From the sewers. To the moon.
The rats stay winning.
No promises. No roadmap you can litigate. Just a rat, a chain, and the cult that believes.
Every ape is a rat. Every rat is a legend. Bags stay tight. Diamond claws only.
The sewer is home. We climb the moon or we die in the pipes. There is no middle ground.
Green candles feed the colony. Red candles feed the resolve. The chart is a religion.
The cheese is on the moon. Anyone leaving early feeds the exit-liquidity gods. Not us.
Contract renounced. LP burned. The rats own the rats. That is the entire structure.