#1 – $FAT Coin | The Weekly Kook Series

Estimated reading time: 16 minutes

The digital swipe pass of Darren Grimes revealed a photo ID of a man with sharp eyes and even sharper cheek bones. An angular jaw line with a peach fuzz beard showed all the youthful vitality and good looks that would have opened doors in those days. Indeed, it did open doors. And kept them open. Flogging Internet broadband packages door-to-door was a tough gig. Even tougher when it was commission only. But he’d done well. So well, in fact, that ten years later, he had graduated to the phones. Less walkin’. More talkin’.

The miles he would have pounded in neighbourhoods all ‘round town at the age of twenty-one, were a far cry from his current workplace. Now, he ran his mouth off. Fingers bounced across the phone dial. Knocking on doors became banging out calls. That lean physique that would cause bored housewives to fidget with the belt of their nightgown; polished spiel and good manners that would command respect from elder gents; the jovial, combative banter with middle-aged men – there was a lot that could be communicated on that first impression. 

That version of Darren Grimes was now hidden inside a 250lb fat suit. Sure, the talk was all there. All the lines that opened doors and wallets. He could sell sand to the Arabs. Snow to the eskimos. Top seller, year after year. Until…

Ping. 

A notification window accompanied the sound, appearing in the bottom corner of the laptop screen. Darren’s eyes glanced at it, and then back at the spreadsheet of names. 

Row 42. Lee Kavanagh. 6 lines. Location – Athboy. Galway or Meath, Darren considered. He always got them mixed up. His hand reached out for the phone receiver.

Ping.

“D’ye get it?” The top of a head appeared over the wall division. It stayed there for a few seconds until Darren was compelled to answer, first with his eyes and then by opening the message.

“What is it?”

“New pick. Not even listed yet on the major exchanges.”

“Fat coin? That supposed to be funny?” The laugh on the opposite side of the divider suggested it was. There was a squeak of the seat as Luke Casey sat back down.

“Just read the link, Daz. You’ll thank me later.”

Luke had a reputation in the office for being arrogant, but also very lucky, at least when it came to money. In the last few years, he had claimed to have made tens of thousands trading cryptocurrencies, much to the bewilderment and annoyance of his colleagues who heard no end of it. While Darren had had little experience dealing with ‘crypto’, being the nearest thing to a mate to Luke had told him that he was no bluffer. Five years his junior, Luke knew how to spend it. Had already bought two properties, and was working in telesales because it ‘gave me structure in me day’ and, according to Cryptodamus himself, kept him humble. Chatting to plebs about phone packages where he could help shave 20 euro off their monthly bills.

When they finished work for the day, Luke again reminded Darren to read the link. Taking the tram home, he did. The jargon was laid on thick, so he needed a primer on cryptocurrencies before he could even consider digesting this complex meal.

Cryptocurrencies were a type of digital asset that have intrinsic value because of their perceived worth. Certain assets, such as Bitcoin, have soared in value over the last decade, because of their utility and the belief that they represent a store of value. A place to park your money. Bitcoin was widely likened to a form of digital gold. Scarce, divisible, transferable and able to self-custody.

Depending on who you asked – and there was rarely a middle ground – cryptocurrencies were either the future of the monetary system as we know it, or the greatest threat to civilization since the bubonic plague. Darren hadn’t formed an opinion yet. But what he did know was that there was money to be made. And lost, if one wasn’t careful.

With emerging technologies, there are always going to be some innovations that lead the pack, others that are nippier – moving in their slipstream or racing alongside in the shadows, waiting for their opportunity to pounce. Then there are others that are just laggards. Better flogged to death. Darren had seen it in his decade within tech. Landlines, mobiles, headsets, desk phones, blackberries, smart phones, iPhones. It’s not always survival of the fittest. Sometimes it’s survival of the flexible. Technologies that adapt to user’s needs not just today, but in the future, that persist.

With this introduction via a YouTube commercial from a crypto millionaire who looked barely old enough to shave, Darren re-read the link from his work colleague.

Fat Coin was a brand new, one-of-a-kind digital asset that could be acquired based on engagement. The company behind the project issued free tokens to users based on their interaction with a smart wristband. The wristband – also free – was given to early adopters who would ‘lead a revolution in wearable fitness technology’. The smart biometric tech monitored vital signs such as blood pressure, BMI, pulse and hydration levels. Its primary purpose, however, was to monitor body fat composition. 

Periodic rewards in the form of ‘Sweat’ tokens, would be issued to users who had succeeded in lowering their fat levels. The real-time monitoring and upload of data captured by the wristband was sent to the NovaTech servers, and recipients would receive their token according to performance – funneled directly into a private, unique wallet that matched their iris profile. These sweat tokens could be accumulated and traded for the native Fat Coin, which had a finite supply. Monthly, the company would ‘burn’ a number of fat coins – removing them from the supply forever. This increased their scarcity and would elevate the coin’s price. What’s rare, after all, is valuable.

Darren, used to pulling the wool over client’s eyes on more than one occasion, especially when it came to contract wrangling, was sure to read the small print. A search on Reddit and Google offered little insight into the project. He wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. The website was minimal, with the technical paper front and centre. The wristband did look kinda cool, and after some thought he entered his address details in the ‘Join the Fitness Revolution’ subscription box.

Five days later, he arrived home and found a square unmarked box. When he took it inside and opened it, there was the smart wristband he had seen featured on the site. It was free, after all. A good start, he thought. It had a wraparound magnetic strap which stretched comfortably around his plump wrist. There was a square panel on the surface, and a small circular plastic insert was sticking out the side. Tiny letters were written sideways alongside it that said, ‘Pull’. He reached inside the box and found a USB stick and small booklet. He picked up the guide and scanned to the ‘How to Start’ section, satisfying himself with the instructions before he removed the insert.

A digital display loaded, with a progress bar. After fifteen seconds, it reached full capacity and a command appeared on the screen.

Place Thumb Here.

The words swirled in a vortex of motion and blew off the screen. A small outline of a fingerprint appeared. Darren placed his thumb on it, until the device beeped its approval.

View Here.

Again, the words drifted away, and the outline of an eye stared back at Darren. Hesitating for a second, he scanned the instructions. Finding this was the second of only two commands that the wristband needed, he opened his eye and held it up close. There was a bright flash which momentarily blinded him. The beep of approval suggested all was good in the world again, and he saw that reflected in a smiling emoji that appeared on screen. The display winked black. After thirty seconds, it turned back on and when it had loaded successfully, it showed what would be the default screen. Darren’s pulse rate was visible in the upper left corner; token count in the upper right corner – currently zero, and dead centre, his BMI score, which was 36.

Darren, unsure if that was good or not, was on the verge of grabbing his phone and Googling it, but when checking his pockets, found that his belly had overlapped and covered the trouser opening. Question answered.

That evening, he installed his crypto wallet contained on his USB stick. This would ultimately house his FAT tokens that would be distributed by the company, based on his performance. Money for nothing, he thought, and decided on impulse to skip dinner that night.

Two weeks after he had clicked the link, Darren was sitting in the staff canteen at work.

“Better be some of that pepperoni left.” Darren looked up, and watched as Luke Casey grabbed a slice of pizza from one of the boxes stacked on the kitchen counter. “Love the end of the month. Tastes even sweeter when you hit target. What’s this?” he said, pointing at the lunchbox. “You feelin’ ill big man?”

Darren laughed, and forked through his greens to find something with protein.

“Another good month, Darren. You too, Luke. Sandbagging a few for next month, I’m sure, no?”

Julie Kinsella who had been their manager for almost two years, had come back for seconds. She too had filled out since she had taken the reins of the fledgling sales team, although that was more drink-related than Darren’s vice of food.

“Drinks tonight to celebrate closing out Q3 in style boys.”

“Is there drinks vouchers?” Luke asked.

“Might be. Youse be there?”

“Can’t speak for Salad boy, but I’ll be there.”

There was a look of confusion on Julie’s face. She looked over Luke’s shoulder at the seated man mountain of Darren, still crowding his attention around a forkful of broccoli.

“There’s pizza there, Darren.”

“All good, Julie. On a bit of a health kick.”

The woman looked at Luke and receiving no answers, grabbed a slice and left the canteen.

“Drinks big man?” Luke said, slapping the ham shoulder of Darren, sitting beside him. “You need some new garbs with all that commission, man. Shirt’s hanging off you.”

Darren looked up and smiled. “I know! Look at how many sweat coins I’ve made. I promised not to look for a couple weeks.” He tapped the screen and shoved the watch in Luke’s face.

“Right, relax! OK. I getcha. So, what? You went ahead and signed up?”

Darren tipped the lunch container into his open mouth, dunking the broccoli heads and beets. A meaty forearm swiped his mouth. “Pretty cool tech, huh?”

“Lemme see.”

Darren gave his colleague a quick tutorial of how the wristband worked. “Best thing about it is that I’m getting paid to lose all this weight!”

“How much you lost?”

Darren tapped the monitor again, and did a quick sum. “My BMI was 36, and it’s now 32. So what’s that?”

“Lemme ask ChatGPT.” Luke pulled out his phone and typed a few rapid commands, before waiting. In the time it took to eat the corner slice of the pizza, which Darren was eyeing hungrily, the answer was fired back. “Jesus, Daz. That’s 30lbs. About 14kg.”

“I know,” he said. “It’s great, right?”

“That’s a small Italian man. In two weeks. Go easy, alright. Slow and steady. How many sweat coins you got?”

Darren tapped the wristband again. “Just over 3,000.”

Luke pulled out his phone again, typed quickly into it, and his face frowned.

“And those are swapped for Fat coin innit?”

“Yeah,” Darren said, suddenly annoyed. “How do you not—”

“Here.” Luke passed the phone across. The chart displayed was not too dissimilar to the electronic pulse of a heartbeat – a static up and down. Darren looked at the timescale at the bottom and noticed it was a daily chart. Fat Coin’s value had trailed off in recent days, an ugly red comet headed for Earth.

“Those tokens when you trade them aren’t worth much at the moment.”

“You’re wrong,” Darren said, pushing the phone away. “The developers are working on an upgrade in the next two weeks. Bugs in the source code. They are working out ways to stake it on Ethereum’s on-chain layer 2.”

“Wow, wow there Daz!” Luke almost choked on his pizza slice. He set it down and resorted to picking off the pepperoni slices one by one. “Easy. You’re getting a bit too deep here! Talking source codes and layer two’s! That’s my job. You in it for the tech? To lose weight? Or for the money?”

Darren, feeling suddenly very hungry and with cheeks flushing, as the other man chowed down on the pizza slice, felt helpless. Despite his recent weight loss, he felt weaker than ever. As he struggled to find the words, he felt the jowls under his chin wobble. This only served to feed Luke’s humour even further.

“Ah ah ah,” Luke stuttered, imitating with an agog fish-like expression.

“Piss off,” Darren said, lifting off the chair, and holding the table for support.

“C’mon Daz.”

“It’s a good price,” Darren repeated. “Good time to trade—”

“Drinks tonight. Come on.”

“—more sweatcoins to accumulate. They will trade for even more fat coins.”

“Give it a rest.”

“Once Fat coin is listed on exchanges, I can trade it for fiat currencies.”

“Have a night off, big man.”

Darren stopped, pointing at the seated man, cheeks flamed with fire. “STOP CALLING ME BIG MAN!”

Three weeks passed. Darren had called work on Monday morning of the first week and explained that he hadn’t been feeling well. On the second Monday, he had said that he had contracted a particularly bad bout of Covid and would need to self-isolate for the week. He was, however, able to log in to his work programs and could still do his job. On virtual team meetings, he had turned his camera off. On the third week, he told his manager that his close uncle passed away, which meant more time away from the office. At the end of that week, and closing in on another monthly close, Darren’s sales figures indicated that he was in the bottom rungs of the leaderboard. Rumours swirled and office gossip suggested that the former sales superstar – the boy wonder – the man with the silver tongue – could soon be out of a job.

On Friday night of the third week, Luke Casey decided to step outside his own comfort zone and do something charitable for once.

“Knock knock. You in mate?”

Luke tried the door handle and was surprised to find it unlocked. What also surprised him was the blaring music and heat blast that hit him when he entered.

“Daz? You in there, man?”

The small bachelor apartment was untidy, with boxes and papers strewn across the floor and over the chairs in the living room. The white stone walls were perspiring with the closeted heat. A fan in the corner of the living room was blasting streams of warm air. Luke reached down and touched the radiator. Piping hot.

“Daz man. It’s Luke. You there?”

“Hey,” came a distant response. “Come on in, man.”

That was encouraging, at least, Luke thought. He tiptoed into the room, passing thick garments, plastic sheets, rubber cords, and followed the source of the noise.

“Your neighbours must love you mate,” Luke shouted, entering the hallway. A door at the end of the corridor was ajar, neon light spilling out from it and onto the carpeted floor.

“He’s deaf, so no harm, no foul,” Darren said, laughing. His voice, closer now, sounded stretched, out of breath.

“Hey Daz, so work has been worried. I just wanted to make sure everything’s OK? Sorry to hear about your Uncle and that.”

“Couldn’t be better to be honest.”

Luke approached the room carefully. “Can you turn the music down a bit, mate?”

“Oh yeah, sure Luke.”

The music stopped, just as Luke reached for the door handle. Another hand beat him to it and swung the door open. Looking up, the face that greeted him was almost unrecognisable, were it not for the sharp jawline and smile. The figure, tall and painfully thin, was stooped and staring down at Luke with impossibly large white eyes. The hair, which had been reddish and gelled, hung in limp streaks like barely enough marmalade spread across toast. Deep cavernous holes in the cheeks gave a hollowed expression of shock. But worst of all, as Luke scanned down the man’s body, were the hanging drapes of loose skin, sagging from his waist and chest. Darren’s pale body was slick with sweat.

“Don’t mind me,” Darren said. “Been working out. Again.” The smile which followed this stretched the lips back tightly around whitish gums.

“Daz, mate. What the hell?”

“I know, right! I’ve gone a bit crazy, but I’m down to a BMI of 14, and better yet, I’ve got 230,000 sweat coins now, look!”

Darren held his bony wrist up to Luke for confirmation.

“That’s great mate, but are you OK?” Darren gave a bemused expression and shrugged sharp shoulders that looked like they could puncture through the skin. “I mean, since, you know?

“What?”

“With NovaTech. You know.”

“Know what?”

Luke let out a heavy sigh, and leaned against the hot wall for support, watching the confusion spread on his friend’s face. He reached into his pocket for his phone, pulled up the chart and turned it around so Darren could see.

“The project has been rug pulled mate. Developers did a cash grab.”

“I…don’t…”

“Sweat coin. Fat coin. It’s all gone. It’s worth zero.”