DEAREST FRIEND,

PHOTOGRAPHIC EVIDENCE

My solicitors advise that you will not believe a word of this. Very well. I enclose eighteen (18) photographs and three (3) moving pictures, taken at great personal risk:

THE METHOD

Permit me to lay the business out in full. It is an incremental game. Number go up.

An empire stands on three (3) legs, each bought and upgraded separately. Starve one and the other two sit idle:

1. SCRAPE, for supply. A Dial-Up Harvester pulls three strangers a day out of the wire; a Census Siphon pulls rather more. They fill my hand until it is full, and a full hand leaves the machines idle.
2. TYPE, for speed. The keyboard is a build, not a purchase: cartridges for quicker keys, longer life, even an autopilot. Hammer one key long enough and the cap comes off and stays off, until I pay to have it put back.
3. HACK, for efficiency. Sixty four (64) nodes buy a bigger hand, more addresses on the CC line, fatter margins, and a surer way past the spam filter. Bought once, mine forever.

THE ARRANGEMENT

The business proceeds in five (5) steps, as follows:

1. CLAUSE THE FIRST. My machines print contacts while I sleep. They arrive in my hand as cards: a retiree, a crypto enthusiast, a clerk of banking.
2. CLAUSE THE SECOND. I drag one onto the letterhead. The rest ride the CC line, so one email reaches them all and every one of them pays me in full.
3. CLAUSE THE THIRD. I type the pitch, and every keystroke knocks a keycap loose. They tumble down the page into a heap: coins, gold, heat, a rare diamond, a bomb I would rather not touch, and a great deal of garbage that turns out to be a plunger. None of it can be lifted while I am still typing.
4. CLAUSE THE FOURTH. I press SEND and the gauge runs on monitor two. My typing decides how wide the good bands are; the mark decides how much of them I am allowed to reach. Then I press LOCK. There is no undo key in this world or any other.
5. CLAUSE THE FIFTH. The page comes back and I have six (6) seconds to strip it bare. The mark decides how: SWEEP runs the cursor over it, CHISEL cracks each icon open, DOZER herds the heap into the far edge, PINBALL takes everything it strikes, LASER burns it from above.

One bad address reports me and the whole email burns, however well the others believed. At five (5) stars the police come, and I have forty five (45) seconds to move my money somewhere a raid cannot reach before the courts take sixty percent (60%).

RISK DISCLOSURE

My solicitors further insist I disclose that every sent email resolves as one (1) of the following outcomes:

the typing sets the odds. the mark's hidden quality sets the stakes. the heat, dearest friend, is non-refundable.

THE CROWN'S CUT

My clock is a button. It sits on the Start menu, it reads END DAY, and my contacts, my heat, my debts and the market all wait politely until I press it. Nothing runs while I am away from the desk.

Every contact card I did not use is destroyed when the day ends. And every few days the crown collects its share of everything I have been making, a share that grows each time I pay it. I do not recommend missing one. My uncle collects either way.

"the crown requires $400, nephew. you have three (3) days to find it."

GRAND THEFT EMAIL

An icon on my desktop reads Grand Theft Email, which is as much subtlety as anyone here manages. I double-click it, the camera pulls me down into the monitor, and I am on the street in a top down pixel world: the same coast I have been staring past all game.

A beach village, a paved city west, a volcano east that stays shut until I am somebody. The bank takes deposits a raid cannot touch.

the chief of police hates this one trick.

CAPABILITIES OF MY OPERATION

Friend, my desktop is crowded, and it includes:

• CONTACTS. a binder of marks, organized as collectible cards, of rarities COLD through LEGENDARY
• GTE (GRAND THEFT EMAIL). a beach village, a paved city and a smoking volcano, explorable on foot
• THE LAGOS STOCK EXCHANGE. stonks. nine (9) market phases, none of them your friend
• WANTED.EXE. installs itself. cannot be uninstalled by crying
• CROWNCHAT. His Majesty King Adebayo (my uncle, and my ultimatum), my cousin James (a coward), and Dr. Crypto (a doctor, allegedly)

All of it built like a machine from 1998 that somebody still loves: a BIOS that posts, a recycle bin that has decided my files are evidence, and a duck who means well. It is not much, but it's dishonest work.

A PRIVATE CHANNEL

Before you commit to anything, come and inspect the operation at close range. I keep a room where the work is posted as it happens: builds before they ship, the marks that got away, and the occasional key.

TO PROCEED

I await your response with the patience of a man who has refreshed his inbox eleven (11) times since beginning this sentence.

Truly Yours,
Anton Pawlik
Fun Per Frame

Fake Prince Simulator © 2025-2026 Fun Per Frame. This is a satirical video game. No actual marks were contacted in the making of this website. No pedestrians were harmed, yet. Please do not wire money to princes, fake or otherwise.