Steemit is a hitchhiker, drunkenly wobbling down the shoulder of a highway with money stuffed in its back pockets. A few notes have fluttered to the asphalt, wind teasing the corners as trucks rumble by.

The hypnotic hum of cars drones on, until a junkyard bus with scrap armor and garish spraypaint squeals to a halt - worn brakes shoving bare metal against protesting rotors.

A horde of masked thugs pile out, smiling and elbowing each other. Barbed wire wrapped around crude sticks, sharpened garden trowels and makeshift weapons glinting in the high-beams.

The leader steps up and rudely pulls a wad of cash from Steemit's back pocket, causing Steemit to turn around, glazed eyes struggling to focus.

Time to pay.

And they will take it all.