The year is 2071. They built a house of straw. The thundering machines sputtered and stopped. Their leaders talked and talked and talked. But nothing could ste

The year is 2071. They built a house of straw. The thundering machines sputtered and stopped. Their leaders talked and talked and talked. But nothing could stem the avalanche. Their world crumbled. The cities exploded. A whirlwind of looting, a firestorm of fear. Men began to feed on men. On the roads it was a white line nightmare. Only those mobile enough to scavenge, brutal enough to pillage would survive. The gangs took over the highways, ready to wage war for a tank of juice. And in this maelstrom of decay, ordinary men were battered and smashed. Except for one man armed with an AK-47, and a Honda full of silver. As he stood on the bluff, looking down at the desert spread for miles before him, a man approached, darkly. “Instead of silver bars, have you considered blockchain for this?”