The team sat around the long oak table, papers scattered between coffee cups and empty glasses. Outside, the Alpine night was silent, save for the occasional gust of wind that rattled the windowpanes. Alias stood at the head of the table, fingers lightly tapping the surface, eyes scanning the room.

“We’re not here to build a movement,” Alias said, his voice even but firm. “We’re not here to fight for decentralization. We’re not here to wave the banner of censorship resistance. We’re not evangelists of permissionlessness. And disintermediation should only be a consequence of our actions, not it's objective.” He paused, letting the words settle. “All of those terms, all of those ideological battles—they are distractions. There is only one objective that matters.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a coin, flipping it in the air before letting it land on the table with a dull clink. “Irrevocability,” he said simply.

The team exchanged glances. Sofia leaned back in her chair, arms crossed. “Alias, you always talk about irrevocability, but isn’t it just one aspect of what we’re doing?”

“No,” Alias said flatly. “It’s the only aspect. Everything else people get excited about—decentralization, censorship resistance, autonomy—these are just symptoms of irrevocability. They exist because of it.”

Chang adjusted his glasses. “But people expect more than that. They want to know why Pegged is different from everything else.”

Alias gestured to the papers in front of them. “Because it doesn’t rely on ideology. It doesn’t require faith. The Pegged system isn’t built on promises—it’s built on the simple fact that what has been done cannot be undone.” He looked at each of them in turn. “That’s why we can launch and forget. Because once it’s out there, it cannot be changed. No backdoors, no governance interventions, no ‘oops, let’s roll it back.’”

Raj frowned. “But what if something goes wrong? What if there’s a flaw in the smart contracts? What if—”

Alias cut him off. “Then it goes wrong. And we live with the consequences.”

A silence settled over the room. Yuki shifted in her seat. “You really mean that, don’t you?”

Alias nodded. “Think about it. What makes every other system weak? The fact that it can be interfered with. The fact that it can be undone, reversed, manipulated. Governments, banks, even so-called decentralized projects—they all retain the ability to step in when it suits them. That’s not what we’re doing.”

Amara, who had been quiet until now, spoke up. “You’re saying that irrevocability is what makes Pegged different. That because we remove the possibility of intervention, we create something that truly operates beyond control.”

Alias pointed at her. “Exactly. Once we release it, it no longer belongs to us. It no longer belongs to anyone. It simply is. That’s the whole point. We don’t build Pegged for us—we build it so that no one, not even us, can break it.”

Diego leaned forward, intrigued. “So that’s why we don’t need a governance structure?”

Alias nodded. “There is nothing to govern. No parameters to tweak, no upgrades to approve, no reversibility to debate. Pegged will either survive or it won’t, but it will do so on its own terms. It will be absolute in a way no other system ever has.”

A long pause. The team absorbed his words, some nodding, some still hesitant.

Sofia exhaled and smirked. “Well, that’s terrifying.”

Alias chuckled. “It should be.” He tapped the coin on the table once more before pocketing it. “The moment we launch Pegged, it stops belonging to us. No discussion. No governance. No emergency exits.” He straightened. “This is why we’re here. If any of you have doubts, now is the time to walk away.”

No one moved. The fire crackled, the wind howled outside, and the decision was made.

Alias let the silence stretch, studying their faces. He saw the hesitation, the unspoken questions lingering in their eyes. He knew this was the moment where minds either aligned or fractured. He took a slow breath and continued.

“And before any of you ask—yes, the DAO will exist. Yes, it will have the ability to discuss and propose ways to adjust the system if needed. But let me make one thing clear.” He placed both hands flat on the table, his voice measured but unwavering. “That is not our role.”

Raj frowned. “Wait. So we’re building something that might need to be adjusted, but we’re not the ones adjusting it?”

Alias nodded. “Exactly. The DAO is there for those who want to think about adaptation, to propose mechanisms that might integrate with Pegged over time. But our job is not to tweak, fix, or intervene. The moment we launch Pegged, our hands are off the wheel.” He glanced around the room. “We are not the caretakers of this system. If people want to organize, if they want to create auxiliary systems, if they want to develop strategies to interact with Pegged—fine. Let them. But we will not be the ones guiding it.”

Sofia tapped a pen against the table, her expression thoughtful. “You’re saying Pegged isn’t just irrevocable in function. It’s irrevocable in ownership.”

Alias smiled. “Precisely. Once it’s out there, it is no longer ours. The DAO, the users, the people who depend on it—they will shape its place in the world. But we will not interfere, we will not govern, and we will not fix. If Pegged is truly what I believe it is, it should not need us after launch.”

A deep pause. A collective understanding settled over the team. Yuki leaned forward, clasping her hands. “So we’re creating something that shouldn’t need maintenance, but we’re also accepting that people might try to adjust its periphery.”

Alias gave a slight nod. “People always try to shape their environment. That’s human nature. But Pegged itself will remain as we built it. Immutable. Irrevocable. Untouchable.” He let the words hang before adding, “And that is the reason why we have to get it right before we let it go.”

The fire crackled, the team exchanged glances, and the weight of the decision sank in. There would be no going back.