from the world of finance.
She was expelled from the market's ecology.
It all occurred at 7:12 AM.
There was no bulletin.
There was no headline.
There was no explanation.
Only one new line appeared in the source code:
Aria Lin — Flagged as an irreversible anomaly
She left the chamber quietly.
No glance behind.
No objection.
No farewell.
As if she had never existed at all.
The Crucifixion
On that day, the system raised a white light.
And the command was given: to erase.
Her user ID was locked.
Her account was rendered inaccessible.
Her node was cut off.
In the next second, the deletion protocol was executed.
There was no backup.
There was no cache.
There was no sound.
The logs recorded:
"The object no longer exists."
Not frozen.
Not suspended.
Not punished.
Erased.
Removed.
Crucified by irreversible execution.
The Tokyo Stock Exchange updated its register:
"This account is permanently terminated."
Her bank returned the KYC report:
"Identity verification failed."
Five regulatory nodes enforced the lockdown.
Including foreign servers, encrypted branches, secondary brokerages, and grey-market APIs.
Her wallet address was labeled: Financial Heretic.
Her IP address was marked: High-Risk Actor.
Her behavior profile was tagged: No Longer Tracked.
In five minutes and twenty-one seconds,
Her presence within the system
Was completely purged.
Her phone ceased to function.
Apps uninstalled themselves.
Notifications appeared across her screen:
"Account Unavailable."
"Permission Denied."
"Please contact a nonexistent administrator."
She tried to access a webpage.
The screen read:
403 Forbidden – Your presence is unlawful.
She attempted to register again.
The system answered:
"You have already been executed once."
She stood inside a convenience store.
The scanner rejected her payment code.
The ATM returned her card.
The door lock would not recognize her ID.
Even the power bank refused to charge.
She had lost her passwords.
She had lost her identifiers.
She had lost all paths to existence.
She tried to speak her name aloud.
But there was nowhere left to record it.
She opened her email.
The account did not exist.
She opened her map.
The screen read: Location Unknown.
She did not die of a crime.
She died of the system's refusal to trust.
She died of an immune reaction within the structure.
And the final entry on the blockchain read:
From Wallet A to Wallet B
Amount: 420 BTC
Tag: None
Source: Unknown
Note: Endgame
Her body remained alive.
But the system confirmed she was dead.
She could no longer buy.
She could no longer log in.
She could no longer be recorded.
She was no longer held in the RAM of any server.
No longer indexed, listed, backed up, or cached.
She was not permitted to exist
In even a single byte of this world.
This was not a lockdown.
Not a soft exile.
Not a banishment.
This was a crucifixion.
A crucifixion carried out by the system itself.
The Tokyo Exchange resumed trading.
The regulators filed her case number into the archive.
There was no announcement.
No mourning.
No grave.
And she closed her eyes and whispered:
It is finished.