A week or so in, nobody in Ape City was asking whether base:0xd6d5bae3e06dfb4028ebf51a41d3bdc6f3558ff5 had reached the streets anymore. You could hear it. Cash drawers snapping shut behind Base storefronts. Chips changing hands at the casino. Couriers cutting through traffic with sealed blue crates in the back. Then farther east, green signs beginning to glow over Hoodstreet counters that had sat empty only days before. base:0xd6d5bae3e06dfb4028ebf51a41d3bdc6f3558ff5 was moving. And wherever it moved, the papers seemed to arrive first. ANOTHER HEIST. The headline had become so common that one bartender barely looked at it before sliding the paper beneath a wet glass. No address. No clean explanation. Just another photograph of flashing lights somewhere in the city and another story that somehow raised more questions than it answered. Duncan turned the page and took a drink. “Anything good?” The Ape beside him nodded toward the headline. “Depends who you ask.” Outside, a delivery truck rolled through the intersection toward Hoodstreet. Nobody in the bar paid much attention to it. There had been more of them lately. Blue leaving Base, green waiting on the other side. Every night, a little more base:0xd6d5bae3e06dfb4028ebf51a41d3bdc6f3558ff5 seemed to find its way through Ape City. Into stores. Into pockets. Across tables. Behind counters. Places that had never dealt in it suddenly had stacks of it tucked beneath the register. And somewhere between all that movement, the Heists kept happening. Nobody at the bar agreed on what they meant. Some said somebody was following the money. Others said the money was following them. Duncan folded the paper, leaving the headline face-down on the counter. Across the city, another Safehouse drawer opened. This time, it wasn’t empty. base:0xd6d5bae3e06dfb4028ebf51a41d3bdc6f3558ff5 was flowing through Ape City. Whatever came with it was already here. @theapehood by @BasedApeGang