#scheme

(via Donald Trump Jr. and Eric Trump Are Running a $1.2 Billion Felony Fraud Scheme that is Fully Prosecutable in New York.)

Other crypto founders are serving eight, twelve, and twenty-five years in prison for the same conduct. The only thing that separates the Trump sons from those men is their last name.

A note from the author. What you are about to read is an article that outlines the evidence of criminal conduct under New York State law, all with sources available directly in hyperlinks in the text. After the article is a script you can use to report this conduct to the officials who seem to be ignoring it. After that you’ll find over a dozen books, booklets, and model legislation to share with your representative, all for free from The Existentialist Republic.

Here’s that information:

One official can order it investigated. Governor Kathy Hochul can direct the Attorney General to open an investigation, and she accepts messages from the public through the governor’s contact form or by phone at 518-474-8390.

Ask a friend to make these calls and you just doubled the pressure, ask an entire Indivisible chapter to join in and you’re looking at a potential 100x multiplier on how much pressure these officials feel as people ask “isn’t this your job?”

While residents of any state can refer the conduct to NY officials, if you live outside New York another option opens up. The attorney general of any state can charge fraud committed against the residents of that state, so if anyone in your state bought these tokens, that is standing for a criminal fraud investigation.

Here is a message you can send or read aloud. Fill in the three bracketed parts and keep to what is documented.

“We suggest investing in a variety of dubious sectors, including miracle hair-growth supplements, alpaca rentals, and using outlets at public libraries to run your own bitcoin farm. Also, we know a guy who makes $2 million a year installing vending machines in local prisons. If you want, we can put you in touch.” Rattler added that Americans planning to retire by age 60 should really consider giving their brother-in-law the $10,000 he requested, because his idea to import exotic ferns was a surefire thing.

It was only to communicate that they tried with me that famous scheme, which I had already seen here other accounts disclosing the user is the venuscristobe.

Nightmare would describe it as a matter of merely patience, really. For them to be dishonest on this—much more now, the very first time their truce was to make effect— would be senseless. The Guardian was the only one with something to lose, after all. Basic common sense and a healthy sense of self preservation would clearly scare them off that idea.

Even then, he couldn't lie. An hour or so, just waiting on the snow —far enough from the town of Snowdin no monsters but themselves could be seen— was less than desirable.

“Still nothing.” Killer said. Nightmare didn't bother to turn his head to look at him, knowing he wouldn't dare to come near. From the glimpse of his eye, he could see the way he toyed with the knife on his hand, throwing it in the air just to catch it, avoiding its edge. “What are we waiting for?”

“You will see,” Nightmare said, dry. He closed his eye, and reached for any feeling. Fear was felt first, common in its light presence. Anger. Annoyance. Common, expected. It wasn't time yet. He had all the time in the world. His eye opened once more.

Unsatisfied —or at least, it felt like that, his knife stilling in his hand—, Killer stood back, looking to the side as if hoping the view of the snow falling would make the minutes pass quicker. Deciding he needed no attention from there on, Nightmare glanced to the other side, quietly analysing the way Dust and Horror rested on site. 

Emotions didn't matter then —he could feel their growing annoyance— but rather the way they showed it. Finding them tense, but not enough to warrant preparing against the possibility of sudden aggression, was more than enough.

There was a slight change in the air, light. Gravity felt off, like the world itself stuttered in its cycle.

“What the…” Horror murmured under his breath. He heard the way his phalanges dug into the hard bone of the femur he used as a weapon. Whether he looked at Nightmare or not for guidance wasn't known. It didn't matter. Trained as his pets were, he knew they wouldn't rebel against a command even in their confusion.

Their confusion gave way to dread. He felt it on the very tip of his tendrils, on the liquid hatred that fell to the ground just to gather back at his feets like magnetic sand.

He felt it before he saw it, the way reality itself seemed to split in half just to let something —no, someone in. A portal appeared, unappealing in its appearance. Geometric, its edges shifting as if it couldn't quite stabilize.

The realization he felt from his own felt sweet in his mouth. He didn't walk forward, yet he didn't flinch. His tentacles extended, and as so, he made himself taller, bigger; a second or so before he snapped them back in place.

Keep still.

Wordless, the gang obeyed. Nightmare was merciful enough to avoid commenting on the less than dignified emotion he felt creeping up on them.

A head peeked through the portal, far enough to be unable to distinguish its face, much less the expression it bore. The sound of glitching, however, was more than enough.

Ink had not lied. 

“Stupid,” he heard. Error’s voice felt loud, echoing in the pale color of the snow. His hand went to the side of his head, like soothing a common headache, before it went forward, phalanges clawing into the blue of his cheekbones. “What kind of trash— what kind of trash—?”

Nightmare heard him laugh, light as if amused by an inner musing before it degraded into a full blown cackle. He couldn't quite contain a wince, a mix of disgust and annoyance mirroring the echoes of feeling he couldn't quite access. It wasn't fear that made him unable to do so, but something close. He despised him.

Error’s laughter stopped, as suddenly as it began. Any second of wondering the reason why was cut off as Nightmare saw it: the melting snow—damp with the firelight of a single lantern— defying gravity. It barely lasted more than a second, the water turning black in the air before it fell once more only to bounce back, materializing as something solid.

A wooden broom painted to Error’s face, leaking acidic paint; he heard Error’s growl as static as it splashed into the ground, barely missing his slipper.

“Ink,” he said, a mockery of a greeting. A step back; his hand pulled, the other joining its twin to tug on the tears of his cheeks. Leaking silk-like strings from the hollow of his eyelights, he somewhat resembled a spider. “Won’t you just know when to quit?”

Ink huffed lightly, almost a sigh. A step forward guided his movement, the distance between them shortening to what it was before. Silent, like the sizzling of his paint burning the ground was answer enough.

The absence of chatter was eerie. Error laughed, somewhat lacking the sharpness from before yet still holding some edge.

“Aww. What happened? So serious, ” Error drawled. As he stepped to the side, Ink followed. They kept on facing each other. They would not touch, not yet. “All that self-righteousness about not wanting to fight. But here you are, pointing your shitty excuse of a broom at me.”

Half a circle. There wasn't enough space for them to keep on walking forward. A waltz.

“I don't want to fight,” Ink said. He didn't turn to look at them, but Nightmare knew he would be able to feel his eye on him. His hold on his weapon didn't falter, still brought high, pointing at Error’s neck. The lack of tone in his voice made his words feel rehearsed, “but I won't let you touch this Creator’s ambitions. Their passion and ideas. They're not yours to destroy.”

“Trash wasting up space,” Error crooned. His glitching was noisy in the silence, crackling like a burning flame. “Someone has to do the dirty work, paint stain. They will thank me for this . They are thanking me for this.”

“Some of them,” Ink conceded, terse. A full circle was made. His weapon was readjusted in his hands, position changed slightly. Upper torso leaned forward, neck craned up to keep looking at Error in the eyes. “They are not happy about you being here, y’know?”

“They’ll get over it,” Error said. He could see his yellow smile from afar, wide. Excited, almost. “I wouldn't say the same about your losing streak. They're still rambling about it.”

Their eyes locked, Error’s feet stopping in place. He saw Ink’s scarf, the way it seemed to spike at the edges.

“Poor little Ink,” Error cooed, low voice stretched thin into a mocking higher pitch. “So overrated. Pathetic. Such a boring character, if he can't protect anything, why is he even here?”

Too quick for his eye to properly follow, Ink moved forward, scarf swishing behind him; Error stepped back, avoiding the burning touch of Ink’s paint, oozing aggressively as if it wanted to devour him. Maybe it wanted to. Error laughed again. 

He had expected it— no, wanted it.

Error attacked back, a quick snap of his wrist tearing a pine tree from its roots. It didn't touch Ink as it flew towards him, but it was close. A black Gaster Blaster met Ink as he jumped.

Ink dissolved in front of his eyes, barely missing the light that came out of the faux creature’s mandible. Reforming himself in front of his eye in barely a second, crouching low on his knees, he jumped, the bristles of his broom barely missing Error’s eyes for an inch or so. Slightly lower, it cut Error’s strings from the source instead.

Error’s growl sounded like overlapping thunder as he stood back, hands quickly clawing onto his eyelights. Blue connected face and fingertips, and his wrists flicked again. A taunt. Bones appeared behind Ink’s back; collisioning when he looked back, alerted by the sound of magic.

Their broom smoked black. He felt more than heard Ink’s growl as they flipped it, acid oozing from the bristled tip, falling onto the snow at Error’s feet. By the way he hissed, Nightmare could guess it also got his legs.

Gaster Blasters appeared by Ink’s sides just to fire, strings hanging up to avoid him moving. Ink jumped, slicing through them as if they were made of butter. His shirt got dirty, tainted black by his own blood. He wasn't unscathed.

Error dodged, missing the wave of black paint that went after him. His frown twitched in place, and his fist clenched. Bone after bone appeared on snow, dissonant in their red color against the pure white of the background. They didn't move. String after string made their way between the trees.

A short break came to be. He saw Ink fiddle with his sash just to raise a vial up to his teeth; throwing the glass aside when he was done. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“You’ve gotten softer. Weaker,” Error said. Nightmare could pinpoint the bitter echo of disappointment in him. “This isn't fun anymore, just sad.”

Ink’s weapon met his shoulder, strong enough to throw him to a nearby tree. His mouth moved, somewhat still keeping his volume tame even if he could see him—

“Shit,” Dust hissed. A Gaster Blaster faced them. It was meant for Ink. Its jaw opened. 

Burning light met nothingness. They had gotten away in time. The violent white noise of Error’s glitching pulled him back, the text that overlapped his shape twitching like the glow of a broken screen. He was bleeding from the mouth. He did not speak.

His magic did all the talking, instead. The bones that rested on the ground tilted, as if pulled by gravity; Error’s strings made them chase Ink’s shape, colliding into a mix of dust and smoke as they didn't reach him. A sizzle of acid melted down the skull of a Gaster Blaster before it fired, leaving only the horns to fall into the ground and fade into nothingness.

Paint fell to the ground, fragmenting like an attempt of a spiderweb. Ink jumped forward, uncaring of the way his naked feet touched the very same liquid that devoured pure magic. Error jumped back, already back on his steps, flinching back as if Ink touching him could have burnt him. Maybe it could.

They haven't touched yet. A realization.

“Don't you have any new tricks?” Error drawled, laughing as he saw their hold on their broom grew unsteady. “You're already looking kind of pale.”

“Shut up ,” Ink hissed, leaving his stance for a second in fluster. It was enough. Error’s strings wrapped around his broom and pulled . Ink bristled like a cat, full attention on the ceiling. He jumped, following his only weapon up.

A flash of blue immobilized him, arms snapping back to his torso. There was a second just before the strings tightened, straight lines at full capacity before they snapped. The snow floated up with the force of Ink’s fall, the slam echoing in the hollow.

Ink didn't get up.

"Son of a bitch,” Error hissed, fists clenching as Ink squirmed in place. He stilled again, immobile. A fly on the web. “You never learn, do you ?”

Ink didn't move. Nightmare had seen him dissolve, turn into paint just to slither away, unscathed. And yet— he did not. Like his magic, the very sense of self had been sapped away from him when he had been oh so lively. A machine running out of oil.

Ink’s weakness. The excuse he used to arrange their truce.

“Rusty. So awfully boring ,” Error said. He walked closer, shoe pressing onto glass. One of Ink’s vials had fallen in the struggle. His smile seemed strained, a mix between sick pleasure and pity mixing within the wrongness of his soul. Awfully sweet. “Don't worry, blodge. I can be entertaining enough for the both of us.”

Nightmare’s tentacles twitched as he saw Error’s hands claw onto the air, a mix of symbols and images glitching into reality itself. The world stuttered, suddenly too tight, smaller. An opening.

“Fetch,” Nightmare said. He felt Dust and Horror’s emotions, sharp, right after they moved. They had moved before feeling. It was enough.

Error’s hand dropped as Killer's knife grazed his scarf, smile hesitating in place, eyes widening in surprise as he barely evaded the sharp cut. He wasn't as lucky with the pure magic that was freed from Dust’s Blaster, exploding against the blindspot of his back.

String appeared before the smoke cleared, sharp against Horror’s soul before Killer cut it down with the sharpness of his knife. Error’s ribs were hit by Horror’s maze, glitching into abhorrent noise as he screeched in pain.

Reality dropped into normalcy as he did so, whatever hold he had on it snapping like a twig. Nightmare could perceive emotions again, the feeling of them popping open inside his cranium like a pressure change.

“Cheater. Cheating— ” Error bristled, strings pooling from his eyes like real tears. He stomped on the floor with one foot, hands clawing on his cheeks, like the idea of crying was really passing through his mind. “ Ink, your little friends—?!”

“Error,” Nightmare said instead, smirking when the amicable tone made Error stop. The presence of his anger, sharp as it was, was intoxicating. “So we see once—”

“Annoying,” Error growled, caring not of the way Nightmare’s team surrounded him. Gaster, knife, maze. A mockery of protectors, the Guardian of Fates still down, twitching like a squashed cockroach, still bent on fighting even if everything of him was broken. Defenseless. The idea that Ink, of everyone else there, deserved more respect than himself, dangerous as he was, was more than puzzling. Troubling. What did he see on him? “Go away .”

“Is this how you usually greet someone who just wants to talk, Destroyer of the AUs?” Nightmare wondered out loud, his tentacles rising as he saw the hint of string drag through the snow. They sharpened like knives, the substance that composed them compacting into solid. “I’m under the belief that one must… weigh his own words, before ordering fellow men around. I’m very sure you would never desire to be this impolite, much less to those that answer to me.”

Space between monsters was made smaller as his guard walked closer, string being touched and pulled. If Error moved, if his hand clenched, they would attack at the same time. A clear checkmate.

“Eat shit ,” Error grumbled, static growing in volume as he saw himself cornered. “This is between Ink and I . You’ve never bothered to bother me before . You opportunistic piece of shit.”

But Ink was his, now. All in exchange for a helping hand, if an opportunity just like this one arose. Cunning as Nightmare was, he always felt proud of just how strict he was on fulfilling his promises.

Nightmare's smiled, showing teeth. He felt Error’s repulsion before he saw it on his face, spreading like infection on the way his glitching spread, like some part of him hoped for it to be able to protect it from the pack of hyenas ready to feast on meat he didn't have.

It’d be so easy. It wasn't every day he had an opportunity like this. He could even mask it as a favor. Something Ink would owe him for.

A protector with nothing to protect against was barely a protector, however. And he still needed a leash. Appealing as the idea was, the downsides outweighed the benefits.

“Don’t kill him.”

Ink’s voice, void of any emotion, took him back. Faint. He had forgotten him. Nightmare looked back, eye roaming over the pitiful figure of Ink’s scarf, half-melting into black. Still restrained.

How humiliating. If Nightmare focused, he could almost feel the echo of where their shame should rest, thick like honey. He felt his team’s eyes on him, questioning. A claim to be made, waiting on his lips.

“Ah. Such a pitiful sight,” Nightmare said, almost a rumble. His eye went back to glance at Error’s indignant scowl, a smirk still shaping his mouth. “Did you hear that, Destroyer? Do you think you deserve mercy?”

Horror’s foot hit Error’s knees, making him drop. Symbols and numbers followed as if the corruption of himself seemed to follow him, called on by his bristling. Like a puppeteer, his strings snapped with him. No puppets. 

“Your life is not mine to take,” Nightmare decided, high enough so Ink could hear. A mercy to them both. “Be thankful. Your dust won't touch my shoes today.”

“You sick freak,” Error snarled, though he didn't attack once more. His eyes fell on Ink’s shape before they lost the light shine of his eyelights. “Don't think this is over.”

A portal opened on the floor, barely enough to let Error through. Blinding white, shockingly contrasting against the snow— an instant.

Error was gone.

He saw the trio relax, abandoning their stance. Naturally, they didn't see Ink as a threat. Even then, the trace of the battle itself was more than enough. Raw magic hollowed whole trees, devoured the floor itself. The ceiling. Cut strings weren't enough to cover the destruction that followed.

Such power. Most fascinating of it all, the battle seemed equal until it was very much not. As if mid-flying, one of the birds broke its wings, unable to bear the force of the wind. Unnatural.

His feet walked by themselves to where Ink laid on the floor. A tentacle of his own went around the back of his sash, picking him up like a cat. Dirty and scratched, he resembled a stray. Ink blinked at him, pale red and orange staring back. 

“And what should we do now with our little friend ?” Killer said, a smile in his voice. He was still panting lightly; Nightmare could hear the sound of his breathing even if he stood behind him. “Boss?”

“I thought I gave you enough nourishment for today,” Nightmare said, voice cold. “Don't tell me you’ve gotten greedy, Killer.”

“I thought you liked it when I got ambitious.”

“There’s a clear difference between the two,” Nightmare said. The tips of his tentacles flicked. “Silence, now. I'll let you know the moment your services are needed again.”

There was a single breath —loud enough for Nightmare to think Killer was about to complain— but it quickly dissipated into a single sigh. Defeated. Steps on the snow, light, let him know Killer walked away. Privacy.

“Hm? How weird,” Ink said, the same blank expression on his face. Nightmare brought him up, just enough so he could look down at him comfortably. “One would think that with how strict you are, your pets would know to shut up.”

“Don't flatter me, Guardian,” Nightmare said. He couldn't deny the smile that appeared, however. There was a fine line between stupidity and naivety. Did Ink truly think he wouldn't try to hurt him in his helplessness? “They are well trained, usually. They don't do well when they get impatient, you see.”

“My bad,” Ink said, light. A weird smile got on his mouth, as if he couldn't quite summon the illusion of courtesy yet trying to do so all the same. “I would have told you the exact time he’d come here, but y’know how Error gets.”

“I do know,” Nightmare said, well-humored. His eye lost some of its amusement, even if he made sure his words kept on rolling smoothly, like pebbles down a mountain. Amenable. “Is this how every little battle of yours has been? Every defeat? ”

“Yikes. Right for the kill, hm?” Ink said. He didn't wince. Somehow monotone. “Yes.”

“How verbose.”

“I don't remember most battles,” they said. “I have memory pools. I get thrown around a lot. Does weird things to me.”

“So I see. I hope you're aware that Error won't fall for this trick again,” Nightmare said. Ink’s face didn't tell him anything. They blinked at him. “However, I believe it's doable. My work hand may be yours, as long as you prioritize worlds that answer to me.”

Ink’s eyes squinted, a frown coming to be. Even then, it softened after not very long. As if he was testing emotions; attempting expressiveness with nothing behind to back them up. “Okay.”

Satisfied, Nightmare let him on his feet, politely letting him lean on the wideness of his tentacle as he stumbled. Still trapped. He didn't melt yet. The process probably was linked with his magic, unable to be called upon while exhausted by the battle, short and intense as it was.

“Think you can do me a favor?” Ink said, nose twitching as Nightmare’s tentacles passed through his back. String after string was cut, and he was free again. Instead of checking his numb arms, his hands quickly went to his sash, getting a vial out just to drink. He licked his lips once he was done. “...Mhm. You're the best.”

“I believe the word you wanted to say is ‘thank you’,” Nightmare said dryly, somewhat entertained. Ink didn't look at him after that, eyes glancing up to stare at the ceiling. He couldn't say that he was surprised. His weapon was still up there, after all. Nightmare couldn't help but glance up as well, as if he truly held the thought there was anything interesting to look at but the trace of weakness that laid up. “...A temporary partnership. Merely a coincidence.”

Ink looked back at him. His eyes resembled question symbols. “Ah?”

“My excuse,” Nightmare said, eyes jumping to the gang before he stared down at him. “To reveal what we have would be less than beneficial, would it not be? I assume the idea of my brother knowing of our little truce isn't particularly appealing.”

“Ha . No. It’d go super bad,” Ink said, hand on his nape. He seemed troubled. He blinked. Purple and cyan met his view. “I guess we’ll just have to run with the good old Enemies with Benefits tag.”