It was Christmas Eve, and Pr4x1 was sprawled on his couch, scrolling through the Binance app while holiday lights blinked erratically in the corner. The faint hum of the heater mixed with the jingling of distant bells outside, creating an almost cinematic ambiance. His tabby cat, Raimond—named for a storied French knight—sat upright on the armrest, tail flicking with a peculiar rhythm. There was an intensity in Raimond's eyes tonight, one that Pr4x1 brushed off as holiday excitement. But the truth would soon prove otherwise.
The charts offered little excitement. Solana staked, BNB flatlining, Bitcoin trudging along without flair. He sipped his cherry yogurt drink, hoping for some end-of-year rally, but nothing moved. Raimond suddenly hissed, the low sound cutting through the warm hum of the room. Pr4x1 glanced at him, confused.
“What’s up with you?” he muttered. Raimond didn’t blink. His gaze was fixed on the phone.
The notification came suddenly, jolting Pr4x1 out of his stupor. “Exclusive Christmas Bonus: Unlock a special holiday surprise now!” The golden, snowflake-encrusted frame around the text gave it a cheerful glow. Curious, he tapped it.
The screen shifted to a darker, unfamiliar interface. At the top, bold letters announced:
"The Holiday Vault: Only the brave shall prosper."
A single pulsating button read: Unlock.
Pr4x1 frowned. Raimond leaped to the floor, his hackles raised. The cat let out a low growl—a sound Pr4x1 had never heard from him before. Something about the Vault didn’t feel right, but curiosity gnawed at him. He tapped the button.
The app went dark for a moment before a message appeared:
“Congratulations! The Vault is now open.”
His wallet refreshed, and Pr4x1 froze. All his balances—Solana, Bitcoin, Dogecoin—were gone, replaced with a single sum of USDC. Worse, the number was shrinking.
$1,000… $900… $800.
“What the—?!” His breath quickened. He fumbled with the app, attempting to transfer out what remained, but every action failed. Error messages mocked his desperation: “The Vault is not yet satisfied.”
Raimond bolted to the coffee table, pawing at the phone screen. The room felt colder, the air heavier. His growls turned to a strange, keening sound as if he were warning of something far beyond Pr4x1’s comprehension. The cat’s tail flicked wildly now, a metronome of impending doom.
Another notification popped up:
“Fulfill the Vault’s demands to restore balance.”
Three options appeared, each one more cryptic than the last:
Give a little.Give a lot.Abandon everything.
Pr4x1 stared, sweat beading on his forehead. He selected Give a little. The screen froze momentarily before revealing his new balance: $100. Relief washed over him until he noticed the transaction history:
“Donation to the Vault: $900 USDC.”
The app seemed to stabilize, and his balances—minus the loss—returned to normal. Yet, a new feature appeared in the settings menu: Vault History.
Raimond hissed again, batting the phone off the couch. As it hit the floor, the screen flickered, revealing something bizarre—snowflakes swirling in a void, voices murmuring faintly behind them. He swore he saw words form, fleeting as smoke: "It watches."
Pr4x1 deleted the app, vowing to stay away. Yet every Christmas Eve since, the Vault returned—not just as an app update but in emails, pop-ups, even whispers in the algorithm of unrelated searches.
And Raimond? He never went near the phone again. Every holiday season, the cat became more restless, his behavior more erratic. Some nights, Pr4x1 would catch him staring at the spot where the phone had fallen, his eyes wide and reflective, as if seeing something Pr4x1 couldn’t.
In the quiet moments of the night, as holiday lights blinked cheerily, Pr4x1 couldn’t help but wonder: Was the Vault just a glitch, a bizarre promotion gone wrong? Or was it something far older, something woven into the very fabric of human desire? Raimond knew, of course. But cats don’t share secrets.

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