HELLBOX COMIX // PRIVATE PROPERTY*

OH. YOU'RE HERE.

I WAS WORKING.
TRY NOT TO BREAK ANYTHING.
*PROBABLY NOT LEGALLY.

COME IN ↘ OR DON'T

01 // OH. YOU'RE HERE. LOCATION // NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS HARROW // BUSY

WELL? // KEEP GOING

THE PRESSRUNNING

ISSUE 01IN PRODUCTION

PRINTED ONPULSECHAIN // 369

PERMITSNONE

OVERSIGHTDECLINED

LOCATIONNONE OF YOUR BUSINESS

YOUFIRST TIME. NOTED.

STANDINGNONE. YET.

THIS PAGENOT SUPPOSED TO EXIST

SCIVIVE5,555 // FREE // ONE EACH

THE BASEMENTTHREE TENANTS. ZERO RENT.

THE APPTWO WEEKS

Note to self Ideas are cheap.
Execution is everything. — H.

DAY 1 // 23:40 Rebuilt the press bearing. It was fine. It wasn't. DAY 2 // 03:12 Tuner needle 2px off the numbers. Unacceptable. Fixed. DAY 2 // 03:15 Coffee 6. DAY 3 // 17:02 Cut the plates for 216. Six of them are mine. Deal with it. DAY 4 // 01:48 Wrote the rules into the contract so nobody can talk me out of them. Including me. DAY 4 // 02:10 A regulator would need a subpoena and a time machine. DAY 5 // 04:30 Slept 2h. Drew 9 pages. The ninth one is the good one. DAY 5 // 05:55 Cut 5,555 plates for a book I didn't write. He said it was only worth having free. Fine. It's free. DAY 5 // 23:59 Inked the first tattoo. Put it in my own ledger to see if it hurt. It did. Good. DAY 6 // 12:00 Tested the radio in four browsers. One of them has opinions. DAY 6 // 18:18 Three of them came by about the basement. Not a dollar of rent between them. The Byte made an offer instead. I said two weeks. He heard yes. DAY 6 // 21:40 Somebody asked if there's an app. Put a chain across the basement stairs. Unrelated. Probably. DAY 7 // 02:02 Heard the machine downstairs. It buzzes. Didn't go look. Not mine. DAY 7 // 03:33 Wrote the foreword. Richard's going to read it. That's the point of a foreword. DAY 7 // 06:06 Finished it. You're welcome.

HOUSE RULES // SPRAYED ON THE DOOR // NOT UP FOR DISCUSSION

01 NOTHING HERE CAN BE EDITED. Not by me. Not by a board. Not by a court with a printer.

02 NOTHING HERE CAN BE SEIZED. Your copy sits in your wallet. Nobody holds it for you. Nobody can hold it against you.

03 NOTHING HERE ASKS PERMISSION. No gatekeeper. No platform. No app store. No "community guidelines." I'm the publisher, the press is mine, the chain is nobody's, and I print whatever I feel like saying.

FREE SPEECH IS THE HOUSE STYLE.

YOUR WALLET // YOUR COPY // NOBODY'S PERMISSION

STATION 02 HARROW FM AUDIO LIVES HERE · THE DECK FOLLOWS YOU

PICK A
STATION.

I'm listening too. I judge people by this. Not harshly — accurately. The whole shop runs on one soundtrack and you're about to choose it, so choose like someone worth knowing.

Tuner, Start/Stop, volume — on the machine, or on the little deck that follows you around the building. Same knobs. The deck is for people who can't sit still. I built it for me.

Submit a track if you think you have better taste. You don't. Submit it anyway.

RUNNING BRAVE? Brave ignores my Start button. Its rule, not mine. Open the little deck at the bottom-left — the player itself is in there. Press play on that. Shields up or down makes no difference; the click has to happen inside the player. Every other browser: the knobs work.

Taped to the speaker The neighbors signed
a noise waiver.
I forged it. — H.

Harrow's Radio -- a steampunk Hellbox Comix broadcast unit

NO SIGNAL

STATION 03 THE MASTHEAD WHO'S RESPONSIBLE

THE REASON YOU'RE ACTUALLY HERE
OBVIOUSLY

I make graphic fiction about crypto because reality keeps writing drafts and frankly the dialogue needs work.

I built the machine that sells them because apparently everybody else thought a wallet button and a JPEG counted as an experience. I don't manage a community and I don't cater to one. I build the work and I leave the assembly room unlocked. Whatever forms in there forms on its own and runs itself. If it starts telling me the logo looks great, I'll be in the other room. The logo looks great.

Publisher

Harrow

Favorite writer

Also Harrow

Favorite artist

Harrow

Biggest influence

Harrow, earlier

Base of operations

Undisclosed. Stop asking.

Humility

Distracting

Sacred cows

None. Ask Richard.

Hiring

One position. Filled in two weeks.

NO STUDIO. NO COMMITTEE. NO ADULT SUPERVISION. WRITTEN // DRAWN // BUILT // OPERATED BY HARROW.

STATION 04THE BOARDWHERE THE COMICS COME FROM

04 // HOLD ON, LOOK AT THIS

HARROW'S INSPIRATION BOARD // EXHIBIT A

I HAVE A THEORY.

Actually I have 47.

Fourteen of them are pinned up here. They got in, they stayed, they took the place over.

They can't live in my head forever. So they go on paper. Then through the press. Then to you.

This one has string.

Harrow's Inspiration Board -- a corkboard of photos, notes and red string tying together founders, regulators, influencers, sacrifices, vices and everything else Harrow won't stop thinking about

THIS GOT OUT OF HAND

I NEEDED SOMEWHERE TO PUT THE PROBLEM.

At some point crypto stopped being something I watched and became something I thought about while brushing my teeth.

Founders. Regulators. The cabal. Whales. Banks. The suits. The headlines. The copycats. Money. Ego. Tribalism.

Eventually the thoughts needed somewhere to go. So I gave them panels. Every pin on that board is a page I owed somebody.

I HAD A POINT// WAIT. NO. THAT'S ACTUALLY FUNNY.// WRITE THAT DOWN// THE CABAL HAS A GROUP CHAT// WHO LET ETHEREUM CHARGE RENT?// EVERYONE'S AN ECONOMIST DURING A GREEN CANDLE// THE RPC IS FINE. YOU'RE THE PROBLEM.// RICHARD, THIS IS WHY I HAVE NOTES// I READ THE DOCUMENT. MOST OF IT.// SCREENSHOTS ARE FOREVER// PULSICANS ARE VERY NORMAL PEOPLE// I DON'T NEED A ROADMAP. I NEED MORE WALL.// DON'T ERASE THAT// WHERE WAS I?// OH RIGHT. ME.// 369// NEEDLE AND INK. NO REFUNDS.// 5,555. THEN NEVER.// THE BASEMENT PAYS IN INK, NOT RENT// EVERY COPY KEEPS A LEDGER. SO DO I.// WE PRESS. WE DON'T MINT. LEARN THE VERB.// THE PULSE BYTES ARE NOT A BAND// BASE NEXT. DON'T MAKE IT WEIRD.// BASE IN OCTOBER. WEAR RED.// ETHEREUM BY NEW YEAR. IT CAN WAIT. IT'S GOOD AT THAT.// THERE IS NO APP. PUT THE PHONE DOWN.// TWO WEEKS// HIS BOOK. MY PRESS. HIS RULES. MY FOREWORD.// SEALED COPIES EARN. READ ONES DON'T. CHOOSE.// THE SEVENTH PULL ISN'T YOURS// NO SACRED COWS. NOT EVEN THE ONE WITH THE PODCAST.// YOUR TATTOO FOLLOWS YOUR WALLET. SO DOES YOUR RECORD.//

STATION 05 THE HOUSE WHAT THIS ACTUALLY IS

A PUBLISHING HOUSE.
THE CHAIN IS UNDER
THE FLOORBOARDS.

Comics first. Collecting second. Ownership third. The blockchain is the plumbing, and I don't put plumbing on the wall. What I do put on the wall are the rules — because I cut them into the plate, and I can't change them either. Not me, not a board, not a regulator with a strongly worded letter. That's not a feature. That's the whole idea.

This is how every Hellbox native title by Harrow is built. Every time. Outside creators using the Press get to write their own rules — copy counts, archivability, all of it — and their titles are theirs, not mine. Below is mine.

THE COMIC IS ON THE CHAIN.Not a link to a comic. The cover, the marks, the defects, the seal, the history — composed on-chain, rendered on-chain. Nobody can pull the file. There is no file.

SOME LAST FRAMES ARE DOORS.Some pages end. Some end in a room you get to escape before the story goes on. Timed. Branching. A treat for reading closely — and some of the treats kill you. Nobody has built a comic that reads like this. I checked. Then I built it.

SEALED COPIES PAY THEIR OWNERS.Archive a sealed copy — put it under plastic — and it earns. Rarity-weighted. Reading it ends that forever. Collecting has a cost and a reward. Like it should.

THE 7TH PULL GOES TO THE PRIZE WALLET.Every issue. Blind. Nobody knows which copy. Somewhere in the lair a wallet keeps filling, and one day one person walks out with all of it.

WHAT ISN'T PRESSED AT CLOSURE IS DESTROYED.66 days, 6 hours, 6 minutes, 6 seconds. Then the plates are broken and the unpressed copies never existed. No second printing. No reprint by popular demand. Gone.

EVERY COPY KEEPS ITS OWN LEDGER.Open the book and the first pages are its papers: the run, the minute it was pressed, every hand it passed through and what the last one paid — written by the chain, nobody's to edit. Beside your line, your tattoo, inked in with your own gas. Needle and ink, not a database.

THE TATTOO FOLLOWS THE WALLET.Ink a mark in the shop — letters, needle, a glyph, or scratch your own — and it's yours everywhere this wallet shows up: the button, the shelf, every ledger you've touched. The Hellions wear theirs on skin. Change it when you want. Erase the mark; the chain keeps the line.

ONE MACHINE. MORE OUTLETS.PulseChain and Robinhood Chain today. Base next, then Ethereum. Same 216, same rules, same Reader on every one; the fuel stays here. Then the terminal opens past me, and the box goes in your pocket.

I'M NOT TELLING YOU IT'S THE FUTURE.I'm telling you it's built, it's tested, and it's running in a building nobody gave me permission to open. You weren't invited. You found the door. Note the date — when this is everywhere, that date is your proof you were here first.

01 // PRESSED

216 COPIES.
NO MORE.

Every copy comes off the press with a mark — most STANDARD, a few not — and sometimes a defect. Both are decided by the machine, at the press, forever. Rarity isn't a tier list. It's what survived the print run.

6 per wallet · 1 per pull · the 7th pull of every issue goes to the Prize Wallet

02 // SEALED

IT ARRIVES
SEALED.

Unopened, like it came off the press. Sealed copies are the only ones that can be archived — put under plastic — and archived copies are the ones eligible to earn.

Archive / unarchive as often as you like while sealed · archived copies can't change wallets

03 // UNSEALED

BREAK IT
TO READ IT.

You'll be warned. Once the seal is broken it stays broken. Unsealed copies can never be resealed and never archived again. Read it or keep it. Choose like an adult.

Permanent. I say that plainly because humor shouldn't hide it.

04 // READ

THE LAST FRAME
MAY BE A DOOR.

Some pages end the normal way. Some end in a room you get to escape before the story goes on — a reward for reading closely, not a punishment. Decisions have consequences. Some endings are better than others. Some of the rewards kill you.

90's-style choose-your-ending · one ideal ending · at least one that isn't

05 // BURN

THE FORGE.

Some copies will be worth more transformed than kept. Owner's choice, never mine, and the fire always gives something back. Details when I'm ready. Bring an unsealed copy — you read it first, then you feed it.

Hellforge · later · only the owner can burn, and only by signing for it

PRESS MARK birth rarity · per 216-copy native issue · locked
Mark	Copies
HELLBOUND	6
PRESS PROOF	12
GOLD	18
STANDARD	180

PRESS DEFECT independent anomaly axis · can overlap with any mark · locked
Defect	Copies
REDACTED	6
CORRUPTED PLATE	12
BLED OUT	18
OFF REGISTER	24
NONE	156

THE EXTINCTION CLOCKSNONE RUNNING

NEXT NATIVE ISSUE66D06H06M06S

Every native issue gets its own clock the moment it opens, and they run side by side. When one hits zero, that issue's unpressed copies are destroyed and its final three come to me. None has ever been paused. None can be. I made sure.

PLATES CUT // CLOCKS ARMED

THE PRIZE WALLETSEALED

ONE WALLET. EVERY ISSUE'S SEVENTH PULL. ONE WINNER.

Drawn blind from the same pool as yours, so the copy inside could be anything — HELLBOUND, REDACTED, both. It doesn't earn until it's claimed. It doesn't move until someone solves the way in. The way in is a room. I'm not going to say where. And when somebody finally walks out with it, a new wallet and a new room spin up behind them and the whole thing starts again. It doesn't end. That's the point.

THE 33-MACHINE PROBLEM // ONE OF MINE FOUND YOU

THE FLOORBOARDS.

This is the DeFi part, and it's boring on purpose. These aren't promises. They're contract facts. If I wanted to change them I'd have to cut a new plate, and everyone would watch me do it.

No custodian. No admin key that rewrites your copy. No terms page that quietly changes on a Tuesday. The part they'd like to regulate is the part that can't be reached.

Pinned to the ledger Rules I can't be talked out of. That's why they're in the contract. — H.

Copies per issue: 216
Per wallet · per pull: 6 · 1
Press window: 66d 6h 6m 6s
Harrow's own copies: #001–#006 · no rewards for 6 years
Seventh pull, every issue: Prize Wallet
Final three at closure: Harrow · the rest extinguished
Secondary royalty: 6.66%
Archive rewards: Archived copies only · rarity-weighted
Ledger of hands: On-chain · one line per hand · tattoo it with your own gas
Who can change any of this: Nobody
Chain: PulseChain // 369

EVERY CONTRACT THIS HOUSE RUNSEVERY CHAIN

Don't take my word for it. Every address below is real and on-chain. Click one for its explorer and read what it does and why the house needed it. This is what is running today — work that hasn't opened yet gets listed here the day it opens, and not before.

STATION 06THE PRESS // INKHEADDON'T TOUCH THAT

06 // DON'T TOUCH THAT

HARROW // WORKING

I'M WORKING.

You'll see it when I decide it's finished.

So never.

OPERATING CARD // FOR DUMMIES, SENIORS & DEGENERATESTHE HELLBOX PRESS

It looks complicated because I wanted it to. It's five taps, in order, same every time.

PRESS START. The big red button. Not the machine, not the art around it — the button. It coughs, it smokes, it starts talking. Nothing else works until you do that — not negotiable, never will be.
CHECK THE CHAIN. The CHAIN dial below the logo. Make sure it's on the blockchain you actually want. Wrong one? Turn the dial — it cycles through what's live. Right one already? Turn it anyway; that's what tells the machine you looked.
PICK YOUR BOOK. The middle screen is the menu: every book on the press, each with the chain it prints on. Tap the one you want — yes, even if there's only one sitting there. The machine doesn't pick for you, ever. On a phone, tap the screen and it opens up big enough to read.
HIT THE BIG RED BUTTON. Same big red button. It plugs your wallet in if it isn't, moves it to that book's chain if you skipped step two, and asks you once. Say yes. Your copy lands in YOUR STUFF, sealed, your address on the first page of its paperwork.
SHUT IT OFF. Whenever you're actually done — not before. Hold START a second and the whole thing goes cold. Want another copy first? Skip this and just pick again; the machine's happy to keep running.

A red arrow on the machine points at whatever is next; the thing it points at flashes, and the plate up top keeps count. The rest of the machine still works if you want to drive it yourself: the card slot under START plugs your wallet in early, the issue dial and the little keypad screen show odds and stats instead of a menu now, QTY sets how many when a book allows more than one (SciVive is one per wallet, and the plate doesn't negotiate). Need it stopped now? The emergency shutoff is bolted to the wall beside it, wired straight into the tower: one hit and everything dies, no questions, and it stays in until you wake the machine again. The little speaker button shuts it up. You pay the chain its gas and the press its ink — a flat fee, in that chain's own coin, that prepays the second transaction, the one that decides which copy you got. What the copy itself costs is on the screen before you pull anything; SciVive costs nothing. Truly can't be bothered? THE EASY PASS does it for you and charges you for the privilege. I'll judge you.

Nothing here can be undone. Good. — H.

HELLBOX PRESS // INKHEAD IDLE

PUBLICATION NONE

SUPPLY -- / --

WALLET NOT SHOWN

CHAIN 369

HOW TO GET A BOOK PRESS START It's cold. Hit the big red START button and it wakes up talking.

1START
2CHAIN
3PICK
4START
5OFF

CAN'T FIGURE IT OUT? PAY THE EASY PASS →

INKHEAD ASLEEP

NO ISSUE SELECTED

--:--

NO WALLET CONNECTED -- / -- -- REMAINING

DO NOT HIT THAT.

WHAT IT ACTUALLY COSTS

SciVive costs nothing. That's the book — that run, not a promise about everything this press will ever print; what a copy costs is on the screen, always. Two other things are not nothing. The chain you're on charges its own gas for your transaction, which goes to the network and moves with traffic. And the press collects a flat fee on top, in that chain's own coin, every pull, free runs included. That fee isn't the book and it isn't profit: pressing takes two transactions, and the second one — the one that actually decides which copy you got — is sent for you moments later without you signing again. It prepays that transaction and goes straight to the wallet that sends it. Your wallet shows you the whole total before you agree to anything.

HARROW // MACHINE

STATUS DON'T TOUCH IT.

I mean it.

POWER 00

INK ??

RPC 369

BAD IDEA YES

01 IDLE

02 IDENTIFY

03 READY

04 PRESSING

05 YOURS

STATION 07 YOUR STUFF AFTER THE PRESS · NOT BEFORE

SHOW
ME.

Connect your wallet. It's a ledger, not a diary. Privacy already lost this argument.

Everything from this house, sorted the way a publisher sorts things: comics, then ebooks; mine, then everyone else's; sealed, opened, or under plastic. What you don't own is here too, with a note on whether the Press still has it.

OPERATING CARD // FOR DUMMIES, SENIORS & DEGENERATESYOUR STUFF & THE READER

Your shelf, your books, your problem now.

CONNECT YOUR WALLET. Top-right corner, or the terminal right here. No wallet, no shelf. A ledger only knows addresses.
LOOK AT THE SHELF. Every copy you own, as its own cover. Not a stock picture. Each one is drawn from the chain for you, the way it is right now.
SEALED? BREAK THE SEAL. A sealed copy can't be read. BREAK THE SEAL opens it forever — it never seals again. Your wallet asks. Say yes. Then READ.
READ. The book opens on its cover. Tap the right edge to turn the page. Left edge to go back. Grab a corner and drag if you want to feel it.
INSIDE THE BOOK. LISTEN is the audiobook: A Wild SJ reading SciVive, all twenty-five hours. SciVive only — she hasn't agreed to read mine yet, so the button only shows where there's a voice. NOTES puts my handwriting in the margins, NOTES OFF takes it out. Double-tap a word for WHAT'S THAT MEAN. A+ enlarges the print, NIGHT drops the lights, the chapter menu jumps anywhere, cover included.
ARCHIVE. Locks a sealed copy in the case. It can't move until you UNARCHIVE it. Both ask your wallet, both cost the chain's gas, neither asks me.
TATTOO THE LEDGER. Inside the book, past THE PAPERWORK, is WHO'S HAD IT: every wallet that ever held this copy, and what the last one paid. Your line has a TATTOO button. Make your mark in the shop — letters, a frame, a glyph, or draw it — and your wallet inks it in. Small gas. Never comes off. The tattoo follows your wallet around the building after that.
SOMEWHERE ELSE? The shelf is here and, later, in your pocket. Same wallet, same copies, same needle. There is no app yet. When there is, this card won't change.

Reading is allowed. Breaking the seal is a decision. A tattoo is a confession. — H.

WALLET NOT SHOWN

PULSECHAIN // 369 WAITING

HARROW // LOOKING AT YOUR STUFF

DON'T BE SHY.

Show me the wallet.

EXIST 00

YOURS 00

MISSING 00

WEIRD 00

THE READER // OWNER-ONLY // THE POINT OF ALL OF THIS

THE PRESS MAKES THEM.
THE READER IS WHY.

Your wallet is the ticket. If a copy is in it, the Reader opens it — nobody else's, no screenshots of somebody's tab, no "preview." Sealed copies stay sealed until you break the seal, and breaking it is the one thing in this building I can't undo for you.

SciVive reads like a book — the whole thing, every word the way Richard wrote it, on the chain. However many pages that comes to in your hands is how many pages it has. This is the official copy now. A Wild SJ reads it to you if you ask; my notes sit in the margins if you let them; double-tap a word and I'll tell you what it means. Native issues read like a night out: some pages end, some open into rooms, and the room decides whether you get the next page. Everything you do in there is yours. Nothing you do in there changes what the Press printed. Later, the whole shelf goes in your pocket.

READER // ASLEEP · CONNECT A WALLET WITH A COPY IN IT

Taped to the door If you can't read it,
you don't own it.
That's not a bug. — H.

THE SHELF PULSECHAIN // 369 —

Connect a wallet and I'll tell you which ones followed you home.

STATION 08 THE CREATORS TERMINAL YOU WEREN'T SUPPOSED TO SEE THIS

THE PRESS
ISN'T ONLY
MINE.

Eventually. This terminal walks a creator from "which chain" to a deployed title the same way the Press walks you to a pull: one prompt at a time, no committee, no permission slip. Your book. Your rules. My machine.

Right now it answers to one person. Look through the glass all you want. Bad ideas welcome. Half-finished garbage is not.

TEMPORARILY
OUT OF SERVICE Harrow only. For now. — H.

01 CHAIN 02 WALLET 03 TITLE & FORMAT 04 RUN & PRICE 05 ROYALTY 06 HOSTING & HASHES 07 SEND TO PRESS

Keypad enters numbers. # confirms, * goes back. The red button does exactly one thing, and once it's on-chain it lives forever. The label on the machine isn't a joke.

Independent titles are yours: your royalty, plus a flat 2% rider to the house for the Press, and 2% of primary. You host your own pages. You never get my stamp, and you never need it.

THE HOUSE WILL ALSO DO THIS FOR YOU

VERIFY MY CONTRACT 2,000,000 PLS

Your contract published readable, source and all, so anyone can check what it does instead of taking your word for it. You don't install a toolchain, you don't flatten anything, you don't spend a night arguing with an explorer. You send the title to the press; it's done when you look.

More will hang on this board as the terminal opens. Anything listed here is a thing the house actually does, not a thing it intends to.

STATION 09 FUEL NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS

THERE'S
MORE.

Every machine in this building runs on something. The gauge is here. The label isn't. When it's time, it'll read like it was always going to — because it was.

Obviously. No. YET.

HOW THE FUEL BURNS

The name is redacted. The math isn't. Every fee this house takes, every royalty a copy earns me on the way to somebody else's wallet, gets cut in three. Same knife every time.

⅓BURNEDBought on the open market and sent where nothing comes back. Supply only goes one way here.

⅓THE ARCHIVEBought and fed to the pool that pays whoever keeps a sealed copy in the case. Paid on PulseChain, whatever chain the copy lives on.

⅓THE PRESSBought for me, in the fuel, never in your PLS. I stop buying at 22% of everything. I don't need more than that. I need the other two thirds working.

It launches on Pump.tires when enough PLS has pooled from what this house sells. Bonding curve, then PulseX. Liquidity burned, ownership renounced, one billion, never more. I buy first — two thirds at the gate — and cut that the same way: a third burned, a third to the archive, a third to the press. When it happens I'll be loud about it. Until then the label stays black.

Nothing earns before the launch. Archive now if you like the sleeve; the meter starts the day the fuel exists, not a minute before. If it ends up interesting you as more than a rewards token — you heard it here, early. That's the whole tip.

One more thing feeds the line, and it isn't open yet. The basement doesn't pay rent. It can't. Three tenants, zero dollars, one lease term: every drop of ink they burn, they buy through me. The house's cut of that ink walks through the same knife: a third burned, a third to the archive, a third to the press. Two weeks.

STATION 10KEEP UPYOU KNOW WHERE I AM

10 // KEEP UP

YOU KNOW WHERE I AM

KEEP UP.

I post things.

Sometimes they're even relevant.

HELLBOX // X @HellboxComix OFFICIAL PROPAGANDA ↗

HARROW // X @SinnisterHarrow LESS OFFICIAL PROPAGANDA ↗

TELEGRAM @HellboxComix THE BACK ROOM ↗

DISCORD HELLBOX COMIX THE LOUD ROOM ↗

STICKERS THE STICKER PACK CONTRABAND ↗

STATION —— NOT ON THE MAP STAIRS: NOT YET

A concrete stairwell going down, lit by a red neon crown — THE STAIRS. I DON'T USE THEM. NEITHER DO YOU. YET.

THERE'S A
BASEMENT.

I don't go down there. Three of them live in it. Not one can make rent, so they pay in ink. Mine.

A Ponk with a box by the door. It's full. It says FREE.

A dead Pirate with a tattoo machine and a counter.

A Byte who takes in strays.

A tattoo is not a token. Ask them why.

THE STAIRS GO DOWN. YOU DON'T. NOT YET.

STATION 11GO AWAYTHAT'S IT

11 // THAT'S IT

GO AWAY.

I have work to do.

MAKE THE SAME MISTAKE AGAIN you'll be back.

DON'T TOUCH THAT.

USE THE SITE YOUR WAY.

OH. YOU'RE HERE.

PICK A
STATION.

THE REASON YOU'RE ACTUALLY HERE
OBVIOUSLY