$AMP burned, all-time
AWAITING FIRST LEDGER
Every till burn and buyback burn, summed from the chain.
What the city has done, in the order it did it — and, once the token layer opens, every burn and buyback with its transaction hash. Claims live here only after they happen.
Until then, the live game numbers are on the City Ledger — players, Bolts, trades, the Citywide Charge — straight from the game's own records.
Fourteen months of dark ended when something warm was found under the south platform. The city counts its years from that morning. The full story is told in the game — eight chapters, called THE LONG DARK.
The Filament and the Stacks go live: six trades, the Nightstalls with real moving prices, player stalls that sell while you sleep, the Manifest, the Fortune Coil, the Amped Bar — and the Great Dynamo at the center of it all.
Email and passwords removed entirely. Your wallet is your account — sign-in is a signature, and spectating stays open to everyone.
The city regraded: warm near-black, ember light, the Dynamo as the brightest thing in the world. The look the banner promised, tuned notch by notch.
All eight chapters live, each leaving a keepsake. The questline closes at the Dynamo with PAGE ONE — and the city's history becomes something you can finish.
The dark district opens: Wicklamps and Cellwax, server-enforced darkness, permanent Heatlamp beacons, richer veins, exclusive rares — and a guide-glow that means nobody is ever stranded. The ride up is free, forever.
A composed soundscape in the machine's own voice: the night-market loop, the Stacks' colder chimes, the Underworks' wind — and spectators hear the city too.
Four unlit catwalks slung under the rails, between the islands. Walking one is free where the tram takes a fare — the road asks for your Cellwax and your nerve instead. Cross door to door and it leaves you Road Dust; turn back and it leaves you nothing.
Every district pays differently for the same goods: what is dear in one quarter is cheap in the next, and a loaded Pack walked across a Dark Road is worth more on the far side. It is the first reason to cross one that isn't curiosity.
The Jobs Board is chalked beside the Ledgerhouse: three contracts a day, the same three for everyone, fresh at the reset. Clear all three for a full card. Miss a day and nothing happens — no streaks, no catch-up, no debt.
A name, a tag, a banner in one of the six dyes, and a channel that reaches wherever your crew is standing. Chartered at the Crew Hall. One shared week, and the only thing it grants is a glow on the banner — crews make the city smaller, not anyone stronger.
A Loftpod on a Terrarium berth, furnished: a rug underfoot, a lamp beside the door that throws real light on the walkway, a shelf, something growing at the step, a banner overhead. It improves nothing about you. It is simply yours, and the terraces walk past it.
Come back after a day and the city can prove it missed you: what your stall sold, what you fed the Dynamo, how your crew's week is going, what is still chalked on the board. If there is nothing true to say, it says nothing at all.
$AMP fair-launched on pump.fun: one billion, fixed, mint renounced. The address is published on this site and set on the city's own server. Nothing changed at the door — the city still runs on Bolts, and nobody has to hold anything to play.
The burn goes live at the till, the deck-edge billboard starts printing, and this page starts filling with transaction hashes. It does not begin until the city holds its own players for a week and a month with the token switched off. That gate is the point, not a formality.
Holding 1,000 $AMP becomes the key to the full city — held in your wallet, never spent. Spectating stays free.
Refereed finals, paid from the champions' purse. The purse is funded by buybacks — the market's own volume, returned as prizes.