Lore · Edition One

The future
already works.

600 Billion is not a dystopia with a Bitcoin sticker. It is the morning after the night shift where everything finally synced — and the people who built it are still on the roof.

Play the game Meet the cast

The number

Nobody remembers who first said six hundred billion out loud. It was a block-height joke, then a toast, then a promise: the number of heartbeats a network earns if enough people keep it alive, one block at a time. The old world measured everything in quarters. The builders started measuring in uptime.

Uptime is the only score that matters in 600B — and it is the only score in the game, too. You do not destroy your rivals; you take their nodes offline, kindly, and keep yours humming. Both players start at 20. First to nothing is first to dark.

The five tools

The world runs on five things you can hold in your hand or feel on your skin. Every card in Edition One spends them, routes them, or protects them — and the five affinities on the cards are exactly these five.

Power

Work made honest. Microgrids on rooftops, heat that warms the greenhouse after it secures the chain. Nothing in 600B is wasted twice.

Bitcoin

Native money and durable settlement. Grown patiently in Satoshi Orchards, spent bravely at festival markets, never asked for permission.

Keys

Ownership you can feel click. A key is a promise you make to yourself — and the only signature the network has ever trusted.

Signal

People, reaching each other. Antennas at sunrise, relays with names, identity that lives in your pocket instead of somebody's terms of service.

Timelock

Patience, weaponized into certainty. The block clock does not argue, does not hurry, and has never once been wrong about the future.

Rulebook §4 — what each Resource does at the table

"YOLO, but verify."— written above the door of every workshop worth entering

The runners

Node runners are not soldiers and not CEOs. They are the friends who show up with tests, snacks and exactly one spare antenna. Every one of them is a card you can draw:

FLX, Culture Curator Arbadacarba, Protocol Gardener DNI, Sovereign Knight Bam, Launch Engineer AJ, First Responder Nind, Backchannel Walker

Six of the cast · tap any face for the full gallery

SignalFLX, Culture Curator

Runs the set, stacks the chairs, and is somehow already on the roof rewiring the lights. Where FLX broadcasts, people show up.

BitcoinArbadacarba, Protocol Gardener

Plants infrastructure the way others plant trees: for the people who come after, and for the shade at noon.

KeysDNI, Sovereign Knight

Carries no sword — carries keys. Holds the line the modern way: by never holding anyone else's coins.

PowerBam, Launch Engineer

Heavy lifting, light heart. If it can be shipped, Bam ships it; if it cannot, Bam builds the tunnel it ships through.

SignalAJ, First Responder

The uptime anchor. When a node goes dark anywhere in the mesh, AJ is already rebooting it before the alert finishes sounding.

KeysNind, Backchannel Walker

Knows every quiet route through the network. Messages handed to Nind arrive — that is the whole biography.

The story: the night the grid sang

The storm took the old grid first, the way storms always do — politely, region by region, with a spokesperson promising restoration windows. In Timelock City nobody waited for the windows. The rooftops lit up one by one, solar spilling from battery walls, mining heat rerouted into bakery ovens, and the mesh came alive with the sound the runners call the singing: ten thousand relays finding each other in the dark.

FLX called it from the festival roof: "We stack, we build — tonight we route." Bam had the heavy cable over one shoulder before the sentence ended. DNI stood at the cold vault making the only speech DNI ever makes: not your keys, not your city. And in the middle of it all the block clock kept its teal, unbothered time — nine hundred seconds to the next block, then six hundred, then the quiet click of a timelock opening exactly when it promised to.

By sunrise the old grid was still down and nothing important had stopped. Orchards traded fruit for sats. The balloons of the Global FIPS Balloon Network drifted overhead, relaying for anyone below. A snail crossed the commons, slowly, carrying the same message as everyone else: no permission, just builders.

That night is why the game is played the way it is. You do not raze the other side's city — everyone lives in it. You take a node offline, kindly, to prove you can; they reroute, to prove you cannot. The network gets stronger either way. The next block is ours to build.

The world is load-bearing

None of this is decoration. Every card carries a Protocol Note: one accurate, sourced claim about Bitcoin, Nostr or open systems, tied to what the card actually does at the table. The mechanic creates the memory; the note gives that memory a correct name. No price talk, no investment advice, one factual claim per card.

A Timelock card makes you wait because timelocks make you wait. A relay card reaches everyone because relays reach everyone. That is the whole trick, and it is why the lore and the rules never contradict each other.

Rulebook §21 — how the Protocol Notes work

"Keys ready. Future open."— Edition One
TIMELOCK_TCG :: 600BLORE · E1